Towering trouble a litrp.., p.129
Towering Trouble: A LitRPG Isekai, page 129
Calburn had to die. There was no other way.
But Abellion was too late. Too slow to rally his armies. By the time they arrived on Ulugmir, the air was barely breathable, the seas had frozen over, and all that stood before them were a few desperate dwarrows and a legion of walking corpses.
While Abellion’s followers laid siege to the city of Pentus, the demon vanished into the depths of Ulugmir, and drained the last of its Inner Hollows. Abellion’s people suffocated alongside the dwarrows they fought.
It was small consolation that Calburn didn’t live to celebrate his victory. Returning to the surface, he succumbed to his own folly at last.
Perhaps that had been the demon’s intent all along: to drain the branch dry, before leaving to plunder another world. In so doing, he’d doomed an entire branch of the world tree; an act so heinous it defied comprehension.
Abellion couldn’t allow this to happen ever again. Though he was well aware that not all dwarrows had followed Calburn the Arborcaede—and most of those who had were already dead—an example had to be made of them. All traces of the Ulugmiri Empire would be expunged from this world. Their language, their culture—and most importantly, their technology—would become taboo.
And should another demon emerge on this world, he would meet a swift and brutal end.
Saskia blinked away the cobwebs of sleep, feeling more ambivalent than ever. If that memory she’d just experienced had been anything close to real, then her dad had a lot to answer for. Had she been alive back then, she’d have been on Team Abellion.
Didn’t mean she was going to give the Arbordeus a free pass now, of course. Abellion had tried to kill her and assimilate her and her friends. He’d done little to prevent the apocalypse on Ciendil, and he’d just ravaged Grongarg and Lumium. But at least now she knew why he’d had it in for her.
The flight to the Crown of the World would take at least a couple of days, even with Zarie and the frostling tempests giving it everything they had. The storm dragons and their riders would take even longer.
Time enough to obsess over her ever-growing list of doubts and worries. Was she leading her friends to their deaths? Could she even last the journey herself? This body was on its last legs. She could feel the sickness slowly creeping into her. Every day or two she had another seizure. Her only consolation was that there had been no more major blackouts since the one that had cost her a month of memories. Their best guess was that it had been a temporary thing—a side effect of taking Rover Dog as a vassal, combined with her illness and the stress brought on by recent events. But what if they were wrong? What if she faced off against Abellion, only to forget why she was there? What if she forgot her friends?
That thought terrified her more than just about anything else. When her time on this world was over, all she’d have of it were Ruhildi and her memories. They were more precious to her than any power or abilities she might carry into her future incarnations. To lose those memories was…unacceptable.
“Everything will be alright, Sashki,” said Ruhildi, sitting beside her in Iscaragraithe’s cabin. “You won’t forget. And if you do, I’ll be there to remind you.”
“What if I forget you’re my friend?” said Saskia, feeling close to tears.
“Then I’ll befriend you again, you big blockhead of a trow.”
Saskia sniffed. “You know, I probably won’t be a trow next time. Or big. I could be something tiny. A hobbit—I mean halfling. Or a goblin—gebling. Or an anthropomorphic squirrel. Wouldn’t that be funny.”
“Whatever form you take, it matters not to me. You’ll always be a huge blockhead in my eyes.”
The river of time flowed ever onward. Though his link to Sarthea afforded him an unnaturally long life, and the dreaming extended it yet further, Abellion was not immortal. The dull, yet ceaseless pains of his shrivelled body were a constant reminder that his time would soon come.
Yet he couldn’t let go. Not yet. Who would tend this world after he was gone? Without him, there would be only chaos. He could trust no-one else to do what had to be done; to make the sacrifices that had to be made for the good of all.
It was almost a relief when the Arborcaede’s heir emerged on Ciendil, corrupting the seed of knowledge, and sewing madness among the oracles. Here was something that could distract him from his growing despair. A problem that seemed solvable. All he had to do was kill her; send her back to the between, where she could no longer corrupt the people of this world, as had her predecessor.
Yet killing this demon, Saskia, proved more difficult than he’d anticipated. She acquired powerful allies, resisted his dreaming, and slew his Chosen.
As his failures mounted, and her power grew, he came to a strange realisation. He was enjoying himself. Enjoying the contest. He didn’t want it to end. There was more of Okael in him than he’d realised. For a time, he toyed with the idea of making a Chosen out of the demon. It might be possible, though it would not be easy.
That plan was a colossal failure as well, resulting in the death of one of his most powerful assassin, Freygi, and the defection of the newest member of the communion, Baldreg. It was the first time a Chosen had been stolen from him rather than simply killed, and it sent a shiver of fear into his spirit. He’d thought such a thing impossible. But Baldreg’s ascension had been less than complete, and he had rejected Abellion so vehemently that the bond had been broken.
Saskia and her allies were coming for him. Trying to assimilate her had been folly. She had to die.
Luring her into a trap, his dragons decimated her fleet, yet still she managed to evade him. So Abellion turned to the one thing that had proven to destroy her kind: the substance that had become known as Okael’s Bane. His oracles had learned of this poison many spans after Okael’s demise. They’d traced it back to a forgotten wing of Sarthea’s palace. There it had sat for greatspans, unused.
Finally, success, of a sort. As Sarthea had done to Okael, Abellion tricked Saskia into absorbing some of the deadly poison into her body. In so doing, she had doomed herself. Yet even now, his victory tasted like ashes. The revenant Saskia kept constantly at her side did something to slow the effects of the poison. It would still kill her, but perhaps not soon enough.
Abellion could send his dragons after her, but would they be enough? He was no longer certain. It seemed every time he escalated their conflict, she grew more powerful in kind. But there was one more thing that might end this war quickly and decisively.
The so-called seed of eternity had been the subject of many a tale throughout the ages. Most mortals considered it a myth—when they considered it at all. But Abellion knew better. His old companion, Dougan, looked barely older today than he had when they first met. What else could explain the trow’s agelessness? It was a pity Abellion had never been able to make a Chosen out of Dougan. He’d tried several times, but the ancient trow had always resisted his dreamings.
Now Abellion had learned where the eternals had been hiding all this time. Perhaps they too had the strength of will to resist him, but if he could assimilate just one of them…
Understanding one’s enemy was supposed to be a good thing, but these dreams sure didn’t make her feel good. She didn’t want to feel the combination of frustration and…excitement Abellion had felt whenever she’d foiled his plans. Why couldn’t he just remain an evil, unknowable overlord? She’d feel a lot better about killing him if he did.
Today they rose up into the mass of smaller branches that marked the outer reaches of the Crown of the World. Some of them bore fresh scars. Eyeing the gouges and scorch marks—and the bones of dragons, already half-overgrown with creeping vines—sent a pang of regret washing over her. This was where the trolls of her invasion fleet had made their last stand against the fire dragons.
She blinked away fresh tears. Dogramit, what was up with her today? She was a blubbery mess.
As they rose higher, and moved inward through the central cluster of Abellion’s realm, Saskia couldn’t shake the feeling that something important had changed since the last time they were here.
“The light of the barrier,” said Nuille, sitting opposite her. “It’s gone.”
“Yes!” said Saskia. “That’s what’s different now. I was driving myself crazy trying to figure it out.” On their first trip up here, the surrounding branches had been bathed in a warm amber-coloured glow, cast by the barrier—or something behind it. Whereas this time the only light in the area came from the sun.
“If the light has faded,” said Kveld, “do you think the barrier could be…?”
A short time later, they got their answer. Gone was the magic that had turned Nuille’s gaze away from the barrier, preventing her from seeing it. And of the barrier itself, there was no trace. Abellion’s sanctum, Apex, stood exposed for all to see: a wide, flat disc nestled among the branches, topped with white spires and green trees.
“What the…?” said Saskia. “Do you think this is a trap?”
“Aye,” said Ruhildi.
“Indubitably,” said Garrain.
“Good,” said Saskia. “Just making sure I’m not being paranoid.” The first time she’d sent her frostling spies up here, there had been no barrier. Abellion could easily raise the barrier behind them, sealing them in—and their allies out. Or—she shuddered at the thought—maybe he could raise the barrier when they were halfway across, slicing Iscaragraithe in half. “So…we’re going in anyway?”
“Aye,” said Ruhildi.
“Indubitably,” said Garrain.
Just to be safe, Saskia asked one of her newly re-vassalised frostlings to wait well beyond the barrier’s reach. He could let everyone know what happened if she became trapped in there, and her other communication channels were disrupted.
Forehead knotted in concentration, Zarie guided them across the threshold.
Still alive? Good.
As they flew closer to the spires of Apex, and still no barrier appeared behind them, and no dragons came out to meet them, Saskia let out a long breath of relief. Then she sucked in a breath again, remembering that this was exactly the moment in a movie or game when something awful would happen. So she sat there, refusing to let herself relax, and waiting for the inevitable gut punch.
Rover Dog began to knead her shoulders. She let out a chuckle. “Is it that obvious?”
“You are like coiled snake, princess. Be calm. What will happen will happen.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Is it just me, or do those spires look a bit…singed?” said Velandir.
Saskia looked where he was pointing. The stones at the tops of the buildings were streaked with black, and looked to have melted and sagged, then re-solidified. It wasn’t just isolated to a few of them. All across the city were similar sights. No fire or smoke, but definite signs of recent damage.
“’Tis not just you,” said Ruhildi.
“Maybe Abellion didn’t keep as tight a leash on his dragons as we thought,” said Saskia.
It was more than a little surprising that no-one had attacked them yet. Even if the dragons weren’t here right now, there should be some kind of a response from their foes on the ground and inside the ruined buildings. She could see them down there on her map. Far fewer than she expected, but the red and orange markers were present.
And that was when she spotted something on her map that made her jaw drop. A cluster of blue markers.
Allies.
What kinds of allies would they find all the way up here, in the heart of their enemy’s domain?
Sending her consciousness into the head of one of her unexpected allies, Saskia sucked in another breath. “How in the world…? Land there! Now!” She pointed.
Their allies had taken shelter in the shadow of one of the taller spires. Zarie brought Iscaragraithe in to land at the base of the building, whereupon Saskia and Rover Dog leapt out to greet…
“What took you so long?” growled an emaciated, blood-streaked Princess Aele. When last Saskia had seen the Goldclaw princess, a dragon had been breathing fire all over her. Or so she’d thought at the time. Now, deep inside Abellion’s sanctum, Aele stood with eighteen other trolls, surrounded by the bodies of fallen skarakh and elves. The trolls looked exhausted, and they carried injuries ranging from arrow wounds to missing limbs. But they were alive.
“We all thought you were dead!” said Saskia. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known… How did you survive? How did you get here?”
Aele didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she dove for Rover Dog, latching onto him like a lamprey. Minus the teeth. Well, there were a few teeth, but she didn’t take more than a little bite, which he endured with a bemused smile. “I am happy to see you too, princess,” he said.
Aele peered into his eyes. “You seem…different.”
“So do you,” he said.
Saskia tried to keep her eye-rolling to a minimum when some shameless heavy petting ensued. Princess Aele had clearly gone through hell. If this was what it took to make her feel better, then fine. But yeesh, she thought, get a room, you two.
Slowly, the story emerged as to how Aele’s group had survived, and ended up here, of all places. In short, she’d hijacked a dragon. She’d killed its riders, then the dragon itself. In its death-throes, the dragon had carried her far away from the battlefield. Some of the other trolls had similarly unlikely stories of survival. Some had simply hidden under the bodies of fallen friends or enemies until the battle was over. Far more of them had survived than Saskia would’ve believed possible. Afterward, they’d banded together again to try to endure the hostile environment they’d found themselves in.
Surviving up in the Crown of the World had not been easy. They’d kept well clear of Apex at first, but even so, it had been a constant struggle. The Crown of the World was home to predators that not even trolls could take down easily. Food was scarce and hard to reach. They’d had to evade frequent dragon patrols. Mercifully, those had ceased after a while. And then…
“A fistful of fivedays ago, the drackens came back,” said Aele. “A huge swarm of them—at least as big as the one we faced in the great battle—flying up toward Apex, this time. Soon after that, the barrier came down. Eventually, we decided that since we were going to die up here anyway, we might as well try to get at the tyrant himself. But when we got here, we found…” She glanced around at the rubble and half-melted buildings.
“You didn’t do all this?” asked Saskia.
“I wish I could say we did. Well, those, we killed.” Aele pointed at the bodies on the street. “And others on our way in. But the city had already fallen before we got here. Most of the survivors keep to themselves, so we leave them be. Except Abellion.” Aele let out a snarl. “When we find him, we will not leave him be.”
Saskia was beginning to wonder what they’d find when they entered Abellion’s throne room. Assuming he had a throne room. If he were still here, would he have let this happen? It seemed more likely that he was with Xonroth in the Hall of Eternity, and someone had staged a coup in his absence. But she didn’t voice her suspicion this time, because she needed to know, one way or the other.
“Then you’ll be happy to know that’s why we’re here,” said Saskia. “Join us and we’ll end this, once and for all. Although we should wait for the cavalry to arrive before we storm his castle. The rest of our people will be here soon. And we have dragons.”
“Let’s just go there now,” said Aele. “Each day we delay is another day the tyrant might make his escape, or reinforcements might come to his aid.”
“I’m with her,” said Baldreg, who had come out to hear her story, along with everyone else. “The Chosen aren’t here to defend him—for now. If we wait, that may change. We are strong. We have everything we need to gut the bastard. So let’s just get it done.”
“No,” said Saskia. “This could still be a trap. We shouldn’t just rush on in like headless chickens. It won’t take long for the rest of our people to get here, don’t worry.”
Sure enough, the sky was soon filled with storm dragons, sending the survivors across the city scurrying for cover.
Upon landing, Vask greeted Aele just as enthusiastically as had Rover Dog. They didn’t linger for long on the ground, though. The Arbordeus wouldn’t slay himself.
Abellion, as it turned out, did not live in a castle. Nor even a tower. His innermost stronghold was a white dome atop a tall tree. The leaves of the tree had once been red, but now most of them were black and withered. A wide ramp wound its way around the tree, culminating in a platform that led to the dome’s single entrance.
Its door had been blown apart.
The dragons encircled the tree, ready to snatch up any slippery gods who tried to escape. Saskia insisted on being with the first group to enter the dome. She wasn’t about to miss the final confrontation.
Inside, they found piles of ash, and sooty, suspiciously humanoid silhouettes against cracked and crumbling walls.
“This place is a tomb,” muttered Velandir.
Saskia had to agree. There wasn’t the slightest sign of life in here. She’d almost have felt better if they’d had Chosen coming at them from all sides with swords and magic. That was what was supposed to happen, right? This was supposed to be the final level of the game. The final boss. But someone else, it seemed, had gotten here first. And with a sickening lurch, she realised who that someone was.
Oh yeah, she thought. There it is. The gut punch.
A surreal feeling settled over her as she stepped into the throne room, with its blue glowing walls, and the black obelisk at its centre. This was a control chamber.
The throne was at the far end of the room. It wasn’t amber, as she’d expected. Nor was it blue. It was carved from white wood, elegant in its simplicity. On the throne sat a pale figure, shrouded in a wispy white robe. The dry, wrinkled skin of his face and hands sagged from brittle bones. Abellion’s head was tilted back; mouth open; eyes sunken in their sockets, seeing nothing.
