Archemi Online Chronicles Boxset

by James Osiris Baldwin

  “Suit yourself.” I shrugged, then summoned Cutthroat from the stable. The big, black dinosaur materialized in front of us, swinging her head from side to side to orient on her surroundings, and then on us. I froze. Someone had taken her damn muzzle off.

  The sour expression left Suri’s features, and she beamed like I’d just teleported in a box of kittens. She approached Cutthroat fearlessly. “A black destrier? I thought only royalty got to ride those. She’s beautiful! Hi there, baby girl...!”

  “Uh...” All the hair on my back and scalp lifted as Suri strode up to my vicious, unpredictable hookwing. Cutthroat took a step back from her, pawing the ground and rattling warningly in her throat. “I’m going to say right now that trying to pet the slavering hookbeast is a very bad idea.”

  Suri clicked her tongue and bobbed her head, circling around. To my surprise, Cutthroat didn’t lunge forward and rip her head from her shoulders. Instead, she took a cautious curving step, then another, and then made a low crooning sound in her throat. Suri smiled and repeated the head bob gesture. Cutthroat’s nostrils flared, snorting, but then she tentatively bobbed back.

  I squinted at them. “Are you… are you some kind of wizard?”

  “Hang on.” Suri clicked her tongue, and went in closer. Cutthroat’s feathers flinched as she lay a hand on her neck, but she didn’t turn her head to bite. I watched in disbelief as Suri began to scratch, and Cutthroat not only let her, but turned her head to the side to guide her hand to the best scritchy-spot.

  “She’s a lesbian,” I said. “That is literally the only way I can rationalize what I am seeing right now.”

  “Are you a little birdy dyke, Cutthroat?” Suri was clearly into it. Her whole face lit up, and she got that high-pitched voice women reserve for babies, puppies, and best friends they haven’t seen for years. “Yeahhhh, there you go! Who’s the baby bird? You’re the baby bird!”

  “I cannot fucking believe this.” I crossed my arms. “That raging hairy anus of a dinosaur has been the biggest learning curve of my entire life, and you just waltz up and lesbian-seduce her.”

  “I always liked hookwings. All animals, really.” Suri shrugged, and reached up with her other hand to give a double-barrel scratch. Cutthroat’s eyes rolled back with pleasure. “Haven’t you ever tried the pack greeting with her? Hide your hands, bob your head, move around in a circle?”

  “Of course I have.” Scowling, I watched my hussy of a hookwing preen under her arm, then shake her feathers out. She looked like a puffy black canary. “I’ve done that, and I’ve tried to scratch her like how you’re doing... and she bit my head off. Literally. All I was trying to do was give her love. Because I do love her. I mean, it’s terrifying, co-dependent, masochistic love...”

  “You can scratch my head,” Karalti said, huddling against my leg. “My head’s better anyway. And it’s REALLY itchy.”

  Suri laughed a warm, rolling laugh, and my skin prickled for a totally different reason. “Well, you know, birds of a feather and all that. Big, scarred-up old bitch like this knows another one when she sees her. What’s her name?”

  “Cutthroat.” I slowly approached to try and join her in the scritchfest. I got within two feet before the hookwing’s head whirled around, jaws gaping wide. Out of reflex, I Shadow Danced six feet to the side, evaporating as her teeth chomped together in the space where my shoulder would have been.

  “Cutthroat? Good name. Rolls off the tongue better than Guillotine.” She pronounced the word like ‘Gilla’teen’. “Ooh, she’s feisty, isn’t she?”

  “You have no idea,” I replied. “Now, stand back. We have a launch procedure.”

  Suri chuckled as she moved away. Cutthroat moved to follow her, chirping like a hungry chick, but then I equipped her muzzle. It was like lighting a tank of kerosene. The hookwing shrilled with fury, spittle flying everywhere. I tucked my hands behind my back and bobbed my head at her, but there was no friendly return greeting. Sticky drool streamed from her jaws, and she lowered her head menacingly, moving it from side to side in time with her tail.

  “See?” I sighed as I tried to grab the saddle, but she turned in a circle away from me, darting her head out and banging the muzzle cage off my boot. “Muzzle or no muzzle, she’s hated my guts from the moment she saw me. The only time she’s fine is when she’s killing things. Most of the time, she’s like the incarnation of PMS.”

  “I always seemed to be able to get along with ‘em.” Suri said from the sidelines. “They like the red hair.”

  “Really? That’s it?” I dodged Cutthroat’s hind sickle claw, and jumped up onto her back in the brief interval between her attempt to eviscerate me and the stumble to recover her balance.

  “All of them like red stuff. You should try waving a pair of red flags when you walk toward her.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Fuck you. You’re trolling me.”

  Suri only grinned.

  “I like red!” Karalti chirped. As soon as I found my stirrups and gathered the reins, she flew up to perch on the hookwing’s butt. “So do you. You like Grumpy Lady’s hair.”

  “Hey, you know what my dragon calls you?” I called back to Suri, wrestling Cutthroat into walking the right direction. “You’re ’Grumpy Lady’.”

  “You wanna know what I call your dragon?”

  “Go ahead, but keep it PG-13. She’s a baby. Kid-friendly insults only, thanks.”

  The woman scoffed, jogging ahead of Cutthroat. The effect was instantaneous. Cutthroat trilled happily, and pranced off after her at the same speed, completely ignoring the reins, me, or anything else other than the new love of her life: Suri, the angriest and most athletic Disney princess in the world.

  “So,” I began, once we were out on the street. “You’re Australian, but you think you’re from Dakhdir… and you don’t remember the Total War? So either everyone in Dakhdir is Australian, or your upload must have screwed up even harder than mine.”

  Whatever goodwill I’d earned by introducing her to Cutthroat vaporized, and suddenly, Suri had her rage face firmly back on. “How many times do I have to tell you that it’s none of your bloody business, mate?”

  “Is calling someone ‘mate’ in that tone of voice more or less friendly than calling someone a cunt in Dakhdir?”

  “Less. But you’re a real annoying cunt, anyone ever tell you that?”

  I beamed. “After my morning bacon and eggs, I sit on the toilet with my acoustic guitar and make up sad country songs about how annoying I am while I take a big ol’ cry-shit.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Suri muttered.

  That’s right. Dragozin Hector, Ladies’ Man.

  The Temple District, which was adjacent to the University District and the Trades Quarter, looked more rundown than you’d expect of a holy area. The winding street that led to the Seminary was lined with stone apartments, guild halls, and open-air smithies. Bald monks in heavy leather aprons poured sweat as they hammered out farming tools, weapons, and machine parts in forges that looked like open dragon mouths. To my surprise, there was a players-only bar here, too. It was currently closed, something I noted with a twinge of regret. Archemi simply didn’t have enough players to populate all the cities.

  Yet, I thought to myself. A nuclear strike had probably taken out Aurora Shard, one of the huge sealed megastructures in the USA and the joint Japan-American development center for Archemi. It was currently running off the off-world orbital servers, but that didn’t mean there weren’t survivors. Any day, the Devs who’d survived could come back online.

  We approached the massive seminary, a star-shaped building with interlocking archways and a huge onion dome made from translucent amber. The central hall was big enough to admit a full-sized dragon. A burly guard took Cutthroat, and they made us peace-bond our weapons with red silk rope before we were admitted. It was like walking into an aircraft hanger: a huge open space with airship hulks, giant sails, crates and pallets stacked high. Layfolk craftsmen mingled with more worker-mon
ks, and priests in red or blue robes. The ones in blue poured over diagrams and books, led prayers around giant forges, cleaned and swept. The red-robed ones had their sleeves rolled up and were instructing people on all manner of repairs and craft skills.

  “We could grind Crafting like crazy here,” I whispered to Suri.

  She grunted her agreement, and slowed warily as one, then a dozen heads turned toward us. And they were all staring at Karalti.

  “By the gods!” A young man exclaimed.

  “They come with a dragon!” A woman cried.

  “A goddess!”

  “It’s a sign! They’ve come to stop the Slayer!”

  “It’s beautiful!”

  I took a step back, shielding Karalti with an arm as a crowd formed and pressed in around us.

  “Yeah!” Karalti puffed her throat out, flipping her wings as she strutted back and forth. “I’m the best!”

  “So, how’s it feel being popular?” Suri squinted, a hand resting on one of her peace-bonded axes.

  “Kind of terrifying,” I mumbled back.

  “What’s going on here?” A gravelly voice boomed over the chattering people gathering around.

  The crowd parted as a thick-set man rumbled forward. He was dressed in red and gold, his sleeves tied back over muscular tanned arms, and a heavy, brown leather metalsmith’s apron loaded with tools. Worshippers and craftsmen bowed as he passed. The newcomer’s thick beard, square face, and graying blond hair gave the impression of an old lion. When his dark eyes lit on Karalti, he turned pale.

  “Yeah! Worship me!” Karalti flared her crests up and came to stand beside me, and I jabbed her in the ribs with my elbow. “ACK!”

  “High Forgemaster Agoston Toth?” Suri asked. She put down her weapon.

  The big man looked between the three of us. “Why… yes?”

  I nodded. “The Volod sent us. We hear you’ve been dealing with some murders.”

  Chapter 8

  “Orban was still young. A true prodigy.” High Priest Agoston Toth was just about the least priestly-looking man I’d ever seen. Tall, wide, with a broad heavy face, a neck like a bull, and hams for fists, he seemed to take up most of the room. The small parlor where he had received us was connected to the main cathedral. It had bookshelves and plants, a jug of wine, and murals of dragons, battles, and men working a forge. “I took him under my wing, knowing he would exceed my ability in the coming decades. I looked forward to it. For a man with no children, your students are the hope for the future. Not only was he talented, he always strove to embody the virtues expected of a servant of Khors. The only reason someone would kill him would be to strike a blow against the church, generally, and me in particular.”

  “Did he have any enemies?” Suri tapped her lips with a finger. She sat at the end of the table, one leg crossed over her other knee. I was still standing, mostly to watch Karalti while she happily gnawed on a huge marrowbone in front of the fireplace.

  The big priest spread his hands. They were calloused, and he wore a lot of rings, each one forged of a different kind of metal. “Not to my knowledge. There are the usual arguments and conflicts among the men here, conflicts which are resolved through mediation by senior brothers. A functional brotherhood relies on good communication.”

  “What did you do for him?” I asked. “Andr... His Majesty said you sent him to the Meewfolk.”

  “I did.” Toth bowed his head.

  “Why?”

  He looked down at Karalti, who was making short work of the bone. “The priests and monks come to me with their troubles, and I counsel them. This can be anything from simply listening to their woes through to issuing penance for lapses of duty. They come to me knowing that what I order will be fair and just, and the penance will be in line with the oaths they swore to maintain. Orban came to me not long ago with a confession.”

  Suri nodded. “Which was?”

  The priest sighed. “He admitted to me that he held prejudice against the Meewfolk. He had grown up being told that they are plague-bearers and thieves, and he confessed that he looked down on the catfolk who visit the House of the Maker. Not for any particular reason... a matter of upbringing and simple bias. However, the faith of Khors does not discriminate. It was the dragons, actually, who taught us that all peoples are equal under the sky, and all may seek to uphold the values of Khors and light a fire against the Void. One of the values we uphold is courage. The courage to face fear, and admit when we are wrong.”

  “You sent him on a solo assignment to the ghetto to prove his fears weren’t real?” I rubbed my face thoughtfully, thinking back to Kirov’s description of how his body was found.

  “Yes.” The craggy lines of Toth’s face deepened with sorrow. “I confess I feel some guilt now that this has happened. He was a good man, and so young. He sincerely wished to overcome his fear, and now... now this.”

  Suri spoke next. “What are these values? Are they a code, or less defined?”

  “Khors is a god of principle and action, and he extols seven virtues,” Toth replied. “Hospitality, honor, courage, self-reliance, wisdom, discipline, and honesty. His faithful, whether they be lay or brothers in the faith, always strive to embody these virtues.”

  I glanced aside at Suri, and found her momentarily looking up at me with understanding in her eyes. I nodded a little.

  “Orban was found with stab wounds in his back,” Suri said. “But those didn’t kill him. Someone went to the effort of forcing a live rat down his throat. He choked on it.”

  “Symbol of cowardice,” I said, with a short nod. As I talked, I scanned the room. “The others who were murdered...”

  “One was a tutor to the royal family,” Suri said. “He was beaten to death with a book and a quill.”

  “Yeah. Safe to say that could be wisdom.”

  Toth’s brow furrowed as he listened to us.

  “Father Darko doesn’t fit that pattern.” Suri scowled, massaging one of her hands as she thought. “He hung himself. Nothing fancy or symbolic. Unless he really wasn’t murdered.”

  “No.” Father Toth fiercely shook his head. “No no no... Franz Darko was a ferocious and honorable man. If he desired death, he’d have strapped on his armor and gone into the woods to battle monsters until he could no longer fight. Suicide is a great disgrace.”

  “The opposite of disgrace is honor. That’s the virtue, then,” I said. “Father Darko’s death just wasn’t as... I hate to use the word, but it wasn’t as ‘flashy’ as the other murders.”

  “Yeah.” Suri picked at her lip ring, brooding. “That’s how assassins kill people. Make it look like they did it themselves.”

  “You truly believe this?” Father Toth looked between us. “We thought perhaps someone was targeting us because Khors has… well, because the church is such a strong supporter of His Majesty, I should say.”

  Suri nodded. “What makes you think that?”

  “The Volod is concerned about national security, and after the events in the Southeast and unrest among the non-humans of Taltos, he has focused a great deal of time and money on fortifying our borders and modernizing the army,” Toth replied. “Khors is the god of the fire that protects us against the night and the forge on which we create the tools that feed and defend us. He is also the patron god of House Corvinus, who is said to be descended from him via his human-born son. His Majesty has begun a great push to modernize Vlachia, and has leveraged taxes on the common folk to pay for the weapons, armor, infrastructural components, and siege engines we build. He is training smiths and soldiers under the banner of Khors.”

  “What about the other eight gods?” I asked. “I haven’t seen any big churches like this one here.”

  “There used to be,” the High Forgemaster replied. “But the Nine are the gods of the dragons, not humanity. Of them all, only Khors exalted humankind. It is said he fell in love with a human woman, an artist of great skill, and she bore Taltos - the first prophet and patriarch of our faith.”


  I grunted. “Then it could just be some religious nutcase, but we won’t know until we have a suspect in hand. How does the murderer know who’s breaking which virtue, or who best embodies a particular virtue so they can murder them to make a point?”

  “Duhhh,” Karalti said, chewing on her bone. “They listen. That’s how you learn stuff.”

  “You’re far more likely to be murdered by someone you know than someone you don’t,” Suri said grimly. “My thought is that it’s someone either in the priesthood, or who has a lot of access to the Church.”

  Father Toth rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Fire and Sky preserve us... I can’t even bear to think of such a thing. But your idea is compelling... though we could simply be applying our ideas to a tragedy which is far simpler.”

  “It’s always a risk, but it gives us something to go on.” I jerked my head toward the room. “Out of curiosity... did you talk to the other murdered men shortly before they died?”

  Father Toth’s eyes narrowed, and his chest swelled. “Are you implying that I might have done this?”

  “No.” I glanced at Karalti. “I’m wondering if anyone might have overheard you talking to them.”

  “Confession and counselling is done in my chambers,” he said stiffly. “But now that you mention it, yes, I did talk with Father Darko and Father Abel not long before they were murdered.”

  “Do you remember what you talked about?”

  “Father Abel came to drink, report on the state of the university treasury, and we played a game of chess. He was my good friend.” Father Toth shook his head, looking down at his hands. “Franz... he came in to rant at me over some matter of protocol. I don’t remember. Much as I valued him, he was hot-tempered and quick to see insult or transgression where there was none.”

  Karalti might not have been that far off the mark, then. My stomach thrilled nervously. “Anyone else in the office at the time?”

  “No. I receive my subordinates privately.”

  Suri nodded, her mind made up, and stood. “Then we need to search your office.”