Grand Game 442: What Lurks Inside (Patreon)

83 Days Left to Broker Peace in Sector 12,560

The night passed without incident, and I awoke somewhat groggily with the dawn. Rolling upright, I glanced to my left and saw, Ghost was also sitting up.

Something had disturbed us both.

“Aiyeeeeee!”

The pyre wolf’s ears pricked at the distance shout. It was coming from the river. “Trouble?” I prompted.

“I don’t know,” Ghost admitted. Still on her belly, she inched closer to the water.

Edging forward myself, I parted the long grass and peered in the direction of the river.

There were five boats on the water, the same ones I’d spotted moored on the riverbank last night. I relaxed. “It’s only the villagers,” I murmured. It seemed their day had already begun.

My gaze drifted north to the fort. Its doors and windows remained barred and locked. Clearly those within were no early risers.

“I suppose we should get started,” I said, stifling another yawn. Neither of us were likely to get more sleep now.

“What should I do?”

“Stay here and watch from the river’s edge,” I replied. The reeds alongside the river were dense and tall—which is why we’d chosen it for our overnight camp—and would better conceal the larger pyre wolf who lacked any stealth skills. “I’ll circle around and observe the fort from the other side.”

“Alright,” Ghost replied, studying the surroundings doubtfully. “And what will I be watching?”

“The villagers, the fort—anything out of the ordinary. I’ll stay within communication range, so you won’t be alone. And whatever you do, try not to get spotted.”

“Yes, Prime.”

✵ ✵ ✵

Four hours later, Ghost and I were thoroughly bored.

I was stretched out flat along the ground, and despite the morning sun beating down from high overhead, I was hidden from sight—not that there was anyone around to see me. Those inside the fort had not stirred yet, or if they had, they gave no outward sign of it.

“How much longer do we have to do this?” Ghost grumbled.

“For however long it’s necessary,” I replied wearily.

“But I’m hungry,” the pyre wolf complained. “And it’s hot.”

It certainly was that.

One thing Adriel had not prepared me for was the intense heat. Perhaps she’d forgotten or perhaps Draven Reach’s cool temperate climes had spoiled me. Whatever the case, Ghost and I were already baking in the scorching heat. But there was no help for it. We would just have to bear through.

“Can’t we do something else, Prime?” Ghost whined.

“Like what?” I asked, wiping away the beads of sweat rolling down my face.

“Well, why don’t you just go up to that building and knock?”

“I can’t do that,” I replied firmly.

“Why not?” she demanded querulously.

“For one, we don’t know how the Devil Riders will react. They’re almost certainly not our enemies—indeed, they probably have no clue who we are—but that doesn’t mean they’ll welcome us with open arms. In fact, given the tone of that sector wide announcement, I’m inclined to believe they’re the kind to attack first, and ask questions later.”

“But what if you—”

“Then, there is my Power Mark,” I continued, deliberately speaking over her. “It alone will make them suspicious—perhaps even suspicious enough to call for help from whatever Powers rule their faction. And that, we want to avoid at all costs.”

“Oh, alright,” Ghost said, deflating. But only a moment later, she spoke up again. “But there must be something else we can do, anything else. Please, Prime. Maybe, we could—”

“Well, you could always return to the Cloak,” I snapped before I could bite back the words. The heat was making me irritable too, it seemed.

Still, my retort silenced Ghost’s protests as I knew it would. With a loud mental sigh—that she made sure I heard—the pyre wolf flopped back against the ground. Ignoring her antics, I kept my gaze pinned on the fort.

The northern face of the structure was a mirror of its southern one—four windows and one door, all locked and barred—and once more, I couldn’t help but frown as I considered the fort.

Having walked the perimeter of the building twice over this morning, I was sure the safe zone was housed inside the fort’s depths. But while the fort was certainly large enough to house both the safe zone and the one thousand soldiers required to keep the Riders’ claim valid, it had to be a tight fit for those inside. Were they not feeling the heat?

Metal screeched.

My focus sharpened. “Ghost, you hear that?”

“I do, Prime,” she replied, sitting up attentively. “It sounds like a door opening.”

“I agree,” I said, scanning first the door, then the four windows on my side of the fort. All five remained adamantly closed. “Is it on your side?”

“No.”

No?

Ghost’s response left me momentarily stymied. The fort’s east and west walls were blank slates, absent any openings. I’d double checked earlier to make certain of that. “Are you sure about—”

I broke off.

Something had appeared on the roof.

A large flying something.

A second, a third, and then a fourth followed in its wake. I groaned, finally realizing where the unseen opening was.

“There’s a door on the roof,” I told Ghost. Which perhaps explained its flatness.

“What are those things?” Ghost growled, ignoring my comment as her gaze fixed on the newly emerged creatures. “They smell… disgusting.”

I wrinkled my own nose. I was closer than the pyre wolf to the fort—less than fifty yards away—and from this distance the stench wafting off the creatures was more potent.

More joined the initial four until a full ten had assembled on the rooftop. From nose to tip, each creature was about the length of a horse. Their wingspans were thrice that, though.

In shape—if not in size—they resembled Gnat, but where Erebus’ minion had been fleshless, these creatures were most assuredly not. Crimson leathery skin covered each giant bat. Their eyes shone a fierce red, and somehow, I got the impression that the heat bothered them not at all.

Reaching out with my will, I inspect the closest creature.

The target is Ectarr, a level 167 hellbat and demonic companion.

Hellbats are a rare subspecies with only one known spawning ground: the lava fields of Mount Torment. Unusually intelligent and more than a little magical in nature, they often bond for life with their chosen partner. They are not picky with who they pair with either and will often bond with the first individual—be it a bat or another creature—who impinges deeply on their consciousness.

Note, companions are alike yet different from familiars. Even more than familiars they are separate Game participants. They do not share their host’s attributes, nor their levels.

Companions do, however, partake from the same pool of lives and Class points as the player to which they bound. Kill a player’s companion, and he, too, will lose a life.

On the heels of the Adjudicator’s response, ten bipedal shapes appeared on the roof, and I didn’t need to analyze them to know what they were: players.

“Devil Riders and their rides,” I muttered.

“Prime?”

“The hellbats are the players’ pets,” I explained. “And if I had to guess it’s not just these ten that use them. The entire faction must.” I chewed on my lip. “Which complicates things.”

“How so?”

“The river reeds are not going to hide you from those flying above,” I replied, watching the Riders mount their hellbats. Where were they going? It didn’t matter, though. The chances that the Devils would fly over the river and spot Ghost were too great. “Time to unmanifest.”

“But—”

“No, buts, Ghost,” I said, cutting her off. “They’re about to launch. Do it now.”

“Yes, Prime,” she replied meekly.

A moment later, I felt the pyre wolf’s form begin to unravel, and I relaxed. Not only would the Devil Riders have been able to spot Ghost if they flew over her, but they could also hunt her down if they were so inclined. As fast as my familiar was, there was no way she was going to outrun an airborne pursuit.

Across the distance, I saw one of the players pause before jumping into his saddle. Backing away from his hellbat, he turned to face the river.

I tensed in sudden trepidation.

It was almost as if the Rider had sensed Ghost’s casting, but he couldn’t have...

Could he?

Ghost had not finished unmanifesting, and though I could not see her, I imagined she still was a nebulous—but very visible—cloud of darkness. A few more seconds and she would be safe. I only needed the player to do nothing for that long.

But I couldn’t take the chance that he would cooperate.

Rising into a half-crouch, I drew psi and crept forward. There was only one surefire way to stop the Devil from interfering—presuming he could do so, of course, and I had no choice but to assume that—and it required me getting closer.

A wand dropped into the player’s hand from wherever he’d kept it concealed in his sleeve.

It was all the confirmation I needed. The Devil was about to fling a casting at Ghost. I had to act. Whether or not I could’ve trusted the Riders enough to trade with them was all moot now. From this point on, they were my enemies. Releasing the weave I held ready, I dove into action.

The Devil’s hand jerked up.

A fraction of a second later, I shadow blinked.

You have teleported 50 yards. You are hidden.

As I stepped out of the aether, I saw spelled energy gathering at the tip of the Devil’s wand, threatening to burst out. Ebonheart was already in motion, though. It was a race to the finish.

But it was not a fair contest.

No spell was as fast as my black blade.

Almost too fast to see, ebonheart darted in and out, snuffing out the light in the Devil’s eyes before any of his fellows could so much as register my presence.

You have killed Reinhart, a level 172 warlock, with a fatal blow.

His ties to life severed, the Devil slumped to the ground.

Around the corner of my eye, I saw a reddish shape blur forward. While the other Riders were still oblivious of the new danger in their midst, the dead warlock’s demonic companion wasn’t.

A hostile entity has detected you! You are no longer hidden.

Its eyes swimming with hatred, the hellbat lunged at me. I spun away and its exposed throat sailed past. I made no move to stab at the creature, though. Instead, I drew more psi.

I’d eliminated the threat to Ghost, which was all that mattered, and now it was time to escape. Killing the hellbat—as easy as it promised to be—would only hamper my efforts to do so. Backing away further, I kept spinning psi.

“What—!”

“Who’s that?”

“… did he come from?”

“Reinhart!”

The hellbat snapped at me again. Ducking low, I let its jaws close on empty air, still making no attempt to engage.

Rising back up, I found thirty-eight pairs of hostile eyes pinning me. They were in motion too, hellbats and players alike charging recklessly forward.

Unfortunately for them, I’d already bought myself all the time I needed. Releasing the psi weave in my mind, I let my will ripple outward and into their midst.

You have cast slaysight.

Sadly, given the mass of enemies converging on me, I had no time to finetune the casting, and so, I released my spell without any specific targets in mind.

Acting indiscriminately, the slaysight spell invaded the weakest of the hostile minds around me, locking their limbs in place.

You have paralyzed 9 of 10 targets for 60 seconds.

Ghost has unmanifested.

Chaos ensued. The unfrozen players and hellbats, ignorant of their fellows’ bespelled state, crashed headlong into their suddenly-motionless bodies.

Not bothering to observe further, I spun around and headed for the roof’s closest edge, drawing psi as I went. More cries and shouts rose behind me.

Ignoring them, I leaped off the building.