Chapter 46: Opposing Views (Patreon)

We entered the chamber running at full tilt.

Although, technically, it was not a chamber. More correctly, it was an arena, a small one, but an arena, nonetheless.

The passage we’d been running down spilled out on its outer rim, at the top of a series of oversized steps. Seating, I supposed.

It was not hard to imagine what the audience had sat watching here either.

Rising tall from the flat sand-covered floor at the center of the arena was what was unmistakably a portal.

And not an ephemeral portal like the one I conjured during my summoning spells, but a permanent structure that would like stand for all eternity.

A Game portal.

Leading to the Hatchlings’ Trial.

“Hsst!” a voice hissed. “Get out of sight, you fools!”

Startled, I spun to my left.

A long line of men and women were there, crouched low and sitting with their backs braced against the outer cavern wall. Eoman’s fighters. Ducking down, I waddled to side of the woman who’d addressed me.

“I’m Captain Lirrilsael,” she began without preamble. “You can call me ‘cap or Lirr.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Eoman’s at the other end. The sarge is gone to fetch him.”

I nodded curtly. “I’m El.”

Lirr’s eyes darted from Soren and Odenna, both of whom were crouched behind me, to Adalinda. Her brows creased, but she didn’t comment on the strangeness of the komodo’s presence. “You four our reinforcements?”

My lips twitched. She’d included Adalinda in her count. It spoke well of her. “You could say that,” I murmured before my gaze drifted back to the arena floor.

It was not only the portal that occupied the sands. Two groups were also facing off against each other down there.

The players.

None of them appeared aware of our presence in the stands, which explained Lirr’s first terse command. It was a little surprising that the players hadn’t noticed us though, especially given that the urn had been activated. But perhaps, they had noticed but were too busy battling each other to pay us any heed.

“There’s ten,” Odenna muttered.

She was right, I saw. The first group of six, which I took to be Alistair’s, were arrayed defensively around the portal while the second group, numbering four, laid into them with palpable fury.

What’s more, the four looked to be winning.

Both groups were trading blows and lobbying missiles at each other, but it was Alistair’s group, I noticed, who were quaffing potions with every increasing regularity—and desperation.

“Which is the extra one?” Soren wondered.

“Her,” Odenna said confidently, pointing to the woman standing behind the three spies. “She’s going to be a problem.”

I glanced at her. “Why do you say that?”

“Do you see that translucent bubble around her?” the elf asked.

I nodded.

“It’s a mage shield. And only players above level one hundred have those.”

I swallowed. “Level one hundred?” I repeated. That didn’t bode well for us, not at all.

“It explains why the spies are winning despite being outnumbered,” Adalinda added.

I nodded absently, still studying the mage Odenna had pointed out. The woman was richly attired in a green-satin dress. She wore a ring on every finger and wielded a staff from which she shot bolts of lightning at her foes. Her face, while clearly visible, was not familiar.

“El,” Adalinda said abruptly. “Do you see that human to the left of Esmina. Don’t you recognize him?”

I studied the man in question, and for a moment, felt memory spark, but no rush of recollection followed in its wake. “No,” I began. “Who is—”

The man turned, giving me a clear look at his face.

“It’s him!” I hissed.

“Who?” Soren and Odenna asked at the same time.

“The mage—telepath, actually—who was with Cantos when the Devils tortured Alon,” I spat.

“He must be the ‘Iken’ mentioned in Cantos’ notes,” Adalinda said.

I nodded, and one by one, picked out the other faces I knew.

The lizardwoman Zwela.

Her fellow spies, Groff and Glenda.

Esmina—without her wand.

Dansen and Tyn—the two Adalinda had killed.

And finally, Matthew—the rogue.

There was only one player I didn’t know—not counting Odenna’s mystery woman—a red-haired man. That must be Alistair.

Soren squeezed my hands. “We’ll see that he pays, El.”

“They all will,” Eoman agreed, appearing beside Lirr just then, pulling a worried-looking Tommin behind him.

✵ ✵ ✵

“What took you so long?” Odenna demanded, staring straight at Eoman.

“Ssh, keep your voice down,” Tommin whispered. “They’ll hear you!”

Odenna snorted. “As if they could! Anyway, they’re too busy killing each other.”

“Which we should be grateful for,” Eoman said.

“What happened?” I asked before Odenna could take the Raccoon leader to task.

“Arinna’s followed showed up with her,” Eoman said.

“Who is she?” Soren asked.

Eoman shook his head in consternation. “I don’t know. The scout we had trailing the spies never saw her. She just showed up. Either she was here all the time,” he added, sounding worried at the possibility, “or she is good enough to hide from even Vax.” This seemed to trouble him even more.

“Vax?” I asked.

“An insurgent scout, one of the very best.” He paused, then added. “He’s a player too.”

“Then what?” Odenna prompted.

Eoman shrugged. “At first, all that the two groups did was hurl insults at one another, then they descended to threats, and finally, missiles. That’s when I activated the urn.” He smiled smugly. “I timed it well enough that they don’t suspect a thing. Both groups think the other is carrying the urn.”

“So, they don’t know we’re up here?” Soren asked.

“Not as far as I can tell,” Eoman replied. “The access corridors we used to get here is not the primary route. The players came another way entirely, through a passage that feeds directly into the arena.” He paused. “I’m not even sure they know the second corridor exists.”

I was curious as to how Eoman had found the second passage to begin with, but now was not the time to inquire. “What’s our plan then?”

“We wait for them to exhaust each other out,” Eoman replied. “Then and only then do we go in and mop up, killing the survivors.”

I bit my lip. I couldn’t fault the plan. Letting the players kill each other off made sense. Still… I disliked sitting around and waiting.

“What if one group decides to retreat?” Soren asked.

Eoman exhaled. “That’s a risk,” he agreed, “and the moment, we spot them doing so, we’ll be forced to intervene.”

“I think we’re going to have to intervene sooner than that,” Odenna said. “Look.”

Following the elf’s pointing arm, I looked down into the arena.

Two of Alistair’s group—Matthew and Esmina—had collapsed. From this far out, I couldn’t tell if they were unconscious or dead, but both were clearly out of the fight. Worse yet, the remaining four members of Alistair’s group looked hard pressed.

“They wouldn’t last long,” Adalinda observed.

“Our mystery player is going to make a clean sweep of things if we don’t stop her,” Odenna pronounced, unconsciously echoing the celestial.

Eoman’s lips tightened unhappily, but he nodded curtly in agreement. “You’re right.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Lirr get everyone moving. We attack now.” He pointed at the woman in green. “And make sure everyone knows that that’s our target.”

✵ ✵ ✵

Eoman and his two dozen fighters slipped down the stands. Soren and Adalinda went with them, and I had to bite back the urge to call them back. The others would need their help, I knew, and despite the danger, I let the pair go.

With only Odenna for company, I began casting.

You have cast ethereal bow.

The ghostly construct materialized in my left hand. Holding it low, and hopefully out of sight of the players below, I waited.

A touch under a hundred yards separated me from my targets in the arena—too far for a clean shot, especially at my skill level—but I would advance closer once Eoman’s party engaged.

“Phantom longbow?” Odenna guessed, eyeing the weapon in my hand.

I shook my head. “Ethereal bow.”

“Huh, never heard of that one.”

“Not joining the others?” I asked. It was not that I wanted her too. Despite her protests to the contrary, Odenna was old, and I preferred she not be in the thick of things, but she had never struck me as one to hold back.

“No,” she snorted. “I told you, I’m the guardian of the Shanasyn line. My place is by your side.”

“What about Soren?” I murmured. “Isn’t he of the bloodline too?”

“Of course. And if I could split myself in two, I would. But you are more important than any heirs Soren may have one day.” She held my gaze. “If it comes to a choice, I will save you,” she finished bluntly.

I shivered at her caustic words. They hinted at the hard choices the elf had had to make in the past. Realizing I didn’t want to know what those choices were exactly, I turned my gaze downward, ending the conversation.

The others had almost reached the arena floor, I saw, and chanting under my breath, I began a second casting.

I slipped the last strand of mana into place, completing the spell, but didn’t release it. Taking slow controlled breaths, I held the entire weave steady in my mind.

And waited.

Eoman and Soren jumped down onto the sands with the rest of the party close behind. Spreading out, they rushed across the grounds. It was only a matter of time before they were spotted.

Alistair turned, seeing them. Then Zwela did too.

It was time. Whispering the final words of my incantation, I released the spell.

You have cast light’s favor, increasing the Dexterity of 27 targets by +2 ranks.

Light blossomed in the arena, banishing the shadows from their murky depths, and all eyes turned to the woman in the green dress.

I’d centered my spell on her.

The speed of Soren and the other’s charge picked up a notch, almost imperceptibly so, but the woman noticed. “There’s another player in the stands,” she yelled. “Find her!”

Her?

Groff and Glenda hesitated for a moment, then obeying the woman who was clearly their superior, cut right, attempting to angle around Eoman’s group.

Adalinda changed course, intent on intercepting the pair.

“No!” I instructed sharply. “Stay on the woman. Soren and the others need you.”

“But—”

“I can handle those two,” I growled. “Trust me.”

Reluctantly, the celestial veered back on course.

Alistair and his group, meanwhile, were staring at Eoman’s people in confusion, uncertain if they were friend or foe. After all, it was not around them that our fighters were converging.

“They’re only proles,” Alistair snarled finally. “Ignore them. Get Enari!”

Enari… the spymaster? Was that the woman in green’s name?

Whatever the case, Alistair’s command seemed to settle the matter. Lowering their weapons, the survivors of the red-haired player’s team resumed their assault on the shielded mage.

For her part, the woman in green—Enari—ignored Alistair and his fellows, and for some strange reason, pointed her staff at the Raccoons charging down on her instead.

My bow was already raised and poised, though.

I knew it was unlikely I’d hit the mage from this distance, but it was not a kill shot I was trying for.

But a distraction.

Hardly bothering to aim, I fired, releasing three arrows in quick succession.

The bright projectiles—a fire arrow, a shock arrow, and a light bolt—arced across the expanse of space between me and my target.

Enari’s gaze flicked upward, and I saw her hesitate. Not for long—only for a moment—but that was long enough to buy Eoman’s people a few precious seconds, and they raced closer.

Correctly judging the incoming arrows no threat, Enari refocused on the fighters and barked an arcane command.

Her staff flared.

A bolt of light burst forth.

And someone died.

Enari has killed an ally with a fatal blow!

The fighter flew back and landed on the sands with a sickening thud. His entire body, from head to toe, was charred and smoking—an unrecognizable lump of flesh.

I swallowed convulsively, guiltily-glad it had not been Soren who’d borne the brunt of Enari’s attack.

In the short lull, my arrows struck. Peppering the ground around the mage, they missed her entirely.

The mage shifted her staff, adjusting her aim.

The action galvanized me into motion, and I rushed down the stands recklessly fast.

“Where are you going?” Odenna yelled.

“I have to get closer!” I shouted back. I had to make each arrow count. I had to seize and hold Enari’s attention or more fighters would die horribly.

Enari has killed an ally with a fatal blow!

Another fighter died. Then two more.

Enari has killed an ally with a fatal blow!

Enari has killed an ally with a fatal blow!

Reaching the lower stands, I set my stance and raised my bow. I can hit her from here, I told myself. I will. I must. Inhaling, I took aim.

A pair of fast-moving shapes on the right caught my attention.

Groff and Glenda were closing in fast. If I didn’t take care of them, I would get in maybe four or five shots. But if I took them out first…

I hesitated, trying to weigh the cost in lives.

“Leave them to me,” Odenna panted, coming up from behind.

I didn’t question her. There was no time. My eyes darting forward again, I refocused on Enari.

My heart sank. I’d lost my shot.

Eoman’s people had closed within striking range of Enari. Which was all well and good but left me without a clear target. Helpless to do otherwise, I held my bow taut and waited, hoping for another opportunity.

Our fighters were dancing around Enari, weaving about her in a complex pattern of strike and withdraw. Despite my own tension, I couldn’t help but admire Eoman’s tactics.

The simplest approach would’ve been to order our fighters to converge on Enari en-masse and batter on her shield until it failed. The Raccoon leader had not done that, though. Realizing that would only leave his people sitting ducks for whatever spell Enari threw at them, he instead had them darting in and out.

When Enari faced one way, the fighters at her back lunged forward and rained down blows on the magic bubble enclosing her.

When she turned to face them, they retreated, weaving erratically, while their fellows on the other side took up the assault.

It was a good strategy, and it left Enari flustered and frustrated. In a short space of space, the fighters landed over a dozen attacks, while Enari’s lightning bolts missed twice in a row.

It was, however, also a dangerous game.

Playing chicken with the shielded mage demanded all the fighters’ concentration, which in turn, left their backs exposed to Alistair’s people.

And they didn’t care who they struck.

Alistair has killed an ally.

Dasen has critically injured an ally.

Tyn has injured an ally.

Iken has killed an ally.

“Damn,” I muttered, cursing the avalanche of Game messages scrolling through my mind. The fighters couldn’t handle both Enari and Alistair’s people.

We had to change tactics.

“Ada, break off,” I ordered. “Go after Alistair’s people.”

A pause. “You’re sure?”

“Yes!” The celestial wasn’t much use against Enari, anyway. For fear of hitting our allies, she was constrained from using her most potent weapon—fire. “If we don’t kill them soon, there won’t be any Raccoons or insurgents left to save.”

“Alright,” she replied. Zipping across the sands, she made for the next closest player—Dansen.

He saw her coming and blanched.

Lowering the crossbow in his hands, the human fighter beat a hasty retreat. Clearly, Dansen remember his previous death at Adalinda’s hands.

I risked a glance at Glenda and Groff. The pair were almost on me, but Odenna seemed ready to face them. Extending her arms fully, she flicked her palms up. Wholly focused on me, the two players missed the gesture.

Which cost them—dearly.

Something—air? a force?—surged out of the old elf’s hands and struck the pair harder than any hammer.

Both went sailing back.

My mouth dropped open in momentary awe—I’d been half-expecting needing to help Odenna, but once again, it seemed, I’d underestimated the old woman.

You’re wasting time, I scolded myself.

Dashing down the last stand, I jumped down onto the arena floor. “I’m going to take the fight to Alistair’s people,” I called over my shoulder.

Not taking her eyes off the still-dazed spies, Odenna nodded sharply. “Go!”

I didn’t run. I walked.

Raising my bow into firing position, I drew the light string taut. No friendlies were in my line of sight this time.

Exhaling, I fired.

You have injured Alistair, dealing air damage.

A level 45 archer has passed a magical resistance check!

The shock arrow lodged in the human’s thigh. Yelping, the red-haired man broke off his assault on Enari and began turning my way.

My projectile had dipped more than I’d expected. No matter. Taking another step forward, I willed a light bolt into existence, then drew back and released in one smooth motion.

The shining bolt rushed through the air.

Still turning, Alistair’s eyes widened. “Duck,” he screamed to the players behind him and threw himself out of the way.

Alistair has evaded your attack.

Undeterred, I took another step, drew, aimed, and fired.

You have critically injured Tyn, a level 26 water witch.

The fire projectile thudded into the player’s back. Foolishly, she had turned her back on me while scrambling for cover.

One more hit and she’s dead, I thought coldly. Advancing again, I drew back my bow.

“Get her!” Alistair roared. “That’s the wench who killed Esmina. I want her head on—”

Adalinda has cast fire-breath.

In their haste to escape me the players had forgotten the celestial. Her jaws opened wide, Adalinda raked the players with fire.

Your companion has injured Iken.

Your companion has injured Dansen.

Your companion has injured Tyn.

3 of 3 targets have passed a magical resistance check!

The churning flames enveloped Alistair’s fellows but, sadly, missed him. Leaping clear of the fire bathing the sands, the archer drew back his bow, his furious gaze fixed on the celestial.

“Incoming, Ada,” I yelled. Retargeting on the fly, I fired off another light bolt. My target’s own arrow was already airborne, though.

Both projectiles streaked across the air.

One magical, the other wood and steel.

Alistair has crippled Adalinda! Your companion has been hobbled (movement speed reduced by 50%).

You have grazed your target, dealing fire damage!

My foe’s aim was better than mine. His arrow pierced her right foreleg despite her attempts at evasion, while mine only grazed the archer’s cheekbone.

Throwing me a victorious smile, Alistair drew another arrow from his quiver.

“I’m okay, El,” Adalinda said before I could ask, “but I’m not sure how much further use I’m going to be. My leg…”

“Get the water witch—if you can,” I sent back. Tyn, too, was impaired. Stumbling blindly, she was unwittingly heading closer to the celestial.

Iken and Dansen were hale enough, though. Obeying their leader’s instructions both turned my way, one raising his crossbow, the other his right hand. And Alistair, too, was taking aim at me.

I was to be the party’s new target.

With Adalinda crippled, they were free to focus their attacks on me. My eyes flickered between the trio. Which one?

Settling on Dansen—he was closest to Adalinda and still a threat to her—I fired. I didn’t wait to observe the outcome, knowing their own attacks would be incoming soon. Lowering my hands, I let my bow dissipate and charged across the sands.

Three projectiles came screaming at me. Two of wood, while the third was something less ephemeral—a violet blur.

I veered right, hoping I’d reacted fast enough but fearing I hadn’t.

You have injured Dansen, a level 27 cleric.

Your target has failed a magical resistance check! Dansen is stunned. Duration: 1 second.

My shot landed, finding its mark. But then it was the turn of my foes’ missiles.

You have evaded Dansen’s attack.

Iken, a level 28 telepath has injured you.

Alistair has injured you (damage reduced by witch armor).

I evaded the first projectile, but not the second two. Iken’s sending hit me in the shoulder while Alistair’s lodged in my calf. He’d gone for a hobbling strike again, I suspected.

And half succeeded.

My charge slowed. My right leg wasn’t crippled but the pain was excruciating. I refused to give up, though. Gritting my teeth, I limped forward at the fastest pace I could manage.

Alistair laughed, clearly delighted by the outcome of his attack. “Die, you fool,” he crowed, setting another arrow on his bow.

Tyn has died.

Tyn’s spirit has been imprisoned. Duration: 5 days.

The Game message gave the archer paused and involuntarily his eyes cut left to where Adalinda was savaging the witch with tooth and claw.

You have entered the field of effect of light’s favor. Your Dexterity has increased by +2 ranks.

I smiled grimly, my pace quickening a touch. Less than twenty yards separated me from the players now. “Can you get Iken?” I asked.

Raising her head from the bloodied corpse, the celestial measured the distance between her and the player. “I’ll try,” she said doubtfully.

“Do what you can,” I replied and risked a glance in Enari’s direction. Half of Eoman’s fighters were dead, but the other half still weaved about her, and Soren, to my relief, was still amongst them.

With a quiet twang, Alistair released the arrow he had been holding ready.

But all this while, I’d been watching him out of the corner of my eye, waiting for the inevitable attack. So, when he fired, I reacted instantly and threw myself forward.

Alistair’s attack has grazed you.

I was fast, but not that fast. And once more the archer struck me. This time, though, the arrow only clipped me, lodging in my left shoulder, and not in my heart where, I suspected, it had been meant to go.

Nonetheless, the attack still spun me around, and losing my balance, I fell. I refused to stay down. Staggering back to my feet, I began casting.

Alistair sighed theatrically. “Don’t you ever give up girl?” he asked, drawing yet another arrow from his quiver.

I didn’t answer. To my left, I spied Adalinda dragging herself forward. Unfortunately, her movements didn’t go unnoticed by Iken and Dansen either, and they promptly retreated in Alistair’s direction.

“Sorry, El. I’m too slow, I can’t catch them,” Adalinda sent, her mindvoice rife with disappointment. Immersed in my casting, I didn’t reply.

You have cast ethereal bow.

Alistair spotted the glowing construct as soon as it materialized and laughed. “Really?” he asked, pulling his longbow taut. “Do you actually think I’m going to let you get off another shot?”

But the ethereal bow was only a distraction.

While Alistair was watching the weapon in my left hand, I palmed the wand concealed in my right hand. I’d drawn it earlier—when I’d fallen—and had been using my body to hide its presence. Casually, I brought my right arm around from behind my back, exposing the wand to view.

Alistair didn’t notice, but Iken did.

His eyes narrowing, the telepath opened his mouth to scream a warning.

Too late.

Not bothering to raise my arm, I jerked my wrist up, took aim, and released the casting lying dormant in the wand.

You have trigger-cast fireball.

A raging inferno mushroomed out of the slim rod and roared towards my target, expanding rapidly with every foot it covered. His eyes widening, Alistair fired reflexively.

It didn’t matter.

Before the wooden projectile crossed even half the distance, it was swallowed whole by the fireball and turned to ash. The spelled attack didn’t stop there, of course. It kept going.

And hit Alistair squarely.

But not only him. By this time, the fireball had grown into an enormous roiling sphere of fire and heat, large enough to envelop not just Alistair, but also the two nearby players.

You have killed Alistair.

You have killed Iken.

You have killed Dansen.

You and your companion have reached level 32!

In a heartbeat, the lives of all three were snuffed out. Shocked senseless, I stared blankly across the sands at the smoking corpses.

One spell did all that?

“Now,” Adalinda said, reeking of smug satisfaction, “do you see why I love fire?”