The group of monsters lurched forward now that he was unarmed, massive claws clacking in anticipation. Not that they’d need them; with their size they’d likely crush Thistle before he landed a strike.
An explosion of blue light erupted from the center of the group, engulfing all of them and washing a wall of cold over Thistle. When it cleared, each demon was coated in bits of ice, and none of them seemed as mobile or enthusiastic as before. It had been a cold spell, that was obvious, but it made Grumph’s seem like a brush with an ice block.
“Call the daggers,” said a familiar voice to his left. Sierva had appeared, though he had no idea when, and trace amounts of magical light still lingered about her.
“What?”
“Call the daggers. They’re enchanted to return to their sheaths,” she reminded him.
“I don’t know that I can do the whistle from memory,” Thistle admitted.
“The whistle was my signal. Just call them how you please. The magic will understand.”
A sharp sound rang out as the ice began cracking away, and the demons resumed their movements. Not having the luxury of time to doubt, Thistle did as he was told.
“Here, boys!”
Sure enough, the blades vanished from the demon’s hide and reappeared instantly in the sheaths at his side. This was a feature he could grow accustomed to. Thistle glanced back at his fellow competitor and noticed she was breathing hard.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got a plan?”
“Hold them off until I can cast again,” she answered. “Spells like that still take a good bit out of me.”
“Aye,” Thistle replied. There was nothing more to be said. This was his duty, after all.
His dagger flew with unexpected precision, this time, taking the demon right in the center of its horrid throat. There was no death gurgle, for the blade had severed all the bits used to make sound. Instead, the beast merely flopped to the ground and shuddered uselessly as its blood muddied the dust around them.
Thistle whispered a few words under his breath and the first dagger was back in its sheath by the time the second took another demon in the stomach. Between the effects of the cold spell and the corpse of their friend, the remaining creatures were showing caution toward the gnome and the elf. It wouldn’t last forever, but at that moment, it was enough.
13.
The counterattack began with the adventurers, to the surprise of exactly no one who knew anything about them. The guards would have to make choices with the knowledge that their first job was defending the citizens of Appleram. Adventurers, however, were under no such moral obligations, and rushed into battle with the sort of enthusiasm one only finds in idiots, champions, and the unapologetically suicidal.
With a roar of excitement, they crossed the arena, arriving in time to lend Thistle and Sierva some much-needed support. Now, faced with targets that had to move in close to attack, the demons shifted their attention to this new prey, chopping and slicing with hellish glee. For a bit, it seemed like the beasts were hopelessly outnumbered and outmatched, the adventurers felling a second of the four in mere moments.
That was when the others arrived. From the stands burst four more of the large-clawed demons and nearly countless unfamiliar monsters scuttling along the ground. These low-slung, red-shelled creatures had eight legs, a nasty set of mandibles near the mouth, and three-foot-long tails with spear-like tips that nearly doubled their length. Unlike the clawed demons, these scuttlers drew less initial attention, moving beneath the feet of the adventurers and striking intermittently. Less than five minutes after the wave of scuttler demons emerged, the adventurers’ coordinated attack dissolved into a chaos of hacking, slashing, and stabbing amidst attacks from the ground coupled with the giant demons tearing through flesh. They continued to press on, injuring and eventually bringing down another clawed demon.
Without warning, four of the remaining large demons leapt into the air, landing on various sides of the mob and splitting the focus from a single melee to a multi-pronged attack. Had they not been ready for it, the adventurers might have taken too long to regroup, eventually costing them their lives. Thanks to Gabrielle and Grumph, though, they whirled on their attackers’ new positions, circling around the demons to split their attention. Bodies still fell at a faster rate than anyone wanted to see, but those left standing were bloodying the beasts right back.
A slight rumble was the only warning anyone received before the ground exploded upward, showering the arena in dirt, and hurling people and demons alike in various directions. From the gaping hole now at the center of the battle emerged a massive head that looked as though someone had merged a snake and a Minotaur, resulting in a reptilian, horned monstrosity. Dozens of thick, insect-like arms waved in the air from all sides of its armored body, each long enough to spear a human from twenty feet away and fling them to its waiting maw. This was a fact everyone learned firsthand as one unfortunate soul landed too close to it.
With that, all hope of strategy was gone, and the world dissolved into blood and chaos.
Grumph landed in a pile with four other humans. Two of the large demons came clattering down moments later, mere steps away from the adventurers. Few things will drive a man up from the ground faster than the prospect of certain death, and soon everyone was on their feet and as alert as if they were waiting for a nymph to walk by. Two of the humans, one wielding a set of small swords and one with a rapier, pressed a demon, while the other two, a pair so similar they might be brothers, attacked the other with axes in their hands. This left Grumph, the odd half-orc out, to determine which group to help.
The axe brothers were engaging their quarry directly, one drawing its attention while the other struck from behind. The rapier and dual-blade wielder were trying a different tactic, dancing out of the demon’s range, and only darting in for quick, shallow strikes. Both styles might keep them alive for a bit, but it would be hard to win with either.
So far, Grumph had cast four of the five spells. He’d learned that they conjured a blast of cold and ice, a small fireball, a glowing weapon that appeared in his hand and reshaped itself as he wished, and a pail of water. The ice would distract and annoy the demons, he’d seen that at the goblin camp, but fire was altogether worthless against anything from a fire-based realm. The weapon he could work with, but that spell took a lot out of him. He probably wouldn’t be able to cast much more if he tried that one.
Then, with a reflexive thrust, one of the demons managed to slash the rapier wielder across the gut, sending the thin man stumbling backwards. With a few whispered words and a quick gesture, Grumph cast his spell.
The pail of water materialized a few feet above the demon’s head, falling immediately and spilling its contents all over the monster. This distracted the demon so much that it was utterly unprepared when the metal pail landed upside down on its head, momentum wedging it in place. Its claws, horrible and deadly though they were, proved little help in yanking the pail free. Granted, with enough time, it surely would have pulled something off, but before it had a chance, Grumph finished casting his second spell.
A mighty clang filled the air as the glowing mallet clutched in Grumph’s meaty palms smashed into the pail and the head contained within. Metal bent inward with the blow, denting the pail and securing it to the monster’s head. With a few more blows and help from the dual-wielder, the demon was soon finished off, a slick slurry of blood dripping down from the still-stuck pail on what had once been a whole head.