The kobold nodded.
“And you can obviously cook better than me.”
Again, the creature nodded.
“But, Bano wouldn’t like knowing you were cooking, nor would really anyone else. . .”
Kipsic shrugged.
Hughie wiped his brow. “Well. I like having this job, always wanted to be good at making food, you know? But nobody never taught me. What about you? Someone had to have taught you!”
Kipsic shrugged again.
“Ah, it doesn’t matter. I won’t last another week in this kitchen.” Hughie sighed. “Especially after you leave. People’s expectations and what not will be higher than the Afterlives.”
Kipsic sighed as well, setting a plate on a rack to dry.
Hughie then got the brightest idea. “Say, you can turn invisible, and people really like your food. I really like having this job, and people aren’t scared of me, like they might be of you—no offense. . .”
Kipsic waved a hand dismissively.
Hughie set down his sponge and looked at the kobold with all the sincerity he could muster. “What if I split the pay with yah, and made sure you had all the food you needed, and a good place to sleep—would you stick around? Would yah?”
Kipsic turned his giant eyes to Hughie, wagged his tail side to side, and smiled. “Yes-yes!”
***
===
Spells:
Cantrips:
- Create Fire (Arcane)
- Decaying Tendrils (Blood)
- Siphon Soul (Blood)
- Spectral Hand (Blood + Arcane)
- True Sight (Blood + Arcane)
Prepared:
- Aether Harvest (Arcane) (VERY LOW)
- Animate Object (Arcane)
- Chains of Erabos (Blood+Arcane) (LOW)
- Force Darts (Arcane) (VERY LOW)
- Levitate Object (Arcane)
- Message (Arcane)
- Mirror Image (Arcane) (VERY LOW)
- Portal (Arcane) (LOW)
- Raise Thrall (Blood) (VERY LOW)
- Sleep (Blood) (LOW)
===
Undead Servants: 10 6 Greenfolk Thralls, 7 Crow Thralls, 9 Intact Townsfolk Corpses
===
Four of my thralls lay defeated around me, but still I pressed on with the ritual.
“Nearly complete,” Green Thumb shouted. “Of course, a druid would have finished over an hour ago.”
I didn’t have the mind to listen to any of the Druid’s critique. However, I could indeed see that most of the glowing spots along Molly’s body had receded, save for a few around her head. I was running low on components for some of my stronger offensive spells, but I still had a few other tricks I could manage. Also, a blessing I hadn’t anticipated was how the number of dead mutants were doing a fine job of piling up around my thrall wall, and served as a secondary barricade of corpses a few feet in height. This made concurrent attacks somewhat difficult for the Nightfire mutants. Paired with the crow thralls, I had managed to hold out for a good amount of time. Of course, if I hadn’t had to maintain ritual focus on healing Molly, I might have gone for reanimating several of the larger beasts to fight. But I dared not risk breaking concentration now.
Now, here came the double-edged aspect of my plan. Yes, indeed the wall of dead animals gave me added protection for other coming waves. But it also served to block my line of sight to more attackers. This meant none of my spells would do me much good until mutants were upon my barricade. So, after I said another, “Bret tol gol tre tol,” I cast Levitate Object on several of the corpses to raise them high enough for me to see through a gap.
The field was awash with pulsing green lights, like I’d be spirited away into a fae realms. There were more beasts to come, and I carried out my ongoing tactic of pairing Mirror Image and Create Fire to scatter or distract the animals long enough to dispatch them with Force Darts and Decaying Tendrils.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
So many animals. . . I was beginning to seriously fear for the ecological disaster that would surely befall the area after this was all finished, and reviving Molly wouldn’t even be the end of it. I’d still need to find the core of the infestation and conduct a similar ritual. But, at this rate, I doubted I’d have much more opposition to contend with after the night was through. . .
“Bret tol gol tre tol.”
“Bret tol gol tre tol—”
Something zipped through the skull of my forward thrall.
I cast the levitation spell on its body before it fell backwards, and tossed it into the floating pile of the dead.
What did that?
Then there was a swish as another object pierced the skull of the thrall behind me. Someone was firing arrows at my thralls!
Another arrow flew toward me, but I dispelled the levitation and dropped the wall of corpses down just in time to block the arrow.
Someone was shooting at me! Who had the audacity? My first mind went to Ronald, the snake, but the arrows were coming from the direction of the forest. Had the Nightfire infected a person capable of firing arrows? Then it clicked. One of the hunters had been killed by the same wolf that had attacked Molly. I realized then that it was likely the ranged attacker was most likely that hunter. It was quite fascinating in many ways that these spore thralls, which they basically were, had the capability to utilize weapons with such precision. Perhaps there was more to admire about nature than I had given it credit!
No, Jevrick, now is not the time to admire things trying to kill you or disrupt your plans, I thought to myself.
“Bret tol gol tre tol.”
I needed a way to deal with that archer so that I could continue my fight vs the Nightfire mutants.
I pulled my Message mirror out of my satchel and hoped to get Timmins to alert someone of my sudden plight.
“Timmins? Bret tol gol tre tol. Are you there?”
The mirror I had restrapped to Timmins arm was facing his leg, or so it seemed, it was quite dark. His patrol had evidently taken him outside.
“Bret tol gol tre tol. Timmins?”
I heard the snarl of a wolf as it hopped onto the wall of corpses and began to climb.
Timmins’s mirror rose to his face finally, though I caught a glimpse of the most peculiar thing. Had he and another thrall been. . . holding hands? Very curious.
“Gruhg?” my favorite thrall asked.
“I need an archer! There is a ranged adversary who I cannot see, and I need it dealt with—Bret tol gol tre tol—post haste!”
Timmins gave an affirmative grunt, and shambled to do my bidding.
In the meantime, Molly’s Nightfire corruption had seemed to be reduced to just her cheeks.
I took a deep breath, and uttered the phrase again, knowing that the encounter was nearly finished. I was most certain that my next conceivable action would be dealing with the election, reviving the dead, or dealing with the core of weeds. I had most certainly had enough of this encounter to last me a life—
Another arrow pierced through one of my remaining thralls behind me.
The body dropped over me. I didn’t have enough time to turn and cast the spell. I had no choice but to brace myself as my thrall collapsed over my body, its arm sliding into my satchel and getting pierced by the protruding portion of my scythe shaft.
So there I was, a very tall and wide dead thrall toppled over my back and stuck draped over my satchel, pinning my only free arm. Ah, so this is why martial warriors value strength.
I didn’t know what hope I had to finish the ritual—but then by the grace of the Celestials, Molly coughed violently, and the last of the corruption faded from her.
I shouted in celebration!
Then the weeds around her exploded.
===
Time Until Election: 23 hours, 59 Minutes
===
Time Until Nightfire Arrival: 13-27 Hours
===
***
Oon knocked on another door. No one answered. He knocked again. Still, no one answered. He sighed. Seemed another vacant home. Maplebrook was a town chock full of them now. This was a waste of his time. In some ways, he was grateful no one in the last hundred or so houses had answered. He wouldn’t be able to have formed a proper sentence, as his mind was stuck on one singular aspect of the night of which he had no control: Was Molly ok?
He had trusted the wizard to take care of her, but he’d dragged her out into the night toward that cursed forest. Oon cursed himself now for being so compliant a man to listen to Jevrick’s orders to go door to door. What a bloody fool he’d been to listen.
Maybe the wizard wasn’t trying to save Molly at all. Maybe he had wanted to keep Oon distracted while he took her into the depths of the trees to bury her body for good.
Curse it all, Oon thought to himself as he was about to knock on yet another door. He had done enough of this. He turned and stormed back toward the town hall—just in time as well, for the ringing of thrall bells signaled that something terribly wrong had transpired with Jevrick’s plans.
Oon didn’t even bother running to the town hall. He knew what those bells were for. Instead, he sprinted for the hunting lodge to gather his supplies. Molly might be in danger. He prayed that she was not. He prayed, and readied himself to kill anyone or anything that might try to harm her.
***
Clyde the Second—long called Junior—tailed behind the messenger and his bodyguards as they drove their horses down the winding mountain roads out from Stone Summit. His mind had nearly sobered, nearly, when he’d been told the news of his father. It didn’t make sense, not one bloody bit of sense. Who would ever have been so dastardly to slay such a man? Sure, Junior and his father had found many nights of argument and vitriol between them; mostly on Junior’s side. But for anyone to have the blackest of hearts to harm a man who had nary so much as glanced wrong at another, why, it was sickening.
Junior had to track down and find his father’s killer. Such a slight could not go unpunished! And when Junior found the one responsible, oh well he’d. . . certainly try to hire someone competent enough to avenge his father.