The battle shuddered to a standstill, and Ted’s gut churned. Come on, they had to accept, and soon—before Cara did something stupid.
“No,” she said, notching another arrow yet not firing it. “I'm not leaving you. I won't.”
Each word stabbed at his gut. Couldn’t she see this was the only way? He raised his hand, palm open, silencing her. “Go, Cara. That's an order.”
Time stretched out. Her jaw clenched. Her knuckles whitened around her bow. Eventually, finally, her expression settled on a grimace. “Yes, sir,” she snarled, her stiff, rage-filled posture rebuking Ted with everything she had.
The orc mage nodded. With several sharp, rapid hand gestures he ordered his men to advance. “Your father will be—”
A glowing arrow pierced his chest, followed by a hail of more, descending from nearby buildings. Screams rang out from ahead and behind, and the arrows kept coming.
The soldiers frantically raised their shields and closed ranks, protecting themselves from the barrage coming from both sides of the street.
Ted’s heart rose, daring to hope. He pulled on his mana, Armor in one hand, and Absorb in the other.
A huge, armored figure charged out from behind the soldiers, decapating one with a greatsword held in one hand, a dragon-emblazoned shield in the other.
Gramok.
Hot on his tail was Milo, and a motley crew of rebels making up for disparate gear with unfettered aggression.
Things were starting to look up. Ted buffed Cara and readied a Firebolt with the orc mage’s name on it. “Cover me!”
Cara closed up beside him, adding her arrows to those raining down on the soldiers ahead, dropping one with a headshot, while Nammu darted backwards to aid her comrades.
Where was the bastard? There, cowering behind his men.
Spotting the issue, Gramok leaped forward, smashing one of the soldier’s heads in with his mace. “GRAT KOVALNAK!” The line of soldiers crumbled before him, their shield walls broken, more falling as glowing arrows pelted them.
Not the orc mage, though. Two arrows stuck him in the chest, and all it achieved was a roar that promised revengue. He ripped the arrows out, leaving dark red stains on his white robes as emerald magic flared underneath. The mage’s expression hardened and he weaved a cloud of darkness before him, sucking light into a void and murdering it.
“Enkir!”
The Firebolt struck the orc's head, earning nothing more than a flicker of teal magic and a sneer. The mage's cloud of Dark magic grew, coalescing into a spear-shaped voice with a barbed tip that made Ted shudder just to look upon it.
His breath caught in his throat. “Stop the orc mage!” he yelled to Gramok, pulling on almost all his remaining mana for a Firebolt that pushed past the limits of safety.
Gramok bashed aside one soldier with his shield, caved in another’s face, and charged the mage.
The mage's spell sealed. He flicked his finger. The black spear shot at Gramok.
It punched straight through his chest. No wound. No blood.
Gramok collapsed, a puppet with its strings cut. A cord of Dark magic stretched between Gramok and the mage.
Tension crushed Ted’s chest. This had to work. “Enkirtara!”
Sir Gramok Kadora
HP: 73/155
Strength: 13
Dexterity: 3
Endurance: 7
Intelligence: 1
Willpower: 4
Personality: 1
Identify skill increased 2 → 3!
Still alive but, what the hell?
The orc mage calmy bore down upon Gramok. “Your father is expecting you, Edwin. You can make this all stop. Save your friends a lifetime of pain.”
Ted's fingernails dug into his palms. This bastard couldn't be allowed to live. He drew his falchion, plunged a point into Rapid Identify, and charged. “Kill the mage!”
A rebel minotaur twice Ted's height joined the charged, screaming what had to be a warcry, her pitchfork aimed straight at the mage’s head. She hurtled foward, an unstoppable force of nature.
The mage casually grabbed the pitchfork and struck the minotaur in the chest, knocking her down. He yanked it from the rebel's hand and drove it butt-first through her gut with a sickening squelch.
Captain Portak Bortran
Status: Siphon (Destination), Absorb, Armor
Strength: 20
Dexterity: 22
Endurance: 21
Intelligence: 26
Willpower: 24
Personality: 22
Shit. The bastard had stolen Gramok's stats, and with almost all of Ted’s mana spent, he didn’t stand a chance of punching through that Absorb.
The few soldiers still standing formed a square, their shields raised against the unrelenting hial of arrows, and began their retreat. Not the mage, though, not him. He weaved a Force spell in his hands so bright it seared Ted’s retinas, and hurled it at the nearest building.
The ground shook. The blast ripped a fifty-foot hole in the wall, demolishing half the building
A chill ran through Ted. How many innocent civilians had been in that building?
He glanced at the battle going on around them—Cara firing off arrows at retreating soldiers, Nammu and Milo hounding a few die-hards. This mage aside, they had the upper hand, at least until reinforcements arrived.
The mage bore down on Ted. “You can end this. How many more have to die before you accept your duty as crown prince?”
Fire roared through Ted's veins. He threw a Message at Cara—Get Gramok away immediately—and lunged at the mage with his falchion.
The mage grabbed the sword and ripped it from his hand, tossing it aside. “You can't win, you know that right?”
The raw anger wasn’t done, far from it. Ted flew at the mage, swinging his fists at the bastard’s jaw.
The orc laughed, ignoring the pitiful blows. He grabbed Ted by the throat and lifted him off the ground like he was nothing. “You're a fool.”
Ted struggled against the mage's grip. No use. His vision began to blur—he had to do something, anything, to break free.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“When you wake up,” the mage snarled, squeezing Ted's neck, “your friends will be dead.”
Lightheadedness ebbed. Ted’s flailing slowed. He stared at the cord of black-beyond-black leading away from the mage. Watched as it pulled taut.
Not enough time. Never enough time.
Mind Over Body sent raw, primal power surging through him. He shattered the mage’s grip, and pounded on him, slamming him into the ground. Getting in his face.
Blocking his view.
The mage rallied almost immediately, shoving Ted away with supernatural strength and leaping back to his feet. “Weakling,” he snarled, landing a blow on Ted’s jaw.
Ted stumbled backwards, the taste of blood filling his mouth. Over the mage’s shoulders, he spotted Cara and Nammu making their escape. “Fine,” Ted said, letting his shoulders drop, letting the mage enjoy his moment of victory, “you're right—I can't win.”
“See? That wasn't so hard.” The mage yanked Ted to his feet and pulled out a slave collar. The dark cord coming off him narrowed, tension coiling in it.
Ted swallowed hard. Come on, come on!
The mage opened the hinge of the slave collar, pushed it against Ted’s neck—and the dark cord coming off him finally snapped.
“Not alone, anyway.” Ted grabbed the mage by the throat and slammed him against the ground.
Deprived of his stolen strength, the mage was like a ragdoll. His head whipped back, striking the cobbles with a crack.
Satisfaction washed over Ted. He smashed the bastard’s head in a couple more times to be sure, before letting all that power fade away to conserve what little mana he had left.
Milo grabbed his arm. “Come on! We gotta go.”
Adrenaline still burning through his veins, Ted nodded and followed.
They ran after Cara, their heavy footfalls announcing their location to the world. But what choice did they have?
“Thanks for the save.”
Milo’s face twitched as he grunted out an acknowledgement. “We're not done yet. My men will draw them away as long as they can, but we got a job to do.”
Relief flushed through Ted as they rounded the corner to see Cara healing a now standing, and rather angry looking, Gramok.
They traded grim expressions. None of this had gone to plan, and now they had a choice: Back out, go to ground, let the Empire hunt them down, or press on. Continue with an attack that they knew was coming.
It had already been a shaky plan. With the city on full alert, no way they were all making it back alive.
“You have the key?” Milo asked.
Cara handed it over, glowing with intricate Telepathy magic. “Here. I hope it was worth it.”
Milo stared at it for all of a second before tossing it aside. “It's a fake.”
The pit in Ted's stomach deepened. “Great. We're screwed.”
“Nah.” Milo smiled—what the hell was wrong with him? “The Magistrate knows we're striking his palace now, which means, he'll be holed up in his little nest. The one he thinks we don’t know about.”
Cara cocked her head to the side. “You planned for this?”
“It won't be as easy as slippin' in and cuttin' his throat, mind ye, but, aye, I got a plan. Come.” With that, Milo set off, leading them through several side streets before stopping at a dead end.
At least, what looked like a dead end. Milo gestured to a rusty iron grate set into the cobblestones. Even shut, the stench made Ted's stomach curl over and beg for mercy.
Milo nudged Ted and pointing at the grate. “Go on, then.”
Ted frowned and stared at it. No handholds. Only openable by a mage. Drawing on his mana, he cast Telekinesis upon the grate, lifting it up and depositing it to the side.
With the grate off, he peered down into the hole, and immediately regretted every choice that had led to this moment. The odor assailed his senses with such violence that he could almost swear he saw it.
Or maybe that was the rats. Well, what were hopefully rats, anyway.
Milo climbed down first, acting like it was nothing. At the bottom, he pulled out a lantern, and beckoned for the rest to follow.
Nammu went next, her expression blank, focus. Cara and Gramok followed, their faces twisting in revulsion as they descended.
Well. This was it. Ted gritted his teeth and followed. Not like the smell could be any worse at the bottom.
It… was worse.
The cylindrical sewer tunnel was about ten feet across, with narrow walk ways on either side of a channel that Ted tried really hard not to think about. On the list of places he wished he could be, this was pretty damned far down the list.
They silently followed Milo, trusting to his sense of direction. He led them down seemingly random paths, crossing over the… stream… several times on narrow wooden bridges.
After about an hour, he came to a stop, pointed at the stone wall beside him, and looked expectantly at Ted. For a moment, he hesitated, glanced down at his axe, then backed away from the wall. “That wall. Do ye thing.”
The wall appeared no different than the hundreds of others they’d walked past down here, but Milo seemed pretty damned sure. And if this was meant to be a secret hideout, then…
Ted cast Visibility.
A layer of gold and purple magic appeared, along with a mana receptacle waiting to be filled. “Here we go,” Ted said, guiding mana into the wall.
Golden Transmutation magic swirled in the wall, and a hole appeared.
Milo glowered at Ted, and pulled his battleaxe from his back. “Time to cut off the head.”
Dust covered every inch of the spartan room beyond—the floor, the bed, the chair, the desk, the lever on the far wall. Even the candle was coated in a thick layer of dusk. Their every movement as they passed into it kicked up more of it.
Milo pulled on the lever and the wall at the end of the room swung open, revealing a dimly lit basement stocks with barrels, and stairs leading up. Cara snuck up the stairs and pressed her ear to the door.
Tension coiled around Ted’s heart. Without the element of surprise, this already desperate plan would be a death sentence. This had to go off perfectly.
Cara raised a hand. Every froze.
Nothing. Not even the pitter patter of a mouse. Wait, no, there it was—soft footsteps above, drawing closer.
Everyone else raised their weapons. Nammu and Cara stood ready by the door to grab anyone who entered.
The footsteps grew louder.
Ted held his breath. Would it help to cast Deafen? Probably not. He’d have to cast it on whoever was out there, and if they had Discern Magic, they’d be rumbled on the spot.
The footsteps stopped.
Silence reigned, broken only by the pounding of Ted's heart. What they needed was a way to see what was going on without giving away their position. A way to combine Invisility and Farsight.
Was it possible? Ted closed his eyes and focused inwards on Spellcrafting. Yes was the only answer the skill gave back. No hint or guidance on how.
He snuck to the secret passage and examined the wall. The way the Telepathy magic intertwined with the Transmutation magic, masking them both from Discern Magic's gaze.
The enchantment was structured such that both sides of the spell had separate but parallel constructions—one worked upon the door, and the other worked upon the enchantment itself.
Using that as a blueprint, Ted crafted an Invisible Farsight spell, giving the Sight and Invisibility aspects their own Target forms, since they acted upon different objects.
The resulting Telepathy/(Target/Sight)-(Target/Invisibility) was an unwieldy abomination. Using that many aspects already made it tricky, but the real kicker was going over his aspect limit.
Still, in theory it would work, even if it cost way more mana than a spell of that potency had any right to. He checked it over a few times to be pretty sure it wasn't going to explode on him, and then focused his attention above and cast the spell.
Spellcrafting skill increased 10 → 11!
Telepathy magic skill increased 10 → 11!
Grainy images appeared. A servant, in a spare corridor, with a collar around her neck. She was talking to two guards, each standing with backs turned away from the basement door.
The conversation ended. The servant walked away.
Ted put the Enchantment perk point into Cohesion, the Telepathy point into Stability, and crafted an Invisible Communicate spell. After checking it over, he brought the group together and cast it upon them without a verbal component. There's two guards up there, facing away. Cara, Nammu, think you can take them out?
They both nodded, and daggers drawn, headed for the door. Through a new and improved Invisible Farsight, Ted watched them sneak up behind their prey and dispatch both in a synchronized and silent strike.
Nammu dragged her kill down into the basement, carefully avoiding getting blood on the floor. Nicely done, Cara.
Milo led Gramok and Ted up the stairs. The corridor was dim, lit only by an unsettling pale light that left no shadows. Other than that, it was empty, decorated only a huge painting on one wall depicing rebel slaves being put to death.
A shiver ran down Ted's spine. The sooner they got this over with, the better.
Into each of the other three walls were set heavy oak doors, each strengthened by thick iron bands. Milo's gaze darted between them before gesturing to the middle one with his axe. That way.
Ted pushed up the potency on the Invisibility portion of the Farsight spell and cast it into the room beyond.
An elderly man—a high elf, judging by those ears—dressed in golden robes sat writing at a desk. He wore a contented smile, pausing after every word, with a golden medallion around his neck.
His desk was neat, the scrolls upon it lined up tidily. He sipped from a silver goblet and carefully sat it back down upon its coaster.
The room itself—a bedroom—was steeped in dark luxury that made Ted's skin crawl. Rich tapestries hung from the stone walls, depicting Zelnari symbols for Dark magic. A massive four-poster bed, draped with velvet curtains, dominated the center of the room. In one corner stood an empty iron cage with a slave collar sat atop its thick bars.
Polished obsidian statues lined the walls, each watching from the corners like silent sentries, their faces twisted in pain and fear. A cold chill grasped Ted's heart—their faces were too accurate, too real, to be mere statues.
He's in there, Ted said, alone and unprepared. Ready up.
Gramok and Milo took up positions on either side of the door. Cara nocked an bow. Nammu coiled up, daggers ready.
Pumped with adrenaline, Ted buffed everyone else with Armor and Absorb and readied a Firebolt. Go.