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

by Akella,G.

  "You still haven't answered my question..."

  "Because there is no answer, not just yet. I'm here today to talk and, shall we say, sort out our priorities. When you are ready, I'll be back, and we will continue this talk."

  Syrat rose from the altar lightly and cocked his head, sizing me up like a buyer who wasn't quite sold on the product he was being offered.

  "Here, let this be your advance," a tiny dark cloud broke away from his hand and darted right at my chest. As it hit me, my whole body twisted in shock and unbearable pain.

  You've learned a unique passive skill: Simmering Flame of Hatred.

  You are granted a one-time 5% boost to your Toughness skill.

  Your Toughness skill has increased to 53%.

  "That'll come in handy in your future, Dark One," Syrat said as I was coming back to my senses. "Keep looking for your woman, demon, and be wary of the contents of this case. Farewell now, I've lingered here too long." With those words, the divine visitor turned around and started leisurely toward the opened temple gates. Moonlight streamed into the main hall, bathing his distancing silhouette—it looked like the dark god was headed right for the night's mistress in the sky. I wanted to run after him, to stop him and ask a million questions that were rumbling inside me... But it was no use—he wouldn't give me any answers. No matter how real it got, this world still remained a game that operated by its own rules. Whether this was a blessing or a curse, I couldn't quite say. So I just sat there on the Derelict Temple's broken altar, watching broodingly as the Twice Cursed god disappeared into the night...

  Chapter 15

  "Master mage! Master mage!" A young demon ran out of the bushes and onto the road some twenty yards ahead. He couldn't have been older than ten or eleven.

  "What do you need?" I reined in my mount, slightly annoyed at the sudden obstruction, and put up my right fist, signaling a halt to the century following me.

  Seeing that he had my attention, the kid smoothed out his red silk shirt, threw up his chin, and blurted out:

  "Uncle Kargal... I mean, Captain Kargal asked you to go to the main city square that's in front of the citadel. He asked me to tell you that the garrison is lined up and waiting for their master." The kid's face suddenly grew solemn. He stepped back with his right foot, pressed his right fist to his chest, and lowered his head. "I want to thank you personally for avenging the death of my parents. From this day on, my sword and my life are yours to command, Dark One."

  It wasn't until now that I'd realized I was looking at a noble. The kid's tail hadn't been visible until he pressed the tip to the shin of his right boot during the bow.

  "I thank you for your vow," I nodded to the little tifling. "What's your name?"

  "Kirym dar Sarkat," he raised his head, locking his eyes on mine. "My father commanded Satrap Rumpel's militia, and my mother was a captain in his army."

  "I see," I looked at Elnar to my right, then nodded in the city's direction. "It's all as you predicted, James. Go on, get our troops in parade formation!"

  "Century! Three per column! Two yards distance, one yard interval! Line up!" the tifling shouted, standing up in his stirrups. Upon confirming that his orders were executed, he moved up four lengths.

  All this had been practiced way in advance: Elnar and Salta were up in the front, Iam with the banner two lengths behind them, then me, and behind me the rest of the century. It was James who had drilled all those moves, turns and actions. Hell, even Salta and Reena, with their leadership bar well past the centurion mark, could probably take over for him and do a far better job than me. Little wonder, too, given that my past command experience amounted to managing a sales team of ten and a detachment of incorrigible slackers on an airfield, all of which was useless in the context of commanding a century of armored troops. I had no leadership bar that would magically improve my command skills as it filled out, so I had to learn the old-fashioned way. Anyway, none of this bothered me. All this stuff was for show, whereas strategy and actual combat were on me and me alone. It was my headache, my misgivings, my responsibility... And I wasn't going to entrust it to anyone.

  Seeing Elnar's quizzical look, I gave a wave of the hand. The century stirred into motion, and I pressed my heels into Gloom's sides to follow. Upon catching up to the kid, still standing there by the wayside, I grabbed him and lifted him into the saddle before me.

  "Care to keep me company till we get there?"

  "Aye aye, commander!" the little tifling was trying his best to act with dignity, but his suddenly rigid back and hoarse voice gave away the boy in him. Oh, but his peers would choke with envy! The final nail that drove the kid into complete stupor happened when Iam turned to him and winked without changing his signature grave expression.

  I tried to make the little tifling as comfortable as possible—he was having trouble breathing as it was—then set Gloom into a trot after our standard-bearer.

  My clanmates had begun to recover five minutes or so after Syrat had left. Batting their eyes and looking around in bewilderment, the demons hastened to reestablish some semblance of a battle formation while being yelled at by James, Salta and Reena. When James turned up before me to report, I dismissed him with a wave, hopped off the altar and walked over to spot where Ulrich had met his end. The loot was scattered over the ground in a five yard radius: two epics and about fifteen rares. The epic bow went to Ivar, and the chainmail boots to Olta, while the rares went to James for subsequent distribution.

  Feeling quite jittery, I walked over to the chest, its edges emitting a magic green glow. It was the miniature replica of the vault that had been my prison for two solid months. This time, thank Hart, I didn't need to climb inside. Pulling off my glove, I slipped my hand into the chest. My fingers met with an object, and I pulled it out at once.

  The small case was made of pure truesilver, and bore a strange engraving on the lid. At a glance one might mistake it for a solid metal bar. There were no locks, holes or handles. No hint at what might be used to open it. Not that I planned on opening it—the quest specified that I needed to hand over the case, not its contents, to Vyardiz, whoever that was. And I was more than content to pass on the headache to him.

  Sarykas, the capital of Rualt, was roughly two weeks' ride from here. And though I badly wanted to get back on the road, sadly, that wasn't an option. There was simply too much unfinished business in the princedom.

  Putting the case away in my bag, I ordered the clan to pitch camp for the night. Mishtah could wait until tomorrow morning.

  After a quick breakfast at sunrise, the clan set out back to town, leaving behind only Vaessa to finish gathering certain valuable extracts and specimens for her research.

  It had apparently rained the evening prior, at least there was no other plausible explanation for the wretched appearance of my trusty steed, who was otherwise ecstatic to see me. Gloom was covered from head to hoof with nauseating slime, and reeked so bad that my eyes started tearing up. I didn't know how I'd managed to climb into the saddle without passing out—I'd say it was my greatest achievement yet.

  As we set out for Mishtah, Elnar tactfully explained to me that the city's new ruler probably shouldn't appear before his subjects looking the way I looked. Now, sure, the citizens would understand and forgive, but there was something to the tradition of the province's sovereign returning triumphantly into town after a glorious victory, riding a white horse, perhaps even a black razorback, but certainly not a hog that looked to be covered in dung and smelled even worse. In fact, it wouldn't be so bad for the whole century to look the part of heroes—and heroes they were, no doubt about it. All we needed was to wash up, bathe our mounts, and clean our equipment. Failing to find a sound counterargument, I signaled a pit stop on the bank of a large lake about an hour from town, and ordered everyone to preen themselves proper. Then I tried to lead my black-furred companion into the water, but Gloom was having none of that. The boar was desperately pretending to not understand what I wanted from him, all th
e while sneaking wary glances toward the water. After numerous attempts at gentle persuasion had gotten me nowhere, I lost my patience, threw off my clothes, mounted the boar, and Charged him not once, not twice, but three times right into the bloody lake, likely causing a stroke among half of the fish population as my bathing clanmates split their sides with laughter. After his bath, the razorback was so distraught and upset with me that he wouldn't even accept a tasty treat. It took a solid hour of reconciliatory ear-scratching for the surprisingly thin-skinned beast to even acknowledge me again.

  The sight of women bathing in the lake didn't exactly mend my surly spirits. Now, there was nothing overtly sexual to it—no skimpy bikinis, thongs or the like, but ordinary shorts and tops. Still, looking at those half-naked women triggered desires inherent to any red-blooded male, and knowing that I had absolutely no shot at ever being with them constituted some real twisted variant of virtual impotence. At some point my mood hit rock bottom, so I lit up and decided to keep busy cleaning my armor. Seemingly sensing my dejected state, the black boar materialized to my right. Having apparently decided to forgive and forget, Gloom prodded his warm snout into my shoulder, getting me all slimy in the process, and plopped down on the sand with a heavy sigh. That was how I spent the next several hours: nestled up against the warm side of the boar, who had fallen asleep within seconds, and polishing the metallic parts of my gear with sand.

  "Straighten out the lines! Keep your distance!" Elnar's shout wrested me from my reflections. Maybe three hundred yards remained to the city gates. The main guard tower was decorated with variegated ribbons, and the swarms of citizens were all made up in festive garments—this Mishtah looked nothing like the city we'd departed from only yesterday. A demoness—the same one who was begging me for help yesterday with a babe in her arms—was standing in the gates, attired in a silk red dress and holding a silver cup. Only now did I notice her name: Villena.

  Salta, Elnar and Iam moved their mounts to the side, allowing me to ride forward. After getting his fill of awed and envious looks from the citizens, the demon boy in the saddle before me slipped onto the ground and vanished in the crowd. Instinctively I rode up to the red woman at the gates, and dismounted.

  "Welcome to Mishtah, dar!" the demoness' eyes shone impishly. She bowed, offering the cup to me in outstretched hands. She paused for a few moments after I accepted the gift, then raised her eyes at me with a fair degree of defiance.

  I had the distinct feeling I was missing something.

  "Bottoms up," James' voice sounded in the raid channel.

  Bottoms up? Don't mind me. With a shrug, I downed what must have been about a quart's worth of tart white wine in one gulp.

  After waiting for me to finish the wine, Villena gave a satisfied nod, took a step forward, and with the simple words, "Thank you, Dark One," clasped her arms gracefully around my neck. I must have made for rather a comical sight, kissing a young demoness at the city gates to shrieks of excitement from the citizens, and cries of encouragement from my troops. Villena's lips were soft and tasted like the wine I'd just downed. A warm sensation was spreading through my body, but the kiss just wouldn't end. Oh, screw it! Doing away with all conventions, I drew the woman close and concentrated only on this kiss. Suddenly there was a great racket—that was my warriors sliding their swords out of their scabbards and banging them against their shields. The raid channel erupted with laughter and cries of delight, and the citizens broke out in thunderous applause. I couldn't tell how long it all lasted, but all good things must come to an end. And so it was with this kiss. When the demoness drew away at last, there was a mischievous smile on her face.

  "It's too bad you're an elder," she whispered in my ear, then added loudly. "Thank you, Dark One, for the honor you've bestowed upon me and upon our city." With those words, she took the cup from my hands, and withdrew into the crowd, tottering like a drunk person.

  "Would you care to explain this tomfoolery?" Still trying to find my footing, I turned an indignant gaze to Elnar.

  Evidently, my indignation wasn't very believable, because James didn't bat an eye as he offered an explanation.

  "Traditions, dar. The longer the kiss lasts, the more honor you bestow upon the city," he said, barely holding back a smile.

  "Would it have killed you to tell me about it beforehand?" I griped. It wasn't that I was necessarily displeased with the tradition, but I didn't appreciate being kept in the dark.

  "I thought you knew..."

  The tifling didn't know how to lie—his guilt-ridden expression was proof of that.

  "Oh really?" hopping back in the saddle, I signaled for everyone to get moving, and grumbled some more into the raid channel. "I suppose all of you knew? I swear to Hart, when this is all over, I'm going to marry off every last one of you!"

  I tried to make my voice sound menacing, but failed miserably. The channel was silent for a while, and then Reece replied for everyone.

  "After seeing that libido in action, I bet they'll all elope before sunrise anyway," he quipped. "It'll be just you, me and Gloom left."

  The roaring laughter in the raid channel was all the answer I needed. For better or worse, these demons were the product of their environment. I shook my fist at James as he turned around, and he too couldn't help but burst into gleeful laughter.

  Not even on Nittal's main square had I seen a crowd this large all gathered in one place. It appeared that the whole city had come out to meet my century. There were long tables bursting with food over beautiful ornamental cloths, trees decorated with colorful tape and ribbons, and citizens in festive garb beseeching my fighters to honor them with a visit immediately after the ceremony. And joy—the feeling of joy was so thick in the air I could almost touch it. Evidently, my mental resistance was powerless against positive emotions. The consumed wine was whirring merrily in my head, as my mood had done a one-eighty and kept on surging.

  "Here's your chance to redeem yourself and tell me what surprises to expect at the main square," I asked James in the officer channel.

  "I'll have to disappoint you, dar," Reece answered for the warrior. He'd been riding somewhere in the back, and was apparently quite bored. "I doubt that Captain Kargal is going to be as forward as your new girlfriend. Of course, if you ask him nicely... Better yet, if you order him to—"

  "Shut it!" I snapped at the incurable mage. "James!"

  "Nothing to worry about," Elnar reassured me without delay. "The garrison commander will hand you the governor's badge, and that will be the end of the formal portion. You don't even have to say anything," he grunted in conclusion. "You've made everything clear at the gates without any words. The citizens of this town won't ever forget this day."

  "Why do I get the feeling you're all against me?" I sighed.

  "You can relax now, Krian," Salta said to me in a private channel. "If only for one day, today is that day."

  "If you say so," I said to the girl, and gave another sigh.

  As I contemplated her words, I quickly realized the truth of them. I still had over three weeks to recruit four more centuries of fighters, equip them, train them, put them in the saddle... No use worrying about that now. At least not until I had a talk with the garrison commander.

  "Krian, I think we should give the troops time off till lunch tomorrow. After we settle in, that is," Elnar said to me in a private channel. "Let them walk around the city, tell the locals about us. We still need to recruit fighters here, and their stories should bring in plenty of volunteers."

  "Good call, James. You have a mind for advertising."

  "What's advertising?"

  "I'll tell you some other time. Now, what am I supposed to do at the square?"

  "I'll line up the century opposite the city garrison. You'll step forward, accept the badge from Kargal, say a few words and call for the celebration to start. Simple."

  Rectangularly shaped and sized like your typical parade ground, Mishtah's beautifully cobbled main square was surrounded on all si
des with folks prepping for a celebration. Curiously, I still wasn't sure what they were celebrating today. Being rescued from the plague? Welcoming their new governor? Both, or something else entirely? I didn't bother asking.

  Everything happened just as James had said. After taking a knee, Kargal held out a square golden badge bearing a sword and a miner's pickaxe. Raising the medallion overhead, I cried out something in the vein of, "Don't mess with Texas!" and dismissed the jubilant crowd to start their partying. Elnar proceeded to lead the troops into the castle to oversee their accommodations in the barracks and stables designated for our century. I then waited for the captain to dismiss his own subordinates, and the two of us retreated into the castle as well.

  Mishtah's castle was the carbon copy of the one in Xantarra. This wasn't surprising, for designing hundreds of materially different variations on the castle theme was both arduous and unrewarding. It was much easier to switch up the color of the walls, alter the layout of the courtyard, remove some statues or add others, and call it a day.

  With a nod to the saluting guards, I followed Kargal into a small room on the second floor of the castle, then waited for the captain to make arrangements for dinner.

  Having settled in a comfy leather armchair, I set about to studying the many weapons lining the walls... And then it hit me. Damn! All of this is now mine! The castle, the river I'd seen at the approach to Gilthor, the villages we'd passed on the road, and tons of other stuff I couldn't begin to imagine. Well, technically there was a ten-year-old girl in the castle who was its rightful heiress, and every house in the province had its own direct owners, but still!

  I pulled out the governor's medallion, and examined it more closely. A union of warriors and miners, was it? At any rate, I was informed by a system message just as soon as I'd picked up the medallion that I was going to become a satrap at the conclusion of the continental event, with all the ensuing rights and obligations of such a post. If only I had any idea what that meant—alas, no one had bothered to present me with a checklist. The only thing I understood for certain was that as the governor of Gilthor I would be presiding over the province's three satrapies, which, in turn, were ruled by their respective satraps. Oh dear god, somebody shoot me... Yeah, sure, most folks in my place would be jumping for joy... Assuming most folks were bloody idiots.