Grand Game 397: The First Victim (Patreon)

Slumber’s sentinel activated. Caster awakened.

My first response was relief. The ward had activated. And it had not harmed me.

Trepidation followed on its heels. Things were going too well. Was this a trap?

It isn’t. It’s just nerves. Brushing aside the feeling, I pushed open the door and stepped across the threshold.

The room was dark, but I had no trouble picking out its contents. Curtains draped the walls to the left and right, a chandelier hung from the ceiling, and in front of me, stood an oversized bed. Amongst its ruffled sheets, I spotted my target. The First.

Cilia has failed to pierce your disguise.

The dark elf councilor was sitting up in the bed, her eyes still clouded by sleep. “Min?” she asked groggily.

Closing the door quietly behind me, I stepped closer. “It is, dear,” I murmured.

Cilia patted an empty spot beside her on the bed. “I didn’t know you were visiting today. Come—” She broke off, eyes clearing. “‘Dear.’ You called me ‘dear.’”

I cursed. I’d betrayed myself, I realized. Dropping my right hand to the sheathed blade around my waist, I quickened my stride.

“Since when am I ‘dear?’” Cilia demanded, her voice rising.

The First had not caught onto the truth yet, but she would—and soon. Any moment now she was going to cast, or worse yet, shout for help. I couldn’t let that happen. Drawing psi, I rushed through the aether.

You have teleported 4 yards.

I blinked back into existence, blade drawn and poised to strike. Cilia’s gaze whipped in my direction, dawning realization and fear in her eyes. Her mouth opened, a scream bubbling in her throat.

I was quicker. Striking fast, I buried ebonheart hilt-deep in her neck.

You have killed Cilia with a fatal blow.

The dark elf councilor sagged listlessly, only the black blade keeping her upright. For an interminable second, I stared at the corpse. It was done. My first target was eliminated, the job done.

So, why do I feel unclean?

I had killed before. Numerous times. Defenseless targets too. But this was the first time I’d deliberately sought and hunted down a target—one who, while opposed to me, hadn’t actively been trying to do me harm. I had not hesitated to act, to do what was necessary. But now that the deed was done, I felt… unsettled.

The First had to have been killed, I didn’t doubt that. She might not have been as vile as Castor, but she had allied herself with him and his followers, knowingly allowing the possessed to steal away her people’s lives, and for that she deserved death.

I don’t regret killing her, I told myself. I don’t.

But the First hadn’t been a combatant. She was a victim, and this hadn’t been a battle, it was an execution—an assassination, plain and simple. It was a fine line, I tread, I realized, one easy to cross.  Murder was but a step away, and it would be oh-so-easy to stray onto that path.

Am I becoming what I—

“Prime?” Ghost’s barked through the mind link, intruding on my black thoughts. “What are you doing?”

Shaking free of my reverie, I gently lowered Cilia’s corpse back onto the bed. “The First is dead, Ghost. Mission accomplished.”

Even though I didn’t share my doubts about what I’d done, I knew Ghost sensed them. “Good,” she said, uncomplicated satisfaction filling her voice. “She needed to die. Time to move onto the second?”

Straightening, I surveyed the room. I should search it, I knew, but I felt little desire to linger. “Yes,” I replied. “Coming to you.”

Turning my back on the dead body and blood-spattered sheets, I left the room without a backward glance.

✵ ✵ ✵

I exited the First’s bedroom as swiftly as I’d entered. After re-entering the antechamber, I closed the door behind me, then proceeded to lock it.

Cilia’s death had gone unnoticed by her bodyguards, and I wanted to keep it that way as long as possible. The locked door would not fool them for long, but it would buy me some time, and every minute more I could delay the alarm being raised increased my chances of success with my second target: Castor.

Him, I had no compunctions about killing any way I could. In fact, I found myself looking forward to the deed.

Turning around in a slow circle, I examined the antechamber. Everything was just as it had been when I got here. Good. Closing my eyes, I gathered psi and shadow blinked.

You have teleported to Ghost.

I stepped out of the aether in the maid’s quarters to find the pyre wolf on her feet, her tailing wagging impatiently.

“Keep watch, I need a second,” I murmured, then proceeded to undress. Removing the soldier’s uniform I’d been wearing, I re-equipped my old gear.

You have cast facial disguise, assuming the visage of Bron.

Your lesser imitate enchantment has been dispelled.

You have activated the simple mode enchantment of the belt of the chameleon. Your armor and weapons are now hidden.

Needless to say, I was done wearing Minakawa’s face. From this point on it was better to walk around the citadel as a faceless servant than as the more notable dark elf captain.

As far as the First’s bodyguards were concerned—or anyone else in the citadel, for that matter—Minakawa was still in Cilia’s chambers. If the alarm was raised before I’d completed the second half of my mission, it would be him that the guards would be searching for. No one would suspect my involvement until much later—if ever—and that meant Castor wouldn’t be alerted to the fact that a player hunted him.

I didn’t plan on letting things go wrong, of course, but it was always nice to have a contingency in place. Redressed and re-armed, I put on my final piece of clothing: the Cloak of the Reach.

Ghost’s expression fell at the sight of the garment. “I’m going to have to go back into it, aren’t I?” she asked sadly.

I nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”

With a sigh to express her distaste—just in case I’d failed to mark it before—the pyre wolf let her form dissipate.

Ghost has cast unmanifest.

“You’ll get your chance to fight soon enough,” I said, soothingly. “I suspect things with Castor will not go as smoothly.”

Ghost did not reply, but I felt her interest quicken. Smiling, I edged up to the closed door and checked the corridor beyond with my mindsight. It was still empty.

Time to find and kill Castor, I thought and stepped out of the room.

✵ ✵ ✵

I made my way back to the ground floor without mishap. According to Algar, the fortress had two subterranean levels. The first held the castle’s storerooms, and the second its prisons. Unfortunately, access to both was tightly controlled. Consequently, Elron’s captain had only been able to provide me limited information as to their layout.

I knew, though, that entrance to the underground tunnel was located at the far end of the prison, which ordinarily would have left it well protected. To reach the tunnel, most intruders would have to traverse the entirety of both subterranean levels—navigating whatever safeguards lay between.

Not me, though.

With mindsight and teleport, I could bypass all the possessed’s protections and reach my destination in an eyeblink. Or I could have if not for another unexpected wrinkle, something I only discovered after I unfurled my mindsight while on the ground floor.

The levels beneath were opaque to me.

According to my mindsight, the subterranean floors were empty of life. I did not for a second believe that, though. In all likelihood, the possessed had magically shielded the area.

Frowning, I contemplated what this meant for the plan. “Trouble?” Ghost asked, sensing the direction of my thoughts.

“Maybe,” I said. “I can’t see into the floors below.”

“Oh. Does that mean we will have to make our way through the lower floors on foot?”

“It does,” I agreed. “But there is more to it than that.” Not explaining further, I waited for Ghost to figure out the problem herself.

She fell silent for a moment, thinking. “You’re worried about how we will find Castor?”

I nodded imperceptibly. “I am.”

Unfortunately, the possessed leader’s location was more of a mystery than Cilia’s had been. Knowing he was somewhere in the fortress’ lower levels was one thing, finding him was another—especially since I was now on the clock.

Sooner or later, the First’ body would be discovered and the alarm raised, and while the precautions I’d taken should buy me some time, it would not be enough to thoroughly search three whole levels.

It was a good guess that Castor would be in the tunnel itself, but that was all it was: a guess. If he wasn’t there, or if the tunnel itself was a vast complex in of itself—I still knew nothing of its layout—things could go pear-shaped quickly. I’d been counting on using my mindsight to narrow down the search area and teleport to get me to my target once I located him. Now, though…

Now, I had to face the possibility I might not find Castor in time.

“We should change the plan,” Ghost asserted.

A smile flickered across my face. “We should,” I agreed, having come to the same conclusion myself. Adjusting my stride, I turned left—towards the fortress’ kitchens. It was where Algar’s spy worked.

The original plan called for me to only contact the spy after I’d killed Castor, but that had been on the assumption I could quickly locate and eliminate the possessed leader. Now I was faced with the stark possibility of not being able to do that.

But the genie was already out of the bottle. The rebellion had started and there was no halting it now. Algar and his men would assault the fortress—whether I was successful or not—and I could not leave them in the lurch. I had to give them as much chance to succeed as I could—even if I failed.

Which meant launching the assault early, before I tried taking out Castor.

If Algar attacked the fortress before the possessed were alerted, then the rebellion could still succeed. It would undoubtedly be bloody. Castor and the others would not go down easily, but it would be less bloody than if Algar and his men assaulted a primed and ready fortress of possessed.

A hostile entity has failed to pierce your disguise.

“Hey! Who are you?” a voice demanded. “And what are you doing here? The kitchens are a restricted area.”

I looked up to find a severe looking woman glaring at me. She stood braced in the threshold of the door to the kitchen as if she meant to physically bar me from entering. “I’m Bron,” I replied easily, stopping three feet away. “I’m looking for Eclarie.”

“The head cook?” she asked. “Why?”

I shrugged as if it was a matter of no consequence. “I have a message for him.”

She held out a hand. “Give it to me. I’ll see that he gets it.”

I shook my head. “Oh no, I can’t do that. It’s from one of the high and mighties. You know how they are. They insisted I deliver it personally into Eclarie’s hands.”

The woman scowled.

“Sorry,” I said unapologetically. “Just doing my job.”

“Wait here, then. I’ll fetch him.”

Smiling, I gave her a half-bow. “Of course.”

✵ ✵ ✵

Eclarie did not look like a cook, much less the master of an entire keep’s kitchens. Rail-thin, he seemed more than a little malnourished. Coming to a stop before me, he blinked owlishly. “Who’re you? I don’t know you.”

Mindful of the woman who’d gone to fetch Eclarie still hovering in the background, I said, “Alest sent me.” Alest was the code word Algar had given me.

The cook’s eyes tightened fractionally. “Maeve,” he called over his shoulder without looking back, “you can go. I’ll take care of this.”

The severe woman’s lips thinned but she didn’t protest as she flounced off. After I was certain she was gone, I took a step closer to Eclarie. “It’s time,” I whispered.

His brows rose. “They’re both dead?”

I shook my head. “Cilia is. Castor isn’t. I’m heading down to the lower levels to take care of him now, but there are… complications.” I hesitated. “I might not succeed,” I admitted.

The spy did not react to my words as I expected. His eyes roving over my form, he studied my face and garb carefully. “You’re… him? You’re the player?”

I nodded.

“You don’t fit the description Algar gave me,” he said with open disbelief.

“I’m wearing a disguise,” I said curtly.

Eclarie’s interest sharpened. “A disguise?” He gestured to my face. “What sort of disguise can do that?” he asked with genuine interest. “Your features are completely different!”

I held tight to my impatience. I wanted to deliver my message and get gone, not waste my time in idle chatter with Algar’s spy. “It’s an illusion,” I replied in a manner that didn’t brook further comment. “Did you hear what I said?”

“I did,” Eclarie replied absently, still staring at my face with avid interest.

“And?” I asked sharply.

His gaze darted back to mine. “And I will inform Algar. Do you still want him to go ahead with the attack?”

I relaxed. So, Eclarie had been listening, after all. “Yes. Tell him to wait four hours, though.”

The spy frowned. “Why?”

“I think the First’s death will go unnoticed at least that long, and I still want to try for Castor. Four hours should be sufficient to get the deed done.” If I can find him. “But if it isn’t, I’ll try to get him during the chaos ensuing after Algar’s attack.” Assuming I’m still alive. “Either way, Algar should prepare for the worst.”

Eclarie nodded slowly. “I’ll make sure he is warned. Anything else?”

I shook my head. “No, that’s it.”

“Then I best get back before anyone starts asking questions.” Turning around, the cook headed toward the kitchen. On the threshold, he paused. “Oh, and good luck.”

“Thanks,” I muttered as I hurried away in the opposite direction. I think I’m going to need it.