The Destroying Plague Page 16

  Tissa smiled as she thought of him. She’d always liked him, and not just for his looks; for his headstrong character, his self-confidence, his knowledge beyond what they were taught in schools. But there were plenty of people she liked, and Sheppard had seemed too arrogant for her liking.

  It all changed in the last autumn, when he suddenly got passionate about Dis and became a Threat. The Dementors had no idea about that back then but stood behind the boy against Crag without having to discuss it. No matter how you span it, Sheppard was a friend, a classmate that they’d known since childhood. Tobias, on the other hand, was a creepy joker that had been forced out of the clan. By then, Melissa’s serious interest in Alex was waking up, but even then, without realizing it herself, she spoke to him because it was necessary. The First Kill in the Olton Quarries was a coveted dream not only for Ed, but for all the Dementors.

  Then there was the business of Axiom, and Alex suddenly showed a new, unfamiliar side to himself. For Tissa, it was enough that he wanted to help the whole clan, not just her, and even if he hadn’t made the bet with Big Po, it would have been enough for her. But Alex went even further and carried the Dementors to incredible heights that they’d only ever dreamed of before. And most of all — he gave them hope for a better future…

  “What do you think, did I ever have a chance?” Malik interrupted her thoughts.

  Tissa looked at him. His expressive eyes framed with long eyelashes were objects of desire for many girls, along with his open smile. But right now, Malik’s gaze didn’t have a single sign of his usual playfulness. You had a chance, idiot, she thought, but answered entirely differently.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re like a brother to me, Infect. Let’s leave it at that. I’m Scyth’s girlfriend,” she ended decisively, both for him and for herself. “And your friend. Agreed?”

  Infect nodded thoughtfully and turned away. Tissa fell onto her back and stared at the cloudless blue sky. She picked up some grass and put it between her teeth. Infect lay down next to her, head to head. Minutes passed and neither stood up. Searching this huge area for the missing kobold tribe seemed like a fool’s errand. Without mounts, constantly running into mobs…

  “What if it doesn’t work out?” Infect broke the silence.

  “If what doesn’t? If we don’t find the kobold s?”

  “With Scyth. He’s always getting into scrapes. Wouldn’t be surprised if the preventers get him tomorrow.”

  “He can handle it. And we’ll help.”

  “Of course! But if not? What then?”

  “We’ll keep playing together. We’ll level up a new toon for Alex, if he wants to play again. But I doubt that — he has enough money for his studies, and he never liked Dis much.”

  “Why is he always so lucky?” Infect sighed. “It could have been me. Or Bomb. Or Crawler…”

  They had an old habit of using different names for different worlds. Probably so they didn’t forget where they were.

  “Stop it.” Tissa jumped to her feet. “Come on, they’re close!”

  “What? Who’s close?”

  “I got a new ability! Search of the Fellow Believer! The kobold s are in a cave in that gorge we were wandering around yesterday…”

  Tissa shared the map coordinates with Infect, buffed them both with Light Feet and they ran. The thief went into stealth in the gorge, and a couple of seconds later she heard him sigh.

  “I’m going to miss this…”

  “You mean the invisibility?”

  “Uh-huh. I’ll be like a clown, walking around with a tin whistle. I won’t be able to fight or run if I have to.”

  The girl stopped suddenly. Noticing her friend’s ghostly silhouette, she took him by the shoulder, looked into his eyes and spoke strongly:

  “Have you forgotten why we’re here? It’s not for fun! I’d gladly change classes myself if the clan wanted me to! But they need a healer more.”

  “I’m useful too! I can see the unseen, scout, stun, disarm traps! I have the highest level, not counting Scyth’s cheater abilities…”

  “Less than what the legendary buff will give to the whole group. The whole group, Infect!”

  The thief fell silent and sighed, offended. Tissa knew that he understood the need in changing classes, but she had no plans to support him in his imagined slights. A successful clan didn’t discuss the leader’s decisions, especially when they were made unanimously.

  They continued walking in silence. Once they reached the spot, they stopped. There was no indication whatsoever of kobold s in the cave. There weren’t even ashes from fires, a permanent feature of the rat people, who believed that fire awoke their intelligence. That was why they had an eternal love for candles — every kobold wanted to have a little fire with them always.

  The thief slipped into the cave first as a silent shadow.

  “Psst!” the girl heard from inside. “They’re here.”

  Tissa raised her head high, straightened her shoulders and walked inside proudly as befitting a priestess. Squeezing in through the narrow and winding passageway, she saw shadows dancing along the high cave walls.

  “Stop, human!”

  Narrowing her eyes, the girl saw a rusty blade at her throat.

  “I come in peace. Who is your leader?”

  Two kobold s emerged from the semi-darkness: a tall one with a huge paunch and a short one, gray and hunchbacked. The second limped, leaning on a crooked staff. The limper narrowed his watery eyes, looking into Tissa’s face.

  “May the Sleeping Gods never wake!” she cried.

  “And may their sleep be eternal!” the old man responded.

  “And may their sleep be eternal!” the whole tribe repeated in unison, their words echoing off the walls.

  “Bow…”

  Tissa could have sworn that she heard Behemoth. The chief of the Grog’hyr tribe, Shaman Ryg’har and another eleven kobold renegades, clanking in dirty broken armor, fell to their knees before the priestess of the Sleeping Gods.

  A little time later, the tribe joined the populace at Kharinza, and Tissa and Infect returned to the sandbox before Exhaustion could kill them. They didn’t see much in their three seconds in the clan fort, but they realized something was happening there.

  Chapter 9. A Still Unconquered Herald

  “ABYSS TAKE ME, where am I?!” Patrick brayed.

  The fleshy, stinking paw of a monster covered in welts and blisters and seeping slime grabbed air instead of the first priest’s shoulder as he jumped away. The clumsy creature, as if assembled from different parts of dead men, lost its balance and stepped past on inertia. I waved away an untimely notification about an upgrade to Depths Teleportation and whistled, assessing the mob’s level and class.

  Sickening Rotter, level 239

  Elite

  Casting a glance at the fort, I felt a cold sweat forming on the back of my neck. We’d jumped into the height of a local plague zombie apocalypse. The undead moaned all around, and rotters and skeletons wandered the fort’s only street, but most of the mobs were furiously attacking the temple. Something prevented them from going beyond the foot of the stairs, some invisible barrier.

  Get to cover, now! I heard Behemoth’s voice but was already starting to recover on my own. I dragged Patrick toward the temple, trying to think of a way to break through the screen of the undead. I dropped my elvish girl disguise as I walked — there was no point in keeping it now. Along with the false image, I shook off the stupor that had been growing from my second day without sleep.

  Crag, level 26 warrior, and his group (Ripta, level 307 raptor; Anf, level 310 flayer) invites your group (Scyth, level 39 herald; Patrick, level 26 warrior) to join them.

  Just in time! I accepted the invite without thinking. The presence of Anf and Ripta was comforting, but also perplexing: why weren’t they just sweeping away these small fries, over a hundred levels beneath them? And where were the satyr and his girlfriend?


  Over a dozen of the living dead blocking the path to the temple turned around when Patrick and I started running and jumped into a gap between a skeleton archer and a raised corpse. Ghastly Howl had no effect on any of them. No surprise, but it was worth a try. Although, possibly thanks to the ability, the skeleton missed its target. Its arrow glanced my ribs, taking off a chunk of flesh and I flew bleeding into the cover of the temple.

  Without a doubt, even such a hit from a far superior mob would have killed me instantly. The logs showed that the archer’s damage exceeded my health many times over, but the effective damage was split mostly between the insectoid and the raptor. Nonetheless, even with the protection of the Sleeping Gods, my health was cut by more than half.

  Our people were crowded on the temple stairs. The workers watched the undead in horror as they tried to break through the barrier only a few feet away. I doubted many of them had seen anything like this… Although, what could be more terrifying than the Montosaurus?

  Crag elbowed his way through the miners and builders and helped me to get to my feet. He looked me up and down with interest and chuckled.

  “Did I imagine it, or were you just an elf girl?”

  “Not now, Toby! Tell me what’s happening. Where’s the Sleeping God? Where are all our new allies?”

  “A free tavern in a protected fort,” Patrick muttered nearby. “I didn’t expect this from my boy!”

  Manny and Trixie helped him up, greeting him like an old friend. The dwarf kept saying ‘Uncle Patrick is good,’ and struggled to embrace him with his stubby arms.

  “The first priest should go up into the temple,” Crag noted. “Behemoth is struggling to keep the barrier up. Anf and Ripta can’t leave his side, they’re sharing their energy with him.”

  “You’ve met them?”

  “Yep. Flaygray introduced me to them and Nega,” Crag chuckled and blushed. “The satyr and the succubus got stuck in the tavern when it all started by the way… Where the hell did you find them? They won’t tell me anything. Flaygray even said I should ask the master my questions. Meaning you! How…”

  “Stop. I’ll explain everything later, now isn’t the time.”

  I shook Trixie’s hand and greeted Manny. Then I asked:

  “Why didn’t you leave Dis? You can’t work like this anyway…”

  “Do you think we just don’t care, Alex? We know that the god needs everyone right now. If the temple falls, you’ll die, and then all this is over. No. We’ll be here to the end…” Manny waved his pick over his head in fury. “May the Sleeping Gods never wake!”

  “May their sleep be eternal!” the miners echoed in response.

  I don’t know who first started that. Probably not Behemoth himself, and certainly not me. It was probably by the hand (or tongue) of Bomber or Crawler. They must have dug something up from the game mythology.

  “Cultists,” Crag said, smirking.

  Patrick hugged everyone. The workers greeted him gladly and behaved as if with an old friend and drinking buddy. Which is probably what it was.

  “I’m so glad to see you all, old friends!” the first priest shouted. “I so hoped to see you again!”

  “Scyth, it wouldn’t hurt to send him to the Sleeping God,” Crag noted, nodding upstairs. “He needs more support; he’s collapsing under the pressure.”

  “Mr. O’Grady,” I said, distracting Patrick from the workers. “By all the Sleeping Gods, into the temple, now! Our god needs support!”

  Grabbing him under the arm, I dragged the obstinate priest up the stairs. Judging by the smell, he was still drunk. Crag kept pace with us and continued his report.

  “Basically, the satyr and his girlfriend are holed up in the tavern with some of the workers. They can’t get out for some reason. We haven’t had any news from there since Behemoth put up the shield.”

  “Where did the enemies come from? The mines?”

  “Something like that. The undead broke out of a closed mineshaft. There were three lich bosses in the lead. The miners ran to the fort. They were quick enough, nobody got hurt. The undead ran after them, but later it became clear that the temple was their main goal. It all happened really fast; it hasn’t even been an hour! Fortunately, the Montosaurus appeared and made mincemeat out of some of the undead. The dinosaur bit the first boss in half and ate him. But two others got into the fort: one is sieging the tavern, the second — the temple…”

  I sent the unhappy Patrick into the temple and stopped outside.

  “If Flaygray and Nega are in the tavern, then why didn’t Ripta and Anf stop the assault? They’re over level three hundred!”

  “You think they didn’t try?” Crag said. “They almost died protecting the temple. That lich is a hell of a warlock. He took control of the raptor and made him attack his own. The mantis held him back as well as he could, lost an arm for his trouble, but managed to drag Ripta behind the shield. The lich’s spell broke. The Sleeping God healed them a little and brought them in to help maintain the shield. They’re inside, see for yourself…”

  A terrible picture was revealed in the temple’s hall: the god, this time in the form of a huge man with a hippopotamus snout, stood hunched, his eyes closed, and arms raised, as if holding up something incredibly heavy. Beads of black blood seeped from his pores. Nearby, the insectoid and raptor lay flat on the ground, not moving. Their health indicators showed that they were alive, but badly injured.

  Behemoth closed his eyes slightly for a moment, and the weight of the whole world came down on me that very second. My knees bent, but I somehow stayed standing, wheezing. Crag and Patrick grunted when I grabbed their shoulders.

  I will not last long; I heard the Sleeping God’s voice in my head. The invasion must be stopped!

  Patrick fell to his knees and began furiously praying. The pressure lifted slightly.

  “Crag, call your workers, have them do the same!” I said.

  Toby nodded and disappeared. I looked around feverishly. How could we get out of this?

  Bomber and Crawler weren’t in the fort — they were still traveling to the instances, and they wouldn’t have been much use here anyway. I didn’t bother writing to them, so they wouldn’t jump in and get into trouble. Thoughts swarmed in my head, but none were of any use. My gaze passed over my skill panel, hoping to catch on some idea. I saw the icon of the gold bag. That was it! The artifacts from the treasury!

  I opened the bag and begin to pick through the items, sorting them by usefulness. The Diamond Worm wasn’t going to work; it had to be fed experience, and anyway, judging by the needlers, it would need to grow first. The Flesh-Eating Tree Protector had the same problem. And there was no gardener in the fort to plant the tree and look after it properly. The unidentified artifacts were useless — I hadn’t made it to the University of Magic to identify them. The high-level gear was unusable due to the penalties. I could put them on, but the bonuses wouldn’t work and my stats would drop to abysmal levels. What else? The magic tomes, although nice, were useless. There was no magic flute to save the day, nor a bard to play it.

  Nothing that could help us fight off the undead attack. Except…

  I had four guards at level three hundred and above, a patron saint of my very own and the killer talents of two top Threats! The puzzle tapered off to solving a single problem: uniting all the guards in one spot to boost them with Crag’s talent, cover them with Sleeping Invulnerability and kicking some dead ass.

  I remembered that Depths Teleportation had leveled up. I opened my profile and stared at the skill description. It changed a little with each level-up. Now let’s see… There it was!

  All I had to do now was prepare: assess the enemy’s strength and reequip. The twelve levels I gained in the treasury made all my old equipment obsolete. The Burning Shot Bow that I’d been so proud of looked great at level twenty-five and was good enough at thirty, but now any green piece of gear at my level would be better.

  In the meantime, the space of the hall filled u
p with Sleeping God adepts from the non-citizens. They surrounded the god and began to pray. I heard English and Spanish, Portuguese and Polish, Chinese and Russian — the poor knew no nationality. I couldn’t translate their prayers, but somehow, I knew that for Behemoth, the words didn’t matter. The pressure on his shoulders finally lifted.

  “What now?” Crag asked, returning.

  “The influx of faith will support Behemoth and give us a little time, even if it isn’t much. So first we’ll assess the enemy’s strength.”

  “And then?”

  “And then we’ll suit up and go fight.”

  * * *

  There were around fifty mobs roaming the fort above level two hundred, and two bosses. I knew the mobs well from the cellars of Nergal’s temple in Tristad — each had killed me a hundred times. Skeleton Warriors, Skeleton Archers, Broken Skeletons, Brainless Zombies, two Foul Queases and three Sickening Rotters. The last ones differed in their creation method: the queases were sewn together from body parts, whereas the rotters were raised from rotting masses of corpses in which bones still swam and innards could still be seen, with bloody veins and blackened ligaments. Cursed Liches at level three hundred and six led the onslaught.