by Akella, G.
"Well?"
"He doesn't know anything," Vaessa dusted off her hands and turned to me. "In his consciousness, Craedia is nothing but a big gray blob. The only thing I was able to learn is that there aren't any more disavowed—not in the citadel, not in any other of the princedom's castles. These were the last bunch," she motioned toward the captives.
The corpse at the magus' feet twitched suddenly, causing her to recoil. His body spasmed, and his eyes flashed the color of pale blue. The smell of fresh blood permeated the air as the dead man twitched again and tried to sit up. The sight was terrifying and comical all at once.
"I've finally found you, pup," the words rustled over the square. "And now I know who you are and how to find you."
The words were coming out of the ruptured throat of the disavowed, echoing all around us most unnaturally. And that definitely wasn't the acoustics.
Attention! You have garnered the attention of a higher being. Vill, the God of Torment and Torturous Death, relates to you with hatred.
"Do you even realize how pathetic you look threatening me as a mutilated corpse?" I grinned at the suddenly loquacious cadaver. "Oh, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm not hiding from you. In fact, I'm counting the days till we meet, so don't you go hiding anywhere from me!"
"Keep laughing, demon," the voice seemed to penetrate every fiber of my being. "You won't be laughing long now. A surprise awaits you in Craedia, and even if you manage to slip away again, I will wait... This realm isn't as big as you think it is..." the disavowed convulsed again as the light went out of his eyes, and the body was still. Still for good.
There, I was finally marked by another god, Vill. Was I worried about it? Not one bit. Our paths were going to cross sooner or later, but being a god like all the others, he couldn't exert any direct influence on me. Nor was I in any way afraid of his lily-livered lapdogs. I'd keep making my way, exercising caution as needed and avoiding needless risks. As for Craedia, if the alleged surprise was really all that terrible, Vill would have kept mum about it. If anything, this was probably his attempt at keeping me away from the cursed princedom.
"Let's head into the temple," I touched Vaessa's hand, who still hadn't quite come to her senses. "Our new friend is waiting."
At that point the shock began to wear off among all the spectators, as strings of obscenities filled the air. One of the legionnaires used a gauntleted fist to help "settle down" one of the captives who had jumped to his feet. And only Gloom, like a sheriff from the Old West, chewing merrily on a blade of grass as a band of outlaws rode into town, didn't seem at all perturbed by the Twice Cursed God's visit by proxy. With a derisive snort, the boar started toward the six bodyguards, likely to shake them down for more grub. Figures... And if Salta was right, he hadn't yet reached maturity, despite what his two-ton carcass might suggest. Now, if only he ate everything he was given instead of turning up his nose at most offerings like some cosmopolitan food critic...
"So, what do you think?" Gorm asked to my right.
"About what?"
"What he said."
"I don't care either way," I shrugged. "Barking dogs seldom bite."
"Nerghall has been feeding worms for a while now," James echoed. "And so will this one."
"I have to say, Krian, I'm a little jealous," interjected Vaessa, who had been quiet until now. "To tell off a god that turns up without any warning..."
"Don't be," I objected. "I knew that the two of us would have a word sooner or later, and I had an idea of what I'd say to him when it happened."
Inside the temple, the floor was lined with thick beams—if there was any sacral meaning to this, I couldn't be bothered to try and guess what it was. The wooden walls, covered with cracks and in places fully decayed, bore engravings depicting various scenes the meaning of which was equally lost on me. The disavowed had wrecked Helcas' marble statue, demolished the altar of the god of trade, and crammed the whole interior with sacrificial tables in honor of their despicable god, whose fifteen-foot-tall statue of gray stone, hooded with arms spread out wide, stood at the center of a huge hall, looming over its own altar.
"That bastard has to come down, too," I nodded toward Vill's statue, rounding the corpse of a disavowed near the entrance.
On the whole, the temple didn't look all that impressive. Going by the rusted chains and the cracked leather on the tables, it had been a long time since these walls saw their last sacrifice. The air was thick with blood, burned flesh and scorched fur—Reece's mage crew had used the brute force approach with a torrent of liquid fire. It wasn't clear why the walls hadn't caught fire—some kind of fireproof wood, perhaps? Or fire-resistant magic? Oh well, not that it mattered—everything here would need to be rebuilt anyhow. I counted twenty nine disavowed, their bodies scattered all around and stuck in the most picturesque poses, and realized that the events of the past several months had left their mark on me—previously, the sight of all these dead and the stench of burned flesh would have certainly turned my stomach, but presently I felt no negative emotions whatsoever. Enemy corpses look magnificent, and their blood smells divine, I thought to myself. If anything, these bastards got off easy.
"The statue will crumble as soon as I destroy the altar," Vaessa explained. "Here we go..."
Celphata's head priestess began to raise her arms, billows of darkness oozing from her fingertips as a phantom sword the color of charcoal formed over the altar in the center of the hall. The necromancer's daughter brought down her arms sharply, and the weapon woven of primordial darkness came crashing down upon the altar with a sickening squelch. The result was a sepulchral groan that reverberated through the hall like a tsunami, carrying all the anguish and the pain of the victims that had met their end in this temple. The altar shook and began to melt, like a candle tossed into a furnace, leaving only a pile of yellowed bones. The god's statue trembled, grew covered with webs of cracks, and crumbled helplessly to the slabs.
"Do me a favor, Vaessa. Next time you decide to pull something like that, I'd appreciate an advance warning," Gorm's words sounded like a gunshot in the deafening silence. "I'm an old man with failing health, and these episodes can't be good for me."
The satrap shook his head and made for the exit.
"Seconded."
"What, you, too?" I turned to Elnar.
The demon was clearly shaken up by the dying altar's mental attack.
"Uh-huh, I'd rather wait outside next time," James shrugged. "Maybe a mile away from all your experiments."
"It is done, dar," Vaessa turned her pale face to me. "The bastard god won't extract another drop of power from this place," she said quietly. "What now?"
It was obvious that the destruction of a level seven altar—and that was precisely the information that had flashed in the system log—hadn't come easily to the magus. Her face looked haggard and she had a nosebleed, but her eyes... Her eyes radiated pure, unadulterated bliss—the goddess must have duly appreciated the efforts of her head priestess.
"You're bleeding," I handed a handkerchief to the woman, then turned to Elnar. "The ones outside, get them in here, heal them to full, and hang them on the walls."
"What? How? But—"
"With nails," I explained calmly. "Schen's got plenty of those. And Hart help you if even one of those scumbags falls off. Are we clear?"
"Aye aye, Dark One," nodded the colonel, then spun on his heels and went off to carry out his orders.
"You," I looked back to Vaessa. "When he's done, I want Velena's Embrace on every one of them. Three days of suffering is hardly enough, of course," I drew a heavy sigh, "but it's going to have to suffice."
"It shall be done," not a muscle twitched on the face of the necromancer's daughter.
"Good," I nodded. "Hurry and finish up here, then. We're moving out in two hours."
As we departed the dead city, roughly a hundred yards past the bridge across Ithele, we passed by a sickly deformed sapling growing right out of the paved road. Against the desol
ation that remained of the city and harbor, and gilded by the setting sun, this feeble sliver of life was a revelation. In the world whence I came, the struggle between life and death was invariably won by the latter, but here... Here I would do everything in my power to ensure that this city would be restored to its former glory. Transformed and returned to its rightful place as the pearl of the princedom, and never again to be sullied by the presence of any fiend. You're right, Vill, this world isn't as big as it seems, and rumors travel fast. After today, your lackeys will think twice before setting foot in my princedom.
Chapter 1
That time of year thou may'st in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang...
The eternal words of the Bard sprang to mind as I gazed the length of the legion stretching down the road, serpent-like. Autumn was asserting herself in the realm. A few weeks from now rains would arrive, an unending downpour that would douse the earth for close to two months. The temperatures wouldn't dip below fifty degrees, so snowball fights still weren't in the realm of possibilities. If we were in the north of Karn, perhaps—up there, winter felt just like the real thing. They said that even the Great Ocean would occasionally ice over for dozens of miles from the shore. Applying good old-fashioned geography and assuming that the game world also had the shape of a globe, it followed that Karn was located in the northern hemisphere of Arkon? Or was the world actually flat? Did it matter either way? I took a few swigs from my flask while patting Gloom on the nape. The razorback kept ogling every fruit tree we passed by like a school girl seeing her favorite boy band in concert. The branches of apple trees lining the tract were heavy with ripe fruits, and my valiant mount seemed shaken to his very core by the prospect of all this goodness going to waste.
The sun was setting as the shadows of getare riding ahead grew tall and tapered, slithering along the roadside carefully, like thieves in the night. The soldiers' spirits were high—and for good reason, with Craedia no more than five-six miles away. The three centuries of mounted knights in the vanguard engaged in easy banter in their party channels, wiping out level 200 packs of skeletons in their way without the slightest effort. Their commander, however, was feeling as anxious as ever, the words of the Twice Cursed God weighing on my psyche. What if there really was something waiting for us in the fortress, something that would make all the monsters encountered so far seem like neutered house pets by comparison? No, there couldn't be! La-Kharte was only one level below the Craedia Citadel, so by that analogy we shouldn't encounter more than four thousand level 200 undead headed by a raid boss around level 300. There was absolutely no cause for concern, at least not just yet. And whatever may yet hide behind those walls, I would still capture that bloody castle and complete the archmage's quest! I allowed for no other possibility. But the larger question remained: how much closer would capturing the castle bring me to reuniting with my sister and my friend? How much longer would I need to wait before finding Cheney? And then there were all those prophecies... I sighed and slipped a pipe into my mouth, the same one I'd purchased from Gerid on day one of my arrival to Nittal. Gods, that only happened three months ago, though it now seemed like a lifetime had passed. I wondered if Gerid would even recognize me now, let alone Kort and Treis... I wonder if my little namesake is already out and about? I thought while inhaling the smoke, and smiled to myself. I would need to get the happy family a present, but what could I give them? I thought of consulting Vaessa, but then the magus might well suggest something that would give every Lamorna resident night terrors for a solid week... I gazed at the backs of the demons riding in front of me, feeling a sense of peace and appreciation simply for having them by my side. Once this was all over... What does that even mean anymore? I caught myself thinking. When will it be over? When I won't have to run anymore? And what am I going to do then...? A hell of a lot! The answer came at once as I studied the ruined foundations of houses of a roadside village. It would take at least half a century to rebuild all this. And what if Ahriman's curse fell after Craedia was captured? For our neighbors to the north, the princedom—being twice as large as all its neighboring provinces put together—would be too tasty a morsel to ignore. No lord would refuse an expansion to his domain, and not even my respected reputation with Ashtar Dominion would be a deterrence—best case scenario, Astarot would give me the option to swear fealty and become his vassal. And if I refused, would my respected status immediately turn hostile?And then there was Yllial, the Lord of Rualt, who had no feelings of friendship toward me in the first place. Even if offered, I wouldn't become his vassal. I just didn't want to, regardless of any strategic sense it made. All that was left to do was hope that nothing had changed in the terms, and that the princedom would retain its year of immunity even if the curse was lifted. That would give me time enough to plan ahead. And besides, Craedia needed to be captured first—I really shouldn't be counting my chicks before they hatched. Though the military force I was bringing to bear on the cursed princedom should be sufficient for the job, I still couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that I was missing something...
"It's all very odd, dar," riding to the left of me and Gloom, Vaessa gazed forward contemplatively.
"What is?"
I was glad to have her company. In the two days since riding out of Suonu, the magus and I still hadn't found any time to talk—she had been busy tending to other matters at first, and today she'd been riding all day in silence, shooting introspective glances my way every so often. Riding alongside her was Reece—sensing her mood, the mage had been performing his best comedy routine in an effort to distract the necromancer's daughter from her somber thoughts.
"The way you're transforming, dar. I find it odd," Vaessa peered at me. "Your demonic constituent is changing, and despite these changes being rather horrifying—even to me—they are but a part of you. While the other you is still there, unchanged as before..."
"Is that what you've been doing the whole way, wondering if I'll end up turning into a proper monster?" I grinned, looking into her eyes that showed not a hint of levity.
"No, you won't," she shook her head without averting her eyes. "I'm simply trying to understand how such a duality is even possible. Remember you were telling me about your conversation with the archivist, how he compared you to the union of Fire and Water?"
"I do," I nodded. "He also said such a union was impossible."
"I happen to agree," Vaessa suddenly smiled. "It is impossible, and yet here you are, riding next to me—impossibility incarnate. You don't hesitate for a moment to sentence dozens of sentients to great torments, yet I cannot recall a single instance of your rage spilling out onto your own people."
"And what is so odd about that?"
"Nothing," the magus shrugged her shoulders and shifted her eyes to the mage riding nearby. "Though certain promises could be kept just the same. The ones concerning ripping off the ears of a particular mage we both know. And also his tongue for good measure!" she concluded in a voice a fair bit louder than before.
"No fair, auntie! I didn't tell you that story just so you could remind the commander about it every half hour!" Reece exclaimed indignantly over the chuckles that were coming from all around. "No need to rile him—he's got a good heart! Even his beast of a boar loves the guy..." the mage looked at Gloom, who was munching on an apple snatched up off the ground, as if expecting a show of support.
"I see the citadel!" Hyld reported in the general channel. "Less than one and a half mile south of here."
The group of scouts stopped some three hundred yards ahead on a large hill carpeted with verdant grass.
"Legion! Halt!" Elnar bellowed from the vanguard column.
I nodded to Vaessa to follow me, then touched Gloom's sides with my heels, rounding the carts carrying siege weapon parts, and steered the razorback toward the scouts at the top of the hill.
>
Neither Craedia nor La-Kharte were castles in the traditional sense of the word, the way they would be classified in that other world. After all, a castle was supposed to be a compound of sorts, comprising walls, towers, residential quarters and other structures. In the game, however, it was the devs' will that any stronghold was termed a castle. Even if it was nothing but a plot of land with a simple palisade—nobody gave a damn about that.
Watching the dark bulk of Craedia towering over the valley, I was thinking that the first phase of my life in this world was nearing its end. It had taken me nearly five months of my internal time to get here, and there it was—my first pit stop on the road to Karn. And, sure, it was unlikely that capturing Craedia and liberating the knights and mages from their magic slumber would bring me closer to my goal, but I'd promised Altus to free his people, and promises ought to be kept. Hart! That encounter seemed so long ago now, as if from another life. I drew a heavy sigh and gave another scrutinizing look at the fortress that was ours to capture.
The western wind scattered the clouds that were just starting to gather overhead, as the setting sun flooded the valley and the vast hill with reddish grass upon which the fortress stood. It was a square structure with walls roughly four hundred yards long, and fortified by two pentagonal bastions. In my visions I'd never been able to observe the fortress from the outside, so that now I could truly appreciate its blighted beauty. Its walls were built of dark stone and rose to a height of at least thirty feet; towering above each wall were three massive hexagonal battlements. The one element that stuck out like a sore thumb—at least to me—was the donjon in the center, shaped like a pyramid. It was as if the designer had lost inspiration designing the interior of the fortress, then decided that architectural integrity counted for diddly-squat in the game world, and shoehorned the absurdity into the landscape before moving on to the next task. From a visual standpoint, nearly nothing had changed in the past two hundred eighty years. The battlement over the gate was half-ruined, and the fortress wall bore two yawning breaches. I knew the origin of one of the breaches—the Throne Attendants had demolished the wall left of the gate in the first seconds of the assault, but the second... On the other hand, I'd witnessed the attack with Altus' eyes, and might not have noticed or remembered every detail. Through the gaps in the walls you could see infantry quadrants of the castle garrison. How many were there? Three, four thousand? Good thing the undead weren't much for renovations—the less trouble for us, the attacking force. Leading an assault upslope was hard enough, and we probably wouldn't be able to roll the siege towers to the castle walls. Thankfully, with these breaches, we shouldn't need them.
