by Drew Hayes
As a rule, Thistle didn’t generally look uncomfortable. He faced everything head-on, and even when bothered, his years as a minion allowed him to keep a steady expression. On this occasion, however, there was a flicker of worry in his eyes. It tipped off several people in the room seconds before his mouth started moving.
“I was planning on bringing this up today, before everything went awry, but I actually haven’t been able to speak with Grumble since I arrived here in Notch. Every time I try, I have a dream where I’m being buffeted by winds so fierce, I can’t make out his words. My intent was to politely bring it up and slowly draw out whether or not this was a side effect of your wards, or whether it was something more sinister. Given the question you just asked, I’m guessing it’s neither.”
Although the candor was momentarily surprising, it quickly became apparent why Thistle had admitted that he hadn’t fully trusted them before.
“I see. You were concerned we might be the ones blocking your communication with Grumble, and if that were the case, then you’d have to assume we were doing so for nefarious purposes.” Jolia was drumming her left hand on her staff as her right hefted a mug to her lips, bringing it back down half-empty. “And you’re telling us now because you no longer think that’s the case.”
“Close,” Thistle corrected. “I’m telling you now because, while there is still a chance that Kieran’s question was a fake designed to trick me, that kind of thinking isn’t going to get us anywhere. For paladins, faith is an essential part of what we do. I decided that it was time to show you some and trust you, though I can’t be entirely sure that it won’t backfire. It’s clear there’s a force out there after one, if not all of us, and if we want to come out the other side, I think it’s time we stopped keeping one another at arm’s length.”
A show of vulnerability, rather than one of force. While not the first time Kieran had seen that move brought out, it wasn’t a frequent tactic in most adventuring circles. Then again, if they’d been normal adventurers, he’d never have permitted them to enter Notch in the first place.
“Thank you, Thistle. That does indeed tell us something useful. You are hardly the only one of faith here, so none of the wards protecting this town are designed to interfere with a connection to the divine. In fact, until your arrival, none of our citizens had complained of such an issue. I’ll check around tomorrow to be sure, but I have a feeling that if it was affecting more than just you, we’d have heard about it by now.”
Nearby, Eric was rubbing his gut where the wound had been. Even with healing, it was hard to convince a mind that all injury had suddenly vanished. “That means someone must be specifically messing with Thistle and Grumble’s ability to speak. I wouldn’t have even imagined that to be possible, but if it is, then surely that means we’re seeing the interference of another god.”
“Possibly, but they have protocols for when disputes arise,” Simone informed him. “To directly interfere in the connection between god and paladin crosses a line, and it’s not something they would do on a whim. There would need to be a greater goal, especially considering how much power would be required. It’s also possible they created spells or items suited for the task, tools that could theoretically be used by mortals to achieve the same ends. My point is, god or not, this suggests we’re in the middle of someone’s plan.”
“And a plan derailed is harder to recover from than something as flexible as random attacks,” Thistle surmised. “We need to figure out the plan, and begin tearing it down.”
“Aye, seems our best recourse,” Jolia agreed.
Kieran rose to his feet, making sure that all eyes were on him. This wasn’t just an announcement for the adventurers; he needed his own people to take note, as well. “Then our first step forward is to share everything we know about what’s going on. Everything, from both sides. After that, the way we keep a step ahead is what Thistle suggested: no more half-trust. We let these people into our home, and when danger appeared, they stepped up to fight for us. Whatever we’re in, we’re now in it together. Anyone have an objection to that?”
Not a single voice of dissent was raised; in fact, the only sound was Brock pouring a fresh mug of ale for Jolia. After waiting a few seconds, just to be sure, Kieran nodded and sat back down.
“Then let’s start comparing notes and see where it leads us.”
* * *
Another game session successfully completed without incident. Russell should have felt relieved. If things had suddenly turned real and magical in a game where the situation was that dire, they might have panicked and ended up with talon wounds in their flesh. No one seemed disappointed that the dice had yet to glow, or that Russell’s eyes hadn’t clouded over. Cheri actually looked worried whenever Russell stared at the book for too long before turning toward them. She tried to hide it, but the frequency of catching that look on her face made it easy to notice.
As much as they’d been willing to take this plunge for the chance to see real magic once more, they were also scared of what might happen if they succeeded. So, to them, any session where all they had to do was play a normal game of Spells, Swords, and Stealth was a good one. It should have felt the same to Russell; it wasn’t like he was eager to lose control of his body again.
Yet, the more time passed, the easier it was to let doubt in. Had they imagined it? Had they all eaten bad fish that day? Maybe there was a gas leak? All of these were such insane, long-shot explanations, and they still came in miles more plausible than magic. It was hard not to wonder if, game after magic-less game, there wasn’t some other potential explanation for what they’d experienced.
Thoughts like these were what drove Russell to the internet, despite the late hour. He was combing through postings, forums, social media, anything he could find with even a passing mention of Spells, Swords, and Stealth’s mysterious limited edition modules. Per usual, Russell found himself smashing against little more than dead-ends: deleted posts, vague word choices, frustration after frustration. Plenty of people were asking about the modules, but no one was talking, himself included. Magic or not, it was easy to tell that they were on the inside of something, and loose lips might see them ejected to the other side of the glass.
Russell kept digging, expanding his parameters more and more in the hopes of finding something to reassure him. Suddenly, near the bottom of a page, a link caught his eye. Russell opened it. The link led to an angry review about a comic book shop a few towns over. No wonder this hadn’t been picked up earlier; it barely mentioned the game at all. It did, however, describe being trapped at a table and injured based on what had happened to their characters. The reviewer made it sound like a Saw-style trap they’d been led into, but Russell recognized key features. Glowing dice, cloudy eyes—it was all there, only framed as a cruel prank instead of magic.
Fast as his fingers would move, Russell clicked on a link to the shop, only to discover it had gone out of business some time ago. That explained why no one seemed to be paying this review much attention, aside from the fact that it sounded like a crazy person wrote it.
A new idea struck Russell. If he could find the reviewer, they could compare notes. Maybe there had been something different at the game shop than what had happened in Russell’s dining room. He clicked back to the review, skimming down to see the username of whoever had posted it. People managed to find out real names from usernames on television all the time; there had to be a process for it.
Unrealistic as Russell’s expectations of violating privacy were, they also proved to be unnecessary. No sooner had his eyes fallen upon the name than a low, annoyed groan slipped out of Russell’s throat. He knew that name. Not from memory, precisely, but from context. This comic shop was near enough that there was probably only one contender who would post under the horrendous screen name “BitchesLuvMitches” without an iota of self-awareness.
The first lead he’d found on someone outside his group who’d experienced the same events, and it was, of all peopl
e, Mitch—head of the trio consisting of some of the worst players Russell had ever gamed with, all-around asshole, and now potentially the holder of useful information for unraveling this mystery.
Russell just had to figure out if he wanted the information that badly. Part of him wished they’d just had magic spring up during the roc fight after all.
* * *
Gabrielle awoke with a start, largely because she wasn’t used to sleeping anymore. The closest she’d come to managing was to close her eyes and rest her mind by clearing it. Normally, the act was difficult, but this evening, it had come naturally. Maybe using her anger left an innate need to be soothed, or had tired her out in ways she didn’t notice. Regardless, her mind had cleared naturally after the evening’s late discussion, and she’d expected to remain like that for another few hours.
Instead, she was awake. Except, no, she wasn’t, because she definitely hadn’t gone to sleep in the middle of a grassy expanse with the sun high overhead. Was she dreaming? That would mean she was truly asleep. Well, it was the first time she’d risked using her rage since the change; this might very well be an unanticipated side effect.
“Hello?”
The voice was unfamiliar, and instinctively, Gabrielle reached for her axe. That was the moment she noticed that the axe was missing. She was here in her usual armor, hair still dark and skin pale, yet the axe itself was nowhere to be seen. Curious, but one could hardly go looking for sense in the world of dreams. Rising to her feet, Gabrielle turned toward the voice, only to find a semi-familiar face looking back at her.
“You’re the half-orc... the one that I... Elnif, right?”
“How did you know that?” He started forward, wobbly steps that pushed him off the ground harder than they should have. The raider had become light, near insubstantial, and as he moved, Gabrielle could spot the occasional ray of sunshine peeking through his form. Dead, then, even in this dreamscape.
On that note, it was strange that she would dream about a place such as this. “I don’t know how your name is on my tongue. Let me ask you this: do our surroundings look familiar to you?”
Almost for the first time, Elnif seemed to realize that there was more around than just Gabrielle. He surveyed the landscape, head bobbing almost immediately. “They do. We are on the plains of Urthos, near where I was born. I learned to ride here. My father taught me the ways of a sword here.”
Distantly, Gabrielle could swear she heard the sounds of swords clashing, and saw a shadow that looked like a child on a horse flick by in the corner of her vision. If that didn’t confirm it, nothing would. This wasn’t her dream at all. It was Elnif’s. Only, somehow, it was going on inside her head.
No, not “somehow.” When she really thought about it, Gabrielle knew what had happened. Not the specifics of how, true, but the results were obvious. She’d drained him, taken more than just blood when she struck him down in fury. That was why her axe wasn’t here; this was the axe, metaphorically, maybe even literally. Perhaps it had drawn her mind into itself to make this meeting happen.
The logistics weren’t important at the moment; she was here and had to make the most of things. Her first concerns should be finding a way out and learning all she could from Elnif. After a night of comparing notes, her friends came up with a few theories of what was going on, but had found no solid ground. Elnif might know a crucial detail without even realizing it.
First things first. If she wanted to have a conversation with this fellow, there was only one way she could start it. “Sorry I had to kill you, Elnif. I’d have accepted surrender, but you went after my friend.”
He stared at her for a few moments, then down at his own hands, before letting out a soft sigh. “I forgive you. It was battle; I’d have done the same. I was trying to do the same. You just won.”
“Really? I kind of expected you to be madder about it,” Gabrielle admitted.
“Me, too. Things are clearer here. I have... peace, I think.”
He did look peaceful, more so than when they’d been trading blows. A small part of her was envious at that, Elnif’s ability to look so serene. But she knew she wouldn’t trade places with him for anything, and if she didn’t want to end up in the same situation, then there was definitely work to do.
“I’m glad to hear that, Elnif, because, if you’re willing, I’d like to talk with you about what happened today, hear your side of things.”
The peace faded as his face momentarily darkened. Just as quickly, the rage slipped away. “We were tricked. Set up, sent in as a sacrifice, weren’t we?”
Gabrielle nodded. “That’s our working theory.”
“Then I will tell you everything. Because if I cannot have vengeance by my hand, then I shall have it through yours. Show the one who tricked my people the same hell you gave us.”
“I’ll do everything I can.” Not a true promise, because Gabrielle was starting to learn that there were some fights she couldn’t win, anger and determination be damned. The most she could ever promise was her best.
That was enough for Elnif. He made his way over to her side, and began to tell her everything about the trail that had led the raiders to Notch.
23.
Mornings were different now. Before, Timuscor had merely needed to roll out of bed, take care of necessities, and clad himself in the simple traveling clothes he’d been left with after his armor was seized. Such was no longer the case, as he and the others had been allowed to return to their rooms with all of their equipment following the battle. It might have been something that slipped attention with all the other issues to focus on, but it presented a conundrum for Timuscor. To don that armor was to say that he expected, or was at least prepared for, danger to beset them at some point through the day. However, not donning it left him exposed, and if yesterday had proved nothing else, it had demonstrated that even the powerful people of Notch could be surprised.
Ultimately, Timuscor elected to put on his armor. Not because he expected trouble, although he certainly considered it a possibility, but rather because he didn’t want his body getting accustomed to moving without the weight. Their last fight had given him an idea of just how much more powerful he could still become, and maintaining the strength to move unencumbered by his armor was the bare minimum he could do. Especially since their days here were spent on rest and work instead of training.
Timuscor descended to find that he wasn’t the only person who had slipped on their armor that morning. Gabrielle was clad in her usual blood-red leathers, Eric wore the stolen color-changing armor taken off another rogue’s corpse, and even Grumph was in his moon-spider silk reinforced robes. Thistle, of course, still had his armor on. It refused to so much as budge from his skin, which made quite a bit more sense now that they knew some force was cutting off Thistle and Grumble’s communication. The god of the minions had managed to tell his paladin to stay safe, even if the message was more oblique than usual.
As he made his way to the tavern counter, Timuscor noticed Brock watching him intently. Before his order was even out, the muscular bartender was sliding over a plate of eggs with a substantial slice of seared meat on top.
“My thanks, but I fear this much will be too heavy a breakfast for the day we have ahead.” Timuscor tried to push the plate back, finding it held firmly in place by Brock’s hand on the other side.
“Eat. You’re going to need the nutrition for what’s coming today.” He effortlessly moved the plate a few inches closer to Timuscor, making the firmness of his position on the issue clear.
Somewhat befuddled by the aggressive hospitality, Timuscor accepted his meal and walked over to an open seat by Grumph. The eggs were the same as they’d been having for days, whereas the meat was gamey yet tender, cut from some animal Timuscor had never sampled before. It did have a bit of a kick that spread warmth through his stomach, and within a few bites, he felt more awake and alert.
Approximately halfway through his steak, the tavern door swung open to reveal Joli
a. She walked in, pausing by the bar to receive a mug from Brock that he’d begun pouring as soon as the gnome entered. After a deep sip and a satisfied smack, she turned to address the remainder of the room.
“Good morning, everyone. Here I was worried that you’d need to be told to gear up, but I can see you all took the hint when we permitted you to keep your weapons and armor. In light of recent events—namely the surprise attack on our town and the revelation that gods are likely at work—we have decided to repay your bravery with a small amount of education. Not training, mind you. I don’t want anyone getting heady ideas about how much you’ll be learning. Just some basic education and ways to train yourselves.” Jolia paused to climb her way onto a stool, making herself more visible to the room as a whole.
“Mornings will now be dedicated to laying that groundwork and helping you better understand your abilities. Afternoons are still for work; it all has to get done, anyway, and will be a good way to give your minds a rest. Once that’s done, you’re free to do as you please—train, relax, eat, whatever you wish. In a few days, our trader will swing through town. At that point, we’ll employ her as a guide for any who wish to leave, since we can no longer be certain the coast is clear. On that note, one of us will stop by in the evenings to bring you up to speed, and to see if you’ve had any ideas or revelations about our situation. We’ve got little to go on, so sharing every scrap of information we can get is essential.”