Chaos broke out inside the hut. Everyone scrambled for nearby weapons and gear. Whydah snapped the dim interior lights on and attempted to bring some calm to the situation.

  “Everyone, take a breath. They can’t see or hear us. They can’t get in and they can’t target us with magic.”

  Lunish pulled the strap of her satchel over her shoulder. “Can we wait them out?”

  “Not a good idea,” Bird countered as he hurriedly buckled his sword holster across his chest. “There may be a few hours left on the hut, but if they get reinforcements, we could be fighting fifteen of them.”

  “Agreed,” Segwyn chimed in. “We’re sitting ducks in here. Better to fight them on our terms before the numbers turn against us.”

  “Tiny—can they dispel the hut?” Tsuta called across the domed interior to Whydah.

  “Yes, if they know that spell, we’d be exposed instantly.”

  Iskvold grabbed her staff and got to her feet. “Okay, so what’s the plan? We can step out whenever we want, and back in, right?”

  “Everyone except me,” Whydah confirmed. “And remember, I won’t be able to see if we lose the hut.”

  Glynfir fished around in his satchel. “I’ll try to banish the one on this side. Anyone got a holy symbol I can borrow for the casting?”

  “I’ll try the same with the one on this end, so I’ll need mine,” Tsuta replied.

  Iskvold removed her necklace of Kord, tossing it to the wizard. “Here—but I want it back!”

  Speaking in Abyssal, the demons conversed in clicks and grunts. After an animated discussion, one broke from the group and loped back into the forest.

  “They’re going for reinforcements!” Bird announced to the group. “We don’t have long!”

  Segwyn settled himself next to Whydah, bow in hand, and nocked an arrow. “I’ll stay with the halfling.”

  Bird gave him a nod of thanks before turning to Lunish. “That means you and I get the last one. Stay behind and try to keep his magic off me if you can!”

  A matrix of red energy sprang to life in the palm of one of the demons.

  “The hut’s going down—get ready!” Whydah called.

  Sure enough, the creature pushed the spell against the invisible dome, the red energy tracing across its surface like cracks on thin ice. With the advantage of surprise and numbers, the group readied itself to attack.

  An audible pop announced the dome’s sparkling disappearance…and all hell broke loose.

  Glynfir started the incantation before the dome fell. He hurled his spell across the surface of Iskvold’s holy symbol towards the first Sklir. A twisting circle of white energy engulfed the creature, and with a flash, it was gone. The wizard cackled in delight.

  Tsuta stepped to his left, holy symbol in hand, and released his version of the same spell. A twisting blizzard of energy motes, yellow rather than white, spiraled from his hand, encircling the demon like ten thousand fireflies. The effect stuttered, all motes flickering twice in unison before going dark, leaving a puzzled Tsuta and the Sklir standing a few feet apart.

  The demon surged towards the bald monk, hissing in fury, closing the distance in two leaps. It thrust its spear at the center of his chest. The crack of metal on wood bounced around the surrounding forest as Iskvold’s staff intercepted the strike, parrying the blow. Spinning the heavy hickory shaft, she swept low, knocking the creature’s legs out from underneath it. Claws slashed her face as it went down, opening burning gashes across her cheek and neck. The salty metallic tang of her blood and the demon’s acrid acidic secretions reached the drow’s lips. This time, when the rage swelled within her, she didn’t fight it, didn’t question it. Iskvold gave herself over willingly to the burning fury and became a passenger once again.

  Tsuta recovered quickly from the failed casting, and the two monks flanked the demon. Pale orange robes sandwiched the Sklir’s charcoal, sinewy form. Like a well-practiced dance, the coordinated symmetry of the monks’ whirling staves battered the creature’s shoulders and head.

  When the dome disintegrated, Bird launched himself forward with deadly feline grace. His opponent froze, startled momentarily by the tabby’s immediate proximity. Capitalizing on the hesitation, the cat drew both swords, slashing the first strike across the Sklir’s ribs. He felt the warm spatter of blood on his arm as he drove his left shoulder into the demon’s right. Momentum carried the tabby past his attacker, and he drew the second sword smoothly across the back of the creature’s thigh when it pivoted to face him. Hearing Whydah’s lyre spring to life, Bird prepared for a surge of her magical juice, but none came as the demon’s hand began to sparkle with arcane flashes and the handle of his katana got warm in his hand.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Segwyn was unprepared for the surge of inspiration from Whydah’s lazy harp melody. He drew in an audible breath, his limbs tingling, his gaze sharpened. His first arrow buried itself into the back of Bird’s opponent. The second struck within an inch of the first. Seeing the magical matrix fizzle from his opponent’s fingers, the tabby let out a low guttural purr, his face widening into a toothy grin.

  Lunish intended to follow Bird from the hut’s footprint. As he closed with the demon, her legs were leaden, the back of her neck damp with sweat. Paralyzed with self-doubt and fear, she couldn’t do it. Then Whydah’s music surged through her. Her confidence soaring, the little gnome took a deep breath, drew the dagger from her belt, and threw herself into the fray. Two arrows whizzed past her left ear as adrenaline pushed her forward. Her red braids seemed to float in the air, twisting around her skull like a halo, and she drove the blade hilt deep into the demon’s right haunch.

  Still smiling from his successful banishment, Glynfir turned to the battling monks. With a quick gesture and a flick of his wrist, four more of the red darts sprang from his fingertips. The sidewinding missiles crisscrossed in front of Segwyn and Whydah before connecting with the demon’s chest in a rapid series of hollow drumbeats.

  Dropping one hand from his staff, Tsuta called out a warning to his drow partner.

  “Down, Pinky!”

  His fingers traced a series of patterns in the air before he thrust his hand towards the demon. Iskvold, reacting to his instructions, threw herself backwards, flat on the ground, just as a crack of thunder exploded from the bald monk’s hand. Pushing out from his body like a wave, the arcane force rolled over the Sklir, hurtling it ten feet backward.

  Iskvold gasped as she hit the ground, not from the impact, but from the rush of bardic inspiration now mixing with her internal fury. The drow was amped. Tsuta heard a maniacal chuckle as she kicked her legs, launching back onto her feet, and unleashed a series of blows on the bloodied demon. As the creature turned to flee, the metal cap of her staff cracked against the side of its skull, and it crumpled lifelessly to the forest floor.

  Bird froze, momentarily stunned to see Lunish front and center in the combat. What does she not understand about attacking from the back? But he had to admit, her unexpected attack had created a juicy opportunity. When the demon twisted its torso in reaction to her dagger strike, it fully exposed its left side. From his crouching position, the tabby turned both blades flat and launched himself forward, driving the katanas as one into the creature’s chest cavity. He felt them glance off rib bones before sinking home, ripping through internal organs. A low gurgle emerged from its lips as warm ichor streamed over ragged fangs. Two more arrows from the ranger’s bowstring buried themselves in its neck. The gurgle became a death rattle as Bird braced his foot against the sagging demon’s hip, pushing the corpse off his blades and into a heap on the ground. He looked into the wide eyes of the panting gnome, her feet riveted to the ground, still clutching the blood-stained dagger.

  Dropping to one knee, he locked his eyes on hers.

  “Stay out of the fray—use your magic!” He offset the sternness of his words with a comforting squeeze of her shoulder. “There will be more coming.”

  His words brought her mind back into focus, and the druid nodded repeatedly, her voice barely above a whisper, “That was for Grym.”

  Whydah, frustrated by her limited visibility, frantically considered her options as the fight raged on all sides. In a moment of epiphany, the answer came to her. If I can’t see with my eyes, I’ll use arcane vision to see with my mind! Remembering the severed digits Bird had extracted by the riverside, the halfling rifled through her satchel, extracting one of the demon toes along with a tuft of hound’s fur. Her face wrinkled in distaste at the smell of the rotting flesh. Fighting through the stench, she squeezed the spell’s components in one fist, and dropping the lyre, began to trace patterns in the air with her now free hand. Clasping her closed fist with her casting hand in front of her chest, Whydah raised her head and closed her eyes. The others saw an orange pulse race out in all directions from her seated form.

  In her mind, the bard watched several blips appear in the distance, moving quickly in their direction.

  “A bunch more on their way from that direction.” Everyone’s attention turned toward her as she pointed over Bird’s head. “Maybe five hundred feet out!” She warned.

  Segwyn quickly scanned the surroundings before rising to his feet. He called out to the team, pointing to a natural gap in the dense forest. “Try to funnel them through that opening. Let’s make a kill box!” The ranger drew a black fletched arrow from his quiver and returned to his knees. Bird understood the idea immediately.

  “Stick, Iskvold, let’s hold them here and let them know where we are! Casters—can you make things more difficult for them?”

  “Four hundred feet!” Whydah announced.

  The group rapidly divided itself into three lines. Iskvold, Tsuta, and Bird took the front-line positions, with the bald monk casting a light spell on an overhead branch, illuminating the area around them. Lunish, recalling Bird’s words, stood ten feet back with Glynfir. The gnome pulled several thorns from her satchel, tossing them into the air as her green energy crackled to life. Pointing to the space immediately in front of her friends, the area instantly sprouted a deep, but nearly invisible, blanket of thorns.

  “They won’t like that!” she smirked.

  “Three hundred feet!” Whydah called again from her position with Segwyn in the rear of the company.

  Glynfir took out a bit of fleece and began waving his hand over it. Silver motes danced in the darkness above his palm before he flicked the incantation toward the periphery of their planned combat zone. The appearance of thick raspberry bushes seemed to choke out the space to the left of their position. Repeating the cantrip several times over the next few seconds, the wizard created the visual image of difficult terrain everywhere except where they wanted the demons to travel.

  He presented it to Lunish with a flourish of his hand, “I call it ‘Landscaping by illusion.’”

  The druid shook her head, eyes rolling skyward.

  “Two hundred feet!”

  The sound of a herd of ogres trampling through the leaf cover grew in the distance. Twigs snapped as the chorus of chaos came closer.

  “Whatever you’re going to do, be quick about it! The three of us can’t hold this position very long!” Bird called out as he crouched into a defensive stance, swords held high.

  The halfling suddenly jumped to her feet and began sprinting towards their hastily formed battle line.

  “Where are you going?” Segwyn shouted after her.

  “I have an idea. Don’t shoot until I’m back!” She called cryptically over her shoulder.

  Whydah reached Iskvold’s position just as the shapes of charging demons began to materialize out of the darkness, some sixty feet out. Segwyn watched as the drow woman leaned down, the bard whispering into her ear.

  “Can you throw me into the middle of their formation?”

  The Glimmerstone Enigma?

  Join my substack for: