Steel Wolves of Craedia (Realm of Arkon, Book 3) (46 page)

"...my commander, who is the master of my soul. I wish he were the master of my flesh as well, but certain circumstances are presently standing in the way of that..."

With a wink to yours truly, the magus spun around on her heels, grabbed her horse by the reins and headed off to her hounds with a spring in her step.

What a sly, sly fox!

"How's the satrap doing?" I asked the commander, who was apparently still dazed from the exchange and didn't seem to be in a hurry to get up off his knee.

It must have taken ten seconds or so for my question to register. Elias rose slowly, his eyes still fixed on the distancing Vaessa, and replied.

"The undead broke through one of the barricades. We lost twenty soldiers before Gorm intervened and singlehandedly halted their advancement. He held them at bay for a good ten minutes while the soldiers mended the barricade."

Yeah, that made sense. In the local hierarchy Gorm was akin to a raid boss, so what were a few dozen lowly skeletons?

"I trust he's better now?" I asked.

"Aye, he's recovering in the castle. And he's expecting you," Elias said. Seemingly back to his senses, he nodded in the direction of the magus.

"About the head priestess..."

"The Derelict Temple belongs to Celphata now, and Vaessa is her trusted servant. But she's been commanded by her mistress to be at my side."

"That's wonderful news, if a bit unexpected," the legate turned back to Zach and shook a fist at him. "I'll have you flogged for this, boy. Did you forget the etiquette?!"

"But... it's just that the lady... ugh! I mean the head priestess, and I... and then those dogs..." the poor kid stammered.

It was up to Elnar, who had walked over to us just in time, to salvage the situation.

"It's good to see you, uncle," James gave the legate a heartfelt hug, then turned to the young tifling and inquired innocently. "How's it going, Zach?"

"A colonel?" Elias exhaled, then lowered his eyes and said sorrowfully. "And at your age... Your father would have been proud."

"James!" the youth shouted joyfully. "Uncle Elias promised to take me with you to Suonu! Hey! How
did
you kill that monster? And what about—"

"Patience, patience," Elnar stemmed the unending stream of questions with a smile. Then, turning to me and standing at attention, he reported, loudly and all soldier-like. "The loot has been gathered, dar. We can move into the city."

"Join me for a visit to the satrap?"

"I need to see about accommodations for our troops first. There's quite a bit more of us this time around."

"As you say," I nodded. "Go then, do your duty."

"I'll make arrangements for a meeting later," declared the legate. Then, with a glance at Zach, who was literally jumping, or rather hopping from foot to foot, he snorted with exasperation, spun around and started back toward the gates in solitude.

Fifteen minutes later, when the debris outside the gates was finally cleared, I led my half-legion into the city on a white steed. Metaphorically speaking, at least. The creature I was riding was hardly a steed and anything but white, but I wouldn't trade my black-furred companion for a whole herd of thoroughbreds.

The barricades had already been mostly dismantled by then. In the real world it would have taken the citizens days to clear out the carts and put away the logs, but we weren't in the real world—here an ordinary female could easily carry a load ten times her weight. As a result, the biggest obstacle in the way of our raid was the sea of bones of would-be invaders cracking and crunching under the horses' hooves.

Our reception was a warm one. There were no parades or myriad hats being tossed in the air, but the citizens waved to us energetically, and invited the troops to their homes to celebrate the glorious victory. Which all made sense. There were no visors here, no stadiums, so every momentous event was celebrated as a community. And in a world where women were on par with men in every way, every celebration became a veritable Brazilian Carnival.

Vaessa hadn't followed us into the city. Having gathered her team of alchemists, she set out to the site of our battle with General Korg to extract some choice morsels from the bodies of the fallen mini bosses. Midway through the city Elnar and the troops turned and made for the Callehzian district, leaving just me and Elias, who'd actually managed to avail himself of a white steed somewhere along the way, to continue to the castle.

Gorm hadn't changed one bit since last I saw him. He had the same pitch-black hair and piercing green eyes, the same neatly trimmed beard... Only the wrinkles on his face seemed less apparent, and he looked fresher somehow despite his injuries. Of course, by now those injuries had been healed.

The satrap rose and extended a friendly greeting, then motioned for the legate and me to sit in the familiar armchairs by the fireplace. A servant appeared at once with a bottle of wine, and filled our glasses.

Honoring the satrap's request, I relayed the short version of our adventures through the princedom, which took a little over an hour. Thankfully, he was already aware of many details. The satrap wasn't particularly interested in the strategy employed in slaying Nerghall, Ulrich and Korg, but the very fact of their killing elevated my status in his eyes to incredible heights.

We sat in silence after I was done, staring into the fire. At last, Gorm put his glass on the table, leaned back in his chair, and asked:

"Tell me about the world you've come from, Dark One."

The question caught me by surprise. I didn't quite spill my wine or anything—in fact, I had been expecting him to ask difficult questions—but not this... Removing my pipe from my mouth, I proceeded to tell Gorm the information that every NPC in the higher realm probably already knew. I told him about the game, about talents, stats, quests and pain. About others like me, of which there were over thirty million up above. About the sad truth that the people who had come into the game were yet to accomplish anything of value, one county and a dozen baronies notwithstanding. I told him about Ahriman, about the knights of the Order of the Red Flame locked away at the Craedia Citadel, and that I had less than two weeks left to rescue them.

Once finished with the story, I set to studying the swords hanging on the walls. And then I added:

"My arriving here was accidental, but there's no going back. This is my world now..."

There was a minute-long silence in the office of Xantarra's ruler.

"Nothing happens by accident under the sun," the satrap shook his head. "I remember my entire life, down to the smallest detail. I remember the siege of Xantarra, and the dark ages. I remember Vaessa's father, Master Diarten. He was a fan of the pipe, just as you are. The night we were sitting here, in this very office, and planning the assault on the mission of the disavowed, Vaessa was sleeping right there on that oaken cot." Gorm gestured in the corner of the office. "She was just a little girl then. And the next morning he left southeast, as part of a squad headed up by Dar Krual. Ask Vaessa if she remembers that night." Gorm chuckled, and took a sip from his glass. "You say this is all some kind of game. But what if this is real, and the world you've come from is a game?"

"Perhaps," I shrugged. "But how did you know I was from another world?"

"It's that same bloody prophecy. Elias," the satrap looked at the legate, sitting still in his armchair. "Tell him what you remember from that book."

"A Black Demon shall come into the princedom from another world," the legate quoted, still as ever. "The great Lord of Darkness shall fall by his hand, and Death herself shall plant a gentle kiss on him, and lead him to the key to Cathella, the Spectral City. The plague shall yield before him, and the Twice Cursed god shall guide his way."

"Seriously, you guys? You couldn't tell me any of this before??" I grimaced.

"You didn't ask," the satrap shrugged. "Not to mention, all these prophecies about the Lord of Darkness, the kiss of Death and the Twice Cursed god would have sounded rather far-fetched, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I suppose," I finished off the wine and refilled my glass. "So what comes next? Celphata mentioned something about me finding a woman, and lots of other stuff."

"Celphata?!" Gorm choked on his wine, put the glass down on the table and looked up at me, teary-eyed. "You spoke to the goddess of death?"

"Who do you think advised me to capture the altar in the Derelict Temple and chose Vaessa as her priestess? And besides, you didn't seem too shocked by the gods' marks on me when we first met, so why now?"

"It's not the same," Gorm shook his head, clearly stunned. "All those marks I saw on you then could have been made by the gods, even a Lord of the Netherworld, without actually appearing before your eyes. But to speak with Celphata herself..."

"Then? You mean you don't see them anymore?"

"No, now they are hidden from me," Gorm reached for his glass. "You have changed a great deal since our last meeting, Dark One. I couldn't quite tell you how, but I sense it clearly."

Must be the blood of the Nameless from when he struck me. If it can conceal entire zones, the marks of five-six gods is but a trifle,
I thought to myself, but asked out loud:

"What else does the prophecy say?"

"Nothing else," Elias didn't seem at all impressed by the news that I had conversed with the goddess of death. Or perhaps he had exhausted his capacity for shock for today.

"What do you mean! Celphata was saying something about a woman!"

"I'm sorry, dar, but that is all I'd been able to read. Past that point all I remember is some unintelligible glyphwork."

"So what am I supposed to do with this?" I produced the scroll and showed it to Gorm. "And what is this Spectral City, anyway?"

"Death herself plants a gentle kiss on him..." Gorm recited softly. "You know, Dark One, I can't be bothered to be shocked anymore."

"Trust me, it wasn't so gentle," I smirked. "Her lips are a bit cold. Other than that, the goddess is a beautiful woman, no doubt. Now, what about this Cathella town?"

"According to legend, Cathella is the capital of the ancient Pangean civilization that used to inhabit these lands before departing from here," Gorm explained, gazing into the blazing fireplace. "As they were leaving, their shamans raised two great bone dragons, Vaell and Velargass, to protect the treasures they would leave behind. The legend has it the Pangeans returned to their homeland. As to where it's located or why they left when they did, nobody knows."

Well, that wasn't very helpful. No matter, Cathella wasn't anywhere near the top of my list of priorities. First I would get the hell out of here, and then decide whether or not to head over there. True, Celphata had mentioned I'd be able to find answers about the prophecy and the Nameless in the Spectral City, but I supposed the quest could wait till after I made it to the higher plane, and found my sister and Max. Then all of us could head back down to Cathella. Even Cheney, that scumbag, would need to wait. And let's be honest here—I was still too weak to challenge him. I clenched my fists unwittingly at the thought of Cheney, feeling the cold fury begin to overtake me.
Oh, what the hell!
I cried out mentally, driving off the unwanted companion. Here I was—a rational, pragmatic, intelligent being, and the mere shred of a memory of my tormentor instantly transformed me into a rabid beast! Why?! The pain I had suffered in Vill's cursed vault was a thousand times worse than anything that had happened in Cheney's basement, but I bore no ill will toward Hart or Ingvar. Even Vill didn't elicit such rage in me, despite being a certifiable shitbag. Could it have something to do with that same prophecy?

"Are you all right, Krian?" the satrap's alarmed voice wrung me out of my ruminations.

"I'm fine, just remembered an old buddy of mine," I said, taking a few gulps.

"You're better off remembering him only in battle, Dark One," Gorm said, shaking his head. "The emanations of fury and hatred coming from you when you're thinking of him are just too powerful."

"Speaking of hatred," I said. "All the things mentioned by Elias in that prophecy have materialized. I spoke with Syrat, and he did hint at where I should look for answers to certain questions."

At those words, Gorm broke down and burst into hysterical laughter. Forgetting all about etiquette, Legate Elias snatched the bottle off the table, put it to his mouth and started guzzling, without bothering to come up for air. Still laughing like a madman, the satrap rose from his chair, walked over to a cabinet and produced a large clay jug.

"Almost three hundred years ago I'd decided I would drink this cognac before the final march on Suonu."

Looking up at him, I asked just one thing:

"When do we move out?"

"You're the commander. You decide," he shrugged.

You've completed the quest: Satrap Gorm's Trust.

You have gained a level! Current level: 196.

You have 4 talent points to allocate.

Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

You have 12 stat points to allocate.

You have gained a level!...