Archemi Online Chronicles Boxset

by James Osiris Baldwin

  Feathers, flesh and blood exploded and rained down. The shockwave of their destruction was powerful enough to propel me back up into the air. The world seemed to slow, the seconds rolling by like syrup as the notifications rolled in.

  [You have killed Kalxat!]

  [You deal 2176 damage!]

  [You have killed Kalxat!]

  [You gain 115 EXP! Karalti gains 115 EXP!]

  [You deal 3966 damage!]

  [Karalti has killed Kalxat!]

  [You have killed Kalxat…]

  Holy shit. My eyes widened.

  There was a blast of fire overhead. I glanced up as a shadow fell over me. It wasn’t Karalti. It was the last Kalxat, dead and burning. Without thinking, I Shadow Danced out of the way – or tried to. Master of Blades had sucked up all of my AP, which I realized just as the tumbling bird clipped me. It spun me around, then nearly tore my head off as a strap caught around my neck and shoulders and dragged me down toward the earth.

  Chapter 13

  When it came to accidents, years of stunt work had given me blood like ice-water. The fallen Kalxat’s talon had snagged on some part of my gear, and its dead weight was pulling us out of the sky. The solution was simple: unequip my armor.

  With the wind tearing at my everything, I navigated telepathically to the equipment menu and unequipped the lot. Once I was down to my underpants, I was free. The updraft dragged me up and off, and my descent slowed. “Karalti!”

  “I’m coming!”

  The parapets of Korona were now close enough that I could see the faces of the soldiers below. Time seemed to slow. It wasn’t just a trick of my mortality. Plunge, one of my passive abilities, was making the fall seem slower than it was – an extra three seconds to contemplate my inevitable death-by-splat. “You’d better hurry!”

  Karalti streaked past like an arrow, unfurling her wings and sliding into position underneath me. I reached out with my free hand, grasping for the saddle, and caught it. As soon as I anchored, she lifted – and I learned something new about physics when my unprotected face and torso slammed down with unexpected force. The sandsquid leather was sharper than sharkskin, ripping up my hands and face. My nose burst like a ripe raspberry, and there was a wet snapping in my chest that I heard with my inner ear.

  [You have a broken nose! You’re Dizzy, and incur a -10 vision penalty.]

  [You take 79 points of impact damage!]

  Right. I had been falling at high speed, and I’d remembered to unequip my armor, but not to fucking re-equip it. Genius.

  “Hold on!” Karalti coasted down toward Korona’s skydock at a fast glide, shuddering with effort in the blustering wind. My head spun. Gritting my teeth, I re-equipped my gear from Karalti’s saddlebags. The Raven Set appeared on my body like magic.

  Neither of us had taken too much HP damage, but I was now bleeding from my everything and laboring under no less than four strength-sapping debuffs. Karalti was exhausted from a full day of flying. I couldn’t insta-use my potions outside of combat. The dragon groaned with effort as she lined up with one of the docks. She was burning hot, her twin hearts hammering so hard I could feel them through the saddle.

  The crowd of soldiers and staff below scattered out of our way just in time. Karalti came in fast, skipping over the remaining people and hitting the ground at a run. She bounced and hopped through the landing, flaring her wings to slow her momentum. When she came to a stop, I was still on her back. We were both alive and intact.

  [You have defeated Kalxat!]

  [You gain 336 EXP!]

  [Congratulations! You are Level 18!]

  Some of the pain ebbed as my HP rose with the level gain, but I was weak, feverish, and spurting blood out of most of the holes in my face. The first thing I did - before potions or poultices, before anything - was to use my new Purify ability to get rid of the Grave Rot. I clapped my branded hand to my forehead and concentrated. For a second, there was nothing: then a purple nimbus gathered around my body, followed by a flush of cool energy that spread through my limbs like a shockwave. My churning stomach settled; the feverish heat left my flesh, my strength returned, and the pounding in my head relented.

  [Purify has cured your disease!]

  A startled murmur passed through the mob gathering around us, a ripple of energy and excitement I sensed even before I opened my eyes. Over a hundred people had crowded onto the skydock, with more staring at us from the control tower and the parapets. They gawked at me and Karalti with the awe and desperation of men who’d just seen an angel descend from heaven. Some were reverent. Some were confused. Others gasped as Karalti lifted her head on her swan-like neck. Her horns were now a regal backswept crown. She’d put on another five feet of size; her dorsal spines were larger, her tail longer and more whip-like. She’d grown in two pairs of stabilizing fins at the base of her tail, which now fanned out toward the end.

  “Yeah! See, I told you I’d level with our next combat!” Karalti stood tall, puffing out her chest. “But hey, Hector?”

  “What is it, Tidbit?”

  “I’m Level 9 now, so...” Karalti sunk back down, then lowered her head until her eye was level with mine. “You know what that means, right?”

  “That you’re half the size of a small plane?” I absently reached up to scratch her jaw. The soldiers oohed and ahhed, but no one approached us.

  She rubbed her head down against my nails, eyes half-closing with pleasure. “Well... yeah. But it means I get to pick my spell, remember?”

  I paused. “You do?”

  “Yeah! Remember? I asked you back in Taltos, when you were drilling the holes in my spines for the saddle! I said I wanted to pick a spell when I turned Level 9!”

  I frantically wracked my brains for the memory, but it came up perfectly blank. Now that I thought about it, I didn’t remember drilling those holes in Karalti’s dorsal spines, either. It wasn’t one of those half-recalled brainfarts: just a void of space where the memory should have been, as black and featureless as the hole in my shoulder.

  “Some things got scrambled after the last time I died.” I shoved intrusive thoughts about dementia back in their box and refocused on the present. We were in Myszno, the ships were docking, and Suri and Rin were already waiting against the railing waving to us. I waved back. Everything was cool.

  “You forgot to spend my Lexica back in Taltos, too,” Karalti said. “Can I pick more than one spell this level?”

  I had? Fuck. I frowned and rubbed the bridge of my nose, and immediately regretted it as pain shot up behind my eyes. “Uhh... sure. Go ahead.”

  “Don’t worry. You were really tired. Silly Hector needs to sleep more.” Karalti sat back on the base of her tail, and her eyes turned distant as she focused on her own virtual interface.

  [Karalti has learned Shadow Wave!]

  [Karalti has learned Teleport!]

  [Karalti has learned-]

  “Out of the way! All of you!” A sharp, authoritative voice pierced the air, cutting over the murmuring crowd of troops. “Do you want to catch the plague!? Move back! Back!”

  From the back of the chattering crowd, an arrowhead-shaped group of men pushed through the onlookers. The approaching group had the look of knights who’d seen better days. Their plate armor was tarnished and mud-spattered, surcoats threadbare. They wore assorted colors, but each one of the coats had at least a panel with the same heraldry: a rearing Brontosaurus in white and green, the neck and tail stylized into elegant curves. They carried javelins, which they used like clubs to clear a space around Karalti and I, and heavy crossbows, which they pointed at us as their leader approached.

  I wasn’t into dudes, but if I was, I’d be drooling over this guy. He wasn’t just handsome: he was pretty. Medium height, strong and wiry, with a jaw that could cut glass, he had thick, wavy oiled hair pulled back into a ponytail and a braided goatee that framed a full, sullen mouth. His skin was darker than was typical for Vlachia, a cool dusky grey-brown that almost glowed silver under the r
ight light. His eyes were a startling pale green, flashing under fierce brows. He was also dressed differently to his posse: His armor was studded leather, but more finely made than the piecemeal plate the others wore. He wore a calf-length coat in green, with an artfully draped white and green shawl over that, and tall cavalry boots that had seen a lot of use. Everything was belted down with a thick sash. He carried a rifle over one shoulder and a rapier on his belt, his hand cocked slightly near the hilt as he warily approached.

  “Commander Istvan Arshak?” I called to him.

  His head cocked. “Yes, I am. Excuse me for one moment, warrior.” He bowed from the neck, then turned to face his men. “Paul, Viktor! Bring this crowd under control. I want all men back at their stations, now! Those ships are asking to dock and there’s no space on the wharf. Find those dead birds and burn them. I don’t want anyone else catching their plague.”

  “Yes, Captain.” The two men and their fellows turned on the nearest gawkers and laid into them without hesitation. “Come on, laggards! You heard him! That’s enough jerking off!”

  Istvan turned back to me. Up close, the man looked exhausted. He had a bad case of panda eyes, and now that he was in proximity, I couldn’t help but notice that he smelled strongly of alcohol. Despite that, his voice was level and steady. Like Ignas, he masked weakness well. “There. Now, that was quite a fight you and your dragon put up there. We saw you take out those stinkbirds. I like it. Fireworks are good for morale.”

  I saluted him on reflex. “Thank you, sir.”

  Istvan’s intense gaze slid to Karalti. “Of all the things I’d expected His Ever-Distant Majesty to send us, I’d never have expected a dragon. Incredible. It is an honor to greet you, Solonkratsu. To whom do I speak?”

  “Count Dragozin Hector, Lancer and rider of Karalti the Many Colored, the Black Opal Queen. We are the first of your reinforcements.”

  “A Count? A foreign Count? Yet you salute me as an officer?” He studied me with shrewd curiosity. “Interesting. I see the Kingsmark now, but you are Tuun, are you not? Not that this troubles me: My best man is... was... from Tungaant. Even so. I cannot imagine Andrik Corvinus giving any foreigner a title of any kind.”

  “Andrik isn’t Volod anymore, commander,” I replied. “Ignas Corvinus has retaken the throne.”

  The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Ignas? The dead one?”

  I forced a laugh. “He wasn’t as dead as everyone thought. You didn’t know?”

  “No, and it hardly matters to me which Crow sits the throne: Myszno carries on.” Istvan eyed the oncoming airships. “If Soma knew about this, he hoarded the information like a Dakhari speaktrader. He was favored by Andrik, did you know? Speaking of that, Lord Peacock is surely on his way here to preen and puff, so I will give you some advice. Never call me ‘Commander’ in front of him. He will take offense at it, as he does with everything. In front of Soma, I am ‘merely’ Captain Arshak.”

  [New Hero added to Mass Combat Menu: Captain Istvan Arshak (Myszno Defense Force)]

  I lay a hand on Karalti’s arm, rubbing her forearm absentmindedly. “Hard to deal with, is he?”

  “You know the sort. Never soldiered a campaign in his life, but he read a lot of books about war and learned to fence in his family’s courtyard, thus is a master of the blade as well as a master of magic. The piglet didn’t even know that a dying man voids his bowels until about six weeks ago.” The Captain’s lip curled. “We are outnumbered three to one at Prezyemi, fighting horrors beyond the sanity of all but the strongest men and women here, and all he cares about is his ego, his money, and his damn machines.”

  Yikes. Not only was Istvan drunk, he had a bad case of Resting Frag Face, and that did not bode well for the defense. “I’ll bear it in mind, Captain. Once my companions come down off those airships, are we able to make some time for a briefing? I was hoping we could talk to both you and Lord Soma together.”

  Istvan’s expression turned sullen. “The only reason you should put us in the same room right now would be to bet on us like fighting cocks.”

  I wasn’t particularly knowledgeable on feudalism, but I was pretty sure knights, commanders or not, weren’t supposed to talk to Counts the way he was talking to me. Still, I didn’t want to pull rank with this guy. It would not go down well.

  “Alright, well, we can catch up separately if needed,” I said. “Karalti and I are here to work with you, not lord over you.”

  Istvan arched an eyebrow. “What does a lord do if not ‘lord over’ common folk?”

  “I’m here to beat the shit out of Old Fangface and avenge your families.” I held out a hand. “That is my number one concern for the foreseeable future. Me and the Countess need a complete briefing on the situation here, and we’ll do what we can once we know the full scope of what we’re dealing with.”

  The Captain shot me a wary look, like he wasn’t sure whether to believe me. He raised his hand to shake, but then the shriek of a hookwing pierced the air. All three of us turned to look at the gate leading into the Skyport. A procession of eight people rode through, with a hulking man in fine Vlachian officer’s armor in the lead.

  “Daykit be keran degêm,” Istvan muttered. “Speak of the donkey and he will bray. If you wish to find me, Your Grace, I will be in the War Room doing real work.”

  The man headed toward us dwarfed the slender hookwing he rode, a male as large as Cutthroat that still managed to look like the size of a pony compared to his bulk. He was gigantic: at least seven feet tall and three hundred pounds, none of it fat. Deep-set, brilliant blue eyes looked out from under heavy brows. His nose was long, cheekbones sharp, mouth thin. This hulk was accompanied by eight retainers, knights in glossy black plate and chain with blue and yellow flags, surcoats, and shields. Beside him, they looked like children.

  “Istvan! There are ships arriving! Why didn’t you summon me!?” Lord Soma boomed by way of greeting. “By the Nine, man! I’m neck deep in cannon repairs, and your pack of dogs just run out here, pointing crossbows at the emissary of the gods himself, and you don’t even have the courtesy to send word to the workshop!?”

  [New Hero added to Mass Combat Menu: Lord Lorenzo Soma (Myszno Defense Force)]

  He knows about the Mark? On reflex, I glanced down at my hand. I had gloves on, so it wasn’t visible. It was only when he dropped to the ground, walked up to Karalti and swept into a low, courtly bow in front of her that I realized he wasn’t talking about me. Or to me. Or acknowledging me at all.

  “She is Karalti,” I stuck out a hand to shake and looked up at him. “And I’m her rider, Count Hector Dragozin.”

  “A dragoness?” Soma did a small doubletake, glancing down at me in confusion. His gaze drifted to my outstretched hand. “And a Count? Oh, yes… I see now. You bear the Kingsmark. But I wasn’t aware the Tuun had nobility, unless you are of the priestly caste…?”

  He kept glancing at Karalti, who was cocking her head from side to side as she watched the two of us talk. I wasn’t even that invested in the peerage thing yet, but I was beginning to understand why Istvan hated him.

  Spitting some blood off to the side, I dropped the unshaken hand. “I was recently sworn in as a vassal by His Majesty, Ignas II, for services rendered to the Crown.”

  The twinkle in Soma’s eyes hardened. “Oh, really? What fief did he bequeath you?”

  I gave him a tight, toothy smile. “The Ducal seat. Racsa.”

  Soma didn’t flinch, and his crooked mouth even flashed with a brief grin. It reminded me of the way a manager smiled at his employees: warm, friendly, sincere, even while he was planning fifteen ways to fuck you over. Istvan, on the other hand, simply shut down. He’d almost been friendly before, but his eyes had paled, his jaw tightened. I wasn’t sure it was just because of Soma.

  “They’re replacing Lord Bolza already? Hear that, Istvan?” The lord’s smirk didn’t budge. “I’m sure you have a writ and deed from His Majesty?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

&n
bsp; “Excellent! We will put that title to a vote of your peers soon enough. It’s about time Taltos sent us bumpkins something other than platitudes.” Soma almost reached out to clap me on the arm, but then thought better of it. “Istvan! Gods, man, you reek of liquor again. Why are you standing around! Go and help tie in those ships!”

  Istvan rolled his eyes. “My lieutenants are already taking care of it, Your Grace.”

  “Hold your tongue, you miserable swamp rat. Pah! Do you see what I have to put up with?” Soma gestured at Istvan dismissively. “Anyway, Lord Dragozin, you look like you already have one foot in the ocean after that fight of yours. From one peer to another, I extend you and your dragoness the full hospitality of Fort Korona. We will find accommodation, food and company for this magnificent creature while you have your injuries seen to. Be assured she will be in reverent hands while you recover.”

  “Thanks, but we already healed up.” I rested a hand on Karalti’s wrist “Actually, if you’ll both excuse me, we need to go and find our companions.”

  “Well, in that case, allow my Castellan to give you a tour of our magnificent wall and our fortifications while we arrange accommodations worthy of a dragon and the new Lord and Lady of Racsa.” Soma spread his hands like a magician, beaming. He wore a spell glove on his left arm. “It looks like the personnel are about to disembark. Three Hussar-class... good, good. They’ll do just fine as a vanguard...”

  “These are all the troops we are being sent, Your Grace,” Istvan said sourly.

  The Count blinked a few times. “You’re joking. Not even a single legion? That’s all Ignas sent?! Is he out of his damn mind!?”

  “And a dragon, and three Starborn. Ilia is threatening a war with the White Sail Alliance.” I looked up to the deck of the Orozlan. The warship hung like an elegant lionfish, its stabilizing sails lowered. It was anchored and chained, the mana engines creating a great downdraft of hot wind. Mounting platforms and ladders were put into positions and locked, and then a flood of people began to march off the ship. Marshals barked orders, porters pulled luggage and munitions down ramps that led from the lower decks. “We will need a briefing.”