Throne of the Ancients: A LitRPG Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 6)

by Carrie Summers

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Throne of the Ancients

  Book Six

  Stonehaven League

  Carrie Summers

  Chapter One

  “OKAY, WAIT.” DEVON leaned over and adjusted the padded canvas pants she wore over her regular armor, pulling the oversized waist up to the bottom edge of her rib cage. “Okay, now.”

  Even with the padding, she had to concentrate on avoiding tensing up as her opponent, all two and a half feet of him, advanced. Bravlon bared his teeth in what was meant to be a ferocious snarl. But the recent loss of the dwarf child’s two front baby teeth and his disgustingly adorable green eyes totally hosed his attempt. Devon fought an impulse to grin like an idiot and blather in baby talk as his passive spell effect washed over her.

  She swallowed, a faint clamminess slicking her palms.

  You resist Adoration. Barely. (Success chance +55% due to acquired resistance)

  Devon edged back a step and tore her eyes from the kid’s face. When she focused on his weapon hand and the movement of his feet, she had better luck resisting his spell. As long as he didn’t make a cute little noise or something.

  Bravlon sidestepped, knees bent like he’d been taught, and seemed to be looking for an opening. Devon kept her fists up, legs ready to spring as she adjusted her stance to match his movements. Around them, the stone buildings of Ishildar hemmed a marble-paved square, the ancient stone smooth beneath their feet. Most of the buildings showed centuries of decay in their fallen archways and toppled pillars, but a few lifted intact facades over the square. The late morning sun pulled sharp shadows from what had once been intricate wall carvings but were now gentle, age-muted undulations in the stone.

  Bravlon kept circling, which made her think the lessons about waiting for an opening were starting to take. Too late, she realized that his training was indeed working, but not in the way she’d figured. A final step to the left brought her square into the glare of the sun, forcing her to squint and snap a hand up to shade her eyes.

  The moment she dropped her guard, Bravlon shouted and sprinted forward, stumpy legs pumping furiously. He swung his wool-wrapped warhammer in a wide arc, aiming for her hip.

  Devon tried to jump aside, but the padded trousers—and her crappy Dodge skill—made her too slow. She watched while, as if in slow-motion, the heavy head of the warhammer slammed into the pointy part of her hip bone.

  And she was still watching as a chunk of her midsection dissolved into shadow. A surge of nausea clenched her stomach as the angular head of the warhammer passed through her body, a cold and unwelcome invader. It didn’t exactly hurt, and she didn’t take any damage, but she honestly would have preferred the dull ache of an in-game injury to the sensation of having the blow sink through her flesh and out the other side.

  You have gained mastery in a combat form: Shadow Shifter - Tier 1 (+3% mastery)

  You are now at 28% mastery of this tier.

  Devon clenched her jaw to push back the wave of sick. The form’s evasion was easier to handle if she didn’t actually watch attacks pass through her body, but the physical sensation was still pretty horrid. According to Aijal, the Esh Shadow Master who had granted her the form, she would probably get used to it over time. It was important that she could sense the attacks that the form’s ability prevented. Otherwise, she might not know she was in danger. At Tier 1, Shadow Shifter only prevented around 30% of melee attacks from damaging her. The rest would do full damage.

  “That would have hit—” Devon said a split-second before something slammed into her kidney. She coughed and staggered, a sudden ache radiating from the impact point despite the padding on her body and the weapon. “Ouch.”

  She dashed forward a few steps to get out of range before turning, intent on complimenting Bravlon on the quick follow-through. A squeak of surprise left her throat when she spotted Greel standing behind the child. Devon sighed. Why did the lawyer have to show up right when Bravlon landed a big hit?

  “Nice maneuver,” the lawyer said as he clapped Bravlon on the shoulder. “Though the contest isn’t particularly fair. Perhaps later I can instruct you in how an opponent with actual skills might have avoided that blow.”

  Bravlon giggled and raised his warhammer again.

  Devon’s health bar flashed and started to refill. She glared at Greel as she pressed a fist to her back where the hammer had struck. The blow had landed higher than she’d expected, near the top of the padding. Bravlon was growing fast. If she was going to continue playing targeting dummy for the kid, she was going to need padding for her chest and shoulders, too.

  “What do you want, Greel?”

  “You made such a big deal of your new combat form. I thought I should come see it in action. But now that I have, I’m not sure it was worth the journey from Stonehaven.” The man gestured down one of the wide streets of Ishildar toward the outskirts and the savanna beyond.

  Devon rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure that’s why you came.”

  The lawyer snorted. “And perhaps I wanted to check in on what sort of lessons you’re giving Dorden and Heldi’s young progeny. He does realize that most opponents will fight back, right?”

  Devon took a deep breath and counted to five as she exhaled. “You know as well as I that I can’t attack him.”

  “Oh?” Greel said, raising an eyebrow. “Afraid of a little retaliatory damage, huh?”

  Shortly after Bravlon’s “birth,” which had actually been a protracted summoning spell, his mother had buffed him with an ability that made him invulnerable and struck back at anyone who attempted to damage him. The buff would last until the little guy was a teenager.

  Rather than dignify Greel’s question with a response, she just sighed and turned back to the young dwarf. “That was a good change of momentum. Kee
p that—”

  Devon swallowed her words and threw out her arms for balance as the earth heaved, then jerked hard to the side. She stumbled, barely keeping her feet as the earthquake rocked Ishildar. At the edges of the square, the walls of ancient buildings shook and released puffs of dust. A square-cut stone tumbled from a decaying arch and smashed down on courtyard flagstones, sending rock chips flying. Pigeons erupted from building eaves, flapping and squawking.

  After the initial surprise, she bent her knees and let the ground shimmy beneath her. Bravlon grinned, clearly enjoying the ride, and Greel stared at the ground, lip twitching as if in annoyance at the interruption. The whole shake lasted maybe twenty or thirty seconds, longer than most of the tremors that had rattled the area recently, but not enormously so. The quakes had been going on for days, ever since Devon and her friends had pushed the demon army south from Stonehaven and erected a shield to hold them there. The trembling meant Hezbek was even busier than usual supplying parties exploring Ishildar with healing potions—rockfall had caused more injuries than combat lately—but the quakes hadn’t done much damage otherwise. The real concern was that the timing was too coincidental. The tremors were related to the demonic presence; Devon was sure of it. She just wasn’t sure how.

  When silence fell over the street, she turned back to Bravlon and dropped into a combat crouch.

  “What was I saying?” she asked him, pointedly ignoring Greel.

  “Momentum!” Bravlon chirped.

  “Right. You did a good job changing direction so fast. But make sure you don’t try the same trick twice in a row.”

  “Anyway…” Greel said, drawing his knife and examining his cuticles as if looking for hangnails to trim.

  Devon raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “Oh, you’re still here? Sorry. I figured you’d have left after assuring yourself of my continued incompetence.”

  He smirked. “Now that I realize the depths of the disservice you’re doing the lad, I figure I might as well deliver a message from Jarleck. Perhaps it will convince you to leave off these so-called lessons.”

  Devon sighed and straightened, raising a hand to Bravlon to ask for patience. “Jarleck knows I’ll be back this evening.”

  Greel shrugged. “True, but I did tell him I planned to spend the afternoon in one of the city’s libraries investigating historical legal documents detailing the trade arrangements between Ishildar and her vassal societies, and he asked if I knew whether you were in the city today.”

  “Sounds to me like he was just trying to change the subject. This might surprise you, but not everyone finds the legal arrangements of dead civilizations to be an interesting conversation topic.”

  He huffed and curled his lip in disgust. “And this might surprise you, but not everyone has the curiosity of a land whale.”

  “A what?”

  “Dumbest creatures to slide their ponderous way across the Rengen Wastes, which you might know if you spared any energy for learning about this world and its fauna.”

  Devon clenched her jaw and exhaled. “Seriously, dude. Jarleck didn’t send you with a message.”

  “No, but he did say he had some stuff to talk to you about this evening. Apparently some decisions need making…though why he persists in involving you in these things, I sincerely can’t understand.”

  “Maybe because I’m the leader of Stonehaven?”

  “A fact which still manages to astonish me.”

  “More fighting!” Bravlon chirped, pounding his warhammer against the stone floor.

  Devon turned back to the child. “Yes, let’s keep on. Greel was just heading off to the library.”

  The lawyer gave an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose it is kind of Bravlon to provide you sparring practice appropriate to your skill level. I’m sure Jarleck wouldn’t want to drag you away from such a worthy opponent.”

  Bravlon puffed his little chest upon being called worthy. The child straightened his plate helm and made a sound like a puppy growling. Devon just barely avoided smiling and cooing at him as he raised his weapon. She’d learned the hard way that if she failed to resist the Adoration effect, it usually ended with a wool-wrapped warhammer to the teeth.

  “All right,” she said, raising her fists. “Take your best shot.”

  Bravlon took a deep breath. “Gwory is mine!” he shouted in a high-pitched voice. With lips pulled back in an adorable snarl, he charged. Devon stepped the wrong direction when the kid feinted, and her breath left her lungs as the warhammer pounded her belly.

  “Ouch,” Greel said, snorting. The man made more weird noises in his throat—laughter?—as he turned and stalked stiffly off, his twisted spine turning each step into a limp.

  Jerk.

  Chapter Two

  DEVON SPOTTED JARLECK in one of his usual stations. Stalwart as ever, the man was standing on the palisade’s wall-walk where he gazed out over the parapet. Her guildmate, Owen, was with him. Good. Devon had been hoping for an update on the Illumin barrier that was holding back the demons as well.

  Climbing the final steps onto the wall-walk, she shaded her eyes against the red glare of the evening sun. As usual, the view from the wall made her breath catch; wide grasslands stretched far away to the west, the seed heads ruffled by gentle breezes. Yet scattered across the savanna, newly scorched patches marked the sites where demons had conjured flame. Areas of churned earth showed where her stone guardians had planted their heavy feet and stood firm against the ravaging horde. Quiet reigned over the area now, save for the clangs of hammers against anvils in Stonehaven and out in the player camp, a growing collection of canvas and hide structures connected to her settlement by a cobblestone road. But rather than feeling peaceful, that calm reminded her of the moment before a car crash, hurtling metal racing toward a collision with immovable stone.

  Jarleck and Owen were deep in discussion, and Devon took the opportunity to turn and inspect the settlement from above. Stonehaven bustled as it always had, but the mood was different. Devon’s followers moved along footpaths with quick steps and hunched shoulders, often glancing toward the main gate as if to assure themselves that the walls still stood.

  She glanced south toward Owen’s barrier. Visible by day as only a faint line burned in the grass, the shield was evident at night as a faintly shimmering curtain sealing off Stonehaven and Ishildar from the demon army. It seemed such a flimsy thing to hide behind. That thought cured her impulse to dawdle, and she hurried across the wall-walk to speak to the men.

  “Hi, Devon,” Owen said before he turned to face her. Devon tried not to grimace. Owen’s abilities, this extra-sensory awareness of the world—or of the pattern, as he described it—was kind of creepy sometimes. Especially when paired with his tendency to go all Yoda on her.

  “I guess the pattern told you I wanted to talk to you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light. It wasn’t Owen’s fault that the demonic AI, Zaa, had taken control of his mind and forced him to play for weeks as the demon general, Raazel. If not for Devon’s efforts and those of Owen’s girlfriend, Cynthia, Owen would still be trapped in the hell plane. Or maybe he would be leading Zaa’s army in their march through the mortal realm. Either way, Owen’s long period of deep connectedness with Zaa had granted his mind the capability to better understand the logic and—to use his words—the patterns of the game’s creator AIs. He could even twist the rules of the world to some extent, a power which granted him this Illumin magic outside the constraints of ordinary class and skill-based advancement.

  A faint smirk twisted Owen’s lips, out of place with his otherwise haggard appearance. In the days since they’d gained a respite from the demons’ advance, Owen had been working non-stop, frequently needing to jog for miles across the savanna while refreshing the barrier.

  “You give my abilities more credit than they’re due,” he said.

  “So you grew eyes in the back of your skull?”

  He smirked again. “Jarleck saw yo
u coming, and I felt your footsteps.” He stomped on the wall-walk, setting it shivering.

  “Oh,” Devon said. “So you can’t guess which number I’m thinking of?”

  “Probably thirteen, but I only think that because you like to pretend to be all edgy.”

  Devon snorted, glad to hear him sound a bit like his old self. “I have to act a little edgy to compensate for this monstrosity, right?” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder to indicate her dragon-scale-sequined Tiny Sparklebomb Backpack of Subpar Holding. “Otherwise I might as well just give up and try to start a glitter-and-unicorns farm.”

  “It really is hideous,” he agreed. “Anyway, as far as predicting the future, I might be able to guess what kind of quests your University building will cough up once it’s finished, but...” A flash of concern darkened his features. “Actually, the pattern isn’t looking too good for completing that before the demons find a way past the barrier.”

  Devon swallowed. “Wait. Are you saying we’re going to lose?”

  Her guildmate shook his head slowly. “Honestly, I can’t really interpret what I see. Probably because the outcome depends too much on players, and they’re not as woven into the pattern.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I feel the brightness of Ishildar and a dark flood lapping at her shores…not really new information, I know. Everything is just so uncertain.”

  Well, uncertain was a better status than totally doomed. Devon searched Owen’s eyes as he reopened them. Despite the weariness on his face, the hollows of his sunken cheeks, his gaze still burned like he had a fever or something. “Seriously, how are you holding up, Owen? It’s got to be hard to keep the shield refreshed.” During the battle, some of her Stone Guardians had carried Owen across the savanna while he laid down the barrier, but soon after the fight, Devon had sensed deep weariness from her minions. A couple of them slowed nearly to a stop, just barely able to trudge back to Ishildar. The guardians, it seemed, could advance beyond the city’s boundaries, but only for a short time. Unless another emergency arose, she needed to keep them within the borders they’d guarded for centuries.