by Akella, G.
There used to be a large settlement to the right of the fortress, but all that remained of it now was charred debris and eroded foundations.
What kind of degenerate did one have to be to subject one's own people to such devastation? It wasn't Ahriman and his army who had done this, after all—of that I was certain. Oh, but none of that mattered now—the bastard who had sold out to the Twice Cursed God was dead, and it made no sense to rehash the past.
"Dar, are you positively sure that—" Gorm started, appearing behind me as he gazed up at the fortress thoughtfully.
"Yes, and I don't want to hear about it anymore," I didn't let him finish. "The knights and mages sleeping inside Craedia's vault are worth a whole legion. We've lost too many of our people to neglect such an opportunity."
"And if they refuse, what then?"
"You think they got a choice?" I chuckled. "They will never be able to return home on their own. Tell me instead your thoughts on a dawn assault?"
"What's there to think about?" the satrap shrugged. "We needn't drag the siege towers uphill. We'll wait for you to return, then start shelling the bastards from catapults—I've already sent my legionnaires for the munitions. There are quarries about a mile away," Gorm waved somewhere to his right. "Our camp will be thrice fortified, so leaving the fortress will only make things worse for them. No deviations from the original plan!"
"Excellent!" I dismounted, tossing the reins to one of the bodyguards. "Then call Elnar and Elias for a chat, and I'll get going right after. You can pitch camp without me, nor should you need me for any other reason."
The citadel looked even more impressive up close. Made of roughly-hewn brick, the walls were at least ten feet thick—I shuddered to imagine the awesome power of a spell capable of breaking these defenses. Say what you will about Ahriman, but he's not someone you want to mess with, I grunted to myself, studying the archers frozen on the walls. Tomorrow morning would decide everything, and my negotiations with the knights would determine much of how it would all play out. Externally I demonstrated nothing but confidence, but inside I was plagued by doubts. There were just too many unknowns... Firstly, the entrance to the vault could be located within the fortress garrison's aggro radius. Secondly, the foxes and the mages could easily tell me to buzz off for their own reasons, possibly even due to not wanting to make a deal with a demon. Thirdly... Enough! I snapped at myself. Butterflies are for wusses! My invis is working, so let's get this done. With a final glance at the legion standing behind me, I stepped onto the territory of the citadel.
The interior was largely identical to what I'd seen in my vision, though all of the courtyard's wooden structures had rotted through and crumbled. Well, the army of skeletons guarding the place was a new addition: seven quadrants of infantry, each comprising four hundred armored soldiers, and another thousand up on the walls. All of them level 200. The entire garrison was concentrated near the main and only gate. Which made perfect sense. Gorm had explained to me that Craedia essentially stood on a cliff; to the south, east and west of the walls, the ground fell away precipitously by at least thirty feet. That meant the stronghold could only be stormed from the north, seeing as sixty-foot-tall siege towers hadn't yet been invented in this world.
However, it wasn't siege tactics that were on my mind, but rather how to sneak into the vault undetected. Only two types of creatures were capable of seeing through my invisibility: the gorhies—the ones Altus' people had pulverized at the top of the pyramidal donjon—and the one and a half century of mounted death knights. Both were stationed about a hundred yards from the stairs leading up to the pyramid, and it would behoove me not to draw within fifty yards of them. The main boss of the citadel—a twenty-five-foot-tall arachnid with the curious name Nauvelon—didn't worry me too much. At level 310 and two hundred million HP, the monstrosity wasn't likely to last long against the raid, not with our buffs and damage output. The death knights were another matter—their sheer number was a cause for concern. But no biggie—I had a plan how to deal with them. Nauvelon, eh? That's quite a name for a spider. I chuckled to myself. Did your mom have a pet name for you when you were a wee little bugger... Hart, what's with these asinine thoughts popping into my head?! With an exasperated sigh, I proceeded to carefully round the army stationed in the square, pressing myself to a three-story structure the purpose of which was lost on me completely, perhaps due to its caved-in roof. From there it was left at the fountain with three dancing demonesses, of which only one had remained, a hundred yards straight ahead, past the barracks, and then right to the rear section of the donjon—I remembered Altus' journey to the finest detail. Total recall was great and all, but the downside was that you likewise remembered all the shit that you would sooner forget. A blessing and a curse in one, as was often the case.
I didn't encounter anyone on the way to the vault, save for the wind that blew dust and dried grass up and down the pavement. It's all a little too easy... I thought to myself, halting at the staircase leading down into the cellar. Then again, the journey to the citadel had been anything but easy—surely I had merited a bit of good karma? Here I go again, I chuckled. Indulging in self-reflection mere feet away from the goal after all the time and efforts spent getting here.
Silence. The entrance to the corridor yawned darkly, a stone lion scowling from the bas-relief just above. To the right of the entrance lay the rusted-over steel door that Lars' knights had broken nearly three centuries ago. What was I doing just standing here? There it was, the finish line of my six-month-long race. How strange it felt to be looking at it... It wasn't that I feared what awaited me inside; more like, I'd never actually believed that I'd be standing here. And now that I was...
A rattling noise at my back gave me a start, and I spun around on my heels. Two patrols appeared simultaneously. The first pack—four skeletons and a gorhy—emerged from behind the donjon, and the other from behind the stone frame of a house blackened with age-old fire directly across. Great, I had to be an idiot and jinx it! Literally tumbling down the stairs, I dashed blindly down the dark corridor. Sure enough, as Murphy's law would have it, I tripped over some metal object and collapsed onto the slabs, cussing everything and everyone under the sun. The din of my crash landing must have reverberated all the way to the legion's position. "Motherf..." Leaping up to my feet in a single motion, I lit a magic lantern and ripped my sword out of its scabbard. Gorhies saw through invisibility, but could they see through walls, too? I was about to find out... How could I have been so careless! Though I could handle a single patrol just fine, a whole swarm of them were certain to force me to retreat. The shuffle neared the entrance, then began to slowly fade. The footsteps of distancing patrols were divine music to my ears. Finally, a break! With a sigh of relief, I sheathed my sword, broke out my pipe, and took a look around. Crammed with all sorts of junk, the corridor continued another fifty yards or so, ending with a staircase leading down. The walls gaped with empty doorways. Ahriman's punishers had evidently ransacked the inner chambers when expropriating Erisjat's belongings—there was no point in trying to find anything of value here. Nor did my path lead downstairs. There was the sacred door, glowing a soft green color at the end of the corridor. Carefully stepping around furniture debris that somehow hadn't yet turned to dust, I approached the vault hidden by Hart's seal, took the signet ring out of my inventory, and pressed it against the stone wall. This is probably why Hart was able to copy the ring back at the inn—because his own seal was on it, the belated thought popped into head just as the iron-plated double-leaf door that had manifested in place of the stone wall flashed with strange yellow symbols. Behold, the finish line ribbon, I braced myself for whatever was to come, and pulled on the doorknob.
Nothing had changed here since Altus had left the vault. Lining the walls were three rows of glass shelves, with barrels, crates and various disassembled components of a pair of ballistas filling the space. And then there were the people... Over one hundred of them in the 280-320 level range,
lying perfectly still all throughout the vault in picturesque poses. They weren't even breathing! All were unfriendly to me, which made sense—immersed in their slumber, there was no way for them to know what I'd done for them or their commander. Anyway, reputation was of secondary importance; I was growing rather concerned with another question: when were they going to wake up? What if Altus had forgotten to tell me some magic words needed to awaken this lot? Or what if he had messed up the spell somehow? As is often the case, whenever you don't understand something, all sorts of nonsense starts popping into your head. Fine, I'll wait—not like I'm in a hurry, I thought with a snort. Taking a deep drag, I exhaled the smoke, then took a seat on a nearby crate and leaned back against a glass shelf. If they didn't wake up in an hour, I'd resort to proven measures. On the way here I'd noticed rainwater in a big bowl by the old fountain, and I always carried a bucket in my inventory for exactly such a situation.
The minutes flew by, but nothing was happening. I sat there, smoking and gazing at the sleeping knights and mages. Four of them—Kan Shyom, Saverus, Raena and Gerat—would probably rival Vaessa in terms of toughness, to say nothing of their HP. With Raena sporting 800,000, and the commander of the Order of the Red Flame being just shy of two hundred million, they were practically mini bosses. All were outfitted in mostly epic gear—I had learned to recognize the appearance of epic pieces over my time in the game. And the other fighters weren't slouches, either, with nearly every knight's cheek bearing the marks of the Order of Punishing Steel—evidently, denizens of this world were allowed to be part of numerous organizations. Kan Shyom was the highest-ranking member among them, with two familiar vertical lines on his right cheekbone. Two vertical lines... When displayed on a pee stick, they were either a source of great grief or great joy back in the old world. Hart! When are they going to wake up?! I sighed. And just then—whether because the God of Deceit had heeded my appeal, or simply the time had come—Kan Shyom's body convulsed on the slabs. The man took several ragged breaths, sat up sharply, and took a feverish look around him. He winced upon noticing me and reached for his sword, but his hand froze midway to his scabbard.
"I take it Altus won't be coming," the knight-commander spoke hoarsely, getting up off the slabs and casting a dark look at the flung-open door to the vault.
His words—as loud as a gunshot in the deafening silence—served as a signal for the rest of the army. The soldiers awoke all at once, causing an eruption of shallow breathing, groaning, cussing... Of the latter, the number of female voices clearly rivaled, if not outright dominated the male—truly, gender equality was alive and well in Arkon!
"No, he isn't," I shook my head, exhaling the smoke.
The knight nodded, his frown deepening. With his appearance Kan Shyom reminded me of an American actor that played Iron Man in the eponymous series of films from the early XXI century, if perhaps a bit darker and gruffer. The same mustache and goatee, the same mannerisms... The biggest difference was that the knight-commander sported a buzz cut instead of curls, and his plate armor of resplendent violet looked nothing like a cheesy transformer-like getup. Interestingly enough, Raena looked like the carbon copy of the MC's girlfriend, only with pitch-black hair, and both Saverus and Gerat likewise reminded me of supporting actors from the same series of films. No doubt, the designer responsible for this bunch was a fan. And he wasn't the only one, actually—back in sixth grade yours truly and his best buddy Max cut class to catch a matinée showing of the fourth installment. Unsurprisingly, such antics brought down a healthy dose of parental wrath upon us, but the glory of being the first two from our entire school to have seen the film proved to be sufficient compensation.
Saverus and Raena were the first to recover their faculties, and while Altus' right hand was examining darkly the soldiers rising gradually off the ground, the sorceress approached Kan Shyom.
"What's happening? Where is the monsieur? And what is this freak doing here?" she nodded in my direction, her tone dripping with scorn.
On the outside, Raena looked exactly as I had seen her last with the archmage's eyes. Dark hair in disarray, a deep scar running across her forehead, and her eyes... Beautiful indigo eyes that radiated iciness and disdain.
"You have grown foolish over three centuries of slumber if you're seriously asking such questions, woman," I spoke evenly. "The fact that I was sent here by Altus means that the man is dead, and the fact that you're all still alive means that I've come in peace."
"Three centuries?" Kan Shyom exhaled his shock. "Do you mean to tell me—"
"How dare you, filthy demon?!" Raena interrupted him, taking a step forward. A bluish flame flared around her wrists... and faded just as quickly.
"Leave him, Ann-Tarie," said Saverus, having extinguished the sorceress' spell, with metal in his voice.
"What are you doing?!" she spat through clenched teeth, jerking toward him. "Did you forget it was his kind that were killing our people? Did you forget Lars?!"
"Does that mean you're going to act all belligerent against every sentient we come across?"
Fighting down the rage boiling inside me, I displayed the title of Archmage Altus' Apprentice over my head. Hart! Altus did warn me about this—the Nameless' blood blinds them to everything but what I myself wish to show them, I thought to myself, then continued out loud:
"Do you think the monsieur would make an enemy his apprentice, then task said enemy with rescuing his people? You have no idea what I've been through, the road I've traveled to be here today... So don't make me regret it!"
Truthfully, I sympathized with the girl. For her, the battle that saw the demise of her friends—and Lars, for whom she apparently had feelings—had just ended not half an hour ago. But I wasn't going to mollycoddle anyone, and especially not a mage of her caliber who should have learned long ago to keep her emotions in check. Then again, looking at her, the girl looked no older than Salta. Baroness Ann-Tarie, Mistress of Water and Life, and yet...
"It appears that the monsieur was entirely out of options if he chose you for his apprentice," she hissed, sizing me down with contempt.
Well, she certainly isn't wrong about that, I chuckled to myself.
"But do what you want," the sorceress continued in the meantime, looking at Saverus first, and then at Kan Shyom. Then, with a dubious shake of the head, she turned around and headed for the far section of the vault, elbowing her way through the gathered crowd.
"Why do you provoke her, demon?" Kan Shyom gave me a hard look as he adjusted his scabbard.
"Did you want me to give her solace? Tell a fairy tale with a happy ending?" I countered.
"Shut it, all of you," Gerat gestured to Saverus who was about to butt in with his own two cents, then turned to me. "Demon, you said that we've spent three centuries in oblivion, and that the monsieur is no longer alive. We wish to find out the details, if you will."
I nodded, taking in the dour faces of the knights and mages surrounding me. Then I lowered onto a nearby crate, took a deep drag on my pipe, and began my story.
Throughout my recounting there hung a deathly silence, and only Saverus would occasionally interject with some clarifying questions. I avoided delving into the non-critical details, omitting all the gods but Setara, and so the retelling took a mere half an hour. As for my own story, I mentioned only that I had arrived from another realm.
"There," I handed to Saverus the champion of the order's signet ring. "Monsieur Altus wanted you all to decide who would keep it henceforth."
The silence persisted for several more seconds, and then everybody started talking all at once. And I could hardly blame them, considering the tragic story I'd just relayed to them... Then again, was it really so tragic? Altus had reunited with his beloved, and I had a sneaking suspicion that a certain goddess—one that I hadn't personally met but who had marked me nonetheless—had taken in the pair as her companions.
"Silence!" barked the knight-commander. Waiting for the chatter to die down, he raised his steel-gra
y eyes at me. No longer did he remind me of a Hollywood actor. No, standing before me was a warrior of the highest order—a hardened veteran of war accustomed to deciding who lived and who died.
"What made you think that we would help you dislodge the undead from this citadel, demon? Why should we concern ourselves at all with this plane, cursed by all the light gods? And with your problems in particular?" he spoke slowly, holding pregnant pauses between each question.
"Do you have a choice?" I inquired with contrived politeness.
"There is always a choice," he objected.
"All right, then I'll tell my people to wait until you all make your way out," I gave a malignant smile, venting out all of my accumulated frustration. "You see, most of the soldiers I've brought here like the human race no better than you like us... But sure, we can part ways here—you tend to your own affairs, and I'll tend to mine. I've made good on my promise to Altus, and that's good enough for me. Why should I concern myself with how you'll get out of this hellhole? I shouldn't! In fact, I don't give a flying f..." I stopped myself just short of cursing out the knight-commander, and sprang up from the crate. "See ya!" With a curt nod, I spun on my heels and made for the exit.
