Grand Game 444: Snaring Foxes (Patreon)

Amantein has died.

You and Ghost have reached level 212!

Your sneaking has reached rank 21, and your chi rank 18.

You are hidden.

A few seconds later, ebonheart was back in my sheath, and I was crawling away from the bloodied battleground. The two remaining hellbats evinced no interest in me. One hung around its dead companion, whining mournfully, while the other had collapsed on its side—gasping its last breaths.

I, myself, was far from hale and had more than a few ministrations to administer. First, though, I had to make sure I couldn’t be easily found again. Tugging free an enchantment crystal from my belt, I crushed it in the palm of my hand.

You have activated a single-use enchantment, completely masking your scent for the next 4 hours.

There. Now, they won’t be able to sniff me out. Glancing over my shoulder, I examined the bloody trail I was leaving in my wake. Time to take care of that, I thought, and released the spell I’d been preparing during my retreat.

You have restored yourself with quick mend. Your health is at 54%. Your right arm is still crippled.

I also had another instance of the spell ready—the trigger-cast version—and without hesitation, I activated it as well.

You have restored yourself with quick mend. Your health is at 74%. You are no longer crippled.

“Ah,” I exclaimed, exhaling in relief as the hole in my shoulder closed. I was still covered in an assortment of cuts of bruises, but none of my injuries were life-threatening or serious enough to hamper me.

Beginning another casting, I finally looked up and took the time to study the new cloud of Riders gathering above the fort. The air was thick with them, making it difficult to separate individual mindglows or even shapes.

“How many do you make out?” I murmured.

“Three hundred,” Ghost replied confidently.

I grunted. If I went by the minimum numbers required to secure a safe zone, that had to be nearly a third of the fort’s full strength. Whoever was in charge was not mucking about. Instead of sending his Riders piecemeal after me, he was gathering them into an unassailable force.

One that even a Power would have trouble facing.

I sighed. It could only mean one thing. One of the players on the roof had seen my spirit signature and had read my Power Mark. It was the only explanation for why anyone would send so many players, after what, after all, was only a lone intruder.

You have restored yourself with quick mend. Your health is at 94%.

“You think they’re all for us?” Ghost asked.

I nodded. “I’d bet on it.”

“What do we do?”

“The only thing we can—hide.” 

There would be no outrunning the gathering force, and even hiding would prove problematic. It could be done, though—with some careful preparations. 

Glancing down, I studied my footprints. They were barely perceptible, but any able scout would still spot them. And while I had no way of concealing my tracks, I did have a means of leaving none. 

Opening my mindsight, I scanned the surroundings. Despite the recent battle, not all the local wildlife had fled, and there were more than a few targets to pick from. Selecting one, I shadow blinked.

You have teleported into the shadow of a level 12 prairie fox. You are hidden.

“Boo,” I whispered, causing the fox to yelp and bolt. 

Ignoring the fleeing animal, I studied the surrounding terrain. I was in a natural fold in the land. The shallow dip was not large enough to conceal me on its own—but that was what my stealth was for. If I remained still and unmoving, even a master scout would have trouble sensing anything amiss.

It’ll do, I thought, deciding against performing further hops across the landscape. 

My chosen spot was close to the battlefield—only forty yards away—but that was not necessarily a bad thing. The Riders would expect me to have fled further afield than that, and I doubted they would search the nearby surroundings as thoroughly as they should. 

Or so, I hoped, anyway.

I glanced in the direction of the fort again. The Devils were still gathering, their numbers growing by the minute. How many are going to be enough? I wondered. 

I sighed. It didn’t matter, though. For now, staying put was the best recourse. And who knows, I might learn something.

Lowering my head, I saw to the rest of my preparations.

✵ ✵ ✵

Axl has died.

You have restored yourself with quick mend. Your health is at 100%.

In the end, the Devil Riders did not set out until a full six hundred had gathered. Not all headed after me, though. A full half—one hundred and fifty players and their mounts—peeled off south, heading toward the river.

Frowning, I watched them go. Why had the Devil commander sent so many in that direction? Was it to find whatever the warlock Reinhart had sniffed out earlier?

Possibly. 

I bit my lip. But I wasn’t convinced the other Devils could know what had caught the warlock’s attention. I’d killed him too quickly for that.

Refocusing on the small army heading my way, I watched them fly closer. Reaching the site of the battlefield the three hundred did not land as I expected. Instead, they remained airborne, circling the area.

Multiple hostile entities have failed to detect you! You are hidden. 

Craning my neck up, I studied the players. The Devils were grouped together in ordered wings of ten riders. Flying in formation, they cut huge circles in the air, and despite the distance separating us, I could see many faces were turned downward, inspecting the terrain.

Abruptly, a wing veered away, heading north. Another followed, choosing a different heading. Then, more wings followed, each covering a different direction until only a single group remained.

The command group? I wondered.

Reaching out with my will, I analyzed the players left behind.

The target is Titus, a level 195 human heavy lancer. 

The target is Asha, a level 191 human heavy lancer. 

The target is Canara, a level 191 elven ranger. 

…

…

The target is Leafbright, a level 206 elven blight druid. 

The target is Zultan, a level 203 orcish hellbringer. 

The target is Malikor, a level 258 human paladin. 

I whistled soundlessly. The lowest leveled player in the group was rank nineteen. Additionally, they were accompanied by no less than three elites. 

Definitely the command group. 

What’s more, each of the ten players bore a telltale Mark.

The target is … … and bears a Mark of Mammon.

“Mammon,” I whispered. It was not a Power whose name I recognized.

“Who’s that?” Ghost asked.

“A Power in the Devil Riders’ faction, perhaps even its ruler.” I pursed my lips. “All the players in the wing are pledged to him.”

“Is that bad?”

“Hmm. Possibly. The Mark means all ten are either followers or Sworn. As followers, they will be stronger than most other players of the same level but, other than that, they’ll be no different and not of any great concern. It’s the Sworn we have to worry about.” 

I fixed my gaze on the group’s probable leader—Malikor. The paladin was covered from head to toe in lacquered red armor. For a human, he was truly huge—seven feet tall, at a guess—and his mount was equally large. The elite had a massive broadsword sheathed at his hip, a round shield across his back, and a pair of throwing axes stashed in his saddle. 

“You see him?” I asked Ghost.

“The giant human in red armor?”

“That’s the one. He, at least, is almost certainly a Sworn. Or worse yet, an envoy. Killing him will alert Mammon immediately.”

“So, what do we do?”

“For now, only watch, wait, and hide. There is no upside to tangling with a force that powerful. And they look as if they’re about to land.” Falling silent, I observed the graceful descent of the hellbats while I renewed my buffs. 

You have cast heightened reflexes, load controller, fade, and trigger-cast quick mend. 

The ten creatures touched down in a close-knit group around the bodies of their dead fellows. Dismounting immediately, six of the group—lancers and warlocks mostly—peeled off to form a defensive cordon while the three elites and the ranger stayed in the center of the formation.

“Zultan, Leafbright, talk to me,” Malikor growled, his tone clipped. But for all that, his words still carried clearly to me forty yards away. 

“We’ve only just landed,” the elf replied reproachfully, her voice soft and warm as a summer’s breeze. “Give us a minute.”

“Work faster then!” the paladin snapped.

Not bothering to reply, the two spellcasters began chanting. Seeing that none of the enemy group were attempting to search the vicinity, I judged the risk of a few slow, controlled movements to be minimal. Reaching out with my right hand, I brushed aside a few errant stalks of grass to better view the Devils. 

Lost in the midst of their spells, the two spellcasters had closed their eyes. Malikor himself stood unmoving next to them, with his arms folded and his visor still down. 

The ranger, meanwhile, was moving quiet-footed from corpse to corpse, inspecting the wounds and the footprints I’d left behind. In the background, Amantein’s mount—the sole survivor of the skirmish—kept up its mournful pining, but none of the Devils paid it any heed.

Wrapping my left hand around the hilt of faithful, I refocused on the two elite spellcasters. For now, they were the biggest threat. Tense with anticipation, I waited for the pair to complete their spells. 

This was the moment of truth. Either I was discovered and forced to flee again, or my defenses would stand up to scrutiny of their magic.

Zultan has cast burning gaze.

On the heels of the Game’s message, the orc’s eyes flared an ugly red. I wasn’t sure what his spell had done, but it was a safe bet that the hellbringer had somehow enhanced his sight. 

Staying where he was, Zultan pivoted around in a slow circle, and as his eyes passed over me, another Game alert dropped in my mind.

You have passed a mental resistance check! 

A hostile entity has failed to detect you. You remain hidden.

I loosened my grip on faithful. So far so good.

The orc turned to Malikor. “The area’s clear,” he said airily, “as far as I can tell, anyway. But like I’ve told you before, revealing spells are not my forte. If you want a thorough scan, bring in the scouts.”

The paladin grunted, but with his visor down, I couldn’t read his expression nor gauge if the response was one of agreement. Saying nothing, he turned to the druid whose chanting was winding down.

Leafbright has cast nature unchained.

Her spell completed, the blight druid stretched out her arms. In response, the grass beyond the Rider-cordon rose.

No, not rose, grew. 

Even from as far away as I was, I could see each stalk thicken and lengthen until it resembled not grass but sticks of wiry bamboo. Leafbright was not done yet. Raising her arms skyward, she caused the circle of unnatural vegetation to grow larger, expanding first ten yards beyond the Devils, then twenty, thirty, and forty.

“What’s going on, Prime?” Ghost asked.

I was just as puzzled. “I’m not sure,” I replied, watching the encroaching vegetation.

“Should we flee?”

“Not yet,” I replied, not moving even as the magical forest of bamboo eclipsed me. Despite their supernatural origins, nothing about the overgrown stalks screamed of danger, and for now, I was content to wait and see what happened next. 

The spell expanded, causing the grass beyond me to grow as well. How far the casting extended, I couldn’t tell. The bespelled grass, pin-straight and at least eight-feet-tall, obscured everything from view. 

At a yelp from the right, my eyes darted sideways.

A prairie fox has died.

I was sure the prairie fox’s death was no accident. Somehow, Leafbright’s spell was responsible.

The bamboo around me shivered and my gaze jerked back to them. The stalks were no longer standing erect. Curling in on themselves, their upper ends were looping over until their tips pointed downward.

My eyes narrowed. Was this the true purpose of the druid’s spell? To weaponize the vegetation? Staring at the sharpened ends of what suddenly looked like over a dozen deadly blades pointed my way, I readied myself to dodge. 

But contrary to my expectations, the bamboo stalks did not suddenly stab down.

Instead, they began to exude a fine mist of glowing pollen. 

Alarm bells began ringing in my mind. Whatever was in the pollen, I knew I didn’t want it to touch me. I still refused to move, though. My void armor was sure to protect me, and I thought it better to trust in my defenses than to act precipitously. 

A pollen seed floated lower. Avidly, I watched as it touched naked skin. 

You have failed a magical resistance check! 

A blight pollen has devoured 0.009% of your health (life magic damage reduced by 15% due to void armor).

A carnivorous bamboo stalk has leeched a fraction of your life force.

The pollen vanished, taking with it an infinitesimal portion of my health, and if the Game message was to be believed, transferring the same quantity to the bamboo stalk which had birthed it.

Bloody hell, I thought, eyeing the millions of other spores following in the wake of the first. 

The damn plants want to eat me.