Spear of Destiny

by James Osiris Baldwin

  “I have larger, stronger friends for that sort of work.” Kythias went and got one of the book carts, wheeling it ahead of Rin toward the back of the library. “And knives. I mean, who needs friends when you can have knives?”

  “Here here,” I said. “Knife life is best life.”

  The locked section was basically a prison for books. Behind a barred gate stood seven rows of tall shelves, each one carrying dozens of massive tomes. Each book had thick leather or wooden binding with an iron loop hammered into the spine. A heavy-duty chain ran through them, padlocked at each end of the bookcase. They also smelled amazing: they had books from all over Artana here, but the old Meewfolk books were written in perfumed red ink made from the Dragonsblood tree. It smelled like vanilla and smoke and amber mixed together.

  I breathed in deeply. “Man, I love how this place smells.”

  “Indeed. Like dead trees and flayed baby dolphins,” Kythias quipped, as he began to open the padlocks.

  “Nooo, don’t tell me that!” Rin slapped him as he grinned down at her.

  “Very well: no lecture on how dolphin vellum is made. What are you looking for today?” He gestured to the shelves. “I might at least be able to help you both get started.”

  “We’re trying to learn whether the Meewfolk built some historical artifacts, the Warsingers. If they did, we need to learn what happened to the schematics used to make them,” I replied. “We also need information on Sandworms. The great big fuckers that live in the Bashir Desert.”

  “Warsingers?” The archivist frowned, pacing along the shelves. “The suits of armor worn by the gods, during the Fall of the Aesari? Why would you want to look up those old stories?”

  Rin bobbed her head. “Because they’re real. They predate the Aesari Empire, too. They were built during the Drachan Wars.”

  Kythias shot her a sharp look. “I find that hard to believe. There are stories of them, but most scholars don’t put much stock in the myths.”

  “Everyone alive in Archemi today owes their survival to the Warsingers and the people who built them,” I said, cutting off Rin’s wordless stammer. “They turned the tide against the Drachan.”

  “Hmm. I haven’t seen anything about other than vague stories,” Kythias said. “They’re generally described as being larger than the gods. I don’t exactly know how big a god is, but I struggle to see how something of that size made of metal and stone wouldn’t just fall apart under its own weight.”

  “Well, they pulled it off somehow. And now we’re trying to figure out how they did it,” Rin replied. “I’ve seen one. It’s huge. It could walk in the river below Vulkan Keep and be able to look over the wall of the castle. And it’s fast, too: When it was moving, it could fight like a person in armor. A three-hundred-foot-tall person.”

  Kythias’ eyes bugged a little. “I see.”

  “I don’t know if you have any Mercurion books here that mention them, but if so, we’ll look at those as well.” I gestured to the other shelves.

  “You know, we don’t actually have many books by Mercurions: mostly because they guard their knowledge the way a provincial lord guards his virgin daughter. Did you know that the Zaunt clans train spies whose only mission is to recover lost knowledge? They regularly assassinate people for books over there.” Kythias stopped in front of a huge wooden-backed tome that was almost the size of his torso. “As for sandworms, there may be some mention of them in Shalid bestiaries, and books about the Great Calamity. The Drachan Wars brought the dominion of the cat-people to an abrupt and tragic end. If I’m remembering my history right, the sandworms were part of that decline.”

  “In what sense?” I crossed my arms, watching Kythias stagger over to the cart and lay the ancient book down as gently as he was able to.

  “There is a Meewfolk myth concerning how the sandworms ate the jungle and turned it into desert. When you have a story as specific as that, then generally there’s a grain of truth to it.” He went back to fetch another tome. “I’m sure we have a bestiary that can tell you more. I’ll get that while you set up these books for study. One of these books is a transcription by the Master of the Archives, but the other one is in Old Period Mau.”

  “That’s fine,” Rin said. “I took up Translation and Codebreaking skills. I can figure out most languages if I have enough of the script, plus some translation notes.”

  “Good. Master may have scribed some notes into the margins that you can use.” Kythias said. “Assuming your Codebreaking skill is in the Intermediate levels, that is.”

  I rubbed my hands in anticipation of being absolutely worthless in anything to do with translation or code. “Rin, you used that ability to decipher the Old Agatic script in the Rose Vault. It was hella useful.”

  “It is! I’m so glad I picked up the Mystic Weaponeer Advanced Path.” Rin went over to the first book and cracked the cover. “I was worried it would just be all about bombs and things, but it has four trees, and only one of them is about explosives and projectiles. One tree, Arcane Innovation, has some really cool archeology abilities intended for this exact kind of work. The Drachan and Aesari Wars set this world back by millennia. We have so much to rediscover about magic and technology.”

  “I still know fuck all about Artificing.” I watched on enviously as she scanned the first unintelligible page, then flipped it over and continued reading like it was nothing. “I figured it’s all about Crafting mini-games. Seemed like a grind to me.”

  “I think the artificing classes are definitely more grindy than combat classes. But there’s lots of different kinds of artificing,” Rin remarked absently. “Some of the rarer Advanced Paths, like airship building, architecture, and metaphysics—those are really technical. But you’ve also got APs that are just kind of fun and simple, like Combat Alchemist or Jack of All Trades. Artificers really can be anything from a theoretical arcane mathematician to a tomb-raider type character... in any case, the emphasis is always going to be on crafting and discovery.”

  I laughed. “Arcane Mathematician? Who the hell came up with these classes?”

  “No one really ‘came up’ with them. The game does that itself,” Rin said. “It analyzes your brain data and offers you a world-balanced class offering.”

  I scratched my head. “Huh.”

  “Alright. Those three should be a good start.” Kythias interrupted by thumping a smaller, fatter book onto the cart. “Get started on these, and I’ll go see if I can find a Dakhari bestiary.”

  “Okay! And thanks for these! I’m excited to finally see the locked books!” Rin jittered on her feet, petting the topmost cover.

  “I’m excited that anyone actually wants to read them,” Kythias replied. “Gods know we spent long enough with the transcriptions. I told my master that if he wanted anyone to read them, we should glue the chapters of a romance novel into every other section to entice people to page through the book.”

  I mimed stroking an invisible moustache. “Ah yes, I can see it now: ‘The Fall of the Meewfolk Empire, Volume 1, and My Wet Hot Allosaurus Summer, compiled into one riveting omnibus’.”

  “I know. It was a brilliant idea. Future generations would look back on our works and marvel,” Kythias sighed. “But much to my regret, Mastersage Nemeth isn’t exactly known for his sparkling sense of whimsy.”

  ***

  We took the books to an adjacent study, where Rin and I sat shoulder to shoulder for several hours and pored over the four volumes Kythias had picked out for us. If I was being honest, it was more accurate to say that Rin pored over the larger books and took notes with supernatural speed, while I tried to work my way through one five-page entry on sandworms without relying on text-to-speech assistance from Navigail.

  “So, good-ish news and some bad news,” I remarked to Rin, frowning down at the page in front of me. “If I’m reading this right, then yes, sandworms are vulnerable to sonic attacks. It says they can be chased off by thumpers—that’s pretty standard lore for sandworms in a bunch o
f different books and games—but to actually kill a full-grown worm, you have to be the size of Withering Rose or like… fifty levels higher than them. If you’re not a god-tier superweapon, you can still use sonic attacks to soften them up. There’s apparently vents or bony protrusions you can knock off that leave the worm more vulnerable.”

  “What’s the bad news?” Rin looked over at me from her notes.

  “According to this book, at least, the kind of sonic weapons needed to take out a full-grown sandworm haven’t existed since the Aesari Wars,” I replied. “It says here that the Aesari almost wiped out the sandworms, because the worms desertified the entire Shalid region and were threatening to spread north. But after the war had passed and the Aesari died out, sandworms began reappearing in the Bashir. They only stick to that one place now, but they make travelling over the desert dangerous and they prohibit the formation of settlements.”

  “Mmm. Well, I’m sure we can figure something out. A small army has an adjusted level higher than a single Level 120 monster.” Rin closed the book she was reading and sighed. “These books don’t have any information on the Warsingers to speak of. I’ve learned a lot about Meewfolk history, though. The Meewfolk were nearly annihilated by the Drachan and Aesari Wars, just like the Solonkratsu. The damage was so severe that their historians can only speculate on the scale of the destruction.”

  “Then I’m not convinced there’s any schematics left to find,” I said. “Wars can wipe out entire cultures.”

  “I have faith they still exist, because I did find one important lead in these volumes, and that’s the Avatar of the Meewfolk.” Rin lay her silvery hand on top of the cover.

  “Are they blue and nine feet tall?” I asked. “My grandpa showed me an old flat-screen movie called Avatar that had huge blue cat people in it once. I may or may not have decided I wanted to become a dragon rider because of that film.”

  “Huh?” Rin picked at her lip. “Umm… no. The Avatar isn’t blue. They’re hairless, actually, according to these books. Every now and then, a child is born without fur, and they consider those children to be sacred. They’re trained as knowledge keepers in a special temple. This book says that the knowledge of the Meewfolk must always be written on skin. For lesser knowledge, such as these books, preserved dolphin skin is sufficient, but the Meewfolk inscribe their deepest knowledge and secrets on the living skin of the Avatars, passed from generation to generation. Meewfolk have a deep taboo against tattooing, but these knowledge keepers seem to be an exception. When they wrote these books about five hundred and a hundred and fifty years ago, they recorded that the Avatar line has remained unbroken since the time of the Drachan.”

  “Huh.” I looked down at the books curiously. “Riiiight. So the Avatar might have the schematics. They might even have the blueprints written on them.”

  “Yes. Exactly!” Rin wiggled happily. “I think we’ll be able to find instructions for the Warsinger if we can get access to the current Avatar. To do that, I guess we’ll have to go there and find out how.”

  “Right,” I said. “And you think we’ll be able to replace the part that Ororgael took from Withering Rose? The Heartstone?”

  “Maybe? I know those stones contain the spirit of a Drachan, but not much more than that. The phenomenon of binding spirits into phylacteries isn’t something that’s done very often nowadays.” Rin said. “And why use a Drachan to provide animation for the Warsingers, anyway? That’s such a weird choice for the engine core. There’s just so much we don’t know.”

  I grunted. “I’m worried that Ororgael has found some way to let the Drachan out of Withering Rose’s Heartstone. Even one of those motherfuckers would be devastating at this stage, if he unleashed it on an unprepared world.”

  “I don’t see how he could. If it’s just a Drachan’s spirit or essence in that thing, then it should be absorbed into the Caul of Souls if it’s released.” Rin jogged her feet under the edge of the desk, jittering with nervous energy. “Anyway, we won’t have a solution until we go see someone who can answer our questions, and it looks like our best shot is the current Avatar of Meewhome. I’ll go speak with Ebisa and see if I can arrange passage for us. It might cost us a lot, but if anyone knows how to get an audience with someone as important as the Avatar, it’s her.”

  Chapter 33

  With the first round of money sitting in the KMS, it was time to do something I’d wanted to do for months: clean out my Inventory, replenish all my necessary tools, and get better gear. While Rin went to go deal with Ebisa, Suri and I linked up and hit the markets.

  The best place to get gear tips in Taltos was at the Temple of Khors. Most Vlachians worshipped Khors exclusively, relegating the other gods of the Nine to support roles or ignoring them as myths. The God of the Forge had temples, a university, faith-militant training centers, and countless workshops in the city. Suri and I both had a pretty good reputation with the priests, thanks to our role in solving the murders of several members of clergy. We were able to speak to the new Arch-Smith, add some new map markers to our HUD, and set off without wasting a whole lot of time.

  We went to pick up weapons for Suri first, at a player-run store named Bear’s Anvil. Bear, an Artificer, was more than happy to sell Suri a new Very Large Sword™, a black-edged blade with a red-bound hilt named Warmonger’s Misery. It packed 677-714 damage, and it gave Suri an extra 3% head-chopping bonus that stacked with her vorpal combat ability, Gorgon Overdrive. He also tried to sell her a scale-mail bikini that had more AC than her full plate. I was keen, but Suri wasn’t buying.

  After that, we rode Cutthroat to the Tanner’s District, to an obscure little Mercurion armor boutique that was little more than a market stand in front of a much larger smithy and workshop. Suri stayed behind with Cutthroat at a public stable, letting her gorge on meat to her heart’s content while I walked to the store.

  “Welcome!” Our salesman was human, judging by the warm brown color of his hands, though he wore the robes, concealing enchanted mask and large flat basket hat that was the typical outdoor wear of a Mercurion civilian. “Looking to buy?”

  “Yeah. And looking to trade in,” I said. “I’ve got a ton of pelts, metal, and even some mana for sale or trade. I’m also looking for new armor. Good armor, suitable for someone who does a lot of flying.”

  “Flying?” He eyed the Nizari Suit with a critical eye. “A quazi rider?”

  “Dragon,” I said.

  “Ohh! You’re him! The dragon knight who attends the court of the Volod!” The man clasped his hands together.

  “Count Dragozin, at your service.” I twirled a hand and bowed. “This is the workshop of Master Armorer Yaola Tlaxi’Zanya, right?”

  “Yes, my lord.” The salesman bowed from the waist. “The Master Armorer does not serve customers directly unless they require a custom piece, so let us see if we have something you already like before we fetch her. We can take care of your materials sales, first.” He gestured in the air, working his HUD with his hands. “Let’s see here...”

  I was able to unload a lot of Inventory space: selling my old pieces of armor and unused weapons for scrap. When it was time to buy, I had a look over the options, but didn’t see anything that was exactly what I wanted. At that point, the checkout guy went and got the smith—a small, fine-boned Mercurion with a smooth, soft voice.

  “Describe your combat needs to me,” the smith, Yaola, asked me as she led me back into her workshop.

  “High mobility. I do a lot of jumping around,” I said. “Armor that provides speed, stealth, or evasion bonuses, but something heavier than what most Rogue Path classes would need. I can wear metal, I just don’t want it to clatter when I’m flying or moving.”

  “Hmm. The Dragoons almost exclusively request leather and chain hauberks, so that is what I sell outside.” Yaola crossed her arms, looking around. “Are you an open-minded man?”

  “Not so open-minded that I’d let my brains fall out, but I’m willing to try almost anyt
hing once.”

  “Then let me show you something.” Yaola stopped in front of an empty armor stand, went into her Inventory, and began equipping pieces onto the dummy. First up were a pair of metal boot sheathes with a bladed ridge on either side of the square toe, perfect for those times when you wanted to kick someone in the junk and castrate them at the same time. The boots climbed up into elegant thigh-length greaves that were made to fit over leggings or close-fitting breeches. The cuirass was a form-fitting suit of interlinking, diamond-shaped mail that strongly resembled dragon scales. There was a layer of solid plate over the most important vitals: neck, chest, spine and kidneys. The gauntlets matched the boots, with spiked knuckles and reinforced protection over the hands.

  “Huh. Neat. How does this work?” I rubbed a finger over the raised diamond mail. It was one of the weirdest designs for flexible armor I’d ever seen. The pieces didn’t overlap, like scale armor: they fit together like a tessellation.

  By way of reply, Yaola took a dagger from her workbench, braced the mannequin around the back with her other arm, and forcefully stabbed the dummy in its belly several times. The scales bowed, contracting into a wide depression around the point of the knife. It diffused the impact almost completely, and the blade didn’t penetrate.

  “I took a very fine looking-glass and studied the armor of small ocean creatures known as chitons to create this. Their armor is some of the finest in the natural world,” she said proudly. “It is my own patented design. Here. Try it.”

  I took the knife and did my best to gut the dummy. I was not successful: it was like ramming the knife into dense putty; the steel didn’t even scratch the armor. “Well, damn. Can it stop bullets?”

  “It reduces the damage caused by bullets substantially. In fact, that is what I designed it to do. As time marches on, I predict that warfare will be ruled by two factors: the bullet and the sky. He who fields the best air power and the strongest firearms will triumph.” Yaola drew themselves up tall, hooking their thumbs in their belt. “I call this the Stormrider armor. It is an innovation in protective technology, though I have struggled to convince the Black Army command of this fact.”