Devon reached out her fingers and brushed the marble-carved claws of the nearest dragon’s foot. It couldn’t just end here like this, could it?
Chapter Forty-Five
“HEY! WAIT. WHAT’S going on?” Jeremy struggled in Torald’s grip, trying to yank his upper arms free of the paladin’s chainmail gauntlets, but his Strength wasn’t nearly what he needed for a successful Grapple against the tank. He quickly gave up and instead looked at the group of gathered players as if in appeal. “If you guys haven’t forgotten, there’s a war on. For all the good it might do at this point, I’d still like to get to the bulwark.”
Chen felt his cheeks twitch with contained rage. Part of him still couldn’t believe it was true, not after everything their small group had been through together, but the data didn’t lie. He hardened his jaw while he settled his emotions and then took a step closer to the bard. Jeremy’s hat had been knocked askew. It now sagged over his right ear, and the ostrich plume was bobbing in Torald’s face. The paladin ignored the distraction, his face locked in a grim expression.
Jeremy winced in pain, making Chen think Torald had just increased the pressure in his grip.
“Ordinarily, I’d take my time questioning you in hopes that you might redeem yourself with a confession,” Chen said. “Five years as our group’s healer ought to have earned you that much. But there is no time. It’s too late already, really. Where will the griefer attack come from? Tell us, and even though it’s impossible for us to part as friends at this point, there’s a chance we’ll just let you walk away if we somehow survive today.”
Jeremy blinked and shook his head as if confused, but then he stiffened and looked at Chen with a mixture of shock and regret. “Aww, shit. Dude, it’s not what you think.”
“Oh really? So you didn’t contact this Nil person to tell him that Devon was vulnerable? You didn’t bring the Blood-soaked Blades over the Skargill Mountains where they massacred the Skevalli royals? You haven’t been in contact with the raid, conveying information about our defenses?”'
Jeremy grimaced. “Well, yeah. But it’s still not what you think.”
He looked as if he would have slumped his shoulders if Torald hadn’t been squeezing his arms so hard that his neck had kind of disappeared between his collarbones. Instead, he dropped his gaze to the ground between him and Torald. “I know I should have told Devon, but sometimes she’s so conservative when it comes to risks, you know?”
“You should have told her what? That you betrayed her?” Chen pounded a fist into his palm. “You know what? I’m not listening to this. Either you tell us where you instructed the players to attack, or we kill and spawn camp you and start tracing your IP to a physical location.”
“Dude, wait. I’m not a traitor, okay? Yeah, I brought those guys here. But it was because Devon needed more fighters than we were going to be able to recruit, and whether we like it or not they are probably the highest-level guild on the server.”
Chen could see Torald’s frustration building, and as much as he wanted to give permission for the paladin to let loose on the traitorous bard, something didn’t seem right. Jeremy had always been a bit slippery, but now that Chen had him dead to rights, he was smart enough to realize it would be impossible to talk his way out of trouble.
“You have two minutes to finish explaining,” Chen said. “But don’t assume I believe you.”
Jeremy swallowed, then glanced around Temple Square. “I need a good vantage point, and I need to borrow Jarleck’s spyglass. If you can give me that, I’ll do more than talk my way out of this. I’ll show you my plan.”
Chapter Forty-Six
AFTER MOPING FOR a good thirty seconds, Devon forced herself to climb back onto her feet and think things through. As she stepped around the side of the throne, intent on at least examining it from all sides, a blue-white glow sprang to life near the ceiling, and Bob drifted down to hang in front of her face.
The wisp booped her nose. Devon smiled faintly as she laid a hand on the arm of the throne. The stone was cool under her skin. “Hey, Bob.”
“So don’t take this the wrong way, but I thought chainmail bikinis had gone out of style.”
Devon glanced down at her undergarments, a reinforced leather bra and a pair of boy shorts cut from something soft, lambskin maybe. When she’d first logged in, her undergarments had been made from roughspun cloth, and as she’d leveled and obtained better gear, her undies had upgraded to match. She guessed it was one of the perks of power or something.
But still, it certainly wasn’t chainmail. Bob was just being a jerk as usual.
“Or maybe this is your Princess-Leia-in-Jabba’s-lair outfit.”
She sighed. “I needed the speed buff.”
“Whatever excuse you want to make, Princess.”
“You know, I’m really not in the mood.”
“Right. You’re supposed to be sitting on the throne and saving the world. Which begs the question…”
She shook her head in frustration. “I don’t understand. It says it requires level 50.”
“I see. And you, ever the literal-minded, have decided to give the throne a once over and go find something else to do while the city burns.”
“Actually, I figured there must be some piece I was missing. I thought a closer examination might yield some answers.”
Bob shimmered, the wisp’s best approximation of a sigh. “Well, as they say, you do you. Or you could just try sitting on it anyway. Think about it. If a sword required 40 skill points in Two-handed Slashing and there was a rabid lemur trying to disembowel you, would you just lie there and let the beast dig in with its little claws, or would you pick up the sword and try to hit the lemur with it anyway?”
Devon drew her eyebrows together. “I’d probably just try to punch it or something.”
“Okay, so what if your hands were tied and you couldn’t punch it?”
“Then clearly I wouldn’t be able to pick up the sword either.”
Bob gave a frustrated wiggle. “Okay. You don’t need to be so pedantic. I’m pretty sure you know what I meant. Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Dude, your analogies are crap.”
“I’m just saying, is there something physically preventing you from sitting on the throne?”
“I dunno.”
“Right. You don’t know because you haven’t even tried.”
Devon thought back to her early days in the game. Back then, the unidentified ivory fang that had eventually been fashioned into her dagger, Night’s Fang, had been a crude weapon requiring 60-something points in One-Handed Piercing to wield effectively. When she’d tried to use one to hit a tree, she’d fumbled the attempt and nearly stabbed herself in the process. But Greel, who had also lacked the requisite skill, but who had more piercing practice than Devon, had managed to inflict a necrotic wound with the fang.
She blinked, thinking. Rather than the hard skill or level cap used by many games to control access to items and gear, it seemed like Relic Online had soft caps, a system that simply reduced item effectiveness for unqualified characters. At level 27, she was definitely closer to the “suggested” level of the throne than she’d been when trying to use her handful of skill points to wield a 60-skill-requiring dagger.
She dashed around to the front of the throne. Maybe there was hope after all.
As she grabbed hold of the massive chair’s arm and pulled herself up, a popup appeared.
You lack the level requirement to effectively use the Throne of the Ancients.
Warning: The power of the ancients has often been likened to Wild Magic. The means by which the artifact achieves the user’s desires are often unpredictable. Fumbles and critical failures may amplify this characteristic.
Still, it’s pretty much your only hope. So, yeah, good luck.
She glanced at Bob as she finished climbing onto the seat. The wisp shimmered w
ith anticipation.
Devon’s choices were either to sit all the way back and have her legs straight like a toddler in an adult chair or to sit on the edge with her elbows on the chair arms at shoulder height. At least that posture was a little more commanding than the kid at the grown-up table thing.
“You know, you’re pretty annoying sometimes,” she said as she settled onto the front edge of the seat. “But you sometimes have good advice.”
Bob shone brighter. “Thanks, Champion.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
WELL, AS DEFENSES went, the state of fortifications around the refugee camp was…interesting. Emerson hadn’t seen Stonehaven grow up from its early days but he now appreciated the security that the settlement’s double stone walls had offered.
The bulwark was a glorified rubble heap. Stone blocks from ruined buildings were piled to a height of about twelve feet. Those blocks that had retained enough of their original squaring off had been stacked, creating something a bit more sheer and formidable, but much of the barrier seemed to have been tumbled together. The outer facing was steeper, boasting the bulk of the proper stacking work, and where there’d been enough supply of wood, sharpened stakes protruded from the wall.
On top, earth had been packed into the spaces between blocks to provide a makeshift wall-walk, allowing defenders free movement to different areas that might need extra bodies.
Emerson stood on that earthen path now, gazing toward the south where streets emptied into the savanna. Beyond the edge of the city, just a few feet of empty grassland stood between Ishildar and the demon horde. Except to call it a horde no longer seemed accurate. It was a proper army now, divided into companies and platoons and sorted by utility. Flying imps maintained wedge-shaped attack formations that hovered maybe fifty feet above the ground forces. The infantry, spear-wielding demon thralls and ravagers with adamantine claws, formed blocks of dark flesh at the head of the major streets. Just visible at the flanks of the army, massive demon elites rode upon hellhounds the size of army tanks.
Compared to the demon force, Ishildar’s defenders could scarcely be called an army. Near the edge of the city, Devon’s Stone Guardians stood ready. They, at least, would make the demons fight for ground anywhere within reach of their massive stone arms. As for the rest of the defenders, those who weren’t twenty feet tall with fists of rock, well…
He looked down at his notched Practice Short Sword.
Maybe he’d take down a few of the beasts before the bulwark was overrun.
Lined atop the wall beside him, Stonehaven’s NPCs looked on with grim acceptance. They knew they would die here, but, like Emerson, they wouldn’t go without a fight. The defenders held their silence; there wasn’t anything to say. The only thing left to do was act.
Out on the savanna, a horn sounded. Thousands of thralls stomped in response, raising their spears to hip level. The wicked iron points were raised slightly above horizontal, and their tips caught the light of the sun. Ravagers bent their knees, crouching like runners in the starting blocks. Hellhounds howled.
When a second blast from the horn sounded, the imps shrieked and flew higher, hovering in preparation for a dive. The ravagers burst from their crouches, and the earth shook as they charged for the city. The thralls followed, marching in strict cadence.
To Emerson’s horror, the hellhounds exploded into motion and approached at a dead run, snarling and slobbering. The closest hound leapt over a low building at the edge of the city, claws squealing and throwing sparks as they gouged stone when the beast landed.
The bulwark wasn’t looking like it would offer much defense against that.
He glanced in Stonehaven’s direction, the settlement hidden behind rows of Ishildar’s ruined buildings. The hours he’d spent inside its walls strolling along footpaths that cut through waving green grasses seemed a distant memory now. The settlement was lost, and the city would soon follow.
The nearest ravager squad charged down the street toward his position. Emerson could see the yellow fangs poking from behind the monsters’ snarling lips. Low, bestial whines rose from their throats. The wave of demon flesh broke against the bulwark, the initial ranks smashed by those that came behind. Demons started crawling over their fallen brethren, snarling and howling.
Breath caught in his throat, Emerson stabbed his sword down, skewering a ravager through the mouth and plunging the point into the soft flesh at the back of the beast’s throat. The demon gagged as ichor spurted from the wound. It fell backward, flesh pulling off Emerson’s blade as around 15% of its hitpoints disappeared. The falling body knocked another of the beasts off the bulwark as it fell. Both demons hit the stone flagstones with soft-sounding thumps. Ravagers around them screamed in annoyance. Soon enough, both fallen monsters were rushing forward again.
Emerson swiped the sweat from his eyes. As he raised his blade at a demon that had just crested the wall, a howling hellhound charged through the ranks of infantry, scattering a few as it cleared space to bunch its haunches in preparation to leap.
As the hound sprang, Emerson took an unwitting step back. Fearful shouts peppered the air all around him. The hellhound’s shadow passed over him, and silhouetted by the sun, he spied arrows streaking from the archer platforms. The ammunition struck the hound’s armor and bounced off without shaving off a single hitpoint.
He shook his head, despairing.
As the hellhound landed behind the bulwark, a humming rose from the stones and buildings all around. It sounded almost celestial.
Emerson whirled, searching for the source, and realized that the buildings were beginning to glow. He fell back as a ray of searing light lanced across the scene and blasted a hole through the hellhound.
“Holy crap!” someone shouted. “When did the golems get eye lasers?”
Chapter Forty-Eight
ASHLEY STOOD WITH one shoulder braced against the cliff face which was, apparently, the outer face of the outcrop that defended Stonehaven’s back. Finally, they were out of the sauna-like savanna sun. The low-hanging boughs of an acacia tree brushed the top of her head, little twigs poking her scalp, but it was still glorious to stand to her full height. She rolled her other shoulder, working out the stiffness, and bent each of her knees in turn. If she never combat-crawled another inch in her life, she’d be okay with that. The method of advancement might have gotten them into position without being detected, but it sure as hell hadn’t been fun.
As she rotated to lean her opposite shoulder against the cliff, a ranger-class player ducked under the tree and spoke to Nil in a low voice. “The opening is about fifty yards to the left. Just like Jeremy said.”
Nil nodded as if the report had been a foregone conclusion. “Are the sappers getting to work?”
“Three entered the tunnel,” the ranger replied. “The others are prepping more charges. We should have a confirmation that everything is set in the next five minutes.”
Nil turned to Ashley and a pair of rogues standing near her. “Jeremy claimed that talented climbers would be able to ascend the cliff directly and take out any resistance up top. Does that seem right?”
Ashley didn’t even need to look up to confirm. Her Climbing skill was tier 4, 38 points to be exact, and as long as the cliff wasn’t either glass or overhanging farther than it ascended, she wouldn’t have a problem. “Yeah. As soon as we’re ready. And as long as the demolition doesn’t collapse the whole damn cliff.”
Nil smirked. “If those numb nuts in the tunnel screw up that bad, I think we’re all hosed.”
Ashley shrugged. “Then yeah. I’m good to climb.”
Another of the rogues, a guy who had taken the spymaster specialization, took a few steps out from the cliff face, shaded his eyes, and peered up. “I figure I can manage. Question, though. Seeing as we are basically on top of Stonehaven and Devon’s peeps still have no clue they’re about to be smashed, why didn’t we attack this way before?”
“Because
, genius, this whole region was half-covered in jungle at the time. If you thought the combat crawl was bad, imagine hacking through the miles of vines and thorn bushes. Oh, and, the narrow tunnel we are about to blast wide open was recently started by Devon’s dwarf miners. Jeremy said they’re trying to create a postern gate to allow access for some kind of residential annex or something. So even if we had hacked our way through all that jungle, we would’ve arrived back here with no way to get inside.”
The spymaster rolled his eyes when Nil looked away. “If you’d told us all that, or for that matter, if you’d told us much of anything about this mission, I wouldn’t have to ask this kind of stuff.”
“And since you shouldn’t be asking questions anyway, I’m fine leaving you ignorant. Your job is to do what you’re told so I don’t have to waste my time chatting.”
The spymaster’s jaw hardened. Ashley tensed, just waiting for a fight to break out and ruin their entire element of surprise. Fortunately, the rogue got himself under control. “Anyway, yeah I can climb that. I imagine anyone over 20 skill points can.”
“Then consider yourself deputized to round up anyone who qualifies. Be ready to climb as soon as we receive word that the demolition efforts are good to go.”
As the spymaster slumped off, Ashley almost felt sorry for him. But he should have known better than to antagonize Nil. Anyway, the more people who were upset at the leader, the easier it would be to form her splinter guild.
As Nil stalked off, no doubt to browbeat some of the other guild members, Ashley leaned back against the cliff. She looked up through the screen of acacia leaves into the sky above. Sure, player-versus-environment, or PvE, game content wasn’t her thing. But if she were into just plodding along and mowing through game content to gain levels and items, not to mention learning about the boring stuff—game-world lore and NPC back stories—Stonehaven would be a nice base camp for her play sessions. Maybe even a place worth fighting for.
Throne of the Ancients: A LitRPG Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 6) Page 26
