by Hugo Huesca
Whatever the reason, he decided the Haunt couldn’t possibly bank on this streak of good luck to continue. “I hate to say this, but we need to talk to the Lotian Dungeon Lords, and quick.”
“Ah, I’m not looking forward to that,” Lavy said. “Most of the Lotians are murderous bastards that sacrifice people to increase their power. I know there are less bloodthirsty Dungeon Lords hiding all over the world—Kael’s minions got notice of them dying all the time. Perhaps we could talk to them instead?”
“I’d like that, too,” Ed told her. “But one way or the other, all Dungeon Lords step into the Netherworld eventually. That’s where we go next.”
“Then you’re in luck,” Lavy said after a crestfallen sigh. “Jarlen’s our best bet to reach one of the few civilized parts of the Netherworld.”
“Jarlen,” Kes said wearily. “It was about time we discussed what to do with her.”
Ed nodded. Deciding what to do with the vampire would be crucial. “What do you all think?”
“I don’t like her,” Klek said, shivering. “The way she looks at us—wolves look at batblins the same way before they pounce. I don’t think we can be safe with her around. She may eat us in our sleep.”
“That’s what pact magic is for,” Ed pointed out. “In fact, binding Jarlen with a pact may be the safest bet for everyone, not only the Haunt.”
“The safest bet would be to kill her,” Kes said, patting her silver-tipped stake. “She’s a bloodthirsty monster who wouldn’t give much thought to devouring us if she were in our place.”
“Yes, I know that,” Ed said. “But we could say the same about the horned spiders, and yet here we are, working with them.”
Lavy raised an eyebrow. “Surely you don’t think a vampire and a horned spider are even close to being the same thing. I don’t get it, Ed. Back there, in the mortuary, you were all up for killing her at the first sign of trouble.”
“And a few days ago, you were all up for a Nightshade in the Haunt,” Ed told her, waving with his hand and grinning slightly. “Look. It’s true I don’t like her—I doubt anyone here does, actually—but she’s our prisoner. I can’t kill her because I dislike her, that’d be a Rylan Silverblade move.”
“Who?” Alder asked.
Ed shook his head. “It’s just some asshole. Never mind. My point is, we should think this through. Not for her, but for ourselves.”
His friends mulled over his words, although begrudgingly.
“I guess we could use her knowledge,” Alder said. “I mean, she’s as biased as she claims Bards are, but still. She’s like a walking history book.”
“Forget her knowledge,” Lavy said. “She knows how to enter the Netherworld, remember? She was a Dungeon Lord’s second-in-command. We can use her to create a Portal to one of the main cities. And we need the Netherworld, Ed. You cannot go around with that weaknesses to Light magic or you’ll become a charred husk the second some Cleric sneezes your way.”
“Thanks for the mental image,” Ed told the Witch. But she was right. The problem with the Netherworld was that it was a pretty big place, from what he’d heard. He could make a Portal right then, since he had the materials and the gold. But he lacked coordinates, and without them, the Portal could send them anywhere in the Netherworld, and the demonic monsters that roamed there would make a mere vampire blush. After all, the Netherworld-based Saint Claire & Tillman thought of hell chickens as snacks.
It’s the kind of place where it’s better to bring a guide, Ed thought.
Kes grimaced, while she distractedly toyed with her stake. “If we see her only as a tool for the Haunt, her powers could be a nice addition. An undead can’t be mind-controlled through normal means, or put to sleep, or poisoned… she could plug several weaknesses we have.” Something cruel glinted in her eye. “The Inquisition will take her presence as more proof that we’re evil—not that they needed proof before.” It was clear that she was thinking of Alvedhra. “Screw it, if we’re to be guilty, we may as well commit the crime.”
Ed gave her a worried look. Of the others, only Alder seemed to notice the Marshal’s inner turmoil. The Bard bit his lip and turned to Kes, but Klek spoke up:
“If there’s going to be a wolf in the Haunt,” the batblin said, “it should be shackled. Our spiders are loyal to their pack, like batblins. We have common ground. Jarlen has no pack. So she needs a shackle she cannot break.”
They kept the discussion going for a while. Eventually, they circled back to the same points and realized they were getting tired.
Their next course of action was clear. After securing Jarlen, they’d go to the Netherworld and investigate. Then Ed would figure out a way to capture a Hero, bypass the self-destruct mechanism, and see just what was the construct was made of that allowed it to absorb the strength of a dungeon and act as a living creature.
Ed massaged his legs,trying to ease circulation back into them. Studying a Hero would, hopefully, show him its weaknesses. But that was only part of it. Ed didn’t care about eradicating the Heroes. After all, most Dungeon Lords were murderous, self-admitted tyrants that delved in human sacrifice. Perhaps the Inquisition and them deserved each other.
We leave them to their war, Ed thought, as long as they leave us alone.
But there was also the unknown person from Earth who had created the Heroes in the first place. Ed knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he needed to find that person. He needed to show him, make him understand, that the Light was as extreme in its methods as the Dark.
Ed bit his lip and realized he’d been holding his breath. Who the hell are you? How long had that person—the first Hero, in a way—been out there? What lies had the Inquisition made him believe?
The desire to speak to that Summoned Hero was overwhelming. Perhaps, together they’d be strong enough to oppose the mad gods that ruled Ivalis with an iron fist.
How’s that for a win condition? Ed thought.
“Before we leave,” Klek said, jerking Ed out of his daydream. “I’m curious. What happened before the Old Calendar started? There had to be something before the Lordship. Had to. Right? The world wasn’t just a blank canvas until the first Dungeon Lord came along.” For some reason, there was an eagerness in Klek’s eyes that made Ed think the answer may have been more important to the batblin than he let on.
Lavy patted Klek on the shoulder. “Same old, little guy, same old. People being born, then growing, eating, fucking, dying, and killing each other since the dawn of time. The only difference was, back then they did it with weaker weapons. Probably made of bronze, I’d say. Stone, before that.”
Klek looked down. Alder chuckled and said, “That’s one cynical way to talk about the past, Lavy. Don’t mind her, Klek. Some people just don’t have the right temperament to study history. They get stuck in the ugly parts and fail to see the pretty sunsets. Before the Lordship was the Age of Myths, my friend—an epoch without equal, that us Bards can only dream about. It was a time of legends, of Titans and Dragon Kings, and of the clash between them that altered the shape of continents.”
Ed blinked, then stared at Alder, eyes round like dishes, wondering if he’d just heard what he thought he had. By the looks of it, Klek was as stunned as he was.
Meanwhile, Lavy stared daggers at Alder. “Don’t act like those ancient Heiligian folk tales have any basis in reality, Alder. You will only confuse Klek. And let me tell you where you can stick your pretty sunsets—”
Klek turned to Ed, smiling broadly. “Did you hear that?” he asked quietly. “Dragons, Lord Ed. Can you imagine that?”
“Yes,” Ed said, smiling back. Somehow, it was relaxing to know that no matter how important and world-breaking seemed the events that involved him and his Haunt, they were still a mere blip in the scroll of history.
Not long after, Ed and the others faced the vampire. This time, Ed explained the terms of his pact offer to Jarlen. She listened, growing more and more discomfited with each demand. Ed spoke for a long time.<
br />
Then Jarlen couldn’t take it any longer. “Would you have me starve?” she interrupted, raising her voice. “I’ve dealt with strict terms to a pact before, Dungeon Lord, but yours are incomprehensibly tyrannical. If you were asking me not to feed on humans in your dungeons’ surroundings, I’d understand—perhaps you need those humans for some scheme. But to not feed on anyone, anywhere?”
Ed forced himself to ignore the unease the vampire gave him. “Actually, you can’t feed on any sentient species,” he corrected her, adding emphasis to “sentient” because she’d used the word “human,” instead. In Heiligian—which was the language that had magically replaced Ed’s English when he’d arrived on Ivalis—the word “human” could mean either “human” or “any sentient species,” like elf, dwarf, gnome, naga, kaftar, batblin, and a long etcetera. In his time in Ivalis, Ed had come to notice a few small other details like that, leftovers that the language-replacing spell had failed to correct.
Normally, it earned him little more than a funny look when he said something in a strange phrasing. But, in this case, Ed was absolutely certain that Jarlen had said “human” because she hoped to weasel her way into a more permissible diet.
“I can’t sustain myself on animals alone!” Jarlen exclaimed, raising her hands in disbelief.
“You can’t, or you don’t want to?” Ed prodded.
“Look, animal blood may keep me alive—” She rolled her eyes at Alder’s reaction to her phrasing “—but I can’t increase my essence with it! I can’t earn experience points like a mortal; I need to drink the blood of mortals to grow in power. If I go too long without it, my essence will drain away. I’ll eventually become as weak as a newly awakened Nightshade, and what use will I be then?”
“So, drinking sentient blood is how you earn experience,” Ed said. He massaged his chin and sighed. “Okay. Do you need to drink it from the living?”
Ed was sure that at some point he’d gone insane without realizing it. He was casually suggesting defacing the dead because it was much better than exsanguinating someone poor sod.
“Only if it’s still warm,” Jarlen said. “Otherwise it does nothing. Perhaps… five to ten minutes since the heart stopped beating.”
I can work with this, Ed thought. “Let’s compromise, then. You can drink the blood of any fallen enemy of the Haunt.”
Jarlen’s expression brightened. “That’s much better, Lord Wraith—”
“You can’t, however,” Ed went on, “kill an enemy solely to feed on them. You need a very good cause to kill someone—if they won’t surrender, or if they’re too dangerous.”
“So now a Dungeon Lord has terms of engagement, like the damned Cardinal Command?” Jarlen asked, her face souring again. “By Murmur’s non-existent compassion—what has the world come to?”
Ed turned to Kes. “How reasonable are the Cardinal Command’s terms of engagement?”
Kes tilted her hand a couple times in the universal gesture for “eh, good enough, I guess.”
“Good enough for me. Jarlen, you’ll follow the Cardinal Command’s terms of engagement to see who you are allowed to kill.”
Jarlen rolled her eyes upward and launched into a long string of Lotian cursing.
“I hope that isn’t directed at me,” Ed told her.
“I was praying to Murmur,” Jarlen said when she was done. She cleaned a pinkish stream of saliva on her chin with her dress. “I was begging him to torture Jiraz’ soul for convincing me to come to this stupid country only to die and leave me in your hands.”
“Fair enough.”
From what Ed had heard of the distant Volantis Enclave, they were more reasonable than Heiliges or Lotia. Using their army’s rules would do, at least until the Haunt drafted its own.
“At least I’ll be able to hunt minotaurs,” Jarlen said, thoughtfully.
Kes perked up at that. “Of course. You can kill as many of those bloodthirsty fuckers as you—”
“Actually,” Ed hurried to say, “with minotaurs, you are to do what I—no, what Klek would do in your shoes.”
“Why me?” Klek asked, surprised at hearing his name.
Because you may be the best of us, Ed thought. But he only smiled and shrugged.
“Why?” Jarlen asked, her voice seeping with frustration. “If only I could understand your reasons… Why do you care about what I do in some random city a hundred miles from here? Those people would sell you to the Inquisition in a heartbeat, Lord Wraith. To pretend to care about your subjects is mere politics. You need their goodwill to rule without distractions, true, but you gain nothing from this. Nothing at all.”
Ed opened his mouth, then thought better of it. He had been about to go into a long tirade about basic human decency, but what was the point? Jarlen didn’t care at all about that. In fact, she’d only lose respect for him as a Dungeon Lord if she thought he cared. No. To keep her under control, she needed to know he had a Dungeon Lord’s reasons.
“You say that a Dungeon Lord may protect those living in his territories—to keep them pacified,” Ed told the vampire. “What about those living in lands he will control in the future? Wouldn’t he wish to keep those people pacified, too, so that when the time comes his rise to power is as smooth as possible?”
Jarlen mulled this over. “Interesting,” she said. “Perhaps it even makes sense. I’ve heard of conniving Dungeon Lords who would Charm their way into power rather than rely on Brawn. And where would your ambitions lead you, Lord Wraith? What are the frontiers you are planning for your Haunt? Will you be satisfied with Hoia and its surrounding villages? Maybe you’re vying for Undercity itself, as well as its lands. What about Galtia with its belt of mountains? Maybe the frontiers of your future domains extend even further beyond, well past Starevos itself? Maybe Lotia should be worried about your ambitions. Maybe even Heiliges. I hear the weather there is nice—for mortals.”
Ed held the vampire’s gaze. Where will your ambitions lead you? he asked himself.
He wanted to face the Light and the Dark, force them to back away.
No, that’s too simple, too far away from you. What do you really want?
He wanted Gallio to realize he didn’t need the approval of the Inquisition to do good. He wanted Alvedhra to realize that evil could fester anywhere, even in those donning golden armors and silver tunics. He wanted to show Ivalis that the Light and the Dark were the names that two warring groups of mad, god-like beings had given themselves—nothing more, nothing less. But more than that, he wanted to prove to Murmur, and Kharon—and to himself more than any—that he could achieve everything without becoming Rylan Silverblade and all he’d come to represent in Ed’s mind. Even if it meant that Ed would risk becoming someone much worse.
Simply put, when Ed looked deep inside himself, he found that this conflict was at the very core of his soul.
It was who he was.
“All those frontiers sound nice,” Ed told Jarlen. “To start with, at least.” Because right then and there, he’d decided that he’d welcome in anyone who would share his vision, anyone who rebelled against becoming the plaything of Alita and Murmur, anyone tired of the games of the Light and the Dark. Right now, the Haunt was but a tiny hideout in the heart of a hostile countryside. But it was also more today than it had been before, back when Alder and Klek and Lavy and him were hiding in caves, barely surviving being eaten by spiderlings.
Tomorrow, the Haunt would be more. And one day, perhaps, if they all were strong enough and dedicated enough and had an enormous amount of luck… then the Haunt would become strong enough to take on the Light and the Dark and win.
It was a fight worth fighting.
Ed realized that he was smiling, and that he’d closed his hand into a resolute fist. He also realized that everyone in the mortuary was eyeing him strangely. It took him several seconds to understand why.
He’d come across this discovery about himself—about his life’s goal—when looking into the abyss of Jarlen’s eye
s, but no one else had heard his reasoning.
Ed’s heart desire was: I wish to save this world.
But what he’d said, instead, had been: I wish to rule this world.
Two similar phrases, but with entirely different meanings. And which was more real? Ed knew that, sometimes, the brain could deceive even itself in its rush to justify its selfish desires as righteous, and that the truth may show when the mind got careless.
Which was the goal, and which the justification? Would he rule the world in order to save it, or would he save it only because he wished to rule it?
It was as if the cold hand of a wraith—or his own black hand, for that matter—had reached through his chest to grip his heart.
He’d faced creatures that would have given nightmares to the bravest of men. He’d bested the mindbrood, and the Spider Queen, and the Wraith, but he had never understood Murmur’s gambit until now. He’d never stopped to consider the chance that he had never had a chance of winning the gamble, because he’d lost it before it even began.
Because, perhaps, the most abominable creature of them all wasn’t a Dungeon Lord after all. When “human” could mean many things, all Dungeon Lords were humans, and that would mean that monsters were born and not made.
“Ah,” Jarlen sighed. It seemed as if someone had lifted a heavy weight from her back. “Finally. I was wondering when would the Haunt’s Dungeon Lord show his true self.” She gave him a smile more frightening than any of her previous threats and posturing—for this was a smile of genuine happiness. “I salute you, Lord Edward Wraith. I am Nightshade Jarlen of the Haunt. At your service.”
And with those words, the pact was forged.
16
Chapter Sixteen
Character Creation
Lisa rummaged through the rows of cardboard boxes and plastic bags while doing her best to ignore the rats’ squeaks coming from behind the plaster walls of the storage area.
