| |
The Monster Guide describes manticores as monsters whose bodies resembled a lion’s, but twice as big. They have a human face rather than feline, with wide mouths holding double rows of razor-sharp teeth. Bat-like wings allow them to fly. In the air they’re anything but graceful, being Maneuverability Class F.
By the laws of physics, they shouldn’t be able to lift off the ground. Even a kindergartener could figure that out. But that notion of flight followed the physics of the real world, not the Monsters, Maces and Magic one. While birds like Petie could out-maneuver a manticore in the air, that didn’t translate to any benefit for land-bound people, or horses. Especially since the maned, male manticores bore tails ending in a ball packed with four-inch spikes. Those spikes served as barbed projectiles. Once launched and striking a target, the spikes acted like a bee’s stinger, pumping virulent venom into the victim.
It was about noon when one of the men-at-arms near the caravan’s front cried out, “Manticore!”
Glenn was sitting next to Blizz when the alarm went up. Kirby was in the wagon, balled beneath a tattered blanket, sleeping. Derek trailed the caravan on Four Banger while Stephi rode in Ron’s wagon, just ahead of Glenn’s.
Blizz pulled on the reins, stopping the horse team. He pulled the brake lever before standing on the bench. One hand shaded his eyes as they scanned the sky. Glenn didn’t stand, but stopped looking left and right and began checking the sky.
Kirby stuck his head out of the wagon, accosted by a serious bout of bedhead. His anxious voice croaked, “Someone shout manticore?”
“Yep,” Blizz replied.
“Those are eight hit-dice monsters.” Kirby threw his bandoleer of darts over his shoulder. “Their tails shoot venom spikes.”
Two of the mounted men-at-arms rode past Glenn’s wagon, their horses galloping across the hard-packed trail. Glenn recognized one as Yonn. The other was a youth barely able to grow a beard named Fitzrack.
The horse team in front of Glenn commenced stomping, their ears up and noses flaring.
The half-goblin animal handler pointed ahead, almost straight up. “This ain’t no good.” He hopped down off the bench seat before staring back up at Glenn. “Me and Bristle’s gonna hide under this here wagon. You might think hard on joining us.”
Captain Nickson shouted orders. “Dismount. Tie your horses. Grab your bows.”
Stephi flew out from her wagon. She moved off to the right before ascending. Petie kept close, like an aerial wingman. Ron stood two strides off the road, spear in hand.
Derek rode up, past Glenn’s wagon. He struggled to control his mount. Ron snatched and held the reins of the panicking horse, allowing the armored warrior to dismount.
On instinct Glenn ducked under his round shield as the huge creature shot past overhead. The horse team neighed and reared before dragging the wagon forward. Blizz snatched a wooden pole resting on brackets off the side of the wagon and slid it in between the rear wheels’ spokes. The result was to “rough lock” them.
None of the other drivers thought to do that.
Dismounted, Mardin held the reins of Spots while gripping the bridle strap of one of Ron’s horse team. Standing between a terrified mule and horse looked dangerous, but not equal to facing a manticore. The gnome healer’s opinion reaffirmed upon hearing the manticore’s screeching roar. It sounded like an enraged lion, one tangling with an amped-up speaker squelching ear-rending feedback.
Glenn attempted to climb off the wagon but tumbled to the ground. The team bucked and pulled the wagon, despites the brakes and pole locking the rear wheels. The trifecta of sight, smell, and the manticore’s roar drove the equines frenzied with panic. Everything fell into chaos. Exactly what the black-maned, tawny furred beast intended.
Blizz stayed under the wagon. He scooted along, keeping pace with the wagon’s sporadic jolts forward. The only animal seemingly under control was Bristle. Blizz held the donkey by a thin rope and calming words, when he could manage them. The sturdy donkey stumbled and shook but followed right behind the wagon.
Glenn internally groaned. Nearby grass patches, scattered tangles of thickets and small trees with spindly leaves offered little cover. Beneath the wagon with Blizz was really the only place to hide. The way the wagon jolted and skidded forward made that a risky option. He spun around, looking left and right, and gulped.
A gnome healer fighting a manticore? How many hits could it take from his cudgel? And it flew! Glenn had a sling with a few stones, but he didn’t know how to use it. In game terms, he wasn’t trained, or Proficient. Which meant he’d be lucky to hit the broad side of a barn. What chance did he have of hitting a flying monster—an eight hit-dice monster? And how much damage would his little stone actually do—would it even make a difference? Besides the nasty teeth and claws, what about the spikes?
Glenn tensed and gripped his cudgel. An eagerness to confront the bat-winged beast surged within him. The healer’s timidity stemmed from his rational mind, who he really was. An average human facing a mythical beast with nothing more than a club. He’d have a better chance against a normal grizzly bear. The boldness was the game-world’s gnome influence.
Resolve mounted.
Stephi was up there chasing after the monster. Glenn wouldn’t abandon her.
The manticore wasn’t terribly fast in flight. Even though it appeared to be gaining on Yonn and Fitzrack fleeing on their mounts, the big beast began to pull up—until the younger man-at-arms lost his balance and tumbled from his racing mount.
Yonn, on his mount, didn’t slow. He didn’t realize Fitzrack wasn’t following until the riderless mount drew abreast a hundred yards later. By that time the manticore had dropped upon the stunned man and tore out his throat.
Stephi, being no fast flier herself, arrived several seconds too late to save Fitzrack. She fluttered ten yards above the manticore and shouted, “Hey, look up here, you mangy cat man!”
When the manticore raised its bloody maw Stephi released her Dazzle Spell.
The monster stared up at Stephi and snarled, “Fairy bitch.” The scintillating light burst had failed to blind the monster.
Stephi fluttered in place, confused by her spell’s impotence. Or the fact that the horrific beast shouted and called her a bitch.
Gurk shouted, “Marigold, his tail!”
Stephi didn’t back away. She didn’t comprehend the danger.
The manticore raised his tail and released a spike. It flew at her as if propelled by a CO2 cartridge. Petie dove down, slammed into Stephi and knocked her aside. The spike missed her and knocked loose a few of the blue jay’s tail feathers. Before the blue and white feathers floated to the ground, Stephi came to her senses. She wove and dodged in the air, doing her best to evade two more tail spikes launched at her.
Derek and Captain Nickson, along with the four men-at-arms still with the wagons, including Mardin, had drawn their bows. In Mardin’s case, he’d cocked his crossbow. They stood in a line on the road, just past the panicking horses.
Ron shoved the reins to Spots and Four Banger into Glenn’s hand. No way his four-foot, three-inch frame could control one panicking mount, let alone two.
Blizz darted out from beneath the wagon, took the mule’s reins and tied them to one of the wagon’s spars. Glenn struggled with Four Banger as the horse dragged him around.
Blizz took the reins from Glenn. “I got this one too, if’n you’re wanting to fight.”
Glenn nodded and scooped up his cudgel from the ground.
For some reason the horse settled a little when the half-goblin took control.
Their wagon continued skidding forward. Someone had stuck a pole between the spokes of Ron’s wagon, slowing its progress, and the drivers of the other two wagons continued shouting and cursing, trying to keep their mounts from bolting. In return, the horse teams continued to snort, neigh and buck, and lurch their wagons forward. The mounts of Captain Nickson and his men had fled the road the instant their riders dismounted. They were already hundreds of yards away and showed no interest in slowing.
“Thanks,” Glenn said to Blizz and trotted back around the wagon. He made it in time to see the volley of arrows and single crossbow bolt sail toward the manticore. The beast had been running along the road, chasing Stephi. At that moment it chose to leap, taking flight.
“Marigold, go left!” Gurk shouted. She responded just in time to avoid the scattered rain of arrows. It’d been a hundred-yard shot. Someone must’ve rolled a twenty because one arrow bit into the manticore’s shoulder.
The beast tore the shaft free with his teeth, spit it out, and continued to pick up flight speed.
Glenn bit his lip. The arrow proved to be little more than an annoyance, as had Stephi’s Dazzle Spell. Using the sling hanging from his belt would be worse than useless so he hefted his shield and readied his cudgel.
“Stand in front of Lysine,” Gurk urged. The thief stood just behind the line of men-at-arms. Derek was on the left with his bow. Ron stood on the opposite end, in the bristly grass, ready to hurl his spear.
Glenn scurried around in front of Ron and glanced up at the warrior druid. The quarter-elf’s eyes and concentration remained focused straight ahead.
Over the horse-neighing din, Gurk shouted to Glenn, “Use your shield to protect Lysine from spikes.”
Glenn nodded, sweat on his brow, both from the day’s heat and nerves. The gnome turned to see the manticore flying toward the line, keeping little more than ten feet above the road. Stephi and Petie trailed high and off to the left. A pink, tennis ball-sized burst of energy shot from the fairy into the manticore’s flank.
Stephi’s Mystic Missile Spell did nothing to slow the beast.
The guard captain shouted, “Release!” Somehow arrows missed. Ron and Mardin took their turn when the beast closed to twenty yards.
Ron’s spear sailed high. The crossbow bolt missed low. But Derek had waited, too. His arrow caught the monster in the left forepaw.
Glenn watched the monster’s tail. The gnome shifted left to keep himself between Ron, recovering from his spear throw, and that tail. The manticore dove down and snapped at one of the men-at-arms, knocking the bow aside and clamping its jaws down on the man’s shoulder.
The hired soldier screamed. At the same instant the manticore whipped its tail around and sent a pair of spikes Glenn’s direction. One found purchase in a second man-at-arm’s stomach. The other, Glenn managed to intercept with his shield. Even so, Ron had dodged to the side, hitting the ground and rolling. Smart move, Glenn thought, figuring the warrior druid would’ve evaded the intercepted spike.
The airborne manticore held the screaming mercenary in its jaws and dragged him across the ground. Kirby leapt and slashed with his cutlass, nicking one of the manticore’s trailing legs. Maybe the hit encouraged the beast to release the man-at-arms. Maybe it was the man’s flailing fit. Or maybe the attacking monster just wanted to gain altitude. In any case, the screaming man tumbled across the hard-packed road. At the same time, the spike-stricken man crumpled to his knees.
Ron helped the stricken man yank the four-inch spike from his stomach, but it was too late. Too much venom had already been injected.
The wide-eyed man fell back, writhing in pain.
“With me,” Guard Captain Nickson shouted, his sword held high. Only Derek, Ron and Mardin followed. The remaining man-at-arms backpedaled a dozen feet before turning to run the down the road, chasing after Yonn.
It seemed Yonn had finally turned around, but wasn’t exactly galloping full speed back toward the battle.
The spike-poisoned mercenary lying on the ground began convulsing and frothing at the mouth. Glenn couldn’t do anything for poisons—especially to combat a toxin as virulent as the manticore’s.
The bitten man-at-arms lay still as well, foaming blood seeping from his mouth. Either the bite’s ferocity or the beast’s toxic saliva could’ve done him in. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter.
Glenn gripped his cudgel tightly and turned to follow Kirby, Ron, Derek and Nickson.
Ahead of the gnome healer, Ron shouted up at Stephi. “Retrieve the scroll!”
She nodded and dove toward the covered wagon. The wheeled conveyance continued lurching forward while Blizz sheltered beneath it. From within the wagon, the fairy shouted, “What spell should I use?”
“Lightning!” On foot, Derek pounded past. “That’ll blast the hell out of it!”
The manticore rose up and then dropped down atop the horse team at the head of the caravan. The lead wagon turned sharply before tipping. The horses screamed, or that’s how it sounded to Glenn. Even so, the manticore’s bellicose roar somehow drowned them out.
The other wagons’ teams went left while Ron’s went right, off the road. Blizz gave up hiding and climbed onto the bench in an attempt to regain control. Bristle trotted alongside. Spots and Four Banger neighed, following while fighting their tied-off reins in a bid for freedom. Ron’s wagon, with no driver, was out of control, as was the second wagon. The driver had bailed and sprinted back down the road, then veered off it when he spotted the poisoned man-at-arms suffering his final death throes.
The manticore had taken down the lead wagon’s team. One horse lay with a broken back. The other had its head bitten off. The bat-winged monster spun in a tight circle to finish the driver whose legs were pinned beneath the tipped wagon. He should’ve fled, too.
Ron shouted, “Leave him be, you foul beast!”
Derek continued his charge, shield ready and sword held high. A snarling battle cry emanated from his lips.
Kirby and Nickson trailed behind, followed by Mardin. All were too far, would be too late to save the hapless driver. The man screamed while his arms shielded his face and throat. To no avail.
The massive jaws snapped down, through one arm and clamped onto the terrified driver’s face.
Stephi fluttered up into the air, angling for a height far above the manticore. She held a small scroll in her hands, and finished unrolling it.
The manticore spun and climbed atop the fallen wagon to face his oncoming foes. It spread its wings and released another screeching roar. It was met by Derek’s sword, followed by a bolt of lightning flashing down from Stephi’s scroll-cast spell.
A thunderclap sounded, drowning out both the roar and Derek’s battle cry.
Wooden shards and splinters erupted outward, many flailing against Derek’s armor. The warrior had closed while the others had slowed to give Stephi’s spell room.
Knocked from its perch, the feline monster rolled a dozen yards before unsteadily regaining its feet.
The Minor Lightning Spell had blasted the manticore with great effect. One wing hung wrecked. A raw burn, three feet long, stretched across the monster’s back. Blackened flesh outlined the smoldering wound.
Derek charged around the shattered wagon, sword raised and shield facing front. Stephi’s spell had left the big warrior unscathed.
Glenn remembered Kirby saying the lightning spell did six d6 of damage. The mission’s plan was to use the spell to blast a door open. He also remembered Derek had a magical fulgurite that protected its wearer from lighting strikes.
The manticore ignored Derek. Instead, the wounded beast leapt back onto the wrecked wagon and then skyward. Its extended claws came within two feet of reaching Stephi.
Before the manticore landed, Derek caught it in the shoulder with his magical long sword.
The beast came down hard, front left leg collapsing upon impact. Ron came in, opposite side from Derek. The warrior druid hacked deeply with his short sword. Nickson followed with a sword slash, but failed to penetrate the monster’s furry hide.
Glenn spotted one of Kirby’s darts sinking into the monster’s throat.
Even after all of that, the manticore was still up. It spun to face Ron, and caught the warrior druid with a nasty paw swipe. The warrior druid staggered back, wounded but undeterred.
At the same time two tail spikes shot toward Derek. One deflected off his steel helmet and the other stuck in his shield. Pea-green fluid flowed down the shield, the spike pumping as if it’d penetrated flesh.
Glenn raced forward, past Ron, and swung his cudgel. A paw from the big beast knocked the gnome’s attack aside, foiling his attack. But that gave Kirby and the guard captain their opening. Sword and cutlass both found flesh in the monster’s side and flank, staggering the beast.
Derek ducked in low, beneath the spiked tail, and slashed at its base, severing the prehensile limb. Blood gushed from the wound, as it did from the side and flank wounds. With a rictus look of pain and surprise, the eyes of the twisted human face rolled up, and the beast collapsed.
Glenn, wanting to be sure, slammed his cudgel into the monster’s side. The gnome healer heard at least one rib crack. Equally cautious, Kirby shot forward and drove the tip of his cutlass into their unmoving foe’s throat and twisted the blade.
The half-goblin thief withdrew his weapon’s blade and grinned. “He’s deader than a possum that tried to cross a road.”
The guard captain turned and snarled at Kirby. He gestured angrily with his sword. “So is a driver and three of my men.”
For a split second Kirby stared at Nickson, dumfounded by the guard captain’s remark aimed at him. Then the half-goblin thief sneered. “Since you’re so good at counting, Guard Captain Nickson,” Kirby said, leaning closer, his face turning ugly, “how many of your men ran?” He gestured with his bloody cutlass. “Everybody else was too busy fightin’ to count.”
Derek stood behind Kirby, bloody long sword held ready.
Nickson leaned forward, unflinching, with his own sword in hand.
Ron, wounded and a little unsteady on his feet, wedged himself between Kirby and Nickson. “Our efforts will be better spent burying our dead,” he said, “and retrieving our mounts.”
Stephi fluttered down. “And you getting healed, Lysine.”
“I shall attend to that task myself, Marigold. Momentarily.”
“Don’t be silly,” she replied, rolling her eyes. With a flick of her tiny hand she gestured to the gnome healer. “Jax, put your club away and get over here. Can’t you see Lysine’s hurt?”
Silly? Glenn thought. Adrenaline from the life and death struggle still pumped through his arteries.
The gnome took a deep breath, shrugged, and trotted over.
The task of burying the dead men-at-arms—Fitzrack, Pyetin, and Erlon, and the driver—fell to Kalgore and Yonn. Fortunately, the caravan had only two shovels, or Glenn might’ve had to pitch in. As it was, he stood guard. Ron, Captain Nickson, the surviving driver and the other man-at-arms moved the contents from the wagon Stephi’s lightning bolt wrecked to the three surviving wagons.
While the gnome healer was sturdy and strong enough to haul sacks of onions and wool, he wouldn’t do it as quickly as someone with longer arms and legs. And efficiently maneuvering the long red oak boards? Better he put his eyes and ears to work.
Blizz was busy tending to the stressed horse teams while Stephi and Mardin had gone out to round up the mounts that had fled the battle. Kirby busied himself collecting parts of the manticore he thought could be sold or traded to an alchemist, or maybe a magic user that had need of such exotic items. He’d commandeered a wooden crate and already filled it with the spiked tail Derek had severed, along with two wine bottles filled with blood. He added claws and teeth to the box. The teeth required precision and patience as they were coated with venom. Last, he used a knife to shave the black mane and stuffed it into a sack.
Glenn wasn’t sure how his friend could do it. The face was that of a human. Larger and far more grotesque, but still. Maybe Kirby was destined to be a taxidermist, should they ever make it back home.
The gnome made his way across the dirt road to check the terrain that direction. Whoever came down the road, seeing the broken wagon, horse carcasses, and whatever Kirby left of the manticore, was sure to know there’d been a battle. The four vultures circling above had to be a sign of death to anyone or anything nearby. People, other scavengers, predators, and monsters.
At that thought, Glenn trotted up to Ron, who was pausing in his labor to ladle a drink from one of the water barrels. “Lysine, shouldn’t we get moving?” The gnome gestured skyward. “That has to be drawing unwanted attention.”
“Your concern mirrors my thoughts, Jax.” He proffered the metal ladle to Glenn, offering him a drink.
Glenn shook his head. “How long until they get the horses rounded up?”
“Marigold, even more notably in her current physique, has an affinity with animals, especially herbivorous.” He drank deeply, emptying the ladle. “Both wild and domesticated.”
There was no arguing that, but it didn’t exactly answer Glenn’s question, or address his concern. He looked around, half expecting to spot an ogre, or another manticore nearing the disorganized caravan.
Ron rested a firm hand on Glenn’s shoulder. “I acknowledge your wariness, and desire to vacate this area and to proceed toward our destination.” He returned the ladle to its hook and tamped the barrel’s lid back into place. “Maintain vigilance. I shall endeavor to expedite what remains to be accomplished.”
Glenn said, “Okay,” and returned to his assigned task.
Neither the brief conversation, nor his vigilance, alleviated the notion that something bad—or something else bad—was on the way.