For close to a minute, she said nothing.
“I was born in a prison, a place called Al-Asad. Or… I think I was born there,” she said, haltingly. “Al-Asad is a labyrinth that was turned into a dungeon out in the Bashar Desert. It’s about a week’s ride out of Dalim, the capital of Dakhdir. The Sultir – our Emperor – imprisons the worst of his enemies out there.”
“You... were born in a prison?” I came back with the cup and sat down beside the bed again. “What do you mean by ‘I think’?”
“Because my first memory is from when I was about twelve or thirteen years old.” Suri’s eyes were closed, tracks of perspiration running down her face and neck. “I don’t remember my parents, or of even having parents. I don’t know even what their crimes were. Point being, though, I died all the time in there. I’ve probably died about twenty, thirty times.”
I held the cup out, and helped her drink some water. “That’s not good.”
“There’s worse things than death.” Suri sprawled back. “The Starborn I told you about… they had golden halos, like Rin’s. It started with just the two of them, but they brought friends now and then. Those fuckers treated me like garbage.”
My ears started to ring. I had to fight down the urge to stand up and pace. “You remember their names?”
“No, never saw them. It was like their names were masked. The main two… one was a Mage and the other was some kind of Warrior-path guy.” Suri sighed. “These guys told me I was in Al-Asad because I was a war criminal. They called me names, like ‘Comrade’ and ‘Australian’ and suchlike… And they’re the only other people besides you who ever talked about this ‘Total War’ and ‘Pacific Alliance’ stuff. I figured it was like… some kind of schizo delusion, you know? I’d never been in a war. I’d never left the prison.”
The implications of what Suri was telling me settled like a lead blanket over my shoulders. There were a couple of possibilities. One was that Suri was a real human, like me, but a Pacific Alliance citizen who had been uploaded during the military GNOSIS/OUROS project and somehow ended up here, in the fun civilian game program. Option B was that she’d been constructed out of multiple datasets by a couple of sick-minded Devs. The end result was the same either way.
“Fuck,” I said. “That is so fucked up. How did you escape?”
Suri frowned, the muscles of her face twitching. “If you’re imprisoned in Al-Asad, you can’t gain any levels or take a Path. The only things I could increase were my stats. So I trained whenever and however I could. Punching straw, fighting for scraps, fighting for the fun of it... I got my ass kicked, and died and respawned all the time. About a month ago, something weird happened. I remember that I’d managed to get myself this old piece of injera and some locusts and had cooked it all up. I was sitting down to eat when the world blacked and I passed out. When I woke up, I didn’t realize anything had changed. But later that night, some guy tried to pick on me for some you-know-what. I killed him before he had his cock out, and I got a pop-up message telling me I’d gotten EXP. I gained a level from killing that bastard. Then I got all these messages telling me I could choose a Path. I opened up my menu, and there were all these new options and shit. So I took Warrior, and began to train up as hard as I could. I never saw the golden-ring guys after that, either.”
The server reset. I sat back, cradling the cup in my lap. My fingers felt numb, ringing like my ears. “Yeah. That was about a month ago.”
“Some of the other guys in the hole were able to start taking levels too, of course,” she said, shifting restlessly under the blankets. “But they didn’t come back to life if they died. I did. I got revenge on all the ones who’d fucked with me, and teamed up with some of the better men. We decided we’d try and break out. The prison was next to these moldy ruins, and we ended up digging our way through to them. I almost made it that first time, but this fucking monster came out of nowhere and nailed me.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.” Suri grimaced, swallowing. “But the worst part? When I died, I woke up in my cell. If I die, that’s where I go. Straight back to prison.”
I frowned. “You should be able to set new spawn points. All Starborn can do that.”
“I can’t.” She shifted again, pushing the covers down her chest. “Menu... says I should be able to. But it’s grayed out and shit, and-”
“Hey, shh. Calm down a bit. You need to stay warm.” I pulled the covers back up over her chest. “Drink more. Can you hold this yourself?”
By way of reply, Suri took the cup in her hand. It shook as she brought it to her mouth and began to drink with needy, shuddering gulps.
I watched her in numb silence, emotions swirling through my mind like a storm. So many things had clicked into place with that abbreviated, almost sterile version of all of the horrors that had happened to her, and nearly all of those revelations made me want to go back into the real world so that I could go to Ryuko HQ and blow it up a second time. Me and Rin were going to have a talk.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“For trusting me. That’s some heavy shit.”
“Too heavy for most people. Like I said, some things are better off left buried.” Breathing hard, Suri dropped the empty cup. She cracked her eyes open and looked up at me. “I figured you’d be like those Gold Rings and their mates when I first met you, you know. You started going on about the war and everything, but I’m okay with being proven wrong. You’re alright, Hector.”
On impulse, I reached out and clasped her hand between mine and squeezed. Suri smiled faintly, and squeezed back.
“You’re literally the toughest person I’ve ever met,” I told her. “You’re brave, and smart, and smoking hot, even when you don’t have a fever.”
She chuckled, grimacing with discomfort. The fever was in full swing, but her severed arm had started to grow back, if the shape under the loose bandages was anything to go by. “Lay it on... uhhn... too much thicker and I’ll throw up all over you.”
“I’m serious.” I let go and stood up. “After this, when you’re feeling better and this whole Slayer thing is sorted out, let me take you out to dinner.”
“Dinner, huh?” The woman smiled faintly. “I’ll think about it once I no longer feel like puking. How’s that sound?”
“It’s not a ‘no’.” I smiled back.
“It’s not a ‘no’,” she replied. “I just feel really crook, and if I think about food for more than a second, it’ll definitely become a ‘no’.”
I squinted. “Crook? I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Austrababble.”
“Sick, you idiot.” She flopped back against her pillows in exasperation. But not just exasperation - she looked disheveled and exhausted.
“You need to sleep, Suri. But speaking of crooks, though - I found another one of those cat-face rings at the scene,” I pulled it out from a pocket. “Well, Karalti did.”
“Nightstalkers,” Suri muttered. “Hold onto it... and when I’m awake, we’ll... we’ll talk about the Stalkers. Go pay them a visit.”
“No worries. Get some sleep.” I looked down at Suri, and swallowed the urge to lean down and kiss her on the forehead. Instead, I flipped the ring in my hand, and headed for the door.
It was time to check in with His Majesty. And then I had some training to do.
Chapter 32
Even though it was late, I had a feeling the Volod would be awake. I found Andrik in the hidden parlor to the side of his throne room, the same place where we’d had our first audience.
Andrik was rumpled, sprawled in his fine red velvet armchair with a glass of wine and a sullen scowl. He stared at the fire, while the Captain of the Kingsguard, Garen, sat patiently in the corner. He had his sword over his knees, a shield by his other hand, and appraised me warily as I walked up and stood at ease beside the Volod.
“How is Suri?” Andrik asked. Up close, he looked - and sounded - exhausted.
“She’ll recover,”
I replied. My voice was quiet in the closeness of the room, which was dark except for the fire blazing in the hearth. “I came to give a report on what happened at Kobayaz.”
“We know what happened. The man had a device that killed Toth, obliterated one of the greatest sages of my kingdom, twenty soldiers and ten other guests, including Lady Andreas Lustival, a beloved opera singer who has set the trends for the ladies of the court for going on fifteen years now. Then their corpses amalgamated into some revolting beast which you, Suri and your dragon slew while my men ran away like little girls.” Andrik scowled, and took a deep swallow of wine. “Did I miss anything?”
“I tried to warn your men that something was going to happen,” I said. “There was a hostile agent at the Auction House. She called herself ‘Red’.”
“‘Red’? What did she look like?”
“Tall, extremely thin, dressed all in red, as the name implies. I think she came in as one of the mummers.”
“I don’t recall seeing her. Was she human?”
I shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. Definitely an odd one, though.”
“And who did you warn?”
“Ur Kirov and the Commander of the garrison,” I replied. “They told me that every precaution was in place.”
“It was. But none of us thought that someone would be so desperate to sabotage this event that they would do something this extreme.” Andrik shook his head, and had another drink.
“There was another thing,” I said, holding out the ring. “My dragon found this in the remains of the monster.”
Andrik frowned as he took the ring and held it up to the fire, turning it around so that he could see the details.
“It’s a syndicate ring worn by members of the Nightstalkers.” I parroted back what Suri had told me about it. “The head of the Syndicate calls themselves-”
“The King of Cats,” Andrik said quietly. “Yes... I know.”
He handed the ring back to me, and sighed, gazing off into the flames. “Garen?”
“Yes, sire?”
“You may leave us.” Andrik waved his hand back toward the door.
The Kingsguard stood, armor rattling. “Your Majesty?”
“I will not say it again. Leave.”
The older man glanced between us, then picked up his shield and clanked his way over to the door. He let himself outside, and when it closed, Andrik waved toward it again.
“Go and stuff some wax in the keyhole, Tuun,” he said. “I do not want anyone eavesdropping.”
I shrugged, and did just that, warming up a candle and using the soft wax to plug up the small hole. When I came back, Andrik sat up in his chair and reached for the bottle on the table beside him. “You know that I am the younger of two brothers, do you not?”
“I have heard that His Majesty lost a brother some years ago,” I replied carefully.
“Don’t be coy.” Andrik sloshed more wine into his glass. “This is my castle, Hector. I know full well what kind of gossip gets shared around here. One of the oldest and juiciest pieces of gossip involves Ignas and what happened to him. Everyone knows the reason why the Corvinus Throne warms my behind instead of my brother’s bony arse. Sit down. Do you want a drink?”
“Sure.” Refusing Andrik while he was tipsy and brooding seemed like a bad idea, so I got a second glass and a chair and pulled it up next to him.
“Discipline.” Andrik shook his head he poured my wine. “That was Ignas’ favorite word. ‘A man is nothing if he has not built himself on a foundation of self-discipline and temperance’. He used to say that to me whenever he thought I was hunting or whoring too much. Ignas was very much our father’s son.”
“Okay.” I bought the drink to my lips, but didn’t touch any of it.
“Well, what is it they say about moral men?” Andrik snorted, swirling the wine in his glass. “I told you about the properties of Corvinus Rubies, and that my dynasty is the only one who can use them to imprint memories. Well, Ignas had always been known for his love of the arts, and he kept the company of several notable artists in court, including this one Meewfolk dancer. I can’t remember his name… Rhan’ah or something. The short version of a long tale is that my pious, terribly disciplined brother was not only been screwing this Meewfolk male, but recording his experiences onto a ruby so that he might replay and relive his bestiality over and over.”
I winced.
“Father found the stone,” Andrik continued. “And that was that. He marched into the lunchtime banquet, tore Ignas’ coronet off, and screamed at him to pack his bags. I’d never seen a man become so furious in all my life. Ignas broke down and begged forgiveness, but how could he be forgiven for such a thing? He was the Crown Prince, and he was already engaged to Princess Ahrem, the flower of the Jeun Empire. That same night, my brother committed suicide.”
I nodded, taking a moment to digest what he’d said. “How’d he kill himself?”
Andrik snorted, sinking down into his chair. “He walked into the sacred furnace at the heart of the Keep, the one which warms the ground and walls. Baked himself into charcoal. That was three years ago to the day.”
“You think he’s alive?”
“They pulled the remains out of the furnace,” Andrik said. “But the handy thing about self-immolation is that it makes the dead harder to identify. When I went to view him, the first thing I thought to myself was ‘that can’t be my brother’. Ignas was tall and lanky. This man was too short and broad. The attending priest said that was because the body shrinks and contracts while burning, but… I remain skeptical.”
“Did you tell your father?”
“Of course, but he didn’t want to hear it. The old man died of grief not long after. He’d already lost Mother when I was a babe, and now this.” Andrik shook his head, looking down at the ground between his feet. “And here I am, stuck with a crown I never wanted, faced by the need to marry and produce heirs well before I was ready... We have some manner of monstrosity threatening us in the East, and now we have Ilia baying at our doors – no fault of yours, I assure you. The alliance with Jeun collapsed with Ignas’ death.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I motioned to him, the untouched glass of wine in the other.
“Because I don’t think Ignas is dead,” Andrik replied. He jabbed a finger toward the ring. “A year ago, I started hearing this name, the ‘King of Cats’. He is the leader of one of the largest underground gladiatorial circuits north of Dakhdir. That vice is illegal, but there is a great demand for bloodsports. Vlachia, Dakhdir, Shalash, and even Meewhome partake of underground fighting events. The syndicates can be useful to a monarch, and so most savvy nations play host to these brigands under the terms of a gentleman’s agreement.”
In other words, you tolerate organized crime because the Dons give you a cut of their profits. I kept that observation to myself.
“I was assured by my contacts that the Nightstalkers were nothing but a small gang of pit fighters. Then there was a change in leadership, and suddenly, the Nightstalkers are competing with the biggest syndicate in Vlachia, the Rose Knives.” Andrik’s brow creased. “I tried to learn about this King of Cats, but we found nothing. I sent out word that I was interested in a meeting. When that failed, I tried an assassin. My man’s head and spine were returned to the Keep and laid out on my Chancellor’s bed. Meewfolk assassins are fond of that display.”
I struggled not to grin. “Maybe they thought the Chancellor was hungry.”
Andrik shot me a dark look. “Do you think this is funny?”
“No, sir.” I shook my head. “You think the King of Cats is Ignas?”
“Well, there are two things that occurred to me about the Nightstalkers,” Andrik replied, looking back to the fire. “They’re supposedly very wealthy now. And above all, they’re terribly disciplined. Almost like a small army, you could say.”
“Yes, sir.” But even as the old ‘yes sir-no sir’ speech fell from my lips, I was thinking of what Andrik might be lea
ving out of his story. Like I’d told Suri, I had a problem with authority.
“Regardless of whether or not the King of Cats is my not-so-immolated brother, the fact remains that he has now been implicated in the murder of my citizens. He must be brought to justice.” Andrik drained his glass and set it aside. “It’s good that you came alone, actually. I have a proposition for you.”
“Oh?” I set my untouched glass down as well.
“Yes. You are a servant of Matir, are you not? Or, what do you call him in your land? Burna?”
“I wouldn’t use the word ‘servant’. More like ‘franchisee’.”
The Volod shrugged. “Regardless, you serve his tenets and believe in his message. Therefore, I invoke the Kara Bukat-talom.”
I frowned. The words were Tuun - they meant ‘Moon Pact’, and with them came a wash of racial knowledge. The Kara Bukat-talom was a pact of secrecy made under oath before Burna, used to discuss clandestine matters. Breaking your word after swearing one made you a pariah and gave the aggrieved party the freedom to avenge themselves in any way, and if they informed the faithful of Matir that you’d broken your word, they’d join in the hunt. I knew, somehow, that this wasn’t just a ‘he said, she said’ thing, but a status mark, like the King’s Mark that told the guards of Taltos that I worked for Andrik.
“Okay.” I bowed my head, rubbing the Mark of Matir with my other hand, and summoned the words for the oath out of my Tuun racial memory. “Bukat Talom den Kanbuchen.”
“Good.” Andrik nodded. “Under the restrictions of the oath, I will pay you another five thousand olbia if you bring me the head and one hand of the King of Cats. If it is Ignas... I will add another five thousand.”
That hardly surprised me. As soon as he’d invoked a sacred oath under the God of Darkness, I knew he’d been about to discuss something like this. I made a show of considering it, then shook my head.
“Your Majesty, please hear me out,” I said. “You and I share some things in common, even though you’re a noble and I’m not. I’m a younger son from a strict family with an older brother. His name was Steve.”
Archemi Online Chronicles Boxset Page 64
