The Mists of Erantia (Realm of Arkon Book 7)

by G. Akella

  I looked up, took a deep drag, and leaned back in my chair. "Oh, I forgot to mention something. If we succeed in this quest, in addition to the reputation boosts and so on, all of the leaders of the clans participating in the slaying of Teiran will receive the hereditary titles of Counts of Erantia, money for the construction of castles in the Borderlands, and the right to grant twelve of their vassals the title of baron. So, Lord Baron, would you like to be a count?"

  Fenrir paused for ten seconds, then looked into my eyes. "You know, prince, I would have agreed to this even without such promises. Who else will go, if not us? This world has been our home for six months now, and I have no wish for it to become a burial ground. I was not a very good person in the last life, but here I must be, or I will not survive. And if I die, I am at peace with that, even if I pass not into stone but straight to the Gray Frontier. Think me overly dramatic if you will, but that's how it is. Ferat is with you, prince. I will discuss this with Ksenjhuan, and I am certain she will decide in our favor. And if the borders are open, Jin Ho—her husband and the best raid leader I know—will join us any day, along with his fighters."

  "I take it we have a deal, then?"

  "Aye, we do." Fenrir smiled, grasped my hand, and nodded at the map. "And now, let's talk details."

  Chapter 15

  I was looking at a small courtyard with small houses on every side. Four well-kept flowerbeds. An amulet merchant's shop with yet another bored-looking girl in a plain blue dress standing to the right of its entrance, laying cucumbers out on a tray. An ironclad oaken door in an arched doorway served as the entrance to the house across. Directly above this entrance was a coat of arms depicting a blade intersected by lightning framed with branches on a blue field. This was where my quest for armor had led me. "You would need to journey to Vaedarr on your own..." I sighed, recalling Ingvar's words. Well, I made it.

  I'd lingered at the Ferat Clan until six in the evening, working out most of the organizational issues. Our tactics and other matters would be discussed in a few days, after the elves arrived in Vaedarr. The money from the boss would be split evenly, based on the number of participating players. The loot would be distributed on a turn-by-turn basis. I would get first pick, and the order among the Blades, Ferats, and Azure Dragons would be determined by lot. Issues like baron title assignment and clan reassignment would be handled internally. I didn't even want to entertain the possibility we might fail. I was certain that Teiran would die. There was no alternative. Why bother going to such lengths unless our success was certain?

  As our conversation was winding down, Fenrir gave me a kingly gift: an epic vile called the Elixir of Divine Protection. It increased armor by ten percent and all max resistances by five for a period of ten minutes. Shaartakh's Venom and three hundred and fifty of the best damage dealers in the Realm of Arkon—not even a god could survive that. We decided just to bear in mind the scroll Ahriman had given me, not activate it. Poison looked like a much safer solution in our situation. Our next meeting would happen in about three days, and the Ferats would keep me in the loop. We would head to the Tomb of Arkam in seven days' time. In other words, I could let others worry about preparations as I handled some other pressing issues.

  The banner of the Dwarven Legion and the commander of the Order of Punishing Steel. Interesting. I wondered if he was a relative of Jonathan, the one whose hoof Donut and I had touched just yesterday. Maybe I could find out.

  I stepped out of the Ferats' city residence, checked the map, and decided to visit the commander first of all. His place was within walking distance of the Square of Heroes. The Mountain Kingdom Embassy was also within easy reach, but I would go there later, if I had time. According to the dwarf in the catacombs, it was there that I would find the person I needed.

  "Hey, friend." I nodded at the door, addressing a level 33 mage player who was painstakingly coloring the decorative stones making up a flowerbed. "Do you know whose office this is?"

  "Got a smoke?"

  The guy tossed his paintbrush into a small bucket, stood up, and stretched out his hunched shoulders.

  "Yeah, here you go." I tossed him a pouch of tobacco, and gestured for him to keep it.

  "Thanks." The mage pulled his pipe out of his bag and explained. "This is some kind of fencing club. But this is a service entrance. The main door is on the other side. The place has stables, training grounds, and a twelve-foot wall. But don't bother going and looking for quests in there. I've been painting these fences and houses for days now, and have seen five quest-seekers come and go empty-handed."

  "So the place is only for locals?"

  "For nobles," he replied with a shrug. "Though the First Royal Legion has been in there, too."

  "Why are you here? Social quests?"

  He took a few puffs and closed his eyes to enjoy them. "My party went north to complete a quest, but I didn't have it, so I decided to get in good with the locals."

  "So, a fencing club." I smiled. "Thanks for the advice, but I'm going to try to get in there anyway."

  "Suit yourself. Maybe you'll get lucky."

  I bid the talkative mage farewell, walked to the entrance, deactivated my camouflage, and rapped on the door's knocker three times.

  Thirty seconds later, the door opened. A six-and-a-half foot warrior stepped out, clad in long chainmail and leather boots reinforced with plates of mithril. When he saw me, he raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

  "Sir?" he said quietly. Stepping aside, he quickly added, "Please, enter."

  I moved into a narrow hallway adorned with three windows on its left side.

  "I'm here to speak with Commander Jonathan," I announced to the warrior who had opened the door.

  "Aye," he nodded. "He is in his chambers. Head right and take the stairs to the second floor. His room is the second door on the left, adorned with crisscross lightning bolts and a blade. You will not miss it."

  I thanked him and pushed on. The warrior disappeared behind a small door that must have led into a room for sentries.

  How was that so simple? I thought as I climbed the stone staircase, its steps worn smooth by thousands of ascenders and descenders. I had no need to prove anything to anyone here. The commander would be unlikely to bestow unto me with the entire lost set of Ingvar's armor. But in the old days, I would have needed to complete some epic quest that would send me halfway across Erantia and back just to get a chance to talk to the man. I wasn't a boy anymore, however. I was a captain, and marked by a god. All right, let's see what he says.

  The Commander of the Order of Punishing Steel, Quentin Jonathan, was a lean, fair-haired man with a straight nose, a broad jaw, and a well-defined mouth. He sat at a small desk, writing in a scroll at a rapid pace. When I showed up, he raised his head, frowned for a brief moment, and then smiled amicably.

  "Captain Wolf Cub! I've heard much about your exploits." He pushed his pen and scroll aside, and invited me to sit at the sofa resting against the wall. "Though you look rather unlike a wolf cub nowadays. More like a young wolf. About time for you to find a mate!"

  "Greetings, commander," I smiled back. I sat down in the seat he had offered me, and looked around.

  It was your standard office. A writing desk, a sofa, two armchairs, a bookcase. But then there were the suit of adamantine armor standing in the corner, and the weapons—oh my, the weapons. One- and two-handed swords, daggers, spears, polearms—all mounted on the walls or in floor stands. This room could arm a full half-century of a proper legion, at least.

  "I'm afraid I can't spend enough time here with you today," the owner of the office said with a sigh. "In a half hour I'm leaving for the County of Nantes."

  "The rift in the Gray Frontier? The ruined castle of Baron Adris?" I wondered.

  "You know about that?" The commander peered deeply into my eyes, and his smile vanished.

  "The castle was destroyed by the morts that Vill had summoned from the Dark Ocean. His target was the Order of the Forgotten God."

/>   I quickly briefed Quentin on the recent events. He listened without interruption. Once I was done, he sighed and rubbed his stubble.

  "Kaher Taoll is destroyed, and Teiran is in Vaedarr. That explains the incomprehensible movement of the undead inhabiting the ruins of Arkaetania." He drew another sigh.

  "Arkaetania? What's that?"

  "A dead princedom in Darkaan, a hundred miles from the southern border, between Erantia and the Orcish Steppe," Quentin explained. "Less than a thousand years ago, the greatest of rifts from the Gray Frontier occurred there. Vill and Syrat tried to establish a stronghold on Karn, but Ingvar, Dhoresh, and Kahella drove the Twice Cursed back into that hellhole from whence they came."

  "So you're saying that's where the attack on Erantia will come from?"

  He shook his head. "I don't know. The ways and wants of the gods are beyond mortal comprehension. Perhaps the attacks will not happen if you manage to destroy Teiran. Vill must be expecting an ensuing panic in Vaedarr, and only then will he attack. But those are just my assumptions. Well, captain," the commander said as he rose, crossed the room, and stopped directly in front of me. "The king doubtless already knows of this. I have no doubt that the champion passed along everything you have told me. But we must report to Ingvar. Let's deal with this, and then I will depart."

  "I'm actually here for the lost armor."

  "I can see you found the gauntlets," Quentin replied with a smile. "And I have information about the helmet and the breastplate."

  You've completed the quest: Recovering the Armor.

  You've accessed the quest: Ingvar's Breastplate of Valor.

  Quest type: epic.

  Find Knight-Captain Hordrim of the Order of Punishing Steel in Khar-Kator, and ask him about Ingar's lost breastplate.

  Reward: experience.

  You've accessed the quest: Ingvar's Helm of Valor.

  Quest type: epic.

  Find Knight Alto-Aun Alean of the Order of Punishing Steel Knight in Louu, and ask him about Ingvar's lost helmet.

  Reward: experience.

  "I don't have any leads on the shoulderguards, bracers, fauld or boots. But I know for a fact that the dwarves have the breastplate, and the drow have the helmet."

  "Just tell me one thing, commander," I asked, at last accepting the quest and rising from the couch. "How was the armor lost?"

  He shrugged. "It's no secret. Black iron is the metal most susceptible to magic. In the Battle of Fertan, Velial and Maloc struck Ingvar with chaos magic. It penetrated deep into him and..." Quentin looked at me, from head to toe, and then smiled. "Well, the element you happen to be friends with is a deadly one, even for the gods. Ingvar had to discard his armor and scatter it throughout the realm. He kept only the belt, which he gave to you."

  "So, anyone who wears armor made of this metal might have the same happen to them?"

  "If two Elder Demons attack him at once, yes, that is likely." The commander smiled again. "But you don't have to worry. Primordial Chaos is an odd element. It chooses its own adepts. Anyone can be a chaos adept, and that person receives full immunity from chaos' negative effects for as long as the element favors him. All right, brother," He clapped me on the shoulder and squeezed my hand tightly. "I really do need to hurry."

  This always happened, parting just as things were getting interesting. I said my goodbyes to Quentin and headed outside—and immediately realized I'd forgotten to ask about that knight statue. Eh. It's not really that important, right? I had learned a lot about this Arkaetania and her damn meddlings and movings. Yes, the developers had created an incredible world, filled with no less incredible content, but every game world was woefully beholden to a struggle against the bad guys. This attracted players, but when it suddenly became not only real, but the only world you knew, well, that wasn't so pleasant anymore. Still, the commander's tale of the loss of the armor had been so beautiful! How many sets of divine armor were there scattered throughout Arkon? Where any sensible person might ask, why the hell would a Great Essence think to stash their stuff all over, this explanation left no questions unanswered. Maybe Arkon really had existed for thousands of years after all, and this game was just a copy of that world? Hart could take all of that philosophical crap to hell with him, though. I was fully comfortable in the reality of this world. And having an immunity to Chaos, now that was badass. One bright ray in the general darkness.

  I inhaled a chestful of the cool evening air, looked at the descending, reddening sun, adjusted my sword belt, and headed for my next destination.

  The dwarven embassy hid behind yet another twelve-foot fence, and only a small portion of its metal roof could be seen from the street. The forged metal black gate with its small entrance door was protected by two guards. In a world without security cameras, after all, sentries should be posted in front of the gate, not behind it. Not that I was any good at security. Maybe I was just wrong, and posting guards out front was an accepted dwarven custom and no more.

  Both guards were level 220 NPCs, and armored from head to toe. They bore open-face helmets, round shields, and short axes. Impressive. The bared-teeth boar muzzles adorning their armor confirmed that I was at the right place.

  "Good evening," I said to the guard on the right. "I need to speak with your ambassador. It's a matter of urgency."

  The dwarf's name was Gisli. He sized me up and snorted.

  "And I need a couple of mugs of dark ale and some crackers," he muttered back without averting his gaze. "The ambassador only takes visitors in the morning. Come back tomorrow, with an attestation of ambassador appointment from the king's office."

  "An attestation of what?"

  "We're on human territory, demon," the dwarf repeated, again through clenched teeth. "We are not at peace with you. However, if the king requests it, the ambassador may just agree to see you."

  Hmm. Maybe I could go down into the catacombs and track down Legolas for his dwarf-democracy skills. But no, seriously, what the hell? They should be falling to their knees in gratitude!

  "Call the captain of your guard, soldier." I struggled to keep my seething rage from boiling over, and tried to keep my voice calm. "I'll explain to him that—"

  "I'm not calling anyone," he answered, grinning brashly. "You can try to explain it to me."

  "I've brought your Banner..."

  "Banner?" He chuckled. "Look, bring it back tomorrow, with an attestation from the king. Now begone, demon! Prince or no prince, you have not welcome here!"

  The fury inside me rose up, but the image of the perishing legion flashed before my eyes. The clanking of iron. The roar of the Netherworld's demons. The sharp commands of the legate. The battlefield littered with corpses, and that last survivor of their number holding himself up, leaning on the very same pole, banner fluttering in the wind... These warriors were not to blame for their descendants being idiots. Yet, apparently the guards perceived the flash in my eyes. They grew maximally alert, hands now ready to draw their axes. Just give it to them! said the voice in my head. Stubborn halfwit halflings. Like I need anything from them...

  "Here." I gave the parcel containing the banner to one of the dwarves. "You give it to your leader. And Hart take your arrogance and your attestations!"

  I turned and walked briskly away, back to The Unicorn. I had had enough and was not about to let my day be ruined on account of those bastards. There was already enough to deal with without them. As I walked, I opened my quest log and tried to abandon the quest. It wouldn't go away. Damn it. Well, let it stay, then. One extra unfulfilled quest sticking around wouldn't kill me.

  "Hey, demon!" I heard from behind. I ignored it.

  They could figure things out—my duty to those warriors had been fulfilled. I turned the corner, crossed the street, and continued on my way. Today already weighed heavily enough on my mind that I really didn't want to add a violent evening conflict into the mix.

  "Good evening, prince," the doorman said in greeting as I entered the inn. "Your companions awai
t you in the next room."

  I nodded and proceeded down the carpet leading off to the right.

  "You know what I like about this world?" I heard Bonbon say. "You can drink as much beer as you want without having to run off for a piss!"

  "As much as you want, huh?" Masyanya shook her head. "If we rigged you up to a huge wine cistern with a hose straight down your throat and left for a month, you still wouldn't be ready to quit by the time we got back."

  "Exactly!" Bonbon patted his belly. "Unmitigated consumption of the nectar of life. More booze than I could have ever dreamed of in the real world. Oh, hello, prince." He waved at me. "I hope everything worked out? When that Brother Took or whatever his name was came by, stared at us all with his heroic glare, and took off for some unknown place, I must say it worried us a little."

  "Everything's fine," I said with a smile, feeling my mood lifting. Brother Took? Leave it to Bonbon to make levity of the least funny person in all of Arkon.

  I sat in an empty spot and asked where everyone was. "And why are you all still here? There's a restaurant in this place, isn't there?"

  The bald man waved me off. "Eh, it's full of the locals playing these awkward violins and this guy singing ballads. He doesn't know my favorites. I asked. So, here we stay. They'll bring us food to eat if we ask them." Bonbon poured some dark beer into everyone's mugs from a keg sitting on the table, then pushed one of the mugs towards me, and nodded at Donut. "This one's sisters are pruning their feathers upstairs. They spent the whole day out shopping with our blond friend! Meanwhile, the spirit of some long-dead ensign has taken up residence within my wife. She's packing her things up and saying farewell to the landlady today. Meaning that I am free and unmarried. For now at least! And since Donut here is burdened having his significant other sitting next to him, he cannot be a man among men, so it falls on us to pick up the slack. After all, this could be my last breath of freedom!"