Last Bastion

by Rachel Aaron

  Tina popped her head up to see Zen striding past the guards at the doors. She hadn't seen the Ranger look this grim--or dirty--since the battle against Grel'Darm, and she gripped the table, bracing for the worst.

  "How bad is it?"

  "Bad," Zen said, grabbing one of the sheets of paper and a writing stick. "It's not just the Royal Knights," she said, drawing two straight lines to represent the Royal Mile and then filling the space between with precise symbols in neat rows. "Each of these marks is a different unit. They've got archers, heavy cavalry, and garrison troops. Oh, and siege weapons."

  She added several large boxes to the space between the lines that represented the Royal Mile, which was already so crammed full of marks, Tina couldn't count them all. "How many soldiers are in a unit?"

  "They're all different depending on the sort," Zen replied, her already-grim face growing grimmer. "But we counted as many as we could, and our best estimate is there are ten thousand soldiers camped out on the mile already. Maybe more."

  The already-quiet room grew deathly silent as everyone took that in.

  "That's a lot of fucking guys," Cinco said at last, running a red-gauntleted hand through his short dark hair.

  "It gets worse," Zen said.

  "How can it get worse than being outnumbered thirty to one?" Assets demanded.

  "They have players in cages," Zen replied, leaning down to draw a line of circles with the letter P in them. "A lot of them. I don't know what they're planning to do with them, but Malakai's moving the cages around the same way he does the siege weapons." She glanced up. "He's back, by the way."

  "I heard," Tina said grimly, looking down at the map in dismay. Then she forced herself to straighten up. "Makes no difference, though. Big or small, a crap army is still a crap army. Let them come. They'll just break on us like everything else."

  That set the crowd around the table whispering, and Assets rolled his eyes. "Not that I don't appreciate the can-do attitude, but we're talking about ten thousand soldiers ranging between level sixty and level eighty who are being led by a raid boss. We only have three hundred people over level fifty, and no raid boss. That's not good math."

  "It's not about the numbers," Tina repeated with maximum bravado. "You played FFO from the auction house, so you haven't seen what a good raid can really do. The Roughnecks were trapped in the Deadlands after the game went down. We had to fight the Once King's entire army at the Order of the Golden Sun's fortress. Including Grel'Darm the Colossal, who could stomp Malakai into pretty-boy elf paste. We didn't even have a full raid, but we still won, and we can win here too."

  Her heart was pounding, but Tina ignored it, standing up so she could face the entire group with her biggest shit-eating grin. "We've got three guilds here and six raids. That's more players fighting together than we ever had in FFO. We'll catch whatever the king throws at us and kick it back so hard he'll curse the day he decided to fuck with us. They thought FFO was a Nightmare? They ain't seen shit."

  The others looked at each other nervously as she finished. SB in particular looked upset, but Cinco just grinned.

  "Well, I'm sold," he said. "It ain't like we can surrender, and if we run, all that ass-whoop will just chase us across the zones, picking us off a few at a time. Much better to stand and fight here where we can control the battle. I always was the die-on-my-feet type."

  "Well, I'm the type who'd rather not die at all," Assets said angrily. "This doesn't have to be an all-or-nothing deal. We haven't tried negotiating yet."

  "You can't negotiate with these people," Tina said. "They hate us so much they have player death camps, and they outnumber us by a ludicrous amount. They're not going to listen to anything we say."

  "Maybe not at first," the elf said. "But while I don't share your suicidal determination to fight to the last breath, I'm certain we can put up a bloody good showing, emphasis on the bloody. The king's on the warpath right now, but he might be convinced to sing a different tune and come to the table once half his army is floating facedown in the river. Especially if we employ some leverage."

  Tina and Cinco shared confused looks. "What leverage do we have?"

  Assets flashed them a sly smile and flipped his clipboard around to show them the base's inventory, tapping a delicate finger on a line in the middle. Frowning, Tina leaned closer, squinting to read the entry written in Assets's meticulous, clear handwriting.

  Wind-Fire Powder, it read. Twelve Barrels. One slightly cracked.

  Chapter 12

  James

  Since they had finally made it inside the castle, James's plans involved strategizing and investigating avenues of possible escape from their luxurious new prison cell. But after a long day of traveling through the war-torn city as his sister's prisoner, fighting a duel to the near-death, and losing half his blood, his reality was passing out the moment he lay down on something that wasn't the ground. Even Ar'Bati must have succumbed to exhaustion, because when James awoke at last, the cat warrior was snoring in a padded armchair while Flameboyant was passed out next to him on the sofa with a fluffy white fur pillow over his face.

  Squinting at the bright sunlight pouring in through the barred window, James sat up in the bed. His whole body still ached but not nearly as much as he'd expected. Thanking his lucky stars for player-character regeneration rates, he slid out from under the covers and tiptoed over to the window to see what they were in for.

  War seemed to be the answer. The paved yard between the castle itself and the outer wall was packed full of soldiers. Large units of Royal Knights, City Guard, and even cavalry were marching toward the front gates while logistics troops followed them with wagons full of ammunition, weapons, armor, tar, and other terrifying things. The Bastion's golden shield was harder to see now that the sun was high, but it was definitely still there, glittering against the bright-blue sky.

  The sight made him wince. He wasn't sure when exactly they'd been locked in here last night, but it had to be close to noon now. If Lady Siku had actually kept her promise and delivered those letters to the king this morning, surely someone would have come for them, but no one had. They hadn't even gotten breakfast, which could only mean one thing.

  They were being ignored.

  "Good morning, James," Flameboyant said, sitting up with a yawn.

  His voice caused Ar'Bati to wake with a snort, and then the warrior shot to his feet. "Has the white she-devil returned?"

  "Not yet," James said.

  "Then there is nothing good about it," Fangs snarled, stalking over to the window to tug on the bars. But they were set deep in the stone, too much for even Ar'Bati's strength to move. "We are still prisoners."

  "Hey, I'll take this cell over being locked up on the street any day," Flameboyant said, looking around at the beautifully decorated room. Then he spied the tiled bathing area, and his eyes lit up. "I'm going to take a bath!"

  "How can you think of baths at a time like this?" Ar'Bati demanded.

  Flameboyant shrugged. "How can you not? Have you smelled us lately?" He lifted a long finger. "This is a tactical bath, gentlemen. The king's much more likely to take us seriously if we don't reek like old gym socks."

  That wasn't a bad point, actually. Given the way things were going, James wasn't optimistic about their chances of actually getting to King Gregory, but it couldn't hurt to clean up, and he definitely needed it. His armor and fur were caked in blood and soot--not exactly confidence inspiring.

  "You seem awfully cheerful for someone who was ready to take his own life this time yesterday," Ar'Bati growled, glaring over his shoulder at the Sorcerer. "Are you certain you fully comprehend the seriousness of our situation?"

  "'Course I do," Flame replied as he walked into the bathing area and started working the hand pump to fill the copper tub. "But that's the thing about hitting rock bottom: there's nowhere to go but up. Yesterday I was alone and thought I was crazy. Today I'm locked up with you guys in the fantasy equivalent of the Ritz-Carlton. That's a prett
y big upgrade, from my perspective."

  Ar'Bati harrumphed and turned back to the window, but James smiled. "I'll take the tub when you're done."

  Flameboyant saluted and got back to pumping water. While he worked, James resumed his anxious gazing out the window.

  "What do you make of all that?" he asked Ar'Bati, quietly, nodding down at the soldiers.

  "I think rallying the army is a wise move," Ar'Bati replied. "The king will need all of his forces should our warning fail."

  "I don't think that army's for the Once King," James said, stomach clenching. "If Lady Siku had kept her promise and showed the king our letters, we wouldn't be locked up in here. That's probably for Tina." He shook his head at the siege weapons being rolled toward the gate by teams of daft horses. "This is going to end in tragedy. If the king and the players beat each other bloody, there'll be no one left to fight the real enemy when the invasion arrives."

  "Then we must make sure it does not," Ar'Bati growled, marching over to the locked doors. "Hey!" he bellowed, banging on the steel-reinforced wood. "We must speak with Siku!"

  "Shut up!" yelled the guard outside. "The king's called an emergency war council. Lady Siku is currently at court, awaiting the results. She'll speak with you when she's ready."

  Ar'Bati banged both fists on the door with a roar, but just like the barred windows, it didn't budge.

  "Can we get breakfast, at least?" James called.

  The guards laughed at that, and James sighed. "Worth a try."

  Fangs snorted and started stalking around the room. Still not entirely healed, James went back to sit on the bed. He was contemplating going back to sleep--as they said in the army, rest when you could--when he became aware of a cold presence emanating from the floor beside him.

  Wincing, James leaned over the edge of the bed to grab the Eclipsed Steel Staff off the carpet where he'd dropped it last night. Even with the late-morning sunlight streaming through the windows, the cursed weapon was a shadow across his hands, reflecting nothing. Its handle felt oily and unpleasant against his skin, and the twisted metal ornamentation at its top was unsettling to look at, like an optical illusion gone wrong. He supposed he should be grateful Lady Siku was arrogant enough to leave them their weapons, but he almost wish she'd taken the staff away. Just holding it made him feel uneasy, like something terrible was about to happen. He was looking around to see if there was a closet he could shove it into when the cold voice whispered in his mind.

  You cannot deny the living their release.

  "I should never have unwrapped you," James muttered, turning around on the bed so that Ar'Bati wouldn't see him talking to no one.

  But you need me, the staff replied, its whispering voice strangely sympathetic, almost kind. You suffer just as they do. I can help you end the pain. Yours and theirs.

  "No, thanks," James said angrily. "I don't want to kill anyone, least of all myself. I'm very against suicide. But feel free to shut yourself up."

  I cannot die, it replied sadly. Not until all the living have been freed of the torment of their existence. I owe them that mercy at least.

  James rolled his eyes at the staff's repetition of the undead party line. He was about to shove it under the furs so he wouldn't have to look at it anymore when he realized he was wasting an opportunity. They'd been fighting tooth and nail to get ahead of the Once King's plans, but the Eclipsed Steel Staff was a relic of the Dead Mountain. According to the Lich of Red Canyon, the cursed weapon had been made by the Once King himself. If it could actually talk--as in have a conversation beyond just trying to convince James to kill himself--maybe he could get it to drop some usable intel.

  "So, staff," he said, changing his tone as he leaned closer over the weapon's slick black surface. "Do you know who I am?"

  I know you are alive, the weapon replied. But I will remedy that soon. Do not worry.

  That wasn't a threat. The weapon sounded legitimately concerned that James was trapped as one of the living, which he found interesting.

  "But I like being alive," James said. "Most living things do. Why can't the Once King just accept that and let us be?"

  A cracked gem wishes not to break further, the staff replied poetically. But what has been shattered can never again be truly whole. You think you are happy because you are ignorant of what you have lost. You see this sad, ruined shadow and call it life because you have known nothing else. But I know. I remember the paradise that was, and I will not abide what you have become.

  "I suppose it makes sense that corrupted sun-metal would feel that way," James replied, tapping his fingers on the cold surface of the Eclipsed Steel. "Do you yearn to return to the days when you were pure and holy?"

  More than you could ever know.

  The sadness of those words made James want to cry. There was no more question of if the staff was intelligent. It took a certain depth of mind to feel that level of suffering. He was also intrigued by what the weapon claimed to remember. "So just how old are you?"

  I am the oldest save for the Sun, the Moon, the Wind, the Water, and Zthr.

  "Whoa," James said, shocked. "You're talking about back when you were a sun-metal staff, right? Because Zthr was the first Bird. If you're next after him, that would make you as old as the Age of Skies, and way before the Ghostfire or Necromancy." He frowned harder. "Also, what's the moon doing in that list? I know the Sun, the Wind, and the Water are all gods in this world, but FFO has no moon. Did it used to?"

  Silence.

  "Hey," James said, tapping the black metal with his finger, but though he could feel the cold radiating off it more strongly than ever, the staff didn't speak again. Since it wasn't trying to get him to kill himself or his friends, James couldn't exactly complain, but that didn't stop him from sighing. It wasn't every day you discovered your weapon was an intelligent magical item from primordial times. What else did it know about the history of this world? Did it have a previous owner? Or a name besides "Eclipsed Steel Staff?"

  He was desperate to know, but before he could get the weapon to wake up again, the door to the bathroom burst open with a fragrant blast of stream.

  "Ahh," Flameboyant said, strolling out with his damp crimson robes over his arm, a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist, and a cloth binding his wet crimson hair high on his head. "I feel so much better. Who wants to go next? I left the tub heated."

  Ar'Bati harrumphed, but James looked up in surprise. "How did you heat the tub?"

  "With fire magic," the Sorcerer said proudly. "Putting fire straight into water just turned it into steam, so I shoved the tendrils of magic into the tub instead. Worked great! The whole thing heated up like a big copper kettle. There should be enough residual heat left for at least one more bath, but I'll probably have to pump it up again after that."

  By the time he finished, James's jaw was on the floor. "Wait," he said, putting up his hands. "Wait, wait, wait. You're saying you just put magic--as in no spell, just raw magic--into the tub, and it worked?"

  "Pretty much," the Sorcerer said, pointing up at the multicolored ribbons of magic that were always floating in the air. "The red streamers always burn when I grab them to cast my spells, so I figured why not just use that? The real trick was not getting the metal too hot. There might be a corner of the tub that's a bit melted now, just FYI."

  As a Naturalist, James didn't use fire magic, so he couldn't see the "red streamers" the Sorcerer was referring to, but he'd grabbed enough water, lightning, earth, and life to get the general idea. What he couldn't believe was that he'd never thought of that. This whole time, he'd only ever grabbed magic to cast the spells he'd learned from the game. He'd modified them a little, like when he'd copied NekoBaby's trick of wrapping lightning around her palm to make a Taser hand, but it had never occurred to him to just use raw magic.

  "Flame," he said, grinning, "you're a genius!"

  The Sorcerer blushed. "Ah, naw. I wasn't trying to be fancy. Cold baths are just the devil, and necessity is the mother of i
nvention."

  "The mother of brilliance," James said, his mind racing as he stared at the magic floating all around them. Looking at how the streams twirled together, he suddenly remembered how his staff had criticized the healing spells he'd cast on Ar'Bati and SB last night as childish and clumsy. At the time, he'd thought the cursed weapon was just trying to put him down like usual. Now, though, he realized the staff was just telling him the truth. This whole time, James had been casting his spells as if he were still a Naturalist in a game, but there was no more action bar full of preset, class-specific abilities. It was all just magic--his magic in his hands, waiting to be woven together in different ways to create different effects.

  James began to bounce in excitement. If Flameboyant could shove fire into a copper tub to make it hot, what new creations could he create out of the power floating above their heads? Could he make a lightning storm? Move the stone of the castle itself? Maybe if he blended all the magics together, he could invent something entirely new, a whole new spell that had never existed before he thought of it. He was about to grab some magic and start trying things out when the lock on the reinforced doors clicked, and Lady Siku swept into the room.

  Just like last night, she was dressed in fine white silk. This time, though, the long fall of her wrapped grown was wrinkled at the hem, as though she'd spent the whole morning pacing. Her face was similarly annoyed, ice-blue eyes glaring impatiently at James as she walked in and dumped the lich's letters out on the low table in front of the sofa.

  "Half of these are in English," she announced imperially. "The rest are in Old Elven, neither of which I read. You will translate them for me."

  A guard placed a stack of paper, a quill, and an inkpot down on the table beside the letters, but James barely spared it a glance.