Grand Game 405: Search and Destroy (Patreon)

Dirk told me everything I wanted to know, and more.

The possessed described the layout of the next level, the location of Castor’s personal chamber, and even the elite’s daily routine. So eager was the healer to please that he described in minute detail every trap and ward between me and my target.

“Do you think he told you the truth?” Lorn asked when the possessed was done.

“I do,” I replied, glancing towards the center of the room where Dirk was healing the injured orcs while under the watchful eyes of a pair of dwarves. “My companion verified everything.”

Lorn shot the pyre wolf a speculative look but forbore comment. “What will you do now?”

“Go down, of course,” I said. “And kill Castor.”

“What about the wards and defenses the healer described?” Stormhammer asked.

“I’ve ways of getting around them,” I said evasively.

The thane grunted noncommittally. “And what do we do with him when he is done?”

He meant Dirk I guessed. “That is for you and Lorn to decide,” I said firmly. “I promised the possessed his life, and I won’t kill him. But whether you choose to honor my word…” I shrugged. “It’s your choice.”

“Then we will endeavor to make the right one,” Lorn said before Stormhammer could respond.

The thane yanked on his beard, a gesture I was becoming familiar with. “I know which way I will be voting,” he growled. “After the possessed’s damnable experiments, none of my people will suffer one to live.”

I looked at the dwarf curiously. “I never did ask...” I waved vaguely in the direction of the torture devices. “What was the purpose of all that?”

The torture the orcs and dwarves had undergone was undoubtedly a painful subject—for which reason I’d avoided it up to now—but the thane’s statement was too intriguing to let pass unquestioned.

“It was Castor’s attempt at repossession,” Lorn replied shortly.

“A piss poor one,” Stormhammer grumbled.

I blinked. “Repossession through torture? How would that work?”

“I have no idea,” Lorne said, “but the possessed seemed to think that if they took us to the brink of death, they could somehow extract our spirits without killing the body, thus leaving the way open for their own spirits to enter.”

“Huh, I see,” I said, having no idea if such was possible. It was yet another thing I would have to speak to Adriel about. But it was more than Castor’s experiments that concerned me, it was the fact that they had occurred at all.

The entire incident was a reminder that I still had to decide what to do about the possessed, not just those here, but those in the archlich’s court. Granted the ones under Castor’s command were likely the very worst of the group, but I knew for a fact that there was some equally bad back at the court—Avery for instance.

Could I let them go unpunished?

I’d been hoping to wash my hands of the matter and leave it in Farren’s capable hands.

Now, I was no longer sure that was wise.

I shook my head, dismissing my musings. Deciding the possessed’s future was a dilemma but not one I was going to solve now. I turned back to the hatch. “Well, I guess I better get going.”

Stepping forward, Lorn clasped my hand, and a moment later so did Stormhammer. “Good luck, Taim.”

I shook their hands and glanced at Ghost.

“Do I really have to unmanifest again?” she asked forlornly.

I shrugged. “You could always stay behind and help the orcs and dwarves guard our rear.”

Not bothering to dignify that with a comment, the pyre wolf rose to her feet and began unraveling.

Concealing a smile, I strode up to the hatch and opened it. It was time to finish what I’d started.

✵ ✵ ✵

The four hours I’d given myself to find and kill Castor were nearly up. Soon, Eclarie would pass on my message to Algar and Elron’s men would begin their attacks.

I had to get to Castor quickly.

Still, I didn’t plan on rushing. Thanks to Dirk, I knew the probable location of the thirty remaining possessed, and I fully intended to kill as many of them as I could before I got to Castor.

I’d maintained a confident façade before Lorn and Stormhammer, but the truth was that the defenses the elite had emplaced around his personal quarters were beyond my means to penetrate. He’d employed wards similar to those I’d encountered in the mages guild tower, and even being able to see the castings with the sorcerer’s coif would not let me bypass them.

Given that, I determined I was unlikely to get into Castor’s chambers undetected. Which left the next best thing.

Making him come to me.

And ensuring that when he did, he had no allies to turn to for help. Thankfully the other possessed were less protected than the elite himself, hence step one of my revised plan: search and destroy.

And I was about ready to begin.

Soft-footed, I climbed down the ladder from the hatch. Like Dirk had predicted, the corridor it exited on was empty. Stepping off the last rung, I dropped into a crouch.

You are hidden.

There was only one way forward. Behind me was a dead end, and some ten yards ahead was the open doorway of a guardroom beyond which the rest of the complex waited.

Contrary to my original expectations, the fortress’ third subterranean level was not one long simple tunnel. Instead, it housed a multitude of rooms, corridors, and halls that contained everything the possessed needed to live comfortably.

Creeping forward, I made my way to the open door and peered into the room beyond. Just like Dirk had said, two possessed lounged inside. They were supposedly guarding the level’s entrance, but according to the healer, none of the possessed ever took their sentry duties seriously.

Which perhaps explained why the two were asleep.

Drawing ebonheart, I inched up to the pair. They snored on, oblivious. Shaking my head at their foolishness, I slipped the black blade through the back of the first, then across the throat of the second.

You have killed Tvar.

You have killed Jeeharim.

I moved on, not bothering to hide the blood pooling on the sofa or disguise the corpses, because, of course, I didn’t plan on leaving anyone alive to witness any of it.

✵ ✵ ✵

The next room contained four possessed playing cards and drinking beer. Like the first pair, they were none the wiser when I crept into the room.

Still, I didn’t take any chances.

You have induced 4 of 4 targets to sleep for 40 seconds.

You have backstabbed Horn!

You have backstabbed Amylia!

You have backstabbed Cein May!

You have backstabbed Tomas!

You have killed 4 hostile entities.

Gently, I rested the head of my last victim back onto the table. It was almost too easy killing the possessed this way, but I wasn’t about to complain.

Six down. Twenty-four to go.

✵ ✵ ✵

My next target almost surprised me.

I was creeping down a narrow corridor, stalking the possessed coming down the other way. With the heavy shadows lining the passage and my fade active, I didn’t expect her to see me until too late, but somehow I must have given myself away.

A hostile entity has detected you! You are no longer hidden.

The possessed jerked to her stop, her eyes widening as I materialized, seemingly from nothing, less than ten yards away. Her mouth opened, a scream on the tip of her tongue.

Bursting into action, I drew ebonheart in one fluid motion while simultaneously weaving psi.

You have teleported into Corin’s shadow.

I emerged from the aether, and without even the slightest pause to regain my bearings, I lunged forward, thrusting ebonheart into the possessed’s defenseless back.

My blade struck true and I found my foe’s heart.

You have killed Corin with a fatal blow.

The corpse collapsed at my feet with no greater protest than a quiet sigh. I glanced up and down the corridor. No one came; the kill had gone unnoticed.

Sheathing ebonheart, I moved on.

✵ ✵ ✵

Five rooms later, five more possessed lay dead.

All had been sleeping, and in the exact rooms Dirk had told me to search. According to the healer, the possessed routinely slept in shifts, twelve at a time.

Unfortunately, the rest of Dirk’s information proved less accurate, and I failed to find the other seven sleepers. Either Dirk had lied—which I doubted—or the seven were not following their usual routines.

Exiting the last empty room, I accepted the inevitable. I wasn’t going to find the missing sleepers. This calls for a change of plan, I decided. If the seven were wandering around, they could stumble across the corpses I’d left in my wake, and I wasn’t ready for the alarm to be raised.

There were still eighteen possessed alive—including Castor.

Time to head to the great hall.

According to Dirk, the great hall was where the possessed usually congregated, and even at the oddest hours I could expect it to be busy. It was for this reason I’d originally opted to leave it for last.

I reached the chamber in question without incident. From the sounds of merriment coming from within I could tell the hall was occupied. There had to be at least a dozen possessed inside. Five yards from the entrance, I melted into the shadows.

“It’s time, Ghost.”

Wordlessly, the pyre wolf took form behind me. “How do we do this?” she asked.

“I go in first,” I said. “You wait until the shouting starts, then you rush in and start killing.”

Ghost’s mouth dropped open in a doggy smile. “Simple. I like it.” She paused. “But what if someone escapes?”

I shrugged. “At this point it doesn’t matter. We can kill as many as we can, then we wait for Castor to arrive.”

“You’re sure he will come.”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” I said grimly. Reaching within, I drew on my stores of energy and altered my face.

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

Stepping out of the shadows, I glanced back. “Ready,” Ghost said in response to my look.

Nodding curtly, I strode into the possessed’s great hall.

✵ ✵ ✵

The room was as busy as Dirk warned. As I stepped across the threshold, curious gazes glanced my way, but on seeing my face, the onlookers turned away disinterestedly.

Multiple unknown entities have failed to pierce your disguise.

Maintaining a relaxed stride, I advanced into the hall even as I surveyed its occupants. My disguise was holding, but it wouldn’t last long. Sooner or later, someone would notice the discrepancy in size between me and the healer, and before that happened, I had to act.

The room was laid out as a typical mess hall, with long rows of tables running the length of the room. It was large enough to host as many as a hundred people, but at present, only fifteen possessed were in attendance.

And much to my relief, Castor was not amongst them.

That’ll make things easier, I thought, angling towards the left side of the hall. The possessed had gathered in two groups, one on either side of the room.

The group on the right was larger and easier to deal with indirectly. Weaving psi, I flung a casting into their midst.

You have cast mass charm.

6 hostile entities have failed a mental resistance check!

3 hostile entities are immune to mental attacks!

You have charmed 6 of 9 targets for 20 seconds.

Six of the possessed seated at the table I’d targeted froze, and even from half the room away, I saw the perplexed expressions of the trio not bewitched. “Attack,” I commanded, relaying the order to my minions before the three could make sense of what they were seeing.

As one, my new allies rose and descended on their former comrades. I kept walking, my gaze fixed on the other table and the six possessed gathered there.

“What the hell has gotten into you, Gerrad?” someone shouted behind me.

“Hey! Stop—” another yelled.

“They’re bewitched!” the third cried. “Help!”

The screams were Ghost’s cue, and through our bond I sensed her flow into motion. “Deal with the possessed at the right side of the room first,” I told her.

“Got it, Prime.”

At the table ahead, heads rose, eyes drawn to the ruckus behind me. One possessed, though, glanced in my direction. His gaze skipped over me, then jerked back as something caught his attention.

You have failed a mental resistance check! Songbird has pierced your disguise.

I didn’t hesitate. Drawing psi, I blinked.

You have teleported into Songbird’s shadow.

Ebonheart flashed out, decapitating the gnome in one smooth motion. A shriek erupted from my right. Ignoring the woman, I turned to my left and the warrior surging to his feet. Fumbling for the axe at his side, he swung at me.

I ducked beneath the blow, then thrust upward with both blades, burying them in my foe’s chest.

You have killed Zurice.

Something blurred toward me from the right. Yanking free my swords, I wrenched myself out of the way.

You have evaded Tomsin’s attack.

Backstepping, I found myself facing four possessed—an archer, a caster, and two warriors. Beyond them, I spotted Ghost’s dark form rushing into the room. Trusting her to take care of the possessed there, I turned back to my opponents.

Four hostile entities have failed to pierce your disguise.

“Dirk, what’s wrong with you?” the caster asked.

“It’s not Dirk,” Tomsin replied grimly. “Dirk can’t fight like that.”

“Then who—?”

“Can’t you guess?” I asked lightly. “It’s Taim.” Not waiting for a response, I dashed forward.

You have cast windborne.

I manifested the windslide directly beneath my feet and mapped a dizzying path around the four facing me. The archer’s bow was drawn, and he fired after only a split-second’s hesitation, as did the mage.

But the pair’s hesitation cost them, and both projectiles sailed harmlessly past me. Before they could target me again, I reached the two warriors, borne forward on wings of air.

The one on the right—an elf—slashed at me with his longsword. I parried the blow with ebonheart. The windslide jinked right, taking me with it and leaving the javelin thrust of the second warrior snapping at nothing but empty air.

Finding himself suddenly flanked, the elf swung around face me again. Too late, though. Faithful was already snaking out, and before the warrior could parry the blow, carved a line of red across his neck.

You have killed Haiken with a fatal blow.

The windslide bore me on and away from the arterial spray of blood. Dismissing the remaining warrior at my back from consideration—I was already out of his reach—my gaze locked on my next targets—the archer and the caster.

Still in the midst of preparing their next attacks, the pair’s eyes widened as they saw me barreling toward them. The archer fired—prematurely it turned out—and the bolt went wide. Wiser than his fellow, the mage dropped his staff and turned to flee.

But it availed him nothing.

In a flash, I was in the pair’s midst. Faithful cut left, and ebonheart chopped down.

You have killed Tomsin with a fatal blow.

You have killed Merrick with a fatal blow.

The windslide ran aground and I somersaulted off. Whirling around, I turned to face my last foe.

The warrior’s face was pale with shock as his gaze skittered between the corpses of his former companions—alive and well one moment, dead an eyeblink later.

Raising my blades, I took a step forward. The warrior’s eyes jerked back to me. I smiled menacingly.

It was enough.

Dropping his javelin, he turned and fled.

Smiling, I let him go.