Liar King

by Adam Elliott

  Shifty shrugged. “This sort of thing is what we keep you around for in the first place, isn’t it?”

  Cayden considered for a moment, then nodded. “I suppose it is. All the same though, can you at least let Valserys instruct you in the basics at some point? Never know when we might be in a situation where I’m not available.”

  “Sure thing.” The older man said unconvincingly.

  “Field Marshall, a few small matters require your attention, before we begin?” Roberta added, sensing an opportunity.

  “I suspected as much. Let’s sort them quickly.”

  As both Cayden and Silver had surmised, the day was indeed separated into three turns. The first began sometime after dawn, the second just after noon, and the third in the late afternoon a few hours before dusk. It had taken some digging, but they had discovered a timer function that could be activated on the Frame itself and, perhaps more crucially, a turn order function.

  The way it currently stood, each portion of the day was divided into three parts. Monster, Player, Warden. Any local monsters large enough to qualify as settlements acted first on each turn, with roughly an hour devoted to them. Next came Cayden’s turn, which lasted approximately two and a half hours. After that, the Wardens acted for an equal amount. The whole thing repeated itself twice more, then night fell, and no one acted until the following morning.

  There were still a few hiccups in his understanding. If the other players were using War Frames, or devices similar to War Frames, then they either shared a turn with him or for some reason were not included on the current turn order. He’d have to get in touch with the others to be sure, but until he was, he didn’t dare touch the end turn button, for fear it might negatively impact their plans. And that was currently his best-case scenario.

  The only other alternative he had worked out with Silver was that the turn order only took into account, nearby groups. If his faction was far enough away from Islo that his troops wouldn’t be able to interact with theirs during a turn, then why include them? It made sense, but the suggestion was troubling all the same. If it was true, that meant there were Warden troops within striking range of Bastion itself.

  “Per your orders, I withdrew magical energy from the city’s reserve to empower my casting. This allowed us to complete the Lower Township and Keep repairs, as you can see here.” Roberta motioned to the War Frame, where a pair of golden icons glowed and dimmed for his attention. Cayden touched one, and it formed into a small text box, informing him the Lower Township Repair was complete, something he already knew. The other, the Keep Repair, was more interesting:

  Keep Repair Complete

  Influence: +5

  Food Storage: +50

  Field Supply Limit: +100

  The Throne Room is now available for audiences.

  Something about the way the term audiences struck a chord with the gamer part of Cayden, but the thought had to be pushed aside as Roberta continued. “We should assign new production before the end of the turn, so as not to waste the labor of our craftsmen.”

  “Perish the thought.” Cayden grinned. “Any suggestions?”

  “I wouldn’t begin to presume, Field Marshall.”

  He scoffed. “It isn’t a presumption when you are asked, Roberta.” Cayden pulled up the War Frame’s production menu and touched each of the two new options in turn.

  Lower Township Repair

  Lower in class as much as location, this district grows the backbone of any fledgling town. (2/6)

  Cost: 40 Production

  Civilian Housing: +500

  Production: +2

  Keep Repair

  Preliminary repairs of the keep are now underway. (2/6)

  Cost: 20 Production

  Influence: +10

  Food Storage: +50

  Field Supply Limit: +50

  Additional areas of the Keep will become accessible.

  “Indeed.” She replied, studying the new options in turn. “Further repair of the Lower Township would be in keeping with your original goal of favoring production. It would also put us that much closer to having sufficient housing for the thousand Elan population you desired.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Cayden said. Despite the confidence in his words, a frown did still cross his face. “I would also like to get at least the outer walls repaired sooner rather than later, however. If the Wardens are closer than we think, we’d be better off having a defense than not.”

  “I do not necessarily think repairing the walls would be wise at this juncture, Field Marshall.” The uncharacteristic interjection from Valserys was enough to raise eyebrows on both Elan and Human, the two turning to regard him as he continued his thought. “We know the location of the primary tomb, suggesting that any local forces would be comparatively weak. If they are not, minor repairs to our wall will be pointless. If they are, then prioritizing repairs with an upkeep cost would be doubly wasteful.

  A moment of staggered silence followed the appraisal, with Roberta being the first to speak. “He raises some significant points.”

  “That he does.” Cayden smiled. He gave the other man a nod of approval, then continued. “We will continue our focus on the Lower Township for the time being.” Cayden tapped his orders into the War Frame as he spoke. There was no need to give the instructions verbally, but it felt right to do so all the same. “Sixteen production per turn should leave us with eight left over on the third turn. Let’s devote that to repair of the keep.”

  “Something in mind, Cayden?” Roberta asked.

  He shook his head. “Call it a hunch that the additional areas will be more beneficial than the Influence boosts let on.”

  “As you will.” She agreed. “If you will excuse me, I’d best attend to my task before the turn end.”

  “Get some sleep afterward.” He replied.

  “I’m sorry?” She asked, as though confused.

  “That applies to both of you.” Cayden continued. “You do a damn good job at hiding it, but I don’t think either of you have taken much more than a few hours of sleep for well over a day now. I appreciate the loyalty and the work ethic, but I need you fresh during out turns when it matters.”

  The two Elan exchanged glances, something unspoken passing between them. Relief followed, and the pair smiled as they replied. “With pleasure, Marshall.”

  As Roberta retreated, Cayden turned his attention to his fellow players. He closed out of the majority of the windows on the War Frame and beckoned for them to take up positions around the table before he began. Once they were settled, with all faces turned expectantly in his direction, Cayden pulled the map out until it displayed an overview of the floor itself, with Islo and Sunè to the West and North-West, and the Tomb of the Liar King still further beyond those.

  “I’m no good at inspirational pep talks, and you’d all probably laugh at me anyways. So let’s cut to the meat of things.” Cayden stabbed a finger at the Tomb displayed on the map. “This is our enemy. Assuming their ground troops move at the same speed as ours, they can be here in as little as seven days. If they move faster, which isn’t unreasonable, that number gets cut down further.”

  The announcement had a predictable effect. Even Silver, who had worked out the calculations with him, seemed somewhat unnerved. That was good; he wanted them, needed them, to take this seriously. “If Duke Elazio is to be believed, and I don’t have a single reason not to, the capture of this keep is a flat game-over for everyone on the floor. The Wardens know this, and they’re probably going to come at us with everything.”

  “Could we maybe have the pep talk after all?” Shifty asked, after an awkward moment of silence.

  Everyone laughed, but the tension was still there as Cayden continued. “Well, that was the end of the bad news, if that makes you feel any better?”

  It didn’t seem to.

  “Well, what is the good news?” Michael asked when no one else seemed willing to speak.

  Silver pointed at the map by way
of response. “Geography for starters. We’ve got Islo between them and us. Unless their army is so massive that they can siege the city and attack us at the same time, they’re going to want to deal with Islo first. Any alternative leaves an army at their back, both as a threat to them and the tomb, which is untenable.”

  “We can send our forces to assist Islo rather than fight the Wardens piecemeal.“Cayden continued from where she left off. “And this river…”

  “The Ryks.” Valserys clarified.

  “The Ryks,” Cayden repeated for his own benefit. “Has only two crossings, making it ideal as a fallback point to defend.”

  Celia studied the map with narrowed eyes, as if trying to spot some hole in their plan. “Then what?”

  “Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.” Silver admitted. “This is a game event, which means it is expected that we can beat it. While the Elan are doing the dying holding off the Wardens, our job is going to be to find and return whatever it was that was stolen, to put a stop to this before it comes to a head.”

  “And if we can’t?” Celia pressed.

  “Do you want to tell them? Or should I?” Cayden asked.

  Silver graciously waved a hand in his direction. “Your plan.”

  All eyes were on him now, and Cayden found he didn’t like it. “I don’t play a lot of wargames, but my dad did. One of the things he taught me is to look for a secondary way to win. Securing the objectives is nice, but if you can’t do that, consider standing knee deep in your opponent’s blood, he used to say.”

  “Charming fella.” Michael snorted.

  “Like father like Son.” teased Celia.

  “My point is, there is no guarantee we will be able to find and return the artifact easily. The owner might be dead in a ditch somewhere so far away from anything meaningful that we will never find him.” Cayden continued, doing his best to ignore the peanut gallery. “Which is why I started counting distance and time. We need to stretch this out for twenty-nine days.”

  The others looked at one another, each wondering if they were perhaps the only one that didn’t see what Cayden was getting at.

  “Twenty-nine days left on her death penalties.” He explained. “Then Silver is our walking, talking win condition.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Day One - Morning Turn

  Aleph couldn’t begin to fathom why he, of all the men detached for service with this Cayden, had been promoted. Exceptional qualities under stress, the Lord General had said, when he had arrived to pin the rank to his chest. A proven track record of worthy behavior, and a sterling example to fellow soldiers who would now serve under his command. It was a load.

  Then again, nothing about the bloodline descendants, the players, ever made much sense at all.

  He knew half a dozen of his fellow soldiers who might have made a more qualified commander for the newly formed Fighting First. Men more adept at combat, more talented speakers, or those who had already formed strong bonds of trust with the soldiers who were eventually organized into the new formation. Any of them would have made a more qualified leader. Instead, the player had picked him.

  “And people act like they’re so damn smart,” Aleph grumbled. There was nothing for it, however. An order was an order, and he wouldn’t be moved to pity himself. Better to lead the unit as best he could than to show dishonor or irresoluteness in the face of friend or foe.

  The pommel of his longsword crashed against the steel of his shield with a resounding cacophony that drew the attention of every eye in his formation. They were a hundred strong, himself included, a force to be reckoned with, even if their leader was a rank amateur. In the hour they had been waiting under the beating sun, he had let discipline slip just enough to top off morale. Let the men talk. Let them gossip, and babble away their fear while they waited. There was no risk of ambush, and these men knew well enough to fall into ranks the moment the order came down, even without his bellowing voice throwing orders.

  Not that it stopped him from bellowing them all the same.

  “Get into line before I make you,” Aleph shouted, striking his shield once more, this time with the cross guard of his weapon.

  Just down the field, he could see two other units gathering themselves. Bastion’s Second had become a bit of a rival formation as a result of the previous day’s practice, and his men were eager to show that they, not the Second, would be the premier unit of the newly restored city.

  The other unit was so green they’d only been formed that very morning. Aleph hadn’t even been given time to introduce himself to whatever poor sod Valserys, rather, The Lord General, had placed in charge. Despite that, they’d been given the honor of going first into combat. The tactic had been explained to them during the march out to the vicinity of the mine, but it still rankled.

  This new unit, Officially Bastion’s Third Infantry, and unofficially, The Pointy Third, were spear wielders. Their job was to engage defensively, to bait out any surprises that the enemy might have in store for them, and do a bit of damage in the process. Once that was done, the first would step in and hit the enemy with full force. Ideally, they’d wipe them out in a single engagement. If not, the second would be there to clean up what was left.

  It should be as simple as that. The scouts who had investigated the mine the previous evening hadn’t been able to give a direct accounting of the beast men who called it home, but their best guess was less than one hundred. Aleph might not trust his new commander quite yet, but he liked anyone who sent them into combat with the odds at least 3:1 in their favor.

  The whooping battle cry of the Pointy Third drew Aleph’s attention. Things were underway now. Ahead of him, he could see a one of the twisted beast man gesticulating wildly. There was shouting among the enemy, the sound of horns. Slowly, the creatures began to emerge from the mines, slavering muzzles drooling saliva, knuckles dragging along soil at the end of oversized, twisted arms. Each creature was different in its disfigurement, a hunchback here, a milky white eye there. It was unsettling to even look at the monsters, their rusted gear and haphazard armor a parody of the Elan equipment.

  All the same, it was good to see them at all. There had been significant concern that the Beastmen would not come to the surface for a stand-up fight. The Lord General had been convinced that they would, of course, yet Aleph suspected it had less to do with the creatures wishing to meet their doom head on, as had been suggested, and more to do with the fact that the mine did not have a rear exit. If the animals wanted to retreat from this combat, they had to advance out of the quarry where the mine was located.

  Anything was better than fighting the fiends at close corners in the winding tunnels of the mines. The Beastmen had superior vision in the dark, and the Bastion soldier’s numbers would count for little or nothing in such close quarters. Fortunate for them that the monsters weren’t tactically inclined.

  A rough line began to form in the quarry. Like the creatures themselves, their formation was ragged, and Aleph suspected it would be easily broken when the battle was well and truly joined.

  Speaking of which. He thought with a grim smile. The Pointy Third had begun to advance, three ranks of spear-wielding soldiers marching down the shallow slope towards an enemy that raged and spat in their direction. Aleph didn’t speak Beastman, but he still felt the intent of the obscenities being lobbed in their direction, even if the specifics eluded him.

  The ground closed between the two forces, spear tips lowering, the beast men charging.

  “Here we…”

  ***

  “…go” Cayden murmured under his breath, trying to conceal his unease. He didn’t want Valserys hearing him, or worse yet, Silver.

  It wasn’t that he thought the plan would fail. He’d spent hours the previous evening, and a few more when he’d awoken before dawn, going over every facet of this strategy. The attack would work, the mine would be theirs before the Beastmen ever got a turn to respond. His concern was keeping friendly casualties as clos
e to zero as possible, and if he was honest with himself, how he’d react if he couldn’t manage that.

  Which was why he struggled to keep his face impassive as he watched. The last thing he needed was another lecture on how the purpose of expendable lives was to be expended.

  In front of him, the two formations crashed into one another. Just over fifty Beastmen threw themselves over and over into the defensive wall of shields and spears that was the Pointy Third, a name Celia had suggested when neither Cayden nor Silver could come up with anything better.

  It was going well, at least, as far as Cayden could tell. The Third was holding formation, the front line absorbing the brunt of the flailing assault, while the rear two did the majority of the damage with polearms thrust over shoulders or between specially formed gaps in the shield. For a unit that hadn’t existed until early this morning, the Third was giving a marvelous accounting of themselves.

  “Looks like there aren’t any tricks.” Silver observed passively.

  “Certainly seems that way.” Cayden nodded.

  Their original plan had called for a combined formation attack, with Aleph, or possibly even Valserys himself, leading a three hundred man unit to simply overwhelm the Beastmen with sheer numbers. Not exactly elegant or clever, but in terms of practicality, the Attack and Defense of such a unit would have been second to none. It was a plan they had to put the kibosh on, only after Celia noted the obvious flaw, that any sprung trap could run the risk of destroying a majority of their forces in a single bad engagement. Needless to say, both Cayden and Silver had felt suitably foolish for not considering that possibility.

  “Number 12: One of my advisors will be an average five-year-old child.” He said with a wry grin.

  “Hmm?” Silver asked, giving him a look that was only mildly more befuddled than the expression on Valserys’ face.

  Cayden chuckled. “An ancient list of things you should and should not do if you become an evil overlord. Like how you shouldn’t turn into a snake.”

  “Yeah. ” Silver replied. “That never helps.”