by J D Astra
“Uh huh, and I smashed their faces with a broken harpoon, then lit the wolf on fire, so you’re welcome.” I put my hands behind my head and opened up my menu. I’d earned another 53 Pyro points, giving me 23 after upgrading to Level 2 of Thermosis Mastery. It was going to be a grind unless I figured something else out.
Clack, cl-clack. I jumped, snapping the menus shut as a Hvitalfar man tapped a knuckle against the plank staked to the wall reading “B5.”
“Jukal will expect your presence in the Officer’s Dining Hall in fifteen minutes.” He waited for a nod from Otto and dipped his head before departing.
“Expect our presence.” I raised a brow.
Otto sighed. “It’s the way it is here. I know you don’t like being told what to do.” He paused as my arms crossed over my chest. “She is the ranking officer, and an emissary of the Òrdugh an Garda Anam. She’s a good leader.” He spoke the last part with a hint of resentment.
I chewed my cheek. “Yes, she’s very expectant.”
“Jukal will hear you out and she will understand the need, if there is one.” Tabor bobbed his head as he headed for the door. I rolled my eyes. Arcona couldn’t begin to understand the need if she wouldn’t let me finish my sentence, but even if she did, then she’d have to listen, which I wasn’t sure she was capable of doing.
No, there was no time for self-defeating thoughts. She’d hear us one way or another, and we’d get into that archive with her help or without it. There was no other option, and we’d already wasted two full days just to have a conversation. My eyes flicked to the quest timer in the corner of my vision: 6 days and 13 hours left. She was going to hear me whether she liked it or not for the price we’d had to pay.
“Great.” I hopped to my feet with a grin. “Then let’s get in there.”
Otto turned to me, his left eyebrow going up to a sharp point while the right pulled down in disbelief.
“All we can do is try.” I cocked out my hip. “If she refuses to help us, we’ll figure out something else, Otto; we always do.”
“And”—Renzik raised his hand sheepishly—“I will help as well.”
The creases in Otto’s forehead smoothed out and he gave an approving nod. “Let’s get going. We’ve got a lot to explain.”
Irrefutable ReQuest
“SO, YOU’RE TELLING me some new threat will be gaining control of the Imperial city of New Viridia in the next several days,” Arcona said between chews of gamey stew. “More than that, you believe he’s going to install new lords and ladies all over Eldgard to rule with him?”
“Robert Osmark,” I corrected. “He is savvy, he knows this world well, and he is very persuasive. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s already well on his way to being in control of a smaller city with ties to the empire.”
The five officers at the table exchanged silent glances. Arcona had been smart enough to gather only the elite staff for the dinner, so she apparently took our warning seriously. Directly to her left was Patrick, an Illusionist—master of conversation and collusion. He and his officers were the primary faucet from which information flowed into the rebellion. He was also the man on duty at the entrance to the rebel hideout in DrinkZzz when we first arrived. Though he’d mentioned that work was below him, it was necessary and he’d carry it out when needed.
Jeanette was to her right. She was a tactician, a get-shit-done kind of person. She knew the location of all deployed rebels and had five or more strategists working under her for the different branches of subterfuge they dabbled in.
Denzel sat closest to Otto on my right. He managed the supplies and money. Denzel knew where every pound of grain was, how many people could survive on it, and every trade route in and out of the hideout.
Last was Varice, who sat next to Renzik on my left. He seemed to be Arcona’s assistant, writing down her notes and giving counsel, but he was also in charge of housekeeping and rebel wellness.
Renzik raised a hand, his eyes narrowed in confusion. “How does he know this world well if he is a Traveler, like you?”
I chewed my lip, then took another sip of mead to buy some time. “We, some of us, studied this world before coming here. We needed to be sure we could survive here.”
“Yet some of you still do not,” retorted Patrick. From that one encounter two mornings ago, and the few words he’d said over dinner, it seemed he had a general disdain of Otto, and anyone who traveled with him.
I tipped my head. “You’re right. Some of us are not fortunate enough to be compatible with your world.”
Arcona grunted. “So, how do we make sure this Osbark man doesn’t survive?”
I sucked air through my teeth. She really hadn’t been listening. “It doesn’t matter if Osmark does not survive, he has more than thirty aristocrats, all of whom were given the same scroll to their own restricted zone, all of which had a chest at the end of the dungeon containing powerful gear, small mountains of gold, and a Faction Seal. If he doesn’t survive, if even half of them don’t survive, they will still conquer Eldgard.”
“And plus,” I added before Arcona could get a word out, “it doesn’t work that way. We can’t affect his, uh”—I faltered at the word transition—“his chances of survival. He will get sick and he’ll live, or he won’t, it’s as simple as that.”
Renzik raised his hand again. “How do you know that?”
It seemed he was the only one really paying attention and throwing me the hard questions. “I used to work for Osmark. A large group of us studied the world together and helped prepare the techn—magic”—I gulped—“the magic that helped us get here.”
“You worked under this oppressor?” Arcona’s tone was thick with accusation, and the officers’ eyes all locked on me.
“Yes, which is how I know he’s so dangerous. His plans are total domination, and I know this not from working with him, but because I stole the information. Hence, the wanted poster.” I didn’t want the conversation to drift the way I could feel it was drifting. If Osmark wanted to control Eldgard, and I used to work for him, what’s to say I wasn’t still working for him, using Otto to wiggle into the rebel underground? I’m sure that was on their minds.
“Show me the Faction Seal.” Arcona put out her hand.
“We can’t,” Otto jumped in, and not a moment too soon. My answer to that was going to appear highly suspicious. “We’ve left the item with a trusted friend, someone who is not known to Osmark. It is safe with them.”
Suddenly I realized I was staring at Otto with a grin. He thought Jack was a trusted friend, how sweet.
The group was quiet and unsatisfied with our answers, so I jumped back in to keep it going. “All we know about it is it’s key to fighting, and winning, wars. Kings have it, usurpers desire it. We need more than that to understand what Osmark’s plan is, and a lot more than that if we’re going to stop him. The Grand Archive is one of three of the largest repositories of information in Eldgard, so there’s a chance that something about it is documented there.
“We need to get in that archive, and we would be grateful for any help you can provide, even if it’s just a safe place to rest our heads for the duration of our operation.”
Arcona gave me an appraising smirk. “It is coincidental that you need access to the Grand Archive, just when we also need something.”
She turned her stern gaze to my NPC. “Otto, the circumstances around your departure five years ago were a grave miscarriage at best, and outright treason at worst. Now, a few hours after our Bindings Book has been stolen away into the Grand Archive, you appear, needing to get into the Grand Archive. Tell me—”
“I’ve proven myself already.” Otto cut her short and she fumed.
Renzik raised his hand. “What is a Bindings Book?” Man, he was on a roll with the good questions. I didn’t want to ask myself in the heat of uncomfortable exchanges, so I was glad Renzik seemed unfazed by it.
Patrick spoke up when he realized Arcona was busy in a stare-off with Otto. �
�It is the key to all our locked doors, portals, and some protection magic. The symbol you used to enter this place was a ward, a powerful one, and Tabor was able to use it because of the Bindings Book.
“It is an old book. Inside we have inscribed the wards we wish to use throughout the city. When someone needs access to a ward, they will plant a drop of blood in the book on the inscribed symbol they wish to use, and the Scrivener will activate it, binding the blood of that individual as a key to that ward.”
“Like a secure password vault!” I exclaimed, excited to understand what he was saying.
“A what?” Patrick crossed his arms.
I waved it off. “Never mind, please go on.”
Patrick frowned and took a breath. “That book alone cannot grant the Imperials access to our location, but it is preventing us from allowing others to be admitted.”
“But if they get access to the scrivener thing, they’ll be able to, right?” I leaned forward and took another drink of mead.
Jeanette cleared her throat. “Not a thing, but a who.”
“Who?”
Arcona stopped Jeanette before she could answer. “You have your secrets, we have ours, and I don’t trust you with this one.” She shot me a malicious glare.
“Now, about making your keep.” She took another bite of stew.
“But Osmark—”
Arcona slammed her fist down on the table, pushing her chair back as she stood. “If you’re going to stay here, you support the rebellion first. Your personal matters are second. Understood?”
Otto reached over and took the mead cup from my clenched fist. “We understand, Jukal. We only ask with such urgency because there is a time factor.”
“Otto, stop,” I hissed under my breath.
He waved me off. “In six days Abby’s world will end, destroyed completely.” I gritted my teeth, and the faces around the table softened, even Arcona’s.
Otto went on, playing the room. “When that happens, Osmark will make his move, whatever it is, and we need to know well before then if we want to stand a chance of stopping him.”
He didn’t reveal my quest, which was what I was worried about since Question Master 9000 next to me would surely want to know who I got the quest from.
Arcona licked her lips, then took a sip of mead. “Patrick, tell them.”
The dark-haired Wode man tightened his jaw, then sucked in a breath. “I have an archivist contact, someone who was going to get us inside to the Bindings Book.”
“Yes,” Jeanette jumped in. “We can send you instead, that will free up our illusion and rogue class fighters for other important jobs we have on the waitlist.”
Patrick looked none too pleased about this development, but he went on. “We were going to go in disguised as archivists, but sometimes the Grand Loremaster, Petraeus, will let visiting parties in to view the stacks and ask questions.”
Arcona growled the words as she cut Patrick off. “They will be holding the book in a private room for investigation and decoding. If you can get in, can you get the Bindings Book?”
A new alert appeared at the forefront of my vision.
<<<>>>
Quest Alert: Rebels in need are Rebels indeed
Arcona Jukal, leader of the Alaunhylles rebels, needs you to collect their Bindings Book from the Grand Archive at Alaunhylles. The Bindings Book is an old book, likely hidden away in a private room for decoding. You’ll find the private rooms near the center of the archive. Killing archivists, or causing a calamity, will reduce your reward.
Quest Class: Rare
Quest Difficulty: Hard
Success: Meet with Patrick’s archive contact, infiltrate the Grand Archive at Alaunhylles, and retrieve the Bindings Book.
Failure: Fail to get into the archive or retrieve the Bindings Book. Killing archivists or causing incidents will reduce your reward, but not fail the quest.
Reward: 1,000 renown, 25,000 XP, 10 gold.
<<<>>>
There was a disabled button at the bottom titled “Mission Notes” that I assumed would activate once we accepted the quest. Must have the information the previous team gathered. Handy.
I minimized the pop-up without taking action and looked to Otto and Renzik. They were staring off into space, likely reviewing the same quest alert I had received. If we failed we would lose renown with the rebels, which could lead to a host of other issues. But success was a healthy amount of XP, renown, and the ability to freely come and go with this group.
Otto looked my way for confirmation. I shrugged and nodded my approval. Doing it quietly would be hard, but if we couldn’t, we wouldn’t fail the quest, just get a reduced reward. Neither of us were stealthy, though Renzik might be, so we had a chance.
“We will get the book if we get into the archive.” Otto accepted for us, and my new quest was ferried away into the active log.
“Excellent.” Arcona clapped once, then looked to her council as she took her seat. “Patrick, inform the archivist contact a new group will be coming. Jeanette, talk with the previous squad and get them redirected to your next highest priority.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the two said in unison, Patrick far less jubilant than Jeanette.
“Now, let’s finish the meal!” Arcona motioned to the attendant in the corner, who apparently understood her gesture and departed. They returned a moment later with second helpings. I refused, pleasantly full from round one, but Otto and Renzik continued to chow down.
I sat in awkward silence, trying to sneak my mead cup back from Otto, who picked it up and dropped it on the other side of him, earning a disapproving glance from Denzel. I sat back and watched the others, aware of Patrick’s eyes infrequently flicking up to Otto, pinching together in anger, or frustration, before returning to his meal. The dude must have some kind of grudge.
After thirds, Arcona was finished and therefore the meeting was, too. The three of us were excused, leaving the officers to chat. Tabor was waiting for us just outside, an empty bowl next to the spot where he’d been sitting.
“So?” he asked as he gave Otto a hardy pat on the shoulder.
Otto nodded. “She heard us. We’ll be going to the archive tomorrow, for the Bindings Book and information on the Faction Seal.”
“That’s good news! Off housekeeping duties and out into the world,” Tabor said, sounding elated.
We took off down the hall toward the bunks, which I could only tell because of the signage. This place was, in itself, a great defense against invasions, simply because of how easy it could be to get turned around.
The previously present din of conversation and bustling about in the Great Room had all but dwindled to soft murmurs. The glows in the windows of the rooty treehouses were now a glimmering few, and the tiny streams of smoke from chimneys were but wisps. I checked the game time, only 7:30 PM... but the light from the holes in the ceiling of the room was now gone, leaving the Great Room looking more like a great hovel. Pretty hard to do business in the dark, I guess.
Otto veered off from the group. “I’d like to visit the Sanctum Memoriam. I’ll be back in an hour.”
Tabor snagged his belt. “I’m sorry, Otto, it’ll have to wait until morning. I was told to get you to your bunks... curfew coming up soon.”
“Curfew?” Otto was flabbergasted.
Tabor winced. “It’s a new development since the Bindings Book went missing. No travel after eight, exceptions for work parties.”
Otto’s shoulders slumped, and his head drooped. He took a deep breath and closed his dark eyes. He swayed on his feet a little before opening them again, and I took note of the bags under his eyes. It was as though this news made him physically exhausted.
“Alright.” He finally agreed, and Tabor relaxed, as if he’d been worried he’d have to fight Otto on the matter. Whatever was in the Sanctum Memoriam was important to him.
Tabor took us the rest of the way through the labyrinth of passages to B5 and bowed at the door. “Don’t go wandering arou
nd. There are patrols in the halls and you’ll be penalized.”
He moved back from the door, then returned and glared down Otto as he asked, “Okay?” The dim candlelight elongated Tabor’s features, making him look much older than I assumed he was.
Otto gave a nod and started untying the knots that held his pauldrons in place. He’d worn all of his gear to dinner with Arcona, perhaps ready for another fight. I dropped Wildfire off in the wardrobe as I was becoming accustomed to and donned the Initiate’s Robe.
Otto surrendered the top bunk to me this time, saying, “I heard the wood moan last night, like it didn’t want my weight. Better you come crashing down on me than the other way around.”
We shared a laugh, and I climbed the ladder into the bed. As I rounded the top rung, a flood of memories from being six years old came back to me. My parents had hoped to have another child to fill the bottom bunk of my bed, but it never happened for whatever reason.
“Otto?” I asked as I wiggled under the sheets, shivering from the cool, underground air.
“What is it?” he asked, ruffling his own bedspread as he tried to fit his massive frame into the less-than-adequate space.
“Do you remember being six?” I stared through the dirt ceiling as I imagined my blocks, my dump trucks, my Pokémon, my neighborhood friends, the cold Vancouver beach, the salty breeze, the sound of robins tweeting in joy after a rain. There was so much to remember about being six: the way pizza tasted, the first day of school, falling out of the oak outside my house, my mom and dad chasing me around the living room and hugging me tight right before bedtime.
“What’s all this about?” Otto sounded... mad? “Why are you interested in my past?”
Heat flushed my cheeks at his angry retort. “My whole world is going to be destroyed, Otto. I just wanted to talk about memories, that’s all.” I rolled onto my side and snuffed out my candle. “Good night.”
Breakfast Before Burglary
MY HEAD POUNDED AS I rolled over, unable to see a thing in the darkness. The throaty start of another snore began with a whistling of air, but quickly morphed into a chopper revving its engine. I mashed the pillows against my ears and flipped onto my stomach, shivering as the cold air bit at my arms.
