The Twilight Obelisk

by Alexey Osadchuk

  For a brief second, nothing happened. Then the shapeless mechanism shuddered to life. All the blocks, cog wheels, steel bars and strips of metal came into motion, vibrating and expanding. The amorphous lump of steel began to grow, gaining shape and purpose with every heartbeat.

  We stood open-mouthed, unwilling to move, as this illogical and meaningless collection of unrelated parts transformed into a monstrous creature. The runic script wound around its powerful body. The steel bars had become its six limbs: four spidery legs and two arms which ended in large digging buckets.

  “I’m taking my words back,” Droy croaked. “He’s even uglier than I thought.”

  I drew my gaze away from this amazing creation of ancient masters and turned to him. Droy stood open-mouthed, gawking at the steel monster. His face betrayed the same emotions that I read in the Calteans’ expressions all around me: a mixture of fear and respectful awe.

  Droy cleared his throat, breaking the deadly silence. “Impressive. What can it do?”

  “One moment,” I said, opening the Brock’s settings.

  Oh wow. Its stats were something else. In brief, what we had here was a miracle of top durability with a range of a thousand feet — more even, dealing enormous blanket damage.

  Its rate of fire said nothing to me. Still, I had a feeling that somehow it was going to be much faster than Caltean trebuchets. Its launching mechanism somehow resembled my good old slingshot. Most likely, all of these stats directly depended upon the weight, size and quality of the missiles used.

  I looked up from the stats. “Should we try it?”

  “Bring us some rocks!” Droy thundered.

  Two warriors promptly dragged a large boulder toward the Brock’s right shovel. They swung it several times until they managed to lay it in the machine’s open “hand”.

  As soon as the boulder dropped inside the shovel, the giant effortlessly raised his arm, as if taking a swing. And then... he stopped.

  The Brock is loaded!

  Type of missile: a rock

  Fit for purpose: Yes

  Range: +1,000 feet

  Rate of Fire: +0.02

  Blanket damage: +18,000 ... +26,000

  A shiver ran down my spine. If a rock like that landed on my group, we were toast. I’d go directly to my respawn point and my clanmates, to visit whatever Gods they worshipped.

  The Brock is ready for action!

  Energy required to launch a missile: 250 pt.

  Would you like to continue: Yes/No

  No, wait. This wasn’t good. I didn’t mean the energy requirements. I could live with that. The problem was, this machine needed me to activate it. It had even offered me a synchronization option similar to the one I had with my two pets, but I’d refused it point blank. This thing would bleed me dry like an energy vampire.

  “Are you ready?” Droy asked.

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “So what are we waiting for?”

  Instead of an answer, I pressed Yes.

  The Brock’s giant arm swung back like a steel spring, devouring the energy offered to it, and launched the huge boulder into the air.

  Rotating slowly, the rock winged its way toward the center of the valley. A few seconds later, a giant snow flower blossomed on impact. From our vantage point, it looked unpresuming, even pretty, but all of us seemed to realize the nature of its destructive beauty.

  Then the crowd exploded in catcalls and cheers. What could I say? I too threw my hands in the air, screaming with joy. We’d just received a very hefty argument in any potential confrontation. It towered like an impassive cliff of steel over the tiny sentient animals scattered at its feet, its very shape granting us some hope of survival.

  Chapter Sixteen

  FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS, all I did was assemble Ennan machines. I’d used up almost all of my elixirs and energy stones. Still, it was worth it.

  We had new sentries guarding our rapidly-growing town wall now: three giant Brocks, seven glaive throwers and the Calteans’ trebuchet which looked admittedly ancient next to the Ennan wonders. Earlier this evening, I’d given myself a three-hour break, after which I’d assembled the remaining glaive thrower.

  Admittedly, I’d already gotten the hang of it. After the three Brocks, assembling glaive throwers was a breeze. In total, I’d spent about 2,000 pt. Energy on each one.

  I couldn’t help smiling whenever I remembered my attempts to assemble the first glaive thrower. Just like the Brock, it had resembled a shapeless heap of haphazardly connected parts. But once activated, it had turned out to be a harpoon gun on a tall steel tripod.

  Each machine came with a chestful of steel bolts packed into 20-round clips. Their faceted tips were made of some hard black metal which, however, looked chewed, almost as if something had gnawed on it. When I took a closer look, I realized that the tips had been completely covered in complex runic patterns.

  The glaive thrower’s principle was considerably different from that of the Brock. The latter was easy: you just filled its Herculean shovel full of rocks and pointed it in the right direction. The downside of it was, I was the only person who could control it.

  The glaive throwers were different. They didn’t need me to issue orders. As soon as they received their share of energy, any of Pritus’ assistants could pull the trigger.

  However, the Brocks didn’t have a power accumulator — something that glaive throwers had, even though their charges were only enough to fire one clip. Which was better than nothing, I suppose.

  So all of the Ennan machines required my assistance in one way or another. Which wasn’t a good thing. The moment we had a war on our hands, these contraptions would suck me dry of energy.

  My intention had been to assemble all the machines first and then get some practice in. I didn’t want to spread myself too thin. So now the entire clan had gathered around me in anticipation of a new spectacle.

  Honestly speaking, I’d hoped to get some sleep and test the machines in the morning. But the expectation on all the beaming Caltean faces had made me reconsider. I’d told them to make some targets to test-fire our new weapons.

  They fashioned a dozen dummies stuffed with straw and clad them in some old armor. Then they placed a shield in front of each one and jammed helmets on their heads. It wasn’t bad at all.

  They carried the straw warriors out to a distance of about five hundred feet from the wall. The dummies looked seriously militant from afar.

  I set the firing mode to single shot and took aim. Holding my breath, I used both my hands to pull the firing lever at the back.

  The recoil was impressive. I physically sensed the machine release the accumulated energy. The bolt hit the exact center of the shield held by one of the dummies.

  I hadn’t expected to see what happened next. The dummy disintegrated. Straw flew everywhere.

  The crowd gasped.

  “Great shot,” Droy said an hour later, turning a mangled piece of steel in his hands. That was all that was left of the shield.

  “How is it possible?” Orman asked, warily studying the glaive thrower.

  “Take a look at the bolt tips,” I said. “They’re covered in runes. I think they make the tip disintegrate on impact, turning it into shrapnel.”

  I knew it for sure. After all, I’d read the description.

  “And that was just one bolt!” Crym said, his eyes gleaming. “But if you fired several at once... simultaneously...”

  Everyone hummed their agreement. Even I was suitably impressed.

  A short burst of seven bolts made quick work of our DIY army. Their straw bodies exploded like a ten-ton bomb.

  “Can’t wait to see what they’re gonna do to the Nocteans,” Orman hissed predatorily.

  I sighed. “I’m afraid, very soon you might get the opportunity to find out.”

  “The magic sphere is about to expire,” Droy added, looking grim.

  The long call of the Red Owls’ bugle drowned out our voices. What now?


  We hurried to climb the wooden scaffolding surrounding the city wall. Our builders hadn’t wasted their time. The wall kept growing surprisingly quickly. Very soon it would reach 7 ft.

  No wonder: this was a game, after all. Everything that happened here seemed to take place in fast forward. Also, I’d made sure that all of my workers had already made their next level in Craftsmanship.

  We’d decided to build the new wall on top of the old ruins. That way at least we saved on the foundations. Also, once we’d cleared the ruins from the snow, we discovered whole surviving sections of the wall that were at least 12 ft. high.

  The wall formed a semicircle which linked two impregnable cliff ridges. It looked as if they’d just grown there, gray and grim, obeying the wave of an invisible hand. Their impenetrable embrace protected the upper city which had once been home to the king and his entourage.

  We had no shortage of building materials, that’s for sure. Ruins were everywhere.

  Flooded with the light of hundreds of torches, the building site seethed like a giant anthill where everyone was busy doing his or her task. The air rang with the constant tapping of hammers, the screeching of pulleys and the hacking of axes. Buffaloes bellowed; builders yelled over each others’ heads; children laughed and ran around... yes, this was the Calteans making themselves a new home.

  And they didn’t look too eager to give it up lightly.

  The sentries who’d raised the alarm already awaited us on a large platform. I used the chance to inspect it, knowing it was about to become one of our towers pretty soon. We might actually lift one of the glaive throwers up here tomorrow morning. We could install another in the East Tower and place the remaining ones along the wall’s perimeter. Not mentioning the Brocks which already lined the wall. We kept growing.

  Heh! I honestly hadn’t expected such rapid changes. Initially, our situation had been a little less than hopeless — but that was because I used to look at the city ruins from a real world perspective. I should have been thinking as a gamer right from the start. Things would have been dramatically different in real life.

  Naturally, we were no match for the players’ army, not yet. We still had plenty of weak points. For one, our impregnable fortress could use a gate! A proper one, I mean, not the sorry excuse which currently plugged the only access in the breached wall. Which was basically several carts and wagons reinforced with some planks and crude logs nailed together.

  * * *

  “What’s up?” Droy asked the sentries.

  “Over there,” a stocky red-bearded Caltean pointed south. “Can you see?”

  “What the heck?” Orman uttered. “What’s that, a river of fire?”

  I peered in the direction they pointed. The sun had long set but the sky was still clear. The large disc of the Moon cast a bright light onto the valley and part of the hills.

  A snaking line of twinkling lights was crossing the valley. Orman had a point: it did resemble a river of fire moving toward us.

  “Nonsense,” Droy replied. “That’s not a river. That’s torchlight. It looks like Olgerd was right. These are the armies he used to tell us about. They’ve made it here, after all.”

  Dammit! That was quick. Just as I thought things were working out.

  Orman cussed. Crym who hadn’t said a word yet slammed his fist on a stone crenel.

  Droy opened his mouth to say something when we heard a powerful bugle call coming from the river of fire.

  “No way!” Orman whispered, incredulous.

  The Calteans looked at each other, their faces a complex mix of joy and disbelief. Their eyes were open wide, their nostrils flaring.

  Crym guffawed and slapped a sentry’s shoulder.

  “Mind telling me what’s going on?” I demanded.

  Droy lay his hand on my shoulder and squinted, “The sound of this bugle means, my friend, that the Calteans can’t be killed so easily!”

  “Oh, no!” Orman growled. “This is Badwar the Thunder Warrior coming to pay us a visit!”

  “And he’s not alone,” Crym added. “It looks like he’s brought all of his Stone Fists with him!”

  * * *

  We greeted the Stone Fists delegation outside, in the same place where we’d met Amai and his warriors only a few days ago. We made a large fire on the city border to serve as a beacon for their clan braving the darkness.

  I’d wondered if I should go on a recon flight, just to take a look at our new guests. Still, the others had talked me out of it. According to them, both Badwar and his men were probably at the end of their tethers. They might shoot me down first and ask questions later.

  Our little army walked out to meet them in full combat gear. According to Droy, we had to display our power to them. Badwar was a willful sonovabitch. He only understood the language of steel. We had to put on a good show. Especially as we could afford it.

  Rank after rank of armor-clad warriors froze motionless around the fire.

  We didn’t have to wait long. Several figures emerged from the darkness at once.

  “Shield Wall!” Droy bellowed.

  With the clatter of wood and clanging of steel, our warriors serried their ranks which now bristled with spears. Then they froze again, awaiting our guests.

  They couldn’t be very far, judging by the crunching of snow and the shadowy silhouettes gliding through the night.

  “If that’s not the Red Owls! You’ve changed a lot, haven’t you?” a rude sarcastic voice called out of the dark. “I can’t believe it!”

  The darkness parted, releasing a stocky figure wearing a round masked helmet. A broad shield peeked from behind the warrior’s back. He was holding an enormous axe.

  “That’s Badwar the Thunder Warrior,” Laosh told me under his breath.

  Two more warriors appeared next to him: one slightly taller and broader than his commander, the other a mere youngster next to those two. He was probably the armor-bearer of one of them.

  “The big one is Gukhur the Black Serpent from the White Lynxes clan,” Laosh resumed his running commentary. “And the one next to him is Lavena the Vixen, the right hand of Bevan who is the shaman with the Mountain Hawks.”

  His voice betrayed his surprise. Our ranks rustled with puzzled whispers. What could have baffled them so much?

  I very nearly asked Laosh as much when Droy addressed our visitors. I’d better wait and see what happens next.

  “Badwar the Thunder Warrior! Gukhur the Black Serpent! And Lavena the Vixen!” Droy announced. “This is a surprise for me as well! The greatest warriors of our people have decided to honor us with their presence! I’m equally amazed seeing you here standing shoulder to shoulder!”

  Admittedly, our guests showed different reactions to his words. Badwar continued to smile while Gukhur stared impassively at the fire as if Droy’s words didn’t concern him at all. Lavena, however, showed some signs of impatient anger, knotting her eyebrows and white-knuckling the short sword dangling from her belt.

  “When we saw your torches from our city walls we thought that a river of fire was flowing toward us,” Droy continued. “But when I took another look, I realized that the river would have been much bigger had all the warriors whom your shamans had lured away been with you!”

  The steel wall of shields shifted as our warriors hummed their agreement.

  “Our shamans are dead,” the Black Serpent said. His voice indeed resembled a snake’s hissing. “I killed them all!”

  Laosh next to me startled. A dead silence hung over the clearing, only disturbed by the crackling of the firewood and the bellowing of nearby buffaloes in the dark.

  “Why are you still alive, then?” Laosh shouted vindictively. “Our ancient laws would have had you burned at the stake!”

  Lavena stepped forward, inconspicuously shielding him with her shoulder. Had it not been for the gravity of the situation, it would have looked comical: a tiny female outline, lithe and slender, trying to protect this great oaf.

  “We didn’
t burn him simply because he’d saved our lives!” she shouted.

  The tone of her voice, her angry face and clenched fists — I was pretty sure she’d have gladly added Laosh to the dead shaman list had she had half the chance.

  The face of the Black Serpent was impassive, his wide open eyes watching the play of the flames. He’d said what he’d had to say and didn’t care about the rest.

  “We know the laws, old man,” Badwar said conciliatorily.

  “Then why did you disobey them?” Laosh countered.

  “Because your buddies the shamans deserved to die!” Lavena spat out.

  Badwar lay his heavy hand on her shoulder. “This is a good question, Shaman,” he growled. “But before answering it, I want to ask you something too. All of you! Do you know how to perform the Desolation ritual?”

  The Red Owls grumbled their discontent. Someone in front of me cussed. I turned to Laosh. He was dark as a thundercloud.

  In the meantime, Badwar continued, peering into the faces of each of our warriors. “Apparently, you do! Now I’m gonna answer your question. It wasn’t enough for them to have brought us to the Dark fortress so that our best warriors lost their lives under its walls! Oh, no! They also wanted to perform the Desolation ritual! They wanted to sacrifice our women and children so that they could save their own worthless lives! So yes, they are dead! And If I could kill them all over again, I’d have gladly done so!”

  * * *

  I didn’t get much sleep that night. We had a council — Droy, Laosh, the sergeants and myself — deciding what to do with all the refugees.

  Personally, I’d come to a decision a long time ago. As soon as I’d heard about Laosh leaving magic marks behind, I knew this was going to happen. So had it been up to me, I would have gone to bed a long time ago. As it was, I had to preside over my clanmates playing the part of the Great Keeper of Twilight Castle, listening to their debating with each other.

  As far as the newcomers were concerned, they were the remains of the three strongest clans which at the time had left their home valley and headed in the direction of the Dark Citadel. But if the Black Axes shaman, seeing the complete defeat of their army, had wisely turned back, the shamans of the three other clans had decided to keep going.