To my surprise, both men went to their knees. The big knight bowed to the hilt of his sword. Blue Robes flattened himself down on the ground.
“Please forgive our imposition, rytier,” the smaller man – mage? priest? – said as he rose back up. “We saw you and your draak in distress-”
“-We could not let these rogues continue their assault on this holy creature, or you, her sacred guardian!” The knight finished. He had a deep, booming voice to go with the moustache, but gentle eyes. He gazed at Karalti as if she were an angel fallen from heaven.
Karalti leaned in to sniff them curiously, wings buzzing. I rolled my shoulders and grimaced. People were beginning to stare at us, which was literally the opposite of what I wanted right now. “Well, thanks. I really appreciate it, but we have to find a ship and leave. The next wave will be here any minute.”
“Please lend us your ear for a minute more, rytier,” the knight said. He had a strange, thick accent. Not Russian, but definitely somewhere east of Germany. “I am Ur Kirov, Knight of Taltos and a representative of His Majesty Andrik Corvinus the Wise, and this is Father Petko Matthias, a priest of Veles. We come from Vlachia, where your draak is a most holy being. We were, in all honesty, on our way to a royal vessel when we spied your entanglement with this knave and his-”
I groaned. “Well, thanks again, but we don’t have much time. Where are you going with this?”
“Ahh, well… we have been recalled to mighty Vlachia at the Volod’s request following a great tragedy in the kingdom.” Kirov sheathed his sword, nodding thoughtfully and with a disturbing lack of urgency. “I was sent here to protect Father Matthias, but by the power invested in my office as a Knight of the Red Star, I would offer you and your draak sanctuary aboard our vessel.”
My eyes narrowed. I’d had enough of Archemi’s knightly orders to last me a lifetime, but this guy was too ridiculous to not be sincere.
“The Volod ordered that we should bring any skilled adventurers with us to address the problems of the kingdom,” Father Matthias added softly. “But to find a true draak in the company of a skillful warrior… it can only be a sign from the Nine.”
The Nine? That caught my attention. I caught Cutthroat’s reins in one hand as she tried to limp past me and pulled her to a stop. “Wait. You’re a priest of the old gods? The dragon gods?”
Matthias glanced at the nearest bystanders. “Please be a little more discreet, rytier. Their worship is outlawed here.”
Kirov clasped his hands together, beseeching me. “We cannot in good conscience abandon a draak and her guardian in these barbaric lands. I would beg you to consider our offer.”
I frowned. The gamer in me said that these two were about to offer me a quest - a juicy one, given that they directly served their king. But I’d been avoiding people ever since leaving Fort Palewing, and the string of betrayals and the gross abuse of the dragons that the knights of the Order of Saint Grigori committed had left a bitter taste in my mouth. Still, the name ‘Vlachia’ rang a bell somewhere... and after a couple of moments thought, I remembered. Vlachia was the country where I was meant to meet up with Matir.
“Hold on a second.” Keeping one eye on the two men and one on my hookwing and dragon, I opened up the description of the first major quest I’d ever received:
Ongoing Quest: The Temple of the Hidden Seed
When the Dark Star rises to the sky, journey to the Thunderstones at Myszno, a village in the east of Vlachia.
Reward: ???
Difficulty: Level 12-15
“Do you happen to know where the Village of Myzsno is?” I asked Kirov.
“Myzsno? Why, of course!” His moustache bristled, and his eyes turned distant and dark with emotion. “Myzsno is both a village and a province, down near the southern border of Vlachia. It is a sight that would melt the heart of any painter. The endless forests, the rolling hills, the mountains soaring into the sky like…”
“Myzsno village is a place of pilgrimage that has fallen on hard times,” Matthias added, rapping Kirov’s armored sleeve to shut him up. “There is a holy place up in the mountains near the town, but rumors of monsters and worse have grown in recent times. However, it is not anything I can speak of comfortably out of doors, especially on Ilian soil.”
Interesting. I was betting that ‘holy place’ was the Thunderstones, whatever they were. I nodded sharply. “Alright. I’ll talk with you. You said something about a ship?”
“Yes. Our mighty steed awaits.” Kirov nodded. “Now, please, come with us so that we might see you aboard, and journey with you to safety.”
Chapter 4
The Vlachian royal ship was called the Hóleány - pronounced ‘Hoo-lan’. It was easily the nicest ship in the port: a sleek cruiser with four huge magictech engines and layers of waxed silk sails.
The pair of men led me and my saurian friends down the harborfront with some urgency, half-sheltering Karalti and me with their cloaks. Guards were pouring from the city now, stopping and frisking people, pulling back robes, harassing dark-colored hookwings and their owners. We reached the gangplank just ahead of the tide of angry soldiers.
“Shelter, at last,” Kirov said hoarsely. He looked to Father Matthias. “Please, Father, you and our guests must go first, lest these rogues try to breach the deck. I will stand guard until you are hidden.”
Kirov seemed to be a real, honest-to-gods chivalrous knight. I didn’t argue with him. I just scooped Karalti in my arms and carried her up to the ship like a big puppy. Cutthroat limped up without complaint, too injured to be her normal rage-driven self, while Father Matthias followed up behind her. Well behind, so that she didn’t knock him off into the sea with her lashing tail.
“We have facilities for your hookwing,” he said, once we were on board. “We will stable her, and then retreat to the guest quarters to discuss our dilemma.”
“Thanks.” I looked back over the railing, watching as a unit of black-cloaked soldiers swept down the road. They were about five hundred feet from us, but I could see them clearly, zooming in my vision like a sniper scope. “We need to hurry. The Mata Argis are going to be on us any minute.”
Matthias was looking at my eyes and face as if he were seeing it for the first time. “You have the dragonsight? That means you trained with the Skyrdon of Ilia. And she-?”
“Karalti escaped a fate worse than death, and so did I.” I blinked, refocusing to close range. “Let’s go to the below deck.”
The priest escorted us there. Cutthroat was anxious on the ship, hissing at every shadow until we locked her into her stall. I unequipped her muzzle just as the ship’s engines began to roar. Her feathers flattened against her skull, and she crouched down, eyes darting from side to side.
“That’s a good girl. Sit down and don’t murder anyone, okay?” I patted the door, and left with Matthias for the main deck. “Thanks, by the way. You didn’t have to do this.”
“It is our honor,” he replied, leading the way back up the stairs. “Our vows include that of hospitality. Your Karalti is a rare and precious creature. How did you come to accompany her?”
I liked his choice of words: ‘accompany’, not ‘own’. “The short version is that the Skyrdon of Saint Grigori enslave their dragons, including Karalti’s mother. Her mother gave me Karalti to protect. She asked me to give her a good life.”
“The gods judge us by the way we treat those in need,” Matthias said, slowing to turn and duck his head. “Do your people worship the Nine, then? You’re not Ilian.”
I rubbed my arm. “I don’t worship any gods, but I work for one. It’s kind of like a side job.”
“Meaning?”
I shrugged, and pulled my glove off to show him what lay beneath. “Meaning one of them put a stamp on me, and asks me to run errands for him.”
The Mark of Matir was a nine-pointed star that was similar to a chaos star, with an extra arrow and a question-mark like symbol at the center. It was burned into my skin like a primitive ta
ttoo, the black lines almost seeming to float underneath the skin.
“Bogdi vris!” His hand flew to his mouth. “The sigil of Chernobog!”
“You mean Matir, right?” I pulled the glove back on and tucked my sleeve in.
“The Keeper of Night is a creature with many names. In Vlachia and the Sathbar Plains, we call him Chernobog, the Black God. And you… you are more than an adventurer.” Matthias spread his hands. “I cannot believe my eyes, but… here you stand. Is it true, then? Does the Keeper of Night stir?”
“Seems like it.” I nodded. “I don’t really know much about him though, to be honest.”
“It is something for discussion later. For now, we should get a drink. I will send someone to see to your hookwing and restore her health.”
Karalti yawned, flashing rows of needle-sharp teeth. “Soooo sleepy.”
“We’ll get you to bed soon, Tidbit.” I thought back. I spoke aloud to Matthias. “A drink sounds good. Is there any way we can arrange a bed for Karalti?”
“Of course! Come, we shall see to it at once. And perhaps I can tell you what I know of Chernobog… his mark on you surely explains why you desire a pilgrimage to Myszno.”
***
So much had happened in the two weeks since my death that I’d barely had time to sit down and think, let alone grind out levels and skills. I’d arrived in the game in a slave ship, led a rebellion, and in short order found myself trying to join an order of dragon knights. They’d turned out to be assholes, and since escaping with Karalti, we had been running and hiding from them and their agents. For the second time this month, I was back on an airship. But this time, I wasn’t a slave. And thanks to Karalti’s mother, neither was she.
We were well out over the Bay of Knives, the channel separating the Ilian Peninsula from the rest of the continent of Artana by the time that the four of us – me, Kirov, Father Mathias and Karalti – gathered together in the Royal Suite on board the Hóleány. There were thankfully no royals aboard, so we spread out like fat men on a sofa. Karalti was a snoring ball of wings and scales on the grand bed, curled in the middle of the red silk sheets. Me, Kirov and Matthias sat around a small but well-stocked bar, drinking a little bit of everything and a lot of some things.
“Slivovitz!” Kirov boomed, setting a shotglass of clear liquor in front of me. “This will put hair on your stones, rytier! To the Volod!”
“To the Volod!” I picked it up and threw it back. It was fruity, but strong enough that my eyes watered. Still, before being uploaded to Archemi, I was a Korean-American dropout who’d hung around bikers and then soldiered for five years. All of those circumstances meant that I could definitely hold my own in the liquor department.
“Rytier Hector, we come to you with a grave matter indeed,” Kirov said, shaking his head and setting his glass down. “It is no exaggeration to say that Taltos, and indeed all of Vlachia, owes the dragons its foundation. Our cities, our culture, even the land itself was shaped by the mighty Solonkratsu. We venerate their gods, but especially Khors, the God of the Forge. The Church of the Creator is the closest ally of the state, giving us inspiration and a moral framework by which to live.”
“Okay.” Ugh, religion. Not entirely sure where this was going, I helped myself to another shot of slivovitz.
“Something is preying on my brothers in the city of Taltos.” Matthias gestured animatedly as he spoke. “Priests of Khors have been murdered by some manner of terrible spirit.”
Kirov muttered. “Ghosts. Bah.”
The priest shot him a sharp glance. “Do you really think a flesh-and-blood assassin could have convinced Franz Darko to commit suicide? Impossible. The ocean would rise to the skies before that happened.”
“Wait a sec.” I held up a hand. “You just said these guys were murdered.”
“They were. Franz would not kill himself: suicide is anathema to Khors, a coward’s death.” Matthias’ scholarly face hardened. “No… something killed Father Abel, and something killed Darko, and the same being has killed one of our great prodigies, Brother Orban.”
“So two senior priests and one junior priest have been murdered so far?” I asked.
They nodded.
I studied Matthias. “Why do you think it’s a ghost?”
“I am a scholar of the supernatural, among other things.” Matthias shook his head, then reached for the bottle. “Kirov, tell him the details of what you told me. They nauseate me to repeat them.”
“Very well.” Kirov slouched back into his chair, his hands resting on his stomach. “The first to die was Father Lazlo Abel, a patriarch of the church and tutor to the royal throne. He was beaten to death in his own study with one of his own books, and a quill forced into his eye.”
“Jeee-zus.” I grimaced, and threw back my next shot.
“The second to die was Father Franz Darko,” the knight continued. “As His Grace said, he appears to have committed suicide. He was found hanging from the rafters in his sacred forge. The room was locked from the inside. We did not assume it had any connection to Father Abel’s demise-”
“But I do,” Matthias interrupted. “I know Franz like my own brother. He was a ferocious man, full of fire and spirit. He was a man of honor, and even if he were to kill himself, he would do it in the manner of a warrior. He would not hang himself like a brigand, and especially not inside his place of worship.”
“The third victim was found only days ago.” Kirov’s dark eyes glittered with worry as he spoke. “Brother Orban… he was a great Mastersmith, a senior monk and a protégé of the High Forgemaster, Agoston Toth. Orban went missing in the catfolk ghetto, where he was serving the poor with his craft. Two days later, he was staked out in the public gardens for all to see. I received a letter detailing the scene. What I read was… grotesque.”
I frowned. “Give me details. How did they find the body?”
The knight sighed. “His neck was wrapped with barbed wire, the kind found on the district wall separating the ghetto from the rest of the city. His body was drenched in sewerage, a chamber pot left on his head. We found a rat in his mouth, rammed down into his throat so only the head protruded. That was what killed him.”
“Not the staking or the wire?”
“No. The staking was… surgical in its precision. It is possible to keep a man alive on such a device. The wire was not tight enough. And the rat was still alive, though barely. It had kicked his throat apart.”
“That is some horror-movie-level shit right there,” I said. “That kind of murder doesn’t scream ‘ghost’ to me, though.”
“No one saw or heard a thing,” Matthias replied, lighting up a small pipe. His hands shook as he coordinated the match and sandpaper. “The city guard did not see anything. Not the staking, not the screams… nothing. He did not have time to fight back. It is as if he materialized in the gardens in the dead of night.”
“Nothing human could do this,” Kirov insisted. “But there are creatures with the kind of strength to commit such atrocities. This assassin – monster, ghost, whatever it is – has been named the Slayer of Taltos. It must be destroyed. That is why the Volod ordered that we search for suitable adventurers capable of dealing with such a creature.”
“And you are a Starborn, are you not?” Matthias added.
Yep – this was leading to a quest. A big one. I folded my hands on the table. “Yeah. I’m Starborn. What is your Volod offering to the person who brings this creature in?”
“That, I cannot say. It will be exceedingly generous, but you will have to discuss the reward with him,” Kirov said. “But to start with, you and your dragon will be given full hospitality and guaranteed sanctuary in Vlachia. Will you help us?”
New Quest: The Slayer of Taltos
Priests of Khors, the draconic god of Fire and Craftsmanship, are being murdered in the Vlachian capital of Taltos. Matthias, himself a priest of Khors, and his bodyguard Sir Kirov have been recalled from their mission in Ilia and tasked with finding a hero
capable of bringing the Slayer to ground. They believe you can help them restore order in Taltos and bring the murderer to justice.
Difficulty: Hard
Recommended Level: 12-15
Rewards: EXP, Fame in Vlachia. Speak with the king, Volod Andrik Corvinus III, to negotiate your material rewards.
Special: This is an evolving quest. Updates will appear in your log.
The offer of sanctuary by itself was tempting. Wherever we went, the Mata Argis was bound to follow – even if I took Karalti back to Tuungant, like I’d originally intended. But if I was directly under the protection of a foreign king… well, that offered a measure of safety. Not only that, but I had to get my ass to Vlachia soon anyway. I still didn’t trust Matir, but I was willing to fulfil the terms of the quest and see where it led. I could do this quest and level up, then head to Myszno.
I looked over at Karalti. She had rolled partly onto her back, her foreclaws clasped over her eyes. She was sound asleep, snoring away despite the noise we were making. The fight with the Mata Argis had exhausted her.
I hit confirm with a small nod, then stood and offered a hand to Matthias to shake. “Fine. Count me in.”
Chapter 5
Three days later.
We woke with the sun onboard the Hóleány. Or more accurately, I woke with the sun. I was curled around Karalti under a down comforter, her back and wings arched against the front of my body. The single level gain had made a huge difference to her. She had doubled in size, and her scrawny hatchling neck was filling out, becoming smooth and muscular. She was still smaller than me, but even though she was the little spoon, she still somehow managed to take up two thirds of the bed.
I didn't wake her straightaway. Instead, I slowly pulled back the covers and drank in the sight of her. The little dragon slept on her side, with all six limbs curled against her body, her head tucked down, the tip of her nose sticking out from under the blankets. The flaky dull scales had been replaced by new, bright blue-black ones that practically glowed under light. They were smooth and warm to the touch. By the dawn light, her dark scales rippled with deep veins of color. It was an eerie, beautiful effect, as if she was sculpted from perfect black opal.
Trial by Fire: A LitRPG Dragonrider Adventure (Archemi Online Chronicles Book 2) Page 3
