by G. Akella
"It might still make sense to put her down, eh? Or at least lock her up somewhere? Last time around her shenanigans resulted in a change of command in the second legion. Who's to say what the next surprise will be? And why is it that my entire internal security service is apparently powerless against that scheming bitch?"
"She's a quarter elder succubus, and she knows full well that you cannot touch her. Especially now. That's exactly why she's had all my agents wrapped around her tail. Sometimes I wonder if she's just doing it for entertainment," the master's face took on an estranged look, freezing still for nearly half a minute. "Well, no surprise there," he chuckled upon exiting his stupor. "The ball comes to the player, as they say."
"What, again?" Astarot snapped.
"Three hours ago, my lord, your second wife arrested the light one who had rid us of the aforementioned headache."
"Did the report mention why?"
"Surely she doesn't think us idiots," Ritter said with a note of doubt in his voice. "Then she's aware that you will summon her for a chat. Of course, you can try and suss out something at night, but chances of success are low," the master shrugged. "I'd venture to say the light one hadn't told me everything, and she needs him as proof of her loyalty. By arresting him, she's keeping him close at hand—a card she can play at will."
"Do you propose leaning on Janam in hopes she'll confess her relationship with Zeran? Your words imply that's what she's waiting for."
"Well, yes. Zeran is no more, but we might be able to learn something else. There may have been other options before, but none have remained. Let's pretend we're complete idiots," the master grinned.
"Pretend?" Astarot roared with laughter, pouring himself more wine from the carafe. "Besides, I've been meaning to take a look at this Krian character." He turned toward the door, and barked, "Sart!"
"Yes, master," the secretary's face, beaming with genuine enthusiasm, appeared in the doorway in less than a second.
"Bring Lady Janam to me! At once!"
"Yes, master," the secretary nodded, and vanished behind the door.
Janam appeared some thirty minutes later, looking as flawless as ever. Wearing a modest coffee-colored dress to match her eyes, a high-collared blouse and a light turtle-shaped hairpin, she glided into the room, nodded courteously to Ritter, and directed the attention of her gigantic almond eyes to her lord husband.
"You have sent for me, my lord?" she said with a graceful bow of the head.
"Yes," Astarot's yellow eyes darted lightning. "And you sure took your sweet time!" he almost roared.
"My lord is upset with me?" Janam lowered her eyes to the floor, the model of meekness.
"Don't give me that innocent act! What is your connection to the rebels?"
"If you're talking about Satrap Zeran," Janam said with a tremble in her voice. "I've long suspected him of being in cahoots with Prince Vallan. I thought that, should he decide that I likewise sympathize with the rebel prince, I would have enough time to notify you of his plans." Janam shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, and folded her arms over her chest. "But the traitor realized that I am fully devoted to my lord husband," a note of woe sounded in the woman's voice.
"I bet," the lord snorted, shooting a glance at the master, who was watching the exchange intently. "And what happened next?"
"May I sit, my lord?" the woman asked gingerly.
"Go ahead," Astarot shrugged. "Sart! Wine for Lady Janam!" he roared, then lowered himself into a chair across from the master. "Why didn't you come to me with this? Or to Master Ritter?" the lord glared at his spouse after his secretary had placed before her a glass of light sparkling wine.
"I didn't want to distract my lord husband from important affairs of the state," she picked up her glass off the coffee table in one graceful motion, savored the wine, then raised her eyes at her spouse. "The dominion is in flux, and I've decided to make use of my modest resources to get to the bottom of it myself."
"My lady, could you talk about the nature of your relationship with Satrap Zeran?" asked the master, who had been silent up until now.
"Certainly, prince," the woman shifted her shoulders, as if feeling chilly. "My life appears to be in danger, after all. The courier who had delivered my brother's letter earlier today informed me that the rebels are plotting to kill me." She turned her loving gaze to her husband. "And yet, my lord, even after all this, you still doubt my loyalty?"
"Where is this courier now?" the lord grunted, studying the contents of his glass.
"I had him arrested," she shrugged. "What if he's one of them? Besides, I didn't like the way he was leering at me."
"Since when are you flustered by men checking you out? This is a new development," the conversation seemed to amuse Astarot, though his eyes hadn't lost an ounce of their severity.
"The light one looked at me just as others do, yes. But he resisted me like no other, and he's generally strange. Very strange."
"So here comes the one guy in Hart knows how many centuries who doesn't immediately start drooling over you, and you throw him behind bars? Why, I should reward him!"
"I am loyal to you, my lord," with a fluid flick of the head, she threw back her mane of raven-black hair, and shot her husband a defiant look. "I don't understand why you keep—"
"Oh, quit it," the lord threw up his arms, stopping her. "We are bound by our vows, and believe me, there are times when I regret it." He rose from his chair. "You're free to go, Janam. Release the light one at once and bring him to me. Tomorrow you'll tell Master Ritter all about your intrigues with Zeran..." Astarot turned his heavy gaze on Janam, who froze just as she was getting ready to stand. "Just go..." he concluded wearily.
"Why don't you question her again at night, one on one?" the master asked, grinning, after the woman had left the office.
"I don't have the same resistance as you or that light one," the lord returned the grin, then looked back to the blaze in the fireplace, and added in a much softer tone. "Or maybe it's because I genuinely love that wench."
I was awoken by the clanging of the latch being opened. Damn it, they won't even let me sleep, hiding a yawn with a hand over my mouth, I squinted at the captain of the guard on the doorstep.
"Get moving, mage," the legionnaire cast Hunter's Mark on me, unsurprisingly, and jerked his head toward the exit.
"Is the mark really necessary?" I groused, squeezing past him. Can't even be bothered to move aside, asshole.
"You bet it's necessary," the captain stroked his mustache. "I know you jumpers! Just saving myself the hassle of tracking you down afterwards."
"Would you at least tell me where we're going?" I asked, but the answer never came.
We spent the next twenty minutes meandering along corridors, past paintings, statues and gigantic vases. My head kept spinning this way and that, marveling at all this splendor and listening to the grumbling of my escort; whenever we'd reach a junction, he would prod me in the right direction. I'd realized early on that I was being taken to the big boss man, so it didn't surprise me when the mustachioed captain walked me into an enormous antechamber with rows of brown chairs alongside the walls and an oversized statue that looked like Venus de Milo—except, in contrast to the original, this one had arms. I'd even say the sculptor overdid it with the arms, seeing as the statue had four of them.
A scrawny-looking level 317 tifling sized me down skeptically.
"Go on it, the lord is waiting," he gestured toward the massive gilded doors. Then he looked at the captain and gave a wave of the hand. "Dismissed!"
The colossal door opened with ease, and I found myself in a room draped in jade velvet, a merrily crackling fireplace, and decorative statues amid wall-mounted paintings and weapons. Just like the Hermitage, the thought popped into my head. So powerful was the impression that the duo of tiflings sitting in armchairs were the last thing in the room that I noticed. And yet, these very tiflings were at the helm of this whole dominion. I'd already met Prince Ritter. As for
the lord—a towering tifling with piercing yellow eyes—he was clearly a fire mage, as evidenced by his gold-embroidered mantle.
"Don't just stand there, light one! Have a seat, there's much I'd like to hear from you," said Astarot, his eyes boring through me.
He looked to be about forty. With crude facial features, as if hewn from stone, a straight nose and a thin lip line, amplified by a whopping level 580, the lord made for an impressive, imposing sight.
Ritter simply raised his glass, filled with a clear liquid (was he drinking water??), and gave me an encouraging wink. As the lord watched me, his eyes narrowed, I walked over to one of the armchairs, picked up the offered wine, and took a sip. A silence ensued, broken only by the crackling of wood in the fireplace. The firelight, reflected in the huge mirror hanging across from the fireplace, scattered specks of light throughout the room. The specks dashed, darted and danced, bounced off the walls and washed over the demons' faces.
Astarot was the first to speak. As if forgetting my existence, he looked at the master and said in a pensive tone.
"Don't you find it odd that ever since this light one turned up in the dominion a month ago, there's always something happening to him or around him?"
Taking a sip from his glass of water, the master put it back on the black hand-carved coffee table, and interlaced his fingers.
"I take solace in the fact that everything that's been happening to this young man has been beneficial to the dominion."
"No doubt," Astarot shook his head. "The slaying of an elder demon that we haven't been able to even track down for Hart knows how many years—that alone merits a sizable reward. Here, light one," the lord laid a weighty leather pouch onto the coffee table. "Take this, so that you may know my gratitude."
You've completed the quest: Audience with the Lord.
You received 3,000 gold.
"Thank you," I nodded, taking the money. "The reward is indeed very valuable. May I ask you a question?"
"Ask away," the lord nodded.
"Well, you see, your wife arrested me, and I can't figure out why," I complained. "I'd rather not have to go back to that cell on account of certain pressing matters of my own. To be sure, I appreciate her hospitality, but I'd been living out of a hotel just fine."
"I've already rid you of her hospitality, Krian. There's been a small misunderstanding—the lady has no further issues with you," he smirked. "Women can be strange creatures sometimes. Now, why don't you tell me about those pressing matters of yours?"
"I was thinking of heading out to Iskhart."
"I am aware that you wish to return to Karn. Is this excursion a part of that greater plan?"
"Yes," I nodded. "I need to get into the overlord's private library. It contains a document I need."
"And you're not flustered by the fact that it's private? I'll tell you something else—even I cannot get into that library."
"So what do I do?"
"Beats me," Astarot shrugged. "Then again, it was widely considered that Shaartakh could not be found, yet you found him." The lord rose from his chair, indicating the end to the audience. "Come see the prince when you're ready. He will send you out to Iskhart."
"Thank you," I nodded in gratitude. I had not been looking forward to spending ten days in a caravan or a week on horseback.
"Oh, one more thing!" the lord's shout stopped me in the doorway.
I turned around, my face expressing a mute question.
"Stay away from my wife," Astarot uttered grimly. I was too shocked to respond with anything but a nod. The other thing I didn't like was the way the master looked at me with those pensive eyes. It was the way one might look at a gravely ill. Or at a dead man...
Truth be told, I was beginning to grow sick and tired of it all. Always running somewhere, doing something! And just as things were looking up, I'd been smacked back down to earth with Ahriman's "private" library that not even the dominion's lord had access to. My aunt's phone hadn't been answering for a few weeks now, and I hadn't been trying to contact anyone else—what would be the point? To ask about life in the real world? I had a pretty good idea what was happening, and hearing pity in people's voice? Pass!
It would seem that I was doing all right. In just three months I reached level 132, became a knight, and was presently holding three hundred thousand bucks in my purse! Cheney, you scumbag! My face must have reflected my inner turmoil too well, so that a demoness in a flowery dress who had been walking my way hurried to cross the street. Even demons are scared of me now, I thought woefully, and continued on to the inn.
There was something about the lord's parting words that had been gnawing at me. Not for a second did I think that he saw me as a rival. His words carried an entirely different meaning. Oh, and that farewell look from Master Ritter... There was something fishy going on with that Lady Janam. Kert had warned me to be careful, but no—I had to play the hero and deliver that damned letter anyway. Perhaps my brain had been warped from roaming in circles in total solitude for two months, or maybe rubbing elbows with higher beings had stripped me of common-sense caution. But Astarot's spouse had quickly put me back in my place. I considered dropping by The Forest Violet to unwind, but quickly scratched the idea. Better to drown my troubles in the bottle with Gerid...
Oh, would you quit whining already! A wave of fury washed away my melancholy, and I instantly felt better. Everything was going to be just fine. Once in Iskhart, if I hit a wall trying to get into Ahriman's library, I would start grinding. All the local instances were yet to be explored—tallying up all the loot and bonuses I would net for being the first to complete them, I'd be damn near indestructible by the time I made it out. It wouldn't be prudent to poke my nose in Krajde before at least level 170, so there was still plenty to do before the Cursed Princedom came calling. And it started with Iskhart!
"Master, your horse is all right!" the ginger-headed demon boy came running as I walked into the inn courtyard, clearly fishing for a tip.
Hart! I completely forgot about Lucy. What a lousy pet owner I'd make! I pressed a gold coin into the kid's palm and ruffled his hair.
"Where is she?"
"Second stall from the right..." the kid muttered back, his voice flat with joyous shock. "Come, I'll show you!"
Judging by Lucy's look, my concerns had been unfounded. The mare didn't look at all miserable. Evidently, they really did look after her well: the forelock and the mane were groomed, and her trough was full of feed. Feeling relieved and grateful, I tossed the kid another gold coin—an early Christmas present, so to speak.
The moment I appeared in her stall, the horse whinnied reproachfully, shifted from foot to foot, and shoved her muzzle into my chest. I smiled, patting Lucy on the neck, and proceeded to feed her a dozen apples, one after the after. High on sugar, the animal put her chin on my shoulder and shut her eyes blissfully. Her euphoria was contagious. Just a few minutes ago I wallowed in woe and self-pity, but now... The mare pressed up against me as I caressed her softly, promising to introduce her to my sister as soon as we made it out...
"Master Krian? Master Gerid bid me to tell you that someone is waiting for you in there," the boy said, breaking our idyll.
"Be patient, girl. We'll be out of here tomorrow," I whispered to my trusty mount, and followed the ginger kid out of the stable.
My brightened moon soured instantly when I saw who had been waiting for me in the dining hall. I waited for Gerid to fill my mug with dark beer, then walked over to the corner table, and took a seat across from the demon.
"What does your mistress want with me now?" I asked the big-nosed secretary; by the looks of him, the fellow clearly felt out of his element. The modest atmosphere of a simple inn seemed an impossible burden, and he kept dabbing his nose with a white handkerchief embroidered with blue stitches.
"I don't know how you can even drink that..." he shook his head, then continued without waiting for me to answer. "My mistress regrets what happened and asks that you go see her at on
ce. She has an urgent task for you."
"Look, Svent," I read out the name of the demon. "I don't feel like spending another night on your wooden cot. It's not that I don't value your mistress' attention, but—"
"Do you want to return to Karn, or no?" the demon gave me a look full of compassion.
"What?!" I coughed violently as the beer went down the wrong pipe. "What did you say..."
"My mistress said to tell you that if you complete her task, she will help you get back to the world above." His head cocked, the demon was clearly relishing the effect his words had made.
"Let's go," I chugged the rest of the beer, and got up from the table.
What did I have to think about? Had I any other choices? Sure, I had two: try to break into Ahriman's private library, or head straight for the Cursed Princedom's central citadel! Sure, there was also the lord's warning, and... And nothing! My sister and Max were in Karn—the hell with Astarot and his warnings!
"Svent, give the dar some wine, and leave us," Janam smiled gently when I took my seat in the indicated armchair. She had settled on a sofa across from me. Big nose and I had traveled to the palace complex in a carriage that had been waiting for us. This late in the evening there were hardly any crowds in the streets, and the coachman had delivered us in ten minutes flat. This time there was no waiting—we'd gone straight into the blue reception room, where the lovely tiflingess had been waiting for me, dressed for the occasion in a silk, sleeveless house dress.
"I hope you're not still upset at me about the incident earlier today? It's just that you really frightened me, and..." the succubus' tone dripped with remorse.
"Fear not, my lady, I took advantage of your hospitality and had a great nap," I smiled back at her. Oh, of course you regret it. I'm sure.
"You see, Krian, I remembered that you wanted to get to Karn, and I think I can help you do that. Perhaps that will be my atonement for wronging you."
