Back on his feet, Max looked around. The gate was partially open, and fully engulfed in flame. Several guards were tossing buckets of water at it, without much success. Max wished Blake were there with his water spell, but again he’d left his friends in the rear. His plan had been to frighten and aggro the enemy, then race back to the bridge with them following.
“Even the best battle plans don’t survive first contact with the enemy.” He muttered aloud, causing the orc next to him to nod in agreement. “Let’s get back to the top of the wall.”
Lo’tang led Max to a nearby stair and they climbed to the top, Max moving slowly, his balance still a little shaky after the blow to the brain. When he looked out from atop the wall, he saw that the hobgoblins had engaged with his people. The dwarves had formed up their shield wall two rows deep at the far end of the bridge, and the hobs were savagely throwing themselves at, and occasionally over, the tanks. Any hobgoblin that cleared the wall was instantly mobbed by three or four kobolds, who mercilessly massacred them. The orcs fired arrows and bolts from the two flanks, the hobs packed so tightly that the archers couldn’t miss. Max saw one of the minotaurs pull a long spear from his inventory and hurl it over the dwarves’ heads into the horde. It blasted through three of the hobgoblins before stopping halfway through the chest of a fourth.
Blake’s Fire Strike spell crackled through the darkness and struck the center of the bridge, the impact scattering hobs, causing half a dozen to be pushed over the sides of the bridge to fall into the crevasse. The fire spell also frightened the remaining trolls, who had been advancing through the horde toward the dwarves. They moved more quickly, fleeing the fire behind them, and more hobs were crumpled.
Max feared for the dwarves as the trolls approached. The massive creatures made the frontline warriors look tiny by comparison. The dwarves, for their part, began to chant, their shields locked together. Fortunately for them, the trolls didn’t coordinate and hit their lines all at once. With each impact, the tanks in front of the troll were pushed back a step or two, but those behind helped reinforce them. All six trolls were stopped, but not defeated. They began to rain down blows from their massive fists or clubs. The second row of tanks raised their shields over their comrades’ heads, and a blue glow emanated from the entire double row of shields. Fists and weapons bounced off, and the trolls roared in frustration.
Just then Max noticed the minotaurs running forward. A shout from Rockbreaker cleared their path, and the defenders on the wall cheered as the brutes drew sword and axe. Easily able to reach over their dwarven comrades, they chopped and sliced at the trolls. Erdun’s axe beheaded one of them, a surprised look on the monster’s face as it rolled under the shield wall. Another troll lost an arm at the shoulder, and another had its skull split by a massive two-handed sword. Troll blood sprayed the front lines of both friend and foe, and Max prayed that Blake had noticed the explosions at the gate, and wouldn’t cast another fire spell.
Used to being able to relay real-time orders via comms, Max found himself shouting, “Hold fire! Hold fire!” and cursing the lack of radios on this world. He watched the battle dreading the explosion that Blake’s spell could cause, blasting dwarves along with hobgoblins.
It never came. The remaining trolls roared in challenge, bashing at the dwarven shields or reaching over top to take aim at minotaur warriors. The minotaurs happily obliged, their blood boiling in battle rage, calling for the dwarves to step aside so they could get at their enemies. Having no such order from Rockbreaker, the dwarves held their positions, forcing the taller combatants to fight at arm’s length. While the brutes swung at each other, the front line tanks stabbed and hacked at the trolls’ legs, draining them of small amounts of blood before the wounds healed. Over time, the blood loss slowed the trolls, and the minotaurs got more and more clean hits. A hand removed here, a deep cut to the neck there. Max nearly jumped off the wall and ran to help when the blue glow of the shield wall faded, and two dwarves were crushed under troll blows. Lo’tang held him back, shouting, “You can’t help them!”
As the melee fighters wore down the trolls, the archers mowed down the hobgoblins. Max guessed there were at least a hundred of them, every shot wounding a target, if not killing them. In minutes, there was but one troll standing, and less than a hundred hobgoblins.
“Push open the gate!” Max ordered, seeing what was coming. “Everyone get down there, now!”
He leapt off the wall, his stone-hard bones absorbing the impact as the soldiers behind him scrambled down. Trotting toward the bridge, he didn’t wait to see how many followed him out of the city. The diminished hobgoblin force was soon going to realize it was doomed, and attempt a retreat. Max didn’t want them to. The more afraid the local monsters were of Deepcrag, the happier he’d be. Let the only reports they hear be from the terrified few that fled.
Drawing his bow, he put an arrow through the back of the nearest hobgoblin, then another, then another, only slowing to a walk as he fired. He heard the clomp of heavy boots on stone behind him, and smiled. Lo’tang had managed to push past the burning gate and join him with his forces.
Stowing his bow, he drew Storm Reaver, and raised it high. Looking over his shoulder, he saw eighty warriors, faces grim, ready to fight. “The troll is mine.” He growled loudly enough for everyone to hear. “As for the rest, slaughter them all!”
The orcs roared in approval, weapons thrust in the air. A moment later, their army across the bridge joined them, the dwarves shouting in unison, taking a step forward and shoving the hobgoblins back across the length of their line. One of the minotaurs went insane with bloodlust, taking a running leap over top of the dwarves and swinging his massive axe at the last remaining troll. The weapon chopped through its upper arm, the blade lodging between ribs and getting stuck there. As the nearly senseless minotaur tried to free its blade, half a dozen hobs chopped at his legs and back, creating small wounds with each blow.
The troll turned and used its remaining hand to grab the minotaur by his neck, throttling him even as it crushed his windpipe. Still, the brave warrior grabbed at the trolls face, pushing a thumb into each eye, blinding it before he went limp and died. The enraged troll tossed the body, knocking down several dwarves, then began to thrash around blindly. Max dashed forward, then cast Jump to a clear spot near the troll. The moment he arrived, he was smashed in the face with a blindly flung forearm, knocked off his feet, and very nearly over the edge of the bridge. The troll, feeling the solid contact, roared in his general direction and stepped forward.
Max cast a heal on himself, then cast Drain on the troll, channeling it as he quietly got to his feet. Raising his sword, he waited for the beast to take another swing, then cleanly removed its remaining arm at the elbow. The monster charged toward him, head first, and Max simply stepped to one side and thrust his sword’s point forward. It pushed through the troll’s cheek, driving its jaw open and slicing away teeth as it penetrated deep into the creature’s brain.
Breathing hard, Max turned back toward the city to find that both sides of his forces had charged, slaughtering the remaining hobs in a chaotic melee free-for-all. Even as he stepped toward them, the last of the enemy fell, and his troops met in the middle, shaking hands and patting shoulders in congratulations. From somewhere above the bridge, a small voice shouted, “Gnomes rule!”
Max spent the next ten minutes helping Dalia heal the wounded. Their casualties had been light, thankfully. Of the nearly three hundred total fighters in Max’s force, there were six dead orcs, three dead dwarves, and three dead kobolds, and two dead elven guards from the merchant force, in addition to the heroic minotaur. All of the wounded were fully recovered thanks to healing potions, and Dalia and Max’s spells.
“Lo’tang, Rockbreaker, I want at least one tenth of our forces to be able to heal.” Max told them after receiving their reports. “I don’t care whether that means you recruit healers, or teach our warriors how to heal, or some combination of both. Ideally it would
be more like one third, but I’ll settle for one tenth, for now.”
Both saluted with fist to chest, and Lo’tang bowed his head. Rockbreaker knew better, and just grinned at Max.
“Alright, Lo’tang, take your troops back into Deepcrag. Get that fire extinguished. Rockbreaker, leave a dozen of yours here to bolster his forces, and head home. Take our fallen with you for a proper burial. Loot the corpses first, and split it all between the troops. The families of the fallen will also get a payment from the kingdom treasury. Tell Redmane to send some people to repair the gate immediately. Or…” He looked at the burning ironwood. “I guess, replace the gate.”
Max looked at the members of his group. “I need to go to the temple and convince Glitterspindle to make us some portal pedestals right away. You guys can come along, or head back to Stormhaven and do your own thing.”
“Back to the temple sounds good.” Dylan, who had spent most of the battle trying to control Princess, replied. “I want to take Princess hunting. He’s hungry.”
Nessa, ever pragmatic, nodded toward the bridge and asked, “Does he enjoy hobgoblin meat?”
“Good idea!” Dylan led the lizard toward the bridge, where they waited for the bodies to be looted.
Dalia volunteered, “I’ll wait here for them, and take them through the portal when Princess is full. We’ll join you at the temple.”
“Boss, before we go, what was that radio thing you did back there?” Blake asked. “Also, hold on. You’re a hot mess, boss. This might be a little cold.” Blake waved his hands and several buckets worth of water plunged down on Max from above, washing most of the blood from him. Blake was right, it was cold.
“What radio thing?” Max spluttered, forcing himself not to cuss at his corporal for his dubious help.
“During the battle. Right after the minotaurs got all slicey dicey on the trolls. I heard you like, inside my head, telling me to hold fire.”
Max froze.
“You mean, you heard me yelling from atop the wall?”
“Over the sounds of the fighting, the trolls and minotaurs roaring at each other? No, boss, it was your voice inside my head. Not even like it would sound through an earpiece, like our old comms. It was… I wanna say telepathy, but that’s not right. It was literally like your voice echoing inside my skull.”
“Red?” Max’s pulse was up again, and he found himself crossing his fingers as he looked for his guide. She had disappeared before the battle, not a fan of the blood and gore.
“I’m checking, Max.” She looked him up and down from atop Blake’s head, the gnome looking upward and slightly cross-eyed at hearing her voice from above. “At least yer learnin’ to wash up a bit after a fight.” She pretended to sniff at him, then made a disgusted face.
“Very funny.” Max mumbled, looking around to make sure no one was observing too closely. “What did Blake hear?”
“Sounds like party chat to me, boss.” Smitty volunteered. “Though I didn’t know that was a thing here.”
“Party chat?” Nessa asked, her head tilted to one side like a curious cat.
“It’s when members of a party can speak to each other without speaking out loud, so only other party members can hear it. Kind of like a magic link that allows you to hear each other’s voices in your head.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Nessa looked from Smitty to Blake, then Max. “But I can see how it would be very useful. Especially when operating in stealth. I would be able to sneak into an enemy stronghold and report what I see as I see it. It would prevent me from having to sneak back out again, and in the event I was captured or killed, you would still have the information.”
Smitty nodded. “It’s good for coordinating attacks from multiple directions at the same time, or at staggered intervals. Or calling for a change in plans during a fight, or a retreat.”
“Or in my case,” Blake added, “Max was making sure I didn’t cast a fire spell on those wounded trolls and blow up our dwarves and other allies. Not that it was necessary, I’m not a total noob.” He winked at Smitty.
Max barely heard the conversation, his focus on Red as she moved a tiny finger in the air, making poking and swiping motions, clearly manipulating her interface, or Max’s. He wasn’t sure how her access to his info worked.
“Ah, here it is!” She clapped her hands together. As she did, Max got several notifications. “Ya should have read these sooner.” She admonished him. Max had received several notifications when the final hobgoblin had perished or fled the area, but he’d been too concerned about healing to read them. With a wave of her hand, they popped up again.
Quest Complete: Defend Stormhaven!
Congratulations!
You have successfully defended against an invasion of your territory.
In addition, you defeated an enemy force more than twice the size of your own,
with minimal losses among your own forces.
Reward: 1,350,000 experience; Class level increase! +1 to Sovereign Class.
Morale boost! The morale of your citizenry is boosted by 5%.
Production boost! Due to the morale increase, your citizens are 2% more productive.
This includes crafters, farmers, miners, and citizen fertility.
Title earned: Foe Hammer!
For single-handedly destroying 25% of the enemy force,
you have earned the title Foe Hammer.
Additional 500,000 experience awarded.
Reputation with hobgoblin and troll races is now: Feared.
Max blinked several times. When Smitty asked what he was seeing, he read them the notifications. The orc snorted at the title. “Should have been more like Murder Hobo.”
Red wasn’t done. Another notification popped up, completely distracting Max.
Congratulations! New magic discovered!
By combining a desperate need for a specific action, your intimate knowledge of how it should work, your indomitable will, and your desire to protect your citizens through the use of this action, the gods have granted you the right to use, name, and teach, a newly created magic.
Reward: Experience: 1,500,000; +5 Intelligence; +5 Wisdom;
What would you like to name this spell?
Max nearly leapt for joy as he read the words. He quickly named the spell Party Chat, and another notification popped up.
You have created the new magic spell Party Chat.
This is a spell in the Mental magic school. As its creator, you have the
ability to teach this spell to anyone with sufficient ability to use it.
Party Chat allows all members of a party, numbering up to twenty,
to speak directly to each other privately, without non-party members hearing.
Range limit: 2 miles. Mana cost: 20mp initial cast; 1mp/minute to maintain.
Rather than read the announcement aloud to his friends, he simply cast Party Chat, and shouted, “We have party chat!”. He felt bad a moment later when they all winced at the shout ringing in their brains. “Sorry.”
*****
Lagrass was awakened by the rattle of metal as the old man placed the pot back on the hanger and swung it over the fire. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, feeling the aches and pains from sleeping on the floor.
“Breakfast is on the house. It’s only gruel with a bit of honey.” The old man grumped at him as he set a small pot of honey on the table. “Or if you’d prefer, you can walk to town in time to get bacon and eggs and such at the tavern.”
“I appreciate it. Smells good.” Lagrass got to his feet and rolled up the blankets into a single bundle. The old man handed him two lengths of leather cord to tie it up.
“Don’t mention it. Be just a minute or three till it’s ready.” He moved to grab a couple of bowls from a cupboard.
“Is there anything I can do to help you here before I leave?” Lagrass asked, looking out the window at the dawning day. The sun was still well below the tree canopy.
“Nah. Though, I may walk with
you into town. I was planning to go soon enough, anyway. Might as well have some company. The woods are pretty tame, but you never know.” He glanced at the mantle, and Lagrass followed his gaze, noticing that Lizzy was back in her place.
“Not that a low level weakling like me could be of much help, but I too would welcome the company.” Lagrass bowed his head. The old man moved to the fire bending to stir the gruel in the pot with a wooden spoon. As he straightened up, he grunted in pain, Lagrass’ kitchen knife sliding into his back and through his liver. One hand tried to reach for Lizzy, but Lagrass quickly stabbed two more times, then spun him around and drove the knife up under his beard and into his brain.
Leveling up again, Lagrass took a minute to drag the body out of the small cabin and a short distance into the trees out back. Returning, he pulled the pot of now thick and half-burnt gruel off the fire. Spooning some into a bowl, he poured a liberal dose of honey over it, and ate a leisurely breakfast as he checked his notifications and assigned attribute points.
Breakfast finished, he spent an hour searching the small cabin for anything valuable. He’d grabbed the wolf hide on his way back inside, and taken Lizzy and her scabbard down from her place above the mantle. She was now belted around his waist, and he felt stronger and more secure with her there. When he looted the old man, he got his silver back, plus a few copper coins. He found a small box under the head of the mattress in the bedroom, but it only contained a letter and a lock of grey hair. There was a clean shirt, which he promptly traded for his bloodstained one. The only other thing of value that he found was a ring that looked to be made of silver. When he put it on, he discovered that it was a storage ring with twenty five slots. It contained a frying pan, a canteen, thirty feet of rope, and a large oiled tarp that could be used to create a shelter in a pinch.
Sticking the few useful items he found into his inventory, Lagrass left the cabin and followed the trail the old man had described, heading for the town, and hopefully a good meal.
Battleborne Book 2: Wrack and Ruin Page 34