by G. Akella
"Thank you, warrior," I nodded to the captain, then waved a hand, signaling for the party to start moving. "Now, let's have a look at these undead of yours."
So, apparently the undead had flooded the border between orcish and human lands. Demons shouldn't be too far from here either, but it was unlikely that the dungeon transformed by the Twice Cursed God would lead us there. The Netherworld wasn't his domain, and I wouldn't have any trouble coming to an agreement with demons, anyway. I wasn't that antisocial, after all. No, I was ninety percent certain that this was the long sought-after Karn. Unfortunately, I couldn't just tell all the locals to take a hike, and set off to Vaedarr—my ultimate destination. First of all, I could never leave Gloom behind, and his icon was presently inactive. Second of all, I wasn't willing to abandon all the knights and mages in Cathella. And third of all, try as I might, I wouldn't be allowed to shirk the obligations bestowed unto me by the System. Such were the negatives of the game world. So, we would have to keep going, mow down all the baddies in our path, and do what was required. This was the only way.
After about fifteen minutes we emerged from the forest and saw the village. Then again, calling this settlement a village would be a gross misrepresentation—with tall walls of thick logs, eight guard towers, and gates reinforced with steel plates, Dorca looked more of a stronghold than Farot was. Unlike Farot, however, archers were manning the walls—I counted at least twelve soldiers just on the gate side. After accounting for the six arbalests installed in the towers—just the visible ones—this wasn't a village that any attacking force could afford to take lightly.
The man-made defenses aside, the fort was surrounded by open space for least a mile, before the next stretch of woodland set in.
We passed through the fields growing some kind of local grain, and came up to the gates. An exchange ensued that was nearly identical to the one from earlier, if only a bit shorter.
"Arvid is in the square," a mustachioed captain named Urvaz motioned behind him. The guards stood aside, allowing us to finally enter.
"Dar, don't you feel like we've seen all this before?" Reece nodded at the string of wagons laden with household implements. "Although, I admit I feel a lot more confident this time around."
"Oh, sure," I chuckled, looking around the place. "That time we didn't have Kan, Raena, Vaessa or her dragons with us."
"On the other hand, now we're missing Gloom and the rest of the guys," countered the mage, gazing pensively at the drivers sitting up in the coachbox.
The captain hadn't lied—Dorca really was preparing for evacuation. All around us hammers were banging, the air smelled of shavings and oil that the locals used to lubricate the axes of their wagons. Nobody was wearing civilian clothes, but at worst leather armor, and carrying either bows or short spears. Yeah, these people looked no more like farmers than a Doberman like a Chihuahua. More like, they looked like Russian Cossacks or cowboys from the Old West. A harsh land produced a harsh peoples.
We reached the square, located roughly one hundred fifty yards from the gates, in total silence, as conversations around us died down at once the moment our party came into view. And who could blame them? For most of Karn's population, demons and dragons were a no more common occurrence than for any citizen of Earth. I imagined that the reaction of San-Franciscans would be pretty similar were I to roll up in the company of three green aliens and a couple of prehistoric reptiles. The whole city would probably assemble, creating a racket as if their 49s were playing in the Super Bowl. If anything, these people's reactions were much more subdued: mostly just slacked jaws and hushed whispers.
We moved aside to let a few wagons pass, then continued past the inn that Kan had found so memorable, and finally came to the square, where a veritable auto-da-fe was taking place.
I'd always been averse to scenes like this, both in books and in movies. From an early age I'd felt a raging hatred for the Medieval inquisition. For the bastards who burned innocents with their "cleansing" fires, while daring to invoke God's name as justification. I had fantasized about bursting into the square on a mighty stallion, dispersing the bloodthirsty crowd and throwing the tormentors into the fire! And then standing there, watching them burn. This was it, the moment where my childhood dream could be realized... But this was a different world. Here, if someone was actually put to flame, it was for a reason. A necromancer responsible for siccing an undead army on the baron's castle deserved to die! This is necessary. Pushing down the rage fulminating inside me, I took a good look around the square.
In fairness, the locals differed from the denizens of Medieval Europe in every meaningful way. Back there, a scene like this would gather thousands of gawkers, but here only the soldiers were present in the square. Two dozen of tens. And, judging by their dour faces, they were anything but delighted at what was happening. A heap of brushwood had been thrown around the stake, crudely mounted onto a makeshift platform. Bound to the stake was a young woman, her eyes darting frantically, her expression one of horror and despair. A gag was in her mouth, preventing her from speaking. A dreary silence hung over the square as a gray-robed priest ascended the platform, holding a burning torch.
Centurion Arvid—a tall, broad-faced soldier—was standing directly across with his arms folded, observing the execution with a grim expression. Next to him were four more gray robes ranging between levels 250-280. Ghuntard, the senior among them, was saying something quietly to another priest at his side.
"In the name of your god..." the executioner spoke in a listless voice, and took a step toward the bound victim... And then, it was as if the veil was pulled from over my eyes. The names of Myrt's servants blinked, turning from green to red and rearranging subtly. Guntard was now G'Untard. The disavowed?! How in the hell?! My maxed mental resistance is letting me see through virtually any disguise, the thought flashed through my mind as I hopped onto the platform, and kicked the false priest away from the heaping brushwood with my metal boot.
"These are the disavowed! For Ingvar!"
An Ice Blade crit against the gray robe lying supine on the wooden boards, knocking off more than half of his HP. Another blow and the priest's body convulsed in agony, bloody froth forming on his lips.
The square erupted with the clanging of steel as an arrow plunged into my hip. Bitch! Kan Charged forward, knocking over two soldiers raising their crossbows. Seeing the stripes on my face, Arvid whipped out his sword and brought it down swiftly on the neck of the nearest disavowed, severing the head from the body.
"Get the priests!" His cry resounded over the din of the burgeoning battle.
An Ice Spear smashed into the shoulder of the third false priest, knocking him over as his feet kicked the air.
The soldiers, having recovered their senses, pounced on the target to finish him off, then switched hastily to the fourth and final aide. With a Jump, G'Untard escaped the epicenter of the battle—his face streaked with blood, his robe ripped to pieces, and his life already in the yellow.
"Infidels!" he croaked, his voice trembling with hatred. His hand dove into his robe and produced a gnarled tree branch, which he then stuck into the ground at his feet. "You shall all die!!!"
Three crossbow bolts punctured his chest. The disavowed's body jerked as his eyes found me in the crowd. With a triumphant smile on his face, the head priest slowly sunk to the ground.
Raena's heal washed over me. The arrow had only taken off five percent HP, glancing off the armor. I turned around and removed the gag from the girl's mouth.
"Master! It wasn't me who set the undead on the castle... I can only summon skeletons!" the poor thing mumbled. "Only skeletons, truly! You must believe me, master..."
But I wasn't listening to her. I was standing there, studying the agitated crowd, and feeling blissfully happy. It was the kind of happiness that could only be felt upon realizing one's childhood dream.
"We have big problems, dar," Vaessa's dismal tone brought me back to reality in no time.
I hopped o
ff the scaffold, paying no mind to the wailing would-be witch, and walked over to the necromancer's daughter, who was leaning over the head priest's corpse. I hadn't tied that chick to the stake, so I wasn't going to be the one to untie her. She was no longer in danger—of that I was certain. As I was certain of the fact that the assault on the castle had been the handiwork of these scumbags who had infiltrated the fort disguised as Myrt's servants. Surely this bunch hadn't taken to the wastes to catch grasshoppers?
Meanwhile, the soldiers of the local garrison, whose assistance in battle had been both swift and effective, were only now starting to notice our motley crew. And many of them—mostly those who weren't busy looting the bodies—froze in their tracks, staring at the demons and dragons that had somehow become guests in their village.
"Enchanted aspen branch," the magus nodded at the twig sticking out of the ground. "I've heard about something similar."
"And?"
"And nothing," she shrugged. "Other than the fact that all the undead in the area will soon swarm this place like locusts." Snatching the twig out of the ground, Vaessa studied the symbols etched into the bark. "The spell will last six hours," she said, tossing the twig away. "And when it runs out, the undead will leave. The local baron's castle must have had another one just like it."
"Always with the dire omens, auntie," Reece sniffed, walking over to us. "Although, if the dragons hadn't lied about our path being twisted by the Twice Cursed God, then this must be the quest the commander spoke of."
"To destroy all the local undead?" Raena asked to clarify while looking at me.
"How should I know?" I shrugged. "Do we destroy the whole army or someone in particular? Again, I've no idea. But it seems to me we should stick around and see what happens next."
"Take these, drag them outside the gates, and burn them!" the centurion's booming voice stirred his soldiers from their stupor, and they began tossing the disavowed's corpses into a cart standing on the edge of the square.
Satisfied that his subordinates were carrying out their orders, Arvid glanced at the girl, who was still tied to the stake, shook his head and started making his way toward us.
"Sir," he nodded to me, then to the rest of our party, one by one. When his eyes fell on Vaessa, the centurion's brows shot up. "It is a great honor to welcome a priestess of the Goddess of Death in our ba—"
"Later," Vaessa stopped him with a gesture, nodding at the corpse of the disavowed lying nearby, the face still showing the smile it wore at the moment of death. "Sound the alarm, centurion. We will soon have a horde of undead at the gates."
She conveyed the basics of what she'd shared with me a minute earlier.
The centurion's face darkened as the magus spoke. Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he sighed and spoke dryly.
"A moment, earls. I must issue orders to my people," he said, then stepped back from us, turned around and bellowed.
"Sanka!"
"Aye aye! Earl! Centurion!" A frail black-haired girl in a leather helm that kept sliding down over her eyes most comically ran out of the crowd of soldiers, and froze in front of her commander.
"Ride to the baron at once," Arvid ordered, accentuating every word. "Tell him that Dorca is preparing for imminent attack by the undead. Dismissed!"
As the messenger took off to carry out her orders, the centurion turned to his captain—a spindly fellow with a pockmarked face.
"Kron! Put all of Dorca on alert! Remove the wagons from the courtyard! Put every able-bodied soldier aside from the sentries on the eastern wall! Ronn's and Grass' squads man the gates. And make sure each arbalest is equipped with three arrows enchanted by Master Edhar."
Aye aye, earl!" the captain nodded, then motioned toward the scaffold. "What do we do with her?"
Arvid turned toward me questioningly.
"The girl's gift has awakened," Vaessa explained. "Your captain mentioned there being a necromancer in the castle. I don't think he'll refuse an apprentice."
"You heard the lady," Arvid turned back to his captain. "Dismissed! You have five minutes to clear all the wagons, and put everybody on those walls, including civilians!"
Taking in the bustling square, the soldier turned back to us, eyes shining with resolve.
"On behalf of Baron Laetan, I hereby express to you my gratitude for restoring justice and slaying the disavowed who had infiltrated the barony's lands. Earl Laetan will personally reward you for the head of every one of them. However..." Arvid glanced up at the sun creeping toward its zenith, then looked back at me.
"The undead will be here in a quarter of an hour," he added wearily. "They travel by portals across the wastes, and the village is barely a mile from the main road. That means you have very little time to depart from the village safely."
"I think we'll stick around," I said with a shrug, motioning toward the still-open gates. "I'm curious to see the local undead."
"Well, then," the centurion grinned. "I'd say Dorca's chances have just risen from none to slim. Follow me to the gates, earls. I'll explain along the way what we can expect."
Chapter 7
Yes, it was that simple. The idealistic game world was one hundred percent certain that we would stay behind and help defend the village from the beasts of the Gray Frontier. The locals were all open and honest. Corruption and betrayal were impossible unless scripted; brothers-in-arms would never run from battle and leave their comrade behind. Here, honor and proper death were far more valuable than gold. This was how the world was at its conception, and RP-17 hadn't changed anything in that regard. Instead, he had simply imbued these creatures with a soul, and had dragged in those who would invariably change this world at the core...
A tocsin rang out from the bell-tower behind the inn—a harbinger of doom that echoed down the narrow streets of the outpost as it prepared for battle. In the blink of an eye Dorca transformed into a disturbed ant hill as the locals stopped everything they were doing and poured out of their yards, fixing their armor and weapons as they ran toward the gates, next to which a couple of captains were expediently assigning the new arrivals to posts on the wall.
After letting a string of wagons pass, we reached the courtyard and ascended the stairs to the left wall, following Arvid's instruction, while Reece and Raena remained below. A healer needn't be in the thick of the battle—her heals would reach us just fine from where she was—and the mage was only more deadly at a distance. The dragons stayed down as well for the simple reason that there wasn't any room for them up on the wall—that and they could provide cover for the casters if things went awry. As well as provide material support to the several squads of soldiers positioned on either side of the gate. Arvid had promised to join us up top as soon as he finished issuing the necessary orders to all his fighters.
"Think anyone can even hear what he's saying?" I asked Kan, shouting over the ringing bell, after we ascended the high wooden stairs.
"The military manual clearly states that the tocsin must sound for no less than five minutes in the event of an alarm," the knight-commanded shrugged, then motioned at the castle jutting over the treetops. "That girl the centurion had dispatched to report could be intercepted, so this way the baron is sure to learn that the village is in danger. They'll stop it soon enough, anyway—five minutes is more than enough for this backwoods. If we were in Vaedarr, you'd be listening to this concert for a day and a night."
"That's comforting," I chuckled, and proceeded to observe the final touches being made to prepare the fort for the impending assault.
The commanding stripes on my cheek were severely lacking when compared to real-world experience. So, despite my great achievements, I was relegated to the role of observer.
The wall on top of which we'd been graciously allocated space was roughly ten feet wide, with thick wooden logs protruding outward every couple of feet in place of jags. There was hardly any room to breathe in this throng of soldiers bunched up together, most of them wielding shields and short spears. Out of th
e ranged fighters, only a few had crossbows, with regular bows being far more prevalent due to ease of use—I saw kids barely out of puberty clutching those with an experienced grip. There were about three hundred in all, including the dozen or so mages standing over the six arbalests aimed at the forest. Now, this wasn't my Craedia, but a village like this was beyond the means of any gaming community I knew. The grim resolve on the soldiers' faces, the sparks of hope in the eyes of locals as they snuck wary glances at the dragons standing opposite the gates... What kind of undead were these if a small army holed up in a sturdy fort seemed to be preparing to make their last stand? Expecting not to win but to go out in a blaze of glory, and make the invaders pay a crippling cost for their inevitable victory? It reminded me of the battle of Suonu, when the villagers fought desperately in the face of death against the legion of their lord who had sold out to Vill.
"There were three centuries of them," the tocsin had stopped ringing, and now I had to focus to hear what Arvid—who had already ascended the wall—was saying. "Two and a half centuries of skeletons, fifty reapings and two cerraths. We weren't expecting an attack, having gotten used to them being there, and us here..." The centurion leaned against the gate tower, folded his arms, and peered into the forest. "But even if we hadn't been taken by surprise, it wouldn't have changed anything. The cerraths took down the wall in one swoop, and if it weren't for Master Ynnox's artifact, all of us would have perished there. We would have had a hard enough time just with the merged reapings... Thankfully, his Blast destroyed them all. The Master of Death paid with his life, and I think that Celphata will take his sacrifice into account when welcoming his dark soul..."