Icarus Awakens

Inviting the surviving headmen to the village’s center had been a mistake. Murdon had thought himself clever for seeing the trap that had been set and sure of the one he made. While anger was held in check long enough to avoid a rampage, it showed plainly as he interrogated the former village leaders that he summoned. The longer he stamped around the ruins and shouted for answers, for justice, the harder the eyes staring at him grew. No conclusion was reached from the grandstanding. Nothing was accomplished but the gentle swaying of public opinion away from him. Crowd Sense told Murdon as much even without being heightened to level three.

He did it anyway. He needed to know how much of the village was turning away from him. The word that was spoken most amongst the whispers chilled his already colder blood. Tyrant. Murdon knew he hadn’t gone that far, even if it was possible to become a Tyrant without knowing. The dread class could be seductive, allowing one to deceive themselves about their evolving nature until it was too late.

He had become Commander of the Thormundz. He had made hard decisions that had no doubt cost lives, but these were not callous acts. It was for the scorched bones that lay below him that he raged against the one that had done this!

It didn’t change that this was a catastrophe. Murdon was no Tyrant, he knew this, but he couldn’t stop the rumor that had formed. People were scared, and it wouldn’t take much for them to be scared of him. They had expected to leave here with what family they had left and instead found a dead end. Monster attacks shouldn’t have reached Hagain yet, they should have had another month before the village would be in danger, until a knife in the dark had turned the village’s tamed beasts against it. They were wrong to call him Tyrant, but they weren’t wrong to doubt him.

The only benefit was that the area affected by the attack had just been populated. Nothing besides lives and tents had been lost, meaning the rations available to the city could be extended even further. Doubly so, considering a handful of dominated beasts were all that remained in the stables. A Tyrant would have considered this event a blessing in disguise. They might have even orchestrated it to relax the draw on supplies.

Murdon would have traded his armor, weapons, even his life if that would have changed anything. Grimly, that resolution comforted him. It assured him he wasn’t what they said he was. The Commander sighed heavily, a mote of dark flames following the breath as a sign of his unexpended mana. He kept almost everything in reserve in case the conspirators made a more direct move. To that point, “Janice, are you sure they aren’t in the village?” The Martialist was beside him on the roof of the library. It had become Murdon’s unofficial office. After his own house had been burned to the ground and space had been freed up in the rest of the village, he felt he needed to better preserve his friend’s.

The woman was as haggard as the Commander. She could last better on minimal sleep due to her race, but had the more physically demanding task of coordinating the hunt for the two avianoids. Martialists didn’t tend to have much in the way of utility that didn’t directly affect weapon use, but she had a tracking power in line with a Ranger’s hunting ability and another, albeit weak, power that helped with lie detection. A trend that befitted an investigator, a path that would well suit the humanoid that had advanced her wisdom further than most Martiliasts her level. That wasn’t to say she couldn’t fight, but it was the beginning of a pattern that could lead to unique specialization down the line.

“It seems that way.” She leaned against her spear with closed eyes. On another day they’d both be asleep by now. “I’m not exactly subtle, sir. Whoever is behind this could be protecting them. Declaring the avianoids as suspects would force them into hiding if they were involved.”

“But if they weren’t,” Murdon countered, “Then they wouldn’t be in hiding.”

“Why wouldn’t they be? If you were a Tyrant, sir, I’d run if you were looking for me.”

Murdon rubbed at his face. The thought had occurred to him as well. Tyrants seeking to overthrow an established ruler could make use of their terrifying powers to spread chaos and discord to unseat their opponents. What made the class so dangerous wasn’t just the power evolutions that propelled them to heights their level couldn’t normally reach. It was the insidious charisma and intelligence abilities that could sway even the strongest of opinions if implanted covertly. A Tyrant in power would use this to ruin a potential challenger or propel a yes-man. One who found themselves the challenger would do exactly what was happening to Murdon. “If they are, I’m surprised you haven’t been targeted. I’ve publicly appointed you as my second.”

Janice chewed on that for a second before answering. “The first attack was meant to discredit you, not me. It’s a guess, but I’m thinking the second strike will be the fatal one. As far as what we can do…” She grimaced. “I’m not Lograve, sir. I don’t have the head or the level for this. We do anything without cause and we only further distance ourselves from the public.”

Trap was not the right word for the situation. Murdon couldn’t think of one that appropriately described the stresses of managing the village, monitoring the hunting teams and rotating assignments, keeping the secret of the pass, and managing expectations of the evacuation. Complicating all of that was this conspiracy. No, wait. Crest. That was an appropriate comparison. He needed to simplify the situation and reduce the number of fronts in this world’s war against him, but Janice was right. There was nothing he could do to change things without losing control.

Unless… There was one thing he could do. “The truth,” Murdon muttered. Janice looked at him confused. “It’s not the best idea, but if Lograve was here it’s what he would suggest. Not this, exactly but.” Murdon shook his head and explained what he was thinking. “I’m going to call a private meeting between the headmen outside the village tomorrow to explain why no evacuations are being run.”

“I had wondered that myself,” Janice commented. “But why now?”

“I am confident I am the only one who knows the truth here. The only others who do are in Roost’s Peak.” Murdon gestured towards the village. “Somewhere out there is our Tyrant. Or just a very clever and opportunistic headman. Even with their machinations, they could not know why the pass was restricted. They will be at that meeting.”

“And you’ll be surrounded by potential enemies without aid.”

“I already am,” Murdon said pointedly.

“Then without witnesses! They could take you out and claim it was a monster attack.” That made Murdon pause for a few seconds as he re-thought the idea.

“They can’t be all in on this.” The deep voice was suddenly close to breaking. “When we founded these villages we were friends! We secured each township together, planned the development of the region, and made this damnable valley habitable through cooperation. Jonus and that stubborn Thresha are gone, but the rest are here. They can’t all be against me.”

The sadness was mirrored in Janice’s eyes but she answered with resolve. “What do you need me to do?”

…

The site chosen for the meeting was the bridge nearest the village. Murdon didn’t know it, but it was the first place Daniel had found intelligent life in this world. The bridge had its advantages and disadvantages. The land around it was clear, making ambush less likely. It was far enough for privacy while also intersecting with the main road, and stood out enough to be easily found. The only real disadvantages were distance from the village, and the implied ‘us versus them’ dynamic.

Until he knew which one, or ones, had betrayed him, he could trust none of them. Janice and Murdon stood on the far end of the bridge. Each headman was bringing a second, meaning this meeting would have 16 participants in total. The others approached as a single group a few minutes after the Commander had arrived.

“Commander Murdon,” Rodrick, the former headman of Brach’s Bargain, greeted stiffly. Everyone assembled was on edge. That didn’t surprise Murdon, but the presence of Quala at Rodrick’s side did. She was important to the village, the highest skilled healer they had. And she was of Hagain, why was she his second?

“My friends. We shouldn’t be away from the village for too long,” Murdon said from across the river, climbing a third of the way up the bridge as he spoke. “But it is important that we discuss these matters out of the public’s attention.” Murdon’s tone was measured, and his eyes raked across the group in front of him. The Tyrant was among them, he was sure, and he was going to commit each face to memory. Even if they were stronger than they had right to be, Tyrants were still mortal, and they would reveal themselves by reaction to the news. “The pass cannot be traveled at present. Many of you have likely guessed as much. What I am about to say cannot leave this group. It will be obvious as to why, and I hope you understand why this was kept from you for so long.” He waited a few seconds for someone to comment, but they all just stood still at the far base of the bridge. Murdon had reached the halfway mark at this point and stopped. “A level six lightning dragon bars the way. Our initial scout of the pass led by Jonus confirmed this at great cost. For this reason, we have suspended evacuation until our people are strong enough to take it down.”

This, this was wrong. Shock, or at least surprise, should be on the faces of those in front of him. Each headman should be asking questions or throwing accusations on their own, but instead, everyone looked at Rodrick to respond. The man, a level two Cleric of the Hammer, sighed. “We know, Murdon. Almost as long as you have.”

The draconoid couldn’t muster a response initially, dumfounded by the claim. Rodrick was not lying, he couldn’t be. The coordination between the headmen and their seconds suggested that they had known, and had come prepared for the truth. “How?”

“Jonus survived, as Lograve did.” Rodrick’s Focus was a quarterstaff affixed with a large hammer head, and the man brought it forward. “Unlike Lograve, it seems he was not meant to. Jonus told us what you had planned.”

This is impossible, Murdon thought, reading concealed hostility now being freely bared in those in front of him. I, Lograve said Jonus was the dragon’s first victim. How? Wait, didn’t Lograve also say-

Rodrick started walking up the bridge and Murdon reflexively began to back up. “You’ve gone Tyrant, Murdon,” he accused softly. “Trying to pick off the second strongest headman right at the beginning, taking sole responsibility for this evacuation, the signs are there. Do you know, or have you rationalized it somehow? No matter.” Rodrick tapped the staff on the ground and metallic barbs grew from the wood at its base. “Surrender. That is the only mercy we can offer you. Surrender and we will take you prisoner.”

Is Rodrick a new Tyrant? Murdon was thinking quickly and quickly running out of bridge. Or did Jonus survive? No, impossible, even a level three Tyrant is easily outmatched by a dragon. But then how do they know? “I won’t fight you, Rodrick.” Despite his words, Murdon brought his shield forward. “I would try to reason with you.”

“No!” Rodrick denied forcefully. “The words of a Tyrant are poison. Speak no further unless it is to yield!”

“Get to Roost’s Peak. Warn them,” Murdon said quickly to Janice. She was level one, and they were outnumbered seven times over. He was the strongest overall in the region, but that didn’t let him ignore numbers.

Rodrick’s skin turned to iron as he reacted. Hammer Clerics were specialists in transmutation, which wasn’t as directly explosive as destruction but was dangerous in its own ways. Were they of equal level, were he without Fortitude, Murdon would have to fear what Rodrick could do to his own body in addition to the Cleric’s. Even as Rodrick charged, the others remained on their side of the river.

Murdon wondered why as he deflected a strike from the staff. The fight would be longer than if he was facing most level two monsters one on one. Mortals could call upon experience, versatility, and grit to delay the inevitable against a stronger one of their kind or even turn the tables depending on attribute arrays. But Murdon was Rodrick’s better, even if the Cleric could stall out the fight. The Tyrant wants me to kill him, to prove to them I am what they say, Murdon decided, as the repeated strikes onto his shield started warping the metal. It was a contact transmutation ability meant to break or wear down armor. Without enchantments, his equipment was vulnerable to it.

Murdon had no good options. Heightening Agility would allow him to outrun most of his opponents, but to what end? Should he return to Hagain these people would be waiting for him. His Fortitude feature would allow him to ignore most of what Rodrick could do beyond the armor, though at the expense of a quarter of his mana. On the offensive side, he had abilities that could stun, but were just as likely to kill a lower level opponent.

Rodrick did not relent. Iron skin rippled as the muscles underneath strained against the hardened flesh. Mana was keeping them whole against otherwise shear forces as they powered the Cleric’s strikes. That’s how I resolve this, Murdon thought, eyeing the staff. I destroy his Focus. He will recover it faster than he will from broken bones. The shield was practically bent around his arm now, the ends of it melting under the continued softening transmutation. The shield was no special thing, a replacement could be easily found, but if his armor was damaged this way he’d find himself as inhibited as he wished Rodrick to be.

Murdon turned onto the offensive with a swing of his enchanted ax, aiming for the staff. Destroying a Focus was a tide turning accomplishment in any fight between mortals. It wasn’t always an option, some classes like Berserker had a Focus intrinsic to their being. Foci were also stronger than they looked and grew more resistant as their user leveled up. Still, if you could manage to destroy an opponent’s Focus, you would cripple them.

Murdon’s ax met the staff, and the metal of the gauntlet holding it melted. Damn it! It would have worked if he had struck with a bare fist, but the transmutation effect had passed through the item it was unable to directly affect to soften the armor underneath. Both of his arms were now encased in deformed metal. By going for a decisive, yet merciful strike Murdon had put himself at a major disadvantage. He needed distance. Both duelists had demonstrated melee abilities and Murdon would not get much from range. Unless he wished to bludgeon Rodrick to death the course of battle needed to change. A powered Jump carried him out of the way of a staff strike and meters back, landing unsteadily without the boosted Agility. The other headman and their retinue crossed the bridge to remain nearby, though they still did not intervene.

“Earthen Shackle!” Rodrick incanted the spell, summoning lines of earth around Murdon to prevent further escape. “You will not escape justice!”

In response, Murdon tore off his gauntlets. His flesh was stronger than them when it came to resisting transmutation. As was his ax. Now I can cut it. He needed to destroy Roderick’s Focus before the Cleric did his. A Knight’s armor was their source of power, and Murdon’s was at risk of taking terrible damage. As it weakened, so did the powers dependent on it. Roderick might have been lower level than he, but the Commander hadn’t given the Cleric’s powers the respect they were due. No longer. His ax easily cut through the shackles binding him. Murdon’s strength would have let him burst out without the use of his weapon, but he was taking things seriously. Roderick was a friend no more, now opponent.

Murdon Jumped towards Roderick. The others sensed the shift in Murdon’s intent and readied themselves. They were expecting a Tyrant and knew it would take more than Roderick to stop him. “Falter!” Murdon used his only incantation ability in combination with the strike. Blood ran from Rodrick’s nose and eyes as the disruptive ability overwhelmed the Cleric. Like the monsters of Hagain Village, Murdon fell on Rodrick and severed the Focus in a single strike. Rodrick’s transmutative powers could have salvaged the stave if he could act, but the man was still stunned. Murdon weighed his options, realized he couldn’t allow any chance of the anti-armor ability remaining on the battlefield, and threw a punch that knocked the Cleric a meter back. He would live, probably.

One of the headman’s retainers, a ranger Murdon hazily recalled as William, spoke then. “Well now, looks like the diplomatic way’s out!” Shouts quickly followed as the remaining thirteen coordinated. Several focused as they heightened abilities and others unsheathed weapons.

Seeing this, Murdon knew he couldn’t hold back anymore. This was the true terror of a Tyrant. He saw his former friends preparing to take him down with an organization that belied strategy. They were not only determined to end him, they had come here knowing how they’d do it. Murdon needed to escape, to reach Roost’s Peak before the influence of the Tyrant did. To do that, some of his friends would have to die.

He heightened his Fortitude feature. With Agility he could run, but not as fast as some of those in front of him. They would have to be his targets, but this was a waste! What was the mastermind thinking? Inciting this battle would kill or cripple some of the strongest the survivors had. Who led the eventual evacuation wouldn’t matter if they couldn’t overcome the dragon!

Murdon reached back and pulled out his second ax. Brutality was his only salvation. He spared a glance behind him to see Janice sprinting in the distance, and when he turned back there were several rushing him. Then, a feeling from Crowd Sense, alerting him of the disruption in their pattern a moment before it happened. Quala, near the back of the formation, had been focusing the longest. A spell, no doubt. Given her specialty Murdon was preparing for Rodrick to be brought back into the fight. Healing at range was more difficult, she might not even have an appropriate ability, but he couldn’t discount that chance. Something very different happened. Whatever incantation was spoken drowned in the tide of discordant bird calls centered on Quala.

Murdon’s ear holes rang. The rest of the combatants were clutching theirs, or writhing on the ground in the case of the present gestalt. Such an extreme ability from the gentle healer left him just as stunned as the noise left his opponents. Then again, he’d never seen her fight. There was a moment’s hesitation before the Commander turned and ran. His Fortitude had given him the ability to recover far faster than his enemies. Why was she helping him when the others had been so taken?

The Cleric was running behind him, projecting a shield that deflected arrows and bolts from those chasing them. Unlike the scream, this was within her specialty. Not all restoration was retroactive. She was trying to say something, repeating it by the movements of her beak. Eventually, the roaring lessened and her words broke through. “What are you doing!?”

“Running.” Murdon peered at Quala and asked the question. “How do I know I can trust you?” It was a kilometer or so too late for the question but he still needed to know.

She flinched from the draconoid’s barrage of near-deafness inspired shouting. “Really?”

“You could be the Tyrant,” Murdon replied, lowering his voice to a mere cannon blast.

“You could be the Tyrant!”

Trading accusations while dodging spells and arrows wasn’t the best use of either of their times. Murdon looked back to see the headmen and their people still following. “We’re not going to outrun them!”

“We don’t need to. Close your eyes!” He turned away just before the shield burst with blinding light just before it failed against the last attack. Murdon, now running with his eyes closed, tripped before Quala pulled at him to get up. Their would-be pursuers found themselves now blind and deaf.

“You call yourself a healer?” Murdon asked hollowly.

“Keep. Running.”

…

“They escaped?” the avianoid asked, miming fury. He was of a slight build, thin even, with feathers patchy in places. Not from youth but poorly-maintained middle age. Kartoss had not taken the failure to acquire a class well, leaving a depression that had haunted him throughout adulthood. Now he had one, and he had work to do. Heldren Storm stood in front of him, discussing with but not looking quite at Kartoss. “How?”

The Hero remained still, shielded from the sun by the canopy above them. “It appears my compatriot, Quala, was not as taken by the power you blessed me with as I thought. Commendable will, but this complicates matters.”

“There is only one place he could go.”

“Yes.” Heldren bowed his head. “Do not worry. I have followed your orders precisely. Lograve and those who follow him should be dealt with by now, or brought to our cause if the opportunity was there.”

“How can you be so sure?” Kartoss asked, a taloned hand reaching out to the Hero. “You didn’t anticipate Quala’s betrayal.”

“A failing I freely admit,” the Hero conceded. “Yet I have served justly in all other matters. The acting headwoman in Roost’s Peak is ours, and the influence will spread from there. If I recall, it was your responsibility to provoke a tirade following the monster attack.”

Kartoss’ cheeks reddened, but this was mostly covered by the brown feathers of his face. “I didn’t fail-” He stopped speaking abruptly, clenched his beak, and then continued. “It doesn’t matter. The village is against him. Should your service be as just as you claim, so will Roost’s Peak. Murdon is in the wind, but our plan has not failed. We have the people. Who is in control at the moment?”

“The headmen have formed a kind of coalition,” Heldren reported evenly. “Fractured and uncertain. They have essentially separated back into the pre-existing villages.”

“I am sure they are in need of strong guidance.”

Heldren nodded. “That I can provide. Should I disguise myself as Jonus and take over? What is your wish?”

“Remain yourself. The fiction of Jonus braving the pass again to go for help is useful in preventing others from trying it themselves. We also cannot risk the chance that your influence over Roost’s Peak has been only partially effective. Rally the headmen to you and take them there as soon as possible. We will follow from a distance. You will, of course, be unable to contact me until it is done.”

Heldren hesitated, just for a moment. “You are certain this is the best course? Were you to bring in others to this circle, then we would be strong enough-”

“No!” Kartoss denied flatly. “I will not relinquish control of this region. That fool of a Knight would abandon the work of the gods and throw his people to their doom. I am their only hope. I am the hope of this world. Never has mortal kind been forced to retreat against the Crest, and I will not be responsible for the first failure. Remember that, Hero, and your oath.”

“Of course.” Heldren bowed, uncertainty fading. “I will return to the village. Should we send an advance force after Murdon?”

“Let him run. Now that he has escaped, I would prefer him to find what waits in Roost’s Peak. Killing him was only a necessity driven by circumstance. With his retreat, I can spare him. For now. Go, Heldren, and do not fail me again.”