For some time, a sticky silence hung over the wasteland. It clearly made a strong impression on everyone.
The silence was broken by a booming cry.
“Vile traitor to your own people! You got what you deserved!”
The crowd, as if having awoken from a deep sleep, supported the shouter with a loud buzz of approval. Curses rained down on the head of the dark turncoats from every direction.
All told, the executioner swung his axe twenty-seven times. When the final traitor had been executed, I breathed a sigh of relief and wanted to leave the hideous place when suddenly the buzz from the crowd started quieting down.
A tense silence took hold on the wasteland again as the guardsmen led another batch of death-row inmates up the hill.
I took a suffering gaze at Pinebogey. My friend just shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “well, you came, so now you have to stay until the end.” And that elicited a heavy sigh. I would.
All that time, whispers ran over the crowd. They were all talking about a group called the “fangs.” They also didn’t have bad things to say about them. They actually respected them. At the very least, I didn’t sense any hostility to the new arrivals. And that made me curious.
Meanwhile, the procession of condemned criminals kept getting closer to the top of the hill until, finally, I was able to make out who they were. Heh… I recognized the first one in just one glance. It was the albino fox that served as Sage Whitebelly’s bodyguard. His once pure white fur had now turned into a matt of brown and red. His snout was swollen to the point of unrecognizability. His left eye had swelled shut while his right opened just a narrow crack. Part of his right ear was missing. And behind him were another fifteen foxes. They were not in the best shape either.
Like the albino, I recognized them all. All the Whitebelly bodyguards. Honestly, there had been more of them in the council hall. Seemingly, only the strongest had survived. All tall and broad shouldered. Levels over twenty. They were quite a bit different from the other foxfolk.
When the condemned made it to the top of the hill, Wintry Redpaw unexpectedly stepped forward and raised both hands above his head, calling for silence from the crowd. The conversations and whispers came to an end. A crypt-like silence took hold, broken only by the odd rustling of leaves or warbling of forest birds.
“Brothers and sisters!” Wintry exclaimed triumphantly. “The vile traitors have been executed!”
Everyone clamored in approval. But not for long. Wintry waved a hand and silence fell over the wasteland again.
“But we are not yet finished!” he continued and gave a half-turn toward the captives. “This group of warriors fought against us as well!”
“What else were we expecting? They were coerced,” an old foxman standing next to me muttered quietly to himself. “They were just following orders.”
I frowned and looked at the former Whitebelly bodyguards in a new light. Needless to say, my heartbeat picked up.
“Who are they?” I asked the old man quietly.
“Northerners,” the geezer responded curtly, continuing to listen to Wintry. “The Fangs. Once upon a time, they swore an oath of loyalty to old Whitebelly.”
“The Fangs?”
“Clan Ice Fang,” the old man answered charitably, turning away pointedly to show me that I had chosen a bad time for questions.
I shot a perplexed glance at Pinebogey. But he just shrugged his shoulders indefinitely and nodded that I should listen to Wintry.
“As you are all aware, these warriors fought not of their own free will, but out of obligation to an oath of loyalty given in their youth!” Wintry continued to speak solemnly. “The purpose of their lives was to serve their master!”
Was it just me, or did the old man not wish to execute these warriors? I looked around. Hm, from what I can see, the people are also looking at them with understanding. although I remember perfectly well that this same albino murdered several of Wintry’s own kin.
“The Whitebellies were always known for their guile and devil-may-care attitude toward the liberty of their fellow foxfolk!” exclaimed Wintry. “They were the only house in our clan to hold slaves! Once many years ago, the old head of the Whitebellies captured a village belonging to a far-away group of foxfolk while campaigning in the north. And along with spoils of war, they brought back many slaves. I remember these warriors when they were still kits! Yes, today they fought against us! But whom among you can defy the laws of the Great System?!”
Nicely played. The old man was drawing the crowd’s attention to the white-bellied bad guys. I wonder what he’ll have to say to the relatives of those who fell to the swords of these very Fangs?
“But, despite everything I have said, all of you here understand that these warriors must die!” Wintry continued, staring every one of them in the eyes. “They fought against us!”
Either the old man was less convincing than he had been a minute earlier while describing the malicious deeds of the Whitebellies, or the audience had already realized the Ice Fangs were just a weapon in the hands of an evil foxman… but one way or another the crowd clearly disapproved of the northerners’ sentences.
Listening to the clamor down below, Wintry nodded in agreement. Before it grew into something bigger, the old man shouted loudly:
“Brothers and sisters! You are all aware that we are on the verge of a great war with darkness! And so I would like to ask you a question about that! Would it be right to slay our clan’s mightiest warriors, given we will very soon need everyone who can hold a weapon?”
“No!” the crowd answered timidly.
“Look at them!” Wintry pointed at the condemned. “Even when faced with death, they do not hurl curses or blubber in snot like the vile traitors before them! Every one of these warriors is worth ten blackbloods! So then why not apply our ancient law of atonement? What do you say?!”
“Yes!” came the first loud cry from the crowd. “Let them fight!”
“Let them atone for their crimes in blood!” someone from the right echoed. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn all the shouters were from the same house.
An instant later, the crowd rendered a verdict. The northerners would have to atone for their sins against Clan Sharpear with their blood.
Wintry raised a hand again, calling for silence.
“And one last thing!” he announced wearily. “It so happens that none of the houses can accept these warriors into their ranks. But there is a way out!”
After saying that, Wintry fell silent and looked at me with surprising eloquence. I couldn’t tell at first that the old man was addressing me, but then it finally hit me. A now familiar chill ran down my spine.
“Master Eric!” the sly old schemer declared solemnly and loudly, laugh lines creasing around his eyes. “Clan Sharpear entrusts these warriors unto you! From now on, they shall obey your will! We trust that you will find a worthy use for their talents!”
Chapter 26
WE SPENT the next few days preparing for war. The Clan Sharpear council approved our plan. And really, what choice did they have? Other than to leave these lands like Wintry was planning at first. Essentially, Pinebogey and I had given all the foxfolk hope for the future when we showed up.
After the council reached its decision, the information made its way out to the masses. By the next day, only the hard of hearing were unaware that Clan Sharpear was on the warpath. Specially prepared talkative foxes with high Charisma were out on the streets every single day, expounding on the virtues of the council’s decision for the commoners. It’s safe to assume they may have been the same foxfolk I heard shouting during the executions. In the end, before a week had gone by, everyone was smoldering with righteous fury, ready and willing to go to war against the filthy blackbloods at the earliest possible occasion.
The news spread like wildfire to distant settlements, and the first carts of supplies and refugees had already started to reach Foreston. At minimum, the city gained another several thousan
d residents. If even a hundred of them could be drafted as archers, it would be a great stroke of luck. Although… who knows? For the most part, it was hunters and their families. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn even more were fit for battle. And we needed every archer we could get. Very soon, all the lands around the city would be transformed into a huge battlefield.
We hadn’t just been wasting time either though. Gorgie levelled up another two times. But alas, we were not able to go any further than that. For the first time, I was confronted with a lack of esses, even though I still had enough silver tablets after all the improvements to go up another two levels at least. And my attempts to acquire experience essences from the locals did not meet with particular success. The foxfolk were not eager to part with such a crucial resource. And those that were willing to trade or sell theirs tried to charge extortionate rates. In one way or another, even the esses I did acquire were just a drop in the bucket. Because getting Gorgie to thirty-five would require no more and no less than six hundred thirty thousand experience essences. I meanwhile didn’t even have a quarter of that.
And that was what made the harn go off on a hunt all that time, trying to fill up his slowly creeping experience bar. The task was further complicated by the fact that Gorgie was already having a hard enough time finding suitable opponents. But he didn’t let that get him down. As a matter of fact, it granted him a kind of freedom. And he liked it. At times like those, I often caught myself wondering whether the harn would be better off without me and my problems. Sure, I had saved his life once, but now he had repaid me in kind many times over. My little brother had transformed from a level-five cave cat into a true monster. No matter where Gorgie settled, he would be crowned king. In recent times, I had come across a good few predators. To my eye, the harn was indisputably at the very top of the food chain. Of course, there will always be beasts in our world who would regard Gorgie as nothing but a harmless little kitten. But I’m confident my brother has the good sense not to tangle with monsters like those. I found myself yet again making a mental note to find out whether it would be possible to set my pet free in the future.
Gorgie wasn’t only hunting out there either. He had also been scouting. And two days of that were enough to make certain Wintry was not lying about the blackblood lairs. The shore of Narrow Lake was basically crawling with the beasts. At first, Gorgie wanted to start actively reducing the population of dark “settlers,” but I talked him out of it. It was too early. If we go stirring up that bog right now, we won’t have time to properly prepare.
Pinebogey was also missing in the forest all that time. The Keeper was searching for the best place to plant the quickly growing Heart of the Forest. Even I could sense its impatience. But every time he came back from the forest, Pinebogey shook his head bitterly. The woodsman was waiting for the dark creatures to get to action. He was also planning, when this was all over, to cross the lake to get closer to the portal. There would definitely be more of the right kind of energy there. At first, he even announced to me that he was coming with. But I had to talk him out of it, basing my argument on the idea that the foxfolk might not be able to cope with the siege without him. In light of how obvious my conclusions were, the keeper of the Heart of the Forest was forced to agree.
While my friends kept busy, I sorted through the riches that had fallen to me.
I can’t say unequivocally that I was delighted by the contents of the Foreston arsenal. Without a doubt, there was a lot of armor and weaponry here but, as a zero, what good was any of it to me? I was more interested in the shelves of elixirs, scrolls and magic potions which, alas, there were less of than expected. I would even say much less…
Actually, the contents of the armory left lots of great clues as to what my ancient predecessors used to fight back dark beasts. Heh… Needless to say I didn’t find either any precious stones containing powerful spells, or legendary artifacts. At some point, all that was cleaned out. I was however happy with the high number of Blots, Mites and satiety potions. Alas though, I did not discover any fury scrolls.
But I didn’t despair either because I was aware I was still just a senior hunter. I could not yet access all the city’s secrets. I’m sure that when I become a magister, the situation will change dramatically.
I also found an interactive map of Foreston, which made me happy. Pinebogey was right ― this city was practically stuffed to the gills with all kinds of hocus-pocus. Starting with the killer vines and ending with the semi-intelligent sewer system. All I could do was applaud whoever grew all this and made it work.
Neither Pinebogey nor I could fully grasp the whole structure of it. Though I won’t hide that I put a lot of hope into the freshly minted keeper of the heart of the forest.
Basically, Pinebogey, knowing all the flora that grew nearby, could just intuitively direct me and give useful advice and hints, like with the tree that was once the arsenal.
The woodsman explained that these limitations were sound and logical. After all, this city was made especially for the hunters, even though it was forest faction primordials that made it. A great deal of thought had gone into everything here. And only highly placed members of the order could access the city’s controls. Otherwise, any old forest dweller could show up here and start calling the shots.
When I asked how the foxfolk had lived in the city for all these years without any monster hunters, Pinebogey had an idea. Before leaving, the last magister must have ordered the living city to safeguard and defend its residents until another hunter with high enough reputation showed up.
But there was another thing I opted not to discuss with Pinebogey. And more specifically the impact the Heart of the Forest would have on Foreston. My intuition was telling me that as soon as the little seed amassed enough power, reputation would no longer matter. It would have no trouble taking control of the local sequoias. They already reacted to Pinebogey subserviently. I had a theory that one of the magisters of the hunters was a primordial of the forest persuasion. I was in fact quite sure of it. And that could mean just one thing ― Pinebogey had to become a hunter. But he seemingly had realized that already. And based on a few randomly tossed out phrases on the matter, he was not opposed either. After all he understood perfectly that, if it all went according to plan, I would not be staying behind in Foreston.
Beyond primary concerns, thanks to Wintry Redpaw, I now had another headache ― the Ice Fangs, the former bodyguard-slaves of the Whitebellies. And as an aside, I had yet to reach a full appreciation of the elders’ decision. No, of course I could see that the clan went into it not wanting to kill the warriors… But why had they been entrusted to me? What was the point of that?
For the record, the Fangs had formed a unit with the albino at the head and appeared outside the arsenal five days later. Where they had been until then I did not know, nor did I especially care. They were just gone and that was that…
But now they were standing in front of the door in silence, awaiting my word. By the way, there were twice as many of them today. Yet another tricky move on the part of House Redpaw’s leader. On the day of the execution, he showed the crowd just fifteen fighters: the ones who had been most severely injured in the fighting. I figured that was done so the people wouldn’t see the Fangs as a threat.
I looked over the newly arrived warriors and admired Wintry’s cunning. Basically, the old man was keeping strictly to the letter of our agreement. I didn’t even have any minor infractions I could point to. I would get the crystals before setting off for the portal, while the swordsmen I requested… Well there they were! Thirty elite cutthroats. And what difference was it to me that not even one of them came from any of the four Houses? The houses had to stay back and hold off the siege. That would be if it all went according to plan…
After playing the staring game for a bit, I finally turned to the albino:
“What is your name, warrior?”
“They call me Murk,” the foxman answered hoarsely.
I chuckled to myself. A fitting nickname. Despite the fact several days had already gone by, Murk’s face was still pretty swollen. And based on the way he spoke, it hurt to talk. Basically none of his warriors looked any better either.
“Alright,” I snorted. “You know my name.”
Trying to look each of them in the eyes, I slowly walked down the line of Fangs, and said:
“I have one question for you. Why are you here?”
Murk frowned. His warriors started exchanging surprised gazes.
“You heard Elder Wintry,” the albino shrugged.
“Yes, I did. But I’ll be honest with you. I don’t like it when someone does something against their will. Because I know how it is. I’ve been in your shoes.”
Labyrinth of Fright (Underdog Book #5): LitRPG Series Page 28
