Archemi Online Chronicles Boxset

by James Osiris Baldwin

  "Good morning to you, Lord Dragozin. I see His Grace has been as summarily dismissive of you as he was with the Lady Ba'hadir and myself." Istvan was sober for once: sharp-eyed, properly shaven, his goatee trimmed and his clothes cleaned.

  "The guy's got an attitude problem," Suri remarked. "Probably needs to be gelded."

  I snorted. "Before he went off on his Very Important Business, he said that there'd been a development in the war?"

  Istvan's handsome face drew into sharp, worried lines. "Yes. The undead are preparing to march. They have found a way through the swamp. We have seven days before they arrive."

  Chapter 30

  "What? How?" I took a step toward him. " We saw that the rot had spread through the forest from the air, but it wasn't THAT much closer."

  "Another scouting party came back only an hour ago. Barely. They’re still in the hospital with frostbite, because the dead have enough mana from those land-draining devices to freeze the swamp. They're walking over the ice.” The lines around Istvan’s eyes deepened as he spoke. “That’s why they were draining the marshes – the undead can walk easily over the frozen mud. The scouts encountered the vanguard and have warned the Yanik tribes still remaining that they are in the line of fire.”

  “How many rotters are on the march?”

  “At least sixty thousand now,” Istvan replied. “But that could be the vanguard.”

  Suri nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line.

  Istvan sighed. “As I suspected, yesterday's little love tap was a test of our Western Wall’s readiness. There is no way we can be ready for what is coming. The Demon will crush us with numbers, as he did in Karhad."

  "Shit." I looked down. "A lot can be done in seven days. Is there any way we can slow them down?"

  "It is hard to say. Zlaslo tells me that his chieftain, the king of the Tiranozavir tribe, is determined to hold his ground," he replied. "They are the second largest of the Yanik central tribes, and King Ervin is a veteran and a good commander.”

  “Good enough to hold back fifty thousand zombies?” Suri asked.

  “No.” Istvan shook his head. “Whether it takes a day or a week for the Demon to smash their territory, Ervin and his people will be joining the ranks of the Demon's forces. They may buy us another day or two. Zlaslo's people know this land like no others, and the Tiranozavir earned their name for the dinosaurs they keep. One Tyrannosaurus can eat a lot of dead flesh."

  "And they'll eat a lot of live flesh when they've been Stranged into undead siege engines. I hope you’re prepared to deal with skeletons riding zombie T-rexes." Suri spat to the side. "The Demon has a hardon for the Western Wall because that town is just north of it."

  "Slutlava," I said, with some satisfaction.

  Istvan's pale green eyes were steady and determined. "Yes. The Demon knows that if they can overrun the Western Wall, they can decimate Slutlava and add nearly seven thousand troops to their rank. They will take our airships and facilities and then fly north through Krivan Pass. We cannot let that happen. After this assembly, I am ordering all civilians and camp followers to be sent north, across the river and into the valley."

  I looked to Suri, and she nodded. "Good idea. I vote we call it the ‘Slutwalk’."

  Suri elbowed me in the ribs.

  Now that the sun was properly risen, the sky was the color of white lead. Not from impending snow - it was ash, and it turned Archemi's blue-white sun an eerie purplish color, at least to my eyes. Soma rode back, pulling down the visor of his beaked and crested helm. As he took position, two of his retainers blew on polished horns to call the assembly to order.

  "Soldiers of Vlachia! My drużyna!" Soma's voice was magically amplified by the helm, ringing out over the assembled troops. From the corner of my eye, I saw the guardsmen lined up on the ramparts of the Fort and up along the Wall beyond those. They were sniffling and slouching. "You are here today for three reasons! Firstly, to reclaim your homes and defend your families. Secondly, for your own self-respect, because there is nowhere else to be in Myszno but here. Third, because you are the blood of the claw-lords of old, the children of the Son of the Forger and the first Volod of this nation - the Dragon King, Taltos Róna-Tas!"

  The Vlachians cheered and banged their pikes on the ground, but the Yanik and Churvi among the ranks stared stonily ahead. Karalti fidgeted on the other side of the plaza. Suri tutted and rolled her eyes.

  "You are here for battle! And we shall have it." Soma paced his hookwing in front of the line as the raptor champed its jaws and lifted its feathers. "We have received word this morning that the Demon marches north. All that stands between us and the dead are the bold Yanik tribes barely a hundred miles from here. They have committed to the defense, though they have rejected our aid. So they shall stand alone, while we prepare here, for the stand against the horde."

  I watched the faces of the Yanik carefully. Zlaslo was impassive, but several of his men were swallowing back agitation. I was betting they were from the Tiranozavir tribe. There was a decent chance they would desert.

  "My own House, the great House of Soma, is redoubling its efforts. We are artificers. Weaponeers. Strategists. Soon, four thousand troops will be arriving from Litvy, with a fleet of newly-built ships and magic that will sear the undead from the earth. I, Lord Commander of the Prezyemi Line and the Satrap of Vastil, shall be focusing my efforts on deploying these weapons and magic. In light of this development, I have made the decision to restructure the order of command."

  The Corvinus troops and the battle-hardened Yanik did not flinch. Nor did the knights and the noble bannermen, but a soft clicking and rustling rose from the militia ranks: the sound of thousands of men fidgeting all at once.

  "Ur Istvan Arshak has served bravely and loyally as Captain of the Defense," Soma drawled. "And has proven time and time again that he is a man of the people, an outstanding retainer, and an excellent warrior. But the Wall is large, and the responsibility cannot be borne by one man alone. As such, I am relieving Ur Arshak from his position as Captain, and-"

  A hiss went up from among the ranks. Zlaslo scowled.

  "-AND posting him as the new Sheriff of Slutlava," Lord Soma continued, speaking over the disquiet now rising from the army like steam. "The town will soon billet over fourteen thousand people, soldiers and civilians alike, and it will require strong, effective, hands on leadership to remain orderly."

  Beside me, Istvan swelled like a pufferfish. His skin turned ashen, his eyes very pale, and he reached down to grasp the hilt of his sword with one white-knuckled hand. I reached out and caught him by the elbow. When he turned to glare, I shook my head and let him go.

  "The Prezyemi Line shall be split between the Western Wall, comprising Bastions ten thru thirty, and the Eastern Wall, comprising the Korona Fortified District and Bastions 1 thru 9," Soma continued. "I shall remain as Lord Commander of the Eastern Wall. For the Western Wall, I nominate our new foreign-born hero and the first dragon rider to grace Myszno in over a millennium, Dragozin Hector of Tungaant."

  My blood ran cold. You mongrel piece of shit.

  "Ignas Corvinus himself sent Lord Dragozin and Lady Ba'hadir to fight for and then claim the Duchy of Racsa for themselves." Soma proclaimed. His voice was cheerful, but his eyes were little more than slits as he turned to look back at us. "And to that end, all of the noble banners sworn to House Bolza shall report to the Commander of the West. I also nominate the people's hero, Vash Dorha, to the position of Captain of the Western Wall. He is in absentia today, but I have no doubt he shall rise to the occasion and serve Lord Dragozin well."

  "You egomaniacal, pompous...!" Istvan hissed under his breath. He leaned forward, as if he were about to urge his mount forward. I caught his eye and shook my head.

  "I nominate the Lady Suri Ba'hadir to be Captain of the Eastern Wall," Soma finished smugly. "She is a warrior of incredible skill who proved herself time and time again in the last assault. Ur Arshak has served the common soldiers well for
many months now, but the Lady Ba'hadir will instill more rigorous training programs for the militia and will be liaising with the Satraps of the Eastern Counties to recruit more men to this cause."

  Suri made a choking sound of indignation beside me.

  The expressions on the faces of the soldiers said it all. The bannermen were now restless, their mounts pawing the stones. We did not have the Renown required to command them. Almost all of the cavalry and the banners were Bolza's men, devoted to Istvan and the memory of their Voivode.

  Then, suddenly, a chorus of boos rose up from the peasant ranks. First one, then several, then an entire chorus of them, followed by the banging of pikes against the ground. Muttering rippled through the orderly lines of the other brigades. Soma's smirk began to fade, but the unrest was quickly bought under control. Captains patrolled the line. The first men to boo were pulled out and dragged off by other officers. But the damage was done.

  [You have lost -500 Renown (Myzsno Defense Force). Current Renown: -274]

  “Fuck!” Suri hissed beside me. “Hector, did you just lose a heap of Renown?”

  “Yeah.” I flexed my hands and braced for impact.

  Istvan looked down at us from his corrun, who snorted and pawed beneath him. "Is this what the Raven King had planned all along? To shame me? To take away the last pride I had left?"

  "No!" My mouth opened and closed. "Istvan-"

  "I am Ur Arshak to you." Istvan's back stiffened, his nostrils trembled, and before I could say anything else, he cocked his chin, viciously pulled his horned horse around and spurred it through the gatehouse and into the Fortress.

  The banner captains called their men to salute. Not all of them did. They began to fall out, the ranks swirling in together like stormclouds forming before a tornado.

  "Guys! what happened!? We just lost a bunch of Renown! (>__<);" Rin's PM - flagged Urgent - broke through the dark noise in my head.

  "Soma happened. BBL." I glared at the big man as he rode back toward us, his visor raised.

  "Now listen here, you fuckin’ waste of space!" Before I could open my mouth, Suri boiled forward. "Mate, thanks to you, no one here is gonna be able to get their shit together in time to meet this assault. Are you literally out of your fuckin’ mind? Do you want all these men to die?"

  "Of course not. That is why-“

  “Well you just fuckin’ signed them off to be fuckin’ slaughtered, dickhead!” Suri spat.

  Soma kept his hookwing on a tight rein, looking down at us. “If you could contain yourself for one moment, my lady. My troops and ships are coming to reinforce me, the rightful Satrap of Vastil and the acting Voivode, as soon as Krivan Pass is opened up."

  “You are not the Voivode, acting or otherwise,” I retorted. “We are. And you’re out of line.”

  “Am I?” He regarded us with calm blue eyes, like chips of ice. "A little bird tells me that neither of you are really a Count or Countess of anything, yet. You were granted a provisional peerage that is solely dependent on your ability to retake and then hold Egbolt Castle. To do that, you must drive the Demon back from here and retake Karhad. Consider this an opportunity to prove yourselves worthy."

  "After you just undermined all the work we did to earn the trust of the troops?" I drew up beside Suri. "The questline doesn’t even provide enough Renown to make up for this. How are we supposed to do that?"

  "Try taking some responsibility." He smiled mockingly. "I suggest you meet with Bolza's old bannermen before anything else. If the Western Wall falls, the Lords of Racsa will be exterminated, much like the House of the Voivode himself."

  "You do remember that Istvan was the one you were arguing with?" Suri slashed a hand in the direction Istvan had left. "Not us?"

  "You’ve made it abundantly clear who you side with. Now, pardon me, but I really am very busy. The Fire Scorpions waiting in the workshop won't build themselves. We only have a few days to prepare – you should both get to work." He pushed his visor down and nudged his mount in the ribs, barreling past us.

  Suri's expression curdled with rage, and before I could stop her, she pulled a knife from her belt with a roar and threw it with deadly precision at Soma's retreating back. The weapon hit an unseen magical shield that diverted its course, but it clipped his face close enough to draw sparks off the side of his helm and slammed into a wooden beam running across the ceiling. He whirled around in shock, his hookwing screeching in protest.

  "Suri! Stop!" I jumped on her as she stalked toward the man like a pissed off tiger.

  “You listen here, cunt!" Suri's voice rang off the walls of the gatehouse, guttural with fury. "No one talks to me like that! You can take your Wall and your attitude and your orders and piss on it!"

  "How savage," Soma remarked.

  The lords who had been approaching us hung back, watching. And judging.

  "Get back here and say that to my face!" Suri pulled her sword, and half a dozen blades unsheathed around us. I caught her wrist, and she looked down at me, wild-eyed.

  "Cmon, Suri!" I hung on, but it was an effort. “He’s not worth it!”

  She snarled and turned away, right into the group of noblemen in their fancy armor. They parted for her as she stormed off across the plaza, knocking people out of her path like a bull. With a furious backward glance at Soma, I turned to chase after her - and ran right into Vash Dorha's outstretched fist.

  Chapter 31

  The monk had his arm out, resting his ironclad knuckles just beneath my sternum. Vash had shaved – kind of – and was now dressed like a grungy ninja: faded black leathers over a gi jacket that had definitely seen better days, and heavy canvas pants tucked into black leather boots. I hadn’t heard or seen him, and I could almost see behind my own head.

  "Büu jeh. Not yet." He dropped his hand, metal rasping against leather, and continued in Tuun. "Despite the fact that I’d rather be elsewhere, we must talk, Oathbreaker."

  "Right now? No. We can talk later." I replied in the same language, and angrily brushed past him.

  "Let Suri burn off her rage in peace. She is spewing fire at some pain you do not perceive, and she will resent it if you try to help her,” he called back.

  I halted, turning back to look at him. “And how would you know?”

  Vash regarded me with intense, dark eyes. “Because I don’t spend all my time diddling myself. I pay attention. Not just to her. To you and her Holiness, also.”

  Suddenly anxious, I glanced out of the gatehouse toward Karalti. She stood tall and proud in the plaza, surrounded by people eager to receive the blessings of a real live dragon, the avatar of their gods.

  "Fine. Let me guess - you're about to tell me you won't work under me as Captain of the Western Wall." I reached up and passed a hand over my hair, squeezing it to try and loosen the tension in my scalp.

  "I won't. But that is not why we must talk." Vash jerked his head toward the upper rampart over the gatehouse. "Follow me to the wall. Try to keep up."

  I was about to retort when he stepped into the nearest shadow and disappeared. Annoyed, I took my usual shortcut by heading out of the gatehouse, jumping to the rampart, and then heading through the attached bastion to the wall. I spotted Vash in the crowd, winding like smoke through the milieu of soldiers. He didn't dodge or weave; it was the crowd that seemed to flow around him. To keep sight of him, I had to move quickly.

  We broke out onto the wall, and there, Vash hopped up onto the parapets and squatted down on the edge like a crow. He waved to the crenellation next to his.

  Warily, I joined him. “Okay, so, I don’t have much time-”

  "Shh." Vash shook his head, taking out his pipe and a plug of green herb from his pouch.

  I rolled my neck and sighed, gazing out over the battlefield. The brief rain had passed, leaving it sodden. The earth was steaming now that the sun was out, releasing the stench of death into the air. There was no sign of movement at the treeline, no zombies shuffling out of the woods. Small dinosaurs and other scave
ngers - crows, foxes, stingcrabs - were squabbling over the corpses of soldiers and animals churned up from the mud. It was peaceful, but not the good kind of peace. When Vash lit his pipe, the cloud of smoke he exhaled was pleasant, like fresh-cut grass and pine sap. It masked the smell of the dead.

  "Now then." He canted his jaw up, eyes hooding thoughtfully. "I approach you on one condition. For a short time, I talk; you listen, unless I ask you a question. Understand?"

  "Sure." I shrugged.

  "I am a blunt man, Dragozin, so I won’t mince words. You disgust me." Vash nodded slowly to himself, pausing to take another hit. "You are angry, immature and impulsive. You learned to kill before you learned to live. You’re like a seagull shitting on everything it touches. You carry the sacred bone knife, the iron gauntlets and other trappings of my order with no regard for what they mean and what we go through to obtain them. Do you know what goes into the training of a Baru? Do you even know what we are?”

  I thought on it. "Not really. I know you serve Matir-"

  "Burna," he corrected. "Burna the Fly-Headed God, patron of healing and long journeys, the Many-Winged, the bearer of the sickle and the herb. He is an aspect of Moðr, whose name has been bastardized from the original Solunkraati to 'Matir' in the lands to the West: Ilia and the White Sail nations. And we do not ‘serve’ him. We love the world first, our selves second, our god third. Burna is our teacher, and we relate to him as students seeking instruction to better themselves. If the Black God wanted a pack of fawning dogs, he could have every bitch between the Sea of Swords and the Sommbaar. Pride in the self is a virtue.”

  I grimaced, waiting to see if this roasting was going to lead anywhere.

  Vash gave a little nod. "Now: to become a Baru, you must be a child under the age of twelve, a child battling a terrible injury or a great disease. You must be close to death, so close that a rangy mutt like myself is summoned by your parents or the village elder. This Black Brother comes into your yurt and must judge whether it is worth attempting to heal you, or whether he should draw his kamanocha and end your pain. He must decide that euthanasia is the correct course.”