by Drew Hayes
Neither woman noticed the dagger until it hit, knocking the object out of the priestess’s hand and sending it skittering across the ground, outside of her fortress. Both looked to the side, where they found Thistle grinning, another blade already in his hand. “Terrifying as Gabrielle can be, I suggest you not forget there are others in this fight.”
Panic hit the priestess’s eyes, and that was all Gabrielle needed to see. If their enemy wanted that item, then Gabrielle would make damned sure she didn’t get it. Sprinting across the battlefield, her speed amplified by her new enchanted boots, Gabrielle was on direct course for the object.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one. A foot slammed down on the item, covering it in leaves and branches as it wound deeper into the body of the quick, dangerous plant monster. Now that she was looking for it, there were hints that this abomination was modeled on someone who’d once been female. A mother, perhaps? With Eric trying to keep away from the ravisher, this one had been free to reorient. The priestess, it turned out, wasn’t the only one losing track of her opponents in the chaos of battle.
This was at least a fairly straightforward problem. Gabrielle just had to hack the monster up before it could get that brooch back to the priestess. Whatever effect the item had, there was no way it would be good for her party. All in all, their situation wasn’t much better than it had been before, but at least she now felt like they were finally in the fight. Gabrielle had embraced every tool in her arsenal and was giving all that she could. Now, she just had to hope her friends could come up with tricks of their own.
Until then, she had pruning to do.
47.
The time-warping made things more complicated. From what Fritz could tell with the Bridge, the distortion kept shifting. Trying to hold a temporal bubble over an entire city was going to produce unstable results. Still, even when Lumal was closest to their own time stream, wasting a minute here was ninety seconds there. It was a bold move on Kalzidar’s part, a way to make the most of his power spike. Despite the Chronoglass being in effect, his minions would still have their amplified abilities for as long as the constellations held. The item wasn’t strong enough to slow down the stars, obviously; those under its power were simply spending more time in the same night. Later, when exiting the area, everyone’s bodies would feel a tremendous strain. It was one of the many reasons why Chronoglasses had been sealed or destroyed—too many people overused them, and the cumulative tax was more than they could survive.
From Fritz’s perspective, it was a matter of time and effort measured against results. Saving Lumal was a lost cause, but that wasn’t as dire as it sounded. This wasn’t the first time someone had decided they wanted the city’s treasures, and confident as they were in their security, there were also contingencies in place. Most of the Vault of Sealed Magics would have been locked down by now, shifting their rooms to different planes where they would be unreachable without specific spells and passcodes. Important assets such as the library were already enchanted to teleport their most valuable contents to a safe house if an attack was triggered. Fritz actually knew where those were going, because she’d been part of the enchanting, back in her old job.
Saving the city would simply mean preserving buildings. Much would be lost, but few things were truly irreplaceable. Lives, on the other hand, were another matter. Plenty of people without the right spells were stuck in that hellhole, trapped in a fight they wanted zero part of. There were too many places to leave for all the exits to have been destroyed, but Fritz had been able to note a few that were already down. Fighting Ignosa’s metal warriors was too big a task to take on as things stood; however, protecting the exits was a far more manageable goal. The leaders of Lumal were legendarily cloistered—even in her old position, Fritz had never been able to get everything she wanted out of them. Helping to save their citizens was a serious debt, though, the kind for which she could think of several uses. Sadly, even at her best, Fritz couldn’t have stood against an army of automatons. But she did know people who could.
That was part of why Kalzidar had kept all of Notch locked down. When Lumal was in serious trouble, they would call for help, and there was a chance that some of the former adventurers here might not be able to resist people being so close and in need. In a plan that had proven to be complex and well-considered, such a glaring mistake stood out even more. The effort had been wasted; no one in Notch wanted to rejoin the larger world, even for a battle. This was their sanctuary, a place apart from everything they’d left behind. Had Kalzidar let them be, they would have left any trouble in Lumal to the current adventurers, just as they had with past incidents.
But he hadn’t let them be. Kalzidar had driven his prey here, forcing the townsfolk to spend time with them. He’d gone even further, had purposefully cut off all outside communication, even between gods and their followers. Kalzidar had poked the bear, while at the same time delivering reminders that the lives outside these walls belonged to real people, whose deaths mattered. He’d given her an opportunity. Whether or not she could capitalize on it was another question.
Reaching down, Fritz scooped up Eric’s piece of the Bridge. Much as she wanted to take it with her, it would be much too risky. Here, it had dozens of warriors who could stand against dragons acting as its guards. Taking it to Lumal would be the equivalent of handing it over to her enemy, and now that she knew that Kalzidar wasn’t above using the Bridge, she had to be careful to not let any more pieces slip into his clutches.
It was one of the few balances in their world that the gods couldn’t directly wield the Bridge. Their powers refused to interact with it in any way. Fritz had a theory that it was because the gods were entirely of their world, beyond the reach of the interlopers, so they were unable to use an item that straddled more than one realm. That was only a theory. And besides, the gods could still use the Bridge through their followers, assuming they were willing to trust one with such power. Since Kalzidar had sent one he was clearly willing to sacrifice, then there were doubtlessly more in his employ.
Fritz was already using the piece to limit the temporal drift between the two points, so punching through and opening a doorway wouldn’t be much harder. Once they were through, she wouldn’t be able to sustain the temporal anchor anymore. There would be no one else who could arrive with backup in time. Whoever she brought through was all she that would have.
Hand still clutching her piece of the Bridge, Fritz channeled more of its power across the landscape she was exceedingly familiar with, having spent all day laying the now-useless traps. She stepped out of the warded room, allowing her awareness to spread across the town. Not far from the square, the priestess was still fighting the party, largely concealed from view by the glowing dome. The rest of Notch was watching, attention held by one more distraction meant to keep them from acting.
With a small exertion of effort, Fritz directed the Bridge’s power, forcing a pathway between the two points. Before her, a ripple appeared, widening until she was no longer looking into a hallway, but rather at the grassy area where the adventurers fought a priestess of Kalzidar.
A sharp whistle escaped her puckered lips, grabbing the attention of Brock, Jolia, and Simone. They all turned, but only Brock was surprised to find a portal waiting for them. He looked from the dome to the hole in space, apparently deciding Fritz was more worthy of his current attention. “Something happen?”
“Kalzidar does have the Helm of Ignosa. Only, he’s not using it here—not yet, anyway. He’s currently laying waste to Lumal. If we want to stop him, then we need to act quickly, and I really can’t emphasize that enough.”
There was a long look on Jolia’s face before she started to turn back toward the dome. “Lumal has sufficient defenses.”
“Lumal has already fallen,” Fritz corrected, drawing a touch of surprise to Jolia’s face, albeit a fleeting one. “Right now, it’s a question of how many will escape, how much damage is done, and whether or not the helm is recovered. T
hose first two might not concern you, but given how close Lumal is to Notch, I hope you can see why the third one should. Kalzidar promised to march that automaton army through your home. One has to imagine that stopping the army now, in the chaos, will be a far sight easier than stopping them when they rip through your forest.”
“That assumes the guards of Lumal aren’t capable of recovering the item on their own.” Despite the doubt in his words, Brock was already making slight adjustments to his posture, mentally readying for combat. He knew where this was headed, even if he wanted to take the long way ’round. “We might be exposing our existence for nothing.”
Fritz shrugged. “If you’re that worried about getting spotted and recognized, then stay. I’m just telling you what’s happening and offering a path. It’s your town; risk the safety of it if you want.”
To their surprise, it was Jolia who started forward, grumbling under her breath. “Simone, Lumal has quite a few wards against the undead, so you’d be weakened and needlessly vulnerable. Stay here, watch the fight finish, and make sure that, no matter how it goes, Kalzidar’s woman is gone when it ends. The rest of town is watching, so if she does produce a surprise, you’ll have backup. Brock and I can handle this.”
“Kieran is coming, as well,” Fritz told them. “He saw to the heart of the problem as soon as I brought him up to speed. Said he needed to get something first. I imagine he’ll be back any second, quick as that man can move.”
The look shared by Jolia, Brock, and Simone was impossible to miss. That news worried them for some reason. Perhaps she should have asked more questions about what, exactly, Kieran had gone to fetch. Too late now. And even if it weren’t, this was probably fine. Anything that made his friends concerned was probably going to be a vestige of his former life, and Fritz was perfectly fine with having the old Kieran with her on the battlefield.
“Three of us,” Brock said, doing the math.
“Should we recruit more?” Fritz asked.
Brock laughed quietly as he shook his head. “No one else would go. We’re the town guard solely because we’re the only ones with any tolerance for battle left. Besides, for this kind of work, three is plenty. Defending an entire town is one thing, but this is just pursuing a target and smashing everything in our way. Killing is always easier than protecting.”
“Then let’s focus on doing it quickly.” Fritz glanced back to the stone hallway where her portal led. Kieran hopefully wouldn’t be much longer. If he wasn’t there in the next few minutes, she’d have no choice but to leave without him. Even with the Bridge, she couldn’t entirely negate the time difference, meaning that every moment he lingered came with a heavier cost in Lumal.
There was a little time left, though. So long as he hurried.
* * *
The blade was long and sleek. Even to the trained eye, it appeared a simple silver sword, just a tad longer and thinner than the normal sort. One would need magical skill nearly on par with Jolia’s to see past the veiling enchantments to the magic sealed within. A sword could be many things in the hands of a wielder: weapon, tool, threat, defense, a myriad of options as the situation demanded. But not this sword. It had only ever had one purpose, a task at which it excelled without peer. This was a blade made for killing. No more, no less.
Gently, Kieran slid it back into the black sheath, attaching it to his hip. He hoped he wouldn’t need to draw it, that he could lend aid with his usual weapons—simple swords with basic enchantments for durability and sharpness. He’d enjoyed his time in Notch, getting to be more than just a killer. If Kieran gave over to the battle, he wasn’t sure who would come back. When his old personality had vanished, leaving him as an echo, it was a chance for a new start. A new life; a new Kieran. A man without rivers of blood running through his past.
But even if the part of him that had wanted those killing skills was gone, the talents remained. Kieran was made for slaughter; everything about him had been honed to that purpose. There was no way of knowing how he would react when the fog of battle and the lust for blood overtook his mind. Kieran could only pray he’d have the sense of mind to use the black-sheathed sword on himself, should the need arise.
Refusing to fight wasn’t an option. Kalzidar held his grudges, and Notch had stood against him. Now that they knew he had taken control of an automaton army, it was only a matter of when they would come for Notch. Not if. Evacuation was certainly viable, but Kieran’s stomach twisted at the idea. This was their home. They’d built it on the fringes of the world and had worked hard to stay out of everyone’s way, and yet, the gods had still come knocking. No, if they ran now, they’d be running forever. If Notch wanted to be left in peace, then they had to show the world what happened to anyone who came courting war.
Kieran would destroy Kalzidar’s plans, tonight, while the god thought himself most powerful, partly to protect Notch’s lands, but mostly to protect the city’s reputation. They needed to send a clear message to anyone who dared turn his village into a plaything.
When tonight was over, neither Kalzidar nor any other god would dare to use Notch as a pawn or threaten its safety. Kieran was personally going to see to that, no matter which swords he had to draw.
48.
Gabrielle was fighting the faster plantoid, Timuscor was trying to distract and withstand the assault of the bigger one while Mr. Peppers stabbed at its feet, Eric was dodging the ravisher, and the other twin plantoid was running up on Gabrielle’s flank, no doubt to back up its leafy brethren. Thistle and Grumph had both been momentarily forgotten in the skirmish, right up until Thistle’s dagger smacked a brooch from the priestess’s hand. That had given them a rare moment of opportunity, a chance to consider the situation before they made their next moves.
With only two blessed weapons remaining on the field, they couldn’t afford to let either one be eaten. Timuscor had Thistle’s other dagger, and Eric’s sword was being kept away from the ravisher’s mouth purposefully as the rogue leapt about. Whatever trick Gabrielle had pulled with her axe didn’t seem to be repeatable, at least not right away, so they couldn’t count on help from that. The most logical option was to reinforce Eric and Timuscor, preserving their blessed weapons so the tools could be used to finish the fight. But that would leave Gabrielle to deal with two very dangerous threats. Strong as she was, they’d cut her down eventually.
“Grumph, help Eric! I’ve got Gabrielle.” Since the half-orc’s staff was likely to be the only weapon they had that could hurt the ravisher, he had to join the fight against it. As for Thistle, truthfully, he’d have sent any other member of the party to Gabrielle’s side in this situation before himself, but he was the only one who wasn’t already fighting.
The trouble was, he needed a weapon that could make a difference. With his spell sealed and a blessed blade down, all of his other daggers were mundane, save for their returning enchantment. Just as Thistle was reaching for one, a familiar shape landed in front of him. It was one of his primary daggers, the last survivor of the set. With a quick look up, he met Timuscor’s eyes just as the knight slammed his shield into the plantoid.
“Take it! I can’t get a deep enough hit on this one, anyway. Better it be put to good use. We’ll hold out, so help Gabrielle.” With those words, Timuscor took another slam to the shield, driving him back nearly a full foot even braced by both arms. Thistle wished he could refuse the gift, but he needed it. While Timuscor could hold out thanks to his strength and training, paladin powers were the only real advantage Thistle had in times like these. Yes, he was good at scheming and forethought, but once the real fight started, even the best laid plans quickly went awry. Right now, all he had was his armor, one blessed dagger, and a body amplified by divine magic. It seemed like it should be so much, yet as Thistle neared the green twin running up on Gabrielle, he feared it wouldn’t be anywhere near enough.
Slashing, Thistle landed a blow on the creature’s leg, sending it stumbling, interrupting the attack it had planned to launch at Gab
rielle. Not letting up, Thistle stabbed it twice more before leaping back to dodge a counter. “Come on, you lazy plantoid. You’ll need to do better than that to get me; one of the benefits of being a small target.”
“Is that what these damn things are called?” Gabrielle’s voice was raised as she blocked and slashed at her limber enemy. “I’ve never heard of a plantoid before.”
“Just naming as I go. Keeps things easier.” Thistle hopped in to stab again, but underestimated the enemy’s speed. With a flurry of movement, it bashed Thistle’s breastplate, hurling him back through the air. The gnome came down on his feet, mostly unharmed thanks to the incredible armor, but the plantoid was already back on its branches. Though the blow he’d struck was slowing it slightly, Thistle could already see it recovering.
He dearly hoped these monsters were so strong solely because of Kalzidar’s extra power; otherwise, the evil god’s servants were more dangerous than Thistle had realized. It seemed unlikely that they’d be this resistant to divine magic under normal circumstances, so it was probably the boost, not that this notion made things any easier on Thistle in the moment.
An unexpected upside to the attack was that he’d managed to ensnare the plantoid’s attention, meaning that Gabrielle wasn’t flanked just yet. That wouldn’t last if he couldn’t prove himself to be a credible threat, however. Thistle whirled the dagger in his hand as he and the plantoid circled one another, each trying to decide what the optimal strategy was. For Thistle, it was really a matter of figuring out which tactics would make him seem like an attention-worthy danger without getting batted around the battlefield. On top of everything else, that plantoid strength was nothing to joke about.