by M B Reid
I leapt toward the nearest ratkin with a roar, slashing wildly with my scimitar. Every second I spent fighting it left my back exposed to the rest of the room. The small part of my brain that dealt with self-preservation was screaming about how bad that was. The ratkin scampered backwards, dodging rather than attempting to block my assault. I chased it, keeping the creature on the defencive. It was damn quick on its feet, dodging each of my attacks as I swung at it, its beady eyes fixed on my sword.
After the third swing, I dropped my left shoulder and charged, holding the shield in front of me. The Shield Charge caught it off guard, knocking the beast to the ground and setting little stars spinning above its head. Before it could recover I pounced, driving my scimitar into its chest. The creature writhed beneath me, its foetid breath rolling over me like a cloud as it spread its jaws wide and screamed in agony. I withdrew my weapon and plunged it into the creature again, this time pushing the blade straight through its abdomen and out the other side.
The ratkin gave one last feeble screech, shuddered, and then fell still. One down, two more to go.
Both remaining ratkin had vanished before I looked back into the room. The dead woman at the altar lay on its back now, a puddle of blood forming around it. The civilians were huddled together, looking out from their circle with wide terrified eyes. I scanned the countless rows of pews, but there was no sign of the remaining rodent-men.
“Where did they go?” I bellowed, expecting the civilians to point. Instead they jumped, and huddled closer to one another. Their fight or flight reflex had settled firmly on flight but there was nowhere for them to run. Terror seemed to have short-circuited each of their brains.
I stalked deeper into the church, keeping the open door directly behind me. With any luck anything trying to sneak up behind me would cast a shadow to join mine on the floor. I was looking for movement in my peripheral vision rather than focusing on the details of whatever lay before me. If I could just see the damn beasts before they attacked…
Two sets of feet skittered in unison. The acoustics of the church made it damn near impossible to tell where they were coming from. My right perhaps?
I turned to look to the right, just as something dropped on me from above.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I fell flat on my back and the wind rushed out of my lungs. The creature that dropped on me was covered in dark brown fur, almost black, the clumped in places. Like a dog that hadn’t been groomed in weeks. As I struggled to keep its gnashing jaws away from my face I cast a quick glance around the room. The ratkin that had murdered the woman at the altar was nowhere to be seen. That meant I only had to deal with one of these mangy bastards.
I channelled my mana into the Bull Rush ability and horns sprouted out of my skull. If this monster wanted a bite of me I was going to grant its wish.
I head butted the ratkin.
My horns pierced up through the roof of its mouth, and its needle-like teeth scraped against my skull.
The creature writhed and leapt off me, retreating backwards a few paces. Obviously it had got the worse end of that deal. I jumped to my feet and raised my shield defensively. It was heavy enough that I couldn’t hold it in position all the time, even with the strength buff from the scimitar. This late into the fight my shoulders were screaming in protest.
The ratkin drew a serrated knife from a sheath at its waist, eyeing me closely with its dark eyes. I should have charged it while it was arming itself, but that moment had passed. We slowly circled one another. Every step I took sideways I took a half step back, leading us back toward the open doorway. If I could get back into the sunlight I might be able to catch the shadow of the third ratkin if it tried to sneak up on me. One on one we were pretty evenly matched, but I wouldn’t fare well against two of them.
The ratkin lunged at me, leaping forward far faster than I was expecting. My saving grace was that I was already holding the shield in position in front of me. I parried the blow with the shield and took a wide swing at the creatures exposed flank. The scimitar scored a cut across the creatures ribcage, splattering the floor with blood. Before I could strike again the ratkin had scampered back out of range.
The skittering sound came again, and I recognised it this time as the pitter-patter of ratkin claws upon stone. I glanced up momentarily, but couldn’t see anything in the darkness of the roof. Nothing was coming at me from either side. I dove to the left, expecting something to lunge at me from behind. No creature rushed through the space I had occupied, in fact nothing seemed to attack me at all. The ratkin I was duelling took advantage of my open stance as I got back to my feet and threw its knife at me.
The blade caught me in the shoulder, sending an arc of pain from my head to my hip. My hit points dropped by an alarming 30% as I staggered backwards. The ratkin cackled at me and rubbed its filthy hands together in a frighteningly human expression of delight. Before it could charge at me I reached up with my shielded arm and pulled the knife out of my shoulder. My health dropped another 5% as the blade tore free. I dropped it to the ground and lowered myself into a ready stance. This stupid animal had just thrown its only weapon at me.
Either it was about to launch its final attack at me or - shit.
The mottled ratkin from the altar had appeared again. It was rushing towards the civilians still huddled in the middle of the church. The creature ran on all fours. Its blood soaked knife was clenched between its teeth as it skittered toward the undefended townsfolk. I made a stupid decision, and turned my back on the ratkin I’d been duelling. I started lumbering after the mottled ratkin, my shield raised up in front of me. The creature was closing in on the civilians far faster than I was. There was no way I would make it there in time.
I activated Shield Charge letting the ability slurp up my mana as it boosted my momentum. With every additional meter I covered I could feel the shield growing heavier. Even running at this speed I wasn’t going to get there in time. Not before the ratkin reached the civilians.
One of the women in the crowd stepped away from the others. Her tear streaked face was set with a hard look of resolve. For the longest of moments her eyes locked on mine, and I could see that her fear had been replaced by anger. Anger and… acceptance?
“No!” I screamed.
She ran the last few steps toward the mottled ratkin and threw herself at him. The creature fell upon her, spitting out the knife and tearing at her unprotected flesh with its yellowed teeth. The womans screams filled my ears, swirling around in my skull. She was in agony, being torn apart, because I was too slow. There were a few more seconds before I would reach them, and the ratkin made the most of it. Its shrewd little fingers pierced her skin, drawing blood as it shredded her throat with its teeth.
I hit the ratkin at full pace.
The shield charge, granted additional power from the long run up, knocked the mottled ratkin across the room. He sailed over the first two rows of pews, before crumpling head-first into the third. Dazed stars appeared above its head as it struggled to push itself up off the ground.
I ran after it, using the first pew as a stepping stone to jump over the second. My scimitar came down with all the momentum of the jump, cleaving off the creatures right arm. Its eyes widened in fright as it slowly tried to raise its left arm to protect itself. The dazed status effect was making its motions too sluggish. I could see the realisation in its eyes. My scimitar came down again. This time it deflected off the creatures skull, carving off one of its ears and skinning its neck.
I raised my sword for the finishing blow, and the ratkin I’d been duelling with by the door stabbed me in the kidneys. My health dropped by another 35% as the world took on a red tinge. I sank to one knee, my fall pulling the knife out of my assailants hands. I could feel the blade still stuck in my back, a pulsing web of pain.
Without looking I swung my scimitar in a wide circle behind me. If the creature had gone for its knife I’d surely have cut him in half. Instead, it had leapt backwards to per
ch atop the pew behind me. It chattered something in an alien language, perhaps goading me. The red in my vision was starting to go dark at the edges, like a deep tunnel.
The mottled ratkin skittered behind me. I ignored it and lunged at the creature in front of me. My ferocity caught it off guard. I didn’t swing the sword, nor bash at it with my shield. I leapt forward shoulder first and tackled the monster over the pew onto the ground. The ratkin scratched at my face, gouging for my eyes, until I managed to manoeuvre my scimitar into place over its throat. It raised its arms defensively, blocking my initial attack. I leaned into the blade and it began to cut into the creatures forearms. The ratkin threw all of its strength into pushing the blade away from its throat.
We were stalemated for a long moment. I was pushing with all my strength to cut down into the monster, and it struggled valiantly to oust me. As the seconds drew on its strength began to falter. Inch by inch I grew closer to its exposed throat, until its bloodied arms finally collapsed.
The blade carved open its throat like a hot knife through butter. The entirety of my weight pressed down like a guillotine, cutting to the bone before getting stuck. A long moment passed before I recovered my wits enough to pull the ratkins dagger out of my back. My health sank a fraction further, leaving me with only a few percent remaining. Sound began to return to the world, or perhaps my brain began to process it again. The civilians were still whimpering nearby. The woman who had sacrificed herself had fallen silent. Most importantly there were no skittering sounds.
I rose to my feet slowly, trying to hold my shield at the ready. I was exhausted, unsteady on my feet, and honestly if the ratkin had attacked me then I would have died.
But it didn’t.
After a few long seconds of safety, I noticed my health begin to recover. The shadows at the edge of my vision faded away. There was only one explanation for my health recovering noticeably, the encounter was over. The last ratkin had either died of his wounds, or fled somewhere. And if my health was restoring, that meant that the town must have repelled the kobolds as well.
I sank back down to my knees and heaved a sigh of relief. Whatever the hell that had been, I’d survived it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I stepped out into the morning light, the crowd of civilians peering out from behind me. The town was in shambles. Overturned carts and corpses littered the streets. Several townsfolk cradled injuries as they wept.
There was not a single living kobold in sight, though their corpses decorated the town. I couldn’t see any ratkin amongst the dead, though I wasn’t sure what that meant. Had most of them escaped?
The streets and people may be shattered, but the immediate threat had passed. In the distance the river gate was firmly shut. A few guards stood atop the ramparts, watching beyond the wall. I spent the next ten minutes or so helping the wounded, and dragging the dead kobolds toward the gates. The human dead I left for their kin. It was not my place to touch them.
After a while I noticed a hush spreading throughout the survivors, as if the angel of death was standing behind me. I slowly turned to survey the town, trying to spot what had changed.
Amidst the carnage a small group of nobles walked. Their silk clothes showed no signs of distress or blood. The man leading their procession wore a thick gold chain around his neck, and lavish clothes. He held his head high and looked down his nose at the wounded. The townsfolk stopped what they were doing to stare at the nobles. Somehow, despite their being no evidence that these men had done anything, they were the heroes of the day.
The leader came to a halt in what remained of the town centre, and his followers fanned out behind him. The whole thing reminded me of a mother duck leading her ducklings through a sewer.
“We have repelled the horrid beasts!” The leader boomed, his voice echoing through the quiet town.
“Those kobold scum have learnt that Whiteridge cannot be assaulted. They suffered a terrible loss, and we had a great victory!” His followers cheered, but only a few of the townsfolk joined in. They seemed to shrink in on themselves as they realised they were the minority. His pompous lordship continued, oblivious to the crowds reaction.
“In honour of our warriors, there will be a feast in the great hall tonight. Every man that brings a plate of food for himself and his neighbours will sit with the high council for the evening. We will honour our heroes.” The leader clasped his hands together and smiled as if he’d suggested the greatest thing in the world.
Had I misheard him? Had this maniac suggested the heroes of the city bring their own food to a feast, so that they could have the honour of sitting with the lord duck himself?
Before I had a chance to question him, the man turned and led his followers back in the direction he came. They fell into step behind him - noble men and women clad in silks, with hands so soft they’d have never held a tool let alone a weapon. The self-proclaimed victors of todays skirmish.
As they trailed off I caught a glimpse of a woman that made my heart freeze mid-beat. It was the murderous woman who had seen our dungeon that first night. Whatever she was doing amongst the nobles, it made my stomach drop. She looked back over her shoulder as she walked away, and I could have sworn she winked at me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Once the nobles had dispersed, and the townsfolk had returned to some semblance of normal, I returned to the wounded. There was nothing I could do to heal their injuries, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Whether my small mutterings of thanks made a difference to any of them I couldn’t tell, but it made me feel better. I happened upon the blacksmith at the end of my round. The old fellow was crouched near a younger man that shared his thick brow line. The blacksmith waved at me as I approached, a grim smile on his face.
“I ‘eard you fought those vermin in the church” The old blacksmith rumbled, standing to shake my hand.
“Yes sir. Are they common here?”
“’Aven’t seen ‘em in years. Hells, a decade probably. Can’t be good I say. Can’t be good at all.” He shook his head.
“This here’s me boy, Anthony.” He announced, as if he’d suddenly remembered his manners.
I smiled my greeting at the wounded man. His left arm was missing beneath the elbow, and his face was pale with pain. I suddenly wished I’d taken magic abilities when I’d joined the game. Perhaps some healing spell would be able to ease his suffering, even if it couldn’t restore his arm.
“You fought the kobolds?” I asked, trying not to look at the bloody stump. No doubt he’d get enough of that from the rest of the town in the coming weeks.
“Aye sir, killed two of ‘em meself” He said proudly, a little colour seeming to return to his face. He had grit, I had to give him that.
“An honour to have fought with you.” I intoned, unsure of what else to say.
“Will ye be staying in town?” The blacksmith asked.
“No, I’ll return to my camp. With those monsters roaming around I need to check on my friend.” It was almost midday now, and I’d already spent longer than I should have with the wounded. I should have made for the dungeon as soon as the fight had finished. What if Logan was under siege right now? I mentally kicked myself.
“You’re either brave or foolish for stayin’ out there. Get your friend and stay in the town. You’re welcome to sleep in me shop” The blacksmith said, and I realised he meant it. He was looking at me in awe. I’d brought him more ore than he could have hoped for, and fought to protect his town when I could have easily ran. To him I must seem like some sort of hero. I was just trying to hide away while better people went after the stones that would let me return to the real world. His offer sounded damn good.
“I’m sorry, I can’t commit to anything without talking to my friend first.” I gave my best smile, though it came out as a thin worried line.
“I need to check on him now. Perhaps I’ll be back in the next few days.” I shook the old blacksmiths hand one last time then turned my back on the wounded and ma
de my way to the gate.
The guardsmen atop the wall gave me a quizzical look as I approached the gate, but no one did anything until I was within a few meters. As one they raised their spears and levelled them at me. I froze in my tracks.
“What’s the meaning of this?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. There were three of them on the ground, and I could probably defend myself from them. But the two on the wall would rain spears and arrows down on me, and there was no way I’d survive that.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The tall guard said, his long nose gave his voice a nasal twang.
“Back to my camp.”
“Ain’t no one going through the gate.” The tall man stated, raising himself to his full height to look down his over-sized beak at me.
“On who’s orders?”
“The mayors, of course.”
“Is there another gate I can use?”
The shorter guards guffawed as the tall guard snorted.
“The gates are all closed. We are under attack don’t you know?” He leaned in, close enough for me to smell cheese on his breath.
“As I see it, the only one trying to leave the city when we’re under attack would have to be a traitor. Would he not?” The guard stood as still as a statue, his pale blue eyes seeming to peer into my very soul.
“No traitor here. Just a visitor that lives beyond the wall, who would very much like to go home.” I tried to infect my voice with cheer, but it came out as a thinly veiled threat. I had never claimed to be diplomatic.
The tall guard straightened, resting his weight back upon the spear. He seemed to consider my request for a long moment before shaking his head.