The Starry Skies of Darkaan (Realm of Arkon Book 6)

by G. Akella

  "Merged reapings?"

  "Under certain circumstances, reapers are able to meld their auras and spells," Vaessa clarified in reply to my questioning look. "The boost itself isn't amazing—only about one fifth from each, but the thing is that they aren't stacked, but rather multiplied. A united aura of fifty reapers around my level will take down a mature bone dragon in the span of ten seconds. Of course, the dragon won't just stand there and wait for death, but will burn them all from the air while the area only works along a surface. Still, it is a nasty weapon when deployed properly."

  Twenty or so riders appeared on the road leading out of the forest, and continued toward Dorca, whipping their horses.

  "Gates down!" Arvid barked after the last rider entered the fort. "Kulam, report!"

  "Undead to the southwest!" the captain shouted, dismounting his horse. "Four centuries of skeletons, two of mowers, and..." the soldier smacked his horse on the rump, and the animal went trotting toward the main square.

  "Well, out with it! Any cerraths?"

  "Three cerraths, earl," Kulam reported, averting his eyes as he said it. "And one of them is truly monstrous—none of us have ever seen one like it."

  "I know those critters," Kan grunted as the army's vanguard began crawling out of the forest, his steady voice rupturing the silence that had enveloped the fort. "They will smash through the gates with ease, so I should be down below, prince. I can keep at least one of them occupied."

  "Well, brother," Arvid said hearteningly, watching the knight-commander rush down the stairs. "See you at Ingvar's feast?"

  With a mirthful smile, the centurion clapped me on the shoulder, and followed after Kan.

  "I wouldn't bet on Ingvar welcoming us too soon," I sniffed and turned to carefully examine the host forming up across the fort.

  The captain hadn't lied—there were indeed four centuries of the enemy. Curious how he was able to count so accurately. The warriors' plate was rusted through and their shields cracked with time, and the archers' chainmail was full of holes. The infantry moved in clean quadrants, with the century of ranged fighters following behind. There were no siege weapons in sight—only the long scaling ladders gripped by the melee fighters in the front rows. The whole idea of using ladders when storming a castle was laughable. This wasn't Medieval Europe where any arrow fired from below could bring death or serious injury, forcing the defenders to take cover while the infantry scaled the walls. Everything was different here—any fool that made it to the top of the ladder would be met by three defenders, making the strategy not nearly as viable. This assumed comparable numbers, gear and overall strength between the attacking and defending forces. The skeletons standing outside Dorca varied in level between 280-300. I didn't know about their equipment, nor the reason why the System allowed these mobs into a level 220 zone, but at least now the doom on the faces of the defenders made sense. But what was I saying? The System could be duped—for instance, using game methods to summon the undead occupying Erantia. Vill, you dog! This will be another stone on your wretched grave! I didn't know whether a god could even have a grave, but I was determined to personally arrange it. The skeletons wouldn't be so hard to rebuff on their own. No, the real danger lay on the right flank in the form of one hundred ninety six level 320 reapings, their faces unseen under those dark hoods, with strangely twisted scythes resting on their shoulders. The beasts formed a neat quadrant of their own, hovering about a foot off the ground, a pitch-black blob spreading from under them in all directions. Last but not least were the three monsters Kan had referred to as "critters," which could have easily been copied off of some paleontology magazine cover. How so? Because the cerraths looked suspiciously like the T-Rexes of Earth. The three gigantic rotting carcasses were frozen twenty yards in front of the infantry quadrants, all of them raid bosses in the 350-400 level range! Their eyes burning bloody red, bones protruding through rotting patches of hide, their stench alone was sufficient to knock out a small army. And taking into account those jaws, which could easily fit me even in combat form, the intimidation factor was quite strong. At least they weren't tall enough to reach the defenders from the ground—that was some comfort. You don't scare me, you ugly bastards. I've survived worse than you!

  "Soldiers! Everybody who came out on these walls today!" I heard Arvid's brisk voice from above. The only way to get up to the tower was with a Jump, so the centurion had to climb down, then climb back up again to take the elevated position from which to control the battle.

  "Our brothers have come to our aid!" his voice rang over the silent fort. "We are joined by the high priestess of Celphata, the Goddess of Death! To them, this army of undead is like a handful of juicy nuts to a bear famished after winter's hibernation! Our sovereign will be here with his knights and archers in half an hour, aiming to smash the enemy in the rear! The first salvo of the arbalests will be at the cerraths! After that, focus fire on the reapings! Keep firing when ready—no need to wait for orders! Let's drive this scourge back whence it came! And may the gods favor us in this battle!"

  "I don't want to upset you, Krian," Vaessa said softly in the party channel, "but we have absolutely no chance in this fight. The creatures these people call cerraths are brainless brutes, and the skeletons are no trouble, either—I could take a whole century by myself and not break a sweat. But the reapers... there are too many of them, and they're operating like a single organism. To break through their aura, we'd need a barrage of high-impact projectiles. And, unfortunately, those arbalests won't be nearly enough. They'll turn my dragons to dust in a flash, and I won't be able to stop them..." The necromancer's daughter sighed, then continued. "The Mistress is quiet, and we have no one else to expect help from. I will do my best to block their initial attack, but you mustn't rely on any more than that, dar..."

  "They're on the move!" the cries came from several directions at once.

  "Lastly, dar, I doubt that I would make it into the halls of your god," Vaessa added aloud. "And I want to tell you how grateful I am for—"

  "Shut up!" I glowered at her. "We are still alive! And I have no intention of dying in this dump!"

  "As you say, Elder," she shrugged, and turned her eyes toward the army advancing on Dorca.

  The undead weren't in a hurry. The cerraths were in the front, the earth quaking under their steps. Behind them were the quadrants of skeletons, marching in perfect formation. And behind them were the reapings, floating above ground and leaving a wide swath of ash in their wake. Interestingly, though the wind had picked up, the flaps of their shrouds weren't moving. It was as if the creatures were existing in their own dimension, detached from this reality. Could this bunch be the aforementioned changes brought about by Vill's magic? Who cares! It doesn't matter what hole they crawled out of—just focus on driving them back in that hole! Looking at this merry procession, I suddenly felt a keen sense of how surreal all this was. Here I was in Heroes of Might and Magic redux, with the forces of Necropolis besieging a castle! But if so, where were my beloved Black Dragons? Though we had a couple of dragons in our ranks, they were as far from their black brethren as Vaessa and Reece were from the elite units of the Inferno. But wait! Wouldn't Vaessa fight for the Necropolis, in that case? Bloody hell! Why do these stupid thoughts keep popping into my head at the worst possible times...

  You've accessed the quest: Saving Dorca.

  Quest type: unique.

  Help the residents of Dorca and Baron Laetan's first century to rebuff the assault of the undead army occupying the Erantian borders.

  Reward: experience, unique skill, increased reputation with the residents of Dorca, increased reputation with the residents of the Laetan Barony, increased reputation with the human race, increased reputation with Centurion Arvid, increased reputation with Baron Laetan.

  Attention! Reputation gains are dependent on your personal contribution, as well as your party's total contribution, to the defensive effort.

  "What the hell?!" I exhaled in shock, reading
the lines of text. "A quest within a quest?"

  Was the System feeling guilty of putting the player in an impossible situation, and thus trying to sweeten the bitter pill? Or was there a hint here that there may be a way out of this yet?

  Dismissing the lines of text scrolling through my peripheral vision, I accepted the quest and looked back at the undead host, trying to optimize our next steps.

  "They'll start running soon." A soldier commented to my left.

  And indeed, as they drew within three hundred yards of the fort, the cerraths lowered their heads and gunned forward. The skeletons followed their lead, rusted armor rattling. As they ran, the warriors broke into squads of ten units, and the quadrant of archers reformed into a chain—and only the reapings kept creeping slowly in the rearguard, as if all this bustling had nothing to do with them.

  The arbalests fired in unison, the projectiles drawing a pretty arc in the sky. All three arrows plunged into the cerrath on the left; the beast staggered, but then resumed its mad dash. But before he ran another five yards, an explosion of white light consumed him whole.

  Hart! They could have warned me! Demon vision was quite a bit more sensitive than human, and Light magic was far from easy on the eyes.

  Somebody shouted, loudly and gleefully. Another wave of snapping bowstrings followed, and then the creaking of the arbalests being reloaded.

  "Hold the line!!!" the centurion bellowed just before the walls of the fort shook to their foundation.

  The din was deafening as metal chains broke and iron ground harshly against the pavement. Barely keeping my balance, I blinked through the cloud of dust to see Kan tanking one of the cerraths, the one pincushioned with arbalest bolts. A squad of spearmen assisted the commander alongside Raena and Reece, burning through the target's HP. The arbalests' second salvo appeared to have missed the target, as the monster used inertia to smash through the iron-wrought gates. Arvid did mention the cerraths' ability to break through walls. A regular T-Rex probably would have cracked open its skull. The other odd thing was that the dragons so far hadn't reacted at all to the giant lizard breaking into the fort.

  "Arbalests, cease fire! Wait for the reapings!" It was a miracle Arvid's voice could be heard at all over the roaring of the lizard getting battered in the courtyard, and the cussing of the soldiers swarming it. "Squads one, six and eight—get down! Kulam, Urvaz, Orwyn, block the gates! Wait for the others!"

  The soldiers who had reached Dorca before the attack hadn't come up on the walls, joining the two squads Arvid had stationed down below. One squad of ten was on the cerrath, and the other three stood ready at the gates. The centurion must have planned on taking out two of the lizards in quick succession, but reality was quicker in making its bloody adjustments. The second cerrath, down about a quarter health from the bolt plunging into its leg, was back on his feet now, and limping toward the fort's shattered gates along with the skeletons that had caught up to it. More soldiers rattled past Vaessa and me, down the stairs and into the courtyard, freeing up considerable space. But we wouldn't have time to admire the view, for just then a veritable avalanche of skeletons descended on Dorca.

  Approximately one third of them poured through the breach made by the cerrath, but their original plan of attack remain unchanged. Ladders thumped against walls, steel clanged and rattled, and the lizard roared, trapped at the gate. Shifting into combat form, I stepped forward and put up my shield, screening Vaessa. The arbalests fired once more, and all the soldiers remaining on the wall abandoned the now-useless weapons and proceeded to engage the skeletons scaling the ladders. Ice Blade! Tongue of Flame! The first stiff trying to climb up on my section of wall plummeted down before even baring his weapon. With my damage output, buffs and clan bonuses, I had burned through his 300,000 HP in two attacks! Another warrior's skull peeked out above the wall—an ugly bastard with burning eyes and decomposing hair encased in a dented rusted helm. Ice Blade—crit! Sayonara! A pair of arrows plunged into my shield, while a third ricocheted off my helm. I took a quick look around, ascertaining the situation. The cerrath being tanked by Kan was down to about one quarter HP, and the second was stuck in the breached gate. Arvid's voice could be heard from precisely that direction—the centurion must have concluded there wasn't anything for him to do up in the tower. Yet another skull emerged. Ice Blade, Tongue of Flame... Two more arrows struck my shield. I peeked over it, searching for the reapings. The beasts had halted about two hundred feet from the gates, left hand raised as the right held the scythe resting on the shoulder. Why were still so far? Come closer, you bastards! I launched another combo of attacks, dispatching yet another skeleton. Just then, a salvo of arrows reached the reapings, only to hit an invisible wall and fall harmlessly to the ground. Hart! The next moment, all two hundred reapings brought down their hands in unison, unleashing a giant octopus-shaped gray cloud at the gates.

  "Farewell, my prince..." The necromancer's daughter whispered in a private message as a thin translucent film materialized in the path of the hostile magic.

  The two spells crashed into one another, viciously assaulting my eardrums. At least half a century of the skeletons crowding the gates were turned to dust as a huge black blob began quickly spreading over the ground at the point of impact.

  "Bastards..." Reece hissed into the party channel.

  "Prince! Vaessa! The dragons!" Raena exhaled into the channel after him.

  I turned sharply... and felt a tsunami of fervent, all-consuming rage surging from the depths of my demonic soul.

  The necromancer's daughter lay on the timeworn wooden planks, staring lifelessly at the blood-orange sky in its zenith. Her features were noticeable sharper, and her mouth partly open. Arms splayed, her right hand clutching her father's black dagger... No! No, no, no! I dropped to one knee, ripping a vial of greater healing from my belt socket, and poured the contents into her mouth. I had nothing to break it against, but it should work this way, too... Seventeen! She had seventeen HP left! A bullet that misses you by an inch wasn't meant for you, I thought with unfathomable relief. This world must have been laughing, but the laughter wasn't the sinister kind. The dragons weren't moving either, their health bars empty. But the creatures were still alive—their mistress had shared the impact of the blow with them...

  I felt the rage consume me whole—too great, too intrepid to contain even if I wanted to. And I didn't want to... Vaessa's HP was restored to full, and her cheeks now bore a hearty hue, but that didn't change anything.

  "Raena! Greater healing on the dragons!" I commanded into the channel, dismayed by the sound of my eyes voice. "Reece, take Vaessa out of here! On the double!"

  "Aye aye, dar!" I heard the mage reply somewhere in the back of my consciousness. Taking a step toward the edge of the wall, I popped Infernal Rage, and decapitated the next skeleton rising to meet me. Thirty seconds of crits should be more than plenty! I darted down the stairs, dragging a couple of skeletons with me, then raised my shield and began cutting through the line of undead. This wasn't difficult due to the skeletons spreading themselves thin along the entire wall, so I only had fifteen-twenty standing in my way. Another dozen arrows hit my shield, four more glanced off my right shoulder, and one ricocheted off my helm. Stupid freaks! Of course, I was now their nearest target! I wasn't feeling any pain, having lost only about thirty percent HP, which was nothing to my Toughness level. I ran another thirty paces, cutting down an archer just before he could loose his arrow, then popped Fury of Primordial Chaos and Jumped right into the center of the hovering bastards. Being fifty yards from the gates, I didn't need to worry about hitting friendlies. Die, scum, die!!! A flurry of colors flashed before my eyes, and my ears felt as though they had been pumped full of water... But then everything ended in a fraction of a second. An AoE amplified tenfold and reflected back to the caster was no joke!

  You have gained a level! Current level: 246.

  You have 1 talent point to allocate.

  Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to
spirit.

  You have 3 stat points to allocate.

  "Hart!" I couldn't help exclaiming as I took stock of the scene around me. I couldn't even hear my own voice. I was standing at the center of a perfect circle with a fifty-yard radius, in which patches of sand molten into glass alternated with huge pools of murky liquid, out of which sprouted the stalks of sickly brown, reed-like grass. There were also four trees in the center, having appeared inexplicably out of nowhere, as well as large blocks of dirty-yellow ice, three small boulders and scattered heaps of crushed rock. Chaos magic sure lives up to its name! I thought with a chuckle. The only negative was that the spell hadn't lasted long at all—evidently, the fifty-second duration from the description would only apply under continuous influence of hostile magic. Aside from that, this was as OP a skill as I'd ever encountered, at least in a PvE environment. In PvP, virtually no player used area-of-effect skills—at least that was the case before the patch. Area heals were perhaps the sole exception, but then I wasn't that kind of idiot to reflect heals back to the enemy. As for my Chaos talent breach, that had to be the System being guided by its notions of fair gaming, thereby balancing the scales in my struggle against one of the dark gods. At least that had been Lilit's explanation, and assuming Vill really did sit on the other side of the table.

  Watch out! my wife's cry of alarm whipped at my brains, and by some miracle I managed to dodge the cerrath charging right at me.

  The monster's jaws snapped in dangerous proximity to my shoulder, and I nearly passed out from the unbearable stench that not even the elixir downed before the battle could fully mitigate. Having been denied entry into the fort, the level 400 reptile ran another ten yards, driven by momentum, before slipping on the ice, plopping into a pool and crashing head first into a tree. Strike! I felt another surge of rage coursing from within, only this time I could barely keep from laughing.