Icarus Awakens

The split in the mountain brought back terrible memories for Tlara and Lograve. One still carried the scars from what had happened. The other just scowled, begrudgingly forced to take part in such a battle again and risk her beasts. They were more potent than the single level one ringcat she’d walked with here before, but they’d still die just as easily if the dragon got its claws on them.

By now, it was clear the dragon wasn’t near the lake. That was the best case scenario, but didn’t mean they were free. They had many people to help cross the bridge, and it would return as soon as it sensed mortals in its territory. It was probably on its way already. She wasn’t above fear, and with every step, Tlara considered calling her wyvern to her and making a break for it. She could almost see the sky beyond the bowl-shaped depression in the mountain. Freedom. Minutes away at most. She could do it. Unfortunately, she could also be shot down.

That’s what they were here for. All the people around her were ready to knock a level six out of the sky. They’d tear through her wyvern and then her in seconds. She hated knowing that just like she hated the lingering warmth from the ability she’d been hit with. Who the fuck does she think she is?

No. Tlara clenched her jaw. No, she was stuck with this insane plan. If it were her in charge and they’d gotten this far, she’d just have everyone rush through and see who made it out. Despite its prowess, the dragon couldn’t kill everyone, and wasn’t it better to sacrifice the weak so the strong could survive? Something had those in the upper wings of this plan worried, she knew. They hadn’t told her. Why would they?

So, she’d fight. Her tools would, rather, and she’d direct them. The wyvern she had out and Spi-, Urgh!, the silk shocker were the best she could do. She hadn’t had the chance to grab anything else after what she very reluctantly called her mistake. People had gotten hurt, and it was technically her fault, so she supposed that was fair. Annoying to be restricted to the village after the incident, but fair. Tlara didn’t fashion herself a murderer and didn’t have it out for mortals in general, just the ones that annoyed her.

The people around her were restless as they stepped over the boundary between the approach and the lake itself. Being within the lair carried a different sensation. They were being watched. Tlara took a look around as others began rushing to their places. Not much had changed, if you didn’t count piles of bodies. Monster corpses. The dragon was using this place as a feeding ground. The water of the lake, already contaminated by the dead fish that had been killed two months ago, was tinged with blood and rot from the parts that hadn’t been feasted on. There was a lot of it, so much so that Tlara began to wonder if the dragon was still level six. Had the ‘tactical genius’ of Murdon taken that into account?

“I’m ready. Let’s not give this bastard any more time.” She caught Lograve’s voice and saw the Arcanist standing alone in the center of the first magical bridge section. The man focused for a moment, and then there was a concussive umph in the air centered from him. A mana pulse, evidence of a level four power. The last time she’d felt this was from Kob, and before them, the lightning dragon.

Murdon was quick to organize everyone. “Get to your positions! It could come at any moment. Alost, ready the archers. Crossbowmen are free to select their targets but I encourage the eyes, switching to wings when we begin to focus on one. Flight team, with me. The rest get under shelter. Now!” People stirred with that, running towards Lograve once it was safe to do so.

The Arcanist started his part by locking the bridge section in place with ice, anchoring it to the shore and lake bed. From there he could have converted a good size of the lake’s surface to ice, but instead only manifested a thin sheet out to around twenty meters from where he was. The majority of his focus was on the water he was controlling above him, slowly forming a three story tower with slanted sections coming off the second floor. It would be very cold inside, but it might just protect against a breath attack. In the first moments of the fight, that would be crucial.

“Alright. Get to work,” Tlara instructed her silk shocker, which had already been informed of the plan. She’d have to watch it to make sure it did what it was supposed to since these were somewhat complex orders. As far as her wyvern? Those bastards better not break it.

The initial stage of the mortal’s plan was simple. They needed to nullify the dragon’s flight or they would all die. It was that simple. If this part failed, the dragon could kite them endlessly with its lightning breath and then fly away when it was low on mana. That wouldn’t stop it from returning when the villagers came through when it could claim hundreds of lives by just flying through them.

They needed to stop the dragon from flying which meant destroying its wings. They didn’t need to be severed, just torn enough that the thin membranous material spanning the distance from the bony spines didn’t have enough surface area to produce sufficient lift. That wasn’t how they put it during the strategy meetings but the intent was the same. The wings Daniel had made created a potent opportunity. Their strongest warriors could propel themselves in a vertical charge that would decide the course of the battle. They weren’t the only hope though. An additional three people in their force had some form of flight power, including an avianoid air Totem Warrior who could fully fly despite only having level 2 strength. Then, there was Tlara’s wyvern.

Being used as a glorified wagon, Tlara thought bitterly. Five others would be riding her wyvern up. Those with the Jump ability could leap towards the dragon once it was high enough. As to how they were getting down, the advice was to either hit the water or fall close enough to the tower where an Arcanist with the Slow Fall spell could catch them. She’d complained about the risk to her wyvern and had been offered a spot on it in return.

Instead, she shivered on the second floor of the tower, watching the beast that was not fucking named Spinner spread strands of its webbing across the ice. It was doing a good job, she had to admit. It was weaving some sort of circular pattern that covered the area more efficiently than the simple grid she’d told it to use. Faulty memory and luck, probably, or it was just defaulting to some instinctual pattern.

“Hey, look at Spinner go! Nice we have something like that on our…” the idiotic Martialist that had been on the capture team trailed off as she fixed him in place with a glare. It was his fault that that stupid name was stuck in her head. She didn’t respond though, just kept staring until he left. At least some humans could take a hint.

Glancing out of the narrow window Lograve had formed, she saw ice creeping over where the strands had been completed. Tlara had no idea if this part of the plan would work, but if it did she’d be begrudgingly impressed. At least, she would be if she could remember who had the idea.

Ice crunched above her as weight was applied to it. The roof had been finished and those that would charge the dragon were taking their positions. The timing of this was good, she acknowledged. Still no sight of the dragon, there’d probably be screaming if there was. Not from her. Never from her. Tlara would run from a bad fight but that was just common sense. She’d die before she let fear truly overwhelm her.

“Hey Tlara.”

I swear I’m going to, oh. “What?” she asked with a modicum of venom after realizing it was a different human talking to her.

“Here.” She blinked at the dagger being offered to her.

“The fuck is this?”

She waited impatiently for Daniel to figure out what to say next. “You don’t have a weapon and Khare’s got, uh, I actually don’t know how many they have. I noticed it on the way up.”

“I’m not going to fight that thing myself,” she half-laughed. No one else looked up at that, despite the slightly crowded atmosphere. Everyone who wasn’t part of the initial charge or the archer barrage was taking cover.

“What if you have to?”

“What, and use this to cut my throat and spare the pain?”

“No.” Daniel sighed, but he wasn’t shying away. He was getting too used to her and there wasn’t much room for her to escalate further than the near combat they’d almost gotten into after Kob threw them off a mountain. “It’s just, look. Do you want it?”

Tlara guessed at what the dagger would be worth and snatched it. “That it?” Again, Daniel didn’t answer immediately. She could tell something was on his mind, something he wanted to tell her. But then he looked around, taking notice of the throng they were in, and just turned away. That was fine. She doubted he could tell her anything important anyway.

…

Daniel returned to the first floor of the ice fort where Hunter, Tak, and Khare had made room for themselves. In this part of the fight, Thomas would be standing with Alost and Evalyn would be standing by with the Bards. After that, it all depended on if they could ground the dragon.

“Did she take it?”

“Yeah, but somehow she made me feel like I was doing her a favor.”

“Tlara is fairly grumpy for someone of my kind,” Tak agreed. “Not a good person, I think. Selfish.”

Khare made a creaking noise that wasn’t a distinguishable word. The other gestalt on the floor took notice though. They were all in humanoid form to save space, except those that could tolerate the cold who were clinging to the ceiling.

“I’ll make you another one, don’t worry. I just, she saved Hunter, even if it was against her will, and we had dozens of these things. Now she can’t hold that against me.”

“Hmm.” What do you think? Tak asked, sharing the telepathic message to both Hunter and Daniel. The three-way call was something else he hadn’t fully acclimated to either.

I dislike her. She’s cruel. Hunter looked out the window as the silk shocker passed by. What she does is wrong.

Then, there was that. Hunter’s diction was about on par with a normal person now, a far cry from when he was still called Ringcat. In every way besides the ability to speak or stand on two legs, Hunter was a person. It was what he’d wanted to tell Tlara until he’d realized the futility of it. It is her class, Hunter. Several people here do this. I’m not-

It’s wrong!

I’m not saying it isn’t. But honestly? If one of them could do that to the dragon we’re going to fight, I wouldn’t mind. Would you?

Tak commented when Hunter didn’t answer. I do not think it is entirely wrong. He missed the look Hunter gave him as he was glancing out the arrow slit they were near. One of the only things Daniel’s limited knowledge of engineering had contributed to this tower, considering it didn’t have to follow the basics of structural design.

Why?

Not all are like you. Not all are special like it is with mortals. I have not heard of any doing what Daniel has done with you. Would it not be better to make sure these creatures do not harm other people? Even in his telepathy, Tak’s voice was simple and upbeat, like there was no other way he could be.

It’s wrong! They are enslaving them.

People enslave mortals too. That got Daniel to look askance, but Tak still wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were on the sky. Maybe it is wrong, but people do it.

“Dragon?” Khare asked, unaware they were interrupting.

“No. Clear skies. No rain, that is good.”

“Yeah. If we had to fight sparkbats on top of this, that’d be bad.”

“Sunder.”

We need a Telepathic Link with Khare if we’re going to travel with them after this, Daniel silently said to the others. Tak, do you know what they mean?

No.

“Right,” Daniel meekly agreed, hoping that was what Khare was looking for.

Some time later, Thomas found them. “Guy, we’re pretty much ready. Where’s the dragon?”

“How should I know?” The Cleric looked at Hunter in response. “I’m not sure if he can sense it coming. Rorshawd was almost on top of us before he scented him.”

And the scents here are too mixed. Too much noise, Hunter added mentally.

“Well, my fingers are frozen from just standing next to this thing. How are you tolerating this?”

“There’s enough people here that the air’s warmed from body heat. Most of us have Regeneration on top of that, but I don’t think that’s doing too much against the cold. Not sure. Khare, how are you?”

“Rotation.” There was an undulating motion that accompanied that.

“What?”

Daniel picked up on the meaning this time. “I think they mean they’re cycling which vines are exposed to the air. I don’t see how that would help too much. Unless your interior space handles temperature differently?” Khare didn’t answer the implied question.

“Well, this standing around is going to give me frostbite. Can’t Lograve do something about the temperature?”

“You want him to warm up the ice?” Daniel asked blankly.

“Yeah.”

“Ice melts.”

“But this is magic ice, Guy.” Thomas lightly punched the wall and then shook his hand, wincing. “S-see? I bet he could do it.”

“Maybe. Shouldn’t you be outside?” Tak asked, balling up one of his fists as if to test the wall himself. “You do need to shoot the dragon.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I got permission!” Thomas’ half-grin made it clear that wasn’t the whole story. After a self-satisfied pause, he continued, “Alost just said if I wasn’t back before the dragon came he’d shoot me first.”

“I don’t think he’s the kind of person who jokes like that Thomas,” Daniel said nervously, joining Tak in glancing out the small window.

“Come on Guy, he’s not going to do it. Punch me maybe, but then I’ll just heal myself. Magic hands.”

“Very convenient,” Tak commented.

“You’re all one to talk. Most of you can Regenerate and the other one doesn’t bleed!”

“Sap.” Everyone turned to Khare and watched as the gestalt drew out a dagger and made a small cut on a vine. A viscous, light green fluid ran briefly from the cut before sealing over the wound.

“Huh. You learn something every day.”

…

Thomas left soon after that when he was elbowed from behind and realized being out in the open had its advantages. Not many compared to potentially being struck by lightning, but they were there. The sun was warm as well, the day progressing into mid afternoon. Care had been taken to make sure there was no chance of the fight reaching dawn and resetting everyone’s features.

Murdon was looking at the sky when Gadriel spoke to him. “Commander, any last minute revisions to our strategy?”

“No. The time for agonizing and indecision is over. I just wish this dragon would come so we could end this.”

“Indeed.” He looked to the others on the roof and spoke lowly. “I apologize again.”

“Don’t.”

“If I could make my return I would, yet I fear until we know for certain I should not show my face in Threst. I hold little hope that the Talongleam family has forgotten its grudge.”

“It’s alright. It’s how it has to be. Once word is spread, I can go to Aughal.”

Gadriel looked down, hand pushing his way through his modestly long light hair. “You, of everyone Commander, should have a say in their fate after this day. There must be an end to your sacrifice.”

“Not everyone has my freedom, or the trust to deliver our warning. I will go to Threst. Lograve to Aughal. That is how it must be, assuming we survive.”

“I see. None can doubt your virtue, Commander.”

“There’s no honor in living up to your responsibilities, Hero. You don’t gain anything from doing what you are supposed to.”

“It is how Heroes can advance, but I take your point. Though, I do recall some regions base their societies on meritocracy.”

“Not the one you come from,” Murdon batted back with a hint of humor. “I always think those are the kind of regions whose image trumps their reality the most.”

“You have opinions on statecraft, Commander?”

“Observations.” He waved an armored hand. “In the old days, we’d traveled plenty. Walked more than we fought. It’s probably why Lograve just reached level 4. That, and the fact that he spends all day stuck in one book or another. I’d put money on him having one open on his lap right now. He’d say it ‘helps him focus’ or something, but he’d be lying.”

“You are true friends. Camaraderie that runs deeper than your bond, I’d say.”

“Of course. We were the only two to stay together after…” Gadriel didn’t push when Murdon fell silent, respecting whatever dark memories the Knight didn’t want to revisit.

“We will see this day through, Commander. We number just shy of 100. I was trepidatious at first, but with your tactics, our armaments, and those odds-”

“It will be an even fight, nothing more. Without Kob, that’s all we could do, but I admit this is our strongest position. We were given time. The preparations are complete.”

“The drake is keeping us waiting. Perhaps we should consider if it has moved on?”

“I won’t gamble with people’s lives.” Murdon tapped a foot, his armor silent as he shifted his arms. “Mhmm, but, if it isn’t here by dusk, it will be harder to see coming.”

“Perhaps we should provoke it into an appearance?”

“Is that a serious suggestion?” Murdon let out a short barking laugh as Gadriel’s expression didn’t change. That got the other’s attention, those who weren’t pretending not to listen at least. “Well, how should we do that?”

“I happen to know of a class fond of attracting undue attention.” Gadrie’s eyes narrowed at the looks everyone else and, presumably, Murdon were giving him. “I do not mean mine!”

…

The Bards were standing in the clearest space on the second floor, each somehow looking in a way that avoided placing any other in their line of sight. As a class, Bards weren’t normally so frictious. They could stand being in the same room as each other, converse pleasantly on most topics, and exchange stories without the urge to stab one another. The whole ‘Bards and Heroes, and Bard and Bards are always at each other’s throats’ thing was a bit overblown even if there was some truth underlying it.

Today was different. Today, there was the stress of the upcoming fight superimposed on the bickering, backstabbing, and bad relationships that were the foundation of the modern Bard. Worse still, they’d spent the better part of last week alone with each other practicing. The novelty of the experience had worn off quickly as arguments began over what mixture of powers to use and, more importantly, what kind of accompaniment to use. Not every Bard could change how their instrument sounded which is why some carried more than one. They could only have one Focus, of course, but adapting to the tastes of their listeners was crucial. If someone hated the sound of a brass instrument it wouldn’t matter how inspiring the song was. Well, that still mattered, but not as much.

The point is, Evalyn thought, they’re all idiots. The music Daniel had brought with him was a greater treasure than the dull rock he’d pulled out of the mountain. A thousand songs, perhaps more. A Bard could take those and never again need to worry about their own creativity, or memory for that matter.

Sound Exchange could reproduce any instrument that the Bard was familiar with. A fair number of the songs Daniel had shown her included those beyond her knowledge, but not too far from the norm. If she’d had her way, they’d be performing as close to the original as possible. There was something in the alien mixture of sound so unlike that of her world that Evalyn knew they would make an unforgettable moment mimicking it. The others, cowards that they were, had made the group decision to transpose the melodies into their native string, horn, and odd percussion instruments. She was free to use whatever exotic sounds she wanted, but that would only detract from what they were trying to do.

Evalyn sighed. She couldn’t blame them. After all, she was an accordion player. That was an unusual choice, most common among Bards who expect to frequently be in combat. Not because it caught the eye or was easy to carry, but because it was hard to break.

Most of the Bards with her were not of that stereotype. Some were familiar with combat and had patrolled after the Upswell, but hadn’t quite taken to frequent hunts as she had. They had all been in the villages for the most part, whereas everyone with true talent had been in Eido. Evalyn should have been there too but for a quirk of fate. So, she was used to exotic instruments and used to taking advantage of that atypicality to make her own style. She could see the merit in the strange music the others couldn’t or wouldn’t.

The accordion was in her hands. Each of the Bards was ready to play at a moment’s notice. They knew what they were going to open with, and they were all experienced enough to know when they’d need to change the tune. Usually after the third or fourth repetition. The first song wouldn’t be forever dead after that, but in the past Evalyn wouldn’t play it again for at least a week. Luckily this one went over seven minutes in length which would extend its usefulness.

Such was the burden of a supportive Bard. If she had powers that could affect enemies, it wouldn’t matter how many times she played the same piece. Ideally, she’d only have to play it for the target once. She couldn’t do that. She knew the disadvantage that put her at compared to her peers, but she couldn’t.

Not the time for this. She shook herself, resisting the urge to play to calm herself. The others would take that as grandstanding. Or, maybe, that she’d seen the dragon. They had to keep that first song fresh. It’d been preserved so far, even though that had required chasing multiple lecherous groups away who had come to see what the Bards were doing alone so deep in the woods.

It had to be fresh. What was rote became banal. This was the curse of the Bard, whose music could be new for everyone but themselves. With the most important performance of her life approaching, Evalyn did not play a single note. She could handle this, handle the fear eating her from the ground up. Evalyn closed her eyes, breathed, and smiled. I’ve done this once before. Dragons have nothing on me.

Then she blinked. Shouldn’t Murdon be on the roof?

After a few minutes, the Bards were standing by one of the tower walls outside. They didn’t need to be exposed for their music to affect the battlefield, not at this distance, but direct adjacency to what they were about to do wouldn’t be healthy. Evalyn was the only one not part of the main group. She watched from the entrance, ready to spring into action should they need to shift themes. Aware of it as she was, Evalyn couldn’t escape the desire to play the first note of the song. It was her music. Daniel’s music, but also hers now.

People shuffled behind her, used to the ice enough to not slip. In the far corner were her friends, the ones who would be with her during the next phase. Her thoughts in the future, she touched one of her fingertips to the wall. Just as cold as the real thing, but strong enough to support dozens of people and a wyvern. The power of level 4. Not quite halfway to the peak of mortals but leagues above what a normal person could do.

“What are they doing?” someone in the crowd asked her in response to the Bards standing silently, holding their weapons.

“Waiting.”

“For?”

She turned and saw a man with a sword. Hardly anything special, likely a Martialist. How could he understand? “The right moment,” she answered simply.

“What?”

A light wind kicked up. That had potential, but, no. Not enough. Even if she wasn’t taking part in this, Evalyn understood what the Bards were doing. They were suddenly trusted with ushering a beginning unto this battle. Before they had only a reactionary role, but now? Everyone here would carry this story with them into their futures, retelling it to those who would do the same. Beginnings and endings were key. It was dramatic of them, of her, to insist on this but that was the point! They lived and breathed with the rhythm of their music and the turning of the page.

More eyes went to the Bards, and as whispers spread, more eyes still. Attention was gathering around them like moths to Murdon’s armor. Better, she could sense it. Everyone was focused on the Bards, waiting. The chill of the air grew goosebumps on her skin that wasn’t covered by armor. Without obvious coordination, the Bards raised their instruments. Some to their lips, others bringing them up to chest level.

Silence, still. The rising anticipation was feeding the moment but there was still something missing. The random shout to get on with it wasn’t it. Neither was the mixture of sighs, curses, and other vindictives against her class. Evalyn didn’t know what the final ingredient would be, but it wouldn’t come from the ignorant masses.

The time arrived a minute later, just before Murdon would have intervened. It was the sun touching the lip of the mountain ridge in its descent that was the final signal. At once, every Bard opened up with a single, prolonged note. Layered into the discordance of the clashing sounds were afflictive powers. Together they could have crippled any of the mortals here, but they were directed out. No one could have guessed where the dragon was approaching from. As it happened, their music flew straight for the beast. An earthshaking roar flew over the ridge, not empowered by the dragon’s fearsome ability but still near deafening. It followed, soon after, framed by the setting sun.

So broke the silence, and thus began the battle to decide their fates. As lightning built in the maw of the dragon there was a word that cut through the ringing, amplified by a helmet made just for that purpose. “CHARGE!”