by Cid Banks
Song of Shaping
After Naomi had died, I hadn’t been in the mood to study my choices, but now I poured over them. Again a bunch of new ones were available. Songs of Retching still appealed to me. I’d been on the receiving end of Song of Sorrows, and knew how useful it could be. Several had excellent effects like attacking an enemy with confusion and paranoia, but there was one clear choice. Song of Smashing increased damage dealt by +50%. It was wartime, so I picked it for the battle to come.
Well, that was settled.
“Okay,” I told Amy. “I’m ready.”
She looped her arm around mine as we headed to a huge white tent erected in the courtyard. Cedric disappeared under the canvas, joining the group inside. We descended the ramparts and approached. Guards standing at the entrance stared at me before bending into stiff bows. “Well met, sir.”
I smirked, saluting them. “It’s good to be the king.”
Amy snorted as I held open the flap.
Cedric sat at the head of a long table, shaking hands. Captains of the various rebel bands under his command surrounded the table. Cedric introduced agents from his espionage network and some of the surviving leadership of the Goldbridge rebellion. Faris stood near Cedric, stony-faced. I’d always thought they were a simple group of brave fighters, but a glance around the room proved otherwise. The rebellion was a massive, complex operation with many subgroups.
How the hell would I get everyone to agree with me?
Before I took my seat, I glimpsed Naomi in a simple, gray dress with mismatched buttons that barely contained her bust. She met my gaze and smiled.
Guilt stabbed my chest for feeling so relieved. Maybe she’d bail after hearing what I had in mind.
A hush settled as a warrior woman in thick furs rose. “The Storm King is mustering his forces. Soon, he will lead them in a march to destroy us. We must move quickly and prepare the defense of the castle.”
Cedric nodded. “He can’t allow open rebellion so close to the heart of his kingdom. In the north, our allies have battled him to a standstill. Riken, the Storm King’s top commander, has a substantial army, but Whiteguard still stands independent.”
“We’ll need reinforcements,” Amy piped up. “How much longer until the rest of the resistance gathers here?”
“Within the next few days,” he said.
I read Cedric’ army information. Before I spoke, I needed to see what shape they were in.
Southern Rebel Army
Level 2 Army
Army Power: 92
Morale: Medium Discipline: Low Supply: Medium
Traits: Recent Defeat, Skirmish Focus
Soldiers: 950
Commander: Cedric Klautzer
Armies were set up not too differently from the character and settlement info. They had names, levels, some basic stats, and a section for traits. Cedric’s command suffered from Recent Defeat after losing Goldbridge, which was reducing their normally high morale.
“These lands are a naturally defensive position if we can develop alliances with the local nobles. The Storm King rules through fear, not love…”
I opened my map as the rebels continued to debate. The region just north of the Spirelands was where the Storm King had his castle, and thanks to Cedric’s spies I could see the enemy’s troops stationed there.
Army of the Storm King
Level 3 Army
Army Power: 402
Morale: Medium Discipline: Medium Supply: Medium
Traits: Garrisoned, Mercenary (30%)
Soldiers: ~4000
Commander: The Storm King
About four times our power and size. Scrolling further north, I saw the second enemy battalion commanded by this Riken fellow. It had a power of 355, and around 3800 soldiers. Notably, it had low morale and the same Recent Defeat trait as Cedric’s army. Scrolling down and further east, I found the third enemy army garrisoned at the conquered Goldbridge. It had a power of 380 and exactly 4121 soldiers.
Crap. All combined we were outnumbered twelve to one.
The three enemy armies all had the Mercenary trait.
Mercenary
Soldiers in this army are sellswords, whose only allegiance is to gold. A mercenary army is disciplined and has solid morale, but sellswords will abandon an army if not paid.
30% of Army of the Storm King are sellswords.
Sellsword Commander: Koren the Fist
I asked Cedric about the mercenaries.
“The Storm King’s contract with the Sellswords Guild provides few thousand mercenaries. It’s a considerable boost to his military power. However, he also has a sizeable levy and a personal retinue of disciplined, elite soldiers.”
“Can we buy off the mercenaries?” I asked.
Thanks to the debug chest, we had ten grand available, but I had no idea if that would be enough.
“Not a chance. We would have to double the Storm King’s rate. The Sellswords Guild never cuts and runs on a contract as long as they’re being paid, and he is heavily invested with them.”
“Agreed,” a bearded spy said. “The sacking of Goldbridge gave him plenty of gold to pay them for a while. Eventually, Goldbridge will be repaired and will become a substantial income source for the Storm King. Forget the battlefield. We should put more effort into disrupting the enemy economy!”
People debated the point as I withdrew into myself. I ignored their suggestions as I stitched together the final pieces of my plan. It was reckless, and I didn’t know if it would work, but it was better than what they suggested.
Cedric outlined a strategy for hit-and-run attacks to prevent the Storm King from merging power here. Clearly, he expected to fight this war for years. He intended to give the Storm King a death by a thousand cuts.
“What about the castle? How do we organize this into a defensible position?” someone asked.
“We repair the walls first.” Amy leaned over the table, drawing across the wood with a finger. “After that, the keep and support areas. We’ll gather supplies and make Blackspire the new rebel base to launch raids all over the kingdom.”
They were preparing for a siege they couldn’t possibly win. Completely repairing the castle was far more expensive than we could afford. It was time for me to speak up.
“He took Goldbridge,” I broke in. “And that city was larger and far better defended.”
Everyone’s attention swiveled toward me. Heat crawled up my neck, but I was determined to make my case. “Staying here plays into his hands. Every move to fortify this castle, form alliances with local lords, or build a spy network is delaying the inevitable. He has conquered dozens of castles. His army will come here, and they will shatter the walls. The Storm King will seize the fortress. We don’t stand a chance.”
No one responded.
Amy caught my eye, nodding encouragement.
I swallowed hard. “I have a stronger plan.”
Hopefully, my 12 charisma would make up for my stage fright. I inhaled a deep breath. I needed to project confidence. This was life and death.
“This is my castle, and I say fuck it. We can’t defend a fortress with busted walls and a gate that’s falling off, and the effort to repair them would take too long. It’s a deathtrap.” I stood, holding Cedric’ gaze. “Let’s assume we fix everything. For the sake of argument, the entire castle is miraculously repaired. Even with all those repairs, we still can’t protect it against the full might of his combined armies. We don’t have the numbers.”
Sullen faces watched me. Cedric sat back, biting his lip.
“If we allow him to gather his forces from across the kingdom, we will die.” It was simple. His numbers were larger, and the Storm King had economic and political support. “His army has never been so divided. The longer we wait, the worse our chances get. We have a narrow window of opportunity. If we strike now, while his armies are scattered, we could succeed. The heroes we remember in songs are the ones who risk their lives.”
Everyone wasn’t entirely won ove
r. Grizzled warriors and fresh-faced recruits nodded intently. Skeptical expressions swam in the crowd.
“I’m talking about ending the war. One more battle. One last fight where we put everything on the line. We may never have an opportunity like this. We should make it count.”
A grin staggered across Cedric’s face. His defining traits were brave and gregarious, and I was doing my damnedest to appeal to both.
“You make many good points, James.” Cedric stroked his mustache. “But he still outnumbers us. In most battles, the larger army claims victory. What makes it different this time?”
This was the moment to sell it.
I smiled at him. “You’ll have me.”
Twenty-Six
We were ready to rock. Four duplicates stood side by side with the same vacant grin. They wore leather armor overlapped with a coat, two bands stretching across their chests. Duplicate level 2 had increased my summoning cap to an infinite number of replicates, so long as I had the MP. We were indistinguishable except for the different instruments clutched in our hands.
I had the black guitar. One strummed a bass. The other fiddled with a keytar. Another twirled drumsticks over a marching drum set, and the last swung the pièce de résistance—a cowbell.
Naomi stopped at the duplicate, wide-eyed. “What the hell is that supposed to do?”
“Everybody loves cowbell,” the clone chirped, rapping it with a stick.
“I couldn’t help it,” I told an exasperated Naomi, turning toward my clones. “Guys, stay focused. This isn’t a game. Remember, thousands of lives depend on us.”
“So, no pressure,” the bassist sighed.
The finishing touches of my plan required me to craft a bunch of new instruments, which I commissioned at camp. I was at the right level to use the guitar, but I had plenty of misgivings, despite giving it a practice run. For one thing, last time it had delivered me to Tom.
“Okay.” I ran my fingers over the smooth lacquer. “Let’s do a blues riff in B. Watch me for the changes, and try to keep up!”
Cowbell frowned at me. “Yeah, we still don’t know what that means.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “Enough with the references, already.”
She was right. It was time to focus.
“We clear what we need to do?” The other versions of me nodded their heads. We were unified in rhythm. Unnerving but awesome.
“This is like my nightmare,” Naomi said to Amy in a stage whisper. “I don’t think I can handle this much of him in one sitting.”
Horns blew in the distance from Stormhold as a black and gold army marched across a muddy field. Thunder boomed as water drizzled, tinkling over shields and armor. Our rebel army clustered on a hill facing the Storm King’s castle.
Stormhold was carved from deep gray stone. The stream running through it swelled from the constant rain. Beyond the gatehouse sat a massive keep and towers adorned with golden heraldry. Across its battlements and roof were hundreds of black and gold flags, rippling like a sea of gloomy grass.
“Five minutes, rock star. You ready for this big plan of yours?” Apprehension gnawed Amy’s voice.
“Yeah.”
My clones remained at the head of the army. I joined my four duplicates, fingers white against the guitar’s neck.
An emerald-haired mage gave me the last vial. I downed it. The potion tasted like a kale smoothie with a dash of ball sweat.
21/21MP
Summoning four clones required more MP than I had available even at full power. So I drank mana potions between castings. There was a downside. Each halved the effectiveness of other potions consumed for an entire day. That meant no stockpiling for infinite mana or health.
Tossing the bottle, I listened to rebel commanders shout orders.
“Battle lines steady!” A bearded commander whose hair jingled with jewelry moved among the rows. “Archers, nock arrows!”
Nearby, the green-haired mage and her fellow magic user prepped for a fight. They had been assigned as my guards. We had to be in the thick of the front lines. I’d need all the backup I could get.
“Hold the line! We want them to come to us.” Amy yelled, slinging the massive sword off her shoulder.
Banners emblazoned with a golden lute whipped fiercely in the wind. It was the new banner of Blackspire. The sky-blue flags of my fortress were everywhere. Cedric raised his glowing hammer with a rousing cry, taunting the approaching forces. The left flank joined the battle cry. A commander wielding a spear commanded the right side.
“Archers, FIRE!”
A swarm of arrows loosed. They arced before shooting downward. Arrows peppered shields. Dozens of enemies fell under the onslaught, but it was nothing compared to the vast advancing army. A small dent in the sea of brass and black. The enemy soldiers picked up their pace. A resounding roar rose across the field as they charged.
This was it. They had no idea what they were up against.
My fingers readied on the strings. All five of us tapped our feet.
Amplify
A whirlwind of red light enveloped my band, shaking our bodies as it sizzled raindrops. My heart throbbed as blood rushed in my ears. My senses were dialed up to the max. Every sensation was multiplied. A drop pinged my hand, the impact energy amplified by the chaotic magic. I plucked a single string. It echoed around me like a blow from Thor’s hammer.
“ONE, TWO, THREE, GO!”
My fingers danced across the strings, the sound exploding from my clone band. My bassist strummed. The drums kicked a furious beat. The cowbell cowbelled. Rock music trembled the ground, so loud it blasted the rain from our faces. Soundwaves pulsed through the rebel army, the amplification spell functioning like a giant magical speaker.
“The Storm King doesn’t own the storms. I do!” Cymbals crashed, and I leaped into the chorus of the 1984 classic, Rock You Like a Hurricane.
Naomi grinned as an icon popped above her head. Beside her, Amy screamed berserker fury. A vein throbbed on Amy’s forehead, my spell amplifying her war cry. Charging enemies staggered, losing their footing.
Amy was a ball of rage, a pixie with a sword as big as her body. She dashed forward, meeting the enemy captain. He swung his axe in a vicious side-swing. The greatsword gouged the earth as she severed him in an uppercut slice.
The Song of Smashing increased the damage of my allies by fifty percent. My illusion clones might have a fraction of my health and power, but they provided the same stacking buff from the songs. Five of us all playing the Song of Smashing, plus Amplify, and the bonus of my guitar added up to +500% bonus damage.
Every rebel who listened to my music had six times their standard attack power.
Amy’s blade sang. It cleaved the air as she slashed the captain’s chest. CRIT 625. His armor tore like tissue paper as he was thrown backward. Ribbons of blood trailed out as he wheeled, arching over the army. He crashed into the distant castle walls in an explosion of crimson.
An enemy knight dropped his weapon as Amy turned their captain into an unwilling projectile. Amy’s swinging greatsword sliced through six knights in one blow. It was a bloodbath. Limbs smacked the ground. Geysers of blood erupted from corpses. Encouraged by the horrific display, the rebel army surged to join her.
Our forces smashed like a stampede of bulls in a porcelain shop. Swords gashed gaping wounds, cutting through mail. Spears gutted enemies. A sea of triple-digit damage numbers cascaded across my vision. A wave of the black steel lifted. Dozens of enemies were knocked airborne by Amy’s sword.
“Archers, fire!”
A deafening snap of bowstrings joined the music. Arrows zipped into faces. A spread of massive numbers popped among the enemy. It was fucking nuts. I watched an arrow kill two men. It dashed through one man’s stomach, lifted him off his feet, and slammed into the man behind him.
My drummer rapped a marching beat as the band moved forward.
“Watch out!” An elbow struck my side.
I stumbled, an arrow stri
king the mage who saved me. Enemy bolts clouded the sky. Naomi and the other mages clapped their hands. A spray of blue sparks exploded from their fists, forming a semitransparent barrier around us. Arrows sank into the barrier as though it was water before falling.
My song provided us with bonus damage, but it did nothing to bolster our defenses. We were an army of glass cannons. My 32/32HP was all that stood between our victory and total annihilation.
I wished bards could wear more armor.
“Burn!” Naomi shrieked as a fountain of flame engulfed enemies. As I sang, the fire shot up several yards. It was a wild inferno, climbing as high as skyscrapers.
A blow from Cedric’s hammer sent dozens flying. The Storm King’s troops wrapped around Cedric in a flanking attack. It was inevitable. For my plan to work, our formation had to be compact. If they were too far, they wouldn’t hear my music. The counter-flanks hacked the enemy’s overextended front line.
My voice rang as I continued strumming. I couldn’t stop for anything. The battlefield was pure chaos. Warriors thrashed against each other. Arrows stabbed the earth. Balls of sizzling white light blasted armies. Dirt blasted into the air as though from a cannonball. Lightning forked across the sky. The wind was restless. Dark clouds circled above. Commands were shouted into the roaring gusts, but everywhere around me, the Storm King’s forces fell, overwhelmed by the sheer onslaught of damage.
We were winning.
My plan was working!
A black streak flew past me. The arrow plunged into my drummer for 15 damage, killing him instantly. My clone’s shocked face shattered as the body blew away. His drums sank into the mud. Our Song of Smashing buff was down to +400%.
Damn it.
Repeated horn blasts echoed from Stormhold. Enemies turned tail and ran to the castle, summoned by the call for retreat. Archers mounted on walls fired down at us. Before all the retreating soldiers made it inside, the massive gates closed with a resounding thud.
“Don’t let them regroup!” Naomi yelled over the chaos.