Lord of the Dead: A LitRPG Saga (The Eternal Journey Book 2)

by C. J. Carella

  He explained the situation to Marko and Korgam, who had brought all the Sterns back to the Stronghold upon hearing the news.

  “I want you to lead most of the summoned critters back to Orom,” he told Marko. “They will follow your commands and attack anybody they perceive as an enemy. I have given them instructions to protect the inhabitants of Orom and the outlying villages, so there should be no problems.”

  “I will be on my way, sir.”

  “Calvus, you and the rest of the Volunteers will stay here, with you in charge. I’m leaving you ten Nature Guardians and ten Animated Shadows. It’s not much, but if anything happens, I will find out and bring help.”

  “The men will be unhappy about missing the action, sir. So will I,” Calvus admitted.

  “I understand that, but this mess could be a trick of the Necromancer. If we lose the Stronghold, we lose the Domain, and likely Orom as well.”

  The sub-officer nodded.

  “And what of us, Paladin?” Korgam asked, with only a slight hint of sarcasm on ‘Paladin.’ Korgam was one of the few who knew Hawke’s true Class, although it was already widely known that there was more to him than met the eye.

  “I could use your help in a diplomatic mission, Korgam.”

  The Dwarf glanced at Nadia. “The Arachnoids, you mean?”

  “Yes. As Lord of the Sunset Valley, I have given her the authority to negotiate a full alliance with the Arachnoids. I’m hoping that as the Spider Empress, the local chieftains will listen to her.”

  “They seem to be decent enough folk, for all their strangeness,” Korgam said. “But this is no empire yer dealing with. The Lady Morganna will have to make a treaty with each chief, for every last one of them fancies himself a king, gods curse me if I lie. They have let my cousins and I travel through their lands, but each tribe has its own rules, and even if we can’t understand their speech, they can speak the Fey tongues well enough to let us know as much.”

  “He isn’t wrong,” Nadia agreed. “Getting them to stop fighting was easy enough; they knew they were going to take terrible losses even if they won. More than that is going to take a lot of work. We might be of more use fighting the Woodlings. The Sterns and I, I mean.”

  “You are probably right, but I’m still worried about the Necromancer. Even if you cannot get us an army of Arachnoids, you guys can keep an eye on the Stronghold while I deal with the invasion.”

  “All right. We’ll keep your little Undead pied-a-terre in one piece,” Nadia said.

  “Thank you.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Well, I’m off on a scouting mission. Going to take a closer look at the enemy.”

  “How? They are like twenty, thirty miles from here. It’s going to take you a day or two to reach them.”

  Hawke grinned. “Not if I fly.”

  * * *

  “It’s a long drop,” Hawke said, looking down from the tower terrace.

  The top of the Spire overlooked the valley, a few thousand feet below. He could see the waterfall and the river rapids at the foot of the mountain, but barely. The forest was mostly an indistinguishable mass of green with the occasional patches of open water or grass. The view was great, but he hadn’t climbed the seemingly-endless flights of stairs there to enjoy it.

  The Harpies he had summoned were gathered together, filling the terrace and staring coldly at him. This was the first time he had seen one from up close. The creatures had been damn ugly in life, but mummification only made them look worse. Their dry and dusty smell had enough of a hint of rotting flesh to it to make him slightly nauseous, combined with some sort of musk that had a little too much of skunk in it for his taste. But they were his, and they waited for his orders.

  Unlike most of the other Undead minions of the Stronghold, Harpies could talk. Like the Murk Arachnoids, the Wolf-Men and, come to think of it, Half-Elves like Hawke, the creatures were a creation of the Fae, a hybrid of human, snake and vulture. They understood and spoke Common Fey. They weren’t very talkative, but that was okay. When they said anything, they sounded like serpents trying to form words.

  “Fly over the summoned unit headed toward Orom,” he told them. “If they come under attack, come find me.”

  The thirty creatures nodded at the same time. Kind of unnerving. A moment later, they were aloft, their wings beating steadily. Despite being lighter than a human being their size, the Harpies’ wings didn’t produce enough lift to allow them to fly; the limbs helped increase their speed and also glide without tiring themselves – unlike zombies or skeletons, Undead Harpies had Endurance and could run out of it – but their ability to fly was ninety-nine percent magical. Hawke watched them until they were out of sight, then read one of the spell scrolls he had found in the Necromancer’s Vault and jumped off the terrace.

  Minor Flight (Air, Level Twelve spell)

  Time to Cast: 15 seconds. Cooldown: 1 hour. Cost: 50 Mana. Duration: 36 minutes. Range: Touch. Effect: Subject can fly at a speed of 20 miles an hour plus 2 miles an hour per level of the caster. The flier can turn the ability on and off at will for the duration of the spell.

  Hawke flew forward for a hundred feet or so, then turned the spell off and went into freefall for several seconds. He had never skydived before: seeing the ground below grow closer took a lot of getting used to. After four seconds or so, he turned on the spell again and used it to steer around. He was now going at well over a hundred miles per hour, courtesy of gravity’s twenty-one miles per hour per second of falling. That had been one of the few things he remembered from science class, and it paid off.

 

  I know, he said mentally. Terminal velocity is about a hundred and twenty miles per hour. The spell lets me move at forty-four miles per hour, which will also let me slow down by that much. I’ll be fine.

  Hawke cast Twilight Shroud around himself as his flight or controlled fall, depending on who you asked, continued. He was losing altitude as he flew to the northeast, towards the Foothills, but he had started at a good height and kept using the spell’s thrust as lift, reducing his rate of descent. Fifteen minutes later, he was still a few hundred feet above the ground, and his speed had decreased to the spell’s normal maximum. And he could see the enemy camp.

  The Woodling army had gotten reinforcements. A lot of them. Hawke flew a wide circle around the gathered forces. It was still early in the afternoon, so there was plenty of sunlight to see dozens of Woodling bands and packs of Anger Hounds. More were coming in from the thicker woods to the north. His quick count was a good three or four hundred Woodlings and maybe half as many Anger Hounds. Woodling chiefs stood out because of their larger size, easily half again as tall as the regular warriors. Hawke also spotted creatures with tree trunks for bodies and long insectile legs. Some kind of Nature Elemental, maybe? They were too far for his True Sight to identify them. And on top of one hill, he saw a figure riding a giant moose. It was taller than the Woodling chiefs and even the tree monsters, and it was wearing a cloak that concealed its shape.

  Hawke decided to take a chance and descended towards the hill to take a closer look. He had a nasty suspicion of who the enemy boss was.

  Huntmaster Laryn (Fae, Undead)

  Level 15 Unseelie Revenant

  Health 1,442 Mana 1,500 Endurance n/a

  Well, there was one missing slot in that Vault, Hawke thought as he flew away. The invasion was the work of one of the Necromancer’s bizarre hybrid monsters. As he moved away, he managed to ID the tree monsters as well:

  Sapling Warrior (Earth/Life Elemental)

  Level 10 Construct

  Health 600 Mana 200 Endurance 450

  There were a few dozen of the tree critters. He also discovered that there were about twenty Nature Guardians flying scouts with the army. It became obvious when the flock of eagle-shaped critters started chasing after him.

  But I’m invisible! Hawke complained as th
e turned to the south at top speed, which unfortunately appeared to be slower than the enemy scouts.

 

  “Guess not,” he muttered as he activated Node Recall. Time to get out before the Fae tried to knock him out of the sky.

  Normally, the teleport worked almost instantly: there was a brief moment of darkness, maybe about as long as an eye blink, before he would find himself at the nearest Node under his control. Not this time, however.

  Every nerve in his body screamed in agony as something burned through his mind. He felt some force dragging him away from his body. He recognized the hostile presence attacking him. It was Greg; that mixture of fear and sadism was unmistakable. He fought back and felt Saturnyx coming to his aid. The Necromancer retreated, unwilling to confront him openly. A moment later, he was back at the Nature-attuned Mana Node, which had been closest at the time. Every muscle in his body hurt as if he’d been put on the rack, but a couple of healing spells killed the pain.

  “What the hell was that?”

 

  “And I keep having dreams about Greg’s past. He must have put some mojo on my brain when I was inside of his.”

 

  “Pretty much. How am I going to get back to Orom? I was planning to use Node Travel to get there.”

 

  “Then I guess I’m teleporting. We have a battle to prepare for.”

  Sixty-Four

  The slender figure moved noiselessly through the slumbering camp, headed for the large tent where her target slept. The dozen Undead standing watch had been dealt with, also in perfect silence. Nobody was aware of the lethal presence in their midst.

  At least, that is what you think, Greg thought as he sprang the trap.

  Tendrils of glowing darkness sprang all around the Fae intruder and grabbed her, pinning her arms to her sides and her legs together. A pulse of Death energy from the tendrils flowed through her body, paralyzing her and making spellcasting impossible.

  “Good evening, Leara,” he told the helpless Sidhe. “My sexy Cheerleader.”

  The Fae woman looked quite different from the tanned redhead that had rubbed herself against Greg at Saul Valentino’s place. Her skin was noticeably darker, her hair was now seemingly made of gleaming copper strands, and her eyes were nearly twice as large as a human’s, giving her a disturbing appearance, something bordering between cartoonish and monstrous. Greg had read about the ‘uncanny valley’ effect, how things that looked not quite human were actually more disturbing the closer the resemblance got. But the features were still the same as when she had pretended to be human, and the aura was identical. Cheerleader had come to pay him a visit, and seeing her again sent thrills down Greg’s spine.

  Unable to speak as the Rigor Mortis spell froze her in place, she glared at him, her purple-flecked eyes literally glowing with rage.

  “The rest of your snatch team is already dead,” he went on, relishing the way shock replaced her anger. “They sold you out, your fellow fairies. No honor among the Fae, I guess. You and Saul – or Panadel, as he is known around these parts – have made a lot of enemies. I made a deal with one of them.”

  He watched her strain against the Death and Darkness bonds holding her down – and fail. His benefactors had given him her True Name, and adding it to his spells made them impossible to resist. Cheerleader belonged to him now. Greg licked his lips. All his dark fantasies were going to come to life.

  “I am working on an important project for the Court of Thorns,” he told her. Once again, her eyes widened, this time with fear as well as surprise. “In return, it will make sure nobody comes looking for you. If you were hoping Panadel would rescue you, prepare to be disappointed.”

  With a supreme effort of will, Leara forced her lips to move. “You dare not touch him.”

  Greg pushed a little more Mana into the spells, silencing her again.

  “That is true, unfortunately. He has too many friends in high places. But you will do for a start. Maybe Goth Chick will be next.”

  He proceeded to tell her, in obscene detail, what he was going to do to her. A tear broke free from one of her staring eyes and ran down her cheek.

  * * *

  “How long was I out?” Hawke said.

  He realized he was sitting on his chair in the meeting room; he must have dozed off. Images from the dream were still floating inside his mind. Greg was a sicko. Looking through his eyes made Hawke want to take a shower.

  Kinto looked up from the map on the table. “You should get some rest. Still some hours until dawn.”

  “How about you?”

  “I have been resting. Old soldier’s trick, to find sleep when you can.”

  Hawke shrugged. He had returned to Orom without problems, and spent the rest of the day preparing for the coming battle. His aerial scouts were keeping a constant watch over the lands between Orom and the Foothills. So far the Fae army hadn’t moved, but he expected that would change the next day. The enemy was roughly ten miles away. His plan was simple: he was going to lead the summoned monsters out as a mobile force to confront the invaders. If they headed straight for Orom, he would try to pin them down between the town walls and his mobile force. If they went for the farmland, he would launch hit and run attacks, forcing them to come for him.

  All the farmers and livestock within a day’s march had all been moved inside the town’s walls, along with as much food as could be carried. People and animals were the important thing. Most of the wheat in the valley had not been planted yet, so there wasn’t much the invaders could do to the fields. There were olive groves and orchards, and other crops that needed harvesting, but even if they were burned or razed, there were magical ways to replace the losses. Lives, on the other hand, could not be replaced. That was why he wanted to keep most people inside the town.

  “I’ll sleep when this is over,” he told Kinto.

  He was tired, but he was worried about the Necromancer messing with his mind while he slept.

  “In that case, I will take another nap,” the Hunter said. He produced a bedroll from his pouch, lay down on the floor of the office, and was snoring lightly a few minutes later while Hawke went over the map one more time.

  There wasn’t much else he could do. His forces were outnumbered, but he had a lot of magical firepower. He was sure the town could be held, especially with the Call to Arms special ability, which for a period of several hours would raise the level of all the town’s defenders by five and imposed an eighty percent failure chance on any enemy magic. To take the town by storm would require overwhelming numbers the enemy didn’t have. Unless the Revenant had something up his sleeve; Hawke couldn’t discount that.

  He could be certain of victory if he summoned more monsters, but that would eat into the Domain’s Mana stores. It always came down to that. Spending more than the Domain could generate in a day meant that in a few days, the whole place would run out of Mana. He walked up to the Domain Interface and checked the numbers:

  Available Mana/Mana Pool: 6,643/17,159

  Mana Recharge/Day: 1,500

  Current Mana Expenditures: 1,500/day. Minions: 1,350 (Death Spire). Processes: 0 Spells: 150 (Orom: Undead, Demonic and Fae Wards).

  Hawke had been forced to stop all the repairs on the Town and Stronghold. Once again, he wished that he could use his own energy to empower Settlement spells. Saturnyx had said that sort of thing could be done by higher-level Stewards. That had been before Hawke acquired Advanced Mana Sight, though. He turned it on and exami
ned the map as he experimentally summoned another Harpy. He watched the Mana flow from the Domain’s pool as it burned through seven points to call another ugly flier. The Mana units used in the spell were a different kind than what flowed through Hawke’s body: it was thicker, somehow, or maybe denser. A milkshake versus a glass of water. Or diesel versus gas. Stewards eventually learned to convert their Mana into something they could use. Maybe Hawke could cheat and figure out how they did it.

  He had some time to kill, so he called out ten Mana points and tried to reshape the energy into the right frequency or thickness. After some experimentation, he discovered that he needed to add more Mana to the mix. And it worked! Fifty points of regular Mana yielded one point of Settlement Mana. He transformed eight hundred Mana, adding 16 points to the Domain’s reserves. It wasn’t much, but the Arbiters rewarded him anyway:

  Congratulations! You are now a Level Four Steward! You can improve any Structure under your care up to Level Four.

  Hawke quickly figured that with his enhanced Mana Recovery, he would be able to replenish the Domain’s Mana at a rate of a hundred and forty-four points an hour. To match the town’s 1,500 Mana production, he would have to spend almost eleven hours doing nothing but pouring in energy as fast as he regained it. Mana potions would raise that rate, for as long as his supplies held. Knowing that he could double the Domain’s energy regeneration gave him options.

  He looked at the accumulated Mana he could now afford to play with, and grinned. Lots of options.

  * * *

  Hawke scampered atop one of the two Darkness Guardians in his small army. The headless monster didn’t have too many good places to use as a seat, but the juncture where one of its central tentacles was connected to its barrel-like body was about as thick as a horse and he could perch there, although a few tentative steps demonstrated he was going to be bouncing up and down rather painfully. He gritted his teeth and held on anyway. On the other hand, the view from fifteen feet up was good.

  Around him were gathered twenty Nature’s Guardians, all level twelve, evenly divided into bearlike tanks and antlered damage dealers. Ten Animated Shadows slithered around the central formation. And circling like so many vultures were ten eagle-shaped Nature constructs and thirty Harpies. It wasn’t a huge army, but pound by pound it could match many times its number of low-level Woodlings. Hopefully, he would make good use of it. And with his new gear, including the magic tattoo decorating his chest, he was bringing a lot of firepower: