by Drew Hayes
“I’m aware,” Jolia assured her. “But for all the magic this one has, shape-changing isn’t among them. Trying to add another enchantment to this would be unlikely to succeed at best, catastrophic at worst. With time to study and work, I could make it happen, just not on the fly. Regardless, Thistle isn’t going to be capable of wielding this.”
“Then he wasn’t meant to,” Simone shot back. “That’s how these work. Maybe it’s for the best. Fully activated, there’s a chance this thing could overwhelm someone of his level, just like our own advanced equipment.”
Jolia’s reply didn’t come quickly. She paused the conversation to look over the floating sword once more. “Possibly, but this isn’t some mindless enchantment that sucks down mana. It’s meant to be a tool that grows with the wielder, so I have to imagine there are controls in place. Perhaps you’re right, though. Guess that means we’ll go with giving it to Timuscor. It’s still a fine blade, and in the hands of a knight it will be a useful weapon, even if its true potential lays dormant. Assuming they survive, that also gets it out of Notch.”
With no time to try altering the size and the knowledge that it would only cause trouble if it remained, Simone couldn’t see a better option. It was something of a waste, handing over such a powerful tool to one who couldn’t fully utilize it, but it wasn’t as though knights didn’t need sturdy swords. In Timuscor’s hands, it would move through the world until it found a true wielder.
“I suppose that’s our best option,” Simone agreed. “Now, sheath that thing and put it aside already. We’ve got a lot to get through before this afternoon.”
Jolia did as requested, sliding the sword back into its scabbard and moving it over to the small pile of identified items they’d be giving to the adventurers. Minimal as it was, it would have to be enough if war came to Notch. Hopefully, that wouldn’t happen, but Jolia had lived for a long time as an adventurer.
She knew the taste of the air before a storm, the heaviness of the wind, the looming shadow of death, although whose had yet to be determined. Every instinct she had told her this day would end in bloodshed. Not for the first time in her life, Jolia deeply hoped to be wrong, all while knowing, deep down, that she wasn’t.
38.
“I really, truly, from the bottom of my heart, despise dealing with gods.” Fritz was panting as she leaned back, brushing sweat from her forehead and pointed ears. “We can break for a while. Probably need to, and at this point, it seems undeniable that we require a new strategy.”
Eric blinked slowly, pulling himself back to the real world. Working with the Bridge in this new way had been almost intoxicating. It was so easy to get lost in the drifting place between worlds that working with the Bridge opened up. Especially this time, using Fritz’s ritual. Unlike when he’d just grabbed the Bridge, this didn’t come with a crushing pressure in his mind, threatening to overwhelm his very sanity. Conversely, the technique also lacked the sudden rush of understanding that came from a bare-handed grip. It meant they had to go slower to make things happen, be more deliberate; but it also allowed them to retain a greater sense of control.
“Did we not break the barrier?”
“Yes, and no.” Fritz held a dangerous gleam in her eye as she stared at the still softly glowing artifact between them. “The good news is that we’ve confirmed the enemy definitely has a piece of the Bridge. I know what it feels like when two pieces are set against each other, and that’s what just happened. Using the full power of this piece against theirs, we can punch through the Bridge-based communication barrier they’ve got around this place. Unfortunately, it looks like Kalzidar also erected a divine barrier fulfilling the same function, and since we have to use our piece of the Bridge to counteract theirs, there’s not enough power to punch through both.”
Eric understood. Powerful as the Bridge was, sheer force didn’t help when it was pitted against itself. Two pieces could cancel one another out; however, that would make them functionally useless for anything else. Kalzidar was taking zero chances.
“Can one god really stop all the others from reaching their followers in here?” Eric asked. “They should be as strong as he is.”
Fritz gave a shake of her head, sending a few drops of perspiration winging through the air. “Not all gods are of equal power, and Kalzidar is an old one. Don’t ever underestimate him. You are right, however, in that one god couldn’t block communication between all the others and their followers. That’s probably why he’s worked to keep you penned in—blocking off a specific area is a much more manageable task. Plus, don’t forget that based on what you all discovered in those scrolls, Kalzidar’s power is temporarily increased.”
“Kieran told you about that?” Eric asked.
“Kieran told me everything, because he wants me to succeed. And the more I know, the better the chances of that happening.” Fritz’s fingers tapped against her knees in a seemingly random order as she continued staring at the Bridge. “This wasn’t a total bust, at least. We confirmed they have a piece of the Bridge. We discovered that us not contacting the outside world is a high priority for Kalzidar. And we know where all of their piece’s energy is being devoted, because it took the full power of this piece to counter it. Do you realize what that means?”
Initially, Eric almost said no, but he held his tongue to properly consider the situation. At a glance, all of the news they’d uncovered seemed bad. Their enemy had an artifact as powerful as their own, plus the support of a god who was even stronger than normal. Communication with the outside world was cut off… or was it? Something tickled in Eric’s mind, a thought worth considering, but not relevant to the question at hand. What was the upside to all that they’d seen? Most of what Eric took from the lecture was that they were doubly cut off from the world, both by the Bridge and by divine magic.
As the thought flickered through his head, it clicked. Eric saw the same vulnerability that Fritz had. “It means that if they’re spending all their energy to block us from reaching the outside world, then they don’t have any left to block our piece of the Bridge from doing anything else. We’re stuck in here, but we’ve got free rein to do as we please in preparation.”
“Precisely.” There may have been a touch of impressed surprise in Fritz’s tone, or perhaps Eric was deluding himself. “With this, we can reshape the land, lay traps and surprises, offer you the most advantageous battle you could hope for.”
“Given what’s supposed to be coming, we’re going to need it.” Eric could still feel the tingle in his mind, a momentarily dismissed thought that refused to be ignored. Now that the Bridge question was answered, Eric decided to voice his concern. “I also realized something. I don’t actually think Kalzidar is trying to keep the outside world away from us. I think he’s trying to keep us away from the outside world.”
Fritz raised an eyebrow and motioned for him to continue.
“This threat has been around for a while now, as has the blockade. Ever since we arrived, Thistle hasn’t been able to talk with Grumble. Yet despite all those precautions, you were able to stroll right in. I know you’re more than what you seem—we all do, at this point—but you just said you couldn’t punch through a god’s barrier, so I’m guessing you’re not quite on Kalzidar’s level. If he really wanted us cut off, with no information getting in or out, then shouldn’t he have at least tried to stop you?”
Silence fell as Fritz gave his words sincere consideration. There were explanations she could potentially offer, but all of them required more speculating than was strictly wise when seeking an existing truth. “You’re right. Maybe he wanted me here because I helped you all the last time we met and that ended in him losing a chunk of his divinity, but that still means he wants me dead more than he cares about me bringing news from the outside world. For all he knew, I could have talked with people from Lumal the day before and brought you word about the automaton army, only he’s still doubling down on keeping us locked up.”
“He’s more wo
rried about us getting information out of here than he is about information coming in,” Eric surmised. “But why? What do we know that would be useful out there?”
“Save yourself the time. Don’t bother going down the rabbit hole. There are too many possibilities. Could be he’s bluffing somewhere else and threatening to crush them with the automaton army while actually marching it here. Maybe there’s a coalition hunting his forces that would gather here if they knew. Hell, maybe he hasn’t even stolen the helm yet and doesn’t want us to tip off Lumal by checking in. That’s just off the top of my head. Besides which, even if you could puzzle it out, do you have any new ideas for reaching the outside world?”
“No,” Eric admitted. “If the Bridge can’t do it, then I’m not sure what would.”
Carefully, Fritz reached over and tapped the artifact once, causing a soft glow to reappear within its depths. “It’s annoying, but a good lesson for you to learn early on. The Bridge when whole is supposedly all-powerful, capable of changing the very nature of the world. But pieces of it are just that: pieces. They can’t do everything, and if your enemy has one, then the advantage becomes functionally neutralized. Never forget that these are tools, not a substitute for power and skill of your own.”
Eric nodded as he settled back into position, resting his hands on the circle like Fritz had taught him during their first attempt. Instantly, he felt the connection return, their stone room fading as he slipped into the alluring light of the Bridge.
The last words he heard before being completely swept up were from Fritz, identically positioned with Eric, palms pressed carefully into the chalk. “Of course, a tool is most useful when wielded by someone who understands it, so let’s make sure to give you a thorough education while we’ve got the opportunity.”
* * *
After what felt like the worst possible twist of luck, things were looking up. None of the party would have chosen to teleport into the chaos of yesterday, but in the glow of a new day, there were benefits to the ill-omened start. For one thing, their killing of the helsk had vaulted them to the status of local heroes, word spreading like wildfire as the balyons all dropped dead and other warriors rushed to find the cause. They’d emerged from the cavern, a few chopped-off helsk faces held as proof of their deed for Lumal, only to find a crowd nearby. The moment they were spotted, a cheer went up.
From there, it had been a blur. Healing magic was cast on them right away—too much, honestly—and they were all but dragged through town to the acting head of the city. Thank yous were given, promises made, and then they were in a tavern, being bought drinks by every person who could stuff into the building.
The town was going to have a lot of hardship moving forward. Countless people were dead, buildings needed fixing, and they were going to have to find out who had helped get that helsk underground in the first place. But no one who lived in these monster-infested lands survived for long without learning to savor their victories, and that was precisely what they all did.
When the next morning came, they found a priest waiting to cure their hangovers, and were then led out to four horses that had been loaded with supplies, food, and modest bags of coin. The head of the town was there, too, thanking them again, apologizing that he couldn’t offer more no matter how they waved him off. It was a relief when they were finally atop their horses and riding away from town. In some ways, the gratitude was harder to deal with than the helsk and balyons had been.
On the upside, with no need to hunt down a helsk and the unexpected acquisition of strong horses, they would easily make Lumal before night. Gelthorn double-checked the map as they rode, glancing up from it every few seconds, just to be safe. The plains were dangerous; with nowhere to hide if an enemy spotted them, their only options were to flee or fight. The sooner they knew someone else was approaching, the easier that choice would be to make. And with Gelthorn’s eyes, they should have a fair bit of warning, assuming she kept her guard up.
“So what’s the deal when we get there, anyway?” Chalara called from just behind Gelthorn. They weren’t riding hard—being alert and on track were more important—so conversation was possible with a little effort. “We burn all this stuff?”
“We conduct an entrance ceremony,” Timanuel corrected, riding slightly closer. He had, of course, been the one to take careful notes when they first learned how to enter Lumal. “There’s some kind of site near the entrance. We offer up our potion and trophies, the fire burns them down to their essence, and that creates the doorway we need to enter Lumal.”
Wimberly sped up a tad so she could join in. “If it’s this hard to get in, should we have loaded up on more feathers and helsk faces? Would make a return trip much easier.”
“No need.” Folding the map, Gelthorn gave most of her attention to the horizon and the unknown dangers that might lurk just beyond it. “Once inside, they will provide us with a rune to return, assuming we don’t anger or insult them. I once knew a merchant who had such a rune; he could step through any doorway and vanish to Lumal, then return with new wares and items. It only worked once per week, however.”
That got everyone’s attention. It was rare that Gelthorn talked about anything in her past. All they knew of their companion was that she was a forest warrior, a half-elf, and unerringly loyal. The rest were minor details—interesting, to be sure, but not essential. No one pressed the issue for more. Gelthorn would speak about her past when she was ready. And if that day never came, then so be it. The future was far more important.
“That’s pretty handy,” Chalara said. “Much easier than all this shit.”
“Yes, but the runes can be removed for any reason the officials of Lumal demand, if it’s even granted in the first place, so we must all be polite and deferential.” Gelthorn’s glance at Chalara wasn’t especially subtle, but neither was it meant to be.
For her part, Chalara never missed a step. “I get it; once we’re in, I go into Diplomatic-Chalara mode. That’s where I pretend I can’t speak and just stay silent the whole time. I’ve tried being nicer, but I’m not great at that, so this is what I settled on.”
“Can we replace you with the diplomatic version all the time?” Wimberly asked.
“Sure. Just remember that most of my best spells require verbal components,” Chalara shot back.
Wimberly rubbed her chin as though in deep thought. “Honestly, it might be worth the trade.”
“Not until we’re actually in Lumal, it isn’t.” Timanuel rode up closer to Gelthorn, helping her survey what lay ahead. “These lands are known for being plagued by monsters and raiders, so we all need to be ready and at our best. But only for a few more hours. As much of a pain as it is to get into Lumal, the silver lining is that it’s virtually impossible for monsters to enter. Once we’re there, we can take a day to fully rest and check out the city.”
“Until then, keep your eyes moving,” Gelthorn added. “Got a few more hours ahead of us, and that assumes we don’t get slowed by another fight.”
Silence soon settled over them once more as they pressed on, riding for Lumal, hoping that, just until the end of the day, their luck would hold out. After the night they’d had, the gods at least owed them that much.
39.
Grumph sat in the warm grass, basking in the afternoon sun. To many, it would seem like he was merely relaxing, but a seasoned mage would have guessed that Grumph was meditating, seeking to improve his control over mana in the few remaining hours before battle. As was often the case, the “expert” would have been wrong. The half-orc wizard was, in fact, merely relaxing in the afternoon sun.
Fighting would come soon. Blood, death, loss, pain, fear, all swirled together in the concoction they referred to as a battle. A few hours spent frantically trying to better grasp a skill it took years to master wouldn’t make any difference in what lay ahead. Taking time to properly center himself, however, to find a place of calm and peace within the storm, now that might actually make a difference. A cool head
was always better when it came to making life and death decisions on the fly.
“Knew I’d find you here, old friend.” Thistle hunkered down next to Grumph. Once, it would have taken him a few minutes to lower his warped bones to the ground, but the blessings of a paladin had strengthened his body. Such a simple thing, getting up and down, yet so many took it for granted in a way that Thistle never would. Even so, in the old days, Thistle had also had his wife, Madroria, to help him with such tasks… and Grumph knew that given the choice, the gnome would have traded every spell and skill his title conferred if it meant another day with his deceased love.
“Have to prepare.” In truth, “prepare” might be a generous term. They were facing a battle with an enemy of unknown strength—one controlling a potentially unkillable army—and they had been cut off from the guidance of the gods. Grumph was doing the best he could with what he had, something that had been true more or less for his entire life.
“Aye. Prepare for the marching army of automatons, who are supposedly going to try and raze a town filled with former adventurers of legendary power.” Thistle let out a sigh and carefully rubbed his temples. “I know I’m getting on in years, but this might well be the first time I’ve truly felt old. Days now, I’ve been puzzling this over, and no matter what angle I come from, I can’t see Kalzidar’s move. I’m losing my touch, it seems.”
Grumph snorted loudly. “Or you’re just not as wily as a god.”
“Dearly, truly, I wish that were an option,” Thistle replied. “Unfortunately, I can’t afford to be a step behind anyone, not even a god. My mind is all I’ve ever had to offer. There are better fighters, truer paladins, more dependable friends, but when it comes to plans and scheming, I have a genuine shot to come out on top.”