Chapter 155 - Farenlight’s Den V

His skin bubbling and a heavy sweat dripping down his brow, a wounded kelpfin heaved a series of heavy, bloody breaths. Using his sword as a crutch, he pushed himself back to his feet just in time to evade the lash of a tongue. The dodge strained his broken ribs, forcing one snapped bone into his gut and another out the front of his chest.

A greener warrior would likely have fallen then and there, but for one of the den’s spelunkers, it was an everyday occurrence. Hunting the big-eyed lizards was an art that could not be easily perfected. They ranged anywhere from level 60 to 140, and it was impossible to differentiate between the weak and the strong at a glance. Guesses could be made, based on where they were discovered, but they were just that. Guesses. There was no reliable consistency; the individuals that dwelled on the tenth floor would sometimes wander up, whether they were being culled or not.

Still, it shouldn’t have been a problem. Rekh’s group was made up of four level 150 fighters. Three were frontliners, while the last was a mage specialised in supporting fire. Each member of the group could single handedly take on two or perhaps even three ikarett variants, and together, they could handle roughly thirty. On the sixth floor, groups rarely got any bigger than ten. It should have been fine for them to rest in one of the dungeon’s many isolated corners. But on that particular day, the alcove was anything but safe.

Over seventy lizards had sprung on them out of the blue, led by a larger metallic variant. They had lost their backline attacker in the ambush. The unlucky lad was struck in the head by a fist-sized rock before he was able to put up a shield. The others had rushed to defend him, but a barrage of spells left their efforts in vain. There were too many projectiles for them to stop; Waedh was pelted until his skull was bloodied and broken.

The disorganised, haphazard attempt at a rescue had crippled the rest of the group’s fighters. Rekh was the luckiest. He had only been struck in the chest; his body was still fully functional, the pain accompanying his broken rib the only deterrent. The other two were worse off. One had his dominant wrist broken, while the other sported an injured pelvis that made it difficult for him to twist his hips. They were in bad shape. Considering that there were another sixty-odd lizards to kill.

“Can’t say I expected it to end any other way.”

One of the men laughed as he dodged another wave of rocks and bashed an ikarett with the pommel of his blade.

“Chin up. We’ll be fine” said Rekh. As leader, he was obligated to maintain the team’s morale, even if it meant lying to their faces. Like the others, he was well aware that dungeons were often unpredictable, and their frequent explorers were likely to lose their lives in one freak accident or another. But the risk wasn’t without reward. Even an average dungeon diver was able to provide his family with an upper-middle class income; some particularly lucky veterans were so wealthy that they could afford an early retirement, a plot of land in the capital, and an easy life for all that shared their blood. “Focus on killing as many as you can. We might be able to make it if one of us can squeeze out a level.”

“It ain’t happening, boss. Takes over a thousand of these things to get one, and my closest class is only 300 in.”

“I’m about 100 away.”

Rekh grimaced. “Both of you are closer than I am.” None of his classes were even approaching the halfway mark.

“Orp, you and I are gonna have to charge in and mess up their lines, Krav, you run through the middle as soon as you see a chance. Get back to town and tell Melly what’s happened.”

“Got it, boss.”

The tallest of the three kelpfins nodded as he struck down another lizard that got too close. Even without his dominant hand, the rogue was capable of delivering a slash that cut straight through the monster’s neck.

“Ready, Orp?”

The other warrior nodded as he deflected a wave of magical rocks with his shield. “Anytime.”

“Just what I’ve been waiting to hear.”

Rekh kicked off the ground. He ignored most of the rocks blasted at him, parrying only the ones that threatened to hit him in the head. The rest bounced right off his skin as the rush skill took over his body. But despite his vigour, he never quite made it into the crowd.

A ray of searing light beat him to the punch. The beam swept across the battlefield and melted half the lizards where they stood. It was followed by a loud, feral roar. A giant dressed in a full suit of armour ploughed through the swarm with a metal club whose dimensions were almost identical to her own. Every lizard in her way was pulverised, crushed beneath her seven meter-tall frame.

“You three okay?”

A lizardman waved at the group from down the hall. He and two others, a fishman ranger and a grug mage, followed in the giant’s wake with their weapons sheathed and their bodies relaxed.

“Just peachy, thanks,” said Rekh. He fell to one knee with his sword buried in the dirt in front of him. “You really saved our asses there.”

“I’m sure you’d have done the same, if our positions were reversed,” said the reptile.

“We would have tried, at least,” said the shark. “Who are you anyway? Can’t say I recognize any of you.”

The lizardman responded with an embarrassed smile. “We’re new in town. I’m Wren, and we’re a part of Glarchst’s Fangs. Or at least we will be, if we manage to kill Farenlight.”

“With power like that, I don’t doubt you can.” Rekh extended a hand, which was soon taken and shook. “I’m Rekh. We’re the Fishguard Four. Well… three now.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Wren lowered his head. “Do you need us to escort you back up to the surface?”

“No, we’ll be fine, thanks.” The shark shook his head. “They caught us off guard that time. The waves aren’t nearly this large, normally at least.”

The giant reptile nodded and flicked his tongue. “So I’ve heard. All the groups we’ve run into so far have been saying that there’s something wrong with the dungeon today.”

“All the groups? It isn’t just us?”

The two-legged snake shook his head. “You guys are the fourth.”

“Fourth?” The shark crossed his arm flippers and tapped his leg flippers against the floor. “That’s far too many for it to be a coincidence. We better get a move on.”

“Good luck.”

“You too. Don’t die.”

Exchanging another pair of nods, the two party leaders each rounded up their groups and set out on their way. For Rekh, Waedh’s death was the last straw; he was ready to return to the big city and retire. He had accrued enough funds for a life and a half. Funds he would never get to spend. Because like his deceased friend, he would never again see the light of day.

___

“What do you all think of the latest reports? Have any of you thought of a way to stop him?”

General Larsen, an old Kryddarian with a coat of grey fur, leaned back into his silken cocoon as he scanned the room. The question had come after a brief discussion regarding the tea recently delivered to their base. The ladies and gentlemen gathered had each taken a turn to give their impressions on the substitute as they sat leisurely around the table. In short, his queries were entirely unprompted. But everyone understood them. One by one, the chattering officers fell silent and lowered their eyes to their cups.

Because they were the exact questions they had all been trying to avoid.

In the blink of an eye, Cadria’s calamity had taken nearly a fifth of the country. He marched straight through Meerfog Gorge and eliminated every soldier that dared to face him. The elites they had borrowed from Paunse, their neighbour and close ally, had suffered the same fate as the common rabble. If the reports were to be believed, none of them had managed to so much as land a blow.

“There has to be a mistake!” An old three-armed captain bashed his fist against the table and knocked over his cup. “There were only a hundred of them. That’s hardly two platoons! There’s no way in hell ten thousand men can lose to just a hundred!”

He wasn’t the only one in disbelief. Of the eleven seated around the table, five were in accord. A lieutenant, and three warrant officers were nodding their heads, while another pair of captains looked on sympathetically. They understood his denial; he wasn’t the only one to have lost an heir to the brutal slaughter. But the remaining five had a completely different set of opinions.

“What are you suggesting, Ivar?” The only non combatant, the minister of surveillance and internal affairs narrowed his eyes into a glare. He was a much younger man of a smaller stature, standing at only a meter and a half to Ivar’s three. “That my men are lying to you, perhaps?” But despite his tiny size, his slicked back hair and his tiny glasses, he was intimidating as a cold-blooded killer. His glare was sharp enough to send shivers even up some of the veterans’ spines.

“No. But they may be mistaken.”

“My men don’t make mistakes, Ivar.”

“Maybe in times of peace.” The three-arm scoffed. “This is war, Mr. Sedersen. You can never know anything for sure.”

“Is this why you refuse to budge?” The minister stood up from his chair and leaned forward with his hands pressed against the table, his voice a low hiss. “Because you don’t think that the surveillance corps are to be trusted?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust them, I just don’t think they understand the circumstances as well as they make themselves out to.”

“You’re the one that doesn’t understand!”

“Enough!” A loud boom echoed throughout the meeting room as the old general sat up from his cocoon and thumped his cane against the stone floor. “We are not here to argue. We are looking for a way to stop the Cadrian menace before its poison spreads any further into our lands.”

“With all due respect, sir, I stand by my previous suggestion,” said the minister. “You should give up and evacuate. Duke Augustus will be here by tomorrow evening at the latest. If an army with 10,000 men couldn’t get the better of him, then one with only 700 is unlikely to last any more than a moment.” He looked around the room as he adjusted his tie and returned to his seat, expecting to see nods of agreement. But there were none. He was regarded with little but disdain, even by those that had previously appeared to be on his side.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sedersen, but we cannot retreat,” said Larsen. “We will stand our ground and fight to the last.”

“Are you insane, General?” The minister raised his brow. “Do you not understand that your forces are needed? We have to gather all the troops we can, or else we’ll never be able to defend Gnaruhn’s Valley.”

The old man shook his head. “Please understand, Mr. Sedersen. This is our land. We cannot abandon it.”

“Ownership means nothing if we lose the war,” spat the younger moth.

“While you are not entirely incorrect, I also don’t believe you see the point.” The old warrior got up from his cocoon and limped his way to a window. “Perhaps our troops will be able to get away, if we retreat now, yes. But it’s too late to evacuate the citizenry.” He turned around and faced the other man with a frown, his pale grey eyes filled with a fiery glow. “And as I’m sure you know even better than I, the warriors of House Augustus may as well be demonspawn. They will not hesitate to raze every town, village and city they cross. There will be no survivors. Not even the women or children will be spared.”

“I understand that. But—”

“You understand it as fact, perhaps. But I have good reason to believe that you are failing to grasp what it truly entails.” The general’s knuckles went white as he tightened his grip on his cane. “If we let him defile our people and our lands, then there will be nothing left for our soldiers to fight for. They won’t be defending their properties or their countrymen. Because there won’t be any homes or loved ones for them to return to.”

“I know that, general, but we can rebuild what was lost. So long as Kryddar conti—”

“Enough, Mr. Sedersen, enough.” The old man glared as his tone turned harsh. “Kryddar is already doomed. A kingdom is nothing without its people, and the aspect of war will slaughter all of ours. Whether we resist or not.”

“That’s all the more reason to obey His Majesty’s orders an—” He tried to explain his point. But again, he was cut off.

“It’s too late.”

“We still have a day. That’s more than enough time to get a march on!”

“No, Minister. We don’t.” General Larsen pointed his cane out the window, towards the path leading to the fortress’ open gate, where a single cervitaur marched. Even from afar, his frame was clear. There were no locals disfigured enough to have four legs and two arms.

“What!? That’s impossible!” shouted the minister. He broke into a cold, shivering sweat as his legs gave out beneath him. “He isn’t due for another day.”

“You see? I told you.” Captain Ivar laughed as he got up from his seat and put on his helmet. “This is why I said that war wasn’t predictable.”

“No, no, no! This can’t be right! He was seen in Uryli’s Creek this morning! That’s twenty leagues away!”

“You placed your belief in the wrong men.” Like the general, the captain put his hand to his blade and stepped out onto the balcony. “While you chose to believe in your agents, we chose to believe in our enemies.” He turned to his commanding officer, who had already drawn his blade and raised it above his head.

Taking a deep breath, the good general raised his voice for all the fort’s troops to hear. “Proud men and women of Andor Spring, warriors of Kryddar! The enemy has arrived on our doorstep. Prepare for combat immediately!”

At the older warrior’s signal, the Kryddarian officers leapt from the meeting room and formed up with their men. Each had only a few platoons at most. Still, they would fight the monster that threatened their lands. Just as every soldier still present had agreed.