Chương 68: 16 The Shark in Grimton

The world pitched around me. I stumbled, catching myself on the post holding the waypoint bell. Grimton sprawled out below us, beyond a slope of dead grass. Corin stepped out next, steadying himself on the coach. Regaining composure, he ventured forward with cautious steps.

"We're supposed to fight like this?" I asked, shivering. Serevian stumbled out next.

"Yeah, always try to pay with eyemarks when you can. Running the red isn't ideal." The coachman's shoulders pivoted toward us in a loose approximation of a headless nod, then he flicked his reins, and he was bolting down the road, dragging a trail of dust. I turned toward the city. Gravehold Citadel loomed far away, a bastion above the ruined city. The Undertide sliced across the haunted metropolis, cutting a clear path that marked the border of Gravehold's wards.

Trajectory cones from the Undertide's gun ports washed ruined buildings and streets. Jade translucent cannons boomed, carving green glassy tracks through the air as Ghost shells blasted shops and homes to kindling. Serevian cursed as he scanned the destruction.

"Look!" Corin said, pointing. I followed his gesture. As the Undertide hit the arc of its path furthest from the docks, a pack of civilians sprinted for the citadel, led by Shad rangers.

"Looks like evacuations are still underway," Serevian said. <<Corin: We just made it to the outskirts of Grimton. We're pretty weak, but we're going to push for the armory. >> I glanced at Corin, who nodded. <<Naomi: Hurry, there are a lot of people trapped out there. We've already lost four teams trying to get to it. >>"Good thing we're approaching from the outside of town," I said.

"Those Spirits are probably watching the fort." Serevian nodded.

"With any luck, we'll only need to get past it once." <<Naomi: Be advised. There are Ghost patrols in the streets. They've got the armory surrounded. >>"Great," I said, rolling my eyes. Serevian turned to me, brow raised. As a non-User, he couldn't access our messages, so we relayed the news to him.

"Sounds to me like the Spirits know what's in the armory," Serevian said bitterly.

"How are we going to get to it?" The Bane Thesis winked into my hand.

"This'll work," I said. Serevian drew an arrow with a black, frosty broadhead.

"I have a single cold iron arrow."

"Let's grab some supplies," Corin recommended, scratching his chin as he recalled Ghost lore.

"Look for intact thresholds. If we get invited into a home, the other Spirits shouldn't be able to cross. Taverns, government buildings—anything public won't work half as well."

"Until Captain Vale shreds us with grapeshot," Serevian said.

"Yeah," Corin agreed, turning.

"Until that." In the distance, the Undertide's starboard side fired at the citadel twice. Spectral cannonballs punched forward. They smashed against an invisible dome barrier; the air rippled where they impacted. On the port side, three cannons belched semi-translucent and eerily radiant smoke. A roof shattered, a wall disintegrated, and a guildhall tower crumbled, sending up a plume of dust. The Undertide completed its lazy arc through the city and then began turning back toward the docks.

Her languid pace and masts gliding above rooftops gave me the distinct impression of a shark circling a sinking rowboat.

"Where's the armory?" Corin asked. Serevian pointed.

"Not far from the lighthouse." Great, the Undertide was moving in that direction.

"Marking it now," Corin said. The building flashed through my HUD, its outline glowing yellow. Corin took the lead, hurrying down the hill on long strides. I sniffed, then followed. My hands and feet had gone numb, and my lips were blue from the red lines. Worse still, the late afternoon air felt much colder than it should have. It was to be expected after donating dangerous amounts of blood to a decapitated coachman. We made it to the bottom and had to stop to catch our breath.

My heart beat far too fast, and the edges of my vision blurred. Serevian said something.

"Huh?" I said, turning to him. It took everything just to keep my eyes focused.

"I said, let's move." We made it to the city gates. Basalt stone walls blocked our way.

"Hello!" Corin called, hand cupped to his mouth. No one answered. I summoned Hook and hurled it up. It only went about halfway up the wall, my strength sapped from my arm. It snapped back into my hand, the force sending static tingles through my fingers.

"I'm too weak," I said, chest rising and falling.

"That should be an easy throw."

"Air Step?" Serevian suggested.

"And burn all my mana before the fight?" I shook my head.

"Only if I have to."

"There's a ranger man-door about a mile north," Serevian said.

"We don't have that kind of time." Corin shrugged.

"If there's a problem, there's probably a tool for it." He turned to us, smiling.

"And I've got big pockets." He flicked a hand. A bundle winked into being near the top of the wall, conjured from his inventory. Steel hooks slammed down on crenellations, the bundle uncoiled, a rope ladder tumbling down to our feet. Exhausted, we climbed the ladder, then took stone steps down into the city streets. The outline of the warehouse Corin had marked continued to burn in my vision, shrunken by distance. Even through the mortar and stone of other buildings, I locked onto its yellow outline.

We hurried toward it. A choked growl turned my head. A zombie reached for me, trapped beneath what appeared to be the collapsed wall of a theatre. I let it be. We crossed three more city blocks, taking cover at each one and panting heavily. Corin handed out more water and, surprisingly, caramel.

"Candy?" I asked incredulously.

"Sugar," he corrected, a lump in his cheek.

"We need the energy." I stuffed the wax paper wrapping into my pocket and popped the sweet. He wasn't kidding. The sweetness hit, and almost instantly, my energy spiked. Something rustled, and we whirled. A pale and gaunt man and woman peered from a doorway. Three small children peeked out from behind them. I lowered my sword.

"Are you Queen's Rangers?" the man asked, glancing at Serevian hopefully.

"I am," Serevian said. The woman pulled her youngest child to her leg.

"Are you evacuating to the keep?" The Feykin sobered and shook his head.

"Shelter in place; allow nothing to cross your threshold. Find the strongest point in the house and lie low." The man bit his lip, the corners of his eyes tightening.

"It'll be okay," I said, shifting forward.

"We're going to get rid of that ship. I promise." The man and woman exchanged a glance before slipping back inside and shutting the door.

"I didn't realize you even had humans here," I said.

"How do they endure the emptiness without goggles?" Serevian's voice lowered.

"Vampires need to eat." I tensed. How was Fel Rock part of the Paradise Coalition? Vampires, Wights, Wraiths—they all seemed allies better suited for the Bloodwake.

"There!" Corin said excitedly, pointing to a tavern with its front window blasted in.

"We'll find supplies in there." Before I asked for clarification, he rushed to it, then slipped inside. Serevian and I exchanged a glance, then followed. We stepped past the broken window to find the place deserted, a direct cannon shot having destroyed the bar. Corin slipped back towards the kitchen. Serevian's long ears twitched, then he cursed, pulling me out of view of the street. I didn't question; I just ducked low. A pair of sailors walked down the street, semi-transparent and glowing faintly. I went still.

The Ghosts glanced one way, then the next, each holding a naval saber. So, these were Captain Vale's sentries.

"D'you hear something?" one asked.

"Probably just a rat," the other responded. They gave the street a final sweep, then pressed on. We waited a moment longer, then Corin came back grinning. He clutched a wooden rod. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Any good finds?" I whispered.

"Three bags of salt." He hefted the shaft.

"And rowan wood. It won't disperse Ghosts like cold iron, but a Spirit will feel a blow from this as surely as you or I." He gave it an experimental swish. Men shouted outside, and I came to my feet, hand tight on the Bane Thesis. Serevian nocked his cold iron arrow. We exchanged a quick glance, then hurried out into the street. The two Ghost sailors we'd seen came running in our direction, but pulled up short when they saw us. Only they weren't alone.

Three figures in long coats fanned out behind the Ghost sailors. The trio wore matching low-crowned travel hats with narrow brims. A man and a woman each brandished a cold-iron rapier. The third form, taller than the others by far, appeared to be a human-wolf hybrid. A Werewolf. The Lycanthrope shouldered a repeating crossbow. Serevian straightened.

"Slayers!"

"Ho, Ranger," the man in the center said, straight blade angled at the Spirits trapped between us. The spectral sailors, outnumbered, went back to back, blades at the ready.

"How goes the hunt?" Serevian called.

"It's a good day!" the woman called, striding forward. Pins held her short, straw-gold hair back, and a long scar ran across the bridge of her nose. My eyes were drawn to a leather whip coiled around her forearm. Gold, iron, silver, and bone glinted among beads braided into the lash.

"No hunt necessary. The fools came to us!"

"No trophies with Ghosts though," the Werewolf growled in disappointment.

"Stand aside," one of the sailors shouted.

"You will not stop Captain Vale from saving the dead." My head cocked to the side. What did that mean? The woman uncoiled her whip in a blink, the lash already whirring. It snapped forward, cracking like a gunshot. One sailor shrieked as he vanished into ghostly fog.

"Al!" the second cried. The Werewolf fired his crossbow. The final Ghost puffed away as the cold iron bolt carried through him and embedded into a doorpost. The woman continued forward, jerking the whip and catching it.

"Well now," she mused, waving ghostly fog away.

"A Cousin, a ranger, and a—" Her eyes fell on my filthy travel leathers, and a brow lifted.

"Also, Cousin," Corin cut in. I scanned her with my terminal. <<Name: Valery Ricci>> <<Race: Human>> <<Class: None>> <<Rank: Slayer Captain>> <<Lvl: None>> <<Total: Not synced to Ourabora>> <<Equivalent Level: Martial-9; Mage-3>> Combined equivalent level of twelve? This was no amateur.

"I'm Val," she said. Then she motioned to the man at her side.

"Walt and Chubs." I eyed the Lycanthrope.

"Chubs?" He tossed the crossbow casually onto his shoulder.

"Wasn't always this shredded. The nickname stuck, though." Serevian stepped forward.

"Serevian, Queen's Ranger. This is Corin Saltwind and Antonio Moretti."

"You poaching kills on our streets?" Chubs asked, clawed fist curling.

"Official Queen's business," Serevian explained.

"We're heading for a priority target—an armory by the docks."

"Specialty cannonballs," Val guessed, sheathing her sword and coiling her whip back around her arm.

"You seem to be capable," I said.

"Want to tag along?"

"Hunt with Cousins?" she asked, pulling the whip tight.

"Intriguing, but no hunt changes without the Guild's say so, and they'll want payment." Serevian sighed.

"I'm in no position to coordinate contracts for the Queen," he said.

"But I can say with high confidence she'll see you rewarded."

"High confidence doesn't pay funeral fees," Val said pointedly. Corin shook his head.

"You're the Slayers Guild; your largest footprint is on Fel Rock. If it falls, there go most of your contracts." Walt knocked ash off his shoulder.

"That, or they'll double." Val considered for a long moment, then nodded.

"Fine. It's better to stand in the crown's favor, anyway. But if the Undertide comes, I have first dibs on Vale's sword." I nodded slowly, then leaned against a beam for support as the street seemed to spin.

"Fair." Walt glanced at each of us, brows knitting together.

"You lot don't look so good."

"Caught a waycoach all the way from Inksprings," Serevian said apologetically.

"Ran red lines halfway."

"Then it's a miracle you're even standing," he said, nose twitching over his short white beard.

"You need a drenal shot." He opened a leather flap, exposing five steel syringes.

"This'll get you back in the game, but it'll cost you."

"You take Dragon's silver?" I asked, fishing out my talon pouch. He frowned, considering.

"I'd prefer notes, or better yet, booze." A crystal bottle winked into Corin's hand, stopper waxed, black liquor sloshing within.

"Will this do?" Walt grinned.

"My kind of trade." He handed the syringes over. I grimaced, then plunged the needle into my arm. Heat spread through my veins. Muscles tightened, and my blood washed with electricity.

"Whoa!" I exclaimed, slapping myself in the face on a whim.

"That stuff hits!" Walt nodded, pocketing the booze.

"That'll jumpstart what little blood's in your veins in a hurry." Corin shuddered before jerking his needle free.

"Shall we?" Reinforced by three Slayers, we continued northward toward the docks. The yellow outline of the armory slowly grew in my vision as we neared. An incorporeal cannonball blasted the balcony off a townhouse behind us. We dove for cover, waiting. I expected more shells to come, more dialed-in fire to zero on us. It didn't. It was likely a random shot at the city rather than an aimed shot at our party. We hurried, jogging the rest of the way. At last, we crouched a block away from the armory.

No fewer than twenty-five glowing figures stood at the ready, on the roof, around the block, and in the street.

"Well," Val whispered.

"They do not want anyone getting through here."

"The Undertide is close," Serevian warned, glancing over his shoulder.

"Anything too flashy might draw it."

"So, what's the plan?" Val asked.

"Pitched battle against a five-to-one ratio?" Corin shook his head, crouching low behind a planter box filled with long-dead flowers.

"We don't need to defeat them. Perhaps draw them away?"

"Yes," I whispered, shifting to Val.

"Could your team hit them hard, lead them away, and disappear in a hurry?"

"Aye," she said, uncoiling her whip.

"We keep contacts around the city. Families with strong thresholds. I'm talking generational bonds." Walt produced a round, brass thurible, snapping the ball open. He began packing it with dried plants.

"Incense?" Corin asked.

"Now?"

"Garlic, rue, sage, rowan bark, juniper, and mugwort." He sparked the thurible, starting it smoking.

"They're going to hate this stuff."

"You'd best get in position," Val warned.

"We'll draw them off. You get the cold iron shells."

"Thank you," I said, offering my hand. She clasped my forearm and gave a curt nod.

"Well, should we ring the dinner bell?" Corin, Serevian, and I backtracked a block before cutting a wide arc toward the side of the armory. Crouching low, we waited behind a water trough. One minute. Two. Walt's brass ball sailed into the opening, trailing smoke. The reaction was instant. Spirits gasped and coughed, clutching at their throats as they stumbled away from the incense. Bolts whistled through the air, punching through and dispersing Spirits.

The Ghosts composed themselves, a translucent Orc pointing at the Slayers' hiding spot and bellowing. A few ghostly pistols barked, and then the Spirits surged away from the building. I wiped my nose, surprised to find red pooling at my nostrils. My hand trembled, pumped with stimulants.

"Door," Serevian warned. I looked. Two Ghosts hung back, shirts pulled over their noses, their eyes watering. The Ranger nocked his cold iron arrow, angling to take them both out with one shot. A trajectory shaft lined up on Serevian's neck. Adrenaline already surging, I shoved him. His arrow snapped away. It hissed, missing the sentries and burrowing into a pillar in front of the armory. They yelped, noticing us at once. A ghostly javelin slammed down, burying into the stones where Serevian had been standing.

I looked up. An incorporeal troll, standing on the roof, was already drawing his second javelin. A trajectory shaft chased me, so I dove forward, rolling. One of the Ghost sailors discharged his pistol. The bullet disintegrated against the stones beside me. I came out of my roll and charged, Bane Thesis flickering at my side. The second sailor, a Feykin with tears from the smoke streaming down his face, aimed an old-school flintlock pistol. I lunged, springing off one Air Step, then another. I climbed.

Then I dropped down on them from above. A lance of light speared through my shoulder. Last second, I kicked off the air, sending myself laterally away from the sailors. The troll's second javelin skimmed my bicep, drawing a very real line of pain. I landed, rolling away from the Ghosts on the ground. Cutlasses jumped from sheaths as they whirled on me. Boots pounded cobbles from the other side. One Ghost turned. Corin flung a handful of salt into his face. He shrieked, dissipating into a puff of fog.

I lunged at the Feykin Ghost, slashing with a Windmill Form combo. Cold iron rang against the spiritual manifestation of steel. The sailor staggered back, flinching as I drove him closer to the smoking orb. Corin wove around the spectral sailor and slammed the rowan rod into his leg. Wood snapped against bone, and the Feykin Ghost cried out, stance dropping. I saw my opening. I took it. The Bane Thesis scattered the Spirit. By the door, Serevian jerked his cold iron arrow from the post.

He nocked it in a blink, aiming it at the roof troll. The troll reared with another javelin. A trajectory shaft lit up between Corin's shoulder blades.

"Corin!" I called. Serevian's eyes widened, and he jerked his shot to the side. The javelin snapped down. Serevian's cold iron arrow sparked off it, sending both projectiles clattering to the stone. Corin spun and dropped low. The troll grinned. Out of reach on the roof, he'd be free to pick us off.

"Antonio, sword," Corin called, hand reaching out.

"What?" I cried, angling the blade before me, as if I had any chance of deflecting a troll's javelin.

"Now!" Teeth clenched tight, I tossed the sword, handle first. Corin snatched it from the air. It vanished into his inventory. The troll reared, casting a new trajectory path toward Corin's chest. Corin pointed above the troll. The Bane Thesis winked back into existence, point down above its head. The sword dropped, and the troll vanished in a puff of fog. My chest heaved, long pants tearing from me. I spun, making sure no more enemies charged us now that we had no weapons that could harm a Spirit.

The streets remained still. I glowered at Corin.

"You're getting my sword off the roof." A relieved snort escaped him. Serevian quickly retrieved his cold iron arrow, and we made for the door to the armory. It was locked. A boot to the deadbolt changed that. With a splintering crack, it slammed inward.

"Paradise Cousins!" I called.

"Anyone inside?" A shattered desk lay in pieces near the door, four chairs knocked over. A witch light lay flickering on the ground, where its sconce had been ripped off the wall. Bodies lay strewn about the armory: Feykin, Humans, and a Vampire, all in the black and violet of the Fel Court. Something crashed further within the armory. Hook and Line winked into my hands, sickle blades angled forward.

"Hello?" Serevian called.

"Show yourself!" Corin nudged me and pointed down. A line of salt crossed the doorway at the threshold, creating a barrier that no Ghost could have crossed. We stepped over it, careful not to break the line.

"Queen's Ranger!" Serevian called.

"Queen's Ranger?" a voice squeaked.

"Thank Jorg, I'm—I'm coming out!" A shadow moved. I sank deeper into my stance. A tiny figure tiptoed forward. A gnome, by the look of him; only his skin was icy blue. He wore a tiny Fel Court uniform. His voice cracked.

"Please. You've got to get me out of here."

"Who are you?" Serevian asked, finger light on his string. The blue gnome took a breath, composing himself.

"I'm Glace." He thrust his chest out.

"I was the junior armorer, but I'm the only one left. I guess that makes me in charge here." <<Time to Seal Collapse: 02: 00: 05: 02: 52: 55>>