“Maybe rubber lady can help?”
That was a possibility. Rin had spent the early morning cooing over Karalti, petting her and feeding her pieces of beef jerky and small cakes they kept for human guests. This had vastly improved Karalti’s opinion of her, and smoothed over the fact that she’d ambushed us and plugged me full of crossbow bolts. Still - Rin was probably the one to go to with design ideas.
I found a place to hitch Cutthroat, and left her to find something to eat. I got a frothy cup of coffee whisked with butter, cream and a lot of sugar, and a spiral wheel of fried bread stuffed with beef and garlic. This divine foodstuff was called burek. It was hot, flaky, and soft on the outside and savory in the middle, and it was enough to convince me that yes, heaven did exist, but instead of choirs of angels, there was nothing but fields of cheerful street food vendors selling burek and coffee for five copper coins a piece. Forever.
We had to run through a gauntlet of food stands, and Karalti watched with increasing trepidation as I succumbed to basically all of them. I had chicken burek, beef burek, some kind of sour cherry danish, and then another kind of delicious stuffed-bread thing called katchapuri, which had a well of melted cheese and an egg in the middle. I put away every last crumb.
“Are you about to level up?” My dragon squeaked. Dragons eat a lot when they’re about to level up.”
“Nope. No leveling. Just obesity.” I replied, as I waddled toward the Armorsmith’s shop.
A bell tinkled overhead when we opened the door and entered, barely audible through the bang bang bang of a hammer striking steel. Beautiful suits of armor were on display: hanging on stands, mounted on the walls. Most were full plate, fluted and embossed with delicate designs. Most of it was too heavy for me, but one suit of leather and chainmail armor caught my eye straight away.
The armor looked like it was intended for rogue-type classes. The main piece of the set was a bodysuit not unlike a motorcycle racing suit. Over that was a plate-reinforced leather vest. The dark steel segments tapered in such a way that you could bend at the waist, from side to side, and backwards. Soft, thick leather flaps formed a V-shaped kirtle over hip armor, also flexible.
Small metal plates were sewn into the leather bodysuit on strategic points: knees, shoulders. The hard leather pieces were carved with intricate Middle Eastern designs. I had a look at the Body piece stats:
Nizari Leather Armor Cuirass
105 armor
+30% resistance to slashing damage
+15% resistance to bludgeoning damage
+5 Attack power
+20% Elemental resistance
Light armor
Body Slot
100% durability
Required Level: 10
Price: 1200 silver Rubles
Light, tough, maneuverable armor worn by the assassins of the Cult of Malek in Dakhdir.
“That Nizari set comes with a helm that’s not on the stand. The whole set gives two-hundred and fifty armor, and it don’t weigh more than thirty pounds.” The gravelly voice of the smith - my HUD highlighted his name as Fyodor - rang out from behind me as the rhythm of hammer blows paused. “The helm has a hood that ties on. We make the whole set dyed any color you want.”
Two-fifty Armor was way better than my current total of 180, and this gear weighed about half of my Jack of Plates set. It also had twice as much resistance to slashing damage, and perhaps most importantly, +20% elemental resistance. Against magic, that was a huge advantage. My inner twelve-year-old wanted black with red trim. Or even better: purple trim. Purple trim with tribal dragon tattoos. Then I could get at least one pair of mirror shades, an e-cig and a katana, and lurk in tavern corners. Edgelord Hector Bloodzin: Dragon Assassin.
“Do I save any money if I get a less-fancy version?” I asked him, turning to face the counter. “Because I get hit a lot. I mean, like, a LOT. I need the armor equivalent of dad jeans. I want the bonuses, but don’t need any embossing or tooling or anything.”
The smith was an older man with stringy hair and a twisted mouth. He scowled, and was about to say something rude about barbarians when he saw Karalti. She gaped her jaws at him, imitating a smile.
“That’s... that’s...” He sputtered.
I sighed. “Yes. A dragon. We’re holy representatives of the church here to... bless your forge, good smith. You know, Khors being the god of the forge and everything.”
[You have learned a new Skill: Bluff. Sometimes, the only way forward is to lie your ass off.]
Fyodor the Smith swallowed. “I see. Well…. Please, allow me to discount this armor set for you. And what about for her? Does she require armor? I will give you an excellent price.”
‘Discount’ was one of my favorite words in the English language. I regarded Karalti for several moments. Armor for Karalti? I hadn’t thought of that. She responded by posing prettily.
“Karalti doesn’t really need armor yet, but I’m looking for saddle blueprints. If you have one, or think you could work with me to design one, the, uhh, Brotherhood of Awesome Dragon Guys would be eternally in your debt.”
“A saddle? You... you would ride this sacred creature?” The smith looked affronted.
“It’s my sacred duty as one of said Awesome Dragon Guys,” I replied. “Plus, she actually wants me to ride her. Or else I wouldn’t do it.”
“Yeah!” Karalti squeaked.
The smith jumped, visibly shaken by what he was seeing. “I only do barding, not saddles. But I can recommend a good craftsman for them. He’s a silverskin, but he makes saddles for quazi.”
“Kazi?” I asked.
“Quazi,” he replied, blinking at me in confusion.
“Give me a sec.” I surreptitiously swiped in my HUD, and telepathically queried it. “What the fuck is ‘quazi’?”
Quazi
A flying saurian creature related to hookwings, these griffon-like creatures are the preferred aerial mount of Vlachian light cavalry. They are used as war mounts, beasts of burden and in sports, but are expensive to keep and difficult to train. Unlike hookwings, they are not pack animals and must be specially socialized by experienced handlers. Quazi are rarely found in the West of Artana (Ilia, Gilheim, or any other realm in Hercynia) but are common in the South-East of Artana (Vlachia, Dakhdir and The Shalid).
The picture that accompanied the short generic knowledge was of a splendid, proud creature that looked like a cross between a wyvern and a gryphon. It was fully feathered, but had a toothy muzzle, a wedge-shaped tail with a long central plume, and walked on its wing hands and hind feet.
“Right. That guy probably knows what he’s talking about,” I replied, pushing the HUD aside. “What’s his name and location?”
“His name is Mik... Mixa... Ugh. We call him Mikhael. I can’t speak their damn click-clack language.” Fyodor made a sound of disgust. “You’ll find him in the Tanner’s District. Here, I’ll mark it on your map.”
A marker appeared on my mini-map: a location not too far from Rin’s shop.
“In exchange for your blessing, I will give you this Nizari set for seven hundred rubles,” he said, once the map was put away.
Ouch. Seven hundred rubles still translated to about a thousand Ilian Florins, which was basically all the money we had. But I could trade in my newly improved Jack of Plates and the gear I’d forged, and this armor would last me until early mid-game, especially if I could enhance it. If I kept training my Leatherworking skills, I’d be able to bump its stats up. It was worth the price. “Done.”
He opened the Shop Inventory, and we got to trading. I offloaded my old gear on him, and spent the majority of my money on the new armor. Armor in Archemi was ‘one-size-fits-all’, so when I equipped it, it was a perfect fit. I immediately felt better. Faster. Stronger. Hotter, too, in a ‘LARPing a Drow Rogue in the park’ kind of way.
“Now, about that forge blessing?” Holding his hammer in both hands, Fyodor glanced hopefully at Karalti. “Business has been slow of late, what with the
Volod cracking down on demi-humans and travelers.”
“Sure thing. Go, Karalti! Bless this man’s forge with fortune and fire!” I made some half-assed pope gesture as Karalti toddled off toward him. Fortunately, Fyodor was so taken by presence of a Real Live Dragon that he didn’t even notice how lame I sounded.
We left Fyodor worshipping at the white fire now burning a hole in his forge, collected Cutthroat, and started the long journey toward Vulkan Keep: the Volod’s castle, which loomed gracefully over the city from the top of the old volcano at the center. Karalti and I had just settled into the saddle when my HUD chirped, alerting me to a message. Curious, I pulled it over and blinked when I saw the name. It was Suri.
“Hector. I already heard about what happened at the hospital.” Suri’s voice poured through the comm link like warm toffee. “Body’s been recovered, and we found evidence of a fight. SITREP?”
Of course she had amazing radio discipline. As if she couldn’t get any hotter. “Slayer is a Mercurion Artificer, name of Kanzo. I caught him with the victim in his third-floor office. We pursued him over the rooftops, heading toward the clocktower, and forced a confrontation. Nearly killed him, but his apprentice interfered and he escaped.”
“What are your coordinates? I’ll RV there with some knights, and we can make an arrest.”
“We can’t arrest her. She claims her craftmaster is being forced to assassinate the priests and has been leaving her secret messages begging for help. She’s a civilian, Suri.”
“No, she’s an accomplice.”
“I’m not saying she isn’t. I’m saying don’t bring a SWAT team in through her door, because she’ll be too terrified to talk. Station them around, if you want the backup, but meet me discreetly and we can interview her together. I bet you’d be better at this than I am.”
“She needs to be arrested.” The stubborn note was back in Suri’s voice.
“If we drag her in front of the Volod, there’s a good chance he’ll order a pogrom and kill her and every other Mercurion in this city,” I replied, angling Cutthroat toward the University District gate. We were moving steadily uphill, heading for the castle that loomed above Taltos like a dark crown. “They can shut down the Tanner’s District and massacre everyone trapped inside, so unless you want that on your conscience, can we drop the Robocop act and gather some more data first?”
There was a pause. “Fine, where are you?”
“Heading into the University District through the South Gate. Do you want to join my-?”
“No.” Suri hung up.
“Wow. Grumpy lady really hates parties,” Karalti remarked.
I sighed. “She sure does.”
“It’s okay. You got me.”
At least now I could see Suri’s name in my address book. It was possible that players could disable the search function for their names if they wanted privacy. Something to look into later.
We headed up a steep, narrow winding street flanked by three-story European style apartments when I suddenly noticed just how empty the road actually was. I scanned the rooftops, alley mouths and darkened doorways, eyes narrowing. We were alone. No one was out, in contrast to the busy morning chatter of the Market District. And that had me on edge.
We rounded the corner, and I reined Cutthroat in to a halt as the back of my neck prickled. We were just about to pass under an archway. Further along the road was a wagon without a dinosaur to pull it. It was plain wood, and the back of the wagon had a heavy door with small bars on the windows. Not exactly a luxury sedan.
“Something’s off, girl.” I brought my spear around and down, and unequipped Cutthroat’s muzzle. “Fly up and scout the rooftops. And be careful.
“Oki!” Karalti bunched, then launched herself into the air, straight into a fan of arrows that flew out at us from three directions.
Chapter 14
Karalti blasted the arrows with fire, twisting desperately in mid-air. She avoided some, incinerated some, but took three or four missiles made it through and struck her in the wings and legs. The dragon floundered and then crashed to the ground.
[Karalti takes 70 damage!]
[Karalti’s has sustained Wing Damage: -15 to all Flight abilities]
“Karalti!” I dug my heel into Cuthroat’s side and pulled her reins across her neck, getting her to turn sideways to provide cover for my dragon as she got to her feet. As the hookwing spun, I loosened my feet from the stirrups. When she came to a stop, I vaulted up to my feet on her back.
“Charge! Get that hatchling!” A man bellowed from overhead.
Thugs began pouring from the alleys, from behind the wagon, and from behind me, converging on the three of us. Twenty, at least, including the archers I could see. They were mercenaries, and I was pretty sure the fucking Mata Argis sent them.
It was one thing for them to attack me. It was quite another to attack her. Something savage pushed up from deep inside me. A mad, dark, hungry power bubbled up like magma. I felt its lust in my teeth and jaws, behind my eyes, and through my hands on the spear.
Whoever these goatfuckers were, they’d hurt my Tidbit. And I was going to tear. Them. Up.
“Hrrragh!” I snarled and sprung off Cutthroat’s back like a bullet. “Ice cream!”
Cutthroat didn’t need to be told twice. I heard shouts and screams and the wet tear of flesh below as I soared up, straight into the face of one of the archers crouched on top of the arch, and met his shocked eyes just before the tip of my spear blew through his face and out the back of his head. I swung him around and kicked him off the arch. Bows creaked from three directions as they were drawn. I took one arrow from behind even as I knocked three from the air, blurring into shadow and reappearing on top of the pack of lightly-armored archers in front.
I lashed out with a foot, knocking a bow out of a man’s hands, following up with a blast of dark power and then a sprint forward. One man fell screaming to the ground; one took the Umbra Blast to the face and reeled away, clawing at his eyes. The last had drawn a sword. He swiped; I dodged, dancing around him and slashing out at the pale length of his exposed throat. Blood fanned in an arc. I spun behind the gurgling archer, grabbed him by the collar and belt, and pushed him ahead of me like a tower shield as I ran at the others on the arch.
Bows twanged, and the body danced in my hands as the rain of arrows struck it. I bellowed, just before I burned a Power Attack and flung the arrow-studded corpse at the remaining archers, scattering their rank.
Down below on the street, I heard Karalti blast someone, and as the EXP added up, I got a notification: [Congratulations! Karalti has reached Level 4!]
I hit Blood Storm and bull rushed them, gaining back the AP and HP I’d just spent. My body blurred into nothingness, only to reappear around behind one of the archers. I ended up only landing a glancing blow, because something hit me upside the back of the head: a bow.
The world spun. With the sound of wingbeats in my ears, I stumbled down to one knee. It pitched me under the second strike. Arrows zinged past overhead, and then a huge shadow fell over us all.
I threw my head up, disoriented, and my eyes widened. It was Karalti.
Karalti was now the size of a large horse, with a wingspan to match. Her horns and wedge-shaped head had lengthened. Her body was more muscled, her scales thicker and more gemlike. And she had gained some HP with the level-up.
Her jaws gaped. “CHAAAARRR!”
White, ghostly fire spewed in a slick wave across the archway, boiling across the stone. The remaining three archers screamed in terror, scattering. One ran toward me. I tripped him with the Spear, and he slipped and fell, wailing, like a flaming meteor to the ground below.
“Hector! The guards are here! And my blood turned some of the men into monsters!” Karalti still sounded young, but her voice was deeper, more mature. She landed on the edge of the arch and turned her back to me. “They’re killing the other men! Get on!”
“You can’t fly with me yet, can you?” Panting, I re
ached up and pulled an arrow out of my shoulder. Ooh yeah, that hurt. My vision blurred for a moment.
“I can glide. Come on!”
Puffing to focus myself, I ran at her and jumped, landing on her back. My pain seemed to fade into the background as I got into position, hanging onto my dragon’s back with my knees the way I would a motorcycle, and wrapped my arm around her neck.
“Hang on!” She launched herself from the arch.
My stomach lurched with the moment of reverse gravity, and all the hair on my body stood on end as Karalti’s wings snapped out to each side. I weighed a hundred and eighty pounds and was carrying over a hundred pounds of armor and gear. It was all my dragon could do to steady her flight path as we swooped down, teetered from side to side, then crashed into a brawling line of [Foreign Mercenaries], [Taltos Guards], and [Stranged Ghouls].
The impact threw me off Karalti’s back, and I was sent careening through the air. I flew over Cutthroat, who was fending off two swordsmen with teeth and claws and brute strength, and crashed into one of them. He got his shield up just in time for me to bash it back into his face, and we both sprawled to the ground. Unfortunately, I also crashed into his sword. The blade slid into a gap in my shiny new armor, through my gut, and out my back.
[You have taken a Devastating blow! X4 damage!]
[You are Hemorrhaging! You must heal to stop the bleeding!]
[You have Internal Bleeding: -25% to all attack and defense]
[Warning! You are at 95/482 HP!]
Getting stabbed like that was like being punched really hard by something very cold, all the way through. When you’re in the middle of a fight, things happen too fast for it to even really hurt. The pain comes after.
“Sorry.” I croaked, leaking blood from between my lips. I slapped my hand over his face. “Life for Life.”
The warrior emitted a garbled cry as I ripped his lifeforce out through the Mark of Matir. His skin aged ten years in five seconds, and the fluttering, uneasy sensation of the [Corruption] debuff seemed to curl around the frigid length of the sword that skewered me through the waist. I wasn’t actually sure what Corruption did, because I lost no health, stats or AP, but I knew one thing - it made my injuries hurt.
Archemi Online Chronicles Boxset Page 48