Grand Game 466: The Dues of the Feckless (Patreon)

You are hell-tracked. Remaining duration: 20 minutes.

Your deception has reached rank 21.

The Riders knew I was fleeing, of course. Indeed, they would be able to track the exact route I used. I didn’t let it bother me, though. The Blades were guarding my rear—albeit unknowingly. 

Shimmying down the rope after a player who didn’t give me so much as a backward glance, I entered the shaft.

It was not what I expected.

Coarse gray bricks lined the sides the first three-quarters of the way down. The last quarter? Chiseled rock. The bottom of the shaft was beneath the fort.

That’s how they did it, I realized as I dropped down onto solid ground again. The Blades had tunneled into the fort from below. Thoughtfully, I scraped at the floor with my boot. Paved brickwork lay beneath what seemed a decade’s worth of accumulated dirt and grime. Interesting. This is no recent construction. That must mean—

“Psst! Mazeen, quit dawdling,” a voice from above hissed. “You’re leaving us hanging up here.”

Waving apologetically at the Blades still stuck on the rope, I moved clear of the landing area and studied the room I found myself in. It was cramped and windowless and had only one other exit. 

I pursed my lips. I was beneath the fort, that much was obvious. Yet I was still in the fort—as evinced by the psi dampening field that remained active about me. 

So, what does this make this place? Some sort of basement level? I wondered. Has to be. 

The Blade behind me brushed past. Muttering under his breath about dawdling fools, he hurried through the exit. Unsurprisingly, all the other players had headed that way too. Shrugging fatalistically, I followed on their heels.

✵ ✵ ✵

A narrow passage waited beyond. There was no lighting of any sort, and though that bothered me little, I could tell from the bitten-off curses of those in the fore and the rear that not everyone was managing as well as I was. 

The corridor worked its way from east to west—following the fort’s south wall—but it was not very long before it spilled out into a large chamber brightly lit by magelights.

Again, there was only one exit. 

This time, though, the succeeding passage headed due north, into the fort proper, and in the opposite direction of where I wanted to go. Slowing my steps, I watched the Blade I’d been following disappear into the corridor beyond, then turned my attention to the room’s other occupants.

That was the other thing different about this chamber. It wasn’t empty. 

Standing with their backs braced against the opposite wall, and with bared weapons in hand, were ten Blades—some of whom I recognized.

Multiple hostile entities have failed to pierce your disguise.

The leader of the player squad glared at me. “What are you waiting for, Maz?” Cine demanded. “You know your orders. Go see Tyelin!”

There was no trace of suspicion in Cine’s expression nor any spark of recognition in his eyes. The elf had no idea who I was. Nodding placidly, I headed towards the room’s northern exit. 

Cline had clearly been reborn since our clash two days ago, yet I found it interesting to find him here, standing guard on what, to all intents, was an empty room.

Tyelin has demoted him then, I thought, concealing a smile. My gaze flickered to Deklan, the human rogue beside Cine. And his cronies too. Serves them—

You have passed a Perception check.

You have pierced a veil of concealment. An illusion has been lifted. You have found a hidden trapdoor!

Midway into the room, my steps faltered. Caught by surprise by the Game message, I couldn’t stop my gaze from jerking sideways to the newly revealed trapdoor.

Cine noticed.

“No, you don’t,” the elven greenblade growled. “No one leaves, not until we’ve done what we’ve set out to do.”

“Ye, and don’t think about making a dash for it,” Deklan scoffed in the sneering manner I remembered so well. “The envoy’s traps will chew you up and spit you out without breaking a sweat.”

Tearing my gaze away from the trapdoor, I nodded submissively and continued on on my original trajectory. Yet even as I did so, my mind was awhirl with thoughts of the trapdoor. It had been cunningly concealed in the far south corner of the room, and I knew beyond a shadow of doubt that it marked the way out. 

A backdoor. That’s how the Blades got in. 

And that’s how I get out.

In my mind, I tried picturing the location of the trapdoor, the fort, and the river. They all fit neatly together.

The Blades had built a secret tunnel, I decided. And not just any tunnel, but one that delved beneath the river, connecting this sector and the adjacent one. Sneaky, I thought in admiration.

Yet, the tunnel’s construction had to have been a massive undertaking. It would’ve taken years to finish, which meant the Blades had likely built it when they controlled both sectors—an exhibition of both cunning and forethought.  

The Blades had both in spades. No wonder they’ve survived so long. 

Unfortunately, that same cunning and forethought was also turned against me. With the exit so close at hand, I was tempted to fight my way to the trapdoor. But Deklan’s words stopped me.

The Blades had trapped the exit.

Just like they had their camp near the river. I hadn’t found those traps, and I doubted I was going to spot these either, especially since it seemed that Tyelin himself had set them.

So, as much as it irked me, I did as I was told and entered the north corridor.

✵ ✵ ✵

Fortunately—or unfortunately—I didn’t get far.

I’d barely ventured a dozen steps into the north corridor when I caught sight of a crowd of Blades coming the other way. 

“Back!” someone shouted. “Everyone back!”

The one doing the shouting, a player named Auris, was at the forefront of the advancing Blades. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they filled the corridor to the brim and were descending on me like a horde of angry black insects. Left with no other choice, I and the other Blades fleeing the stables, retreated into the trapdoor-room.

“What are you fools doing back here?” Cine roared. “I thought I told you to—” 

“Shut up Cline,” Auris snapped, as she entered the room at the head of her own force of players.

“Auris!” the elf exclaimed. “You shouldn’t be here. Your orders were to—” 

“Orders change,” another interjected, separating himself from the column of newly arrived Blades.

I stiffened, recognizing the speaker’s voice almost at the same time as the Game fed me his analyze data. It was Tyelin. Blythe’s envoy had finally arrived to take charge of matters. 

Discreetly, I shrank further back into the ranks of Blades around me. If anyone was going to be able to pierce my guise, it would be Tyelin. 

“That is something I thought you would have learned by now, Cline,” the envoy went on. 

The greenblade shifted unhappily. “But you told me to follow your instructions to the letter. You said if I deviated even a—” 

Tyelin didn’t let him finish. “Tell me, Cline, did you bother to question any of Yara’s people who passed by this room?”

His face devolving into confusion, the elf opened his mouth to reply.

The envoy sighed. “Don’t tell me,” he said, holding up a hand. “I already know. You didn’t.” Striding up to Cline, Tyelin stared him down. “But if you did, you’d know they’re fleeing a counter-ambush. You’d know Yara is dead. You’d know there are scores of Riders on their heels. You’d know that Malikor himself is in the stables!”

“Mammon’s envoy,” Cline stuttered. “He’s here?”

Ignoring the question, Tyelin placed his face mere inches from the elf’s. “That being the case, don’t you think it would’ve been wise to halt Yara’s people’s flight and gather them together to guard the shaft?”

“Uhm—” 

“Shouldn’t you have at least ordered your own squad into the shaft-room to protect our rear?” Tyelin went on remorselessly.

“Err…”

Stepping back, Tyelin folded his arms across his chest. “Go,” he commanded, his voice dangerously soft. “Take your people and go secure the shaft.”

Cline blanched. “But what about Malikor? My squad can’t stand against Mammon’s envoy. Shouldn’t you—”

“Don’t be a fool!” Tyelin hissed. “Malikor can’t use the shaft. Or,” he added sarcastically, “do you think Mammon’s brave paladin is going to take off his armor and try to squeeze his big frame through that little hole?”

Cline licked his lips. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess not.” 

“Then go,” Tyelin repeated. “None of the Riders have entered the shaft yet, for fear of being ambushed, but if you keep dithering, you’re going to find them waiting for you.”

Cline’s eyes darted to the other Blades in the room. “Shouldn’t I take some reinforcements with—” 

“SHUT UP AND GO!” Tyelin yelled, his temper finally snapping.

Saying no more, Cline beat a hasty retreat with Deklan and the others hard on his heels.

The envoy watched their departure for only a moment before spinning around to survey the packed room. “Haiken, come here.”

The Blade so-called hurried up to the envoy.

Placing his hand on the player, Tyelin drew him close. Unobtrusively, I inched forward, straining my ears to listen. 

“Follow Cline. Take five squads and keep an eye on him and his men,” the envoy ordered in a low voice. “You are not to enter the shaft-room yourself, nor are you to engage with the Riders.” He threw the player a stern look. “Got it?”

“Got it,” Haiken confirmed.

“Good,” Tyelin continued. “Now, when Cline’s squad falls—” his voice turned grim—“and make no mistake, they will fall, activate the shaft traps. Then retreat up the corridor, activating the traps placed there as you go.”

I stifled a groan. Just how many damnable traps had the Blades set? Escaping was looking more problematic by the second.

“It will be as you say, envoy,” Haiken said.

“Good man,” Tyelin said, clapping him on the back. “Now go.”

After Haiken hurried off, Tyelin called to Auris, “Secure the room.”

“Yessir,” she replied as she began ushering players into place.

“And when you’re done with that, bring me the reports from the survivors. Before we move, I want to know exactly what disaster befell Yara.”