Grand Game 408: Mopping Up (Patreon)

I sagged down onto the corpse. “Well, that wasn’t too hard, was it?” I murmured.

Ghost looked at me askance, unable to tell if I was joking.

Chuckling, I labored back to my feet and checked the waiting Game messages.

You and Ghost have reached level 204!

Your shortswords has reached rank 19, and your chi rank 17.

My skills had improved only minimally during the battle, but that was to be expected at this stage. Sadly, none of Ghost’s skills had ranked up. She had gained a few levels in each, though. Sticking with my previous strategy, I invested in an attribute that would benefit us equally.

Your Magic has increased to rank 43. Other modifiers: +20 from items.

The additional Magic would improve Ghost’s maw attacks while at the same time strengthening my void armor. For now, it was a nice compromise, but I knew, sooner or later, I would have to switch my focus back to Mind and Dexterity.

“Prime, incoming.”

Looking up, I saw the pyre wolf sitting erect and staring at the north entrance. Glancing that way myself, I frowned.

The archway was empty. “What is it?” I asked.

“Listen,” she replied.

Trusting her—Ghost’s senses were as keen as mine—I strained my ears. At first, I heard nothing. Then, I caught the sound of soft footfalls.

Someone was trying to sneak up on us.

Moving as quietly, if not quieter, I edged up to the archway and peered around the edge.

Two figures were advancing on the great hall, their movements comically slow. Lorn and Stormhammer. I relaxed. “There’s no need for that, councilors,” I said, stepping out in the open.

The pair froze.

Smiling broadly, I waved them forward. “Come on in. Castor’s dead.”

✵ ✵ ✵

Stormhammer didn’t believe me, not until he saw the corpse himself, and then he could barely contain his glee. “You did it!” he chortled. “I can’t believe you actually did it!”

“Thanks,” I said with a lopsided grin. “Your confidence is inspiring.”

Oblivious to my tone, Stormhammer nodded. “It would’ve been a tough ask for anyone,” he added sagely. “Well done.”

Deciding to change the subject, I eyed the weapons the pair were carrying. “What were you going to do with those?”

Lorn looked down at his hands and only then seemed to realize what was in it. “Oh. We were coming to help.”

I could have said a dozen different things at the moment—about how foolish that would’ve been, not to mention counterproductive, I’d just freed them, after all—but looking at Lorn’s flushed face I saw that he knew all that already. “I appreciate the thought,” I said finally, then gestured toward the north corridor. “Did you run across anyone else back there?”

Lorn shook his head, still looking uncommonly flustered.

“Good.” It wasn’t a guarantee that the level was clear, but it did reinforce my belief that all the possessed were dead, and unfortunately, I didn’t have time to conduct a thorough search just yet. “How did Castor capture you two, anyway?”

“He came through the hatch not long after you left,” Stormhammer answered. “I’m not sure who was more surprised—him or us. But before the bastard could attack, he fell afoul of your traps.” The dwarf grinned. “Our people cleared out in a hurry after that.”

“What about Dirk?” I asked.

“We killed him before we ran from Castor,” Lorn said, rejoining the conversation. He reflected for a moment. “Although now that I think about it, I’m not convinced the elite was all that interested in us.”

Stormhammer scowled at him. “Oh, yeah? Then what do you think he was there for? To hand out flowers maybe?”

“Of course not,” Lorn said coldly. “It could be—”

“You said your people cleared out,” I interjected. “How did Castor get you two, then?”

The pair exchanged glances and this time even Stormhammer had the grace to look sheepish. “We stayed behind to face the bastard,” the dwarf mumbled. “It was my idea.”

I winced.

He reddened. “I’ll admit it was foolish.”

Sighing inwardly, I turned back to Lorn. “Why do you think Castor entered the prison level?”

The orc rubbed his chin. “Honestly? I’m not sure. But the moment the elite came up the hatch, he only had eyes for the dead possessed.” He paused. “Seeing their corpses seemed to scare him.”

Stormhammer snorted. “You think he was running?” he scoffed. “Castor was a right smug bastard. He’d never run!”

Ignoring the thane, Lorn went on, “It was only after we killed Dirk that Castor turned on us, and then it was only to question us. After which, he brought us here. The rest you know.”

“Reinforcements,” I concluded. “Castor was looking for reinforcements.”

The idea that the elite—‘a right smug bastard’ as the thane labeled him—might go seeking help before facing me had not occurred to me, and it should have. If it had, I could’ve laid deadlier traps around the hatch and ended all this sooner.

“Sorry, I should have realized he might do that,” I muttered.

Lorn shrugged. “No one is blaming you, and everything turned out well in the end.”

Stormhammer clamped a hand to my shoulder. “You did well, Taim. No doubt about it. Thanks to you, New Haven is free again.”

“Not entirely,” I replied. “Not yet anyway. Elron’s men still have to—”

“Mere mopping up,” Stormhammer said, stopping me. “I have no doubt the marshal is up to the task.”

“Still, we should return to the fortress and reveal ourselves,” Lorn added. “It may reduce the loss of life up there.”

“Agreed,” I said. Turning around, I led the way. “Let’s go.”

✵ ✵ ✵

I’d been hoping to explore the possessed complex further after killing Castor—finding the underground tunnel to the archlich’s court was high on my list of priorities—but Lorn was right. The sooner he and Stormhammer returned to the city above, the fewer lives would be lost restoring New Haven to their rule.

On our way to the hatch, we ran across the rest of the prisoners. Banding together, they had decided to storm the possessed lair and rescue their recaptured leaders. Whatever foolishness had afflicted Stormhammer and Lorn was obviously catching.

While the councilors restored order amongst their men, I took stock of our new ‘company.’ All told, we numbered more than fifty. Dirk had done his job well, and every single one of the former prisoners was hale and hearty. Even better, according to Stormhammer and Lorn, their fellow prisoners were all members of their elite personal guards. And while no one was fully kitted out, everyone had a weapon to hand.

In short order, we got going again and spilled out onto the prison level. Then, began the laborious task of fighting our way out.

I let Ghost take point.

She needed the training and experience more than I did. Hanging back, I fell into the role of observer, only intervening with my mental tricks when necessary. One after the other, the pyre wolf, orcs, and dwarves stormed the chain of guardrooms protecting the exit.

Under my watchful gaze, we lost no one.

Tackling the storeroom level went equally well. None of the roving infantry patrols were a match for the company—now fully kitted out with the dead guards’ armor and weapons—not to mention Ghost, and to no one’s surprise, we emerged on the ground floor of Cilia’s fortress brimming with confidence and with no casualties to speak of.

There, we found a force one thousand strong waiting.

✵ ✵ ✵

Ghost’s magma maw and ash armor have reached rank 6, and her stygian claws and telepathy rank 7.

The sight of the enemy did not daunt the company. The men’s blood was up, and despite the numberless rows of soldiers arrayed against them, they were eager to charge.

“We should attack,” Stormhammer urged, gripping the hilt of his axe tightly. The weapon was slick with blood, having fed deeply in the subterranean levels.

“We don’t know who they are,” Lorn countered.

“They’re dark elf soldiers!” Stormhammer growled. “That’s enough for me.”

“They could be Elron’s men,” Lorn pointed out.

“Ha! Here so quickly? Not likely,” Stormhammer scoffed. “Besides, if the marshal was here, he would be at the front of that lot. He always did fancy leading from the fore.”

“That’s true,” Lorn conceded. “Maybe we should—”

“Wait,” I ordered, pushing my way to the front from where I’d been guarding the company’s rear.

Breaking off, the two councilors turned to face me. “What do you think, Taim?” Lorn asked quietly.

I didn’t answer immediately. Drawing to a halt beside Ghost, I turned to study the force waiting ahead. The enemy—if that’s what they were—were all dark elves. They occupied the entirety of the corridor, an unbreachable barrier. There would be no getting around them, I realized. The only way past would be through them, and despite his brash words, I doubted even Stormhammer relished the prospect.

My gaze fell on the first row of soldiers. They stood braced to attention some twenty yards away, making no move to attack, and seemed just as confused as us. Are they friend or foe? I could almost see them thinking.

Many of the dark elves’ gazes rested on Stormhammer and Lorn—clearly recognizing them—and no few on me. Unfortunately, what they made of our presence here was less certain. Friends or foes, I wondered.

“Do either of you recognize anyone?” I asked out of the side of my mouth while I searched for an officer.

Lorn and Stormhammer shook their heads.

“Damn,” I muttered. There was no officer in attendance either, not that I could anyway.

“Wasn’t Algar the name of the marshal’s aide?” Ghost asked suddenly.

I glanced at her curiously. The pyre wolf had not met the human captain, I recalled, but I’d mentioned him more than once to her. “That’s right. Why do you ask?”

“There’s someone going by that name a hundred rows back.”

I stared at her blankly for a moment, then realization hit. Of course. We’d left the scryer’s bane field of effect; Ghost had used her mindsight. But still… to have searched nearly a thousand minds and have pinpointed Algar’s exact location in such a short span of time was a remarkable feat.

“Nicely spotted,” I murmured. “I think they’re friends,” I said to the councilors. I began to turn away, then paused. “Don’t do anything rash,” I warned, looking pointedly at Stormhammer.

Not waiting for the thane’s response, I swung around to face the dark elves. “You there!” I said, gesture to the senior most looking soldier, “Fetch Algar. Tell him Taim is here.”

The soldier stared at me blankly.

“Move man! Or do you want this rebellion to be for nothing?”

The dark elf still didn’t move.

I sighed. “Tell Algar Castor is dead. Tell him that all the possessed are dead.”

That finally got the soldier moving.

✵ ✵ ✵

Matters resolved quickly after that.

In what must have been record time, the soldier shoved his way through the rear of the column and returned just as quickly with Captain Algar in tow.

“Taim!” the human exclaimed on seeing me. His gaze darted to my companions, and he bowed hastily. “Thane Stormhammer. Chief Lorn.” He fell silent for a second, seemingly at loss for words, before blurting, “How?”

I smiled. “I found them in the prison cells below,” I replied, assuming his oh-so-succinct question pertained to Lorn and Stormhammer’s presence.

“But what were—” the captain began.

“We can discuss all of that later in the comfort of the council chamber,” Stormhammer interjected. He glanced pointedly at the soldiers still blockading the corridor. “In the meantime…?”

Algar inclined his head. “Of course. My apologies, thane.” He spun on his heel. “Follow me if you please. The marshal will be anxious to hear what you have to say.”