Shattered Lands 2 The Fall Of Blackstone: A LitRPG Series

by Darren Pillsbury

  Mr. Lauer’s voice suddenly spoke out of thin air. “Actually, REBECCA decided it would be her, but I’ll be close by.”

  “Good to know,” Daniel said with a grin.

  “Good luck, Son.”

  “Thanks. What did you mean about not having to ride to Blackstone, Dr. Wolff?”

  “You’re going to fly instead.”

  Far up above them came the piercing shrieks of two eagles.

  Daniel craned his neck up to look at the sky. Two winged shapes were circling maybe a hundred feet above the field.

  But as they drew closer – and took much longer to do it than he’d anticipated – Daniel realized that they weren’t a hundred feet above the field, but closer to a thousand.

  Which meant the creatures were huge.

  As they came in for a landing, he realized they weren’t birds, either.

  They were griffins – beasts with the heads and wings of an eagle, and the hindquarters of a lion. Their front legs were massive eagles’ legs with pebbled, leathery flesh and razor-sharp talons.

  The creatures alighted in the field a hundred feet away, their massive wings flapping gusts of wind across the grass.

  The horses bucked and whinnied. It took Daniel a good fifteen seconds to quiet his steed.

  “Are you really expecting us to ride those things?” Daniel asked in wonderment.

  “Of course,” Rebecca replied. “You’ll be able to get to Blackstone in a matter of hours instead of days.”

  Daniel exchanged looks with Mira, then got off his horse and warily approached the creatures.

  They were truly majestic – ten feet tall, with a wingspan twice as wide. Their plumage was tawny brown with flecks of black and white, and their hindquarters were a honey yellow. Their heads had two crested tufts, and the brows over their golden eyes were locked into a perpetual scowl. Their gracefully curved beaks were two feet long, and ended in savage points that looked like they could impale a full-grown bull. Not to mention those six-inch-long talons…

  They also had leather saddles attached to their backs, secured by straps around the griffins’ necks and wings. Plate armor guarded their bellies, suspended in a cradle of chains that looped around their bodies.

  As Daniel got closer, the creatures continued to stare at him calmly.

  “Are these things actually going to fly us there, or eat us on the way?” he asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Rebecca said. “They’re docile – or, at least, they are for you two. Anybody else who tried to ride them would get torn to shreds.”

  “You programmed them to come get us?”

  “Not programmed, exactly. More like I called them from somewhere else and altered a few variables. Hence why they’re so docile with you two.”

  Daniel looked over at Mira, who had dismounted and was approaching the griffins in wide-eyed wonder.

  She reached the smaller of the two and gingerly reached out one hand to stroke its two-foot-long feathers.

  The creature continued to stare at her silently.

  “Well?” Rebecca said. “Get on – we don’t have all night.”

  “What about the horses?” Mira asked, her voice filled with concern.

  “They’re computer programs,” Rebecca said in exasperation. “They’ll be fine.”

  Mira gave Daniel a look like, Jeez, what a beeyotch.

  “You ready for this?” Daniel asked Mira.

  “Does it matter?”

  Daniel put on his silver helmet, fixing it into place.

  Then he grabbed a handful of feathers and pulled himself up onto the griffin’s back between its wings. Mira did the same.

  Once in the saddles, there were straps and buckles to keep their legs fixed in place so that there was no chance of falling off midair.

  “I’m instigating a neural link. They’ll follow your flight commands as soon as you think of them, and come when you want.”

  “How do we got them to WHOAA – ” Daniel shouted as his griffin launched itself into the air, wings flapping. Daniel held on for dear life as the creature soared up above the grassy fields into the azure sky.

  “Woohoooooo!” he heard Mira cry out.

  Daniel looked behind him and saw her griffin about fifty feet away. Mira seemed to be having a blast.

  Then he looked down at the fields beneath them. The horses were rapidly turning into tiny miniatures adrift in a sea of green.

  “Alright,” Daniel muttered as he held on tight to his griffin’s plumage, “onward to Blackstone…”

  28

  Eric

  Shortly after dawn, Merridack led the way through the sewers beneath Blackstone. Eric didn’t trust his new lieutenant enough to give Merridack a chance to stab him in the back, so he made the thief go first.

  Eric followed behind him, illuminating their way with a spell light.

  Cythera brought up the rear.

  “Goddess, this reeks,” she complained bitterly. “Why did we have to come this way?”

  “Because it’s daybreak and I can’t fly us over the battlements without hundreds of people seeing us,” Eric answered.

  “Why couldn’t we have gone through the front gate?”

  “Aren’t you living in exile in your little hut in the forest? Weren’t you banned from the city for being a witch?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Yeah. That’s why,” Eric said.

  “But – ”

  “QUIET. Just deal with it.” Eric shifted his attention to their guide. “Merridack.”

  “What?”

  “The room you had your den of thieves in – what was it before you got ahold of it?”

  “Some sort of storage. Odds and ends and barrels of whatnot. Took forever to clear it out.”

  “Why would they have storage in the sewers?”

  “Where else would they put all the things that nobody wants?” Merridack scoffed. “What, you think they’d keep it all in a spare room in the palace?”

  “How many of those secret rooms would you say there are down here?”

  “Dozens at the very least. Supposedly there are old dungeons closer to the palace. Most of them have flooded over the years and been taken over by rats and snakes. Why, are you thinking of setting up a summer home once you’ve conquered the city?” Merridack asked mockingly.

  “No… just wondering…”

  They reached a grate above their heads where sunlight shone through the bars.

  “This is where I get off,” Merridack said, and removed the grate. “Any last orders? Maybe you want to stop this suicide parade before it goes too far?”

  “Homicide parade, maybe,” Eric said. “Not suicide.”

  “Riiiight,” the thief sneered. “I’ll believe it when you’re sitting on the throne.”

  “Prepare to believe it soon, then.”

  Merridack snorted, then pulled himself up to street level and replaced the grate. “Ta ta.”

  “Merridack?” Eric said.

  “What?”

  “Just remember… there’s nowhere you can run I won’t be able to find you.”

  “Maybe I’ll just go jump off the wall and save you the trouble.”

  “What fun would that be?”

  Merridack laughed bitterly. “Not nearly as much fun as being flayed, drawn, and quartered, which is what lies ahead of us in all our immediate futures.”

  “Not if we succeed.”

  “Right,” Merridack said, and disappeared.

  “Oh ye of little faith,” Eric murmured.

  “Why do we have to wait down here?” Cythera complained.

  “We won’t be down here much longer,” Eric said.

  “Why, because the plan starts soon?”

  “That, and because I can’t stand your whining.” Eric turned away from her and spoke into the darkness: “Unnamed One!”

  “YES?”

  The Dark Figure emerged from the shadows of the sewer. It came floating over the water, its robes billowing like smok
e all around it.

  “What’s going on with Korvos’ men?”

  “WOULD YOU CARE TO SEE?”

  Eric frowned. “How?”

  The Dark One’s robes twisted across the sewer water’s surface like black fog. When the dark mist parted, the murky water gleamed like a mirror in the spell light’s glow.

  In the reflective surface appeared a castle with high walls, surrounded by forests.

  And out of the forest marched a battalion of armored figures.

  29

  The guards on the wall saw them first.

  There were about 300 of them emerging from the forest – black-armored men marching on foot. They flew no banner, so it was impossible to tell who they were. About fifty of them dragged a wheeled contraption behind them, using ropes to haul it along the dirt road.

  A catapult.

  “Close the gates!” the watch commander shouted.

  “Close the gates!” the cry rebounded, repeated from guard to guard, until the giant iron portcullis lowered to the ground and the drawbridge slowly ratcheted up on its chains.

  The castle was sealed off.

  “Archers!” the watch commander shouted.

  It took only sixty seconds for five hundred bowmen to assemble on the top of the city’s walls, each one with an arrow pointed at the enemy contingent on the ground.

  The watch commander, a man named Glennock, observed as the invaders slowly went about the task of setting up the catapult.

  Glennock took out his spyglass and focused it on the field.

  The armor the men wore was fearsome. Black and highly ornate, with morbid touches throughout – the faces of wolves, and dragons, and skulls turned into helmets. But not a one of their faces could be seen.

  “What in the world are they thinking?” a lieutenant named Cassio asked. “They’re too few in number to do anything to the castle.”

  “Perhaps,” Glennock said. “Go to the king and let him know we’re… not exactly under attack yet, but that someone’s making a show of it.”

  Cassio hurried down 200 feet of steps to take a horse to the palace, almost two miles away.

  Glennock watched as a wagon slowly lumbered out of the forest – again, pushed and pulled by men in armor. It was loaded down with a couple dozen barrels.

  “Don’t they have any damn pack animals?” Glennock wondered aloud.

  Something seemed strangely off about the entire situation.

  Minutes later, he found out why.

  30

  The men in armor slowly cranked down the arm of the catapult, then loaded a barrel into the bucket.

  Enough was enough. Their intent had long been clear. Glennock decided to act on his own accord, without word from the king.

  “Archers – FIRE!” he yelled.

  Five hundred arrows released into the air like a flock of deadly birds.

  They arced up and out, then began their downward descent.

  Every single armored figure by the catapult took a knee and covered himself with his shield.

  Thock! Thock! Thock! Thock! Thock! Thock! Thock!

  The entire clearing was embedded with arrows. The catapult bristled with them like the quills of a porcupine.

  But every armored figure stood up, unharmed.

  And then they released the catapult.

  THUNK!

  The barrel soared into the air –

  Over the castle wall –

  And crashed down several hundred feet inside the city, against a stone building, where the barrel burst apart in an explosion of black tar.

  Though it was a damn nuisance, Glennock wasn’t concerned. In fact, he was mystified. Why hadn’t they set it on fire? Were they planning to light it on fire with burning arrows?

  Even then, though, it wouldn’t prove much of a problem. The city had been constructed almost wholly of stone. Wooden structures were rare. If they did manage to light it on fire, it might claim several peasants’ lives, but that was it. More than anything else, their useless little missile was a testament to their incompetence, and an insult to the honor of Blackstone.

  He was about to return his attention to his enemies in the field when the screaming began.

  Glennock turned back to the site of the impact. At first he had no idea what he was seeing.

  When he figured it out, he was struck dumb by the horror of it.

  The black liquid began to writhe and take on different shapes: first human, then animal, then monster – then multiple variations of them all at once. Hands and heads reached up through the blackness, as did massive fanged beasts. It was like seeing multiple living things struggling to get out of a river of tar. The black ooze shifted constantly from one form to another, never staying still.

  And it screamed. Screamed like souls in torment.

  City dwellers unlucky enough to be in the vicinity were attacked by liquid tentacles that slapped across their bodies and pulled them into the muck, then slowly covered them as they screamed, too.

  It began to creep up the side of the building, oozing out pseudopods and tentacles, searching for windows to invade.

  “Hell spore,” Glennock whispered in horror.

  He had heard of it in stories as a child. It was a weapon employed by the most horrid of sorcerers against innocent towns.

  As far as Glennock knew, it was a fairytale told to frighten children.

  Whatever was down there in the streets, it wasn’t a fairytale.

  He turned back to the field. The armored men were preparing the catapult again.

  “ARCHERS, FLAMING ARROWS THIS TIME!” Glennock roared, then pointed at the two nearest guards. “You – go to the Temple of Nollos, and tell them we are under attack by hell spore! And you – tell the king that we must ride out to crush them immediately!”

  31

  Black mist curled over the sewer’s water and obscured the image of the watch commander.

  “WOULD YOU CARE TO SEE MORE?” the Dark One asked.

  “Yes,” Eric said greedily.

  The mist parted again, revealing a royal court. Massive sandstone pillars supported the ceiling of the cavernous room. There were mezzanines and balconies where courtiers mingled and whispered and plotted. A wide, polished floor led up to a series of steps culminating in a golden throne, which sat between two twenty-foot tall statues – one of a warrior, the other of a wise lawgiver.

  The blue-caped Lieutenant Cassio strode purposefully across the floor, his helmet under his arm.

  King Arnos – a grey-bearded man in ermine-trimmed robes, with a golden crown encircling his brow – looked down from the top tier of steps, where he was conferring with several advisors.

  Cassio took a knee and bowed his head respectfully. “Your Majesty.”

  “Speak, Lieutenant,” the king said. “What news?”

  “The castle is under attack, sire.”

  The entire room burbled with excitement.

  “Who dares attack us?” Arnos asked, incensed.

  “They fly no colors, sire, so it is impossible to tell. It is a small regiment, perhaps 300 men in armor, but they have a catapult.”

  “A catapult?!” the king exclaimed. “What do they use as ammunition?”

  “I do not know, sire. I was dispatched before their first attack. It seemed to be barrels – perhaps flaming pitch.”

  “Your Majesty,” a new voice interjected. “With your permission.”

  The speaker was a younger man, perhaps thirty years old, with a brown beard and simple but elegant clothes.

  “Speak, Lord Naughton,” the king said.

  “With your permission, I shall lead a force out to rout them. Three hundred men, no matter how well armored, cannot withstand a cavalry of a thousand.”

  “You do your late father credit, Lord Naughton,” the king said. “But something is amiss here. This is a provocation to war, and yet I know not why. We are at peace with all the lands on our borders. There is no reason for this effrontery.”

  “All the be
tter for me to go out and crush their rebellion, sire, lest they be emboldened by the slowness of our response.”

  The courtiers whispered amongst themselves at the young man’s impertinence.

  The king, though, did not take offense.

  “Ah, the haste and impetuousness of youth,” Arnos chuckled. “I would know more before we commit our resources. Lieutenant, the drawbridge is closed and the gate is up, yes?”

  “Yes, your Majesty.”

  “And were the archers deployed to counterattack?”

  “Yes, your Majesty.”

  “Then we are safe enough to take our time and determine how best to respond.”

  Suddenly there was a commotion as another guard ran into the room and knelt beside Cassio.

  “What news, Sergeant?” the king asked.

  “Sire, the soldiers have attacked – by flinging hell spore into the city walls.”

  There was a collective gasp and outcry amongst the courtiers.

  Cassio looked over in wide-eyed alarm.

  The king grew pale. “What? Are you sure?”

  “I saw it with my own eyes, sire. It is as all the stories describe – a horror beyond telling.”

  “Have you alerted the Mages?”

  “Another soldier went to them, sire. They should know by now.”

  “Good – good,” the king murmured.

  “Sire,” Naughton said, “should we not ready our forces for a ground assault, just in case?”

  King Arnos turned to the young bearded man. “We will wait, Lord Naughton, and see first what Master Talis and the mages make of these upstarts. Let us pray your services will not be needed today.”

  Naughton bowed his head respectfully and said no more.

  32

  “Huh,” Eric said thoughtfully.

  “What?” Cythera asked.

  Eric pointed at the bearded man’s reflection in the water. “That Lord Naughton guy? I think I killed his dad…”

  The dark smoke curled over the water.

  “MORE?” the Unnamed One asked.

  “I want to see the mages.”