12-78. A Big Mistake
“I can’t!” shouted Miguel in frustration. He took a deep breath, realizing he’d overstepped. Before she could say anything, he looked at Hope before saying, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell. I just…I just can’t afford to abandon the grove. Not with Elijah gone.”
He clenched his fists as he gazed across the strait. Ironshore’s walls held – so far. According to the reports he’d been given, the infiltrators had either fled or been killed, though the damage they’d managed to inflict had been extensive. Hundreds had been killed, but even more troubling, the city’s food supply had been poisoned. Even Davika’s farms had been attacked, with the saboteurs using some alchemical concoction to foul the fields. It was reversible, but rejuvenating the earth would take months they did not have.
Thankfully, a few gardens inside the city had survived, and Davika had turned her expertise to ensuring that they flourished. They could also fish for food, but trying to feed an entire city of Ironshore’s size through fishing alone was a dicey proposition. To alleviate the impending starvation, Nara had provided what the grove could afford to give, but she had so far refused to take further action.
After all, even if Ironshore was their closest ally, her first priority was to the Hartwood Grove. So long as the enemy made a conscious effort to avoid the island, Nara refused to do anything more, lest she incite their anger.
Miguel felt something similar, though the biggest reason he wasn’t on the walls was because of how keenly aware he was of the grove’s lacking defenses. Sure, they had Kurik’s traps. And the crab cavalry. But the former wouldn’t last past the first few sorties, and the latter would be slain by anyone with a few levels and a little cultivation.
Miguel wasn’t the only line of defense, but he might as well have been.
Which was the source of his frustration. With Elijah stranded in the Primal Realm, the grove was vulnerable. It was a grim reminder of how much he’d ignored his primary responsibility. While he’d been fighting through the Red Marsh and training with the illythiri, he should have been raising grove defenders.
That was the entire purpose of his class, after all.
Hope intertwined her fingers with his and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as they watched the city across the strait. It looked so peaceful. Like a normal city. But soon enough, another attack would come. Violence would break out, and lives would be forfeit. The other side would suffer more than the defenders. Such was the benefit of defense, where they had the walls and Kurik’s traps to take the bite out of any attack.
That force could absorb those losses, though – primarily because a good portion of any oncoming waves would be comprised of unthinking undead. Horrific under any circumstances, but even worse when some of those creatures had once been allies. The Heaven’s Bastion’s necromancers had a habit of gathering the fallen and reanimating them, as much because of the psychological toll as to replenish their numbers.
To date, the walls had yet to be breached, but Miguel knew it was only a matter of time. Then, they would feel the true cost of the siege. No one could delude themselves into believing it would be anything but devastating.
“Did your mom change her mind?” Hope asked.
Miguel shook his head, but he didn’t give voice to the answer. Unlike most of the grove members’ families, she had outright refused to take the offered refuge. So had Ron, who’d bluntly told both Miguel and Hope that his place was in his clinic where he could help the injured.
Even Biggle had chosen to help with the city’s defense, constantly brewing potions that were particularly damaging to undead flesh. The defenders had turned them into bombs. But as effective a weapon as they’d proven to be, Biggle could only produce so much of the concoction. And he was quickly running out of ingredients, even with the grove’s assistance.
Thankfully, Rosabella and the crab cavalry hadn’t needed any convincing to stay on the island. The gnomish girl had told him, in no uncertain terms, that her place was in the grove and she intended to stand her post. Unfortunately, that meant constant patrols, which she’d organized herself. If Miguel hadn’t forced her to take breaks, she would have fallen asleep on the curious saddle they’d had made for Clackle. The other Hartwood Sentries had taken her lead.
The rest of the grove was hard at work doing what they could to assist the city through nonviolent means. They were mostly Tradesmen, so that meant pumping out as many goods as they could manage. Standing between them and that mission was Nerthus, who’d outright refused to let them strip the island bare. Instead, he’d designated specific locations they could harvest for materials. If they used it all, then that was it.
No one dared go against Nerthus’ wishes. He was a peaceful spryggent, but that would change if someone threatened the grove.
Miguel was about to say as much, but his words died in his throat. “Get to the grove and gather the others,” he ordered dispassionately. His tone did not convey the heartpounding terror in his heart. “Shelter Plan Delta.”
“Is it that bad?”
“Yes. Go. Now.”
Hope knew better than to dally, and she took off at a sprint through the woods. He sensed her for a few dozen feet before her presence faded into the background. He still knew she was there, but like everything else on the island, it was a little blurry. Even that was probably more than most people could expect – at least inasmuch as they weren’t the master of a grove.
But as limited as those senses were, they were enough to inform him that someone had come to the island. Or rather, just offshore. Judging by the speed of their craft, it wouldn’t be long before they reached Kurik’s traps. However, it was probably too much to hope that they would be stopped.
Because Miguel could feel that each of the invaders – thirty of them – were close to peak ascendency. And with most of the other grove’s combatants in Ironshore, Miguel and the Hartwood Sentries were all that stood between them and the fall of the grove.
With that in mind, Miguel raced across the island, thankful that he’d taken the time to don his new armor. When he reached the other end of the island a few minutes later, he caught sight of the invaders.
Three boats. Ten fighters each. Currently, they were stranded a couple hundred yards off shore as they grappled with Kurik’s traps. In this case, the dwarf’s living contraptions took the form of what he referred to as the kelp kraken. It wasn’t actually a sentient creature, but instead took its name from the plethora of seaweed tentacles meant to bind enemies.
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Even from so far away, Miguel could tell that the traps would be insufficient to completely deter the invaders, most of which were dwarves or gnomes. However, there were a couple of elves and humans among them. A few sported wounds, but each boat was obviously equipped with a Healer.
“They’re going to punch through,” Miguel said.
Nerthus, who’d grown from a nearby root, responded, “It appears so. I have already contacted the grove members in Ironshore, though they may not be able to respond.”
Miguel didn’t need to hear why that might be the case. He could hear the explosions in the distance that announced another ongoing attack on the city. If he knew the people of the grove, they would be on the front lines, completely ignorant of the fact that their home was under attack.
“Delaying tactics, then. Tell the crab cavalry to attack from below. No extended engagements. Use their superior mobility to strike hard and fast, then retreat,” Miguel said just as Trevor broke free of the tree line to join them.
“And me?”
“When they make it past the beach, make them fight for every step they take inland. Do not engage directly,” Miguel repeated. “We just need to keep them occupied until Kurik and Oscar can get here.”
Those were the grove’s heavy hitters, and they would come the second they knew the island was in danger. But until then, Miguel’s mission was one of delay. Thankfully, they’d prepared for this eventuality, and the non-combat members of the grove were already being shepherded into one of the caves, which had long since been expanded into a shelter. Down there, they couldn’t survive indefinitely, but it was a defensible position guarded by dozens of traps.
If the invaders made it that far, perhaps that would be enough to dissuade them from going further. After all, what good was it to kill a few non-combatants when the riches of the grove had been laid bare?
Miguel clenched his fists at the idea of anyone looting the island, but he pushed his rage aside. Fighting angry was a good way to make mistakes. He needed to be cold. Calculated. He needed to be a true warrior.
Without further hesitation, he mounted Trevor, engaged his buffs, and set off across the surf to engage the enemy.
* * *
Marus hacked through a twisted braid of slimy seaweed, finally severing the attacking tendril. It was more durable than high-grade rope and moved like it had a mind of its own. He knew it was no more sentient than any other enchanted item, but when it was trying to strangle the life out of him, it was more than difficult to care about that sort of thing.
What made it even more annoying was that mobile seaweed had ruined their approach, which was supposed to have been cloaked in stealth. If everything had gone according to plan, they would have landed, taken a few valuable treasures, then gotten out before anyone knew what had happened.
Clearly, that had not happened.
“Cornelius ain’t gonna be happy,” growled his second-in-command. Brifik was an uncomplicated dwarf. All he cared about was fighting and tangling his fingers in a woman’s beard. He didn’t even mind if it was long and coarse, the heathen. Regardless of his questionable standards, Brifik’s every decision came in pursuit of those two goals. Working for the Green Mountain Mining Guild – albeit as a contractor – helped with both.
Sure, fraternization between members was prohibited, on pain of punishment from Cornelius himself. But nothing attracted a dwarven woman like wealth, and it was a well-paying job.
In any event, even Brifik was uncharacteristically angry about having to fight the kelp. But he perked up when he saw a new arrival.
“Seems the welcome wagon’s rollin’ out,” he said, ripping a particularly dense strand of kelp apart with his bare hands. He slammed his knuckles together in preparation. “It’s ‘bout damn time.”
For his part, Marus wasn’t so eager to confront the charging pair. He could recognize a full-grown lunar deer when he saw one, which was bad enough. What made it even worse that there was a man riding on the prideful creature’s back.
“Shields!” he shouted.
The mage – Forta – cast a spell, and a bubble of green ethera enveloped the small boat. The mages on the other two boats echoed Forta’s cast, and it was just in time. A beam of moonlight erupted from between the deer’s antlers, slamming into the shield only a second after it had formed.
“Ranged counterattack!”
Arrows and spells filled the air, passing through the shield without issue. However, they failed to find their target, who’d leaped dozens of feet into the air. The stag remained at that altitude, running on glittering footsteps of moonlight.
The rider leaped free.
For a moment, he seemed to hang in the air, which gave Marus a moment to take in the details of his appearance. His face was youthful, suggesting that he was perhaps one of the elves who’d reportedly joined the grove. He was slightly stockier than that race, though that could have been chalked up to his curious armor, which was made of lacquered wood densely engraved with golden runes.
But the most curious piece of his equipment was his sword. Single-edged and slightly curved, it had a clipped tip and a simple round handguard. The hilt was large enough to wield with two hands, but Marus was familiar enough with sword design to know that it could be used single-handed as well.
What made it odd was that it, like the armor, was made of wood. In the blade’s case, it was not lacquered. Instead, it was dull grey, not unlike iron, though it featured an unmistakable woodgrain. The edge gleamed with some sort of resin, and the entire weapon practically glowed in Marus’ senses.
A true treasure, especially on a newly integrated planet like Earth.
Marus didn’t have time appreciate it, because a second later, the attacker slammed into the shield, blade-first. He’d expected the man to carom off and end up in the water, but when he brought his blade down, the shield shattered. The impact sent a shockwave racing across the surface of the ocean, creating tall waves that nearly capsized the other boats.
Even as the man back-flipped into the ocean, the stag reached them. It didn’t pepper them with moonlight like his species was known to do. Instead, the beast rammed the Warrior stationed at the prow, impaling him on its sharp, crystalline horns.
Then, Marus felt his Scoundrel’s Instinct prickle his senses.
He dove forward just in time to avoid having his head separated from his shoulders. He rolled, finding his feet and facing the wood-clad man. How he’d managed to climb aboard the boat undetected was anyone’s guess.
Brifik rushed the man, but ended up with a sword in his gut. He pounded ineffectually against the grove protector’s armor, but it did no good. The unnamed man wrenched his weapon free, kicking the stocky dwarf aside.
For a second, Marus expected the man to make some sort of comment, but he remained silent. Disciplined. He would not be distracted.
Which was why he never saw the Ethereal Bolt coming from one of the other boats until it was right on top of him. He reacted in time to raise his arm, and he received a few burns for his trouble. But more importantly, that was the distraction Marus had been waiting on.
He used Rapid Concealment, then Scoundrel’s Luck. Finally, he embraced Dirty Tricks, ready to end the fight in one go. He shot forward, his feet silent as he avoided the man’s searching gaze. Then, he took aim with his Wicked Dagger and stabbed – right into the man’s kidney.
The blade bit deep, imparting a host of status effects upon Marus’ victim. But a second later, the man jerked away with such force that the dagger ripped free of Marus’ hand. Blood splattered against the deck of the wooden boat as the grove protector brought his blade around.
Marus narrowly ducked the intended attack, then dove across the deck to the safety of his people. They’d scared the stag off, which meant that the man was facing nine-to-one odds.
He reached back, feeling the wound. Then, the man finally spoke. “It’s not too late to turn back. Leave now, and you may survive. Set foot on that island, and every last one of you will die.”
Marus stared at the man, shocked by his audacity. He was dying – no one survived the combination of abilities he’d just used – and he had the temerity to threaten them. “You’re in no position to –”
“I wasn’t finished,” he spat, raising his sword and aiming it at Marus. “Not only will you die, but you will make an enemy of the Hartwood Grove. I will make it my personal mission to destroy you, your families, and your employers. Make your choice.”
Then, he leaped high into the air. The stag raced to intercept, and the man landed on the creature’s back. Together, the two sped off across the surface of the ocean and back to the island.
“You hit him, right boss?” asked one of the others.
“I did.”
“Then why ain’t he dead?”
“I don’t know,” Marus admitted.
Then, before he could say more, something huge hit the bottom of the boat. He got a glimpse of the claws of some sort of crustacean a second before the boat capsized.