025 – Backdoor

***

I relaxed in the sunshine at the end of the pier. Nimblesto the goblin fished in the river next to me using a string on a bamboo pole. A straw hat kept the sun from my eyes. Nothing to do and no worries. A lazy day.

I didn’t even bother to spend my free time cycling mana or practicing projection or any other nonsense like that. The mana flowed slowly and naturally. In a way, half-napping the day away worked almost as well as a serious session of meditation. The chirping birds and bubbling water didn’t distract me at all. The breeze gently shook the treetops.

Since awakening at the old power station, my spiritual senses had improved. Not only could I sense the mana within me, the essences flowing around me felt brighter and clearer as well. This valley had a richer supply of mana than Sandgrave, and it grew stronger closer to the citadel. Magi exploring the continent could zero in on sites like this one if they came within several kilometers, and so could monsters.

Nimblesto yanked a fish from out of the water. It fell flopping on the pier. I cocked the brim of my hat as he snatched up the fish and bit into raw. He munched away until nothing was left but a head and some bones.

“You goblins don’t actually steal human babies, do you?”

“Mmm. Baby delicious. Meat soft, juice, fat. Baby water mouth.”

“I’m sorry I asked.”

“Ack! Humans come river,” he hissed.

“So they’re finally here? You better make yourself scarce.”

Nimblesto zipped down the pier and vanished into the weeds. I knew the redcapped goblin wouldn’t flee the area completely. He wanted to see the group of humans for himself. Then he could report back to the rest of his tribe members who had already scattered into the hills.

In the distance, the Obelisk’s tender boats rowed up the river. I removed my hat and tied my minion mask into place. Vacation was over.

“There he is!” one of the minions shouted. I waved in response.

The three disciples rowed their boat toward the pier while Fightmaster Putrizio worked the rudder. He did not look pleased.

“Where have you been, disciple?”

“Lost, fightmaster. After becoming separated from the others, I became disoriented and confused about which direction was which.”

“How exactly does one get disoriented when standing next to river?”

“I forgot whether the water flowed to the sea or from it. My initial guess proved to be incorrect.”

“It seems I overestimated the improvements to your intelligence, Strythe. Only a fool would go off by himself into the wastelands. From now on, you are to stick close to your fellow students. I will assign you a fitting punishment at the end of this mission for your truancy.”

“Yes, fightmaster.”

I started rowing with the others. My vanishing act had made Zambulon look bad for his poorly planned venture into the woods at night, and Putrizio looked bad for not keeping better track of his students. Both of them simmered with anger. It would be best to keep quiet and let things cool down a little. Maybe by the end of the mission, my escapade would be partly forgotten.

“Did you find any goblins, Strythe?” Hwilla asked me.

I winced. Talking about goblins was salt in the wound.

“I discovered traces of them only. They appear to be semi-nomadic tribe, moving about the valley sporadically to avoid larger monsters such as the trolls.”

“Really? Usually goblins keep their females in a central nest. Wiping it out gets rid of the rest.”

“Ha ha. That may be. I know little about goblin reproduction,” I said.

Her attempt at small talk was ruining my efforts to help the goblin tribe, and it was getting the others annoyed with me.

“Enough about goblins,” Putrizio snapped. “We’ve wasted too much thinking about those vermin already. Greater challenges await us at the Ancients’ citadel.”

***

From down in the Spitpoison River, we could easily see the citadel from many kilometers away. Bands of mist rolled over the mountain and streamed past the ominous black spike at its peak. A lone devil-bird circled the skies above. Only one or two of the flying monsters roosted at the citadel at a time; the rest took weeks long flights hunting across the countryside. If they all returned at once, a score of devil-birds would perch on the rooftop.

We stopped rowing a distance from the citadel. The edge of the river became indistinct at a swampy region just under the mountain, the water bled out into muddy rivulets and stagnant pools. It had no solid ground to land the boats on. So we brought our watercraft ashore a few kilometers off and pulled them under a stand of large trees to stay hidden from the devil-birds.

A few of the minions stayed behind to guard the boats. The rest of the group got ready to hike up the mountain. The Faceless had to lug up the slopes heavy chests, packs, and barrels.

“I knew you’d be waiting for us on that dock.” Malisent hiked alongside me.

“How is that?”

“I thought to myself: what would a softheaded, softhearted fool do when told to exterminate some goblins? The answer was clear. You’d try to shoo the little pests away instead.”

“We wouldn’t have escaped without one of those pests helping us. The least we could do is leave them alone.”

“And do you think goblins will remember your help?”

“Doesn’t matter to me. I don’t expect any reward for doing the right thing.”

“Here. Take this.” Malisent handed me a sword. “Use it to practice your projection.”

“Is this the Peerless Rake’s sword?” The ornate hilt had been replaced with one more modest. The jewels and tassels were gone, but the magic blade was the same. “You’re giving it to me?”

“I’m lending it to you. Practice projecting with both a normal sword to increase strength and this one to work on fine control. Alternating the two will hasten your training.”

“You don’t want it?”

“A delicate blade like that is not to my taste.”

Compared to my other sword when fighting that the glue crab, this blade practically pulled the energy from my hand. I sent a tendril of fire to the tip and held it there with almost no effort at all. Even a beginner like me could use it effectively.

“I know you won’t forget this little favor, Strythe, since you’re so conscientious.” Malisent gave me an evil smile and then marched to the head of the procession.

That woman was worse than any monster. Goblins just wanted to steal shiny things and eat babies. I could understand that. What things Malisent had in store for me was anybody’s guess.

The group reached the top of the mountain. Out in the open and exposed to attacks from above, we sprinted for the nearest entrance to the citadel. The three witches ran in first to destroy any possible resistance. I labored under a heavy wicker basket that contained part of the group’s rations.

The group hustled inside a steep-roofed structure at the base of the citadel. The remanants of a mergestone road lead into a wide opening. Finger-sized stalactites had formed on the top of the open portal, nowhere near as impressive as those that form in limestone caverns but still hinting at the building’s extreme age. The sub building was cavernous. It must have been a vehicle bay or hangar originally. The entire group, over fifty people, easily fit inside with plenty of room to spare. The minions marveled at the massive support columns and buttresses; they could not imagine how such a place could come to be except through miracles.

“Gather round, Phantoms,” Gritha said. “We will first locate a defensible location to set up a base camp and stash our supplies. From there we will launch a coordinated raid on the trolls. Because we must attack from multiple points simultaneously, the group will divide up into separate teams of minions, each headed by a swordsmen. The teams will drive the enemy back to the central chamber and trap them there. Remember, our goal is to enslave these monsters, not slaughter them. Pressure them into retreat and take captives when possible. Once their forces are trapped, we will starve them for a few days to break their spirits. After that, they’ll be more pliable.

“Besides that, you are all forbidden from entering the labyrinth below the citadel. The great guardian is too powerful for our group to face.”

The three witches went ahead to find us a place to store our supplies. Putrizio the fightmaster divided the Faceless into units of seven.

“Strythe, due to your forgetfulness and lack of bearings, you will follow Zambulon instead of leading your own unit. Make certain not to wander off on your own.”

The minions donned mail shirts. They armed themselves with spears and shields. Although novices trained primarily with swords, they also learned to use a variety of other weapons. All the Faceless started as novices, but some lost their sparks before enkindling them. These older cult members would never become magical swordsmen, but after years of serious training, they were still the equivalent of elite soldiers. They only looked weak in comparison to the witches. The group of Faceless had the ability to secure the citadel by themselves now that Browsk the Mighty was not around to lead the trolls.

One of the troops strapped an odd contraption to his back.

“What is this thing?” I asked.

“It’s a crossbow,” Zambulon replied flatly. After the embarrassment I caused him earlier, he had little patience for my ignorance.

I examined the machine, and its purpose was not immediately apparent. Then I drew forth a small stick from a container. It looked like a miniature spear, but with feathers at the butt of the shaft. These feathers were too small to provide any lift and looked more like the stabilizer fins at the base of a rocket. It was meant to fly. Now I saw that the crossbow machine was meant to launch these micro-spears through the air.

“Let’s see it in action. Come on. A demonstration.”

The novice obliged me. He used a separate crank to bend back two flexible steel arms and a corded string between them. Once the string was locked in place, he put a micro-spear in a long groove. Activating a large trigger released the string, violently snapped the arms back to their original positions, and shot the pointy stick down the groove and across the chamber. It whizzed through the air and ricocheted off a wall.

“Ingenious! All that from just mechanical energy,” I said.

It may have been a weapon used to maim and kill, but I couldn’t help but admire a nice piece of machinery. It was clearly not a prototype. Countless iterations and improvements resulted in this sophisticated design.

“If we have these micro-spear launchers, why bother fighting hand to hand? We should just shoot at things from a safe distance,” I asked Zambulon.

“Besides the fact it reeks of cowardice, a crossbow must be reloaded. While you stood their cranking your bow, your enemies with spears would rush forward to run you through. Crossbows are there to assist the other troops, not replace them.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

These modern people really had this fighting stuff figured out. I suppose they had spent thousands of years perfecting the arts of stabbing. And in that time they came up with clever devices like this crossbow machine.

The three witches returned to the group after finding a suitable sub-building on the citadel’s southern face. They seemed to get along better than when I first met them, and they did not bicker in front of the Faceless. However, I knew that Malisent and Veylien only suppressed their hatred for one another. They had not made peace or resolved their mutual animosity. Should something go wrong on this mission and tempers rise, they would revert to threatening one another with violence.

We claimed a sub-building as our temporary base of operations. It was an open hall, empty and relatively clean since no beasts used it for a lair. I recognized this sub-building as the one Nimblesto and I had lowered ourselves to when escaping the abode of the troll chief. That let me get my bearings as to where we were.

The group had a simple meal of hard bread and cold broth to fortify their strength. Then the units dispersed into the winding corridors of the citadel. Veylien and Malisent took opposite paths on a promenade. Gritha entered a utility tunnel leading toward the central silo. One unit of minions, without a swordsmen to lead them, guarded the supplies. Zambulon considered what to do.

“Excuse me, senior disciple.”

“Gods. What is it now, Strythe?”

“I was a part of the previous mission, so I came through this building once before. I have a good idea of where we are and the layout of the citadel.”

“You expect me to trust your memory and sense of direction?”

“I explored this place after my accident, so those memories are intact. I can tell you that just above us is the former abode of the troll chieftain. Also there may still be a long rope dangling from his quarters down to the rooftop of this sub-building. I used it as an exit before. It may serve as way inside now.”

“Is it defended?”

“Unknown. But if not, it would be a quick way to bypass the trolls’ guarded fortifications and gates.”

“Hmm. It’s likely that the new troll leader would seize the former’s possessions. Defeating the leader with a rapid strike would send the rest of the trolls into a state of chaos. Your brain is defective, Strythe, but we should at least examine this as a potential breach in the trolls’ defenses.”

Zambulon resented me for my previous misadventure, but he also wanted to score a notable victory. He hungered for a chance to impress the cult’s officers and join their ranks as a named swordsman. Zambulon sent one minion up on the roof to check on my rope. It was still in place and firmly attached to the iron bars in the jail cell window. Discarded weapons littered the rooftop.

“Strythe, I accept your offer to be the first one up the rope. You are a brave volunteer.”

“I don’t recall volunteering for that.”

“But your memory is unreliable. I assure you that you did so.”

“Uh. It turns out I’ve also forgotten how to climb a rope. And use my thumbs.”

“Too late for that. First or last, we’re all scaling this wall. You might as well get it over with.”

“Yes, senior disciple.”

The minions held the bottom of the rope for me. I braced my feet against the wall and started the ascent. Since my last trip down this wall, my inner fire had improved Strythe’s physique. I had no augmentation techniques, but all swordsmen developed some degree of superhuman prowess: denser muscles, better reflexes, superior eyesight and hearing, improved endurance. Even weighed down with a jingling metal shirt, a satchel of equipment, and two swords, I could climb the rope as quickly as the old Ariman could climb a set of stairs.

At the top of the rope, I hopped onto the narrow ledge and peeked in the window to the jail. It held no prisoners.

Down on the rooftop, Zambulon made a number of wild hand gestures in my direction. He made a fist, raised three fingers, swirled them in a clockwise semi-circle, then smashed his hands together. These signs meant nothing to me. I shook my head.

“I have no idea what any of that is supposed to mean…”

Apparently Strythe had not fully internalized these secret hand codes, so I did not understand them as well as a spoken language.

Zambulon pumped his fist twice, spread his fingers wide, then touched his ear. I raised my palms upward and shrugged with my shoulders. He exhaled and slapped the palm of his right hand against his forehead. That gesture I understood. I gave a thumbs up, indicating all was well on my end of the rope, and hoped that hand sign was still in current usage.

With no way to know what the senior disciple wanted to communicate, I decided to creep around the corner and look into the main room of the suite to see if the path was clear.

Not much had changed since Browsk the Mighty occupied this place. His collection of human weapons was tossed out, but his hanging animal hides and rough furnishings had not changed. It looked as if four troll raiders and three female trolls had moved in. The raiders had on rusty helmets. The females ate gruel out of the large cauldron, but had not yet ballooned to the size of Browsk’s unfortunate mates. Perhaps these females were also being fattened up for a weird ritual sacrifice.

Seven trolls were not too many. Our group could easily overpower them.

I shuffled back to the corner. Below me, Zambulon scaled the side of the citadel. I hadn’t been much of a scout, but I hadn’t died either, which proved it was relatively safe. He came up to see the situation for himself. I helped him onto the ledge.

“Of course you forgot basic hand signs. It was foolish of me not to have foreseen that,” Zambulon said.

“It’s been a learning experience for all of us,” I said. “Only seven trolls lie within. We outnumber them, but the narrow ledge doesn’t provide much space for our men.”

“No need for the others to come up until the two of us have secured the room. I’ll signal them to wait for us.” Zambulon made more ridiculous gestures to communicate with the minions down on the the lower roof.

The two disciples would raid the suite. We crept sideways along the narrow ledge. The trolls inside were blissfully unaware that two murderous swordsmen were just outside their home. As we moved toward the balcony, I heard the screech of a gigantic bird and the roar of wind.