Grand Game 464: A Shaft to Nowhere (Patreon)

The servants were gone.

But there was no doubt they’d recently been in the pen. Their scents still lingered in the air for one. For another, boxes filled half the small space, testament to the fact it had never housed a hellbat. 

The servants, I suspected, had been using the pen as a storeroom. So how did they leave? I wondered.

My gaze fell to the dark hole backed up almost against the wall. A rope disappeared down its depths, answering the mystery. Stepping forward, I crouched down for closer inspection. 

The hole was square-shaped and barely large enough to squeeze a medium sized human through. Its edges were smooth, and from the dust marks on the floor, I guessed that it was ordinarily hidden by the piles of nearby boxes. Frowning, I peered into the cavity’s black depths.

The darkness was no obstacle to my sight, and right away, I made out the layer of bricks lining all four sides of the hole. 

Not a hole then. A shaft.

Given how deep the shaft stretched, I estimated it went all the way to the ground floor. I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. Whatever the shaft’s original purpose, it was no recent construction, and it had to have been built before the Riders took control of the fort. Struck by sudden inspiration, I lifted my head upward.

The patch of ceiling directly atop the shaft’s location was lighter colored than the surrounding brickwork. It’s a chimney shaft, I deduced. One that originally reached all the way to the fort’s roof, but that had been deliberately removed and concealed at some point in the past.

“Ghost,” I called, “About those servants… how many were there?”

A pause. “Two. Sorry, I didn’t think to mention that before. Does it make any difference?”

My frown deepened. “I’m not sure, but I’m wondering if those servants really were servants.”

“What else could they be?” the pyre wolf asked confusedly.

“Spies,” I murmured. “Tyelin’s spies.”

I pulled out the envoy’s map. By my reckoning, the shaft was situated along the fort’s south wall. According to the map, the spot directly below me on the first floor was occupied by the fort’s kitchens.

The chimney wasn’t shown on the floorplans, though. 

Admittedly, that didn’t mean much. If it had been part of the Blade’s plan to betray me all along, there was no way he was going to tell me about his spies’ secret network in the fort. 

Of course, the shaft’s absence from the map could also mean Tyelin didn’t know about the shaft—but I highly doubted that. Still, at this point, whether he did was irrelevant. The more pertinent question was whether the Riders knew.

My gut was telling me they didn’t.

And that allowed for some interesting possibilities.

I could use the shaft to escape whatever force Malikor sent to attack me next. Doing so would let me easily slip the Riders’ noose and buy more precious time.

However, it would also reveal the Blades’ hidden network, not that I cared much about keeping the Blades secrets at this point, but a secret shaft that no one knew I knew about? That could come in handy in future. Sadly, though, I could see no way to conceal my use of the shaft while I was hell-tracked. Still, I could not ignore it.

I rose to my feet, my decision made. I would use the shaft—but only after being forced to retreat. Until then, I’d remain in the south stables, letting the Riders believe they had me cornered.

✵ ✵ ✵

I didn’t stay in the shaft-pen, but before leaving it, I made sure to slide some boxes over the hole. If nothing else, the sound of the heavy objects being moved would alert me if anyone tried using the shaft. 

“Still no movement,” Ghost reported as I exited the pen.

Frowning, I checked the status of my debuffs.

You are hell-tracked. Remaining duration: 37 minutes.

You are psi dampened. Remaining duration: 37 minutes.

More than five minutes had passed since Ghost and I had left the feeding chamber, ample time for the sentries to have made their report, yet still no response from Malikor was forthcoming. 

What’s keeping him? I wondered. 

I had no idea, but I had no intention of hanging around doing nothing while I waited. Striding down the stable’s central aisle, I rejoined Ghost by the barn doors. 

The poison clouds from my bombs had long since dissipated exposing the hundred-odd bodies lying atop one near the entrance. Crouching down, I studied the corpses. Even in death the Riders’ expressions, contorted limbs, and positioning betrayed their surprise and the suddenness of their demise.

“You’re going to loot them?” Ghost asked.

I considered the question carefully for a moment, then reluctantly shook my head. Laid out as they were, the dead Riders made for an impressive statement—one beyond my own ability to replicate and one that would perhaps instill fear in the hearts of those who came next. 

Looting the corpses would only lessen that impact. Straightening, I drew my swords. Besides which, they had given me an idea.

“Prime?” Ghost prompted, her head swinging around at the sight of my drawn blades. 

Not answering, I turned a slow circle, listening intently.

The hellbats were still hissing and shrieking their outrage. At a guess, there were nearly five hundred of the creatures in the chamber. But there was also the north stable wing to consider. Assuming it housed an equal number of hellbats, that meant… the Rider occupation force was at least two-thousand strong. 

A not-so-small army, I mused. One I was not going to defeat all by my lonesome. 

Still, I could have a good go at it.

“I think it’s time to expand our statement, Ghost,” I mused.

You have recast vanish.

The pyre wolf’s ears pricked up in confusion. 

“The statement we began when we killed Titus’ people,” I explained as I renewed my invisibility.

“What statement is that?” she asked, no more enlightened.

I headed toward the closest pen. “Woe to those who hunt us.” Leaping over the fence, I advanced on its occupant. “Only death follows in our wake.” Drawing back my blades, I struck.

You have killed Xyactil, a level 149 hellbat with a fatal blow!

I had no intention of slaying all the hellbats, of course. They would not serve as an effective deterrent in that case, but half of them? 

Half of them, I had no compunction about killing. “Take the pens on the right,” I told Ghost. “I got those on the left.”

✵ ✵ ✵

You are hell-tracked. Remaining duration: 27 minutes.

You and Ghost have reached level 221! Ghost’s death magic has reached rank 3.

Your Dexterity has increased to rank 107. 

Ten minutes later, Ghost and I were drenched in blood.

We had executed close to two hundred hellbats, all helplessly trapped in their pens, and all easily slain. It was grim work and earned us another level. 

I, of course, worried that their companions’ deaths would spur the Riders into attacking early, but I didn’t let that stop me. Either Malikor sent an ill-prepared force to attack me, or he waited and sent an overwhelming one. There were advantages to be had with both approaches.

But admittedly, as the clock ticked down, and no Rider force turned up, my concern grew.

The hellbats’ companions had to be aware of their deaths. No doubt it angered them. No doubt it made them chaff at the bit. No doubt, it made them want to set aside their plans and charge up to the third floor.

But they didn’t.

So, either the hellbats meant far less to Malikor than I’d believed or… Malikor was not in charge anymore.

Mammon was.

I knew my incursion had been reported to the Riders’ Power, but would he see fit to handle the matter himself? Would he have dropped everything and teleported to this sector? Could he?

I didn’t know, but I had to be prepared for the possibility. If Mammon comes, I’ll have to—

“You hear that Prime?”

At Ghost’s question my head whipped in the direction of the stable’s main entrance. But the faint sound—the screech of wood on rock—was not coming from the barn doors.

It was coming from the shaft-pen.

Someone was moving the boxes I’d placed over the hole. Cursing silently and fearing the worst, I withdrew my blades from the hellbat corpse at my feet.

“Ghost, go to the feeding chamber and keep watch on the stairs,” I ordered. “Let me know the instant you hear the doors from below opening. This may be the Riders attempting a two-pronged attack.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked as she raced out of the room.

“Kill Malikor’s hellbat,” I replied grimly. I’d located the creature minutes ago, but had held off slaying it, not wanting to overly anger the envoy. Now, though, there was no reason to hold back.

Hopping over the fence, I raced down the main aisle even while I listened with half a ear to the noises emanating from the rear of the stables. 

Those in the shaft were moving carefully, trying to remove the blockage I’d placed over the hole as soundlessly as possible. It would take them a few more seconds yet.

Dashing into another pen, I struck at its occupant. The envoy’s companion was both larger and stronger than the other hellbats, but that made little difference. 

In its pen, it was helpless as the rest.

You have backstabbed your target for 5x more damage!

You have backstabbed your target for 5x more damage!

You have backstabbed your target for 5x more damage!

You have killed Nyctaeus, a level 223 hellbat.

You and Ghost have reached level 222! 

Your two weapon fight has reached rank 18.

Not pausing, I withdrew and sheathed my blades in one fluid motion. Then, I ducked out of the pen and back into the aisle.

“Did you hear that?” a voice whispered almost too soft for even me to hear.

“No,” a second hissed back. “What was it?”

“A… hellbat, I think,” the first said. “Sounded like it was dying.” A pause. “Do you think he is still alive?”

“Can’t be,” the second refuted at last. “Jone and Cail said the Riders had him cornered. He must be dead by now.”

My ears pricked. Jone? The same Jone I was supposed to deliver Tyelin’s poison to? Has to be. 

Dropping into a crouch, I padded in the direction of the shaft-pen. Whoever the two up ahead were, I was certain they were no Riders.

“Jone and Cail could be wrong,” the first went on. 

“Ye, you think so?” the second scoffed. “They’ve never been before.”

“They were wrong about the hole,” the first pointed out. “The boxes were not supposed to be there.”

The second chewed over that for a bit. “True.” 

Another drawn-out moment of silence followed, then I spotted two worried faces rise above the shaft-pen’s fence.

The target is Tulvin, a level 180 half-orc seeker and...

The target is Hycrail, a level 175 human infiltrator and...

Blades. The pair were Blades. But that didn’t necessarily make them friendly. Nothing in the overheard conversation implied one way or another whether Tyelin had betrayed me, but the two had clearly been talking about me. And they had known the Riders had attacked me. 

And had done nothing to assist. 

At best, that makes them neutral. At worst, enemies. Freezing in place, I waited while the pair scanned the room.

Two hostile entities have failed to detect you!

“I don’t see anything,” Hycrail reported.

“Me neither,” Tulvin confirmed.

Hycrail rubbed his eyes irritably. “Damn dampening field,” he whined. “Without my psi, it’s like I am half-blind or something.”

Tulvin nodded. “I know the feeling.”

“Why did we have to move early again?”

Tulvin grunted. “Stop asking stupid questions. You know why.”

Sighing, the human scanned the room a second time. “It’s clear—as far as I can tell in this state, anyway.” He paused. “We signal the others?” 

Tulvin pursed his lips. “We have to,” he pronounced. “The plan has gone to shit as it is. Time to get it back on track.”

“Agreed,” Hycrail said, and a second later, both vanished from sight—presumably to summon the ‘others.’

I rocked back on my heels the moment they were gone, more perturbed than intrigued by the overheard conversation. Blades in the fort. That was the last thing I expected. 

How had they gotten in anyway? With the Riders’ defenses raised, no one should have been able to get in or out. Yet the Blades had managed it. Unless… 

They were here all along. 

It certainly seemed the more likely possibility, especially if it were only a handful of Blades involved. But just many ‘others’ were there?  And more importantly, what did the Blades’ presence mean for me?

“Prime,” Ghost called.

“It’s a false alarm,” I replied absently. “We’re not being ambushed. The ones coming up the shaft are Blades, not Riders.” I sighed. “Although what that portends, I’m not sure.”

Ghost did not respond immediately. “Then those coming up the stairwell are Blades too?”

I blinked. “The stairs? Which stairs?” I asked, although I already knew.

“The doors on the second floor are opening,” Ghost replied, confirming my suspicions. “And there are scores of players waiting beyond.”