Patch 17 (Realm of Arkon, Book 1)

by G. Akella

  Chapter 6

  Nittal in the morning was just as good as in the daytime hours. The streets weren't as crowded, but the doors to the shops I was passing by were invitingly open. About three blocks down I saw a sign with the drawing of a flask and the words "Master Regus' Alchemical Goods" written on it. With boatloads of time at my disposal, I decided that this shop was as good as any I might encounter.

  The indoor space was fairly small with a counter right at the entrance, the air filled with the scent of vanilla. Master Regus himself—a short elderly demon manning the counter—turned my way, squinting myopically.

  "Hello."

  "Hello, young man," the demon rose from his chair, put his mug with a beverage onto a small table, and walked over to the counter. "What brings you here?"

  "I need twenty healing potions and just as many stamina ones. If you have them, of course," I asked politely, scanning the myriad bottles on the shelves.

  "Young man, you have come to the right place. My shop has everything you could possibly need. From Cat's Eye Elixirs to Swiftfoot Potions," said the shopkeeper, following my eyes.

  "I just need stamina and health. Nothing else."

  There was a hint of disappointment in the old demon's shrug, but he had everything I'd asked for on the counter within five minutes. I counted the vials—the same kind I'd gotten from Mirana severals days back—and handed the demon four gold coins.

  "Master, do you have elixirs that boost certain characteristics?"

  "Such as?"

  "Strength, stamina, constitution."

  "Five silver each," Regus nodded.

  Half a gold for one bottle with a two-hour buff wasn't cheap at all. However, the memory of not being knocked unconscious back in Lamorna precisely thanks to this stuff was still fresh in my mind, and I wasn't going to stint myself. Elixirs and potions were lightweight and didn't take up much space.

  "Forty of each, please. And the same number with spirit and intellect if you have 'em."

  "Err…" the old demon was floored by the requested volume. "You see, Krian, unfortunately I don't have that many in stock. It was real busy in the morning hours and I'm running low."

  Busy morning, yeah right, I chuckled to myself. As if it's time to close for the day. But hell, I was just like that once—lying to clients and getting off on it. I didn't want to offend the old demon, so I acted like I believed him.

  "When could you fulfill the order?"

  "If you leave a deposit, I should have it all ready by tomorrow," the demon thought for a moment. "Will you be using all five simultaneously?"

  "Most likely. Why?"

  "Perhaps you'd rather use this one instead?" the shopkeeper produced a lilac-colored vial from under the counter. "The same bonuses plus agility, and lasts for four hours."

  I examined the vessel.

  Medium Elixir of Possibilities. Adds 50 points to all stats for four hours.

  Not bad at all.

  "How much do you want for it?"

  "Seven gold per elixir," the shopkeeper answered. "But if you take ten, I'll let them go for six each."

  Six hundred bucks! Imagine that! And people actually bought this stuff, as far as I knew. I did some quick mental calculations as to how many of these I might need. Only medium elixirs could be used through level 100, meaning I had another 25 levels to go till the next tier. How long would that take? A few weeks? A month?

  "I want forty. When can you deliver?"

  "Tomorrow. With one hundred and fifty gold deposit."

  "Here," I handed the money over.

  Your reputation has increased. Regus the alchemy master relates to you with respect.

  "Come back tomorrow after lunch," the old alchemist smiled at me warmly.

  I bid him goodbye and headed back outside.

  The realm of Arkon boasted a great multitude and variety of potions and elixirs. Unfortunately, my belt had only eight slots to store them for quick access, and I didn't feel like buying anything special without an acute need for it. Should I find myself in need of diving, I'd buy a potion for underwater breathing. But I didn't want to clutter my inventory needlessly.

  About half an hour later I made it to the main square, shaped like a giant triangle, and marveled once more at the impeccable design.

  The citadel in Nittal was the rough equivalent of the Kremlin in Moscow—a city within a city. To be sure, it was smaller than the Kremlin in size, but not by much. The hidden might of the structure instilled awe—the majestic stone walls seemed to rise above even the city walls by a few yards. I counted six massive towers from the main square, one of which served as an entrance into the stronghold.

  Left of the citadel were the wrought-iron gates to the Temple of All Gods. From my vantage point I could make out only a small part of the main structure, which was partially obscured by the branches of myriad trees growing on its territory. But even that was enough to see that the structure was truly colossal. A wide paved road led from the main gates to the Temple, and despite the early hour it was fairly crowded.

  To the right, the citadel abutted the racetrack—a structure of white marble framed by massive marble columns. According to Ylsan, the racetrack could accommodate twenty thousand spectators.

  Besides the Temple and the racetrack, the main square was surrounded by all sorts of different structures, the functions of many of which I couldn't begin to fathom, even if I had the time and the desire.

  The truth of the matter was that a city as large as Nittal had never existed back on Earth in the period of antiquity. Constantinople, Rome, a few other Italian cities perhaps—no more. But this wasn't the real world, or rather it wasn't designed to be initially. Thanks to RP-17, this world of sword and magic had become very much real for me.

  Four legionnaires were guarding the entrance to the wide-open citadel gates. Near there, a mage in a vinous loose-sleeved mantle was conversing with a demon in a gray tunic—the same one worn by Annat the security agent who had interviewed me the day before. Neither they nor the guards at the gates were paying any attention to anyone entering the stronghold.

  I was feeling a bit anxious about this Janam lady. It was only in fairy tales and mediocre books that the protagonist could easily get an audience with the king. Have you ever tried getting one-on-one time with the First Lady? Thought so. Still, I had the courier's badge on my chest and a personal letter in my hands, so perhaps it would work out. If anything, they shouldn't kill me for trying!

  With these thoughts I crossed the square and, my face still as stone, walked through the main gates.

  "Hey, not so fast," the demon in a gray tunic emerged at my side seemingly out of nowhere. "Where are you going?"

  "Personal delivery to Lady Janam from Prince Ar-Iraz of Jarus Province." I didn't know what to say under the circumstances, but the words seemed to sound convincing.

  The demon looked me up and down with his penetrating deep-set eyes, then motioned for me to step aside and not impede the foot traffic.

  "Show me your tag and the package."

  "Here," I produced the piece of leather issued to me by Annat, and the parcel with the letter.

  "Whatcha got there, Galt?" the mage in a vinous mantle walked over to us.

  "A courier from Ar-Iraz to Lady Janam, apparently," replied the gray demon.

  The mage turned his gaze to me. His eyes were of an unnatural brown color.

  "What in Hart's name are you doing in Nittal, light one?!" he couldn't hold back his shock.

  "He just told you my purpose here," I nodded at the gray tunic, still holding the parcel and the piece of leather.

  "Odd," the mage shook his head. "Check it," he motioned at the tag, speaking to his partner.

  The other took the tag from my hands, passed a small crystal over it and gave it right back.

  "Checks out."

  The mage looked over the parcel in my hands and shrugged.

  "Lady Janam isn't presently in the city. She and Lord Astarot have gone away for a lit
tle while. I can see the package isn't urgent. Come back in a few weeks—that's the earliest she's expected to return."

  The mage didn't mention where they had gone, nor did I care. Was I supposed to schlep this thing to the boonies somewhere for five gold? Nah, my plate was full enough as it was.

  "In that case, I need to get to the library to see Master Prant," I turned to the gray tunic since the mage had already stepped away. Yes, I had the map, but it didn't hurt to ask.

  "Go that way," he pointed straight down. "Make a left after the fountain with the headless man. Keep going about a hundred yards till see you see a gray building. There's a pond on the side—you can't miss it."

  The library turned out to be a small two-story building. The front door screeched nastily, and I found myself inside a spacious hall. A young demon in a yellow mantle sat at a writing desk left of the entrance, writing something animatedly into a huge log. Neither the screeching door nor my presence seemed to draw his attention.

  "Sir!" I hailed him loudly, having walked right up to the desk.

  "Huh?" the demon looked up from his writing, blinking furiously.

  "The library?" I added a questioning tone to my voice.

  "Yes, what do you need?" the demon looked back at his log and shut it, looking flustered for whatever reason.

  "I'm looking for Master Prant."

  "Of course, I'll take you to him," the youth rose from his chair, sleeked his unruly black hair, and gestured for me to follow.

  We walked some sixty feet down a poorly-lit corridor and turned right toward a stairwell leading down. Of course, if these were the archives, the designers had to put them in some basement. Two flights of stairs and we arrived at a massive wooden door sheeted with iron. The demon opened it—not without difficulty—and ushered me inside.

  "Master Prant is in there. Down the hall and to the right."

  When the narrow dark corridor was behind me, I found myself in a large, illuminated space. There were a dozen empty desks and chairs with magical lamps on top. Right behind the desks were stands of dark brown wood, rising up to the bas-relief ceiling. The innumerable books and scrolls on the shelves stored on their yellowed pages the history of the dominion.

  "It's not often one of the light races visits the Nittal archives," an elderly voice screeched to my right, dripping with irony. "I would go as far as to say you're the first light specimen to honor us with your presence."

  Standing on a small pedestal to my right was a carved writing desk, behind which sat a demon that, with his sparse gray beard and equally sparse long mustache, looked like an old Chinese man. The demon wore a blue mantle trimmed with golden runes and a cone-shaped hat. An interesting take on an old trope, I thought to myself.

  "Greetings! Are you Master Prant?"

  "Did you expect to see Lord Astarot here, young man?" screeched the old demon. "Then I must disappoint you," he smirked. "So, what brings you here? A thirst for knowledge? Or are you looking to peruse century-old accounting reports? Perhaps you're interested in the dominion's history?"

  "Yes!" I shot back hastily, hoping to stem the loquacious archivist's prattle.

  "Yes what?"

  "History. I want to find information on an event that took place somewhere around here two hundred and eighty years ago."

  "Which event is that?"

  I repeated to the demon the version relayed earlier to Ylsan. The archivist was silent for some time.

  "You think that the citadel ruins of the Craedia Princedom holds the key to your return?"

  "You know where that is?!" I blurted out.

  The old demon smirked.

  "Who doesn't know about the Ahriman-cursed barbarian kingdom on the dominion's southern border?"

  Damn! Of course, what game didn't have your cursed lands, dead lands, dark lands and the like. To be sure, no one said completing a hidden quest would be easy.

  "Master, what did actually happen that day? Why was the princedom cursed? And what kind of curse is it?"

  "Too many questions, young man. And I hardly have the answers, at least for the first two. Alas, I am not a historian, but a humble archivist. That information is stored in the old archives in the west wing. As for the curse itself, any demon crossing the border into the princedom becomes significantly weaker. The combat transformation ability is lost, and vigor is reduced. For this reason, no demon in their right mind would venture there. Sure, there have been miscreants who had tried, but they hadn't gotten very far. And after the overlord's army had swept through the two provinces, it's unlikely you can still salvage anything of value. Unless, of course, you know exactly what you're looking for and where to find it. But then," the old demon gave me a piercing look, "I don't think this curse will affect you. It impacts only demons, and you, young man… I have no idea what you are."

  "What do you mean?"

  "At first glance you appear to belong to a light race, but a closer look reveals you're also a demon, albeit without the external attributes. And you're definitely not a half-breed. Can you imagine mixing water with fire? Water can be vaporized, fire can be doused—but you cannot combine the two. And yet, here you are—that very inexplicable mix."

  "But why do you think the curse won't take me for a demon? Assuming everything you say is true."

  "Because you're not a demon, but a light race specimen endowed with demon abilities," said Prant, hurling me into total confusion.

  "Why don't I have a combat form, then?"

  "Krian, I am an ar-chi-vist," he syllabicated. "Don't expect an answer from me. As far as what happened in the Craedia Princedom and why it is cursed, like I said before—there may be information that sheds light on the matter in the archives of the ruined west wing. Although I doubt you will find anything special there, at the very least there'll be maps of the princedom."

  "I heard about that. They say there was a big fire. Do you really think anything has survived?"

  "I'm certain of it. The archives were protected, sealed in a closed space. Yours truly did the sealing himself," declared the old demon. "Almost all the equipment that was stored in similarly sealed spaces has survived the fire and been extracted. But who gives a hoot about old records! All the fuss I've kicked up has been for naught. The lord's chancellery promised to take care of it, but that promise has been dragging on for fifty years now."

  "But what actually happened back then, one hundred years ago? What was the cause of the fire?"

  "Eighty three years ago," the archivist corrected me. "There was a big war that summer, and very few had remained at the research center—everybody was with the armed forces. Master Varkas was left in charge—a water mage and a dark arts specialist to boot. Powerful death emanations can still be felt in the ruined section of the west wing—there has even been some undead activity. Maybe a spell mix-up, or an accident in the lab," the old demon mused, spreading his arms. "I wouldn't know—the mages don't report to me."

  "Is it possible to get into the archives?"

  "I will give you the keys, young man, but on one condition. I want you to bring me sixteen tomes entitled The History of Ashtar Dominion, penned by Master Kuan and supplemented by his disciples."

  You've accessed the quest: Salvaging the Archives.

  Quest type: normal.

  Bring sixteen tomes entitled The History of Ashtar Dominion to Master Prant.

  Reward: experience, 10 gold.

  "Those are very valuable books for historians," the archivist continued as soon as I accepted the quest. "It will be a great tragedy if they are lost forever. The tomes require care, and I fear that the spells preserving them have already expired."

  "I will bring you the books," I nodded. "Just tell me how to get there."

  "Here," the demon opened one of the drawers in his desk and laid two massive keys and an old map on the desktop. "The archives are on the third basement floor. Here's the layout of the research center—you won't get lost. The light key is to the entrance, and the bronze one is for the actual archi
ves."

  "Thank you," I picked the map from off the desk and put it in my bag.

  "No, thank you," the old demon looked to the side somewhere. "You know, I could have been among the casualties. I didn't want to leave that evening if not for an urgent matter…"

  "Why didn't you want to leave?" I asked as a formality, picking up the keys.

  "You see, young man, it was raining heavily that evening…" the demon's words sounded distant somehow. I felt dizzy as the world began to spin.