The Lost City: The Realms Book Two (An Epic LitRPG Adventure)

by C. M. Carney

  Strengths: Unknown. Immunities: Unknown. Weaknesses: Unknown.

  “Shit!” Wick exclaimed, using an Earth swear word that Gryph had accidentally taught the gnome. “There are more of them ahead of us.”

  Gryph snapped his eyes to the front and then to each side and saw that Wick was only half right. “And to the left.”

  “They’re herding us!” Ovyrm yelled above the ever-growing cacophony and sprinted towards an arched doorway to the right.

  “Successfully,” Gryph said and followed the yellow-eyed xydai as fast as he was able.

  Myrthendir spun around and raised his staff over his head. “Keep moving!” he yelled and then chanted in some incomprehensible language that even Gryph’s Gift of Tongues could not translate. Perhaps I need to hear the language clearly to understand, Gryph thought but put the need out of his mind as the sound of metal legs clacking on stone grew closer.

  Myrthendir brought the staff down onto the stone floor with an audible crack and pulses of shimmering gray energy spread from the point of contact. The first pulse flowed over the advancing swarm and their progress slowed as if the fabric of space-time was reaching up to grab the advancing automatons. A second pulse slowed the swarm ever more until another wave of the spider constructs hit the field and then their speed increased as the added weight of the swarm pushed against the rubbery surface of the field.

  Tifala, Ovyrm, Wick, and Xeg all reached the relative safety of the passageway and turned to guard the opening. Myrthendir grunted and forced more mana into his staff and another wave flowed forth. Gryph rushed to his side, skewering an automaton that had squeezed through the field. Myrthendir sent a sideways glance at Gryph. “Get to the passage. I cannot hold them much longer.”

  “I’m covering your back,” Gryph said and saw the anger in the elf’s shoulders, but his spell cost too much effort for him to turn his attention from the task. “We do not leave people behind.”

  “If I let go now, they’ll be on us before we get to the passage.”

  Gryph cast Flying Stalactite from each hand, unleashing a pair of stone missiles at two of the spiders that had nearly eased their way through the field. The first stalactite smashed against the sturdy carapace, knocking the arachnid onto its back, but dealing more cosmetic damage than actual. The second missile of stone caught the arachnid at the joint between foreleg and shell and punished the construct with a Critical Hit. It slumped to the floor, leaking more of the same golden oil present in every automaton they’d encountered so far.

  Gryph had no time to celebrate as more of the machines pushed their way through the reality distortion field. One scuttled towards Myrthendir and Gryph dumped mana into his Elven Boots of Deftness. The soft leather boots seemed to thrum with energy as Gryph felt his speed increase. He drew his spear from his back, snapped it to its full length and leapt forward. He was a blur of motion as he thrust down again and again with his spear, puncturing arachnids that gushed oil like spurts of golden blood.

  The swarm kept coming. “We’re running out of time,” Gryph yelled, but his voice was drowned out by the clacking of several hundred metal legs smacking against the granite floor. Myrthendir couldn’t hear him. Is the damn fool planning on sacrificing himself, Gryph thought and his mind flew back to the comment the Steward had made on the Prince Regent. He is rash and will sacrifice himself for others.

  Dammit, Gryph thought as another gout of oil erupted from an impaled arachnid. Gryph’s eyes widened at the spreading pool and an idea came to him. He gripped his spear like a hockey stick and slap shot the downed construct towards the passageway. His aim was true, and it skittered across the granite floor to Ovyrm who arrested its passage with his foot. The xydai looked up in confusion, but Gryph had no time to explain as he harpooned another of the small bots. He shot that construct the other way where it bumped lightly against the back of Myrthendir’s boots, another line of oil left in its wake.

  Gryph sheathed his spear again and grabbed the length of spider silk rope from his side. As his other hand moved through the motions of his air magic spell Animate Rope, he realized the two lengths of spider silk had rejoined. Cool, self-healing rope.

  He threw the rope towards Myrthendir. It took on a life of its own and under Gryph’s directions, it snaked around the elf lord’s waist. A small grunt of surprise came from the elf as Gryph turned and tossed the other end to Ovyrm.

  The xydai immediately understood what Gryph intended and pulled on the rope. Myrthendir nearly toppled over backwards as the tension snapped the rope tight, but instinct took over and he leaned forward, letting the slick oil and the adjudicator’s muscles do the work.

  Gryph backed up and kept pace with the sliding elf lord, using his reality wiping shield as cover. They reached the passage and Gryph commanded the rope to detach from the elf lord and coil itself back at his waist. Myrthendir nodded at Gryph as the party backed down the passage.

  There was no door, but at least the swarm’s numbers would be constrained by the limited space. Ovyrm guarded their retreat as the group ran down the tunnel towards an unknown fate. Wick rounded a corner and Gryph heard the gnome yell “Door! There’s a door ahead.”

  The group increased their speed, turned the corner and rushed to safety. Ovyrm slipped in just before the closest arachnid’s leg could become a doorstop. Wick tossed the crossbar into its slot, securing the door.

  Gryph felt the artificial boost to his speed fade and with it came the inevitable stamina hit. His breath came in ragged gasps and he nearly threw up, feeling like a man who’d barely finished a marathon he hadn’t properly trained for.

  “Everyone all right?” Myrthendir asked. Nods from all around assured him that everyone was in good health.

  “That was aetherial magic,” Wick said, eying the Prince Regent with fearful awe.

  “Aetherial? Are you sure?” Ovyrm asked, eyes snapping up to Myrthendir.

  Wick tapped the goggles he’d pulled over his eyes. “Top of the line Maker Goggles. My pop spent a bundle on them. Add their cost to his disappointment in his son.”

  Ovyrm gave the elf lord an icy glare.

  “What’s the big deal?” Gryph asked. After all, I have 100% Affinity for every sphere, including aetherial.

  “Aetherial magic is arboleth magic,” Ovyrm said, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword and slipping a few inches of the red bleed metal from its sheath.

  “It is,” Myrthendir said with no hint of apology or nervousness in his tone. “I told you I have studied many things commonly believed to be lost. Some that are even considered taboo. I am a Loremaster. I seek knowledge wherever it is found.”

  The explanation failed to soothe Ovyrm’s suspicions and his hand never wavered from his weapon. Myrthendir eyed him levelly.

  “Are you going to kill me xydai? Take my life because you do not understand something. Because ancient fears have poisoned your soul?” the Prince Regent said, somehow seeming to grow more regal. “I would have thought you, of all people, would not let ancient hatreds turn you down the path of darkness.”

  Ovyrm glared at the elf lord for several long heartbeats. Gryph thought he could see the man shaking, trying desperately to control himself. Finally, the xydai released his weapon and the snick of his blade finding its home was audible in the deep silence.

  “Xeg know aetherial magic too.”

  “No you don’t,” Wick said, and the imp scowled, but then hung his head.

  “No. No Xeg know not. Xeg tell funny joke.” Then an unnerving bark that lay somewhere between a chihuahua and a flatulent seal erupted from the imp’s mouth.

  “Your jokes suck,” Wick said, interrupting Xeg’s disturbing laughter.

  Xeg just glared at Wick for a moment before the imp’s eyes went wide. “Creepy man stare at Xeg.”

  All eyes turned in the direction that Xeg was looking. The wall on the far side of the room was a floor to ceiling pane of glass. Behind it stood the oddest ‘man’ Gryph had ever seen. He was tall, reach
ing nearly seven feet, and muscled like an Olympic gymnast. Xeg had been right, as the deepest pair of black eyes he’d ever seen turned from Xeg to stare at Gryph. He was hairless and wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing, revealing a blank area where his genitalia should be. Somehow the lack made the man more unnerving. He reminded Gryph of the Ken doll Brynn had owned as a child, the one whose lustrous blonde hair had been shorn clean off when Finn had thought it would be fun to use the doll to stir a can of paint thinner.

  One of the arachnid automatons sat perched on the man’s wide shoulder like a parrot in a bad pirate movie. All around him on the walls of the room beyond the glass, a dozen more of the spider constructs clung. The small slit that was the man’s mouth turned upwards in an awkward almost smile and then the man waved at them.

  “Hi,” the man said waving his hand back and forth in an unwitting caricature of the Queen of England.

  22

  The odd man continued to wave and his eyes went from one to the other, each time his goony smile growing more absurd.

  “Did he just say hi?” Wick asked out of the side of his mouth while returning the odd man’s strange wave.

  The man turned to Wick and smiled again. “Yes, hi small blue head man.”

  “Um great, another Xeg,” Wick grumbled noting the newcomer’s odd manner of speaking.

  The man looked from Wick to Xeg, a puzzled look crossing his face. “Errat is not a Xeg. Errat is just Errat.”

  “Errat means wrong in ancient Thalmiir,” Myrthendir said, cocking his head at the strange man.

  “Yes. Correct. I am wrong. A funny joke. You are …” Errat said, mimicking the Prince Regent’s cocked head. “… Myrthendir, the elf lord,”

  Myrthendir’s eyes grew to slits, and he gripped his staff tighter. “How?”

  Errat held his hand up and dull gray energy flowed around his hand. “Things come to me through the aether,” Errat said, as if that simple explanation for the impossible made perfect sense.

  Ovyrm drew his saber faster than the eye could follow and Gryph saw mana flow along the blade’s edge before it flickered and blinked out, like an exploding light bulb. Gryph did not know what perk or spell the adjudicator had just tried to activate, but its failure stunned Ovyrm so deeply that the xydai seemed to have forgotten all about the unlikeness of discovering a second aetherial mage in such a short time.

  “Errat is sorry. Magic will not work in there.”

  The odd man waved his hand around, drawing Gryph’s eyes to the walls and ceiling. What had looked to be bare rock was, upon closer inspection, filled with tiny filaments of red, a web of thin red wire woven into the rock. Gryph tried to summon mana to his own hand but got no further in the process than Ovyrm. The mana sparked, jolting Gryph as if he’d touched an exposed wire.

  “A magical Faraday cage,” Gryph said in wonder as he traced his hands along the thin lattice of wire embedded in the walls of the chamber. To Gryph’s eye it looked the same as the bleed metal the xydai’s katana was forged from. And it shares the same magic nullifying powers.

  Errat smiled at Tifala and pointed at Xeg. “Is the Xeg your pet?”

  Xeg hissed at the window. “Xeg no pet, stupid man thing.” A slight stench of sulfur built in the air and the imp tried to fold space with his crimson chthonic energy. A small rift began to bend reality but instantly collapsed in on itself. Xeg flew back as if fired from a cannon. He smacked against the far wall, jumped to his feet unsteadily and howled at Errat.

  The imp’s eyes raged with actual flames. Gryph had never seen the demon so livid and as he pulled more mana into his tiny body. Another puff of sulfur rose as the imp tried to port again. The second, third and fourth times went no better for the tiny hell beast. Each time he slammed against the wall or the ceiling or the floor. Finally, the exhausted imp climbed back onto Tifala’s shoulder and collapsed into a deep slumber.

  “So guess that’s that, we’re trapped,” Wick said in a matter-of-fact tone that almost hid the gnome’s fear. He gave a sideways glance of concern at the exhausted imp before turning his gaze back to Errat.

  “What do you want?” Gryph asked.

  Errat turned his gaze to Gryph and smiled. “Gryph who is also Finn Caldwell, a player from Earth and a seeker of Brynn.”

  Errat smiled oddly again as the shock punched Gryph in the stomach. How does he know so much? Does he know about the Godhead? Who Brynn is in the Realms? Gryph knew that he had to stop this odd man from revealing any more of his secrets and panic took him as he realized he’d brought his worst fears to the surface of his mind. What if this Errat is a thought mage, did I just give him all my secrets?

  “Why did you hurt my friends?”

  “Friends?” Gryph asked in confusion, and Errat stroked the arachnid perched on his shoulder again.

  “Father built them for me. Nobody wanted to be friends with Errat, so Father made me some. You broke many of my friends.” Several of the arachnids moved closer to the glass, responding to Errat’s commands.

  The tension in the room rose. “We are sorry. We did not know they were your friends.”

  Errat seemed to consider for a moment before nodding like an excited child. “Okay. Father said I should forgive when people say they are sorry.”

  “That is a good philosophy,” Gryph said in a slow, bewildered voice. “Where is your father? Can we speak with him?”

  Errat’s oddly blank face somehow showed sadness and Gryph felt sympathy for this odd creature. “Father went to sleep. Long ago.”

  “You are alone here?” Gryph asked.

  Errat stared at him for a moment and Gryph noted that the man’s chest did not move. He seemed alive, but he did not breath. “I am not alone. I have my friends and you are here.” Errat stared for a few more seconds and Gryph felt as if the essence of his being were being exposed one layer at a time. “Did Father build you too?”

  “Um… no, we were born, not built.”

  “Born,” Errat mouthed the unfamiliar word. “Okay, but you will still help Errat with his mission.”

  “What mission is that?”

  “Father gave me control of the swarm to help keep the city clean. The others are very messy. You are not like the others,” Errat said, another one of those disturbing smiles turning his mouth upward.

  “What others?” Myrthendir asked.

  “Those called the Dwellers in the Dark. They broke many of my friends.” He reached up and stroked the arachnid which cooed in appreciation. “They are wrong, up here.” Errat tapped the side of his head.

  “Wrong how?” Ovyrm asked.

  “They were many, and they were one. They cry out for help.”

  “I don’t understand.” Gryph said.

  “That sounds like the method used by the illurryth to control xydai,” Ovrym said, a chill in his voice.

  “Yes, Ovyrm the adjudicator, it is very similar,” Errat said with an odd smile and looked down, interlacing the three stubby fingers of each hand with those of the other, like the movements of a shy child.

  Gryph glanced at Ovyrm. “Is it possible?”

  Ovyrm shrugged. “Even a week ago I would have said no, but after encountering you, the arboleth and…” he glanced at Gryph’s satchel. “I do not know. But if the Dark Ascendancy has returned, then I fear for all of Korynn.”

  Errat knocked on the glass, drawing everyone’s attention. “Can we be friends now?”

  Gryph could have made a hundred guesses at what Errat wanted and he would have guessed wrong with all of them. “You want to be friends … with us?”

  “Yes, very much want to be friends. But ….” Errat looked from one to the next, the same odd half-smile painted to his face as if he didn’t understand how to put people at ease. His gaze came to Xeg and back at Gryph. “… Errat is not sure if he can be friends with all of you.”

  Xeg, Gryph thought with a frown. “We’re a package deal,” Gryph said firmly.

  The smile fell from Errat’s face and behind the veneer o
f odd calm was something else. The half smile returned and Errat spoke. “Okay, we are all friends now.” He turned and pulled a large lever set into the wall. A low rumble rose and the left wall of their cell slid open.

  Wick led the way giving the slumbering imp a cross look. “I knew the damn imp would get me into trouble,” he muttered and Xeg bared his teeth in his sleep. The others filed from the room. Gryph gave one last glance through the window at Errat who cocked his head, turned his half smile to a three quarter smile and waved once again. “See you soon friend.”

  Gryph cast a final look at the red mesh embedded in the walls and walked from the room. The moment he was outside he pushed mana into his spear’s reservoir, thrilled at the thrum of magical energy. He turned the corner to find his friends stood tense, ready, if need be, to fight.

  “I see you again friend,” Errat said staring at Gryph.

  Gryph felt like a man meeting his girlfriend’s needy kid for the first time. It was oddly complimentary if unnerving considering the kid in question was nearly seven feet tall and controlled an army of mechanical spiders.

  “Good to see you Errat,” Gryph said.

  “Yes, good,” the massive man smiled. “I will help you now.”

  “Help us?”

  “Find those who hurt my friends, those who are wrong.”

  “Thank you. That will be very helpful,” Gryph said.

  “Um, you know what else would be very helpful?” Wick asked. “If you could put on some pants?” In the cramped confines of the room, Wick’s face was uncomfortably close to Errat’s crotch.