10

Priorities

She's dead! Cricket thought in despair. She's all the way dead!

Patches coughed.

She's not dead! Oydd growled. I can sense her from here. Get back to me as fast as you can.

I can't, Cricket thought. I don't have enough potion.

That doesn't matter, you idiot. The demons have no eyes!

Oh... a long silence followed. Well, they didn't see me.

They didn't hear you. You must have been quiet. Don't drink the potions. It's a waste.

Should I just try to sneak back out?

Not yet, Oydd cautioned. Many of the dethkiri are leaving with a wagon train. We're plotting a diversion for the remainder. Hold still for the time being.

Hi, Cricket! Bax’s cheerful voice joined the discussion. It's me, Todley Brandysnaps. We met before. I'm whipping something up. The octopus and I just don't agree on the details.

Suddenly the rudra closed the link.

"He doesn't need to hear your squabbling," Oydd snapped.

"I thought you might want him to weigh in, since it's his life on the line," the gnome said defensively.

"But you won't listen..."

The gnome continued unabated, "I'll make a giant slug near the entrance and have it meander toward us—"

"It doesn't matter what it looks like."

"They probably love slugs, so they'll follow it here—"

"And we don't want them to come here. We want to lead them away."

"Call Cricket again. I want to see what he thinks."

"Listen to me, gnome," Oydd began with an alarming tone. "Follow my instructions to the letter, or I will seize your mind and march you out there as bait. Do you understand?"

The gnome glared at Oydd and tapped a finger pointedly to his temple, "You don't have the willpower. My mind is a steel trap!"

"Listen, Barden," the druid joined.

"Wha? Who's Barden?"

"We do need to come up with a plan that you're comfortable with, but sound is more important than appearance, right?"

"If looks don't matter, then why can't it be a giant slug?"

"Does that take a lot of energy... to make a giant slug?"

"An incredible amount!"

"Then I think it does matter," Jeshu reasoned. "We just need a loud sound."

The gnome puckered his lips, deflated, still eyeing the rudra suspiciously.

"But a slug isn't harder than a snail or something..."

"No," the druid agreed, for the sake of diplomacy. "A slug isn't harder than a snail. Can you make a phantom noise?"

"Well I don't want anything too scary. We don't want them to hide. We want them to chase it."

"Can you make it sound like a slug?"

Oydd let out an exasperated sound. "And what sound does a slug make?"

"Any sound I want!" the gnome fumed. "It's not real, you moron!"

Oydd stamped his foot. “Why does he only talk to me that way?”

Jeshu took a deep breath and addressed the gnome. "Can you make a sound, like a loud slug? Something that will get their attention?"

"Yes... yes, dryad," the gnome answered somewhat calmly.

"And how many demons do you think you could take at once in a fight?" the druid probed.

"None!" the illusionist cried.

"So you want to lead them away from us?"

"I do," the gnome concluded. "And I'm tired of everyone trying to change my mind."

"Then do what you think is best. You have our support."

The gnome looked skeptically at the rudra.

Oydd rolled his eyes. "I bow to your superior judgment."

"Hmph!" the gnome said triumphantly and cracked his knobby knuckles. "Get ready for a spectacle!"

*****

Cricket began to fidget. Despite Oydd’s orders, he began to sneak quietly from the morgue. After all, he had made it this far without getting caught. No reason he couldn't make it out. He chose to skirt by the training grounds where he had seen much less motion. He kept close to the walls, supposing that the demons' 'sound vision' might mistake him for rocks.

He'd had a little experience with giant bats. They screeched to establish their surroundings, and Cricket had once attempted to lay against a wall to avoid discovery. In that instance, the plan didn't work and he was nearly eaten. But he still felt like the principle was sound.

He circled around until he came to the far edge of the training grounds without incident. Though, admittedly, this maneuver didn't bring him any closer to the exit. He peered around a crop of rock and saw two dethkiri lounging about near the training dummies. His eyes caught a faint reflection from within one of the pools where the mimic lived. Seeing his familiar face, the octopus swam out from its hole. Its tentacles undulated peacefully just below the surface, sending ripples to the edge of the pool.

Cricket looked from the mouseling's still form on his shoulder to the mimic. He mouthed "sorry" to the octopus and tried to sneak by. The mimic, however, crept low from the pool and brushed against his legs, nearly tripping him.

"I can't carry you," Cricket mouthed, shaking his head, but the octopus continued to follow him. Though the creature made very little noise, it was somewhat unaware of the situation, and Cricket cringed at every slop and blurp the mimic made as it crawled along the wet rock.

Eventually, a sleeping dethkirok stirred and turned its head toward the three. Cricket quietly melted against the rock wall with Patches. The mimic followed too loudly, and the insect almost kicked it away in frustration.

As the demon neared, the mimic turned to face it, then rose from the ground on four tentacles, copying the demon's general shape. It waved two tentacles behind it, like a slender tail, and wrapped another two around its face, mimicking the dethkirok's elongated snout. Its rough skin turned smooth and blue

The demon grunted—a high-pitched screech of a grunt—and studied the mimic. It circled around the octopus confused, then repeated the same short sound, with a tone so similar that Cricket assumed it was attempting to communicate, as well—likely—as using the sound to feel out the shape of the mimic.

By now it had drawn the attention of a second demon, larger than the first, and just as Cricket clenched a fist around the hilt of a jade khopesh, ready to spring, a deafening, slurping sound echoed from the distant stables.

The dethkiri turned and sprinted off, bounding over rocks and up the exit ramp.

A guzzling, gargling roar, like nothing the insect had ever heard before followed, and a shiver ran up his antennae. The sound caught him off guard so much that the insect froze, staring off past the empty yard until the roar diminished.

Cricket's feelers twitched and then his eyes darted about, scanning for stragglers. Finding none, he leaned down to the mimic and whispered, "You can come if you can keep up!" Then the insect ran for the exit.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

As he neared the commons, Cricket glanced back to see the mimic falling behind. He passed the armory at full sprint and almost crashed into the bend. Instead he leapt onto the wall, taking the full force of the stop with his legs, and clung to the rock for a moment looking back to the armory. He jumped back toward the doorway and slipped inside. He ran past the mundane equipment, and located Ghajan's hammer. The enchanted weapon leaned against the back wall, a patch of magical ice spreading along the floor under it.

Cricket grabbed the leather handle and instantly large specks of frost began to form on his forearm. His hand felt a numbness more than a pain, but nevertheless his hand twitched away. He grabbed, instead the leather loop dangling from the end of the haft, and began to drag the weapon behind him.

The giant hammer bounced and jostled along the uneven floor, leaving a trail of frost in its wake. When he reached the exit, the mimic caught up to him and he paused to wave.

The curious creature reached out a tentacle to touch the hammer, then jerked away and whimpered as the stung appendage curled beneath it.

"Come on," Cricket whispered but another thunderous, viscous, gurgling roar drowned out the sound. Nearby, a dethkirok emerged from a side tunnel and reared its head, listening to the resounding tremors. It bounded off, up the ramp.

Cricket dragged the hammer at a steady pace, waited until the path was clear, then followed up the ramp, keeping one hand on the mouseling to steady her.

About halfway up the ramp, he heard a shrill cry behind him, and turned to see two dethkiri closing in and the mimic some distance behind. Assuming an attempt to hide would be futile, the insect decided to make as much ground up the ramp as possible before confronting the demons.

As he ran, a caltrop dropped from Patches' satchel—a spiky iron ball with razor-sharp blades sticking out in every direction. Hurriedly, Cricket opened the flap and noticed two more caltrops loose in the pouch. He tossed them behind him and rummaged through as he ran until he found the small green bag, which was bulging with more caltrops. He passed it to his lower arm and shook the bag out behind him. Dozens of caltrops dropped onto the ramp, and continued to pour onto the ground long after he thought it should be empty.

He heard a dethkirok stumble into the spikes and crash, wailing in pain. Its companion slowed, then picked its way through the meddlesome blades, unable to easily detect them against the rock.

The mimic navigated the caltrops agilely and began to catch up to the insect, who began to tire, encumbered by the weight of the warhammer.

The mimic swerved to the side of the trail of ice the hammer left behind and passed Cricket up, just as the first of the dethkiri reached the insect. However, the demon, not sensing the slick, magical ice, veered to the side as it attempted to leap, skidding into the wall. Cricket let go of the hammer and vaulted onto the demon, digging his daggers up under its chin. He pulled back with all his weight to drive the blades deeper, up into the skull, then wrested them free and continued to run up the ramp, retrieving the hammer on the way.

When the second demon neared, its palms pierced and bleeding, Cricket screeched directly into its face, and the dethkirok came to a full stop in a daze.

The insect turned and whacked it in the side of the head with his khopesh, but the blade bounced harmlessly from the thick plate covering its snout.

Cricket grabbed the strap of the ice hammer with a second hand and grunted, hefting the weapon around and connected with the monster's jaw, knocking it flat. Flakes of frost violently formed on the creature's dark skin as it slid unconscious down the icy ramp.

After a minute of breathless running, the cavern beyond the Warrens came into view, and Cricket located the crop of rock where the others waited.

An arrow whizzed past his antennae, and he heard it connect with a thud with something directly behind him.

He located the azaeri standing amidst the rocks, drawing another arrow. As Ty’lek focused, holding the arrow, black wisps began to spiral and gather around the tip.

"Reck!" the archer barked in irritation, and Cricket took the cue to duck, turning to see the magical arrow dig into a dethkirok's chest. Immediately the black energy exploded, tearing a hole bone deep in the demon's skin. As the insect watched, thick black tendrils brutally sprouted from the point of impact, prying the ribs apart, boring into the cavity.

The demon squirmed and squealed, dropping to its elbows as necrotic vines erupted from its throat. The black plates on the dethkirok's face steamed and withered, decaying before Cricket's eyes.

Cricket scrambled to his feet, sprinting the last stretch, and skidded to a stop at the azaeri's feet, huffing and puffing. He plopped on the ground and looked up, breathless, at the archer, as the azaeri knocked and fired three more arrows.

Ty'lek withdrew, and the insect panicked, rising from the muddy cavern floor to follow the archer, cradling the mouseling in one of his lower arms.

He nearly crashed into Jeshu and Scorpion as he rounded a mound of rock.

The druid looked behind the insect. "Only one more. You can relax."

A moment later, the mimic caught up and tackled the ratling. Scorpion screamed as he fell to the ground in a tangle of tentacles, but laughed and hugged the octopus with his one arm as it nuzzled his face with its beak.

The final demon stalked slowly through the cropping of rocks, and when he stumbled upon the group, Oydd instantly raised a hand and the demon rose from the floor, flailing and helpless. After a moment of futile struggle, the dethkirok calmed and stared at the rudra with its eyeless snout—cold and stoic.

Oydd tensed and took a steadying breath, struggling to hold the demon in place. He closed his eyes and his tentacles began to rise and curl at once.

Suddenly the rudra opened his eyes and the demon squirmed, letting out a stifled cry.

"Where did you come from..." the rudra whispered to himself, as he delved into the creature's mind. The demon resisted at first, but squealed again in pain and went limp, floating lifeless in the air.

A surge of energy pulsed from the rudra, passing like wind over the group, and crashed against the demon like a wave. Its floating body convulsed and the rudra let it drop to the floor. Oydd crumpled to the ground as well, panting and sweating.

Jeshu stepped up and finished it with a hammer blow to the throat, then noticed the mouseling in Cricket's arms. The druid reached out and took the still mouseling delicately in his rough hands, placing her gently on the ground.

"I tried to give her some water, but... I don't think it helped."

Jeshu pressed softly on the mouseling's belly and a burbling sound came from within. He opened his pack and pulled out a small flask, and poured a bit of rusty liquid in her mouth.

Patches swallowed weakly. Her stomach burbled again and the wound in her side began to leak the orange fluid.

"She has a tear in her stomach," Oydd stated gravely.

The druid nodded.

"Is she conscious?"

"I think so," Jeshu replied.

Oydd knelt at the mouseling's side and tenderly lifted her head. "I can stitch the tear closed."

"No." Jeshu shook his head. "Let me help her. I can save her. But we shouldn't move her again."

Reluctantly, the rudra rose and left the mouseling in the druid's care.

Cricket hovered over the demon's corpse. It still twitched, and the insect groaned uncomfortably.

"You read its mind?"

"I did," Oydd said.

"You said you wouldn't read other people's minds."

Oydd suppressed a laugh. "I said I wouldn't read your mind. This is a foe."

"But you said you wouldn't," Cricket pressed.

The rudra sighed as he stared at the insect, then repeated, "I will not read your mind. This demon possesses valuable information. I would be a fool to let it slip away. And I don't need to defend myself to you." Oydd turned his back on the insect.

Cricket knelt at the demon's side. "It's just that you said you wouldn't..." His feelers twitched. "What did he say?"

"He didn't say anything. All I got were thoughts and impressions."

The gnome stepped up and waved a stubby hand, awkwardly close to Cricket's face. "Hey, its me... Ba... um, Bra..."

"Brax," Ty'lek cawed, quite clearly.

"Huh... I was wrong," Cricket said. "Brax isn't too long."

"Too long?" Oydd sneered.

"Yeah. Ty'lek can say it fine."

"Brax," the azaeri repeated proudly.

"So you mean it isn't too hard?"

Cricket scratched his head. "Um... yeah. I didn't think he could do 'r's."

"Which is why you said Orth was too long?" Oydd pressed.

"Uh... yeah. Too hard for Ty'lek."

"Or—" the azaeri clucked awkwardly.

"And that's why you said Jeshu was too long?"

Cricket stared back dumbly. "Why are you upset?"

"Because you just chose the wrong word. This whole time you've been trying to be considerate, and I thought you were an imbecile, because you said 'too long' when you meant 'too complex'."

Cricket swallowed hard.

"That's all I can do," Jeshu interrupted. "Now she just needs to rest."

"But she'll be okay?" Cricket asked.

The druid took too long to answer.

Cricket frowned. "She might be okay?"

"Yes," the dryad stated candidly. "She might."

Jeshu looked down at the ettin's enchanted hammer, and compared it to his own modest weapon. "Why did you risk your life for this?"

"It's for you," Cricket beamed.

Jeshu reach out and grabbed the leather-wrapped handle. Frost spread over his bark skin. The dryad winced for a moment, but ignored the pain and hefted the weapon.

"It's too big for me."

"Well, your other hammer is too small when you grow. It looks ridiculous."

"When I grow..." Jeshu repeated, holding the weapon upright before his eyes.

"Yeah. When you grow. This one will be perfect for when you get really big."

Jeshu forced a smile. "I suppose so."

"But I don't know what you'll do with it until then..." the insect added sheepishly.

Jeshu nodded to himself as he contemplated. "I can use a grace of strength."

"What!" Cricket shouted angrily. The rudra glared at him and he repeated more quietly. "You can do strength?"

Shocked, the druid stammered, "Yes."

"I didn't know you could make me stronger!" the insect blurted. "You've been doing those stupid... defensive things on me!"

Jesh stared back wide-eyed.

"What else can you do?"

Jeshu answered slowly. "I could increase your speed, or resistance to dark magic..."

"What! Speed? Speed is so much better than defense! Why would I need a protective spell if I'm too fast to hit? I am... just baffled, Jesh. What were you thinking?"

"Calm down, Cricket," Oydd said.

The insect took a deep breath and slowly simmered down, though he began to pace, clearly reliving some old fight in light of this new tactical information.

Timidly, the druid placed a hand on his own chest and whispered a druidic chant. He repeated the words several times as a red glow began to seep into his skin. Finally, he hefted the hammer again, this time much more easily. He took a couple practice swings and smiled to himself.

"Someone is coming," the rudra warned.

Cricket hopped onto the mound of rock, peering over the top with just his head. "A dhampir?" He watched the distant figure for a moment. "Nope! It's Licephus."