Grand Game 403: Head Honchos (Patreon)

You have killed 10 hostile entities.

Ghost has killed 4 hostile entities.

You and Ghost have reached level 202!

It did not take long for me and Ghost to mop up. When we were done, fourteen more corpses littered the chamber, including all of the original possessed torturers. Only Dirk remained alive.

Deliberately so.

Striding over to the healer, I knelt by his side. Dirk was still knocked out cold, but other than for the large lump on the back of his head where I’d struck him earlier, he was uninjured. He will come to, soon, I thought.

“Watch him,” I ordered.

Padding up to me, Ghost lay down on all fours and rested her snout inches from the unconscious possessed. “My pleasure, Prime.”

Rising to my feet, I began to turn away, then paused. “You did well, today,” I said.

“Thank you,” she said, beaming with pride at my praise.

It was well deserved praise, too. Ghost had killed nearly as many possessed as I had, and she’d coped admirably on her own when I’d been forced to withdraw from the fight.

Her performance allayed many of my fears about her abilities. Ghost was combat effective, and from here on out she would only get better. I had no doubt her skills had advanced immensely during the battle. To see just how far she’d progressed, I called up the relevant Game messages.

Your thieving has reached rank 13, and your channeling rank 19.

Ghost’s magma maw and ash armor have reached rank 2, her stygian claws rank 3, and her telepathy rank 6.

My eyebrows rose in mild surprise.

Ghost had profited even more from the battle than I’d imagined. All her skills had leveled up. Her stygian claws skill alone had gained three ranks. Of course, this was primarily due to how low the skill had been to begin with. Nevertheless, her rapid progress was encouraging.

At this rate, her skills will reach tier two in no time.

On that note, I decided to invest my new attribute points in Magic and Strength. Ghost would need the ability slots—and soon.

Your Strength has increased to rank 15. Other modifiers: +8 from items.

Your Magic has increased to rank 39. Other modifiers: +20 from items.

“Do we head down the hatch now?” Ghost asked.

“Not yet.” I let my gaze drift to the room’s other occupants—the bruised and battered orcs. Except for the one who had chosen to flee, the rest had remained motionless during the battle, watching the possessed die with burning gazes and silent hope. “First, we tend to the prisoners.”

✵ ✵ ✵

I approached Lorn first.

As I walked up to him, I felt the gazes of the other orcs following me. Their eyes were hard and cold, but whether it was fear or anger that lurked within, I couldn’t tell just yet.

I’d already analyzed each of the orcish prisoners, and while some were in a bad way, and all sported one injury or another, none of their wounds were life threatening. It seemed the other possessed torturers had taken better care of their subjects than Jorge had—for which I was more than a little grateful. It made what I had to do next a little easier.

My attention shifted back to the orc chief.

He, too, watched me, observing my advance in eerie silence and looking as composed as the day we’d first met despite his restraints and recent torture.

“So. You have returned,” the orc chief remarked as I drew to a halt a yard from him.

“I have,” I replied, studying the chieftain.

Even though Jorge was no longer hurting Lorn, and Dirk had healed him, the coffin-like torture device restraining the orc was too small for his large frame and he had to be experiencing all sorts of discomfort. In fact, it was safe to assume Lorn was in agony. In spite of this, no flicker of pain crossed his face.

The chieftain arched one eyebrow delicately. “You did not find what you were searching for?”

He was referring to the exit portal, I knew. “I did actually.”

Surprise flickered across the orc’s face. “Then why come back?”

I shrugged. “I have unfinished business in New Haven.”

Lorn blinked slowly as if his fears had been realized. “You have come to kill me then.”

I tilted my head to the side. “Why would you think that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, holding my gaze. “We betrayed you.”

I stared at him blankly.

“You would make me speak my shame?” he asked bitterly.

I said nothing.

“Very well,” he said, his face tightening fractionally. “When we summoned you to the council hall, we knew Castor and his fellows were waiting to ambush you. You must’ve suspected as much already.” He hung his head. “We were complicit in the attack. I was complicit.”

“Ah, that,” I said, having nearly forgotten the incident myself.

Lorn raised his head, an incredulous look on his face. “You forgot?” he asked, correctly interpreting my tone.

My lips twitched upward. “Forgive me, I’ve had a lot on my plate recently.”

Lorn continued to stare at me disbelievingly. “So, if not to kill, why have you come?” he demanded.

“Ah, but I have come to kill,” I said softly. “Just not you.”

The orc fell silent. “Castor,” he guessed finally. “It’s him you’re after.”

“Correct. He is the true architect of New Haven’s ills.”

The first glimmer of hope—and eagerness—entered Lorn’s gaze. “Then free me. Free all of us, and we will help you!”

“Oh, I intend to,” I replied. “But first, we must discuss terms.”

It was Lorn’s turn to stare blankly. “Terms?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could, another intervened.

“Terms? What bloody terms!”

✵ ✵ ✵

I turned around, recognizing the speaker.  A band of dwarves—and a single orc—crowded the entrance to the hall. All of them were ragged, unarmed, and filthy, but despite this, their eyes shone with steely determination. This was one lot of prisoners that were not going to be recaptured.

“Welcome, Stormhammer,” I greeted. “I was wondering how long it would take you to get here.”

The dwarven thane’s brows drew down.

“Where are the rest of your companions?” I asked mildly.  There were far fewer dwarves with thane than I’d heard earlier.

Stormhammer’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You knew we were trapped in those damnable cells,” he accused.

“Yes.”

“And you left us to rot in there anyway?” he growled, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“I did.”

“Why?” Stormhammer bellowed. “But all that is holy, why?”

Folding my arms, I stared down at the angry dwarf. “Softly,” I warned as the echoes of his shout died down. “We don’t want Castor’s cronies to hear you.”

The thane’s empty hands curled into fists, but he saw the sense of my words and reined in his temper. “Why?” he hissed again.

“Because you were safer there,” I answered evenly.

“Safer!” Stormhammer sputtered, his face going purple with rage again. “Who in hells do you think—”

“Enough!” Lorn barked.

The thane swung around to glare at the still-restrained orc.

“We owe Taim,” Lorn said before he could speak. “Not just for saving the city from the nether, but also for today’s rescue.” He glanced at the orc standing behind the dwarven thane. “Yulan would never have been able to free you if not for what Taim did here.” Lorn met Stormhammer’s gaze again. “And we owe him, too, for our betrayal,” he finished softly.

The thane looked away. “That was not my choice,” he spat.

“It wasn’t,” Lorn agreed. “But you went along with the rest of us, anyway.”

“And look where it has got us,” Stormhammer ground out harshly. “The council disbanded, New Haven under Castor’s thumb, and Cilia ruling as his puppet! How is any of—”

“No longer,” I interjected, interrupting him mid-rant.

“What?” Stormhammer asked, staring at me in confusion.

“Cilia no longer rules,” I clarified. “She’s dead.”

My words set the thane’s guards whispering and even the orcs shifted restlessly. What was that in their eyes? Happiness? Approval? Both, I thought.

Stormhammer himself strove to appear indifferent but despite his best efforts, I saw the hungry gleam in his eyes. “You killed her?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied bluntly, “and when we’re done here, I will go below and kill Castor too.”

The whispers died down and the intensity in the gazes of the watching dwarves and orcs grew until the air seemed to burn with anticipation. They want this, I thought. More than anything else, they want Castor dead.

“I will do it alone,” I added prudently a moment later. “I do not want or need help.” Vengeance was a heady brew but a dangerous one too. If I was not careful, the prisoners’ desire for revenge could get the better of them—and my plans.

“What about the archlich?” Lorn asked, his brows pinching in worry. He at least seemed to be thinking further ahead. “Won’t he retaliate?”

“He’s already dead,” I replied offhandedly.

“What?” Stormhammer scoffed. “You kill him too?”

I chuckled. “Actually, I did.”

The thane opened his mouth, no doubt to ridicule my claim, but something in my expression stopped him. Yanking on his beard, he shifted uncomfortably.

My amusement faded. “Unlike your council I knew better than to place New Haven’s fate in the hands of the possessed. Nor was I alone in my distrust of them. Someone in your city saw matters the way I did and allied with me.”

“Who?” Stormhammer demanded.

“It’s Elron, of course,” Lorn guessed.

“Correct,” I replied. “Together, the marshal and I formulated a plan to rid the city of the possessed, open the way out of Draven’s Reach for your people, and rid this sector of the nether.” The last was stretching the truth a bit. Elron and I hadn’t planned on killing the harbinger, but now that the deed was done, I doubted anyone would complain.

“Are you saying you… succeeded?” Lorn asked slowly.

I swung to face him. “Mostly. Right this minute, Elron and his men are waiting for my word to sweep aside the remainder of Cilia’s force—which they will get once I’ve dealt with Castor.” I raised my voice, speaking to the room at large. “New Haven will be free again. You have my word.”

The murmurs in the room rose again and I sensed the mood lift, but this time it wasn’t vengeance that drove it. The prisoners were thinking of the future, not just their own, but their families. They were imagining a life beyond the dungeon, seeing a lifetime of hope coming to fruition.

“That sounds nice,” Stormhammer said abruptly, slashing his hand down to silence the others. “But there is a cost, isn’t there?”

I hadn’t given the dwarven thane enough credit, I realized. Despite his temperamental nature, he was no fool. Like Lorn, he was looking beyond, seeing more than what was immediately in front of him.

“There is always a cost,” I said softly.

“You want something,” Lorn guessed shrewdly. “You aren’t helping New Haven simply out of the goodness of your heart. You need something from us.”

“Those terms you mentioned,” Stormhammer added. “What are they?”

I fell silent, considering. In hindsight, I realized it had been a mistake to mention ‘terms’ earlier. I hadn’t wanted to broach the matter this way, nor did I think we had time to deal with all the details right now. Time was short, and I still had to get to Castor, but I suspected neither the thane nor the chief would let the matter rest until they had an answer.

There’s nothing for it but to move forward. Taking a deep breath, I plunged on. “Let me free the others first. Then we can talk.”