Dungeon Lord: Abominable Creatures (The Wraith's Haunt Book 3)

by Hugo Huesca

  She bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood. Sure, going against Ryan’s orders would make her lose her job, probably. But was that so terrible? Many people had periods of unemployment they couldn’t afford and managed to power through them. She’d always known that. In a way, it had been her own fear keeping her at Lasershark.

  “Damn it!” Ryan was saying. “You guys took too damn long to clear the city, and you should have read the log earlier! It’s all your fault, you useless noobs!”

  “Sorry, Ryan,” Omar said sheepishly.

  Her cursor hovered over Rylan Silverblade’s character. A right click opened a small window. She paused over the “leave party” option.

  “Let’s go,” Ryan said. “Maybe the Boss will defeat the first groups and we can take a shot at him still.”

  Hating herself, Lisa closed the small window and went after the Rogue, following Mark and Omar. Perhaps she’d handle her shit later. Right now, all she fucking wanted was a chance at one last fun evening, no matter how unlikely that was.

  They were almost out of the district when the hell chickens arrived.

  Everywhere Kes went, the drones dug underneath, stealing every uncontested inch of Undercity for the Haunt. Bit by bit, the tunnels of a new dungeon grew, like the roots of a tree spreading through the ground year after year. The new dungeon had its Seat in the middle of the undead-infested catacombs under the city. Kes even had the drones tunnel straight out of those catacombs into Heroic-controlled areas, to divert them away from the innocent citizens, buying time for Laurel and her cluster to get the civilians to safety—usually straight into the recently vacated catacombs.

  Kaga and the Monster Hunters followed behind her, keeping to the shadows, blowpipes and crow familiar runes at the ready to keep the griffin riders at bay. It was clear by now that the flying Inquisitors were looking for Kes’ group—the Haunt’s presence hadn’t gone unnoticed. With her avian vision, she could see the silhouettes of half the griffin riders encircling the slums head back toward Mullecias Heights, braving the growing storm as they did so. On the ground, many Heroic teams headed that way as well, leaving Ed’s drones free to overtake the devastated territory they left behind.

  Whatever Ed and the Haga’Anashi were doing in Mullecias Heights, Kes hoped they’d leave soon. Since the Heroes hadn’t stopped their attack, she could guess the Dungeon Lord hadn’t been successful on his personal quest.

  At least, since she was still bound by minionship to him, it meant he was still alive. For now.

  “Backs to the wall,” she ordered, holding up a fist to stop her guards. Behind her, Costel barked her words at the rest of the squad, who hurried to obey. Not one second after Young Ivan had hidden himself under the shadow of a roof’s overhang, five griffin riders flew in formation straight above them, circling the area.

  Kes didn’t move a muscle until the Inquisitors were out of sight, ignoring the cold that seeped into her bones. In this, the storm was a blessing in disguise. The rain and the darkness hid them better than most spells could have, and the winds forced the griffins to fly low, making them vulnerable to runic fire, as well as tiring them and their riders.

  Rasvan coughed and cursed under his breath. “I cannot see my own hands in this rain!” he exclaimed. “Where are you taking us, Marshal?”

  Kes realized that her guards could barely move under the rage of the wind. The Monster Hunters weren’t faring much better—for all their training, Brawn wasn’t their strong suit. Hers either. But she knew that stopping meant certain death. “Over there.” She pointed at a black structure in the distance, at least twice the size of any building nearby. “That’s where we’re headed.”

  “That’s the Charcoal Tower,” Kaga warned her. “It’s the Akathunian headquarters. A den of villainy like no other. According to our spiderlings’ reports, the entire district is overrun by Heroes wanting to take a shot at the Assassins. I doubt we can get anywhere close to it.”

  “Well, we’ll need to figure something out,” Kes said. “The dish needs to be high up for it to work properly, otherwise the city’s buildings will interfere with it. No, Costel, we cannot have the drones build a new tower,” she said, reading the question in the guard’s eyes. “We don’t have materials, and it’d take too long, anyway. It’ll be better if we use the Charcoal Tower. Easier to defend.” At least, that’s what she hoped.

  The main problem with building a new tower were the damned griffin riders. As soon as they saw the drones working on it, they’d realize something was up, and then they’d rain fireballs upon them. The Akathunian headquarters was an old structure meant to withstand a siege—from the Watch or from the King’s officers, it didn’t matter. Heroes or no Heroes, it was the best shot they had.

  And they were running out of time. She threw a glance back, wondering if she’d be able to see Alder and Lavy approach. She’d left a couple drones behind to guide them on the right path, but in the confusion of combat, who knew if the drones would find her friends?

  She hurried her pace, trusting her men to follow. They soon left the safety of the paved narrow streets and reached the luxurious merchant districts, the most affluent area in Undercity—not counting Mullecias Heights, where the ultra-rich and the royalty resided, but which was technically a different city in all but name. Kes arrived at the ample, well-lit streets and open parks with clear paths. They were fine for having a safe stroll at night during a normal day, but deathly dangerous tonight, when her best ally was darkness and stealth.

  Her first instinct was to have the drones dig a tunnel straight to the tower so they could bypass the open ground, but the drones shook their heads when she gave them the order. One pointed its tiny finger at a few shadows who were standing in the middle of the main plaza without a care in the world.

  Heroes, Kes thought. Not everyone had left for Mullecias, then. Their presence is contesting the district.

  “We’ll need to fight our way inside,” Kaga said. Next to him, Yumiya nodded grimly. “A fitting end, to die fighting an impossible battle.”

  Costel and the other humans didn’t look half as sure as the kaftar. For once, Kes agreed with them. She counted about five Heroic parties standing around, healing or breaking all crates and barrels in sight. “We’ve got Pirene on standby. Have the spiderlings tell her we may need some reinforcements in a few minutes.”

  Someone tugged at her arm. “Marshal?” asked Young Ivan. He had a worried look to his eyes. “Any chance that Pirene decided to charge on her own?”

  Kes didn’t like the kid’s expression one bit. “Empress Laurel gave her strict orders to wait, so I doubt she’ll take the initiative,” she said. Then, frowning, she asked, “Why?”

  Young Ivan turned back and pointed at the avenue from where they’d just come a few minutes ago. “Because a lot of somethings are coming our way, and they look pissed off.”

  At first, Kes didn’t know what he was talking about. Her sight wasn’t as good in the storm. But then she saw a red glint here and there, like shining blood droplets floating in the dark. Then she heard the distant bawks, almost entirely muffled by the rain, but growing stronger with each second—there was a lot of bawking, actually. And then lightning struck nearby, and the night became day for a flash, and Kes saw the army of hell chickens charging their way, steel beaks shining an evil blue. There was murder in their eyes.

  She could swear she also saw a pair of terrified spell-casters riding their own hell chickens, leading the charge if only by a few feet.

  “Oynnes’ bountiful mercy,” Costel whispered. “What in the Wetlands is that?”

  Kes didn’t bother with an answer. The hell chickens were getting closer fast. She turned to the nearby buildings that surrounded the plaza. The nearest one was about a hundred meters away, and the first Heroic parties were already heading to meet the hell chickens. “Get to that rooftop, everyone!” she bellowed, running as fast as her legs could go. “And don’t you dare leave that dish behind!”

  The feel
ing of oxygen rushing into his battered lungs was glorious, even as it seared his throat and filled his mouth with the taste of ash. Karmich coughed and spit cold water. His entire body ached, except his right arm below his shoulder, which he couldn’t move at all. He waded through the canal’s waters, grabbing on to a sort of wide, black log with many spindly branches coming out of it, and a long spike at one end. A silver thread was tied to the log, and it connected all the way to a group of inhuman figures waiting at the shore, partially hidden by the rainstorm. They seemed to be pulling the thread toward them, dragging Karmich to dry land.

  Beside him, Pris was in a similar situation. She was unconscious—or that was what Karmich hoped. Her lips were blue and her skin deathly pale.

  Then he saw the log that was carrying her and realized it was no log at all, but a horned spider. He tried to scream, and a wave of pain dragged him back into unconsciousness.

  When he next awoke, he was lying on his back against the stones of a causeway. He was shivering from cold and fear, and there was a giant horned spider staring him down with her multiple beady eyes, her mandibles half open to reveal slick fangs capable of tearing open a horse in a couple bites. Karmich whimpered.

  “Fear not, meat-bag,” the spider hissed. “For I am Laurel of the Haunt, first Empress among spider-kind. In the name of Dungeon Lord Wraith, I give you my word that you shall not be harmed, no matter how delicious you are.” She seemed as confused by this as Karmich was. Something told the Thief that he was the Empress’ first rescue attempt.

  “Uh. M-my thanks, Empress,” he stammered through clenched teeth. He was so cold. Glancing down, he realized the horned spiders had webbed the charred mess that was his arm. How thoughtful of them. It didn’t hurt at all, somehow. Perhaps they’d given him a pain-numbing potion?

  Pris, right next to him, came to. She opened her eyes, took stock of the situation, and began to scream.

  “Quiet, meat-bag!” Laurel bellowed. “The Heroes will hear your screeching!”

  Karmich dragged himself next to his friend, who was about to suffer a hysterical breakdown. “Pris! Listen, no, no, put the dagger down—they’re on our side! I think they’re working for Ed.” That was enough to get her attention, but she kept the dagger aimed at the Empress. Not that it’d help. Karmich knew horned Queens were big, but Laurel was on a whole other level. Behind her, dozens of horned spiders of all sizes shifted nervously in place, their chitin glinting as the storm struck their bodies.

  “What are you talking about?” Pris muttered. She couldn’t stop shivering. Karmich hurried to put an arm across her back, ignoring the violent pangs of pain near his shoulder. Pris seemed to consider stabbing him instead of the Empress, but then thought better of it and huddled closer. A tiny sliver of body heat fostered between them like a spark trying to keep the darkness from engulfing it.

  “Think about it,” Karmich said. “It’s not like we didn’t have our suspicions. The ease with which he bypassed the walls—the tunnels, the kaftars. And the Inquisition has been searching the countryside for a Dungeon Lord. One who fought a Wraith. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  Pris grimaced. “No. That sounds like admitting we’ve been aiding a Dungeon Lord this entire time,” she said. “And that’s just not my style.”

  “Enough!” said Empress Laurel. “We must leave before it's too late. Can you walk on your own, or should I have you webbed?”

  The Thieves didn’t feel like walking, but they knew enough about horned spiders to instantly express, wordlessly, that they’d rather die than to allow themselves to be webbed. The two hobbled together, arms over the other’s back, while Laurel’s cluster skittered out of the causeway.

  They headed south, parallel to the Western Gate, while doing their best to keep away from that direction. On their way, Karmich saw more horned spiders from different clusters, as well as kaftar and batblins. They were all working together, helping the survivors away from danger. Whoever couldn’t stand was carried. Kaftars and batblins entered the houses, ushered out whoever was inside, and then the spiders webbed all entrances shut.

  In fact, Undercity had begun to look dangerously like a spider den, with thick webs closing off narrow streets and hanging from trees and lamps. It was as if they were trying to keep something away from this general area, but Karmich knew the webbing would do little to stop the Heroes. What, then?

  “Karmich,” Pris whispered. “Look.” She pointed at one side-street whose walls were enclosed by web. There was movement behind—a pair of creatures that looked vaguely like huge, murderous birds with beaks like cruel steel daggers.

  “We better hurry,” one horned spider of Laurel’s cluster told them. “You don’t want to be here when they figure out that our webbing doesn’t stop their claws.”

  “What are those?” Karmich asked, dreading the answer.

  “They are the Haunt’s favorite meal,” said the spider. “But they also have other uses.”

  In the distance, Karmich could see a lone Heroic Fighter being slowly devoured by a pack of those black birds, limb by limb. The Fighter killed many, but it only seemed to incense the birds. There was a flash of light when a beak struck the Hero’s eye, and the construct disappeared as the runes of a summoning circle floated around him and teleported him away, leaving behind a very disappointed group of birds.

  It would’ve been funny, except that they then turned Karmich’s way. They had red eyes, with pupils like those of a cat. Predatory and hungry.

  The Thief realized that he could walk much faster after all.

  All things considered, Alder was having a pretty rough night. To start, his throat was sore from all the screaming, and he was pretty tired from keeping his nimble feet melody up for so long. As he and Lavy charged their way through Undercity, he didn’t dare turn back to see what exactly was following behind. He kept his eyes focused forward, on the nearby future, and on the most important question in his mind.

  How was he going to stop, exactly, once they reached their destination?

  Having Blood Fiend simply stop running didn’t seem like the best of ideas, given that the hell chickens chasing after them didn’t intend to stop, which left him at his wit’s end. All his life, he’d never before gotten himself into a situation that couldn’t be solved by going the other way as fast as possible.

  He grimaced. Being a hero definitely wasn’t his thing. How did Kes, Ed, and Klek make it seem so easy?

  At the very least, he wasn’t alone in his suffering. The only remaining illusion was of Lavy, and it was running next to him, with the real Lavy riding on the opposite side, carrying one of Ed’s drones in front of her like she would a small child. He was flanked by twin Witches, equally terrified. If he could only live long enough to write that down…

  “Over there!” Lavy called, while her drone gestured in the general direction of a black tower in the distance. “That’s where Kes is!”

  “Fantastic, I hope she’s up to stopping a few hundred hell chickens on her own!”

  The Witch shook her head no, a motion that the illusionary version imitated a second later. “Don’t worry about the chickens!” Lavy exclaimed.

  “Why not? It seems like a huge deal to me!” Alder called back, pushing his throat to make his voice be heard over the storm.

  “Because,” Lavy yelled, “those assholes in front of us are probably going to kill us before the hell chickens can!”

  Alder raised an eyebrow. He could barely see anything at all in front of him—salty, cold water kept stinging his eyes. “What assholes—” then he saw the Heroes strolling through an open plaza to meet them, magic crackling in the spellcasters’ hands, enchanted weapons at the ready. He couldn’t help but quote Ed: “Oh, shit!”

  “Time to split!” Lavy roared, pushing Scar’s reins to the side. The hell chicken followed, with Blood Fiend close behind, just as the first couple fireballs soared past their heads and vaporized a pair of hell chickens behind them. Almost as an afterthought, Alder willed L
avy’s illusionary copy, which was heavily doused in pheromones, to charge straight at the nearest party of Heroes.

  Alder looked over his shoulder in time to see a Knight with a broadsword hack off the heads of three chickens at once—and then be swarmed by their battle-lusted brethren. The Witch’s illusionary copy disappeared under a barrage of ice bolts a second later.

  “Over there!” Lavy said, gesturing to one end of the plaza, at a two-story building with broken windows and a partially caved-in entrance. There was the faint afterglow of a lantern shining on a balcony, and Alder could see Kes’ figure frantically gesturing for them to come closer.

  Ice bolts flew right over the Bard’s head. He squeaked and hugged Blood Fiend to make himself a small target. His mount gave him a sharp, judgmental bawk and rushed after Scar, wading through a sea of angry hell chickens and wounded Heroes teleporting away.

  Just as Lavy reached the walls of the building, she threw her hands above her head, and was snatched up by the furry arm of a kaftar hanging from the edge of the balcony. To Alder, it looked as if she was engulfed by darkness itself—it happened so fast.

  “No, no, no!” With a supreme effort of will, the Bard shoved down his terror and let go of the reins. He straightened his back and raised his hands as high as possible. The kaftar’s hand closed in on his. Alder’s shoulders screamed in protest, and suddenly his legs left the hell chicken’s back as the kaftar used Alder’s own momentum to throw him upward using some sort of acrobatic talent. For an instant, Alder flew up a few inches through the air. He saw Kes’ face right in front of him as the Marshal caught him by the waist and tossed him onto the wooden balcony.

  More hands dragged him inside the safety of the building. The Bard caught a glimpse of Blood Fiend and Scar rushing away from the plaza, moving faster now that they’d lost their riders.

  Alder spat rainwater onto the floorboards. He was soaked down to the bone. Around him, Costel and her guards covered the building’s entrances, Kes squatted next to a broken window to watch the plaza, the surviving drones huddled around Lavy’s dish, and Kaga and the Monster Hunters stood around Alder.