Throne of the Ancients: A LitRPG Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 6)

by Carrie Summers

  “How’s it going? Ready for your big moment on the throne?”

  Devon groaned and checked her in-game clock. “I still have an hour of freedom before I have to deal with becoming the official leader of a rabid gang of do-gooders. If I teleport to the Stone Forest bindstone, I’ll probably have enough of a head start that they’ll never catch me.”

  “Especially when your griffon-riding slab of man meat swoops in and sweeps you into his oiled arms.”

  Devon grimaced. “Don’t even start.”

  Hailey laughed, and if Devon wasn’t mistaken, even Aijal looked faintly amused.

  “Thanks for the lesson,” Devon said, ducking a shallow bow to the Shadow Master.

  “It’s my pleasure to have a pupil who shows so many avenues for growth,” Aijal said. “I take it you have preparations to make for your ceremony? If so, I have waiting tasks.”

  Devon blinked. Wait. Avenues for growth…was the Esh teasing her? The woman’s big, liquidy eyes held no clue, and the expression on her milky face was as inscrutable as always.

  “Yeah. But before you go, a quick request. Before our morning council tomorrow, can you work with Torald and Magda to gather a list of leaders from the Esh force and player camp? I want each of them to take command of a raid-sized group of fighters that will start training together. We need our communications and tactics working.”

  Aijal inclined her head as she turned to leave. “I’ll set to that next.”

  “Want to help me pick out an outfit for this stupid thing?” Devon asked Hailey. “I guess if I really want them to think they’re doing the right thing, I should probably try to look like a worthy leader.”

  Hailey snorted. “Shopping gives me hives. But man, I wish I could go back and tell me from a year ago where Relic Online would take us. Just thinking of you having to sit through this would have been enough entertainment to save me like half my subscriptions to premium streams.”

  The smile abruptly fell from Devon’s face as Hailey’s words struck. “You are not going to livestream this, okay?”

  A strange look crossed Hailey’s face, and she actually stammered before getting her next words out. “Yeah, no problem. But hey, Dev? You have time to chat soon?”

  “Sure. Is this about whatever happened between you and Bob?” She whispered the wisp’s name in hopes that she wouldn’t accidentally summon him.

  Hailey swallowed, and Devon noticed that she had double handfuls of her robes caught in clenched fists. “Yeah, kinda. Is tomorrow good? It might be a long convo.”

  Huh…Whatever this was about, Hailey seemed to be taking it really seriously.

  “Sure. Let’s explore the area around the council hall after the meeting. Talk while we walk.”

  “Sounds good.” Hailey gave a little salute and turned. “See you in the throne room, princess.”

  Devon shot her friend a mock glare for the princess comment but waved as Hailey turned to leave. Just as the woman passed out of earshot, a minor earthquake rumbled deep in the earth. Shoot. Devon had meant to ask Hailey to try to look into that with her seeker abilities. She needed to remember that first thing tomorrow.

  Chapter Six

  JEREMY HAD SCROUNGED up a lute from somewhere and was sitting outside the main entrance to the inner keep, strumming it and humming stanzas. As Devon approached, decked out in a ridiculous velvet outfit that Emmaree, the tailor, claimed was the most queenly garb she sold, he cracked a wide, shit-eating grin.

  “Nice threads, Elvis,” he said.

  “Shut up, dude.” Devon clawed at the clasp for the short cape that was digging into her jugular. This sucked.

  “I’ve been composing a song for the feast dinner. Want to hear the chorus?”

  She felt her lower eyelid twitch. “Feast dinner?”

  “Duh. How many coronations have you been to that haven’t included horns of ale and roast piglets afterward? How else are you going to create leftovers for us poor serfs? Cast-offs from your high table and all that.”

  “I’m so glad this amuses you. I hope you can contain the urge to burst out in song while people are swearing their oaths. It’s the end of their first epic quest line.”

  “Just the sort of occasion that should be heralded with glorious war ballads.”

  She glanced toward the darkened entrance to the keep. This was really, really going to suck. There was nothing Devon hated more than being the center of attention. She sighed. “Anyway, I don’t remember putting you on the invite list.”

  Jeremy grinned and stood, the peacock feather in his floppy hat-thing bobbing flamboyantly. “But you see, I’ve been deputized by the planning committee. I have a job.” He raised his eyebrows dramatically.

  Oh brother. Clearly, someone didn’t understand how much Jeremy loved to torment her. “Have I mentioned that I liked you better when you were out of phase with the physical plane?” In their previous game, he’d played a planar priest, which meant that he was often only in weak contact with the group.

  He smirked and strummed a quick riff on the lute. Rolling her eyes, Devon stepped toward the keep entrance.

  “Uh, nope. Sorry. You have to wait here.” Jeremy trotted forward and got in her way, the stupid peacock feather dipping forward and tickling her face.

  She knocked it away and stepped back. “Seriously, Jeremy. I’m ready to get this over with.”

  From within the entrance chamber to the keep came the sound of someone clearing their throat. Wood thumped against stone, and Hezbek stepped into the light falling through the doorway, her walking staff leading the way. “I asked him to delay you while I assured that the preparations were complete.”

  Hezbek glanced up over Devon’s shoulder. Turning to follow her gaze, Devon spied a raven shuffling sideways along a shop’s awning. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was Gustwing. The bird bobbed his head as if giving a signal.

  Hezbek sucked her teeth and nodded. “Good.”

  A moment later, a popup appeared in Devon’s vision.

  Hezbek has invited you to join her group.

  Accept? Y/N

  Devon’s eyebrows drew together as she accepted the invite. “Why the group?” she asked as she stepped back a few paces and peered up toward the windows in the upper floor of the keep.

  “Because, as you say, your teleport sucks.”

  Devon blinked, utterly confused, as Jeremy’s health bar joined the group interface. “We’re going somewhere?” she said stupidly as magic began to shimmer around her. Her body started to tingle as the bits and pieces disassociated from each other, and moments later, all went black as she vanished from Stonehaven.

  The sounds of cheering swelled to fill her ears as she sensed hard stone taking shape beneath her feet. The afternoon sun warmed her shoulders, and her Sparklebomb Backpack, hidden beneath the velvet cape, pressed into her spine between her shoulder blades. She opened her eyes to Ishildar, and with a glance, determined that she was in the center of a crossroads near the council hall.

  Half a dozen grinning faces stared at her.

  “Surprise,” Dorden said.

  “Huh?” She glanced around again, lip twitching when she noticed a sort of chair-thing fastened to poles and shaded with a silk canopy. Plump scarlet cushions sported gold-thread tassels, and there was a drink holder near one of the arms already equipped with a full, gem-encrusted goblet. “No.”

  “Oh yes,” Jeremy said. “You get to be in a parade. We’ve got people set up to line the streets from here to the player camp and from there to Stonehaven. It’s going to be awesome.”

  Devon felt her shoulders sag. She searched the gathered faces for sympathy but found none. Even Hailey just shrugged and seemed to be on the verge of laughing.

  She blinked again. “You really intend for me to sit in that thing?”

  “And be carried, yes,” Chen said. “I’m counting on at least five skill-ups in Manual Labor. And Torald sends his regrets about the little misdirection
regarding the throne and the inner keep. We had a sneaking suspicion you might protest the pomp of this kind of procession.”

  “But you planned it anyway.”

  He shrugged and smirked. “Who doesn’t love a parade?”

  Groaning, Devon started toward the chair. “I sure hope there’s alcohol in that—”

  A rumble from deep in the earth cut off her words. Planting her feet and bending her knees, Devon threw her arms out for balance as the earthquake rolled beneath them. Smiles faded from the surrounding faces as the trembling grew violent. A swift heave of the earth sent her stumbling, and a sudden gap between paving stones caught Devon’s toe. She went sprawling, and for once, she wasn’t the only klutz knocked off her feet. At least half the people in the intersection lost their footing.

  Devon rolled, worried for Hezbek, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the woman levitating over the shaking earth. Thinking to do the same, she gathered her weight and prepared to stand. But the sight of Aijal stopped her cold.

  For the first time in Devon’s memory, the Shadow Master’s face showed stark emotion. Shock. Fear perhaps.

  “What is it, Aijal?” Devon shouted.

  “Devon,” Owen shouted over the grating and cracking of stone. “The pattern says—”

  “No!” Aijal hissed, cutting him off. “I’d stopped focusing on our racial bond, thinking the Rovan exterminated…”

  “What? What is it?”

  “The starborn camp. Would you say it’s directly south of here?”

  Devon yanked open her minimap. “Yeah. Almost exactly.”

  “Grab your swords. Now. They’ll need our help.”

  Chapter Seven

  DEVON’S CLOSEST NPC and player friends had been in the group planning to escort her throne thing through the parade, and now each of them threw off their celebratory mood and yanked out their weapons. Devon snapped open the clasp holding the cape to her neck and swung her backpack around to get at her inventory. There wouldn’t be time to change back into her armor—damn…she should never have agreed to this stupid ceremony—but she jammed her hand into the pack to activate her inventory interface, focused on her Frostwielder’s Belt, and felt it drop into her hand. Night’s Fang, her dagger, was sheathed in a socket on the belt; as soon as she buckled it on, she drew the blade and started running.

  Hazel raced ahead in the mad dash, shading her eyes and scanning the skies. A moment later, Gustwing flapped down from the heavens and landed on her forearm. The scout’s steps slowed as she listened to the raven’s quiet gorboling. Hazel’s face went slack. A chill crept into Devon’s guts. Hazel rarely showed anything but a smile.

  Devon cursed under her breath as she forced more speed from her legs. After snapping off a few quick commands to the raven, Hazel tossed Gustwing into the air. With a few mighty flaps of his shining wings, the bird was gone. Most likely heading to Stonehaven to call the settlement’s fighters to action.

  Near the street leaving the intersection, Devon skidded to a halt and spun. She looked back to see Hezbek standing alone in the center of the slate pavements. The medicine woman stared off toward the south, the direction of the player camp, a sorrowful look on her face. After a moment, she shook her head and turned to Devon.

  “You’re not on a refresh timer for that teleport are you?” Devon said.

  “No. I’ll be fine, child. Just…something about today reminds me of my past. Of the times we celebrated our victories and respites too easily, knowing the threat was still there. But then…even in war, you have to find time for joy, right?”

  Devon wasn’t sure what to say. She shifted her weight between her feet, listening to the retreating footsteps as her other allies ran toward the southern edge of the city.

  “Go,” Hezbek said. “Your people need you. With good fortune, I’ll see you back in Stonehaven on the other side of this.”

  As light sprang from the elderly woman’s hands, Devon whirled to catch up with the others. Before turning onto a south-bound street, she glanced back to see Hezbek surrounded by a pearly nimbus as her teleport spell took hold. A breath later she’d vanished.

  As Devon sprinted forward, chasing after her friends, the Fatigue bar in her interface steadily rose. She passed the stragglers, starting with Dorden, his stumpy legs pumping like pistons. But she didn’t want to be wiped out before they even reached the savanna, so when she caught up with Hailey, she slowed to match the woman’s pace.

  “Hey,” she panted, “how big is the range on True Sight? Can you get a picture of what’s happening at the player camp?”

  Hailey shook her head, her arms pumping lightly as her slipper-clad feet whispered over the flagstone pavement. “But I doubt we’re going to like what we find.”

  “No—”

  Another violent jerk of the ground stole her words as it threw Devon forward. Her foot landed hard, jarring her knee and hip. She tripped and fell forward, cracking a knee against the flagstones and scraping the palms of her Gloves of Deceit, one of the only armor pieces that had fit with her fancy outfit.

  “Ow.” Devon gathered herself, climbing to a crouch and rubbing her aching knee with her forearm. Hailey offered her a hand up.

  You gain resistance: +1% versus earth-based damage.

  Just trying to lighten the mood here. Klutz.

  “I swear you could trip over a feather. What’s your Agility?” the woman asked.

  Devon peeked at the attributes section of her character sheet, shuffling sideways as the earth rocked.

  “Twenty-one with gear,” Devon said as she started trotting forward. “That’s not that bad, right?”

  “Well, it’s not terrible for a caster. Maybe you’re just extra clumsy.”

  “Thanks.” Already the quake had stilled, and Devon sped up again.

  “Hey…uh…”

  Devon looked over her shoulder to see Hailey standing stock still, eyes wide as she stared at the southern sky. Belly definitely full of ice now, Devon turned.

  Over the tops of the final buildings standing between her and the savanna, a column of oily black smoke rose steadily into the sky. “Shit,” Devon muttered as she sprinted to the street that emptied onto the savanna. Glancing down it, she shook her head, aghast. Judging by the amount of smoke, nearly the entire player camp was on fire.

  Flowing like silk, Aijal raced past. When she reached the end of the street, the Esh Shadow Master dissolved into a cloud of mist that hung in the air for a moment before streaking across the grassland toward the scene. Hazel dashed into the field and whistled. A shrill whinny answered the scout’s call, and the drumming of hooves vibrated the ground. Before Devon reached the edge of the grassland, one of the windsteeds thundered into view, mane and tail streaming. Zoe, the war ostrich, followed close on the horse’s heels, her neck stretched out nearly horizontally, her useless wings flapping. The horse slowed just enough for Hazel to grab a handful of its mane and vault onto its back, then the trio set off for the player camp at a gallop.

  “Wait,” Devon shouted as Dorden, clattering in his platemail, sprinted past and banged his warhammer against his breastplate to summon the mule he’d taken as a mount.

  “If ye think I’ll stay here while me starborn friends contend with merciless enemies, ye are sadly mistaken,” the dwarf shouted. He seemed about to launch into a tirade about the Stoneshoulder Clan code of honor, but Devon raised a hand and tossed him a group invite. She grabbed Hailey’s arm and did the same to the Seeker, then focused on Owen, Jeremy, and Chen and added them to the party.

  Devon cast a glance at a few bikes leaning against a nearby wall—most players used them for commuting between the camp, Stonehaven, and Ishildar—then shook her head. The player camp was nearly equidistant from Ishildar and Stonehaven, so it wouldn’t make much difference from which direction they approached. Given the smoke, though, she worried that her friends’ small encampment was already lost. If that were the case, she needed to be at Stoneh
aven to save what she could.

  Motioning her group members forward, Devon ran toward the dwarf so that everyone would be in spell range. When she went through the mental gymnastics to start casting Journey, her group teleport spell, scintillating magic filled the air around her. She felt herself growing lighter, her contact with the ground becoming insubstantial. She swallowed in preparation for the sensation of dissolution, and a moment later, Ishildar vanished.

  Chapter Eight

  DEVON’S STOMACH SLUICED into her lower abdomen like wet gravel as she rematerialized at the Shrine to Veia. Her senses returned in quick succession, the smell of green grass tinged with smoke, the sun on the crown of her head, the shouts from the forward areas of the settlement. She blinked away disorientation and reached for her dagger’s hilt as she searched Stonehaven for enemies.

  Ranged fighters stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the main palisade. They faced outward, the tension in their bodies obvious even from the shrine’s position at the rear of the settlement. At least the walls were still secure. Nonetheless, Devon’s heart hammered in her chest as she made eye contact with Hailey, then started for the front of the settlement at a run.

  “Devon,” Owen called from behind. Devon slowed enough to look over her shoulder. The faint outline of a figure was steadily consolidating as someone began to respawn beside the shrine. Feet planted near the condensing figure, Dorden tugged his beard while adjusting his grip on his warhammer—he’d never been all that comfortable with the respawning process. A couple of seconds later, a bright glow surrounded the incoming person, ending with a flash and a pop.

  Devon hurried back to the shrine as the new arrival, Torald, dropped to a knee in the grass. His usually gleaming armor was black with soot, reflecting the sunlight only where deep gouges marred the plates. He knocked the helm from his head and ran a hand through his hair. Hollow eyes met Devon’s gaze, and he shook his head.