by M B Reid
She took off at a jog.
Voria knew the layout of the gardens like the back of her hand. She’d had very little to do when she’d first worked her way into the mayors manor, and had explored them extensively for days. The quest line she’d been following had long since been abandoned. Once the game had stopped letting people log out she’d had much more important things to worry about than stealing an artifact from the mayor's secret vault. Like, you know, not dying.
She followed the winding gravel path through the rose gardens, letting it lead her towards the southern wall. Like the manors of every important NPC in the city, the mayor lived at the highest elevation in town, and his property was encircled by a wall of timber. It wasn’t particularly tall, if she jumped on the spot she could see over it, but it was solidly built. Enough to delay the poverty-stricken masses from intruding on his domain. At least until his guards came to slaughter them. Voria felt sick at the thought of how he treated the people of the city. His city.
Yet it hadn’t stopped her from mooching off him and living in luxury. Voria felt the sudden urge to slap herself - not in anger, as she would have expected, but out of disappointment.
Voria reached the southern wall and leapt against it, using her momentum to propel herself up and over. In seconds she was clear, jogging now on the winding road that connected the mayor to his city like an umbilical cord. Voria had always thought of a foetus as a sort of parasite, she’d never wanted children of her own, and that’s exactly what the mayor was. The city tolerated him because they thought he was the best they would get, but in reality he was nothing but a drain on their resources.
From the manor an alarm bell began to ring. Voria knew it would draw all of his personal guard to attention, and probably serve to summon some of the city watch as well. She’d do well to get off this road as soon as she could. It would be hard to explain why she was out and about at this time of night. Especially with everything else going on at the moment. As Voria rounded a bend in the road, laying the city out below her, something stopped her dead in her tracks.
It took a disappointingly long time for her to figure out what her subconscious was trying to tell her.
The warm glow that emanated from several points around the city wasn’t the cheerful glow of a household. It was the untamed burning of fire. Real, genuine, burn-the-city-to-the-ground fire.
And it was spreading.
Chapter Seventeen
Logan stood at the base of the wooden wall, looking up at the empty space Trent had just occupied. The man had scaled the wall as if by magic, crawling up the sheer wooden face like freaking spiderman. Logan looked over to his right and watched as Azoth climbed a rope ladder that dangled towards the river. Their plan was working flawlessly so far, which was enough to make him suspicious. Every good heist story had to go wrong at some point, didn’t it?
“Psst” The shrill whisper came from above, drawing Logan’s eyes upwards. A second later a rope ladder dropped from the top of the wall. Logan rolled his shoulders and grabbed it, slowly pulling himself upward. The rope twisted and shuddered as he climbed, causing his straining arms to shake mercilessly. Animated skeletons apparently only got so much strength in this world, what with the lack of muscles and all. It was barely two meters to the top, but Logan barely made it high enough for rough hands to grab him. Trent helped him over the top and dropped him unceremoniously to the ground.
Logan sat in silence and shame, straining his ears for signs that anyone might have noticed the loud thud he’d made. After a while he heard Trent let out a breath from his perch atop the wall - clearly he hadn’t seen any movement. Logan pulled his wand from the leather strap that holstered it, just in case. With measured footsteps he edged his way out from the wall and closer to the nearest house. It was bathed in darkness and as silent as the grave.
Azoth materialised by his side a moment later, as if the shadows of the wall gave birth to him. The full moon gave them more light than they could need. Perhaps more light than they wanted, but there were still plenty of pools of darkness they could hide amongst. A few minutes later Trent and the Old Man joined them.
It was just the four of them. Logan had protested that at first, but the Old Man had convinced him that the minions were best left in the camp. They were no good at sneaking, and fewer people were likely to draw attention. They’d left the minions to keep the guards at the gate on their toes, serving as a distraction.
“We stick together” Azoth said, interrupting Logan’s thoughts.
Logan almost groaned at the line. If he’d had eyes he would have rolled them. It was a very Azoth thing to say - as if they were soldiers behind enemy lines. It also went without saying. Of course they were going to stick together, there were only four of them against an entire city. Instead of complaining Logan grunted in agreement. Who said he wasn’t a team player?
Azoth took the lead, moving around the left-hand side of the building. They were on the very outskirts of the city, buried behind homes that seemed to be fast asleep. Or emptied by the plague. That thought made Logan worry. Sure, he and Azoth were walking corpses already, but what if they could contract that dreadful disease? If he had to face death, Logan would rather it was something fast - like an arrow to the back of the head. Something he couldn’t see coming, so that he wouldn’t have to relive his life - his real life - before realising he’d failed.
Failed to get back to them.
He knew he should be focused on the task at hand, but Logan couldn’t help the mental image of his daughter that toddled into his mind. Her arms outstretched, calling for him to pick her up, her cherubic face bright with a smile that outshone the sun. As his mind continued to paint the picture it filled in the surroundings of his house. They were in the kitchen. She was running to him from her mother's legs where she’d been hiding when he’d opened the door. She’d started giggling as soon as she realised it was him, home for the night. And his wife, his heart was fit to burst as she smiled at him embracing their child, lifting her high into the air.
Logan’s fist tightened around his wand. That was what he was fighting for. That’s why he was here, slinking through a hostile city in the dark of night. He would return to them, that much was guaranteed.
Ahead of him, Azoth stopped suddenly. Logan froze mid step, copying his friend. He glanced to the side, making sure they weren’t about to be ambushed. Trent and the Old Man stopped behind him, only a few feet away. A thought flashed through Logan’s mind - they were too close together, all bunched up where a single spell could hit them all. He hadn’t seen any mages amongst the city guard, but that wasn’t to say there weren’t any.
Azoth motioned them forward again before panic could overwhelm Logan. Before following he held a hand up to Trent and the Old Man, motioning that they should lag behind. As he reached the corner of the building he found himself looking down the street toward the centre of town. Flames licked at several of the houses, threatening to start a complete inferno. He could make out a few figures running between buildings, desperately fighting the blaze.
“What the -” Logan started. His words were cut off by a scream in the distance, a high wailing sound that came to an unnaturally abrupt end.
“Looks like whatever it is, it’s here.” Azoth growled. Logan got the sudden sense that his friend wasn’t completely sane. Azoth seemed to have every intention of charging straight towards whatever had started the fires. Logan rested a hand on his shoulder, doing his best to calm his friend.
“We’ve still got the element of surprise” He murmured. It was an advantage they shouldn’t give up. Especially not if it was going to be a tough fight. That was just poor business.
Azoth seemed to contemplate it for a while.
“Yeah, you’re right.” He said, finally. He beckoned the others closer.
As the four huddled in darkness they adapted their plan.
“Logan, you and the Old Man follow the fence around that way. Once you get to the main road you should ha
ve good sight lines to the church. Trent and I will head straight down here. Whatever it is, the guards should have contained it. If not we’ll draw it there. It’s a wide open space, which should let you guys keep your distance. And hopefully we can keep it away from any civilians.” Azoth rattled off the orders while he fingered the hilt of his scimitar. Logan could tell he was itching to get the action started, a trait that didn’t always lead them to the best outcome.
It was a solid plan though. He and the Old Man wouldn’t be much use if they got too close to the fray. If Azoth could lure their foe somewhere that they could pepper it with spells from afar, it was as good a plan as any.
“Good luck” Logan grinned, clapping his friend on the shoulder. There wasn’t anything else to say.
Azoth nodded in response, then turned and took off down the road. Trent ran after him without so much as a goodbye.
“Well, I guess it’s just you and me” Logan announced. He started leading the way, praying that this plan was going to work.
Logan edged along the outer wall of the city, following its curvature towards the main gate. The Old Man sidled along a few feet behind him, close enough that they could whisper to one another without raising too much attention. They’d had to double back to skirt around some of the flames, and the delay was starting to wear on Logan. His skeletal fingers were wrapped so tightly around his wand that they were beginning to ache, but he couldn’t will himself to loosen his grip. If he’d had a heart it would have been pounding violently enough to escape his chest. Instead, Logan found his breath coming in short gasps.
It had been several minutes since they’d separated from Azoth and Trent. But they hadn’t heard any of the telltale sounds of battle, so things must still be going smoothly. Right?
They were back on the right path now, and much closer to the fires. Close enough to feel the dryness of the heat emanating from the buildings. Shadows loomed in large shapes on the walls opposite. Logan tried not to dwell on who might be watching as he continued to lead the way. It was impossible to sneak with so much firelight around.
He was fairly certain, straining his eyes as best as he could, that there were no longer any guards atop the main gate. They must have been diverted to help fighting whatever it was that had started the fires.
“Could have just walked through the gate” Logan grumbled to himself. Now was not the time to dwell on the arduous climb they’d had to make across the river. He would never look at a rope ladder the same way again. The wall should have been child’s play after that.
“Nay, two men there still. On the right hand side The old man pointed with a crooked finger. Try as he might Logan couldn’t see any figures in the shadows of the gate. He looked back at his companion. The Old Man had lifted his eye patch revealing that unnaturally black eyeball. Without understanding what it was, or how it worked, Logan knew he could trust the Old Man’s words. Clearly the darkness didn’t affect his vision.
“So we cut through here?”
The Old Man nodded in agreement and the pair diverted away from the outer wall and toward an opening between homes. They made their way in silence for a few minutes, weaving between houses in the general direction of the centre of town. It wasn’t the most direct route by any means, but the shadows cast by the buildings helped to mask their movement. At least they were heading in the right direction. Logan was worried Azoth would launch into battle before he and the Old Man could get in position.
As Logan rounded the crumbling corner of an ancient stone house he bumped into a young guardsman. The stranger carried a spear hefted over one shoulder, its point waving around in the air. Another guard was following close behind him as they moved away from the fires and the central city. Logan and the lead guard stared at each other in silence for a moment.
Then the young guards face began to pale in terror.
Logan remembered he wasn’t wearing his hood.
The second guard, the one who was several feet behind, was the first to react.
“Kill them!” He roared, fumbling to draw his short-sword from his scabbard.
Before anyone else could act a heavy explosion echoed from the city centre. Logan fell into a low crouch instinctively, his wand held at the ready. The younger guards eyes grew wide as he saw the length of bone in Logan’s hand. The second guards short sword clattered against the cobblestones as he jumped with fright. Logan decided it wasn’t even worth threatening him.
“What was that?” Logan asked, ignoring the guards entirely. The younger guard audibly gulped.
“Trent has a habit of starting things with a bang. We should hurry.” The old man announced. He strode past the two guards paying them any attention. Logan followed. With one swift kick he sent the dropped sword skittering across the alley. The guards stood in silence, watching as the pair rushed away.
So much for the plan, Logan thought, cursing how slow they’d been in making their way to the church.
The Old Man led a direct path through the latticework of alleys between houses, moving as if following a map of the town. Logan jogged beside him, trying to maintain a stable gait without letting his wand arm fall. If anyone were to step into their path he wanted to be able to blast them immediately.
The ranks of houses parted unexpectedly after just a few rows, leaving Logan standing at the edge of a wide road that bisected the city. To his left was the empty stretch of cobblestones leading towards the main gate. To his right, Logan could make out the roof of the church as it glinted in the bright moonlight.
In the courtyard a fight was in full swing.
Logan could count a dozen guards haphazardly arranged. They faced off against a lone figure that seemed to emanate a deep orange colour, almost like the fires that raged around it. It was a colour that struck fear into Logan’s very core, though he couldn’t say why. The old man was already running toward the skirmish, but Logan’s feet seemed to have rooted themselves to the cobblestones. He was a statue as he watched Azoth launch himself at their foe only to be sent flying. Trent was doing no better as he danced around the creature. Stabbing and slashing with his glaive. The guards were all but useless, seeming only to make a half-hearted stab with their spears if the creature happened within range.
“Come on!” Logan growled to himself. He couldn’t sit this one out. He owed it to Azoth to help him in this fight. Perhaps more importantly, he owed it to himself. This was his chance to prove that he deserved to escape from this game.
Logan raised his wand and charged.
Chapter Eighteen
Azoth’s breaths came in heavy gulps as he pounded across the cobblestones. Beside him Trent seemed to be breathing easier, which made no damn sense. Trent actually needed his lungs, Azoth’s undead organs didn’t do anything for him.
The further they ran the more Trent began to pull ahead. Hell, even with the speed boost from his boots Azoth was falling behind. A small competitive compartment of his mind suggested he activate his Bull Rush ability to gain an advantage, but his rational thoughts dismissed it. It made no sense to waste mana on a pissing contest. Especially not with someone alive, who actually could piss. Instead, Azoth distracted himself by reviewing the abilities he had at his disposal. The new armour granted a defencive ward that he could activate, but he hadn’t had a chance to try it out yet. Best not to rely on that.
The rest of his skills had been exhaustively battle tested. Even the newest attack, the Tentacle Whip skill. Azoth had never been as powerful as he was at this moment. And yet the cold fingers of fear still wrapped themselves around his furiously beating heart. His body may be dead, but he felt so very alive. Perhaps it was adrenalin, but Azoth worried that it was sheer suicidal delight at rushing into battle.
The pair reached a four way intersection of roads. The one they were following carried on toward the wall on the far side of town. The bisecting road was almost twice as wide, clearly a main route for whatever bulk goods might need to be ferried into the residential district. One glance was all it
took to tell them that it was the path they needed to take. They turned without breaking stride.
Up ahead, Azoth could see the company of guards facing off against a human that seemed to have no trouble duelling all of them at once.
That didn’t bode well.
“That’s it” He gasped. Trent growled something in response, and surged forward with unexpected speed. Azoth couldn’t help wondering if the man had some sort of speed skill woven into his gear. As a walking corpse Azoth should have had the advantage on speed and stamina. Dismissing the thought, Azoth took advantage of falling behind to prepare himself. He struggled through the awkward act of drawing his scimitar from its scabbard without breaking stride. With the weapon in hand he felt the magical surge of strength it provided. Though he put no conscious effort into it, the muscles of his legs seemed to propel him further forward with each step. In moments he’d caught up to Trent.
That was more like it.
The duo ran into combat in silence. There was no room in their lungs for a mighty war cry. From the way the mysterious figure fought Azoth was certain it wouldn’t have been intimidated anyway. As they drew closer Azoth saw the guards were holding their ground, not actively attacking the creature. They weren’t using their numbers to their advantage, in fact they were barely acting at all. Whoever was leading them was doing a terrible job. Azoth couldn’t hear any orders being shouted, nor did the guards seem to be self-organising. They were a shadow of their former selves, where they had acted as a well oiled machine under Rudy.
Azoth and Trent brushed past the guards, causing a few to jump. Somehow they hadn’t had anyone watching their flank. Trent struck the humanoid first, balling up a surge of magic on the tip of his glaive before slashing out. A sonic boom erupted, echoing through the city, as the shimmering blade was caught by a curved sickle-like dagger.
