Last Bastion

by Rachel Aaron

  The captain of the castle garrison had barely gotten his weapon out of its sheath before Ar'Bati turned and tackled him, but Captain Malakai didn't even pause as his compatriot went down. He just lunged and swung, slicing Flameboyant in half with one stroke of his sword.

  James cried out then stopped. There was no blood, no screaming. The bisected elf he'd been staring at just vanished like a mirage, and then Flameboyant--the real one--appeared behind Malakai with his empty backpack ready in his hands. The knight captain was cursing the Sorcerer's illusionary double when the elf jumped up and shoved the burlap bag over Malakai's head, yanked the drawstrings tight, and hung on with white knuckles.

  "Go, James!" he yelled frantically. "Do it!"

  James nodded and turned around to face the very confused--and very alarmed--looking king.

  He was quite the sight. King Gregory had been big in the game--all bosses were, even supposedly human ones--but in real life he was absolutely massive, even bigger than Tina's stonekin. His sun-metal armor gleamed as golden as the Bastion itself, making him look like a truly holy king, and for a moment, James was struck dumb by something that could only be described as awe. Then he came to his senses, dropping to his knees on the table in front of the king before he wasted any more of the precious time his friends had sacrificed to buy him.

  "Your majesty," he said, speaking as fast as he could. "You are being betrayed from within. We have proof that the Once King is planning to invade--"

  He was drowned out by a cry of anguish from Ar'Bati, and then the smell of blood filled the room. The Arch-Sorcerer, whom James had ignored up to this point, finished his casting at the same time, and James heard Flameboyant gasp in surprise as the temple-bell-like sound of a Temporal Prison went off with a flash of purple energy. Moments later, Malakai's muffled cursing gained clarity as the tall elven captain ripped the backpack off his head and whirled around, his furious black eyes locking on James.

  Realizing time was up, James abandoned words and lunged at King Gregory, upending his bag of letters into the surprised monarch's lap. "The undead are coming!"

  That was all he managed to shout before searing pain erupted in his chest. Looking down, James saw a sword blade sticking him to the table--most likely through a lung, if his shortness of breath was any indication. But though his blood was now gushing out at an alarming rate, James wasn't done.

  "Please..." he gurgled, ignoring the blood filling his lungs as he reached out his hand to the king. "Please read... We gave our lives to get these to you. Please--"

  He fell with a gasp as the sword was whipped out of him, landing facedown on the table. He'd barely hit when a steel-gauntleted hand grabbed his shoulder and whipped him onto his back, and James found himself staring down the blade of a sword and into the hateful eyes of Captain Malakai. But as the captain braced to finish the kill, a deep, trembling voice said, "Hold."

  "Hold?" Malakai snarled, his eyes flicking over James's head to the king behind him. "With respect, your majesty, this just proves what I've been saying all along. The players are mad! They've even breached this fortress. How many more defeats must we suffer before you allow me to exterminate--"

  "You dare to lecture your king, Malakai?" someone said in a raspy voice James didn't recognize. The speaker sounded close, but James couldn't see him. He had no idea how much Malakai hit for, but it must have been a lot, because his vision was already going dark.

  "If you weren't so blinded by your bloodthirst," the raspy voice went on, "you'd see that two of them bear the mark of Lord Rend of the Claw Born. I don't actually think they're players, but even if they are, we can't just kill them outright."

  "Save your damn compassion, priest," the knight captain snarled. "Your insistence on waiting and chances is the reason the player problem has spiraled out of control! That Claw Born over there threw Captain Hightower through a fourth-story window! They mean to kill us all!"

  Ahh, James thought. The raspy voice must be the High Sun Priest Raffestain, the old elf Cleric who was basically the pope of Bastion--and clearly every bit as wise and compassionate as the game had made him out to be, bless his sacred heart.

  "By the authority of the Sun, I declare you shall not kill them!" Raffestain said furiously.

  Malakai responded in elven with what was clearly profanity. The Sun priest responded in kind, and then James felt warm sunlight on his skin. No, it was greater than that. The light had a weight and a movement to it, as though it were the breath of a living thing. The feeling left him trembling in awe as life flooded back into his body.

  The warmth and euphoria of the high priest's healing magic filled him to bursting. The pain vanished, the hole in his chest shut, and the bleeding stopped. But before he could take his first non-perforated breath, a metal boot landed on his ribs.

  The strength of the kick hurled him off the table and through a line of chairs. When he hit the ground, James got his head up just in time to see Malakai's hand shoot forward to grab him. He instinctively counter-grabbed the towering captain's arm for a lock only to discover he couldn't twist it at all. The damn elf's arm was as strong as an iron girder. James's move didn't even slow him down as Malakai's hand closed around his throat like a vise, lifting James out of the wrecked chairs and up until his feet were dangling a good six inches off the floor.

  "Stop this now, Malakai!" shouted Raffestain. "The king ordered you to hold!"

  "And hold I did," the captain replied, squeezing tighter. "You were the one who healed without orders! But why don't we let his majesty decide?" Malakai gave James a final sneer and turned around, holding him out like a caught fish to the king. "How would you have me dispose of this trash, your highness?"

  "Do not involve his majesty!" the high priest cried. "You know he has not the temperament for such grisly matters!"

  "You were the one who brought him in, old man," Malakai said, lifting James higher. "One word from his majesty, and I will gut all three of them for daring to show their demon faces here."

  Twisting in Malakai's hold, James tried to turn to get a look at the king. He caught a glimpse of the High Priest, a straight-backed elf dressed in white-and-gold robes sewn of the high clouds themselves, but the king was hidden behind him, crouched low in his throne like a child being scolded, which struck James as a very odd way for an all-powerful monarch to behave.

  "Your Majesty," the captain said impatiently. "How shall these intruders be killed? If you wish me to decide, I will happily--"

  "Don't listen to him, your highness," Raffestain said angrily, turning to face the king as well. "He'll just butcher them like he did all the others, and we'll never know why they did this. We can always execute them later. For now, we should keep them for questioning."

  The room was filled with the clank of armor as the king shifted anxiously in his chair. Then he fiddled with the letters, stacking them neatly on his giant knees. Then, finally, King Gregory spoke.

  "I, um, that is--" His deep voice wobbled with uncertainty, and then he nodded his crowned head. "If you think we should question them, Raffestain, that is what we will do. I am curious about why they attacked me with a bag of letters. These papers do not appear to be of a deadly sort."

  "An excellent choice, your highness," the high priest replied with a bow. Then he turned to glare at the knight captain. "You heard your king, Malakai! Release that player at once."

  James had never seen a storm of conflicted emotions like the one that rose in Malakai's dark eyes at that. Loyalty and murderous hate, anger and duty, rage and discipline--they were all there, shifting and flickering as each warred for dominance. For several horrible moments, James feared the captain was incapable of not killing him. But as great as his hate was, Malakai was still a knight, and in the end, he let James go, dropping him on the floor of the council room like a discarded rag.

  It took James several seconds to get his breath back and to find his friends. As he'd heard, Flameboyant was trapped in the Arch-Sorcerer's Temporal Prism, which loo
ked like a giant purple bubble with an elf frozen inside it like a prize from a toy machine. On the floor beside him, the captain of the castle garrison had his sword on Ar'Bati's neck. The warrior was bleeding, but he didn't look seriously injured, just stubborn and determined, glaring at James with an unspoken demand that he make this right. James felt the same way, so he forced himself to his feet. Ignoring his screaming instincts, he turned his back on Malakai and knelt before the king.

  "Your Majesty," he said, speaking each word like it might be his last. "I am most sorry for the manner of our entrance, but there was no other way to reach you in time. Please know that we are not your enemies."

  The king's gray eyes flicked nervously to Raffestain. When the high priest didn't answer for him, Gregory opened his mouth, closed it, then licked his dry lips. James watched with growing uncertainty. The king hadn't been like this when he'd met him before, but that was back in the game when all he could say was his scripted dialogue. He'd fully expected King Gregory to be a bit different now that he could choose his own words, but of all the reactions James had expected from the eight-foot-tall five-skull raid boss who ruled Bastion, barely concealed panic at being directly addressed was not one of them.

  The king was still fiddling with his fingers when Raffestain came to his rescue. Without asking permission, the Sun priest snatched a scroll directly from King Gregory's lap. "You chose a very violent method of contact," he said, flicking a drop of James's blood from the paper before unrolling it. "Let's see what was so important you'd jump through a window to bring it to us."

  The "us" part of that made James wince. Before this point, he'd assumed the kingdom was run by its monarch. In the game, Bastion's ruler was very active, certainly not a figurehead. Looking at the dynamic now, though, James wasn't sure if he was trying to convince the king or the king's council. Unsure what else to do, James focused on the king anyway since Raffestain was taking forever to read.

  "Your Majesty," he said respectfully, "we tried several times to bring this information to you legitimately, but no one was willing to listen because of our status. Even though I was formally adopted by the Claw Born, I am still a player, and that was all some needed to name me enemy."

  He shot a pointed look at Malakai.

  "But I am also someone who lives in this world," he went on, nodding at his companions. "We all are. That's why we risked everything to speak with you. Getting Your Majesty's attention is the last chance Bastion has. The undead are planning an invasion, and if nothing is done, they will be successful. We crashed through your window hoping that, if nothing else, this incident would prompt someone to read those missives. They prove what we say is true, and it's still not too late to act on them."

  "Lies!" Malakai shouted from right behind James's head. "They came to assassinate you! All players want is destruction!"

  "His Majesty is buried in the proof of our good intent," James said angrily. "Just read the damn--I mean, please peruse the documents we've brought to you at great risk to ourselves. They were taken from the desk of one of the Once King's oldest lich-lords."

  To James's continued shock, the King looked at the High Priest again.

  "Go ahead, Your Majesty," Raffestain said, placing the scroll in his hands like a mother handing her child a spoon. "I sense no harmful magics, and they are quite the read."

  The people in the room waited in unbearably tense silence while the king started to read. When he was done with that letter, he reached for another, his bushy red eyebrows drawing more closely together with each word. Finally, when he'd read the whole stack, the towering king rose from his oversized chair, placing the pile of letters in the seat he'd just vacated to keep them away from the pool of James's blood, which was still congealing on the table.

  "Raffestain," the king said, his voice filled with new urgency.

  "Yes, my lord?"

  "You are skilled at the oldest forms of elven. Do these letters say what they seem to say?"

  "I believe they do, my lord," the priest replied. "But your command of elven is excellent for a human, and you read English better than I do, so I'm sure you did not make a mistake. But I would be happy to read them again if you wish. Just to be certain."

  The king considered that offer carefully, but the deadliness of this situation must finally have been getting through, because he shook his head. Clearly relieved at being let off the translating hook, Raffestain turned back around to look down his nose at James.

  "What is your name?"

  "James Anderson of Claw Born, sir."

  "James Anderson," the high priest repeated, speaking the name slowly, as though he was testing it. "How did you get these letters?"

  "The Ar'Bati of Windy Lake and I slew the lich of Red Canyon," James replied. "We found those in his desk."

  "And how did you manage that?" the priest demanded, looking him over. "I can see from your armor that you are low-level. Though the Ar'Bati of Windy Lake is a sub-boss, I very much doubt the two of you could have killed that lich alone."

  "We were not alone, sir," James said stubbornly. "We fought alongside the gnolls to defeat the lich and free all the Savanna from the Once King's terror."

  That statement earned James a raised eyebrow. "You must think us fools," the high priest rasped. "You would have us believe that the jubatus of the Savanna worked together with their greatest ancestral enemy?"

  "It is true!" Ar'Bati cried, ignoring the captain of the castle garrison, who swore and pressed his sword even harder against the warrior's throat. "James convinced us to work with the gnolls, and now the Once King's plans in the Savanna are vanquished! The gnolls have been freed from the curse of undeath, and our peoples now work together in unity to face the coming invasion."

  Behind him, James could feel Malakai practically vibrating by the time Fangs finished. "My king," he said through clenched teeth. "This story is so obviously false--"

  "And the 'of Claw Born' part of this James's story?" the high priest said over him.

  "It is also true," Fangs in the Grass said proudly. "James is my brother by adoption, and I am proud to fight by his side, today and all days."

  That proclamation was met with silence, and then the high priest burst out laughing. "Old Rends Iron Hides never misses an opportunity, does he?" he said, wiping his eyes. "That wild old cat, adopting a player! I'm going to have to invite him to the capital to hear the whole tale when this is over. How did Acacia take it?"

  "I doubt he could have done it without my mother's approval, sir," Ar'Bati replied. "She reappeared at Windy Lake when the Nightmare broke."

  "That is welcome news, indeed," Raffestain said. "We worried greatly for her when she could not be found in Bastion." He smiled at Ar'Bati before turning back to the king. "I can't help but believe their story, Your Majesty. I know better than to question the famously prickly honor of the four clans' Ar'Bati. If he would stake his pride on this, it must be so."

  James almost fell over in relief. Across the room, his brother's grin grew even wider despite the sword at his throat. Their joy didn't last for long, though, because now that the old elf claimed he believed their tale, he was staring at the letters piled on the king's empty throne in new alarm.

  "By the Sun!" he exclaimed, whirling on the king, which caused the timid monarch to jump back. "We're in big trouble, Gregory! I must go to the Bastion immediately and add more Clerics."

  He turned toward the doors, where a whole contingent of soldiers was waiting awkwardly for someone to tell them what to do. "You there," the priest said, snapping his elegant fingers. "Go tell Captain Hightower to stop rallying troops for his majesty's rescue and take a squadron to secure the Room of Arrivals. Malakai, I want you to go arrest Portal Keeper Star Fall immediately. Dead or alive, it doesn't matter. He must not be allowed to activate the portals!"

  An animallike growl issued from Malakai's throat. "I only take orders from his majesty."

  Raffestain rolled his eyes and turned back to the king. "King Gregory, if you
agree with me on this course of very urgent action, could you please give the order to make your knight captain do his job?"

  Even though the old priest was on his side now, the way he said that made James wince. He was talking to the king the same way a parent would say, "Eat your peas, little boy." Even between old friends, it was painfully disrespectful, but no one called him on it. The king didn't even scowl. He just hunched his big shoulders and said in a quiet voice, "Do as Raffestain says."

  As impossible as it seemed, Captain Malakai's face grew even more murderous. "I will not be--"

  "You heard your king," the priest said with a superior sneer. "Go."

  Gregory winced at the obvious antagonism and backed away from his knight captain, covering the obvious retreat up by bending over to write something down on a bloodstained piece of paper from the table, which he then handed to the captain of the castle garrison.

  "Please arrest everyone on this list," the king said timidly. "They are all spies and saboteurs of the Once King. Most have, I fear, already carried out their plans, but do try to get whatever information you can from them so we may attempt to repair the damage."

  The human captain of the garrison yanked Ar'Bati to his feet and marched over, keeping his sword on the warrior's neck even as he accepted the paper.

  "And please release the head warrior of Windy Lake," Raffestain added.

  The captain scowled and glanced at the king. When Gregory nodded, he let Ar'Bati go, bowed, and stomped out, bellowing orders at the waiting soldiers before the doors were even closed. When he was gone, James began to rise to his feet as well, but he only made it halfway before he realized Malakai was still glaring at his back like he was trying to put a knife in it through sheer will.

  "Malakai," the old priest said sharply, "snap out of it, man! We have a crisis on our hands. Stop glaring at the young Claw Born and go help us fix this problem!"

  "Yes, Malakai," added the arch-sorcerer, speaking in the same calm, soothing voice used to talk down a growling dog. "The king has spent the last four hours listening to your excessively bloody and frankly barbaric plan to crush the player encampment in the south and given it his blessing. Surely that will be enough blood even for you. Now go arrest Portal Keeper Star Fall so we don't get backstabbed the moment the Bastion goes down, and you can get right back to plotting how to kill every player in the city."