by Phil Tucker
“Vanatos,” he said, voice a bass rumble, “shall we remove them?”
“Not yet,” said the man in white. “We are, after all, but guests. Let us question them first.”
“Guy in black is level twenty-five,” said Falkon.
I forced myself not to gulp. Those two alone could have taken us, especially in our current mana-depleted state, but the three others with them solidified my sense of doom.
“Wyvern,” said the orc woman at the back of the group, pointing at the corpse with a brutal-looking stone falchion. “What’s left of it.”
She was as large as the man in black, and wore an assortment of furs bound with leather straps and random oddments of plate armor over her powerfully athletic form. Her thighs were so muscled as to almost appear deformed, while her shoulders and arms were corded with muscle so I had no doubt as to her ability to swing her twin falchions. Her thick black hair was gathered into a topknot and spilled down her back, her face at once brutal and handsome, feminine and savage.
“And four ogres,” said Vanatos. He came to a stop and considered us. “Your work?”
A quick calculation: play it low-level and prevent them from thinking us a threat, or claim the kills and seek to bluff them?
“Orc’s level thirty-one,” whispered Falkon.
“Perhaps,” I said. “Who are you? What do you want here?”
Vanatos’ smile never reached his eyes, which had the flat, cold stare of a killer. “We’re known by several names, most of them less than flattering. Of all our monikers, however, I’m partial to the Beggars of Solomon.”
“Shit,” hissed Michaela.
Some stubborn core prevented me from turning to flee. Instead, I placed my hands on my hips. “And we three are of the Cruel Winter guild. This is our home. What is it you want here?”
The fourth member of their group stepped forward, laying an elegant hand on Vanatos’ spotless white shoulder. “How bold. How foolish. Come, let’s play with them.” She was an elf, her skin ashen, her body wiry and lean like that of a professional ballet dancer and clad in a suit of beautifully worked metal that revealed her pale form as much as protected it. Ivory hair fell like coils of mist down past her shoulders to her high breasts, and her face was over-refined, complete with harsh, high cheekbones, an aquiline nose and full, red lips.
“We’ve come to fulfill a contract,” Vanatos called out, slipping an arm around the elf’s narrow waist. “Cede the castle to me and quit its grounds till we’re done, and there shall be no need for violence.”
“Elf’s level twenty-five,” said Falkon. “And the battlemage is level twenty-seven.”
The battlemage stood in the center of the group, wearing a leather jacket whose hue gradated from dark crimson at the hems to black at the cowl that hung over his face. The jacket hung open, and I could see leather belts crossing his bare, muscled chest, which was completely covered in tattooed words like the page of a book.
“We can’t take them,” continued Falkon. “There’s nothing to decide here.”
“I won’t abandon the castle,” said Michaela, voice shaking. “It’s not an option.”
“We can’t fight them off,” said Falkon. “Cede the castle, Chris. We’ll think up a new strategy.”
“Who hired you?” I asked.
“That’s none of your concern,” said Vanatos. “My patience wears thin. Transfer the domains under your control to me. Now.”
I’ve always hated bullies. But what could I hope to achieve here through a futile act of resistance?
The large man in black and bronze turned his head slightly to one side, as if examining us from a fresh angle. “The one in the center is in Death March mode.”
The elf’s mouth curled into a wicked smile. “He is? How delicious. Let’s keep him. It’s been too long since I turned one into a soul stone.”
Her words sent a chill through me. Soul stone? I summoned my character sheet and checked my mana: down to five. Not good.
“First, we question them,” said Vanatos. “Then you can have your fun, Delphina.” He turned to make eye contact with the other Beggars. “Understood?”
“I’ll take them alone,” said Delphina, eyes shifting to burning vermillion. “Make them talk. Nobody interfere.”
“Get out of here, Chris,” said Falkon. “We’ll hold them.”
I didn’t have enough mana to transport us all away with Shared Darkness and Double Step. A split second to think. No way we could defeat them. Fight our way free?
Vanatos crossed his arms and rocked back onto his heels. “Are you sure? You’ve nothing to prove, my dear. But very well.”
“Hold tight, Falkon,” I said, and taking Michaela’s hand in mine I pulled her back into the shadowed doorway of the keep.
All hell broke loose.
Falkon sank into a defensive crouch, bastard sword held before him. Delphina strode forward, the air before her face beginning to shimmer and warp as if growing superheated, and then the darkness claimed Michaela and me, sucking us into oblivion and spitting us out atop the curtain wall. We appeared beside the wyvern’s tower, and I immediately released Michaela’s hand.
“Supporting fire!” I said, then stepped back into the darkness.
The swirling, velvety embrace of the shadows, and I stepped out of the base of the goblin tower behind the Beggars. Delphina was still striding toward Falkon, who had inexplicably frozen up. He was struggling to free himself, his whole body shaking, sweat running down his brow, but he was paralyzed.
A bolt of screaming green fire came arcing down from above. Delphina threw herself aside at the last moment, soaring high into the air, knees to her chest, but in doing so whatever spell she’d cast on Falkon broke. His Avalanche Roar burst from his throat, reverberating across the bailey, and he charged forward, cleaving his blade at Delphina where she landed nimbly in a crouch.
The elf did a backflip, avoiding the swing that would have lopped off her head, and kept flipping away from Falkon as he charged after her.
I activated Uncanny Aim and took a bead on Delphina, drew one of my daggers and hurled it with Pin Down high overhead. The dagger spun through the air just as Michaela called out a harsh spell from above, causing flickers of green lightning to envelop Delphina, who cursed and quit flipping just as my dagger fell from directly above her to sink into her boot.
The battlemage let out a croak of laughter.
Delphina ducked beneath Falkon’s slash, then kicked his feet out from under him. He fell with a crash of armor. The elf plucked my dagger free, came up into a handstand then flipped to her feet, launching my dagger right back at me.
Shit.
I burst forward into the sunlight in a full sprint, swinging wide around the other four Beggars. My dagger curved through the air, orienting on me. I ran, watching incredulously as it corrected its flight path to swing in and slam into the back of my thigh like some kind of impossible heat-seeking missile.
I fell into a roll and came up awkwardly. Delphina screamed as her body suddenly went rigid. Green bolts of electricity played over her ashen skin once more, then sank into her body.
“I’ve got her!” yelled Michaela. “Now, Falkon! Now!”
He sprang to his feet and brought his blade up so it gleamed in the sunlight, but just before he could swing, the black and bronze Beggar raised his hand. A complex circle of golden light sprang into being over Delphina’s head then dropped over her, driving Michaela’s green magic before it till it impacted the ground and burst with a flash. Delphina leapt aside at the last moment, Falkon’s blade screaming through where she’d been a second ago.
“Amusing,” said Vanatos. “But enough. Let’s finish them.”
I tore my dagger out from the back of my thigh, activated Uncanny Aim once more and targeted Vanatos, throwing my blade as I limped toward Falkon. The black and bronze B
eggar spoke another word, and my dagger bounced off a second circle of spinning golden light, its edges glowing with runes and arcane marks.
“No!” Delphina’s outrage was palpable. “They are mine!”
“They’re embarrassing you, my love,” said Vanatos.
The orc warrior strode toward Falkon, her expression grim, stone falchions held out to her sides. She prowled like a panther, in no hurry, eyes locked on her prey. The battlemage shot his cuffs, extending his hands which elongated into massive claws that began to burn a deep and fiery crimson. The black and bronze Beggar continued to speak and cast spells, summoning burning circles of different configurations and colors around his friends.
Shit, shit, shit.
I reached Falkon and turned, panting for breath. Delphina extended her hand toward Michaela, cried out a spell, and our undead ally crumpled to the ground just as one of her necrotic bolts slammed into another spinning circle shield above Vanatos.
My mind spun as I tried to think up a plan, a stratagem, something that could get us out of this situation. Blood running down the back of my leg, mundane dagger in hand, and down to one mana, I couldn’t think of a single tactic.
Drops of what looked like lava fell from the battlemage’s claws. The orc warrior ran the blade of one stone falchion down the length of the other. They moved slowly, closing in with the inexorability of death.
6
“Escape,” said Falkon.
I wanted to be heroic. I wanted to say I’d never abandon my friends; that I’d fight by their side right till the bitter end. But I knew that if worst came to worst, Falkon would respawn and Michaela could admit to working for Guthorios and surrender. My body on its pod in Miami would flatline and that’d be the end of Justin’s chances.
“I’ll come back for you,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Don’t take too long,” said Falkon, and he flashed me a smile before roaring his defiance once more and charging forth, blade held high.
What a glorious bastard.
I leapt back, intent on diving into the shadows within the keep door, but the battlemage raised one searing fist and, with a cry, he filled the air with burning strands of crimson lightning. They simply flooded out of his fist and arced across the sky, smashing down to shimmer and coruscate like vertical rivers of lava, filling the air with the stench of sulfur and humming with power.
I nearly delved right into one which had fallen slantwise across the keep door, and only managed to save myself from immolation by contorting and falling to the ground. The heat coming off the oblique river of flame was tremendous, and sweat immediately popped out across my brow. Stunned by the power on display, I shot a look at Falkon who ran around one such beam to swing at the orc.
She anticipated the blow with nauseating ease, not even bothering to block or parry, and sidestepped at precisely the right moment so that Falkon staggered past her, overbalanced. Casually, she swung her stone falchion up and around, slamming it into the back of Falkon’s armor. The force of the blow blasted him down to his knees, and blood burst from his mouth.
Fury suffused me, and for a second I almost darted back to help him, the elf’s laughter melding with the battlemage’s sniggering, but I reined myself in. Instead, I leapt to my feet, nearly falling as the pain in my wounded thigh swamped me. Then a circle of blue magic formed around me, a tight knot of concentric circles spinning in opposite directions, the runes that overlaid them growing brighter by the moment.
A quick glance showed me the black and bronze Beggar had his hand outstretched in my direction. I my limbs began to seize up, but before they could completely do so I dove under the spitting beam of fire and into the swirling darkness that filled the keep’s door.
I burned my last point of mana and activated Double Step. The darkness embraced me, drank me deep, and I emerged a moment later high on the curtain wall, crouched in the corner beside the goblin tower where the shadows were thickest.
For a moment I considered simply remaining still and observing the enemy below. Falkon was struggling to rise, the orc warrior circling him slowly, giving him time to gather his strength. Michaela wasn’t too far from me. Perhaps I could run to her side—
“There.” Delphina’s voice carried up to me. “He’s up on the wall.”
Vanatos looked in the direction she was pointing and right at me. “Ah. Balthus. Will you be so kind?”
Balthus, the black and bronze Beggar, turned and raised his palm in my direction. Hell, no. I engaged the second part of Double Step and sank back into the shadows once more, this time flinging myself clear out of the castle and to the far shadows beyond the barbican.
I emerged from their velvety depths at a run, and sprinted as best I could down the slope toward Feldgrau. My thoughts were in disarray, and every few strides I glanced back over my shoulder, fully expecting the Beggars to enact some new, impossible power to capture me. Fear compelled me to activate Adrenaline Surge and I fairly flew down the path, flat-out sprinting as if the very hounds of hell were at my heels.
Adrenaline Surge gave out just as I reached the outskirts of the ruined village. I crashed to the ground in the lee of a small collapsed cottage, sobbing for breath and trying to ignore the stabbing pain in my leg and the vicious stitch in my side. My stomach trembled, then heaved, and I spat up a mass of mostly digested wyvern steak and bile. I turned to look back up the path. Nobody and nothing followed.
What just happened? Where had those guys come from? I’d thought Castle Winter was so far removed from the beaten track that casual passersby were unheard of. I sank back against the warped boards of the cottage wall, watching the castle through eyes half-lidded against my splitting headache.
No, not passersby. Vanatos said he’d been hired. By whom? Brianna? No. She’d have come herself if she wanted something from us; as powerful as the Beggars had been, she was even stronger. Someone who knew of Jeramy’s secret, then. It had to be. Why else return to an abandoned castle? Why send such a powerful force if not to ferret out that treasure deep in the dungeon?
Which meant I had to find a way to stop them, or beat them to the punch. Cleansing Lotharia depended on my being useful to Guthorios, not to mention keeping Michaela on our team. But how on earth could I fight the Beggars? Delphina alone had almost been a match for the three of us. All of them combined? Terrifying. And that was without Vanatos joining the fray.
I rubbed at my temple as the horrors of Adrenaline Surge lifted, returning me to a state of clarity. I drew a deep breath and sat up straight. First things first.
I summoned my character sheet. We’d killed four of the goblin spiders. Time to power up.
You have gained 120 experience (120 for defeating four xythagas). You have 217 unused XP. Your total XP is 1067.
Congratulations! You are Level 11!
“Yay,” I said weakly, wishing the new level meant I’d have access to something on a par with the Beggars of Solomon. I knew it didn’t. Level eleven meant I was now almost a third as powerful as the orc warrior lady. I tried hard not to let despair crush me. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, slowly. The wound in my thigh was throbbing something awful. I thought of Justin. Thought of my mother lying in the hospital bed the hospice program had delivered to our apartment at the very end. Thought of my dad the last time I’d seen him, my mother and I dropping him off at a hotel when she could no longer stand his cheating. Thought of all the pain I’d already survived, real pain, real tragedy. The Beggars were nothing, I told myself. Just a bunch of jackasses throwing their weight around in a computer game. I could handle this.
I would handle this.
I opened my eyes and swiped to the next window.
Your attributes have increased!
Mana +1
You have learned new skills! Stealth: Basic (IV), Survival: Basic (II)
That was it? Falkon and Lotharia had warned me the bo
nanza gains from the early levels were going to slack off, but a single point of mana and a little more Stealth was still a bitter reward. Just when I needed maximum gains, I was getting next to nothing!
I swiped the windows away angrily. Fine. If that was how the system worked, I’d roll with it. I still had a bunch of XP to spend.
A new window opened up:
You have lost the following partial domains:
The goblin tower [broken -2] (Castle Winter)
The Iron Throat tower [broken -4] (Castle Winter)
The bailey [broken -2] (Castle Winter)
The barbican [broken -4] (Castle Winter)
I stared at the text with dull resentment. Damn the Beggars of Solomon. Like that, they’d torn the veil of illusions I’d allowed to build before my eyes. Had I thought myself so tough, killing wyverns and xythagas? Well, they’d walked into my castle and bent me over their knee.
I leaned back and closed my eyes. A new truth was evident. Something that had been right before my eyes all along. As a darkblade, I excelled when I could pick the field of battle, lay out a strategy and execute it. Under the right conditions and at full mana I was lethal even to creatures far beyond my paygrade. But surprise me with a tough encounter in broad daylight? I’d get my ass whupped.
I dug my thumbs into my eyes and rubbed them hard. Every one of my victories had depended on the terrain favoring my shadow magic, on me taking the initiative and surprising my enemies. The spider dude in the tower. The ogres and wyvern. Our second encounter with the xythagas. Plenty of darkness, plenty of mana, and the element of surprise on my side.
I sat up straighter. Well, the Beggars had lost their sole opportunity to catch me unawares. Whatever came next would be fought on my terms, on terrain of my choosing, and only when I was ready.
The thought calmed my nerves. The ball was in my court. Time to man up and get to work.
I swiped away the domains window and looked at the next ones.
