by Akella,G.
"Why are you so grim, dar? Would you care to share your concerns?" the tifling officer steadied his horse, settling into a trot to my right.
"We've lost people back there, I don't see that as a cause for revelry. And why are you talking all formal like? Cut that shit out."
"Duly noted," James nodded. "I'll stop. But you're an odd one all right—only eight fighters have passed into the Flame, and their deaths were all worthy. Their rebirth will be equally worthy, have no doubt. Moreover, the fact that our incomplete century only lost eight against five hundred... That's not even luck. The gods favor you, Dark One..."
"Yeah, yeah. Listen, tell me more about 'elders.' As you might have noticed, my transformation was a bit unexpected, for me most of all."
"Elders are those who manage to cope with the true blood that awakes in them. It is a very rare phenomenon when it awakens in someone; rarer still is when whoever it awakens in is able to tame his rage and not turn into a monster. Only an elder can turn totally black while in combat form. I see now why you were marked by Ingvar."
"Well, at least one of us does," I chuckled. "Still makes little sense to me."
"No one is going to explain it any clearer than that. You can, however, visit Ahriman. All of his Throne Attendants are elders. Moreover, the legends say that he'd found some of them back when they were still ordinary demons."
"You mentioned having some of that true blood yourself, didn't you? About having elders in your family tree?"
"Well, yes," James smiled. "My great grandmother did sin with a fellow that had crawled out of the Netherworld. Nobody did learn his name. I don't know whether or not their union was consensual, but years later one of the clan chieftains—there were no princedoms yet—took a liking to her daughter. Succubi are hard to resist for our kind, as you know... As for the blood, we all have it—only you have a lot more of it. The banner should come out really well, by the way. Oh, and I'm starting to believe that we will recapture my family castle after all."
"Sure we will," I assured him. "Now, tell me this... It would seem that succubi are in high demand. So what are they doing in brothels if they can snag themselves a noble husband without any trouble?"
"Krian, if I hadn't seen you at work half an hour ago, I would think you really are a light one. Do you really think they want that? A demon of seduction lives to seduce, and that implies constant pursuit of new partners. I feel sorry for the poor son of a bitch who marries a woman like that without a trueblood oath. Even then, if the succubus doesn't have a sufficient amount of that blood, the oath won't mean anything to her. There are exceptions, of course. A woman may rebuff a dozen noble candidates, choosing instead some simple, entirely ordinary farmer, and the two will live in perfect harmony till the end of their days. You cannot rape a succubus—that would mean certain death for anyone. Well, except maybe someone like you. Besides, now you're going to..." the tifling paused suddenly, giving me a strange look.
"What?"
"Nothing. I was just going to say that when we get to the fort, your blood will be needed to make the banner. I'll go tell the blond girl to be ready."
James is up to something, I thought, looking at the distancing tifling. He clearly intended to say something else. Oh well. So far the conversation hadn't shed much light on what was happening—I still didn't understand the difference between elders and ordinary nobles. But hey, at least now I knew that I could rape a succubus without fear of popping up at a graveyard. A dubious achievement if ever there was one, especially since I had never raped anyone, neither in my past life nor in this one. I had never even fantasized about it. File that under "good to know," I snorted, watching the fort gates gradually draw near.
A pleasant surprise awaited me upon our arrival at the fort in the form of Schen the innkeeper's request to join the clan.
"I'm a pretty good swordsman, dar, and I know how to ride a horse," he said, meeting me on the doorstep of the inn. "And I can serve as your quartermaster, if need be. I hear there's a vacancy."
I assured Schen that I would be glad to have him, promising to take care of it tomorrow. I'd rather have a quartermaster sleeping in a cart on the way to Xantarra than an innkeeper sleeping in a situation when something akin to a funeral feast had to be organized for seventy four people. The rest of the day was a flurry of chores. First, I had to pump half a quart of my blood into a silver chalice with fanciful patterns carved on it, whereupon the dar and Hagedia got down to sewing the banner. Then I tasked two getare squads with preparing the funeral pyre, awarded the four rare plate pieces that had dropped in the battle, and settled into a chair before the monitor in my private room, mulling over how to best distribute the professions among the new clan members.
Later that evening, as I stood gazing into the blazing funeral pyre, I realized that yet another phase of my life had come to an end. Whatever recesses of my mind had been relating to my current reality as a game had been scorched out of my psyche along with the bodies of my fallen demon comrades. Gone was the taciturn Hurd, the bashful Osk, the jovial Surat. Damn it! I didn't give a damn that my people were in line for a new, perhaps even better incarnation. I didn't want to lose anybody else! Peering into the Flame, I swore to myself to do everything in my power to bring all my Wolves to clan level ten. Vows were material in this world, so one had better not use words lightly. But my resolve was sincere—the last thing I wanted was to find myself before this same pyre.
There was no grieving around the table—such things weren't allowed here. My guys were telling the new recruits about our adventures: the battle of Bone River, the beauty of the Swamp Cave, the heroism of Diarten the necromancer. I was compelled to talk of the beauty of the goddess of death, and share how I'd gotten the wolf cub emblazoned on my shield. Then Reece chimed in with the aforementioned strange dream of his in which he had apparently rebuffed—quite heroically—the lascivious advances of one of Ingvar's female sidekicks, in return for which she had shared with him their clan's song, and had vowed to visit him again some time.
Greased with liberal portions of alcohol, tension was slowly leaving me, and with it the uncertainty about our future. Whatever happened, these demons would remain with me, as betrayal simply wasn't part of their programming. The Callehzians ended up being a real jolly bunch—their women laughed as loudly as the men at the catfish story, then teased Iam mercilessly about his next fishing trip, advertising all manner of wonderful fishing spots along the shores of Ithele that flowed into the Great Lake, and that they would happily show those to him, or, better yet, organize the whole thing for him. Flushed with embarrassment initially, Reena soon joined in with the rest. And only Salta spent the whole evening sitting in silence, unblinking eyes on the floor.
Eventually the young woman stood up and left the room, and I decided that the time for action had come. I liked this girl, and it was well past time I'd done something about it. I knew that it was probably the liquid courage in me talking, but the opportunity was there for the taking, and another one might not arrive for a while.
I found the young woman sitting on a log outside one of the semi-dismantled buildings. Salta was drawing something on the ground absently with a twig.
"What's wrong?" I sat down next to her, leaning against the warm wooden wall. The setting sun overhead was a blaze of dark crimson.
"You're an elder," she said softly, continuing her simple drawing.
"So what?"
"I thought that you and I... That we..." Suddenly erupting into tears, the archeress threw the twig aside and covered her face with her palms.
"Darling..." I tried hugging her to give her solace, but Salta pushed my arm aside and stood up sharply. "This isn't going to work," she kept weeping. "Nothing can happen between an elder demon and a simple demoness!" The young woman took a few deep breaths and ran into the building. The weeping resumed shortly thereafter.
Hart! Nothing is ever easy with them, I shook my head, rose and followed after her.
"I don't give a rat'
s ass that you're a simple demoness!" I snarled. "I like you the way that you are..."
Salta turned toward me, uncovered her face and... gave a sad smile. In the light filtering through the glassless window her face seemed so dear, so helpless that I...
"Silly," the young woman walked over to me and buried her face into my shoulder. "It's not that, you simply don't know," she sobbed. "Your blood will either kill me or drive me mad. And not even Lata could help me. You can only be with a succubus or with another elder like yourself. Did you think your being a noble would stop me?"
"Mm-hmm," that was all I could muster as I pressed the girl against my chest, gently caressing her hair. "Well, Salta, if that's how it is, we can still be friends..."
"Probably," she shrugged. "You probably don't even notice that you sometimes call me by your sister's name. But anyway," the demoness drew away, and pecked me on the cheek. "I should go. I need to collect myself," she gave a sad smile, sighed and went out the door.
Well, that sucked. I reached into my bag automatically and produced a pipe. Or maybe it was for the best? At least the fact that we hadn't yet slept together was for the best—I shuddered to imagine what would happen to her if we had. Apparently, bonuses weren't the only thing I'd acquired with my new form. But how was I supposed to tell those I could bed from those I couldn't? Not all succubi had tails, and not all those with tails were elders. And besides, apparently elders weren't exactly a dime a dozen...
"Nothing is ever easy with us, huh?" Sister Arsa was sitting on the windowsill, leaning back against the edge of the window frame, one leg bent at the knee and the other swinging in the air. At this moment the young woman looked anything but a temple priestess. Her shapely legs looked flawless in her gray hunting pants. Her elegant ankle boots bore intricate silvery patterns, and her transparent white tunic afforded a great view of her supple breasts, constrained by nothing at all. The demoness' eyes were full of mischief. Desire overwhelmed me. I found it hard to breathe. I had never experienced anything like this, not even with Janam. I so badly wanted to grab this woman, to rip off her clothes and... It took an inhuman force of will to keep control. And then the recent conversation with Salta flushed out the delusion like an ice bucket shower.
"Arsa? How did you get here?" I uttered, panting, and wiped the beads of sweat forming on my forehead. "And who are you, really? Tell me, for Hart's sake!"
"You are strong, Dark One," the demoness licked her lips with the tip of her tongue, and laughed, her voice jingling like a magic bell. "You will learn everything in due time, Krian. What's important is that I was right about you. You might succeed after all." Sliding off the windowsill, the woman walked right up to me, close enough for me to smell the scent of her flesh—no perfume whatsoever, just a very delicate, nearly imperceptible herbal fragrance.
"You were telling me about your daughter? Where do I find her?" I asked, unable to look away from her huge jade-green eyes.
"I don't know," she smiled. "Like I said, you will learn in due time. It will happen. Oh, and the thing you're thinking of now," she brushed a finger softly across my cheek, "that will happen, too. Not right now, but it most certainly will. I'll tell you even more... If you accomplish what I expect of you, I will help you twice. When I deem it necessary." She smiled and pressed her lips against mine.
The world began to spin, and my legs turned to jelly. It was hard to breath... I was a helpless prisoner to the taste of her lips, blissfully indescribable though it was.
"All right, Krian," the demoness whispered as she drew away. "I won't torment you any longer. Till we meet again, Dark One." She laughed again and melted in my arms, leaving behind only the echo of that magical laughter.
Unbelievable... Lost for words, I slid down to the floor, and finally lit up a smoke.
It had become obvious even back at the Temple of All Gods that Arsa wasn't an ordinary demoness... But the way she'd made me feel like a teenage boy at a nude beach for the first time in his life, with all my mental resistance no less—that I would never have expected. Clearly, she wanted something from me, and I doubted she was being upfront about what that was. The encounter hadn't resulted in a new quest, or any lead at all for that matter... So, for all that, her true motives would remain a mystery.
Chapter 6
The day was turning out to be warm and altogether pleasant. In the southern provinces, autumn was barely distinguishable from summer. The sun was shining gently on the variegated foliage and the still-green fields stretching along the road. A light breeze was blowing in from a distant lake, carrying aromas of hay warmed by the sun and the intoxicating scent of ripe apples.
This was the second day of our journey. Our party was moving down a cobbled tract leading to Xantarra, the beating of hooves blending with the screeching of wheels of a dozen loaded wagons that slowed our pace quite a bit. The road meandered amid abandoned villages and apple orchards, the grounds of which were strewn with succulent amber-colored fruits. There was no one around to collect the harvest, nor to treat road-weary warriors to delectable apple cider that my soldiers claimed the province was famous for. All signs pointed to the local residents fleeing their homes with haste, leaving behind scattered heaps of clothes, farming and household tools and implements. Uncollected laundry was hanging off clotheslines. Deserted settlements like this always gave me a heavy sense of dread. Like dogs that had been thrown out of their homes, they watched our party as we passed with looks full of anguish and disbelief. We hadn't encountered any undead—according to James, Satrap Gorm had cleaned up the area within a forty mile radius of the city. But we remained vigilant nonetheless, with five scouts always riding ahead of the caravan, working in four-hour shifts.
And I was riding Lucy. Guilt-ridden and knowing that the road to Xantarra was clear, I'd decided to finally summon my trusty mare that had perished nearly a month ago. Letting loose the most exultant whinny the moment she was summoned, Lucy found me with her eyes, trotted over and nuzzled my shoulder. As I stroked the mare's slightly trembling neck, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, I felt like a total bastard. Then I fed her a shit-ton of apples. Gloom reacted to Lucy's appearance philosophically, trotting after the wagon carrying the head archeress without any complaints. It didn't hurt that Salta was slipping him treats here and there that she'd prepared for the road beforehand. As for Lucy, though she didn't appear to be distraught in any way—for her the whole month had passed in an instant—I had decided not to release her anymore. The mare could be kept in stables—I would supply the apples.
"Think we could recruit fighters in Xantarra?" I asked Elnar riding to my right, hoping to clarify some uncertainties while distracting myself from somber thoughts.
"Hmm? Oh, absolutely," the tifling seemed distracted himself. In fact, James had been strangely silent and contemplative, sneaking furtive glances toward a wagon on the side of which perched the head archeress. "I don't think Gorm will object to anyone joining us. All we need is twenty five people anyway, and I suspect there'll be no shortage of candidates after what we've done."
"Are there no Callehzians left in Xantarra?"
"Only children and old people—three hundred forty seven in all. Some time ago Gorm had allotted a whole district for refugees near the harbor." The tifling sighed and looked away. "It became empty after the last siege on the city. I thought that the satrap would look after them after we died. But friendship only goes so far. Gorm would always put his subjects first, so without us around—"
"You need to get over your hypothetical heroic deaths," I cut him short. "And those people aren't strangers to us. Besides, we have more than enough to go around," I motioned at the wagons crawling down the road. "I can't accept everyone into our clan, but it doesn't mean we must treat them as outsiders."
"Thank you, Dark One. You were right to dress me down like you did. I was just tired of it all. And it got even worse after my father died. The reason I'd taken my people to Farot in the first place was that I couldn't bear to look in th
e eyes of those we'd left behind."
"We will have two days. Let me know what you need once we get to the city. I'll allocate the funds. As for the loot, we'll keep whatever we can't sell right away. You were telling me you had someone you could entrust this to?"
"Myglan, my grandfather's former butler. He's old, but fiercely loyal and still sharp as a whip." The tifling smiled to his memories, his eyes growing warmer.
"It's settled, then. When we get there, you'll introduce him to our quartermaster. And I'll fill Schen in later."
"Dar, I wanted to ask you something," James' glanced, almost involuntarily, at the third wagon from the front, where Salta was sitting. "It's, um... It's probably going to sound awkward..."
"Nothing happened between us," I chuckled. "But she is like a sister to me, so I suggest you don't hurt her."
"But then, um... Then wouldn't it... Why, I would never!" James nearly choked on his outrage when the meaning of my words finally got through. His face, in turn, expressed a kind of pure idiotic joy. "And I'd never allow anyone to! If she—"
"I wouldn't try to force anything too soon," I shook my head. "That's just my advice. But you do whatever you feel is right."
"I won't. All right. So, um, mind if I..."
"Go," I nodded, barely holding back laughter.
James steered his horse forward, and took off in a gallop a second later. The kid had flipped his lid for good. There goes my colonel... I grunted to myself, and opened my character menu.