Squad Games [Squad Building LitRPG] [Book One Complete]

Jaelin and Mila pulled up the rope ladder. It was the principal route up the hillfort. Earthworks added to the great mound formed concentric rings hard to scale without equipment. It meant they were safe for now. But as the Sargassians gathered at the bottom of the hill, it also meant they were trapped.

Larik, Rilie, and the two dwarves had left for Eisenberg. They would warn the townsfolk and the outlying settlements of the enemy approach. Not that they could resist a force this size.

Jaelin didn't know what the Sargassians had in mind for the ordinary folk of Gal'azu in the long term. For now, they were intent on seizing supplies.

They had to do their best to deny them, while Stiff found a way to deal with the main army.

They sat together on the edge of the huge drop.

"They're moving out," Mila said, as she peered down at the tiny figures below.

The Sargassian general allocated a hundred warriors, about a fifth of his force, to invest the hillfort. The rest, he was readying to march east.

Jaelin sighed. "So we're only tying up a hundred."

"It's still something."

"Not enough to make any kind of difference."

"You can shoot them from up here."

"I don't think I'll be able to take out a hundred."

"Oh well. We'll just stay here, you and I, while the world burns. We've enough food to last awhile."

They had food. But they'd run out of water eventually. Jaelin already felt trapped. "I should have led them south, not boxed us in here."

Mila put a hand to his face. "Always so serious. Stiff will find a way out of this mess. He always does. You need to learn to relax, Jaelin. Why carry the weight of the world on your shoulders?"

"You're right. Stiff has Seregin and Valnor and the best of the Apples with him. We're just the spares he decided to leave behind."

"Huh. I suppose. Not sure I'd trust them elves, though. Rilie, and even Randall and Lurin, I trust. Down to earth people, with no secrets. Not like those lofty elves."

Jaelin couldn't help grinning at that.

"And what's funny?"

He hesitated. But why not tell her? If she hated him for it, then it was better to know. "Seregin told me something about myself. Something I had no idea about but has the ring of truth to it."

He thought she might work it out, but she just waited for him to tell her.

"He told me I'm half-elven."

Mila raised an eyebrow. She studied him silently, as if seeing him for the first time. He felt more than a little self-conscious.

"Well?"

"Maybe you are at that."

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"And is that a bad thing? You just said you don't trust elves."

She pursed her lips as she considered it.

"Well say something, Mila. I'm struggling to come to terms with it all. My mother never said anything to me. The only time she mentioned elves was in all the stories she used to tell me when I was a kid."

"I think it's hot."

"What?"

"My swain is a half-elf." Without warning, she jumped him, shoving him onto his back. "Of course, I'm just a boring full-blooded human. You'll probably get rid of me now."

Jaelin looked up at her. Her hair hung between them. Her blue eyes sparkled with promises and her lips, slightly parted, demanded to be kissed. She was the most enticing creature he had ever seen. "Never," he told her. "In fact, I can't remember what exactly I was complaining about. I have you all to myself, somewhere no one can reach us."

"At last, you realise what a lucky little elf you are."

***

Amongst the chaos of the investment of Avolo, Stricken had stolen a few moments to himself. He had also stolen some of the barbecued beef the army had brought from the Harris farm. He had even found a cleaver with the supplies, carried to the city by the Silent Warriors of the Sargassian Empire.

He shoved more in, his stomach reeling from the amount of meat it had been fed, and yet demanding he continue. So long as he kept eating, he could enjoy some peace from the never-ending hunger Amotken had inflicted on him.

He recognised the voice that boomed from the walls of the city, over the Sargassian camp. It travelled so well because the warriors who had arrived to besiege the city were eerily silent.

With his belly heavy and painful, he at last allowed his curiosity over what was transpiring to outweigh his need for flesh.

There he was. Lothar 'Stiff' Sauer, his old employer. Fair dues to the man's balls—he was shouting his demands to the Sargassians mere hours before they captured Avolo. Stricken felt a warm nostalgia at the sight of it. Such a spectacle would be a thing of the past, once his master's enslaved army took control of Gal'azu. What a dreary land it would soon become.

And look, there was another familiar face. That great lump of Alinko custard with the incongruous name. Murder. Stricken had killed the big bastard's friend, Mags, and enjoyed it immensely. But now he felt pleased to see Murder alive.

I am become soft in death.

And who did Murder grasp in his big paws? It took Stricken quite a few moments to believe his eyes. Somehow, they had captured Eyota's father. Emperor Sahale, whom Stricken had seen sit up in his coffin after centuries of sleep. There he was, bound and gagged. Meanwhile, a third figure, some dashing fellow, waved a glowing blue sword in the emperor's face. Stricken's mouth watered, as he recalled biting the man's arm in the fighting at the farm.

Jurgen Stricker's corpse cracked a smile at the vision. There was something…what? Refreshing? Energising? He was witnessing a last, grand, middle finger to his master's narcotic supremacy and it resonated with him.

"Retire your army now," Stiff shouted down, "or watch him die."

Stricken wandered over to the two lone voices in the Sargassian camp. They were arguing, while their pets stood to attention at their side.

"Attack them, and they will kill the emperor!" Amotken said in a horrified voice.

"They can kill him even if we don't attack," Eyota countered. "We're left with no choice."

"We can negotiate," said Amotken. "Trade thy father for some of their warriors we have captured."

Eyota sneered. She caught sight of Stricken. "Where have thou been? Get over here." She turned back to Amotken. "This is war, Amotken. Something thou know little of. We are about to win. Nothing can stop us pressing home our advantage. Not even my father's life. Thou do not retreat on the cusp of victory. Thou take thy chance to kill thine enemies and count thy losses afterwards. I am the emperor's Right Arm. I make the decisions."

"Not with me by thy side. I am staying here. Stricken," he said. "Thou art staying as well." He pointed up to the walls. "And if thou attack without me, Eyota, they will cut thee down with that sword and I can't save thee."

Eyota shook her head, as if she pitied him. "Warriors do not fear death, Amotken. Thou brought me back to life to win back our empire. That is what I will do. I cannot turn away from that ambition because I judge the cost too steep. No cost is too steep."

The princess hollered at her warriors. They picked up their wooden ladders and carried them to the city walls.

Eyota drew Greenblade and went with them. Accompanying her were Clamor and Greenblade. The Harvester and Mental stayed with Amotken, and the sorcerer signalled that Stricken should do the same.

Stricken observed his master's forlorn look as Eyota strode away. It made his skin crawl, and his hand itched for his new cleaver.