The Elder Demon's Dilemma (Realm of Arkon, Book 9)

by G. Akella

  "Excellent! Kan, take everyone to the grand hall. Start the feast without me, I'll join you shortly."

  "Are you certain you wish to go down there alone?" the knight-commander gave me an intent stare.

  "I am," I nodded, then followed after the centurion.

  A few minutes later we were at the fortress' western wall. Farat halted by the door of a squat single-story building, producing a hefty bundle of keys.

  "Go right ahead, prince," he stepped aside with an inviting gesture. "Each chamber below is illuminated with magic lanterns. I shall wait for you here."

  "It may be a while..."

  "That's all right," Farat said jovially. "I've got nowhere to go."

  "Fair enough."

  A stone staircase ran down right after the door. I made my way down the old cracked steps, and found myself in a room stacked with round barrels. Ten-foot-high ceilings, walls of gray stone, rough slabs underfoot... Nothing about the space seemed threatening or mysterious. With a shrug, I kept going.

  In the next chamber, slabs of gammon hung from wall-mounted wooden racks. Over in the corner stood crates of apples, alongside wooden pallets holding other receptacles, both hard and soft. A typical cellar and the perfect foundation upon which an industrious baron might build his castle.

  I counted twelve chambers storing food and equipment, followed by empty ones. I kept going, keeping to the left, listening to the echo of my footsteps as I examined the walls, looking for nothing in particular. What was I hoping to find? Some kind of revelation? A clue? Would the System slip me another quest? I wasn't going to start knocking on walls - others had already searched this space through and through, finding nothing. Besides, the ruins appeared to be not much smaller than the castle built above them, so it would take a single person at least a year to search them properly.

  Once at the next staircase leading down, I took a seat on a cracked step, lit up and got to thinking. Hart! There had to be a reason I had been given this quest. If Phallet were dead, there wouldn't be a quest at all, or at least the name would be different. What was it, then? The only thing linking me to the Winged Lord was the blood contained in my sword. What if...

  I unsheathed Ruination. The blade of the sword shimmered a faint crimson. The sword had shone a bright white in the vicinity of morts or servants of the Ancients. This was different. Following the analogy, the shimmer ought to grow brighter if I drew nearer to the right place. I finished my pipe, knocked it out on the stone step, and went down the staircase. No changes to the blade. Let's not be hasty with conclusions, I said to myself. The wisdom of my own words proved evident in short order - as I drew away from the stairs, the blade began to glow brighter. My spirits soared. I didn't know yet what I was going to find here, but I no longer doubted that there was something here to find.

  I moved from room to room, my boots scraping against the stone and leaving tracks in the dust. Useless thoughts kept creeping into my head. What if Phallet was dead, and here I would find proof thereof? What then? A flash of rage flushed all the nonsense out of my head. There was no sense in stressing a hypothetical. And even if he was dead, that wouldn't render the situation hopeless. This world had to leave a player some kind of chance, no matter how improbable.

  It took another five minutes to reach a square room where Ruination flared like some Sith Lord's lightsaber. In the center of the room, about five feet off the floor, hovered a translucent sphere roughly one yard in diameter, inside of which white flakes moved chaotically. It reminded me of snow globes my mom would sometimes get me and Alyona for Christmas in my past life. No way the baron's people could have missed this room. Nor had this sphere been seen by Altus or Lars. No, it had appeared for me and me alone.

  I reached out and tried to touch the hovering sphere, but my hand found no resistance. Curious... I shrugged, walked over to the wall, slid down onto the slabs, laid the sword across my lap, closed my eyes, and leaned my head back against the cool stone. As the echo of footsteps faded, the ruins resumed their ages-old silent contemplation. I sat there for maybe five minutes, thinking about nothing in particular, but then my mind returned to the sphere in the center of the room. What next? I had found what I came here for. Phallet hadn't departed from this world, of that I was now certain. This sphere was a phylactery, the kind that every Great Essence had. But where did that leave me?

  Sata had said that the gods were capable of quickly replenishing their prana and astral body. But doing so required the completion of some implausible feat. In crafting this sword, the Winged Lord of Lemuria must have known that the probability of it falling into the hands of someone capable of deciphering its message was as close to zero as can be. I had done it, but would it be enough? How was I to rescue him from this snow globe? Two possible answers came to mind: I would need to either slay or wound one of the Ancients. And I sincerely hoped the latter would suffice. My death was a foregone conclusion no matter what, but liberating Phallet would give our side a fighting chance. I was under no illusion that the elves stood a chance against the titans. The only hope this world had rested with the Winged Lord.

  Rising to my feet, I sheathed the sword, cast one final gaze at the sphere, and headed briskly toward the exit. Time was growing short - we needed to be in Ellorian by morning, and Farat was probably sick of waiting by now.

  Farat... Where did I hear that name before... The realization dawned on me then. But of course! Only the resolution was shaping up be quite different than I had anticipated. I stopped, leaned back against the wall, and closed my eyes wearily. How much longer would it be? Ten hours - or less? At any rate, the prophecy would leave this world along with me. And it was all I could do to hope that I would be allowed to return...

  Chapter 2

  At the exact moment the golden rays of a dawning sun broke through the night's darkness, adding a touch of rose to the pale strata of clouds, Max woke up. The cool morning breeze caressed his face, tearing apart the ashy mounds and dispersing the plumes of smoke rising over the dying embers. A hundred yards behind him the trees groaned and groused their displeasure at the intrusive morning. The morning mist condensed between hills dissipated. The first dawn of summer was rising over the wasteland. And the very last dawn of his life...

  Max scratched Glitch, who had awoken at the same time, behind the ear, then produced five logs he had prepared the night before and laid them carefully on the fire. Alyona was still asleep, her muzzle resting on her forepaws, her ears twitching comically. He didn't want to wake her too soon. Five presents... He smiled blissfully, stroked the soft fur of his familiar who had hopped into his lap, and turned his gaze to the military host stationed out in the heath. He had never seen this many troops gathered together - neither in this world nor in the other one. He couldn't begin to fathom how anyone could manage this mob. Thankfully, it wasn't his headache to deal with - his job in the coming battle would be to speak only with the gods.

  Three human and seven elven gods were to play a role in the battle. The only one absent was Sata - no one knew what had happened to her. Of them all, he had rubbed elbows with Kirana, Loaetia and Alak, the elven god of Military Duty and Nobility. And, of course, those he hadn't met personally, he still knew of them. But there wouldn't be anytime for introductions and other pleasantries - not now, and perhaps not ever. The battle was not going to be easy. The Ancients' Aura blocked a lion's share of divine abilities, forcing the gods to fight in groups and without companions, like players clearing a dungeon. So it was during their last meeting, and so it would be today.

  The warrior tossed a chunk of meat to his familiar, looked back to his woman, and sighed. He bore no illusions as to his own fate. He had made the final decision the moment Urkhunt had told him about Alyona's pregnancy. Five presents... Redcliff had sensed it then, but Max had decided against telling the old shaman the whole truth. There was no use in telling him. The Ancients simply would not pass through the Great Forest to the Kraet Peaks. Their cursed magic would transform everything it tou
ched, and the army accompanying them would obliterate all living beings in its path. As the Guardian, he would not let it happen, and as a father... His children mustn't live on the ruins of their home. The destruction of the Great Forest would render the entire elven race exiles. But he wasn't going to let the Titans pass. And, to that end, the additional Eternity Point would prove itself crucial. Two and a half thousand years ago, Talverus the Guardian's attack had taken fifteen percent HP off of Halephos. Max's Favor amounted to a two hundred percent multiplier, making all attacks twice as powerful. And he would be able to attack three times - at the cost of sacrificing himself. Talverus hadn't been given such an opportunity. The gods would finish off the wounded target, and as for his own life... He would trade it for the lives of his children and his people. Such an exchange he would make without hesitation.

  Max breathed in a chestful of crisp air, then bent over and scratched the belly of the weasel lounging at his feet. No, he wasn't itching to die, but, alas, there weren't any alternatives to consider.

  They had slept by the fire, the three of them. His friends had gone to the Nightcrawlers' camp last night, and nobody else dared to disturb the Guardian and his unconventional pet. The hill he was sitting on was the tallest in the vicinity, located about a quarter-mile from the right flank of the united army. He wouldn't be able to see the full battle, but he wouldn't need to - the side whose gods prove the stronger would end up claiming victory. Why bother with all these armies, then? Because it wasn't that simple. Fighters of different races taking part in the battle bolstered their patron gods proportional to their numbers, and the gods, in turn, looked out for their followers. Therefore, should one army defeat the other before the gods were done fighting, doing so would seriously increase their chances.

  As a silver of the sun became visible on the horizon, a drumbeat went up over the heath. Within several heartbeats, the camp transformed into a giant human anthill.

  The red cat rose to her feet, yawned and stretched gracefully, leaving deep claw-shaped furrows in the ground. The yawn turned into a satisfied growl. Alyona walked over, nuzzled him playfully, and slipped under his left arm. Max smiled, embraced his woman and sunk his fingers into her soft fur, working up to her neck and behind the ears. Glitch hopped nearby with a low gratifying growl.

  The bliss didn't last long, much to his chagrin. In a few minutes Alyona shifted, shivered from the chill that took her humanoid body, and reached out toward the campfire.

  "Don't you dare call me cold-blooded," she frowned, feigning outrage.

  "I would never," said Max, holding back a smile. "I'm cold myself!"

  He tossed a few more logs into the fire, then hung a teapot over the flames. Another vestige of the past. Though you could easily carry tea in your inventory, doing so would somehow strip it of its aroma. Therefore, if given the chance, players preferred to boil the water from scratch.

  "Nervous?" Alyona shouldered him lightly as she took a seat on his right.

  "A little," Max didn't see a point in arguing. His gaze was still fixed on the flames.

  "My man is both strong and capable. You'll manage," she said softly, putting a head on his shoulder. "And Roman will be here soon to help."

  She uttered the last phrase more for her own reassurance. Max knew his woman well enough to see how badly she missed her brother - and how much she worried. But Roman was going to be all right, there was no two ways about it. And after all this was over, he would take Alyona and his nieces and nephews to his kingdom, so Max wasn't at all worried about the fate of his offspring. He trusted Roman even more than he trusted himself. Few men could boast of having such a friend, but he could.

  Max smiled as he pressed his woman to himself. "He's probably pretty swamped, you know. Catch Vill, kill Vill, collect loot from Vill... The loot distribution alone will probably take a week."

  "I know you're saying that to reassure me, but keep talking," Alyona smiled in return, looking at him askance. "But how about asking the gods about the orcs? I'm sure Kirana is going to visit you before the battle."

  "Who knows if anything even happened," Max sighed. "And if it did, nobody's going to tell us anything. We're all subject to this strange prophecy, remember? Trust me, the gods know just how much we care, so whatever they are allowed to tell me, they do. I don't need to press them for answers."

  "If that is so, then why are Grimnir and the other dwarf patrons ignoring today's events?" Alyona asked in a tone dripping with irony, gesturing at the buzzing camp. "After all, it's their mountains that the Ancients are marching towards. Did they tell you that, too?"

  "They didn't need to, I already know," said Max. "Strange things are afoot in drow lands, and they must remain on the border until they're resolved."

  "What could be happening in drow..." Alyona began, but quickly checked herself. "Of course! Demons and the undead have all cleared the borders, but nobody has seen a single drow yet! What could it be? Was their transformation so radical? Or is somebody preventing them from going above ground?"

  "My woman is smart and capable. She can figure everything out on her own," Said Max with a smirk, then rose to take the boiling teapot off the fire. "Your cup, madam? And do you have any other questions?"

  "I do indeed!" Alyona gave a dramatic frown as she reached for her mug. "Seeing as you're all-knowing, tell me this. Why do elves have eight gods, humans have seven, dwarves have four - if memory serves me right - orcs have only a pair, and poor drow have only their miserable spider queen? For all the talk of balance coming from Donut, should the elves decide to attack the orcs-"

  "Then their gods wouldn't support them," Max finished the sentence for her.

  "Why is that?"

  After filling her mug with tea, Max returned the kettle to the ground, accepted the sandwich proffered by Alyona, and took a seat next to her. "First of all, the gods don't belong to any particular race. Kirana and Sata are revered by all the races, for example. Second of all, after Velial's invasion, all the gods with the exception of Lolth had agreed not to intervene in the sentients' affairs, because they are not the only great forces present in the realm. Look no further than Urgot and his decision to join up with the Ancients. And finally, the elves have never once engaged in offensive warfare against any of the other races. The War of the Great Rift is different - they were still one people at the time. And I'm not counting any minor border skirmishes that followed."

  "One of these days, I'm going to bite you for being so smart. While in cat form," Alyona groused with a half-smile on her lips. Just then, a pocket of air began to scintillate a few yards from them. The pocket grew in size and intensity, and culminated in a soft clapping sound.

  The green ranger garb accentuated the goddess' flawless figure most agreeably. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, and her face bore signs of heavy contemplation. Kirana's gaze fell on the weasel, lingered there for several seconds, then shifted towards Max. She nodded twice.

  "Guardian! Princess! I have come to tell you that all the gods shall gather here in a few hours' time."

  "Hello to you as well, Two-Faced One," Max greeted the goddess, rising to his feet after Alyona. "What is the real purpose of your visit?" he added in a private channel that only the two of them could use.

  He would sense the gods gathering even without the notice - there was no need to notify him in person. The expression on the goddess' face coupled with the fact that she had greeted them in the common tongue testified to her great anxiety.

  "I... I know you well enough to guess the course of action you've decided for yourself," Kirana spoke after a pause, gazing eastward. "It is not my place to tell you what to do, but I ask... We all ask that you don't be hasty. We have been preparing for this battle for two and a half thousand years. We're confident that we can stand up to the beasts threatening our realm."

  Max considered her words as he reached for his pipe. "I hear you, Kirana. I promise not to be hasty."

  The air next to them whirred into a frenzy of sparks
before materializing into Alak moments later. The new arrival gave an estranged greeting as he surveyed all those present with a bemused gaze, then addressed Kirana as he gestured eastward.

  "I just got word from one of Morrigan's phantoms. The Ancients are close. They will be here by noon."

  "We knew this already. What's troubling you?" said the goddess, giving Alak a hard stare.

  The elf nodded east again, clearly flustered.

  "Valeph and Halephos are marching this way. Vaepar is not with them - and not even Morrigan knows where he is..."

  * * *

  Though somewhat obscured by the fog in the sky, the moon still clung to one of the corner towers. The wind had picked up, delivering the scent of forest grasses from the west as it drove the storm clouds eastward. The silence engulfing the castle was intermittently perforated by the cries of nocturnal birds and the footsteps of sentries walking up and down the walls. Life in this world kept on as usual. Providence didn't give a damn about dark gods or titans. All of them, after all, were but constituents that comprised it.

  "Everything all right?" Farat inquired, stepping out from the shadow of a squat two-story building.

  Notes of alarm were present in the centurion's voice. He must have been sensing my state - or was it written clearly on my face?

  "You could say that," I nodded. "Come, I must see the baron at once. And please point me to the shrine of Sata."

  "You know that there's a shrine to the Capricious One in the castle?" the centurion asked, surprised, as he turned toward the keep.

  "Aye. I even know the color of the corner towers."

  "In the southwestern part of the courtyard, near the wall," Farat gestured in that direction, then sighed. "Only old Yllam, the local priest, says that the goddess hasn't been answering his call. We haven't stopped the sacrifices, of course. We have great reverence for the Mistress."

  "She'll be back," I reassured him. "And I sincerely hope that'll be today."

  There. Finally, all the pieces fell into place. Back in Ar-Iraz's castle, during that strange display on the canvas depicting Aleon the God of Marital Bliss, the baron had ordered Farat to take his people off the walls. Truth be told, I hadn't really believed in that vision on account of Kan, Vaessa and myself being at Sata's shrine at the moment of the attack instead of within the castle walls. It just wasn't my style to hide behind others, doom-and-gloom prophecies be damned.