Kingdom Come

by James Osiris Baldwin

  Istvan’s expression turned sullen. “The only reason you should put us in the same room right now would be to bet on us like fighting cocks.”

  I wasn’t particularly knowledgeable on feudalism, but I was pretty sure knights, commanders or not, weren’t supposed to talk to Counts the way he was talking to me. Still, I didn’t want to pull rank with this guy. It would not go down well.

  “Alright, well, we can catch up separately if needed,” I said. “Karalti and I are here to work with you, not lord over you.”

  Istvan arched an eyebrow. “What does a lord do if not ‘lord over’ common folk?”

  “I’m here to beat the shit out of Old Fangface and avenge your families.” I held out a hand. “That is my number one concern for the foreseeable future. Me and the Countess need a complete briefing on the situation here, and we’ll do what we can once we know the full scope of what we’re dealing with.”

  The Captain shot me a wary look, like he wasn’t sure whether to believe me. He raised his hand to shake, but then the shriek of a hookwing pierced the air. All three of us turned to look at the gate leading into the Skyport. A procession of eight people rode through, with a hulking man in fine Vlachian officer’s armor in the lead.

  “Daykit be keran degêm,” Istvan muttered. “Speak of the donkey and he will bray. If you wish to find me, Your Grace, I will be in the War Room doing real work.”

  The man headed toward us dwarfed the slender hookwing he rode, a male as large as Cutthroat that still managed to look like the size of a pony compared to his bulk. He was gigantic: at least seven feet tall and three hundred pounds, none of it fat. Deep-set, brilliant blue eyes looked out from under heavy brows. His nose was long, cheekbones sharp, mouth thin. This hulk was accompanied by eight retainers, knights in glossy black plate and chain with blue and yellow flags, surcoats, and shields. Beside him, they looked like children.

  “Istvan! There are ships arriving! Why didn’t you summon me!?” Lord Soma boomed by way of greeting. “By the Nine, man! I’m neck deep in cannon repairs, and your pack of dogs just run out here, pointing crossbows at the emissary of the gods himself, and you don’t even have the courtesy to send word to the workshop!?”

  [New Hero added to Mass Combat Menu: Lord Lorenzo Soma (Myszno Defense Force)]

  He knows about the Mark? On reflex, I glanced down at my hand. I had gloves on, so it wasn’t visible. It was only when he dropped to the ground, walked up to Karalti and swept into a low, courtly bow in front of her that I realized he wasn’t talking about me. Or to me. Or acknowledging me at all.

  “She is Karalti,” I stuck out a hand to shake and looked up at him. “And I’m her rider, Count Hector Dragozin.”

  “A dragoness?” Soma did a small doubletake, glancing down at me in confusion. His gaze drifted to my outstretched hand. “And a Count? Oh, yes… I see now. You bear the Kingsmark. But I wasn’t aware the Tuun had nobility, unless you are of the priestly caste…?”

  He kept glancing at Karalti, who was cocking her head from side to side as she watched the two of us talk. I wasn’t even that invested in the peerage thing yet, but I was beginning to understand why Istvan hated him.

  Spitting some blood off to the side, I dropped the unshaken hand. “I was recently sworn in as a vassal by His Majesty, Ignas II, for services rendered to the Crown.”

  The twinkle in Soma’s eyes hardened. “Oh, really? What fief did he bequeath you?”

  I gave him a tight, toothy smile. “The Ducal seat. Racsa.”

  Soma didn’t flinch, and his crooked mouth even flashed with a brief grin. It reminded me of the way a manager smiled at his employees: warm, friendly, sincere, even while he was planning fifteen ways to fuck you over. Istvan, on the other hand, simply shut down. He’d almost been friendly before, but his eyes had paled, his jaw tightened. I wasn’t sure it was just because of Soma.

  “They’re replacing Lord Bolza already? Hear that, Istvan?” The lord’s smirk didn’t budge. “I’m sure you have a writ and deed from His Majesty?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Excellent! We will put that title to a vote of your peers soon enough. It’s about time Taltos sent us bumpkins something other than platitudes.” Soma almost reached out to clap me on the arm, but then thought better of it. “Istvan! Gods, man, you reek of liquor again. Why are you standing around! Go and help tie in those ships!”

  Istvan rolled his eyes. “My lieutenants are already taking care of it, Your Grace.”

  “Hold your tongue, you miserable swamp rat. Pah! Do you see what I have to put up with?” Soma gestured at Istvan dismissively. “Anyway, Lord Dragozin, you look like you already have one foot in the ocean after that fight of yours. From one peer to another, I extend you and your dragoness the full hospitality of Fort Korona. We will find accommodation, food and company for this magnificent creature while you have your injuries seen to. Be assured she will be in reverent hands while you recover.”

  “Thanks, but we already healed up.” I rested a hand on Karalti’s wrist “Actually, if you’ll both excuse me, we need to go and find our companions.”

  “Well, in that case, allow my Castellan to give you a tour of our magnificent wall and our fortifications while we arrange accommodations worthy of a dragon and the new Lord and Lady of Racsa.” Soma spread his hands like a magician, beaming. He wore a spell glove on his left arm. “It looks like the personnel are about to disembark. Three Hussar-class... good, good. They’ll do just fine as a vanguard...”

  “These are all the troops we are being sent, Your Grace,” Istvan said sourly.

  The Count blinked a few times. “You’re joking. Not even a single legion? That’s all Ignas sent?! Is he out of his damn mind!?”

  “And a dragon, and three Starborn. Ilia is threatening a war with the White Sail Alliance.” I looked up to the deck of the Orozlan. The warship hung like an elegant lionfish, its stabilizing sails lowered. It was anchored and chained, the mana engines creating a great downdraft of hot wind. Mounting platforms and ladders were put into positions and locked, and then a flood of people began to march off the ship. Marshals barked orders, porters pulled luggage and munitions down ramps that led from the lower decks. “We will need a briefing.”

  “Starborn. What nonsense.” Soma’s face rippled with a tic. “The briefing, on the other hand, is entirely reasonable, though the matter of your dragon remains. We have a large area I can set up with bedding, if the lady should like to rest?”

  “Karalti can go back to the ship while you, Istvan, Suri and I talk,” I said, firmly.

  “No! Wait!” Karalti suddenly got up off her keel, dancing from foot to foot. “I can come with you now!”

  I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “The doors here are pretty big, but you’re bigger, Tidbit.”

  “Just hang on!” Karalti reared up tall, wings vibrating with excitement, and breathed a string of words of power into the air.

  The words rang like soft bells, the sounds lingering and overlaying, and then she began to glow. The opal colors between her scales flared, then spread out in a scintillating white cloud as Karalti’s form blurred, dissolved, and flowed down into a bright nimbus of light.

  Lord Soma held his breath, taking a single step back, while Istvan cried out and nearly bolted. The nervous crowd of soldiers scattered with him as the light faded, a collective gasp went up around us.

  [Karalti has learned Polymorph I!]

  Chapter 14

  The light cleared, and my jaw dropped.

  In human form, Karalti was small, lean and athletic, like a dancer or a gymnast: a balanced, compact ribbon of muscle and soft curves. Her skin was creamy and iridescent by torchlight, the curves of her back and her face glinting with hints of pearly color, like a rainbow boa’s scales. Her hair was a glorious, razor-straight fall of inky blue-black that poured down to her hips. And her face… she was Tuun. Wide, high cheekbones, a full, small mouth, eyes as elegant as a calligrapher’s brush stroke. She was perfect, from
her long slender neck down to her graceful, narrow feet. She was also buck-ass naked, and every single man on the parapet was staring at her in open-mouthed astonishment.

  When she saw my expression, her eyes grew big and dark with excitement. Then she squealed, ran, and pounced. “Yay! I did it!”

  I caught her mid-leap. “Tidbit, I-”

  Karalti made a distinctly inhuman screech of joy as she latched onto me with her arms and legs and spun us around. Her hair swirled across my arms like heavy silk, and as I breathed in the cloud of scent, I finally realized what my dragon smelled like. It was lotus flower. Karalti smelled like a lotus in full bloom, waxy and sweet.

  “Hector! I did it! I can go inside buildings again!” She butted her head against my neck, chirping and trilling. “We can sleep together again! No more cold stables, no more stinky hookwings! Comfy bed! And snuggling!”

  “Absolutely, Tidbit. I mean, Karalti. I mean… ummm…” The combination of her scent, her strength, the petal-soft skin of her cheek against mine was quickly stripping me of higher function, common sense, and self-control.

  She pulled her head back to meet my gaze with hers. Her eyes were still the same: a brilliant amethyst purple shot through with veins of silver, the iris and pupils large and birdlike. Before I realized what was happening, I fell into it, into her, just as I had when we’d sealed the Bond. Her feelings were more mature now, no longer the raw, primal need of a hatchling seeking food and safety… and as I gazed into her, I realized something. In the time we’d spent together, that her pure, simple love had never faded. But it had changed.

  “Eeee! Hector!” Rin’s musical soprano broke over the stamping of boots and the chatter of men. The little Mercurion rode on the back of one of her turrets, the other one bounding along after her. Suri followed up on foot, leading Cutthroat. The dragon’s eyes narrowed, and she molded the front of her body against mine as the pair drew near.

  “I can definitely, really explain this!” I blurted once they were earshot. “Suri, this is-”

  “Karalti, I know. We saw her vanish from the gangplank.” Suri had Cutthroat’s reins in one hand, clasping them just under the brutish hookwing’s jaws so that she couldn’t turn around and bite anyone. She was wearing her gift from Ignas: a fine suit of flame-scorched plate armor and a long, black-red cloak that faded to scarlet around the hem. Ignas had called it Burning Man’s Plate. She wore it without the helmet, her short red hair tousled and freshly trimmed. “No mistaking that stink-eye she’s giving me, either. How the hell’d you shapeshift like that, Special-K? Is that a Queen Dragon thing?”

  “That’s my secret.” Karalti scowled. She stepped back and tossed her hair over one shoulder. The limited coverage it had given her naked body was suddenly irrelevant.

  “Good grief, man!” Soma tutted, sweeping his cloak from his shoulders. Before I could stop him, he advanced and lay it around Karalti’s shoulders. “Here, your Holiness… this is the least of the gifts I could give to honor such arresting beauty.”

  Karalti opened her mouth to try and speak aloud, but all that came out was a weird honking rasp. Her eyes widened, and she clamped her hands over it with a little squeak of dismay.

  “Baby steps, Tidbit.” I gave Soma a reluctant nod of acknowledgment and straightened up the enormous cloak so that it covered Karalti’s modest, but shapely chest. Then, something occurred to me. “Wait: Karalti, do you have an inventory?”

  “Yeah!” She said. “When I changed, my saddle and the saddle bags went in there.”

  “Then you should be able to carry armor and weapons.” Curious, I surfed to my own Inventory and selected the Nizari armor set. It came with everything but gloves. I added the Cold Iron Gauntlets I’d found in the tomb underneath Taltos. “Here, Tidbit: I don’t think you have any weapon proficiencies yet, but these gloves double as unarmed weapons. They’re good against undead, too.”

  “Yeah! I have unarmed proficiency!” Karalti huddled in against me while I made the transfer to her Inventory - I still had access to it - then closed her eyes for a moment. “Okay... aaaand... equip!”

  The leather armor appeared on her body, a Middle Eastern-looking assassin set with layers of artfully aligned leather and plate. It hugged Karalti’s curves a little more than it had on me, and she made it look good. The gloves were brutal: full-sleeve gauntlets forged from pitted cold iron that went almost all the way to her shoulders. She examined her hands, delighted. I pulled the marquee-sized cloak off her and threw it back to Soma, who took it like he was now handling the Shroud of Turin.

  “There you go.” Suri clapped her on the back before she had time to react. “You look like a right little warrior princess.”

  “NO TOUCHIE!” Karalti pulled her lips back over her gums, flashing top and bottom rows of razor sharp, shark-like locking teeth.

  Istvan grunted. “A dragon who turns into a maiden. Now I have seen everything. Forgive me, Flamehair, Mercurion - we have not been introduced?”

  “Not yet. Suri Ba’hadir, the Lioness of Dhul Fiquar.” She held out a hand to Istvan first, and then belatedly added: “Countess of Racsa.”

  A tic started by Soma’s eye as Istvan shook ahead of him. When Suri turned to him, he lifted his chin. “A Dakhari countess now? Ignas is handing out titles like priests handing out candy to children during the Dark Moon Festival. Trying to make up for Andrik’s noisy nationalism, is he? Flaunt his tolerance?”

  “Andrik’s death opened up a few appointments.” Suri flashed him a lovely, acidic smile. “You must be Lord Soma. He told us all about you.”

  “Wait: you’re Lorenzo Soma?! THE Lorenzo Soma?! Oh my goodness, I’ve heard all about your work with L.A.E.H.T Engines!” Rin, oblivious to any sort of ritual noble protocol, burst out before Soma could really react to Suri’s barb. “Is it true that you managed to extend the range of the Super Storm DM-Long Haul by 2000 miles!?”

  Soma blinked down at her a couple of times. “Why... yes, as a matter of fact. Just before this nonsense with the Demon broke out, we were looking at putting those engines into mass production for His Majesty’s navy.”

  “Lord Soma is an Artificing genius.” Rin turned to us, while Istvan watched on with arched brows. “He’s published over fifty articles about the development of hybrid long-distance airship engines using BCM-GCM synthesis via induction compression and conjugated Words of Power and... oh...” She trailed off, suddenly realizing that only one other person in the room had understood anything she had said.

  Soma laughed uproariously. “Spoken like a true Artificer! Passion, that’s what I like to see! Not enough passion around this place. You’re a light in the dingy gloom of Fort Korona, girl. Those turrets are yours, are they? Mind if I look at them?”

  “Yes! I mean, no! I mean... sure!” Rin blushed bright blue. She was clearly starstruck.

  “Hold a moment, Istvan.” Soma pulled his one normal gauntlet off, revealing a surprisingly work-worn hand. He went to Hopper and Lovelace and knelt in front of them. The pair of Artificed turrets jittered in place like nervous hounds. “Khors breath, they’re responsive. Oh... yes, yes. Look at that! I can’t smell any gas, but these joints must leak during movement, surely? I always had that problem with articulating joints…”

  “They’re sealed with copper solder and silicone gel, like kneecaps!” Rin blurted. “Bursa! I got the idea from studying anatomical manuals!”

  “Oh, yes, I see the mechanism now... fascinating. What Word conjugation did you use to stabilize the bi-lateral sensor coupling? E.O.M or M.O.T?”

  Karalti cocked her head, clinging to my arm. Suri watched on with a touch of bewilderment. Istvan had that sullen pouty face going again. And me? I was confused. Soma was the weirdest combination of meathead jock and science nerd I had ever met.

  At that point, Istvan reached his limit. “Soma! Quit with your damn machines and pay attention to your officers! The marshals are making their approach! We are here to win a war, not play with trinkets!”

  S
oma paused nattering with Rin. He turned as he rose to his feet, eyes narrowed to icy slits. “These ‘trinkets’ are potentially the blueprints for very powerful weapons against our enemies.”

  “Oh, yes. Let us send heavy metal creatures out into the mud carrying payloads of mana in their veins.” Istvan gestured angrily at the turrets. “YMachines can’t swim! They can’t float! Why do you want to send machines into the Great Marsh when you know the undead use that... that poison to make more of themselves!?”

  The Count sneered. “You’re a fine one to talk about poisons, you insolent drunkard. Bolza might have let you get away with this behavior, but I’ll have you on the gallows by morning if you don’t sober up and pull your head out of your-”

  “Hey, guys. Cool it.” I held up my hands. “Please.”

  Istvan’s eyes flashed hotly as he turned to glare at me. Soma’s heavy jaw clenched. Rin, still kneeling beside Hopper, seemed to deflate.

  “Some kinds of machines can float or swim,” I said. “But Istvan’s got a point.”

  “Yeah. It’s not a one size fits all situation.” Suri gave a curt nod.

  “It’s true,” Rin added nervously. “The articulated design on Hopper and Lovelace makes these guys fantastic on uneven terrain or in urban scenarios, but they lack a ballast and there’s a risk that, umm, the joints get clogged with mud. We could develop different styles of locomotion. I always wanted to work on an ATV-style Artifact.”

  “Yes, yes... that’s entirely possible. I actually have some blueprints drawn up for powered water vehicles.” Soma stroked his stubbly chin, the captain’s attitude apparently forgotten for the time being. “You, girl - Rin? I like you. Istvan, you handle these foreigners. This talented Mercurion and I need to discuss Artificing and trade.”

  Istvan’s eyes glittered with barely contained rage.

  “It would be great to get a brief on the situation here.” Suri joined me and Karalti on my other side. “The more we know, the more we can help.”