B2 – Chapter 32: The battle on the docks

Tristan went inside the building with the Pathfinders allied to the Flors. Well, he thought, looks like I’ve made my choice of which side I’m going to be supporting. He looked around the room and saw that the chairs and tables had been put to use barricading the handful of windows, and near the front doors he just came through. The Pathfinders quickly put the barricades back in place.

Obadai was sitting on a chair in the center of the room, “We’ve got a group of hostile Pathfinders somewhere out there-”

“They are almost here,” Tristan replied.

“Shit. And another forty. That makes fifty.”

William raised his hand, “Don’t worry about the other Pathfinders. Us fighting each other happens sometimes!”

There were murmurs of assent through the group, and once more Tristan was struck by the fact that this organization he thought was devoted to the pursuit of righteous and just causes were effectively mercenaries with a world-spanning network of support. Pushing the thought aside, he glanced out one of the slits in the barricaded window. “We have thirty outside. They are keeping a distance.”

Felicity came flapping down the stairs in the back of the room and landed next to Tristan atop a turned over table leg. “The upstairs windows are open for shooting out if needed.”

“I’d rather negotiate. We’ve got their leader, and twenty of them captive.” Tristan went to the stairs and ascended, heading to the open window. Glancing down, but staying inside the structure as to not present a target for archers, he yelled out. “Hey! We have twenty of yours including the lieutenant captive. Not to mention we have an Archon with us.”

“You’re not the only essence-weavers!” one of the Pathfinders shouted. She began chanting in Beast Speech, and a flame appeared in her hands.

That’s not good! Tristan ran downstairs, “They are going to light the place on fire!”

The Archon let out a barking laugh, “If I had enough essence…” he glanced around, “The barriers are still at full strength, except yours, Tristan.”

“How can you tell?” one of the allied Pathfinders asked.

“How thick they are,” Obadai replied. “I am afraid I only have enough essence to get myself to safety. I’ll teleport myself to our anchored vessel and have them come close enough to provide ranged support.”

“And save your own skin,” Felicity replied with a dour expression.

Obadai nodded, “I never said I’d die for you, Tristan. Just that we would travel together, and I’d do my best to teach you. Take the port, capture or kill the soldiers as you see fit.” The Archon vanished with a glimmer of gold.

Tristan turned to the Pathfinders, “Make sure the prisoners are secure. We are going to-” he was cut off as the room got incredibly hot, and he heard the crackling of wood. “Scratch that. Get them up! We use them as human shields.” Tristan grabbed the sergeant who had first accosted them on the docks, hauled him up, and put his maul away to swap to the dagger. He held the dagger against the man’s neck and gripped his arms that were tied behind his back.

Kicking open the front door, Tristan was met with shouts of anger, and a few arrows were loosed at him – but found the man he was holding instead. Sliding to the left of the building, he saw the flames flickering above him out from under the eaves of the building. In the distant harbor, he could see the ship begin to raise anchor and knew that support fire would be coming soon enough to hammer the soldiers and hostile Pathfinders from behind. The crackling of the now-alight building behind and above them was prominent, as was the essence-weaver who had lit the building aflame.

He kept sidling sideways as more arrows thudded into his human shield, and the man went slack in his hands. Sorry, Tristan thought, as he did not intend to kill people while on this side quest. But, it is a war, and I’ve picked my side, apparently. He saw the allied Pathfinders coming out of the building with their own human shields, and they spread out in an arc.

A few scattered arrows came into the scene, but the few shots stopped as the two groups squared off. Ten Pathfinders with their human shields, versus fifty total enemy combatants with archer support. Felicity flew out of the building – still invisible – and over to some distant rooftops as she began to do her grisly work of blinding the archers with savage claws. The screams of pain and cursing caused several of the soldiers and hostile Pathfinders to look back.

Now! Tristan charged forward with a shout, dropping the corpse he had been holding as he drew his long, thin sword. I still have a little bit of essence, he thought as he mulled over pushing it into the sword to make it deadlier and increase the reach. But, ultimately, he decided against it. No, I need the armor to be fully active.

The Pathfinders on his side took the cue and charged forth as well, shouting battle cries. Tristan made a beeline for the essence weaver; a Demihuman who took after a fox. She had a dagger in one hand, and the other was flickering with flames that she launched at him. Tristan let the attack hit, and the barrier around him thinned out slightly; as if it was a candle whose wax was slowly melting away.

The woman raised her dagger to deflect an incoming blow, but another Pathfinder got in front of her to engage Tristan. He stabbed forward, which the man deflected, but Tristan’s forward momentum brought him into close range, and he stabbed his foe in the gut; lifting him up slightly as he kept pushing forward. He bowled into the essence-weaver and shoved the man he had stabbed on top of her – both went sprawling to the ground.

Tristan could not capitalize on the opening, however, as the soldiers closed in around him, surrounding him and probing him with attacks – each one slowly draining away the barrier. Rapidly sheathing the dagger, he whispered the spell phrase for Command and used his now-free hand to make the gesture of moving his index and middle fingers to his lips, then moved them down to his throat. “Lukekaa sanat huuliltani ja noudattakaa käskyjäni niin kuin parhaiten osaatte.” (Read the words upon my lips, and obey my orders as you are best able).

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Obadai’s barrier became even thinner, but Tristan finished the spell and shouted out, “Kneel!” He felt incredibly weakened, and he had to stop fueling his armor with his essence as he was almost tapped dry.

The spell did its job, and every hostile combatant kneeled down – that brief instant was all it took. His allied Pathfinders slaughtered thirty troops in a few seconds, and Tristan swapped to his maul as he elected to try and take prisoners by breaking limbs. Plus, the weight of the maul meant that he could let momentum do some of the heavy lifting.

That five seconds felt like an eternity as he lifted and brought the hammer down on shoulders and knees. Screams of pain kept echoing out, and the gurgling of men choking on their vital fluids filled the air. Tristan saw the remaining soldiers shake off the effects of the Command spell as they took up arms once more.

His hands were sore, his breath coming to him in short gasps, as three men approached him. But three became two, as one of them was flung past him and went crumpling into the ground in a heap. A huge, ballistae bolt was sticking out of him. A human skewer.