by Edwin McRae
“Neither,” added Dayna. “Reminds me of my mother’s cooking.”
“Okay, so we need to kill this reiver captain, but how do we even get in there?” asked Braemar.
“Via the tunnels under Citadel,” answered Mark. “There’s an entrance in the forest. It’s magically concealed so I doubt this lot found it.” Mark rubbed his sore eyes, trying to soothe them as he forced his brain to think through the fog of sleep deprivation. “Problem is, if the two reivers are who we think they are, both saw me pop up out of nowhere within the fortress walls. If I was them, the first thing I’d do is look for secret passages.”
“Depends how secret the passages are,” countered Dayna. “If a whole reiver company couldn’t find them before, what’s the chance of a bunch of headhunters sniffing them out.”
“They wouldn’t need to find them,” answered Mark with a frown. “It’s enough that they’re looking inwards rather than outwards. We’d lose our heads as soon as we stuck them above ground.”
“Fine for you then, warlock,” snapped Dayna. “Yours’ll grow back.”
“And yours won’t, Dayna. Shoot me for caring, but I’ve gotten used to seeing that ugly mug sitting comfortably where it is.”
Dayna hid a smile behind the back of her hand as she pretended to wipe her nose.
“I could create a bit of a distraction,” suggested Braemar. “Bash down the gates with a stone golem. It’ll be too slow and clumsy to do any fighting, but it might get their attention long enough for you to maybe sneak through the passageways.”
Mark shook his head. “We’ve tried that sort of thing on this captain before.” He shuddered as he remembered the sensation of cold steel driving into his armpit and puncturing his lung. “He doesn’t distract easily. And whatever we do, I want to keep damage to Citadel to an absolute minimum. He feels everything so I don’t want the poor bugger hurting any more than is absolutely necessary.”
“Then sounds like we’re pretty much fucked,” snarked Dayna. “Might as well just head for the capital and rustle up a decent force of rangers.”
“How long would that take?” wondered Mark.
“A couple of weeks.”
“By that time, the captain would’ve called for reinforcements,” countered Vari softly. “The inquisitors have been trying to push a road through. Carver’s Way it’s called. There’s a big encampment at the head of the road, right on the border of the Barrens.”
“And if there are any survivors, Citadel will have evacuated them into chambers under the fortress. He might even have snuck them out through that concealed entrance I was talking about.”
Dayna shook her head and pointed at the trees to the south of Citadel. There was a flicker of movement, a flash of yellow against the green.
“He’s got them patrolling the forest. If anyone’s alive in there, they’re stuck.”
“In that case, we definitely can’t wait two weeks. If Citadel has managed to harbor most of the villagers, and let’s hope he has, then there’s probably not enough food stored to last them that long. And every day we wait increases the chance that the captain and his headhunters will find one of the secret doors. If that happens…”
“Another bloody slaughter,” Braemar finished for him
Mark took a deep breath and forced his tired mind to sort through the pieces. They were all there, all laid out before him. He just had to find a way to fit them together. He was about to curse his brain fog when that very thought led to another, and another, a bright chain reaction leading all the way to his adrenal glands. Those juicy organs responded in turn, giving him just the jolt of clarifying energy he needed to put the final piece into place.
“I think I have an idea.”
“You think that you’re thinking? Well that’s fucking helpful,” scoffed Dayna.
Vari placed an encouraging hand on his arm. “Any idea is welcome at this point.”
“Better wait to hear it before you make that call, Vari. This one might be about as welcome as a Jehovah’s Witness on a Saturday morning.”
“What’s a Jehovah’s Witness?”
“A religious sect that makes spiritual house calls on poor, unwary bastards still recovering from their late night gaming sessions.”
“They sound like the Virgins of Vigilance. Do they kick the door in if you don’t answer after the third knock?”
“I’m sure they would if the law allowed.”
Braemar gave a polite cough and did a little spinning-wheel action with his fingers, encouraging Mark to get back to the point.
“Sorry, Braemar,” apologized Mark. “My brain rambles when I’m tired.”
Vari smiled. “Mine too.”
Mark explained that his Ethereal Flesh spell had reached Tier 3 after freeing himself from the Siren of the Lake, and that he could now move at running speed whilst in mist form.
“Hopefully I can avoid a repeat of what happened the last time I tried to sneak up on that captain.”
“How long can you stay in mist form?” asked Vari.
“Twenty minutes, so we’re going to have to get into Citadel first.”
“We’ll have to take out one of those patrols so we can access that tunnel of yours. Got to get you right into Citadel’s guts so you can seep up through whatever crack you can find,” ventured Dayna.
“Think you can do that without raising the alarm?”
Dayna’s answering grin was a fierce one. “Does your face give me nightmares?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Mark turned to Braemar. “I’m hoping, once I kill the captain, those head-hunters will lose the plot a bit. That would be a good time to raise up a stone golem or two, see if we can scare them into doing a runner.”
Braemar’s fingers twisted braids into his beard as he nodded. “Doubt they’ve ever seen anything like my golems before. And I can make these ones look extra scary. Lots of jaggedy bits and heads full of big teeth. They won’t do any damage, but they’ll look the part.
“Sounds perfect.”
He looked back to Vari and Dayna. “While I’m working on the captain, you two will need to take on the sergeant.”
“Reckon you can keep me alive while I turn that slaver bitch into a pincushion?” Dayna asked Vari.
“Only after I break some of her fingers for you.”
Dayna smiled, clearly liking the sound of that.
Mark looked at his party of adventurers with a pride and sense of camaraderie he’d honestly never felt before. And it occurred to him then that, since coming to Reign of Blood, he’d not once slipped into that grey, numbing mood that plagued him out in the real. Back in his ‘real’ life, he’d been like a shipwreck victim, treading water in a slate-grey ocean, looking for a ship that never arrived. Here, with Vari, Dayna and Braemar, with people needing his help, with reivers and seeping corruption threatening to destroy everything he was growing to love, he had found that ship. Or rather, the ship had found him.
Not only had he been rescued, but he’d become the captain, destinations pinned to his map and a crew to help him get there.
32
“Doesn’t the smell bother you?” asked the sergeant as she surveyed the goings on in the courtyard below.
Serik thought that the smell of roasting human flesh would bother him more than it actually did.
“The troops have to eat,” was his excuse as he watched two of the male headhunters turn a former ranger on a spit.
“They’re not troops. They’re...I don’t know what the fuck they are. And what about the stores we found?”
“Those are for our real troops, once they arrive.”
“But you won’t even let me go get them.”
The sergeant’s frustration was clear on her scarred face. On one hand he sympathized. They were surrounded by speechless psychopaths who, were they not held under the sway of the Helm of Supremacy, would have swarmed and butchered them in moments. On the other hand, he was her commander and Serik was getting a little t
ired of her second guessing.
She’d almost drawn her sword on him when he’d order these headhunters to slaughter the rest of their tribe. “It’s inhumane,” she’d argued. Firstly, he’d been surprised that she even knew such a big word. Secondly, and he had pointed this out with some care, these headhunters weren’t even close to being human. And they certainly didn’t need a host of feeble elderly and useless spawnlings trailing after them over the mountains. It would’ve taken them forever to get here.
Serik took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Sergeant, do remember that if we notify the inquisitors they’ll happily let us do our job here and then string us up at the first opportunity for “congress with corruption”. This fortress needs to be secure and utterly devoid of freaks before even the lowliest of reiver grunts steps over that threshold.”
The sergeant’s pale face reddened a little. “We’ve got rats in the cellar and there’s a better than average chance that we have wolves in the woods to worry about too. We don’t know that the warlock’s hiding below with the others. Him and his cobbers could be out there right now, watching us.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Serik smiled. “I’m sort of counting on it.”
“How so?”
“While those rats remain in the cellar, they’re effectively our hostages. And since the warlock went to such pains to rescue them the first time, I imagine he’ll do so again. We just have to wait him out.”
The sergeant matched his smile with a ghoulish one of her own. “He squealed like a stuck pig when I ran him through. Music to my ears, it was.” Then her expression darkened. “But I’m still pissed off with you for ditching me like that.”
Serik sighed. “Is it not within the mandate of a soldier to protect her superiors at all costs?”
If the sergeant’s eyes had been daggers, they’d have been buried deep in his own jelly orbs. “Yes...sir.”
He winked at her and tapped his helm with a forefinger. “At ease, soldier. If not for your bravery, I’d be dead and we’d never have found this little beauty. When all this is done, and they make me a colonel, you’ll be the first in line for promotion.”
The sergeant’s expression lightened a little as she nodded. “Glad to hear it.”
She clearly wasn’t convinced, but as long as she did what she was told, Serik didn’t care too much. And not for the first time, he wished the Helm of Supremacy worked on individuals over Level 3. He let his eyes fall to the pleasant curve of the sergeant’s buttocks. Yes, there were a few things he would like that sergeant to do for him, things that were rather beyond the “soldier’s mandate”.
33
Mark observed that the headhunters had been set to roam in patrols of three. And they seemed to be far more attuned to their surroundings than any reiver scout he’d encountered so far. But those same surroundings were on his side this morning.
He swept across the damp undergrowth, a rolling fog of Ethereal Flesh blending with the low-hanging mist. He became just another patch of wet air in the headhunters’ path. And then, when they were within reach of his tendrils, he manifested into a whirlwind of flashing steel. Garridar’s Punishment hunted the head of its first victim, cleaving neatly through the female’s thin neck. He drove his blade through the chest of the male closest to him, and out of the corner of his eye, saw Dayna’s arrow punch through the heart of the third scout. It was over in a matter of seconds, and they had only a matter of minutes to conceal the bodies before the next patrol came this way.
Braemar did the honors there, willing the dirt to swallow the bodies whole, leaving not even a trace of blood or sweat behind. That was important. Vari had noticed that the Barren-dwellers occasionally dropped to the ground to sniff at the earth and foliage. They clearly hunted by scent as much as sight and sound.
You have slain three Level 2 Headhunters.
Your XP reward per party member = 15 XP
Mark led his party to the ‘Warlock’s Back Passage’, opened it with a touch of his palm, and ushered them inside. As the grinding stone closed behind them, Mark touched the closest wall and smiled at the others’ gasps as light spread across the runic carvings and lit their way.
“So this is how you got inside that first time?” asked Vari.
“Yup. I was looking forward to saving a couple of princesses, but they went ahead and saved themselves, and all of the villagers.”
Vari looked puzzled. “What’s a princess?”
A frustrated sigh nipped Mark’s explanation in the bud. “Could we please hurry this up? I have quite a number of trapped and terrified people down here with me.”
“Sid!” exclaimed Mark. “Bloody glad to hear they’re safe, mate.”
“Not everyone, I’m afraid. Denniston and a few of his rangers delayed the onslaught and paid the ultimate price for it.”
Sadness and fury mixed into a lethal cocktail in Mark’s belly, washing away any thoughts of “games” and “AI”. This was nothing short of murder, and the reivers above were going to answer for it.
“We’ll mourn our losses once the battle’s won. Right now, we need to get these evil fuckers off your back, Sid.”
“The sooner the better if you don’t mind, Mark.”
There was an anxious edge to Citadel. “Something else wrong?”
“Calder sent a small mining crew to repair the south-eastern tower.”
“They didn’t make it?”
“They were captured and are currently applying their skills to the tunnel entrance in the stables.”
The discipline of the headhunters, and now Calder doing the enemy’s bidding. Yes, thought Mark, there was some sort of mind control shit going down here.
“How long until they get inside?”
“My cockroaches have braced the interior wall, though I’m afraid that will only delay the inevitable by an hour or two, at most.”
“Then we’d best get a move on.”
Citadel had also asked his cockroaches to clear the rockfall weeks ago so Mark and his companions had a clear run into the bowels of the fortress. They found the surviving villagers safely ensconced in the barracks, well fed and clean, thanks to Citadel’s kitchens and washrooms. But they were very frightened. Mark did his best to assure them that he’d have the fortress back under his control soon.
While he headed for the library the others busied themselves in other parts of the fortress, each one preparing for battle in their own way. Dayna went to check over her arrows and sharpen their heads in the armory. Vari set to fast-brewing some healing and essence potions. Braemar found himself a quiet corner in the kitchen where he began making a miniature Spike Golem out of clay. Apparently he needed a golem prototype in order to visualize it clearly enough to raise it up.
“What have you got in the line of Level 5 and 6 spells, Sid?” he asked as he surveyed the bookshelf.
“Third shelf from the bottom, fourth book from the right. Also the second shelf from the top, third book from the left.”
“We really should establish some sort of library system,” suggested Mark as he took down the suggested books and sat in the armchair with them. “Dewey Decimal or something.”
“I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting the chap, but I’ve always fancied having a full-time librarian about the place.”
Mark chuckled. “Dewey Decimal isn’t a person, Sid. It’s a system.”
“Oh.” The fortress sounded genuinely disappointed.
“But the next librarian I meet, I’ll be sure to offer the job.”
Mark felt the smile in Citadel’s voice. “That would be marvellous.”
Mark traced the lines on the cover of the Level 5 book with his fingers. It was inlaid with geometric patterns of gleaming silver. The spell’s details presented themselves as a notification.
Mind over Matter
Allows the warlock to move inanimate objects with her mind.
Base cast cost = 10 EP
Tier 1: Move an object of 1 kilogram of weight or less. The ob
ject can be moved at the speed and distance of a person with Body 10 throwing the object naturally. Accuracy is dependant on the caster’s Mind score.
“There is no boundary between Me and That. Our world is a reality that we alone create.” - Zevryn the Everborn
Mark was glad that he’d sunk at least a couple of attributes in his Mind score recently. And though he wasn’t going to do any significant damage with a one kilogram object, unless it was a knife or bottle of acid, he could definitely use it as a distraction.
“Yay, I can be Luke Skywalker with this. Jedi mind power styles,” he mused out loud.
“A rather inaccurate moniker, if you don’t mind me saying so,” was Citadel’s answer. “Perhaps Mark Dirtstroller would be more fitting. Or Mark Mudwader? There is a Level 8 Levitation spell on the top shelf, but you’re clearly not ready-”
“Sid?”
“Yes?”
“I was joking.”
“Oh. I shall leave you to read in peace then.”
Mark gripped the book with both hands and applied his will to it. In response, the book wrenched itself out of his hands and put itself back on the shelf.
Your first attempt at mastering “Mind of Matter” has failed. Feel free to try again.
“Mark? Might I make a suggestion?”
“Of course,” answered Mark through gritted teeth.
“Hold the book with your Mind, not your Body.”
“Wish I’d thought of that,” said Mark as he fetched the spellbook off the shelf again.
This time he focused on the book’s cover, emptying his mind of all other thoughts like his counsellor had once taught him during a flame meditation. It had definitely helped, staring at a candle flame, wiping his mind of all those prickly anxieties and numbing dreads. The effect never lasted more than an hour or so afterwards, but he was always glad of the respite.
Again, the book bucked and thrashed, like a wild horse trying to throw a new rider, but Mark willed it to calm down, soothing it with his steady regard. Soon the book settled, nestling into his hands like a sleepy puppy. So cosy and calm did it finally seem that Mark was almost loathe to deliver it back to its position on the bookshelf.