Grand Game 331: Killing Flights (Patreon)

“Do you trust them?”

Elron and I were back at the city walls. The marshal was readying his men inside the south gate while Ghost and I stood silent witness. The spirit wolf’s question was an apt one, and I took my time reviewing what I’d learned from the council meeting before answering.

New Haven was not a new city, and its inhabitants were not in the dungeon by choice. Like me, they had entered Draven’s Reach unwillingly, and like me, they were trapped here. Some of this was supposition, but I didn’t think I was mistaken. And I could think of only one reason why an entire people would uproot themselves.

The void.

At some point, in the distant past, New Haven’s citizens must have fled their home sector, escaping the nether’s touch. It explained the fear I’d seen in the councilors’ faces at the mention of the void, and it explained why the portal they had entered through was sealed.

What I did not understand though, was why there were no players amongst the New Havens. Surely, some at least had felt obligated to enter the dungeon and protect the city’s populace?

Then there was the rulers’ repeated reference to ‘the possessed.’ What were they—dungeon denizens or nether creatures? Whatever the possessed were, the councilors almost seemed to fear them as much as they did the void.

But despite these mysteries, I did not doubt the New Havens hated the void, or that most of them wished out of the dungeon—with the possible exception of the dwarven thane.

“I do,” I said finally. “Some of them, anyway.”

“You will do as they ask, then, and destroy the seeds outside the city walls?”

I nodded.

“Who are you talking to?” Elron asked, approaching me from behind.

The dark elf moved well. His footfalls had been so silent, I’d not heard him over the sound of the assembling soldiers. “Only myself,” I said lightly.

He eyed me askance. “You do that often?”

I chuckled. “More often than you would believe.” I glanced at the gathered company and whistled softly. “This is what you meant by a small force?”

There had to be nearly two thousand men in the square, all standing to attention in neatly dressed lines. Half the soldiers carried longbows and wore leather armor. The other half were heavily armed and wielded pikes.

Elron shrugged. “They will suffice.”

The marshal would know the capabilities of his own people better than I did, and if he believed the company was up to the task of defeating the ten score stygians in the fog banks, I was not going to question his judgment.

One thing bothered me, though. “No cavalry?” They had been effective in the first battle I’d witnessed, and I was surprised Elron had scorned their use for this venture.

“The pikemen will do a better job of protecting the archers,” he replied simply.

Before I could say anything, two aides rushed up with a pair of armored horses. Elron mounted the first and motioned me towards the second.

I shook my head. “I’ll do better on my own two feet.”

The marshal raised an eyebrow in polite disbelief but did not gainsay me. “Open the gates!” he barked.

A squad of soldiers raced to do his bidding, and Elron’s horse surged forward. “Let’s be about it,” he called as he galloped away.

✵ ✵ ✵

The plan was a simple one.

Our company drew up two hundred yards from the edge of the rightmost fog bank, and at Elron’s command, the longbowmen fell to one knee and raised their bows while the pikeman hefted their weapons in readiness.

“Are you sure you can see through the mist, Taim?” Elron asked.

“I can,” I lied smoothly. It was not me but Ghost whose gaze would penetrate the nether cloud.

Looking back, I saw the archers were waiting on our command. Like the pikemen’s weapons, the arrowheads at the end of the archers’ bows were formed from stygian ore.

Noticing the direction of my glance, Elron said, “Those stygian arrows are irreplaceable. If they are lost, there’ll be no recovering them.”

“How do you make them?” I asked curiously.

“The same way you players do, I imagine,” he replied. “We harvest the ingredients from the stygians we kill, but there is never enough to go around, and stygian weapons are always in short supply. If this doesn’t work, the city will be weakened by the loss of the arrows.”

I met his gaze. “Better lost arrows than lost men.”

The marshal nodded reluctantly. The fact that this plan would draw the stygians to us—and not so coincidentally negate the need for Elron’s men to enter the fog—was a large reason why he had agreed to it, even though he still remained skeptical of my claims.

“Sir, the men are ready,” a captain said, running up.

The marshal glanced at me expectantly.

Nodding, I turned my gaze towards the opaque mists. It was time for me and Ghost to perform.

“There is a clump of three dozen stygians thirty yards from the edge of the fog and fifty yards to the left,” Ghost reported, right on cue. “The rest of the creatures are farther back and are waiting to see what the soldiers do.”

“What are we facing?” I asked.

“Mostly stygians crawlers and a handful of weavers.”

Murmuring my thanks, I relayed the information to Elron, and the archers adjusted their aim.

“Fire!” the captain barked.

In the next heartbeat, one thousand arrows took flight, darkening the sky as they arched upwards to disappear into the fog. Besides me, I sensed Elron hold his breath, and I felt like doing much the same.

A second passed and another.

Then, hisses and snarls of pain broke out, loud enough that even the marshal and his men could not fail to hear. Elron beamed, and I felt a grin spread across my own face.

“By damn, it worked!” Elron exclaimed.

“I told you it would,” I murmured. Letting my gaze slide to the right, I waited to hear Ghost’s report.

“The volley missed the center of the crawlers’ formation,” she said, all business. “Only half are injured. Inform the archers that they must adjust their aim again. Another twenty yards to the right should do it.”

My lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am,” I said and relayed her orders.

A second flight of arrows took wing, and this time the cries of pain were notably louder.

Ghost wagged her tail furiously. “That’s it! That bunch is finished.” She paused. “The rest of the crawlers are moving forward. They’re getting ready to charge, I think.”

“Incoming,” I reported.

Elron’s smile vanished. “Pikemen, ready up!” he ordered.

Striding five paces forward, the soldiers planted their pikes in the ground, angling their points upwards. I glanced at the other fog bank. It was a few hundred yards distant, but I did not doubt the stygians inside were aware of the impending battle. “What’s happening in there?”

“Not much,” Ghost replied. “The second group of stygians have drawn closer to their seed and show no sign of advancing. I doubt they will attack unless it is attacked.”

That will make things easier, I thought and told the marshal what Ghost had seen.

“Inform me if anything changes,” Elron said. Dismounting, he joined the pikemen in the defensive line they’d formed. Behind them, the longbowmen held their bows ready—arrows loosely knocked—but didn’t fire.

Wisely, the marshal and his captains had decided to wait for the crawlers to show themselves before loosing the next wave. Readying my own buffs, I drew my stygian sword and placed myself on the other end of the pike line.

A handful of seconds later, the crawlers boiled out of the mists.

In total, the survivors numbered about seventy, still a significant force. But before they covered more than a dozen yards, they were met by another blistering volley from the archers.

A stygian crawler has died.

A stygian crawler has been injured.

A stygian crawler has died.

A stygian...

“Rapid fire!” a captain yelled.

In response, wave after wave of arrows took to the air, with barely any pauses between.

More stygians fell. Many more.

It was a breathtaking display of marksmanship, and my mouth dropped open in awe as I watched the crawler formation visibly shrink with every yard they advanced. I lowered my blade. Judging by how quickly the longbowmen were cutting down their victims, I judged barely a quarter of the stygians would live long enough to trouble the pikemen.

I snorted, thinking back on Elron’s previous words. “Suffice, indeed.” This was a far cry from that.

This was overkill.

✵ ✵ ✵

My estimation turned out to be overly optimistic.

Only six crawlers made it to the pikeman line, and they were quickly cut down. “Well done,” Elron said as he rejoined me.

“And to you, too,” I said. “Your men do good work.”

Elron smiled. “They’ve had lots of practice.” Swinging around, he gazed into the fog bank. “What’s left?”

“Six weavers,” I said, relaying what Ghost had already reported. The weavers appear to be the seeds’ favored guards, at least in this sector.

Elron did not ask me what the weavers were, so he had to be familiar with the breed. “Let’s finish this.”

I nodded. “Let’s.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Elron barked, “Soldiers, advance!”

✵ ✵ ✵

It was about thirty yards from the edge of the fog bank to the seed and the weavers surrounding it—well within range of the longbowmen. Drawing up fifty yards from the mists, the archers raised their bows and fired.

Half found their marks on the first volley.

The weavers were smarter than the crawlers though, and although gravely injured, they did what their fellows should have: they scattered quickly. The archers released again.

Only two weavers were struck.

A third wave took to the air but, like the second, it failed to trouble the six seed guards. To make matters worse, the weavers had already healed up using the same magic I’d witnessed days ago.

“This isn’t working,” Elron said, spitting in disgust, when I passed on Ghost’s reports.

“I agree,” I said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You?” the marshal asked.

I smiled. “Still lacking in faith, Elron?”

The marshal grunted noncommittally. “What’s your plan?”

“You’ll see,” I said mysteriously, not about to share my tactics unnecessarily. “Draw your men back and let them rest. This may take a while.”

The marshal opened his mouth to protest, but I spoke over him. “You know what happens after I destroy the seed, right?”

“We return to the city.”

I waved aside his words. “Before that.”

Elron’s brows furrowed.

“The harbinger shows up,” I said in response to his confusion.

The marshal stared at me searchingly. “You sound certain,” he said quietly.

“I am.”

Elron’s eyes narrowed. “How can you be so sure?”

“This will not be the first seed I’ve tackled in this dungeon. When I destroyed the other one, the harbinger turned up. Somehow, the two are connected, and he knows when the seeds are attacked.” I left my explanation at that, not wanting to rouse the marshal’s curiosity further by voicing all my suspicions about the seeds.

“I see,” the marshal said, accepting my explanation. “I’ll prepare the men and warn the city.”

“See that you do,” I said, and strode into the fog.

✵ ✵ ✵

You have activated a scent concealment crystal.

Five minutes later, I was crouched in the mists, watching the weavers with my mindsight. I’d taken the time to renew my buffs and use an enchantment crystal to mask my smell. The last thing I wanted was the harbinger speaking to me as he had done previously and the too-curious marshal overhearing.

The weavers had only just returned to their sentry positions around the seed and, not surprisingly, were still on edge. Cloaked in shadows, and thirty yards away from my targets, I drew psi. Having only faced physical attacks so far, the weavers had not erected their mental defenses, and after my previous experience with the creatures, I had no intention of allowing them to do so.

Completing my spell, I sent tendrils of will surging into the minds of four stygians.

You have cast slaysight.

You have induced 3 of 4 targets to sleep for 30 seconds.

Your mental intrusion has gone undetected!

The mindglows of the three bespelled weavers dimmed, and though I could not see the creatures yet, I imagined they had sunk to the ground. Just as importantly, the other stygians did not react. Drawing more psi, I cast mass charm.

You have charmed 3 of 3 targets for 20 seconds.

“Excellent,” I murmured as the remaining weavers fell under my spell. “Wait her and keep watch,” I ordered Ghost. Turning my focus inwards, I transformed the psi sitting at my mind’s core into an insurmountable wall.

You have cast mind shield. Psi abilities are no longer available.

I dashed forward.

Sadly, without access to my psi, I had to cover the distance on foot. Nonetheless, it took me only a handful of seconds to reach the seed’s guards. The moment the first nether creature emerged into sight, I slashed down with my stygian sword.

You have killed a stygian weaver with a fatal blow.

Knowing time was of the essence, I empowered my arms, ramping up the speed and power of my attacks.

You have cast whirlwind and piercing strike.

Spinning left, I chopped down, cutting a sleeping weaver in two. Lunging forward, I plunged my blade through the maw of another. Taking ten paces to the right, I skewered two more in quick succession, then charged forward and rammed into the last.

You have killed 6 stygian weavers.

Panting heavily, I surveyed strewn corpses. My foes had died without fuss and without resistance. I smiled in grim satisfaction. There was only one more thing left to do.

Sheathing my stygian blade, I drew ebonheart and approached the seed. Even now, I imagined it was squawking to the harbinger for help or trying to worm its way into my mind.

“Not this time,” I muttered. Recasting piercing strike, I brought the black blade flashing down.

You had destroyed a stygian seed!

It was done. Sweeping up the seed’s fragments, I raced out of the mists.