by Phil Tucker
Huh. I’d really impressed Euphoria with my attacks on Makarios and Eletherios, as I guessed the angel was called. All my running around the mountain and finding Barry’s cave and lighting fires had paid off with my Survival, too. Pretty neat. ‘Course, the plus two to mana didn’t hurt, either. If I kept this up, I’d be hitting mana forty soon. Insane.
I swiped the window away.
There are five talent advancements available to you:
Wall Climber (I), Cat’s Fall, Stunning Backstab, Heads-Up, and Adrenaline Surge (II).
All of them cost seventy-five XP except for Cat’s Fall, which clocked in at fifty-five.
There are three spells available to you:
Evenfall, Shadow Clone, and Grasping Shadows.
I didn’t rush. They key to picking one’s talents and spells depended almost entirely on one’s ability to guess what challenges lay immediately ahead. I’d be tracking the Beggars through the keep, seeking to evade their notice and then ambush them when the time was right. Furthermore, we couldn’t stand to take them all at once; constraining as many of them as possible so as to gang up on a single member was the optimal strategy. Toward that end, Grasping Shadows and Stunning Backstab were obvious picks. Combine them with Ebon Tendrils, Night Shroud, and Pin Down, and I had a veritable arsenal of choices with which to confuse and imprison my foes.
I tapped Grasping Shadows and Stunning Backstab; both options lit up in gold, moving to appear on my character sheet. They cost me one hundred and seventy-five XP, leaving me with thirty-seven. I could live with that.
I took a moment to gaze over my sheet. I’d been leveling so fast I was running the danger of gaining too many powers too quickly. That was one of the problems of inheriting an already leveled avatar in Golden Dawn, for example; you had a wealth of abilities and powers at your fingertips, but no familiarity born of usage with them. Which meant in the heat of battle, you could forget a key power – to everybody’s detriment.
Add in all my new gear, and I was nearly overwhelmed with options. Experimenting, I pressed my finger on Sabotage Defenses, and tried dragging it down the list. It worked. I sat up and quickly sorted my talents into four groups: attacks, including things like Bleeding Attack and Pin Down; movement abilities like Shadow Step, Expert Leaper and Ledge Runner; observation abilities like Darkvision and Astute Observer; and finally my random abilities like Minor Magic and Mute Presence.
Much better. At a glance, I could now navigate my long list of talents with ease. I didn’t yet need to do the same for my spells; I only had five of them, and they were all interlinked through the play of shadows. Instead, I went through my list of gear, tapping each one to see its status. My Ring of the Bull and Belt of Shadow Form were charged once more. Stone Cloak was empty, however, and my mana ring needed to be topped up.
“Hey, Michaela, how’s your mana looking?”
She blinked, coming back from some reverie, and lowered her mug. “I’m at full. Why?”
“Here.” I took my mana marble and extended it to her. Michaela would no doubt burn though mana quicker than Falkon. “There’s no need for me to be running around with nearly twice your mana. You’ve got some awesome spells. You’ll get some good use out of this.”
Her eyebrows went up as she looked from the glimmering marble to me. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Go on, take it.”
She did so, holding it up with two pale, slightly rotted fingers, then closed her fist about it and smiled. “Why, thank you, Chris. This is a princely gift.”
“No prob. And I was hoping you could recharge my Stone Cloak at some point today? It can take up to ten mana points, and I’m going to be focusing on my ring.”
“Of course.” She took the cloak when I handed it over and folded it neatly on her lap. “I’ve always wanted a Stone Cloak. Much more common than a Void Blade, but still far out of my reach. I’ve heard it said they’re made from the hides of stone goats. It’s a quest just to get up to the heights where they live.”
“They must be tough to kill,” I said. “But I’m grateful for their hides all the same. That cloak saved my life last night.” I polished off the last of my coffee and stood. “I’m going to find a quiet corner to meditate. Maybe inside Barry’s cave. You guys all set?”
They both nodded, and Falkon reached out to pat the Everypack. “We’re just about to start edging into elevensies,” he said. “I’m going to stay here so I don’t miss it.”
I laughed, gave a wave, and walked away.
The battlements of Castle Winter were much busier that night, with patrols of goblins marching to and fro with foot-stamping self-importance. It had taken delicate timing to transport Falkon and Michaela into Jeramy’s tower; Brianna never returned, and when dusk had fallen we’d given up waiting for her. Now I sat crouched within the wyvern’s nest atop the tower, huddled within the dense interweavings of thick branches, peering down at the bailey far below.
A large bonfire had been lit in the center of the courtyard, around which the Big Burpie goblins were feasting on what remained of the ogres. It was pretty impressive; they must have eaten without stopping ever since they’d arrived, for the carcasses were nearly picked clean and now they were intent on smashing the bones open with stone hammers to get at the marrow. Many of the goblins lay in what looked like feverish dreams, clutching their swollen stomachs and shuddering as they turned their heads from side to side. The others cast envious glances at these fallen comrades and ate all the quicker.
Lickit sat atop his throne, looking like he’d gained a hundred pounds. A team of goblins labored to feed him, forcing raw meat down his gullet as the shaman gurgled and weakly flailed his swollen limbs. Every once in a while, he’d choke and spew the meat back up, only for the goblins to assiduously capture the mess in their hands and force it back down.
It was pretty fucking disgusting.
There was no sign of the Beggars, however. Lights shone through the cracks of the goblin tower door, and from the fearful glances the goblins shot at it as they walked by I guessed the Beggars had yet to make their next assault on the keep.
I shifted my weight so as not to grow stiff. The wyvern’s nest was a fascinating place. Vast swaths of wyvern skin had been sloughed off here, the scales as hard as iron and looking like prime armor-making material. Animal and goblin bones were interwoven with the branches, and at the base of the nest sat a large egg which I’d discovered to be ice cold to the touch. That had filled me with a stab of remorse; I’d no idea the wyvern was a mother-to-be. I tried telling myself that it was a good thing another such monster hadn’t been loosed upon the world, but I couldn’t help but feel like crap every time I caught sight of that egg out of the corner of my eye.
It was getting bitterly cold, and as wonderful as my stone cloak was it did little to keep me warm. Nor could I risk catching the attention of the goblins walking the walls by moving around. Instead, I was forced to stay still, shifting my weight and stretching my legs every few minutes as I kept watch. After the first hour had passed I found a vantage point from which I could meditate and still keep watch below; I sank into a mindful trance during which everything around me took on the faint golden sheen of its inherent magic, and time lost its meaning.
The stars slowly wheeled overhead. The moon rose up, crescent shaped and looking exactly like our own. I watched it, thoughts drifting, as it wheeled higher into the sky then swung back down. My mana points slowly ticked back up. I knew I was cold, but the cold didn’t touch me in my meditative state. The main bonfire below died down; more and more of the Big Burpie goblins fell into a state of feverish torpor. Shaman Lickit was finally left alone by his minders, looking half dead as his breath snarfled around a half-swallowed piece of steak.
A flock of pale moths the size of condors drifted overhead. Green flames wandered the streets of Feldgrau far below. Will-o-the-wisps? The thoughts came and left ju
st as easily. My mana pool reached full, but still I remained meditating. No sense in feeling the cold.
The eastern sky lightened, turning cobalt then ultramarine blue. The stars over the mountains faded, and as the sky lightened further to pale gray a fine dew appeared on everything, dampening my hair and cloak. A few high cirrus clouds lit up in deep peach and salmon pinks, then their farthest edge became burnished gold as the sun finally broke over the mountain peaks.
The door to the goblin tower opened and a grim-looking Vanatos stepped out, followed in short order by the rest of the Beggars. I blinked, rousing myself from my meditation. Makarios came last, his ruined hand held in a sling across his chest, face as sour as a spoiled grapefruit. They strode across the bailey, picking their path between the fallen goblins, heading toward the keep door.
I gasped as sensation returned to me, and for a moment I felt like an old man; my limbs were locked in place and my muscles spasmed as I forced myself to move, to crawl to the edge of the tower and look down over its ruined battlements at the wall. The goblin patrols were nowhere in evidence. With a grimace, I swung out and dropped to the parapet, knees popping and hips twanging with pain, then hurried into the tower and whispered the passcode.
I dashed down, racing past the demon in its summoning circle who watched me from his chaise with what looked like a romance novel in his hands. Down through the bedroom and into the bottom floor lounge, where Falkon was passed out on a couch and Michaela had fallen asleep at the desk, cheek resting on arms crossed over a large book.
“Wake up, guys,” I said. “Show time.”
“Show time?” Falkon smacked his lips and sat up, blinking in confusion. “What are we—oh. They finally make a move?”
“Yep. They should already be in the keep.” I headed over to where the Everypack sat on a low table. I opened it and reached in for a coffee which I set before Michaela, then another for Falkon. I grabbed a chocolate croissant to accompany my own coffee, then focused on wolfing them both down.
“No sign of Brianna?” asked Michaela, pulling her skull mask out of her satchel.
“Nope.” I washed down the last of the croissant with a final gulp and dropped everything back into the Everypack. “Ready?”
Falkon stretched, windmilled his arms, then set to buckling on his pauldrons and greaves. “Gimme a moment and I will be.”
I waited by the front door and looked askance at Falkon when he stepped up, Everypack slung over his shoulder.
“What?” he asked, pretending to be genuinely surprised. “We might need crepes while we’re in there.”
I snorted. “Fair enough. Ready?”
Michaela slid her mask on and nodded. “Ready.”
I cracked open the tower door and peered out into the courtyard. Hundreds of Big Burpies lay everywhere, as if in the wake of a disastrous battle. They shivered with minor twitches as if fighting off wicked nightmares. “What the hell…?”
Falkon crowded in close behind me. “No idea.”
The Beggars had made it across the bailey without a problem, so I took a breath and slipped outside into the dawn shadows. I led my companions along a weaving path between the goblins. Up close, they didn’t even look like goblins anymore; their bones seemed to be straining against their muscles, stretching them out, while their features were becoming more boxy, their jaws reinforced, teeth more jagged. Some kind of metamorphosis?
I didn’t waste any time gawking, however, and headed straight toward the keep door. Its interior still swirled with shadow, and when we reached it I held up a hand, then listened carefully. Nothing but the faint susurrus of a whispery wind. We’d already agreed upon the plan, so I drew my Void Blade, activated Darkvision and Mute Presence and stepped inside.
The shadows resolved themselves into the short hallway that led to the great kitchen. I immediately dropped into a crouch, pulse pounding in my ears, and pressed against the rough stone wall. Silence. Was that sound coming from the stairwell? I bit my lower lip and strained to hear more, but the thick stone walls were terrible for acoustics.
After a moment, I pushed my arm back through the veil of shadow and beckoned for my friends to follow, then moved forward as silently as I could to the kitchen entrance. The furniture here was shattered and overturned by violence, and not all of it wrought by us during our last raid. One wall was blackened and melted to a smooth surface like glass; a slowly spinning circle of crimson runes filled the fireplace, assuredly Balthus’ work. Gobbets and smears of intestines were splattered everywhere, along with hewn-off limbs and the scorched remnants of xythagas.
“Looks like the Beggars cleaned up good,” said Falkon.
“Hold here,” I whispered. “Let me scout ahead.” I crept through the kitchen, nerves on edge, but the silence was heavy and thick like an oppressive blanket. I moved to one of the doorways and peered into a large pantry with a trapdoor in its center; it too was scorched to sooty ruin. Another doorway led to what might have been a barracks. A terrible fight had taken place here, as evinced by the damage done to the walls and shattered furniture. Whatever the Beggars had fought was now gone.
I crept back to the others. “I think they’ve cleared the ground floor. I heard noises from upstairs. Let’s take a look.”
“That’s where the grand hall is,” said Falkon, voice grim. “Stairs open directly onto it. You’ve got a library, chapel, privy, two guest bedrooms and meeting room directly off it. Stairs’ll continue up to the third floor.”
I nodded and made my way up. I trod on each one as if it could be trapped, and remembered how, as a kid, I’d believed that ninjas walked by placing the ball of their feet down first, then twisting the heel off to one side. I’d never asked why, but had crept around like that all summer in sixth grade.
I resisted the urge to do so now, and instead reached the bend and peered around it. I could hear voices. Not the quiet murmur of companions debating their next move, but loud statements of two different parties addressing each other. Curious, I climbed higher till I could peer over the topmost step, and gaped.
The grand hall was utterly unlike the dismal, brutal first floor. Gone were the rough stone walls and gloomy lighting. The vast chamber into which I peered was cavernous, brilliantly lit with buttery yellow light from countless cut-glass lanterns, and decorated sumptuously with golden drapes, vividly colored tapestries, hanging bronze and silver shields, and other items of equal splendor. The ceiling was vaulted and painted bronze, and large crystals hung in the air, spinning slowly and glimmering so that everything was covered by wondrous sparkles.
The Beggars stood in a group before a bald child whose lower body was encased in a ball of mud and who floated above some kind of slowly exploding golden throne that cycled endlessly through a variety of geometric shapes. A dozen sourceless flames revolved around the child, who was listening to Vanatos address him.
“…in opposition to you. However, you seem inflexible on this point. Know that this road will lead only to your perdition.”
The ball of mud opened itself in a vertical slit, revealing a writhing interior akin to the unhealed flesh beneath a scab, edged with teeth and disgorging a long tongue that flopped about idiotically as it spoke. “Gracious healing and boredom, tempt not the foulness in the air, it squeezes about your head and inserts itself into your head cracks, crushing, crushing your very sense of self. Toys are made for breaking.”
The voice was at once lascivious and amused, and clotted up as if spoken by someone with a throat filled with phlegm. The boy’s head atop the sphere of mud blinked owlishly but did not otherwise comment.
Vanatos raised his chin, mouth thinning into a slit. Balthus leaned in to whisper in his ear, and I took the opportunity to retreat back down to the entrance hallway.
“So?” asked Falkon. He and Michaela were blessedly normal compared to what I’d just seen.
“The Beggars are in the grand
hall talking to some crazy mudball child. It looks like they’re trying to reason with it, but it’s not working.”
“Perfect,” said Michaela. “Then we wait here for the outcome.”
A shout came from above, quickly followed by what sounded like tearing flesh. We all startled, and then flinched away from the keep’s front door as the roiling shadows coalesced into a slab of solid obsidian.
“What the hell?” Falkon stepped up to it, hesitated, then rapped his gauntlet on the black surface. “Solid rock.”
More shouts, and then the very walls and floor of the keep shook as if from a palpable blow. I activated Detect Magic. The door radiated powerfully with necrotic light. “Looks like we’re locked in with the Beggars,” I said. “I might be able to get us out with Shadow Step, though.”
“Save your mana for now,” said Falkon. “Let’s see how the fight’s going.”
At that moment Lotharia’s face emerged through the wall beside us, pushing through as if the massive stones were but water, ripples flowing eerily away in every direction. Her black hair was slicked back as if by an excessive amount of gel, and the silver band she always wore across her brow was missing. Her face was pale, as if bloodless, and her eyes were jet black. “Too late,” she whispered.
“Lotharia?” I stepped forward, unsure of myself, wondering for a second if I could reach into the rock and pull her free. “That you? Too late for what?”
“The hole in the wainscoting has been blocked, the crack in the basement filled, the gaps under the eaves choked with rotting flesh.” Without an iris and pupil it was impossible to tell whom she was looking at, but the slick surface of her eyes gleamed as if her eyeballs were turning from side to side. “The door is locked and the windows barred. There is no way out till all are dead.”
“Hoo, boy,” said Falkon. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“Lotharia – is this you? Are you in the wall?” I avoided the others’ glances but I had to ask.