He spun to his right until he was facing the other flanker, who was still not fully recovered from the flash, and thrust with his sword. His target was fifteen feet away, much too far for even his massive sword, but not when he activated Phantom Blade and created a magical energy extension. The invisible force emanating from his sword struck with the same power as if he were close enough to thrust with the physical weapon. The energy point punched through the black mithril links with an almost musical sound that repeated itself when it did the same on the other side of the Elf’s torso. The wound only dropped a thousand or so Health from the assassin, however. By the time Desmond closed the distance, the bastard met him with a series of quick slashes from his twin swords. The assassin moved like a steel whirlwind, seeking to cut Desmond to pieces.
As he parried the first flurry of blows, Desmond noticed the female assassin was using Shadow Step to teleport behind him. Just the sort of trick Hawke liked to pull on people. Unfortunately for the High Elf, Desmond had been practicing in ways to deal with that maneuver for a long time; he ducked under his current attacker’s swings and reversed grips on Spell-Cleaver to deliver a backward stab right at the perfect spot for a shot at his back. A yielding pressure and a cry of pain let him know he’d landed a hit, and he leaned on the Elf he had stabbed to deliver a side kick that got the male assassin in the chest.
The Elves weren’t pushovers, though. The kick smashed the assassin against a wall but not before a quick slash nearly severed Desmond’s left foot. The crippling wound to his lower leg forced him to land on one knee, and he was barely able to twist around and block a strike from the female Elf, who was wounded but far from dead. The physical attack didn’t hit Desmond, but the Master Death Curse the Elf triggered at the same time did, followed a split-second later by a master-level Rigor Mortis spell.
Desmond’s Health dropped by two-thirds and he was nearly paralyzed by the Death-attuned debuff, but near-paralysis still made him faster than most things of his level. His leg injury healed in less than a second, allowing him to spring to his feet in time to meet a coordinated attack from both assassins. He parried some of the blows aimed at him, the ones aimed at vital points that would automatically result in criticals. The rest got through, slashing and piercing blows that delivered hundreds of points of damage apiece. It felt a bit like being a mouse dropped into a Cuisinart.
The Shadow Assassins’ weapons were poisoned. A regular twenty-third level Warrior would have keeled over in a few seconds if he’d gotten even one dose of the Wyvern Vitriol that coated their blades, let alone five. Desmond’s body had been tempered by multiple exposures to every toxin Leara knew of, however, and one of his magical tattoos – Purify Blood – neutralized the poisons almost as fast as they were delivered.
He activated Final Stand, which healed back half his Health just before it dropped to zero. The Rigor Mortis slowing debuff wore off faster than the Elves expected, and a sudden burst of speed allowed him to drive Spell-Cleaver right through the mouth of one of them. The triple critical hit popped the upper half of the bastard’s head like a champagne cork, but committing to that thrust allowed the last one – the female Elf – to stab Desmond in the kidneys. The magical shields around him mitigated some damage, but few things are more painful than getting hit there.
Good thing Desmond had learned to ignore pain. You might say that living with continuous agony was his specialty.
The cooldown for Final Stand had just ended; he used it to regain some Health just in time to survive two more stabs as he widened the distance so he could use his sword effectively. The Shadow Assassin wasn’t having any of it; she pressed on, too close for Desmond to swing his long blade. Finally, he got tired of it, dropped the sword, and grappled with the Elf. He got stabbed in the lower gut and shoulder before he managed to get his hands around the Elf’s throat and activated his special unarmed combat ability, Rend. You didn’t get to rip people’s heads off with your bare hands very often, but he got the pleasure to do it this time. He grinned despite the gushing blood that splashed his face. In his mind he imagined doing the same to Leara.
One day, he promised himself.
Desmond staggered away from the spurting corpse and downed a Master Rejuvenation Potion, restoring himself. That scuffle had almost wiped him out. And the fight wasn’t over yet.
Two rooftop snipers – more Shadow Assassins, these ones armed with short bows – were sprawled on the street, very dead. One had landed in multiple pieces and the other had been turned into a crispy critter. That left one attacker. And he was giving both his bosses plenty of trouble.
Farradenn the Red (Sylvan Sidhe, Undead)
Level ?? Revenant
Health 8,280 Mana 9,200 Endurance n/a
A freaking Revenant. The creature had hit Leara hard with something; the Fae woman was down on one knee, using some sort of advanced healing spell on herself. Panadel was facing off the Undead Sidhe with his rapier and dagger. The monster’s two-handed sword was almost as big as Spell-Cleaver and he was using the extra reach to keep Panadel at bay. The Fae Lord’s usual mocking sneer was nowhere to be seen as he fought for his life.
Seeing his masters in danger brought a spike of pure joy to Desmond’s heart. He wanted them dead more than anything in the universe. Every instinct in his body wanted him to run and leave them to die or, even better, join in and finish them off. It would be almost worth being killed by the Revenant if he got to see them dead first. Almost.
He couldn’t do any of that, of course. Oaths made to the Fae were even more binding than the regular magic version. The treacherous thoughts were enough to give him a headache. To act on them would guarantee a long and agonizing death. So instead of betraying his bosses, he rushed forward to help them. Like a good pet.
The Revenant was about as tall as the High Elves and had a similarly emaciated build but his skin was deep purple instead of the near-albino white of the Shadow Assassins and his eyes were solid pools of darkness. He wielded the heavy sword with impossible speed but the movements had an unnatural stiffness to them; he moved the blade only exactly as much as it had to move to get the job done – a parry or a swing – and then it stopped dead, as if inertia wasn’t an issue. And he was giving Panadel, the deadliest fighter Desmond had known, all the trouble the Fae Lord could handle and then some.
Panadel feinted with his rapier and focused a Life spell through his dagger, shooting a continuous beam of yellow light that generated thousands of damage per second. The Revenant stopped the beam of light with one hand, ignoring the way its flesh burned and sloughed off at the tough, and sent a twisting stream of purple-green-black energy back at the Fae Lord. Panadel staggered, losing well over half his Health.
They are losing, Desmond thought as he activated Phantom Blade and used it to slash at the Revenant’s wrist from thirty feet away.
The Revenant’s limb, already heavily damaged by Panadel’s spell, parted under the impact like a young bamboo stalk. The Undeath spell stopped as well, giving the Fae Lord time to recover as Desmond closed in, swinging Spell-Cleaver. The monster parried his blow with his own greatsword, holding the weapon with one hand as easily as if it had been a dagger, and delivered another burst of Undeath at him. Desmond barely ducked away but even the near miss drained him of sixteen hundred Health and Mana – and thirty-two hundred Experience! The bastard was a level drainer. As bad as vampires in Dungeons and Dragons.
The interruption had given his masters time to recover, however, and they attacked with the speed and coordination of two ancient creatures with centuries spent working and training together. Desmond pulled back; his help was no longer needed. As soon as the Revenant tried to turn toward one of the two Fae, the other struck, each blow designed to prevent the draining ability from hitting its target. They soon whittled the monster down to near zero, and Leara’s dagger landed a finishing critical hit on the back of its neck. The Undead went down and dissolved into a disgusting black sludge that ate through the cobblestones o
f the street like battery acid through toilet paper.
For slaying your foes, you have earned 65,000 Experience.
Congratulations! You have reached levels 24 and 25!
You have gained 12 Attribute points to distribute.
New Engraved Warrior Abilities available. New Tattoo slots available.
You have found 5 platinum, 3 Master Healing Potions, 4 Master Rejuvenation Potions.
Desmond stuffed the assassins’ weapons and gear into his inventory. Leara allowed him to claim any spoils of war as his own, unless she found something she wanted to keep, in which case he would hand it over without complaint. And their bond allowed her to examine his inventory whenever she felt like it, just in case he tried to hide something from her. There was no escaping her clutches. He no longer tried to.
“A close run thing, that was,” Panadel said, wiping his blade off before sheathing it. “I do not like depending on luck to survive.”
“Fortuna is a fickle wench,” Leara agreed before turning to Desmond. “You did well back there, dearie. If those assassins had reached us while we were occupied with the Revenant, things might not have turned out well.”
Desmond nodded quietly. “I live to serve,” was all he said.
He knew that any other response would make her forget that he had saved her life by holding off the three assassins. His own survival had been a matter of luck as well; one slip, a failed block, and he would be the one lying on the cobblestone street, bleeding out his last Health points. He would have respawned, sure, but if Leara died she had left orders to dispose of him permanently. There was a pack of nasty things waiting for him at his respawn point to make sure he died permanently. Even the thought that his mistress would have followed him to Hell would be little comfort. He wanted to live, if only to get revenge on everyone who had screwed up his life.
“That wasn’t Huntsmaster Laryn,” Panadel noted. “I thought all the other prototypes were destroyed.”
“So did I. Hawke swore that he deleted them from his Vault. That is as permanent as such things can be in the Realms.”
“So either he managed to lie while making an oath, someone has discovered the arts of making more Revenants, or an Arbiter or perhaps even a Maker intervened to save the monsters.”
“Then True Ragnarök is at hand.” Leara said in a tone Desmond hadn’t heard before. She sounded scared.
“Perhaps. But consider this: if the Court of Thorns had hundreds of those things at their disposal, why only send one after us, when two would have been more than twice as likely to succeed?”
“Ah, yes. They must only have a few, then. Enough to risk one to kill us, but no more. Perhaps a dozen or fewer all told.”
“That would seem to be the logical conclusion, unless this is an elaborate ruse to make us think so.”
“This was no ruse. As you said, it was a close run thing. They meant to kill us.”
Panadel smiled. “You are taking this personally.”
“You saw the type of poison the assassins were using. We were not meant to Reincarnate after they were done. Either their blades or the Revenant would have sent us back to the Dreaming Lands, never to return.”
His bosses could Reincarnate? Desmond hadn’t known that. He’d thought only Eternals could pull off that trick.
“I suppose we should keep our appointment,” Panadel said. “We are running late.”
“Do you think our contact is still alive? The assassins knew where we were going.”
“If he is, then we’ll know who sold us out. And if he isn’t, perhaps we can garner some clues about our foes.”
“I always wanted to play Nancy Drew,” Leara said with a grin.
They are crazy, Desmond thought, not for the first time. And I have to follow their orders.
The trio continued on, leaving the assassins’ bodies where they’d fallen.
Five
Surprisingly, Gosto took the news harder than Tava.
The young Druid had gone deathly quiet after hearing Hawke’s story, saying nothing until it was time to go meet the rulers of the Shadowy Foothills and find out what they wanted. He was all business after that, but Hawke had known the kid long enough to know that Kassia’s impending arrival had hit him hard.
Tava, on the other hand, had simply nodded, clearly unhappy but not as bothered as her brother. Maybe it made sense; she had spoken to Kassia thanks to some Fae magic not too long ago. To Gosto, his missing mother was somebody he only remembered from the viewpoint of a four-year-old. Hawke couldn’t imagine how that would feel. Tava had ended up playing the mother’s role, since she had been the eldest, and her sense of duty had probably helped distract her from the pain.
The siblings and Kinto had spoken in private for a few minutes. Hawke had brought him to the Grove for their meeting with the Evergreen Circle. When they rejoined him, Gosto was visibly setting his emotions aside and concentrating on the job at hand. His usual friendly demeanor was gone. Tava was equally grim-faced.
I doubt that Mother is here to see Gosto, or even me, Tava told Hawke through their telepathic bond. She’ll use our wedding as an excuse, but I think she came back because of you.
Me?
Yes. I must confess something, darling. I let it slip that you were an Eternal. I was trying to impress her. Foolish of me, I know.
The duel by the side of the road made more sense if Tava was right. Kassia might have heard of a strange Eternal building up Global Renown in the Common Realm and realized it was her daughter’s boyfriend. Hawke had been warned that rising stars often ended up with targets on their backs. Groups and factions in the Higher Realms might try to co-opt or eliminate him. Since Horosha hadn’t murdered him, he and Kassia were probably interested in using him somehow. Something else to worry about, as if he didn’t have more than enough problems already.
Case in point: the collection of bizarre entities standing in a loose semicircle in front of him, Tava and Gosto. The ancient monsters that ruled the Evergreen Circle. The meeting was about to start.
There were nine of them. Four looked like gigantic trees. Other than their size – each was a giant of its individual species, which included two broadleaves and two conifers – there was nothing overtly special about them, other than the fact that they hadn’t been at the clearing the day before, according to Gosto’s muttered words. The trees had just appeared there, and from the way the more mobile members deferred to them, they were the leaders of the pack, as it were. Their stats were proof enough of it.
Elder Tree (Wild Fae)
Level 32 (20) Treekin (Tier 2 Entity)
Health 8,000 Mana 8,000 Endurance 8,000
More Tiers again. Saturnyx had explained that mere mortals didn’t have Tiers, including Adventurers and even Eternals. Tier 0 and 1 beings were akin to demigods or angels. By the time you hit Tier 2 you were dealing with some serious firepower. Only level 20 and higher beings could even detect someone’s Tier. Hawke figured that the demonic Archduke he’d run into had been one of those damn things. Which meant those trees were essentially lesser gods.
Three of the other Elders were so similar to the Terror Tree that had almost killed him not too long ago that he might have reacted violently if the stat boxes over their heads hadn’t identified them as Forest Guardians, giant treelike humanoids with impressive stats. They were all in the high teens to low twenties in level, although they had no Tier status. Hawke wondered if after a certain point they turned back into stationary trees like their bosses did, or if they were from a different evolutionary branch, pun intended.
The last two were the most humanlike creatures of the bunch, although you had to grade them on a curve. They looked like giant versions of Woodlings, down to their stubby limbs, bark-covered skin, and leafy hair. One stood a good nine feet high, the other maybe twelve, and their levels were 16 and 20, respectively, suggesting that they got taller as they increased in power. Or maybe the nine-footer was the stumpy guy of the family.
Hawke simply nodded and waited for the tree people to make the first move. The nine Elders appeared to be alone, but he would be surprised if there wasn’t an army of Woodlings and other Nature-attuned Wild Fae nearby. Not that he was worried about treachery; the Evergreen Circle was here to talk, and when the Fae made promises, they kept them to the letter. You just had to pay attention to the exact language of their ‘terms of service.’ They were a lot like tech companies that way.
The taller Woodling leader stepped forward until he stood in the middle of the clearing, facing Hawke’s group. After Gosto nodded to him, Hawke followed suit, meeting the Elder halfway. The creature’s Elf-like facial features were still, as if carved into its wooden body, but Hawke had turned the lesser version of Mana Sight on and he could tell there were a lot of emotions swirling under the impassive expression.
“Greetings, Lord Hawke of the Sunset Valley, which our people call the Green Cauldron.”
“Greetings, Elder. May the sun shine above us, water flow freely below us, and earth hold us up,” Hawke replied formally.
“So may it be. We seek a formal alliance with your Domain. We have already given up much for the sake of peace: land grants around the revived Grove and the places you blessed with Mana Nodes; keeping our children from attacking your kind; and, unknown to you, even fighting those among our children who would not listen to our decrees.”
Court of Thorns: A LitRPG Story Page 4