Grand Game 459: Trojan Horse (Patreon)

81 Days Left to Broker Peace in Sector 12,560

The ambush went off without a hitch. Well, from our perspective it did, but from the Riders vantage point it must have seemed poorly executed.

Yara and Mong began by killing the mage, Elly. Then, in what was either a planned maneuver or a very liberal interpretation of their orders—I couldn’t tell which—the two sub-squads killed not just Troy’s hellbat but all of them.

Not unexpectedly, the Riders’ initial response left much to be desired. Still, Mack should have managed things better. After the slaughter of the hellbats, instead of having his people stand their ground and regroup, he ordered them to scatter.

Which played right into Tyelin’s hands.

Easily picking out Troy from the fleeing Riders, the Blades stripped him of his gear and trussed him up. “You have two minutes,” the envoy rasped. He and I were alone with the scout while the other Blades kept watch on the surviving Riders.

“Make him talk,” I replied tersely while I reclothed myself in Troy’s gear. “I need to hear him speak.”

My own equipment was already in my bag of holding. This included the Cloak of the Reach, which had the unfortunate consequence of putting me and Ghost out of contact. The pyre wolf could still manifest, though—something she had strict instructions not to do. 

Not replying, the envoy prodded the scout with the sharp end of his dagger. “Do you know who I am?” he asked mockingly.

Looking mutinous, Troy stayed silent.

With no change in expression, Tyelin prodded him again, this time burying half the blade’s length in the player’s naked torso.

Troy shrieked. “I know who you are, you whoreson!” he snapped. “Blythe’s little bi—” 

He broke off as the envoy drove the dagger all the way in and twisted viciously. “Tsk, tsk, where are your manners?” Tyelin inquired mildly.

“Malikor will kill you for this!” Troy spat.

The envoy laughed. “He will have to catch me first,” he retorted mockingly. “You’ve heard enough?” he asked in an aside.

“I have.”

“Oh, he’ll catch you, al—” the scout began, but before he could finish, Tyelin broke his neck with a sharp crack.

Troy has died.

You have equipped a scout’s kit, a ranger’s cloak, 4 trinkets, the shortbow, deadeye, and other miscellaneous gear, gaining +25% physical damage reduction and +6 ranks in sneaking.

Ignoring the corpse at my feet, I studied my new attire. There was nothing spectacular about Troy’s gear, but it fit well and provided a modicum of physical protection.

“Do your face,” Tyelin said, gesturing impatiently. “Don’t forget, we’re on the clock now.”

Nodding agreeably—I had eight hours before Troy resurrected—I drew stamina and set about reconfiguring my facial features.

You have cast mimic, concealing your Powerful Initiate Mark and transforming your visage into that of Troy, a level 167 human scout. Duration: 10 hours.

Stepping back, the envoy stared me up and down. “Good, you look the part.”

“And sound it too,” I replied laconically in Troy’s voice.

“Impressive,” Tyelin agreed.

Bending down, I dipped my hand in the blood pooling beneath the corpse and rubbed it over my armor.

Tyelin raised an eyebrow. “What’s that for?”

“To disguise my scent,” I replied. While Troy’s hellbat was dead and it was unlikely that any of the other Riders’ mounts would realize the scout’s smell, there was no reason to take chances. Besides, the blood would also give me an excuse to be muddled about the course of the battle—if such became necessary.

Inspired by that thought, I dipped my hand in the dead player’s blood again and smeared the left side of my face—and bits of my hair too—to create the appearance of a recently received head wound. Then, closing my eyes, I tinkered with my analyze data. 

You have activated mimic’s secondary effects, altering your player data. Falsified debuff: concussed (mental acuity reduced by 30%). 

The envoy’s brows rose higher, but this time, he declined to comment. Instead, he stuck out his hand, revealing a small object. “Here, stow this safely.”

You have acquired a packet of unrefined cynacilin powder. This is an unprepared dose of the poison. You lack the skill necessary to use this item.

I frowned as I digested the Adjudicator’s words. “Unprepared? Why is that?”

“Unfortunately, as powerful a poison as cynacilin is, it’s not without drawbacks,” Tyelin explained. “The poison has a short lifespan and will lose potency ten minutes after it is activated. But don’t worry, Jone will know how to use it.”

“I see,” I said noncommittally.

“Now, if that is all,” the envoy said cheerfully, “we best get this show moving.”

“Agreed,” I replied, turning away. There was no point questioning Tyelin further. I suspected any answers I managed to extract from him would be far from satisfying. Time to finish this and move on.

“Good luck,” Tyelin called from behind as I walked away.

Not bothering to reply, I kept walking.

✵ ✵ ✵

The Blades made sure to clean the scene before leaving. Primarily, this consisted of removing Troy’s corpse. Still, I didn’t hang around.

Feigning panic, I stumbled ‘blindly’ through the grasslands. In truth, though, I had my mindsight trained on the still-fleeing Mack and, with every passing minute, drew closer to him.

Around me, I sensed some of the other survivors. Knowing it would be easier to remain anonymous in a larger group, I thrashed loudly attracting their attention. And so, when I did finally catch up with the patrol’s erstwhile leader, it was with a party of four other Riders in tow.

“Mack, stop!” shouted Helen, one of the Riders accompanying me.

“Finally,” I muttered under my breath. The patrol’s leader had been glaringly visible for the last minute yet still had gone unnoticed by the others.

“Lieutenant,” another Rider—Timmons—called. “Wait!”

This time, Mack responded. His eyes round with fear, he glanced over his shoulder. Seeing five familiar faces seemed to calm him, but he didn’t slow down.

“The Blades are gone,” Helen shouted, noticing what I had.

The lieutenant ground to a halt. 

About bloody time. 

Panting heavily, my party drew to a ragged stop before Mack. “You’re sure?” he asked anxiously.

“Ye,” replied Gregor, the third Rider with me.

“Looks like they were just after the hellbats,” Eric added.

“Seems that way,” Helen agreed.

Mack scanned the five tired faces arrayed before him before his gaze eventually settled on me. “What’s wrong with Troy?” he asked, at last appearing to regain control of himself.

“Head wound, I think,” Timmons answered.

“He hasn’t spoken much since we ran across him,” Gregor added.

Mack frowned, but before he could inquire further as to my state, Eric interjected, “What do we do now, Mack?”

“We head back to the fort, of course,” Helen said, answering in the lieutenant’s stead.

“What about the others?” Timmons asked.

“What about them?” Gregor shot back. “They’re either dead or heading north themselves.”

“And our hellbats?” Eric protested. “Do we just leave their bodies lying there?”

“We do,” the lieutenant said, finally taking charge. “We head north as fast as we can. Command needs to be informed.”

No one protested, and in fact, most appeared relieved by the order. Swiveling about, and with a more confident pep to his stride, the lieutenant marched north. The rest of us fell in step behind him.

“We’re on our way,” I reported to Tyelin.

“Excellent,” came the instantaneous response. “Any complications?”

“None.”

“Good. Keep me informed.”

“I’ll do that,” I replied, staggering after the others.

✵ ✵ ✵

It was a few hours walk to the Rider fort, but even before the first hour was up, we were intercepted.

“Look!” Helen shouted, pointing skyward. “A patrol!”

“Not an ordinary one either,” Mack muttered. “There’s thirty hellbats in that formation.”

He was right, I saw.

“Perhaps Command got wind of what happened?” Eric suggested.

“How?” Timmons demanded.

No one had an answer for him, but I thought perhaps I did. “This your doing?” I asked Tyelin across the farspeaker link. I didn’t bother describing what I meant either. I was fairly sure the Blade squad was still shadowing us.

“Maybe,” he replied, making no effort to disguise the smugness in his tone.

I held back a sigh. The envoy’s latest addition to the plan was unnecessary, but there was nothing for it now but to see how events played out.

The thirty hellbats landed hard. “Lieutenant,” the captain in charge ordered brusquely, “get your people mounted.”

“Dyl, the Blades have crossed the river,” Mack began. “We were—”

“Save your report for later,” Captain Dyl ground out harshly. “Command wants to see you. Now.”

“But—”

“Stow it, lieutenant!” Dyl snapped, his eyes cold and unrelenting. “I gave you an order. Now, do as you’re told and get your people mounted. We’ll ride double until we reach the fort.”

Shoulders sagging, Mack waved us toward the six waiting hellbats and their riders.

“This part of your plan too?” I asked Tyelin bitingly. I couldn’t see how it could be though. The envoy had only given me a map of the fort’s first two floors, and the hellbats, I knew, landed on the roof above the third floor.

“Err…” was the envoy’s not-very-eloquent response.

Cursing silently to myself, I mounted the waiting hellbat and wrapped my arms around the Rider sitting in front, wondering all the while just how the hell I was going to improvise my way out of this latest wrinkle.