Archemi Online Chronicles Boxset

by James Osiris Baldwin

  Zlaslo and Istvan both shot to their feet. Istvan spoke first. “Da deruyê su yeh? Aksafi Vlachii!”

  “What is it?” Suri and Karalti both stood in alarm. I straightened up at the end of the table.

  “The gate! The Demon has sent an emissary onto the field, to the Waterfall Gate!” The man babbled in Vlachian. All the Yanik were hardened vets, but this man’s dark skin was ashen gray with fear. “My lords… It is Count Bolza.

  Chapter 42

  The former Voivode of Myszno waited for us on the other side of the gates, as patient as the dead. He sat astride an eerily still and silent T.rex, a slender ten-foot lance resting over one shoulder and a banner stand resting in a bracket on his saddle. The banner was a simple ragged swatch of black linen. It depicted a skeletal hand with the index and middle finger raised, the thumb crossed over the palm. Underneath it was tied a long fluttering ribbon of white cloth.

  "Well, fuck me. Does this madness never end?" Vash shaded his eyes and peered out over the wall.

  "Never." Istvan stared bleakly in the direction of his former liege lord, the telescope he was using to look at him hanging from numb fingers. "Vash - go rally the officers and get the men down off the walls. I will talk to him. Hector, Suri, Rin: will you come?"

  “Wait. You can’t just waltz down there like a loon, Arshak.” Vash scowled, catching his wrist. “Even a dragon cannot hit a wraith. We don’t know how many ghosts he stuffed up his ass.”

  “I’ll go rally the officers, then,” Rin said. “Vash, you go down with them if you’re worried.”

  “Euch. No, it’s okay.” He rolled his eyes. “You all just go down there without me. I’ll stay here alone, in the dark, going blind.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” Istvan sniffed.

  Bolza stood motionless as Suri, Rin and Istvan descended the Waterfall Gate elevator with Cutthroat and Istvan’s hookwing. Karalti launched from the edge of the wall with me on her back. We glided around in a tight circle to land gracefully on the stinking mud, about twenty feet away from Lord Bolza.

  The undead lord stared through us with pitiless green eyes. He had been a handsome man in life, square-jawed, with a salt and pepper beard and the beginnings of a paunch. Karalti stood eye-to-eye with his T.rex mount. It hadn’t been dead for that long – maybe a couple of days. Flies buzzed around its empty eye sockets. The dinosaur had been gutted, and its bloodless skin had retracted over its bare ribs, baring flesh crawling with insects.

  "From this rather pointed message, I’m guessing the Tiranozavir tribe got their asses handed to them," I said to Karalti.

  "Uh huh." She held her ground, her tail lashing stiffly behind her.

  The others fell in beside us, and there was a moment of silence.

  "My lord," Istvan said heavily. "I prayed you would be spared. I prayed you had died in a such a way they could not puppet your corpse for their own ends... but it seems the gods are deaf as well as blind."

  "You think I am to be pitied, Istvan?" The undead lord's lips were blue and stiff, and barely moved. His voice was hollow, but he was well-spoken and clear. "In truth, I am better than I have ever been. Lord Ashur has given me the greatest of gifts: a new life, free of pain, free of suffering. Eternal. Rational. Impartial. It is I who should pity you."

  "Rational? There’s nothing rational about a walking dead man," Istvan replied. "What do you want?"

  "I am here on behalf of my eternal Master, Lord Ashur of the Ten Thousand Swords, the Ox of the River and Champion of the Breathless," Bolza replied. His teeth flashed with an odd metallic gleam. "I come to make a once-and-final offer. Stand down and let us through the Krivan Pass. If we find what we are looking for, we will take back what is rightfully ours and then depart from this land. If you do not surrender, we will destroy the remainder of all you love."

  I kept my expression neutral, even as my chest thrilled with excitement. Target confirmed: they were after the Dragon Gate, and they thought it was north. "We don't know what you want. Litvy? Our ships? Our land? An offer is supposed to have terms. What terms are you offering?"

  “Your lives.” Bolza didn't blink. He only breathed to speak. "The Ducal seat has fallen. You are in no position to make demands of Lord Ashur."

  "I'm not demanding anything. I'm asking a question," I replied. "Because Napath and Vlachia haven't had any contact, good or bad, for thousands of years. Your story doesn't hold up. There’s nothing here that's rightfully yours."

  "There is," the undead count replied. "The blood, soul, and fertility of Napath were stolen by the dragons and bought here. Our mana fuels your farms, and your machines, and your monuments. The forests of Myszno bloom from the ruin of our lands. My Master's people waited for millennia until you were weak and fat and decadent. They waited, planning to take back what they are rightfully owed. That time is now."

  "That makes no sense." Rin stepped up beside my shoulder. "The best time to have taken Myszno would have been when Lawislaw Corvinus the Burned conquered the Sathbari and the Yanik. There’s been hardly any potable mana for centuries.”

  Lord Bolza's expression was as serene and expressionless as a Roman sculpture. He said nothing.

  I stood up on Karalti’s back and leaned forward. “You're looking for the Great Wellspring, right? Well, it's too late. It's gone. Veles took it with him to his grave. There’s no more mana in Myszno, except for what you’ve been draining from the land."

  Bolza finally stirred. "The Great Wellspring is not what we seek. If you do not stand down, we will continue our advance and crush you. Our army now numbers in the hundreds of thousands. You stand no chance against us."

  “Okay. We’ll go and discuss this and then return to give you your answer.” I jerked my head back toward the wall.

  "As you wish." Bolza rotated his head slightly to look at Istvan.

  "I wish for none of this." Istvan seemed to age ten years as he gazed at his old friend. "But one thing before we depart. What happened to your beloved Oksana? What about your children? Ivan? Your daughter, Zophia?"

  A tic jumped near Lord Bolza’s bloodless mouth. Then he sneered, pulling his lips back to flash top and bottom rows of gleaming metal fangs. When he spoke, his tone was guttural. "They march with the other thralls."

  Istvan flinched as if he had been struck. He turned his face.

  "The House of Bolza is dead," he said bitterly. "Long live the House of Dragozin."

  We turned as a group and trudged off through the mud to gather in a circle some hundred feet away.

  “It seems you are correct,” Istvan said gloomily. “They are here searching for the Dragon Gate. Their advance through Myszno will not cease until they find it.”

  “How did you learn this?” Rin asked.

  I slid down Karalti’s shoulder and dropped to the ground, standing under the shelter of her wing. “I think I mentioned at the meeting, but there's an entry to Lahati's Tomb in Krivan Pass. I fell into it when I killed the Warsinger-"

  Rin bristled like a startled cat. "When you killed the WHAT!?"

  "The.. uh... the Warsinger." I grinned at her sheepishly. "The entry to the Tomb was guarded by the oldest and weakest of the Warsingers, Nocturne Lament. I had to destroy it.”

  “There was one of those here?!” Rin clapped her hand over her mouth. “Hector… if we can take that to Litvy, I can study it! We-”

  "People have searched for Lahati's Tomb for thousands of years all around the province," Istvan interrupted her. "And you're saying you stumbled into it via one of the most travelled passes in Myszno?"

  “Sort of. There was a…” I hesitated, remembering the sepulcher with all its undisturbed, currently unguarded treasure. “A deep cavern with a shrine to Matir, that contained a one-way portal to Lahati’s Tomb in the northern mountains.”

  Suri looked between us. “Did any of you listen when he said that their army is now numbered in the hundreds of thousands? We were planning for fifty thousand, maybe up to eighty thousand.”

  “Yeah. But
it doesn’t change that much of the plan. This is the best chance we have to take that hundred thousand down to something manageable,” I said. “Were there airships in Karhad, Istvan?”

  “A few,” he replied. “Most of them were destroyed in the invasion. There’s probably no more than six, and they must be piloted by Navigators… if the crews are dead, the undead cannot field them effectively. They must know the specific Words of Power.”

  “Let’s assume they can field half a Vlachian fleet.” Suri looked out over the ruin of the battlefield. “We’re going to have to blow those dams just right to have a hope in hell of escaping.”

  “Plan for the worst, hope for the best!” Rin pumped the air with her fist. “I’m sure we can get it organized!”

  Suri grimaced. “Plan for the worst, expect the worst. This is war, not a game.”

  Rin stuck her lip out slightly. “It IS a game.”

  Istvan shot her a dark look, then slowly glanced to me. “We will stay our course, Your Grace?”

  “Yeah.” I rolled one shoulder, then the other. “Let’s go tell him where he can shove that lance.”

  Lord Bolza wasn’t in any rush. He hadn't budged from the spot, and his T.rex had almost sunk to its knees in the soft, boggy ground by the time we slogged back over to him.

  The vampire looked down his nose at us. "What is your conclusion?"

  "Our conclusion is that your Master can politely go and stake himself," I said. "We're not letting you through. You massacred the people of Myszno. Ashur the Cow Patty of the River or whatever he calls himself has to account for all the misery he's caused."

  A pity." Bolza's dead grey eyes flicked between us. After examining each face, he made a soft sound under his breath. "Master Ashur has no love of suffering. He simply wishes to return what belongs to Napath."

  "He has to get through the Prezyemi Line first." I crossed my arms.

  The vampire gave me a strange, sad look. "He will."

  We watched as he pulled his mount around. The T.rex lowered its rotting head and began to lumber off toward the tree line.

  “Karalti. Bioscan that guy.” I ordered her.

  “What are your…?” Istvan froze as a dark nimbus gathered around my dragon’s body, then discharged. “What are you doing?”

  Jozef Bolza [Nasaku Thrall, Anti-Paladin]

  Sex: N/A

  Level 25

  HP: 4000/4000

  MP: 200/200

  Weak Against Dark & Water

  Immune to Earth

  The Voivode of Myszno and the patriarch of the House of Bolza has been transformed into a Nasaku Thrall, the servant of a powerful desert-forged vampire species that is unharmed by sunlight. Equipped with an unholy lance, a life-draining touch and the power of necromancy, he is a formidable foe.

  My eyes narrowed. “He’s Level 25. We could take him.”

  “You would strike at an emissary in the back?” Istvan turned on me, paling with horror. “It is dishonorable.”

  “It’s practical.” Suri gave a curt nod and pulled her rocket launcher from her Inventory. “Honor is for sports. This is war.”

  “Guys, wait.” Rin waved her hands. “Let him go back and report… he’s had a chance to see the Prezyemi Line as it is. It means he’s going to report false information.”

  “Speaking of that.” My keen eye caught something moving on the ground. “Karalti, you seeing what I’m seeing?”

  By way of reply, the dragon took a few steps forward and blasted the ground with flames. Her sticky Ghost Fire splashed over the mud, incinerating the hundreds of tiny black scorpions that had been slowly and stealthily crawling their way toward us through the muck. They squirmed and thrashed as the flames consumed them.

  I turned to look back at the others. “First order, Istvan: establish a no-fly zone half a mile out over the Endlar. No bugs, no birds, no bats, no nothing. If it flies or has more than four legs, someone needs to kill it. Vampires use animal familiars.”

  “Yes, sir.” Istvan saluted. “May I get a ride back over the wall?”

  “Sure.” I nodded to the girls as Suri reached down to give Rin a hand up onto Cutthroat’s back. “Now let’s go get ready to throw these guys the biggest wet t-shirt party the world’s ever seen.”

  Chapter 43

  Aerial scouts confirmed what we already suspected: we didn’t have a week. We had four days.

  Just like the three-day organization of Ignas’ coronation, preparing the Prezyemi Line in the way we wanted it would have taken months in the real world. As it stood, we were able to get about ninety percent of it done by the evening of the third day. Suri, Rin and I worked in shifts, sleeping the minimum four hours to rest and then rising and throwing ourselves back into work. Rin worked with Viktor to produce the explosives and oil we needed. Day and night, the battlefield was crowded with people and tankers, airships and quazi. Ships from Litvy arrived non-stop, far too many for Korona's crumbling skydock to properly handle. They were backed up for miles, loading and unloading, picking up people and animals and carrying them north as low as they could fly. The Tengeri, a salvage ship, was called to dredge up the corpse of the Warsinger and transport it to Litvy. And while all that was going on, Karalti and I set up on the roof of the Central Bastion, watching as my half-assed plan came to fruition below.

  We were pitching two lines of active defense and three lines of static defense. The active defense units were the soldiers tasked with maintaining the no-fly zone, and those who had been sent out into the Endlar to find and sabotage the Demon’s Ix’tamo. Rin had strategized that the Demon used the poor-quality mana generated by the Ix’tamo to sustain his cheaper units, using them like resource nodes to animate large numbers of zombies, skeletons, and plague rats. She had invented a device that allowed us to remotely turn off the nodes – deactivating the Ix’tamo, and potentially causing waves of Napathian infantry to collapse. I’d ordered our precious few Rangers to find as many Ix’tamo as possible and attaching these devices to them. We were, essentially, hacking into their power grid.

  The lines of static defense were at the wall itself. After evacuating Slutlava, we shored up our ramparts and blew the first dam. Even the controlled demolition of the Gul River Dam was incredibly destructive, sweeping away all but ten miles of wall, obliterating the town and flooding the island delta so badly that we almost lost our Airship Hangar. But the flooding had the desired effect: The Western Front was drowned, the river returned to its natural and spectacular course. The remaining mess was so extreme that not even a thousand zombie brontosauruses had a hope in hell of getting through - not unless Ashur also got his hands on a crane and a convoy of semi-trailers.

  The result was that Fort Korona now overlooked an arena about a mile across: a kill zone boxed in by torrential waterfalls and rivers to either side. And that zone was a doozy. We clear-cut the marshy forest back by a further 600 feet, then set up the first line at 820 feet from the Wall. Rows of felled, sharpened trees had been set up like a phalanx line of spears. Using triceratops and allosaurus brought by the Orphans, we hauled them on sleds, rammed them into the earth, and wound barbed wire through the lot. Just behind the abatis line was a deep 15-foot trench filled with oil, and right behind that was a shallower eight-foot trench filled with landmines. The trenches were cut in a concave design, forming a ‘salient’ – a bulge that could be attacked from three sides by our aerial artillery.

  Three hundred feet from there was the second unmanned trench line, also cut to form a salient. The no man’s land in front of it was heavily mined and groomed with another tricky bit of landscaping I’d learned in Indonesia: lilia, shallow pit traps cut in a five-by-five pattern, filled with short, sturdy wooden stakes. Each pit was big enough to catch to a foot of a human, horse or hookwing and bring them down. That hundred-meter stretch was sprayed with naphtha.

  At a hundred and fifty feet, within support range for the wall, was the third and final manned line. Using wreckage from the Wall, we built scrap bastions o
f stone in a chevron pattern, giving the stationed Riflemen room to shoot down on the horde from an elevated, covered position. Magical shield caches were installed every fifty feet to give cover from mortar fire and maximize the firing time available to the troops. Between them and the horde stood a third and final deep oil trench. If I’d been planning for living enemies, I would have ordered the garrison to build and deploy Spanish Riders – barbed wire ‘boxes’ – or a double apron fence, set up guns at either end, and rain hell down on them from the front and sides. Suri had pointed out that the zombies would just crush the Spanish Riders and use them to climb the bastions, so instead, we took the big, curved wooden struts used in the bellies of airships, and turned those into a back-curving fortification that was deceptively hard to climb. There was no time to find Istvan’s tribe and recruit them into the defense - every man and woman was put on building earthworks or producing munitions.

  The evening of the fourth day found Suri and me on the wall, taking a break to split some bread, cheese and goat's milk for our last meal of the day. Pillars of smoke rose in the distant sky, where the forest was turning gray. A line of fire burned from horizon to horizon across the Endlar. Every day brought some new kind of flying horror to our blissfully Soma-free fortress. Corrupted Pteranodons, gulls carrying plague rats, kalxat and Frankensteinian creatures sewn out of bits of different things. We burned them to ash. That was how the air tasted now: ashy and foul, like seared rotten meat.

  "Do you think it’ll be enough?" I crouched on the edge of the parapet like a gargoyle, looking down over the field. “I mean, if I was a normal human foot soldier and I saw this place on my J-map during an approach, I’d be pissing myself. But for all we know, they’re going to turn up with eight hundred cannons and a thousand mages and just blast their way through everything.”

  Suri made a muffled sound of agreement around a mouthful of food and took a swig of milk to chase it down. “It’s what we have, lover.”

  “Yeah.” The sun was starting to go down. I stared south, searching for gaps in the defense. Somewhere, hundreds of miles away, was Egbolt Castle - and beyond that, below where the Dark Star hung in the sky, were the Thunderstones and Matir's prison. We were almost there. The only thing separating us from our new earldom was an endless army of the dead.