The Crown and the Key

by Andrey Vasilyev

  “Hey, warrior, where do I know you from?” another gelt with an unusually unpleasant face asked Lossarnakh. “Your mug reminds me of someone, but I can’t think of who.”

  The king without a kingdom said nothing, realizing that he was being provoked, though, judging by the look on his face, the comment did not go unnoticed.

  “Yes, he’s from my clan,” Fergus said, nipping that conversation in the bud. “Strictly by his own free will, he happened to join Hagen MacLynn’s people. And, I should note, that’s good news for us—we have an impartial witness to what happened this morning in Tuad Valley.”

  “Is he really impartial?” the unpleasant gelt said. “If he was there, it definitely wasn’t as an observer. We should figure out what brought him to join them. And, really, who are all these people?”

  “A just question,” I replied, beating the baron to the punch by a split-second. “Some of those here know me from the battle against Rennor MacLynn—I see some familiar faces.”

  “Yes, thanks to that guy, I picked up five excellent sheep from Keruac,” the gelt with the scar across his face said. “He beat Rennor into the dust, and then he lopped off his head.”

  The hillman sitting next to him puffed away at his pipe and nodded. “I don’t remember seeing you at the walls of Morrigot, Flord MacMann.”

  I’d noticed Dag MacMillan, an old, but still powerful warrior, as soon as we walked into the hall. He was looking at the gelt after wiping the smile from his face.

  “I didn’t see you, I didn’t see your yes-men from the MacErg clan, I didn’t see the MacPratts, the reason we’re all here today, I didn’t—”

  “I get it, Dag—you didn’t see us. We just didn’t get there in time,” MacMann grimaced. “Nobody told us about the whole thing…”

  “Of course, crooked legs blame it on the pants,” a big guy in a bearskin cape I didn’t know said to Flord. “Your clans are always last when it comes time to go to war, though you’re first in line for the loot.”

  “You’d better watch your mouth, MacStort,” Flord replied angrily. “You’re the last one here who should be talking.”

  A dozen leaders chimed in to support MacMann, glancing unpleasantly at MacStort.

  “Hold on, my good leaders,” I said. “Could we come back to our issue?”

  The murmur died away, though I could tell that the division remained—several of the leaders found new chairs, glancing back with distaste at their erstwhile neighbors. I rubbed my hands mentally, very happy with what I was seeing. They’re just going to use us to settle old scores. That worked for me since we could take care of our problems while they were at each other’s throats. The best time to set up a monarchy is when there is a rift in the country that divides the common people.

  “There’s no such thing,” MacMann replied caustically, moving squarely into our column of enemies. “We know what happened: the MacPratts were victorious in the battle, and they can, therefore, claim ownership of the MacLynns’ lands by right of strength.”

  “So, it doesn’t matter that they spat on our customs and hired strangers to stick a cowardly dagger in the backs of the MacLynn allies?” MacStort said, almost as an aside. He was in our column of friends.

  “The MacPratts didn’t hire anyone,” Flord shot back angrily as blood rushed to his face. “They don’t know where those warriors came from, themselves.”

  “That’s incredible,” I said loudly. “The MacPratts aren’t here, though someone happens to know their point of view. I wonder, how could the good MacMann have learned it? Could he have invented a device that allows him to speak with someone else, even when they’re miles away?”

  Some of the leaders laughed, recognizing the utter nonsense of my conjecture.

  “Could the renowned leader of the MacMann be dabbling in magic?” I pressed.

  MacMann’s eyes narrowed, though he didn’t say anything.

  “But that doesn’t matter,” I said with a wave, deciding not to push the issue further. The perfect, after all, is the enemy of the good. “Let me introduce myself and my companions.”

  I left the king without a kingdom for last in order to kick up a new wave of emotions. My plan worked, too.

  “And my last companion,” I said somewhat indifferently, “is Lossarnakh MacMagnus, of the MacMagnus clan, Laird of Morrigot, Bailiff of Fassarlakh and Targot.”

  “That’s it!” Flord said with an evil laugh. “I knew I recognized that…face. Huh? We already forgot about you. How did you survive, fugitive?”

  “Pure chance,” Lossarnakh said with admirable restraint. “I did survive, though, and now I’m here to take what’s mine, what belongs to me by right.”

  “Bunch of crap,” MacMann said derisively. “Nothing belongs to you anymore.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Lossarnakh pulled a white cloth out of a bag on his belt and slowly tied it into a knot. “For example, I owe you something like several inches of steel in your stomach. I’ll pay that debt, too, and I’m tying this knot to make sure I don’t forget. The MacPratts owe me their lives, since their villainy knows no bounds, and I’ll collect that, too. I don’t think I’ll need a knot to remember that, though.”

  “What are you going to do, fugitive?” MacMann asked, jumping up. “Who do you have to back you up? Your clan is dead, your people are dead, and all you have with you are a bunch of homeless wanderers!”

  “It’s a shame we can only kill him one time,” Kale said suddenly and very loudly. “I can’t take the right of revenge from the king, however.”

  Noise broke out in the hall as the gelts glanced over at Lossarnakh, who was standing there quietly and with some pride.

  “The king?” MacMann was taken aback, and his neighbors were whispering to each other. “What king? There’s no king in the Borderlands.”

  “Then, there will be,” I said firmly. “He’s standing right in front of you. And you have the chance to bow your head to him now. Otherwise, you’ll be bending it in front of the executioner.”

  “I want to kill him with my own hands,” Lossarnakh broke in. “We won’t be having any executions.”

  “There’s another thing you’re wrong about, MacMann,” the baron said. “You’re wrong about nobody standing behind MacMagnus. We’ll see about that king business, but his right to his titles and lands… Well, they’re his by right. Morrigot Castle, Fassarlakh, and Targot all await their master. Lossarnakh has supporters for his claim, too. The MacSommers are on his side.”

  “The MacMillans, too,” Dag said.

  The smoker waved his pipe, the guy in the bearskin nodded, and a good half of those present were clearly with them.

  But only half.

  “The MacSommers have long been like a nail in a boot for many of us,” a gelt wearing leather armor said, his voice heard for the first time. “Baron Fergus, your clan is always sticking its nose where it doesn’t belong, and that annoys quite a few of us. What do you care about someone who didn’t die when he should have, running off despite our customs? What are the MacPratts to you, a clan that has never been known for their warriors? The MacPratts offered them the blessing of their protectorship, holding out their hand, and those ingrates bit them in return.”

  What an interesting character, and what interesting words he knows. Protectorship?

  “I care about anything that threatens order in the Borderlands,” the baron said gently. “And if I see a clan completely forgetting the rules of decency, I will speak my mind. The MacPratts are even worse than Rennor, and he was a killer and rapist. He wasn’t even well in the mind—he just wanted power and thought that strength was everything. As far as Macmillan and his family… They’re trying to force their own rules on our lands, which is worse—especially, considering what they’re doing. Do you think I don’t know about his agreement with you, Roy Rod, MacMann, the Trivalds, and MacToff? Do you think I don’t know what he promised you? Oh, I know. You already divvied up our land and buried us under a blanket of grass.”
/>
  The hall got so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. The gelts had managed to sit such that they were even on opposing sides of the table. It was no longer a collection of leaders; it was two opposing sides.

  “You don’t live long with a full head,” Roy Rod said. “Give the MacPratts what’s rightfully theirs. They already took the land, and now they should have the heads of these people as well as the girl, the last of her line. If that happens, these lands will remain yours even after Macmillan takes the crown.”

  “The crown?” I asked in surprise. Apparently, Brother Yur hadn’t been the only one with that idea. Or did he just know what was happening and decide to push his own candidate?

  “The crown?” chimed in several other gelts. They were just as surprised as I was.

  “Yes, the crown,” Fergus said. “Macmillan decided that the south of the Borderlands isn’t enough for him and wants power over all of us and our lands. I just found out about that recently.”

  “The herd needs a leader,” Roy Rod said, getting up. “You can drive your sheep around your pastures, sit in your homes, and toss logs—we don’t care. But you need to remember, that you’re subjects of the new king of the Borderlands. Your lives are in his hands.”

  “You heard that?” Dag laughed, bringing his fists down on the table. “Gelts, they’re letting us live!”

  “The funny part is that he said ‘we,’” I noted softly.

  “Macmillan will be the king, but Roy Rod will be one of our new rulers,” Fergus said, looking at me gratefully. “The ones they want to rule you, gelts.”

  “That one wanted to climb up onto an imaginary throne, too,” said a hillman with so much red hair that I could only see his enormous nose, and he pointed at Lossarnakh. “What’s the difference?”

  “He isn’t a tyrant; he’s a warrior,” Lennox MacSommers said, opening his mouth for the first time. Then, he did something I didn’t expect at all: he got down on one knee.

  “I swear allegiance to you, Lossarnakh MacMagnus, and do so consciously and of my own free will. Take my life and rule it at your pleasure.”

  If Lossarnakh was surprised, he didn’t betray it. Instead, he pulled the redhead up and gave him a hug.

  Before I could get too emotional, the scene took another odd turn.

  “Lennox MacSommers,” boomed the voice of the baron, “you have no right to make that decision ahead of your clan leader. Don’t forget your place.”

  Baron Fergus went over to the king without a kingdom and the gloomy Lennox and suddenly got down on his own knee.

  “I deliver the fate of my clan into your hands, Lossarnakh MacMagnus,” he said loudly. “From this day onward, my clan will be part of your house—this I swear before the leaders here as well as the gods watching us.”

  You completed a quest: Might Makes Right.

  Reward:

  3000 experience

  800 gold

  Chapter Fourteen

  In which sparks burst into flame.

  You unlocked Behind a Stone Wall.

  This is the sixth in the Zone of Influence series of quests.

  Task: The future king needs to regain control of his family castle.

  Reward:

  1000 experience

  300 gold

  The next quest in the series

  “Well, I’ll be,” the smoker said, taking his pipe out of his mouth for the first time.

  “I knew his father, and he was a good gelt,” Dag said as he got out of his seat. “Son, I’m not going to get down on a knee—it’s been wobbly lately, and it doesn’t always bend back the way it should. My clan’s with you to the end, though.”

  What happened next outpaced even my wildest dreams: one after another, the gelt leaders swore allegiance to Lossarnakh—not as their king, but, at least, as their warlord.

  Not all of them, however. A solid fifteen hillmen crowded around MacMann, who was angrily watching the opposition appear. In front of him, was the group that stood between him and power over the Borderlands.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked him sarcastically.

  “No, this is perfect,” MacMann replied through his teeth. “Now, we know exactly who’s getting executed first and second.”

  “Really? Executions?” I asked, clapping my hands in mock delight. “So, you’ll be cutting heads off and everything?”

  “We’ll find a nice stake just for you, you freak, thick and rough to make sure you suffer when we sit you on it,” MacMann snarled. “You’ve been a cataract in our eye long enough.”

  “Oh, please,” I shot back. “What are you talking about? I practically just got to the Borderlands!”

  “And you already earned yourself a stake. Gward said that he’s going to personally make sure nobody greases it down because he doesn’t want you to die too quickly.”

  “What has the younger MacPratt so riled up about my friend?” the baron asked. He’d been listening to our conversation.

  “The laird poked a nice hole in his stomach,” Kale chimed in. “I still have no idea how he survived.”

  “Ah, Hagen,” Fergus smiled. “Well done!”

  “I’m not sure why you’re happy about that, old man,” MacMann said rudely before continuing in a louder voice. “You’re all fools. You think you found some great warlord? No, you found someone who will lead you to your deaths!”

  “And do you realize what we could do to you for saying that right now?” the owner of the bearskin asked.

  “You can’t do anything,” MacMann grinned. “War hasn’t been declared.”

  “Not yet, at least,” Fergus added. “Wouldn’t you say, MacMagnus?”

  “MacMann, there’s no point talking with you,” Lossarnakh said calmly, shaking the knotted cloth to make his point. “You’re a dead man, already. But everyone else who’s standing behind him, you can still change your fate. Gelts, think about who you’re fighting for and why. Backstabbers? Those prepared to rape the daughter of a leader and a sister of a leader just to take her lands? Men who shoot at children? At children!”

  Lossarnakh jabbed a finger in Tren-Bren’s direction, and she batted her eyes, groaned, and grabbed her shoulder.

  “Think, gelts,” the future king continued softly. “And know this: choosing sides is like a woman and her treasure. Spread your legs once, and there’s no going back. Nobody will believe you.”

  “Oh, it’s the MacSommers’ lackey,” MacMann said with an evil flash in his eyes. “Don’t take us for idiots who don’t know where the real power lies. Let’s go, brothers—we’re done here.”

  “I’m not done,” one of the leaders behind him said suddenly. He was a young guy. “You didn’t say we were going to be killing children. You just said a worthy gelt would take power, and that everyone with him would get their fair share of honor and respect. I’m prepared to fight other warriors with you, but I’m not going to kill children.”

  “You believe him?” MacMann asked, throwing up his arms. “What children?”

  “Me,” the fairy squeaked. “I’m still a child, and it hurt so bad when they shot me with that arrow. I almost died!”

  “They cut up the servant girl they bought,” I added. “She was pregnant, too! They got her to let them into my house so they could steal my sister, and then they killed her. That’s what these worthy gelts do.”

  “Witnessed,” Lennox and Kale said simultaneously.

  “I’m not going with you, MacMann,” the kid said. “I don’t know about the rest, but that’s not for me.”

  “You little fool,” MacMann said, draping an arm around his shoulders and gesturing the rest of his leaders toward the door. “You’re already with us, and you can’t just leave like that. We aren’t a clan; we’re the future rulers of the Borderlands. You know what would happen if we let every snotnose tell us what they want and don’t want? Exactly—chaos and disorder—and we can’t have that.”

  The young man started to explain something to MacMann, but a few quick, short strokes of
a knife into his stomach put an end to that idea. He groaned, collapsed to the floor, and turned over, bloody hands clutched to his stomach.

  “Rinald!” the baron yelled loudly. I wasn’t even aware he could do that. “Weapons!”

  You unlocked Strange Blood.

  Task: Avenge the treacherous death of the young leader of the Skrimms clan.

  Reward:

  3500 experience

  900 gold

  The gratitude of the Skrimms clan

  A reputation boost in the eyes of the Borderlands clan leaders

  Note! If you take vengeance according to the traditions of the Borderlands, you will probably unlock Traditionalist, an action.

  Accept?

  Actions and reputations were great, but where was Rinald? I didn’t want to pull out my sword and hear how I was breaking all their customs. That would have just given that ghoul one more thing to use against me. And I didn’t even know the leader, so I decided to give that quest a pass.

  “Not so fast,” MacMann said. Suddenly, with lightning speed, he leaped over toward us and grabbed Tren-Bren by the wing. All she had time to do was squeak in surprise. A second later, there was a knife against her throat. “MacSommers, we’re leaving, and that’s that. Let us go, and I swear by the hills and all those under them that I won’t hurt this girl.”

  “Shouldn’t have done that, my friend,” Dorn said with a scowl so deep his eyes disappeared behind his bushy eyebrows and puffed-up beard. “You really shouldn’t have. I’m going to tear you to shreds and cut you into strips.”

  I was feeling much of the same, even if I knew nothing would really happen to the girl. Her things would remain there, and she wouldn’t lose much experience given her relatively low level. Still, the fact that some stinking hillman was holding a knife to her throat… She’d had enough to deal with recently.

  “MacMann, get out of here,” Lossarnakh said. He was calm on the outside, though the veins were standing out on his temples. “Get out. You have the word of a MacMagnus that nobody will touch you.”