by G. Akella
"It's an all-out mutiny, then..." I shook my head while holding back a smile, took the bottle and moved to one of the benches lining the road.
"You OK, Roman?" Donut asked, a little tense.
"More than OK. I feel great. Thank you, thank you all. Let's have a ten-minute smoke break before we head to the port and look for the duke."
I wonder how much the System balances things in my favor in my struggle with Vill? I watched the smoke rising from my pipe. Why did I always think the System favored some demon, anyway? So what if I was the hero of some vague prophecy? Maybe I just thought too much of myself. Sure, Vill had mentioned some ambiguous "rules," but why should I even believe him? Had the System really pushed Raena to make those scrolls? Had the System told Bonbon what to do? Had it ordered my whole party to dive into the hopeless battle? Perhaps I ascribed far too much to “the System.” People had chalked things up to the intervention of higher powers for centuries back on Earth, but that never sounded very nice to all the people who were down on their luck. Back when I was near Lamorna, the System had given me a courier's badge only because it was obligated to give every player a fighting chance. Maybe that was all that had happened here, too, and my friends’ ingenuity and courage made up for the rest.
I exhaled a plume of smoke, took a small sip from the bottle, and returned it to the bag. No matter how much I wanted to get drunk, now was not the time. Every player was owed a fighting chance, but that didn't mean you could quantify the exact number.
I never thought I'd be happy to see the Great Chaos send me such a faithful husband, Jaelitte said out of nowhere. If you had given that bitch your hand, things would have turned out very badly. There would be absolutely nothing, in fact.
I knew right away that it wasn't you.
The Dark Ocean doesn't look quite like that, Roman. Was it the darkness that convinced you that the woman was of the mort?
I chuckled. My wife would never have said those words.
Is that right... Lita's voice sounded strange somehow.
And then the conversation was over. Always a cliffhanger with that one.
"Am I bothering you?"
Masyanya stopped by my bench, and waited for me to nod to sit down next to me. She folded her hands and lowered her head, examining the ground beneath her feet.
"Did you want to ask me something?" I asked her without turning my head.
"I wanted to thank you, actually." She smiled.
"What for?"
Mopsy approached, and the huntress began scratching him behind the ears, then slapped his side to make him lie down. She sighed.
"Back on Earth, there were always so many idiots on the visor, parachuting off of skyscrapers, walking over Niagara Falls, doing crazy bicycle tricks. The slightest miscalculation would put them in a hospital for months, or in a grave forever. They were mercenaries who only accepted payment in adrenaline. I used to think they were complete idiots, and then I came to this place."
I exhaled more smoke. "And has this place changed your opinion?" I didn't know what she was driving at yet.
"At first, I thought only Max and the bald one were crazy," Masyanya continued, nodding at Bonbon, who was tapping his finger on his temple as he explained something to Reece. “Then I started noticing it about the others. Luffy on that island, four arrows in his chest, HP down to a third, killing the PKers while humming some stupid song. Donut and Alyona in the Temple of Kirana. They're all sick!” The huntress leaned back and looked me in the eye. “And this world has nothing to do with it. They were like that before they came here.”
"But you're different. You're grown up, civilized, reasonable. And you see everything so clearly."
"I do see it clearly! Until today, I thought that craziness always had its limits. Nope. When you threatened that monster, you had somehow completely convinced yourself that its master had sent it to its death. That's like charging a speeding train head-on threatening to knock it down and believing that you will, Roman. No one ordered us to attack the beast—we all decided for ourselves, but all at the same time. I shot it in the face knowing full well that I would die, and yet I was thrilled to share the fate of us all. I am sick, like the rest of you. A complete idiot. So, thank you, Roman, for teaching me about this new part of myself."
What was I supposed to say to that? I was a crummy psychologist, to put it nicely.
"Look, I really didn't want things to go that way," I said carefully. But then Masyanya smiled and touched my hand.
"It's OK, Roman. Thank you, really. Reasonable, civilized people aren't long for a world like this."
Getting up, she nodded at the glowing sky in the west. "I just wish I knew what to do about it when all of this is over."
"Just don't tell Bonbon about your dark side," I grinned. “He’s our Knight of Light now, remember?”
"Ugh, when will you boys grow up?" she sighed. There she is. Masyanya called Mopsy to follow, and went to join Donut.
Walking from one end of a medieval city to the other may seem like a time-consuming endeavor, and it was. In fact, our mission was much harder now. There were more than a hundred thousand people in this city, at least before the attack, and it had come under mass assault just a half hour ago. At the temple, the townspeople had been dispersed by the aura of the monster that had charged into Venern, but as we walked the quarter-mile towards the port, we soon realized that we would only manage to meet the duke if he decided to look for us himself. There were probably more people on the streets than in Rio during Carnival. At least the panic had settled down and the bells had fallen silent, meaning the attack was over. But no one was about to return to sleep. People crowded around "eyewitnesses" who retold twisted tales of what had happened. Even Bonbon and Reece could do nothing but shake their heads. The attack of an orcish horde, the uprising of some “Dark Hand,” an onslaught of undead from the south—their versions were so interesting that we would have stopped and listened to each one if we were not so pressed for time. But the one which hit me the most was a version where Vill had attacked the city and been stopped by none other than Velial coming to the duke's aid. We'd had to release the dragons and Mopsy, naturally—pushing through the excited crowd was hard enough without our pets.
We made good progress. Bonbon munched on some yellow balls he had bought from a street vendor while relating yet another novella to Raena and Reece. Donut and Masyanya were talking about something else, and Vaessa was taking in the signs of the city. Kan had a mysterious smile on his face, and I was spending all of my time planning our upcoming conversation with Duke Daar.
Father Albus had perished in defense of the temple. The mort and its creations had slain one hundred and seventy servants of the Supreme God of Erantia. Only twenty seven had survived the attack, including the boy we had met on the street. All this way relayed to us by the senior surviving paladin. The city garrison in this part of town had suffered heavy losses, too. And no one knew what had happened in the port district yet, where the First and Second Legions were garrisoned. A messenger had already been sent from the temple to Duke Richard, so I was sure he would grant me an audience.
I caught up with our rogue. "Hey, Donut, why wouldn't the king send his troops to the duchy’s border? They could cross and go right for the orcs. After all, the duke could send somebody capable of creating a portal right to the planned place of battle."
"Probably because the developers weren't idiots, Roman," he shrugged, slowing his pace. "If we’re going to send an army to the orcs, it can be only from Venern and the adjacent lands. Portals cannot be built in the duchy itself, and it’ll take the king’s legions two weeks to make it from the border. I mean, come on, if your suggestion were an option, why the hell would they need all these statues?"
"Ah. I see." I frowned at the smell of burning permeating the air.
The fire at the port had died down, but now the wind had changed direction and blown the stench into the city. As we approached the port, the streets grew emptied by the od
or.
"This is a game, Roman," Donut said, failing to correctly guess my thoughts from my expression. “You can't always win, and there’s no sense angering the gods. We’re alive, and we had seriously bit into that mort’s HP.”
I shook my head. "The gods don't give a damn about what we think, but Vill is marching towards the orcs following Dhoresh and Kahella. I very much hope that, after this night, the Goddess of Will and Lord of the Ether have a fighting chance."
We took a wide road of large cobblestones, lined on either side with stone factory fences, to Venern's port. It was the only way, and the arrangement was common in the cities of Arkon. If an enemy attacked the port, they would have a difficult time marching down the wide road to reach the center of the city.
Soldiers blocked the road by the entrance to the port: twenty legionnaires, level 250, with a captain at their head.
"Who goes there?" he said in a weary voice.
"Prince Krian of Craedia and companions." I gestured to my party to stop. “We come to see the Duke Daar.”
"My apologies, prince, but it is unlikely that the duke will see anyone in the next few days. I have my orders not to let anyone through."
"He is expecting me, earl," I explained, looking the captain in the eye. “A temple messenger ran ahead of us to bring news of the meeting.”
The captain thought for a long moment, then called a soldier over and sent him on some errand. He addressed me once again.
"We took up this post only ten minutes back, so we didn't see anyone, but I will find out if things are as you say. In the meantime, tell us what happened at the Temple of the Holy One. They say one of the Beasts went there."
"The statue of Myrt and part of the complex are destroyed, and most of the defenders perished, but the temple itself has survived." I looked around at the soldiers, all listening intently. “The Twice Cursed God sent the monsters in order to prevent the king and duke from joining their forces to the orcs' in battle against him. I am deeply sorry, but we could not stop them in time.”
Silence hung over our heads for a full minute, but then suddenly one of the legionnaires pointed behind me and smiled.
"Max! You're alive!"
I spun around, holding my breath—and exhaled. Masyanya held in her hands a small orange and white kitten, looking around in helpless fear. A different Max. I carefully took the trembling kitten from the girl's hands, smiled sadly, and handed the animal to the soldier.
"Thank you, earl!" The legionnaire carefully took the kitten from me, stroked its fur, and placed it on his shoulder. “He came to us a half a year ago. Followed the patrols. Never grew very big, did he? And with things as bad as they got, I thought that he... well...”
Could have happened to us all, buddy. And more than once.
While we awaited the messenger, I briefly related to them what happened at the temple. I kept our role out of it, only explaining that the simplest spell in the arsenal of Light magic was enough to drive the mort away. I learned that the port had been attacked, several ships were crippled, and many people had died. Military types weren't the most talkative, especially just after such a terrible battle, and I wasn’t going to pester them with questions. It was clear that they had been unable to kill the other mort. Yet both had left at the same time. I didn’t know why, and I was in no place to guess.
Morning busied itself with capturing the city sky. The sun had not yet risen, but black had turned to blue and dark crimson. The wind changed direction yet again, but we could still smell the burning. Even the cobblestones seemed to be permeated with the stench of the battle.
It took an hour for the messenger to return. He called the captain aside and gave his report. Then they both turned to us.
"You may pass! The duke is expecting you in the second weapons yard." The captain nodded at the messenger. “Arigg will accompany you.”
We moved a hundred yards forward, stopping just before the piers, and turned left onto a road running through the port. The river was over a half-mile wide here, but the port was quite small. The piers reached a hundred yards into the river, and all of the port's buildings took up less than half a square mile of space. As the sun rose, it revealed the full breadth of the desolation. A thick, dense smoke billowed from the skeletons of six half-submerged vessels. The whole area was strewn with debris from the buildings and twisted hunks of metal. The wooden parts of one pier were completely burned away, leaving steel beams jutting out of the water that resembled the ribs of a dead river monster. Several hundred legionnaires and the workers and sailors that had survived the attack were clearing rubble, pouring water on smoldering debris, and carting corpses away.
Going by the pattern of destruction, the mort had appeared near the shore and immediately attacked the vessels anchored at the pier. One of the ships burst into flame, and that fire spread to the ships and the port, with the monster in the river preventing anyone from putting the fire out. Destroying everything in its path, it climbed up into the port and headed towards the barracks. From there, the tracks became more confusing, but it was clear the duke had lost many people this night. If the first Fallen God had come into the city specifically to destroy the statue and the temple, the second had been here purely to kill.
We found Duke Richard in a wide rectangular plaza equipped with five enormous trebuchets. He was tall and broad of shoulder, clad in adamantine armor but without a helmet. His hands clasped behind his back, he was speaking in soft tones to some officers and civilians. Judging by their slumped figures, his speech was anything but good news, as if he was tasking the seven of them with grabbing hammers and rebuilding the entire port. Their expressions suggested they'd sooner build some gallows for themselves.
I released our escort and asked the others to wait, then straightened the scabbard at my belt and walked at a normal pace towards the duke. When he noticed me, he barked at his subordinates, "You have your orders!" and turned toward me. His countenance was grim.
It was then that I saw the awful condition of his armor. His breastplate was dented in four places, the right shoulderguard was twisted outward, and his shield—propped up on the ground—looked like it had faced off against a battering ram. Or a mort's bony limb. I did not big him "good morning" for obvious reasons, instead simply standing across from him and introducing myself.
"So why has a demon prince come to my land?" he said coldly, measuring me with his gaze.
I felt for the guy. His port was destroyed, many of his people had perished, and the duke himself had taken quite a beating, so I pushed my rising rage back down and shrugged.
"Just passing through, on my way to the orcs. Vynnern was supposed to be just a pit stop."
"So you're the Dreamer. The black demon of the prophecy." The duke gestured to his guards to withdraw, sat down, slowly ran his hands over his face and through his hair, and sighed. “As if I don't have enough muck on my plate as it is."
"Hey, it's not like I had much of a choice here."
I pulled my pipe from my bag, sat down next to him, and began stuffing it with tobacco. The duke considered the piles of stones stacked next to the trebuchets, then sighed yet again.
"I know. No idiot alive would pursue all this voluntarily. I must thank you, of course, demon. If you and your people had not rushed to the temple, this conversation would not even be happening. But if you knew they were coming, why didn't you warn me in advance?"
"It's not like that, earl. I was indeed in your city by pure chance, and I learned of the attack only about twenty minutes before it began."
Having finally stuffed and lit my pipe, I set to telling him the whole story.
There was no one in the trebuchet plaza but me, the duke, and his guards. The rest of my party had moved off the road to settle under a twisted branching tree, and the trebuchet crews had likely joined the others in repairing the port. Richard listened without interruption. A light breeze from the river had dispersed the smog over the port, adding to the stench of the flames the less-revo
lting odors of river water and algae. The sun was out now, and the day was quite bright. At last the terrible night was over. Soon, the people would rebuild the port. The statue and the temple would be restored, and life would conquer death once more. The morts would never return to Venern. Not because Vill would never send them again, but because both he and them would be dead.
The duke kept silent for a few moments after the end of my story, and a phenomenal exhaustion took hold of me. Whether it was due to the events of the night before or just because I was underslept, I didn't know. I smoked and drank some coffee, trying to keep alert. At last, Richard rose, hands clasped behind his back, and spoke.
"Gurkass an Gunlaag is the kha'an’s advisor of foreign magic. The ruler approached him five centuries ago for the role, after the Rebellion of the Four Brothers. Orcs are a strange people, demon. Sometimes they torture prisoners even more than the disavowed. But things aren’t as straightforward as they seem. You’d need to be an orc to understand. Gray robes are no more common among them than they are among us—Rehan’s new advisor has been quite successful fighting the forbidden cults."
The duke paused, watching the sun rise over the river, and nodded to his own thoughts.
"I remember what happened in Kargal a year ago. A dozen rent corpses. Everyone was talking about it, but it was Gurkass who first declared Trang's innocence. But Bel take those memories. Tell me, prince," he turned and looked at me, “what care do you have for the warriors of the Great Steppe?”
I rose and adjusted my scabbard. "None. I have no interest in the orcs, nor in their inscrutable gods. But they are the enemies of my enemy. I do not want Vill to grow stronger. If I must kill a traitor, or a dozen traitors, or a hundred traitors to prevent that, I will. I'll slowly cut them into pieces if I have to. But there is another reason, related to one particular orc." I pulled the clan chieftain’s badge from my bag and showed it to the duke. "You know who this belongs to.”
