by Akella,G.
"I didn't notice him being upset," the kid finally allowed himself to smile. "Of course, when the pigeon came from Torgvar an hour ago the legate let loose a tirade so epic his bodyguards were repeating it for the next fifteen minutes lest they forget it. Dar Krian," the tifling turned to me. "All of us here have heard of your incredible victories. The commander wishes to express his gratitude to you personally."
"Yes, of course," I issued the command for the caravan to stop. Leaving Salta in charge, James and I followed the young demon as he led the way.
Five minutes later we dismounted outside a large hexagonal tent, at the foot of which a white-and-blue banner depicting a dagger and a chalice fluttered in the wind. The meaning of the emblem was lost on me, and I thought to ask Elnar about it later on. Standing guard in front of the tent were four level 190 demons clad in a mix of plate and mail. Each wore twin blades at the waist and a mask of absolute tranquility on the face. They parted without a word, letting us through.
"Go on," the kid nodded to us. "I'll wait out here. But you owe me the story of how you pulled it off, James."
The interior of the command tent looked exactly like I thought it would. Artists and designers watched war movies like everyone else, and sometimes they just couldn't be bothered inventing anything new. A round table stood at the center with the satrapy's map laid out on top, and ten or so chairs around the table, high-backed and draped with a blue fabric. Over in the corner was a bed, a trunk, a writing desk of old cracked wood, an inkwell and an armchair. Barg dar Elias, an elderly broad-shouldered tifling with prominent features, thinning hair, bushy sideburns and a mithril chain around his neck, was alone. He rose from the desk when we entered, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked over to us.
"Well met, Krian," he nodded to me, then looked at Elnar. "Good to see you alive, James." The legate's eyes lingered on the wolf cub on my new officer's chest, and shook his head. "That is a surprise..."
"Are you judging me?" Elnar asked with defiance in his voice.
"No, just the opposite," Elias smiled. "You are alive, and the enemy isn't. Could it be that my good friend's son has finally learned to make the right decisions? Lirt would have been proud," there was a flicker of sorrow in the legate's eyes. "Oh, why am I keeping you in the doorway? Come on it, have a seat," the tifling made an inviting gesture, waited for us to find seats, then walked over to a cupboard and set the table with a bottle of the local cognac equivalent, three shot glasses and some sliced fruits. "Humor an old man, have a drink with him," he said, pouring the cognac. "We don't have much time, the satrap is waiting for you. But I need to be sure that the danger is really behind us."
It took Elnar and I some forty minutes to recount the battle of Farot. The legate asked me a million questions, clarifying the smallest details. At one point he even inquired about the sun's position in the sky at a particular moment.
When the deluge of questions finally dried out, the commander summoned two officers and issued orders regarding the army's return to the city. Then he turned back to us.
"Will the barracks be sufficient as quarters?" he asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, he continued, "I dare not delay you any longer, and we shouldn't keep Gorm waiting, either. Zach will take you to him. Thank you, Krian, for bringing us this knucklehead in one piece," he smiled warmly. "And till we meet again. I'm not bidding you farewell, for I'm starting to believe in prophecies."
"What prophecies?" I inquired politely.
"The Xantarrian library should have a book of prophecies authored by Maelissa dar Karis. I reckon the satrap won't mind you reading it. I don't remember much of it, and I'd rather not mislead you, but you should inquire about the prophecy concerning the Black Demon, the path East and the Spectral City."
"Thank you," I shook his hand goodbye, and followed Elnar out of the command tent.
The tifling youth, who had been waiting impatiently outside, hurried over to us as soon as we appeared.
"Well? Shall we go?" he asked while walking. "And you still owe me the story, James. You promised."
"I promised no such thing," Elnar objected, but then, seeing the kid's face spreading in serious dismay, corrected himself at once. "Fine, I'll tell you. Let's just get to the caravan first. By the way," he turned to me, "the legate isn't as old as you might think. In the last battle he and his bodyguards kept a whole century of enemy infantry from getting through the breach, and then he personally led a counterattack. It's a pity they didn't have much time to work with," the tifling sighed heavily and turned away.
Chapter 7
Xantarra was nestled comfortably at the confluence of Ithele and the Great Lake, with the water shielding the city on two sides. After winding through gardens and orchards, the road soon led us into an open space on the city's doorstep. It was about a half mile of scorched earth, charred trees, naked frames of houses devastated by fire... It appeared that at one time the city couldn't shelter all of its residents and was forced to expand well beyond the high walls of gray stone, and the undead army from Suonu razed all that had stood here to the ground. Or maybe the suburb had been burned on orders from above. Not that any of it mattered to me. Hundreds of farmers from the enormous refugee camp to our right were hard at work, cleaning up the debris. Wafting in from the shore were scents of fresh fish and rotting seaweed, which then mixed with smells of smoke and ash from the numerous bonfires into quite a pungent cocktail. Dozens of fishing boats scurried about, never going far from the shore; seagulls soared over the tranquil waters, diving in periodically to snatch up a careless fish.
Looming over the city walls were seven guard towers, of which the corner one also functioned as the main gate. We were allowed to enter without any questions. After passing under the massive iron bars of the raised gates, our party split—most headed off to be quartered in the Callehzian district, while James and I followed Zach in the direction of the citadel.
Xantarra was virtually identical to Laketa, the capital of Jarus Province in Ashtar. The cobbled streets sloped visibly towards the lake while being wide enough to easily accommodate two carts moving side by side. Here the same bouquet of smells was enriched with freshly baked goods, wood chippings and sun-warmed stone.
"Is the city always this clean?" I asked Zach on my right.
The youth had been riding in contemplative silence following James' account of the battle, sneaking eloquent glances my way periodically. I could sense that Zach was just itching to ask to join our clan and be off slaying undead by the droves and liberating Elnar's family castle, but something was holding him back. I had no intention of taking in the youth either, at least not yet. I was apprehensive about taking children into battle, even if those children were level 170. In fact, the reason I'd asked the question in the first place was to distract the young tifling from these unwelcome thoughts.
"Always, dar," he nodded. "Xantarra stands on a steep hill, or rather on the hillside facing the water—see how the streets all slope downward? Every time it rains all the dirt gets washed away into Indis. We get quite the current going in wintertime, during rainy season," he smiled. "But the rainwater is done pretty quickly. It's rare that the harbor gets partially flooded—the levee stands up just fine, most of the time."
"Got it. And where is your library?"
"To the right of the castle. I'll show you when we get close."
"You decided to look up the book Elias mentioned?" James said, assuming the glorious role of Captain Obvious.
"You don't think I should?" I answered with a question of my own.
"Prophecies are a murky business that may arouse more questions than answers. But it's your call—I cannot be your adviser in this matter."
"I haven't decided yet what I will do," I said, admitting to myself that he was probably right. What's the use in knowing what's going to happen if you can't change it anyway?
That was the logical argument. And then there was me. Having read a ton of books in which some enigmatic and reclusive oracle e
ncounters the main character and reads out their fortune in a scene dripping with tension, which then empowered the hero to save the world... Well, I'd always wanted to be in the place of one such hero. And who wouldn't? Even though I knew that, alas, in the game nothing was predestined by default, and that such scenes were written purely for the injection of ambiance. More likely, the prophecy would be along the lines of, "Go left and lose your horse; go right and gain great wealth; go straight and lose the body part you typically think with when deciding which way to go." Of course, I would never know what the choices of "right," "left" and "straight" corresponded to, or even if the prophecy was really about me. But none of that mattered. I wanted to play out that scene, I wanted to be that hero. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but last I checked I had neither paws nor fur, so why not indulge myself a bit? Besides, what was the harm in reading a few pages from an old book? If there was anything there about the Black Demon, and assuming I was the Black Demon in question, it would only apply to me after I got my combat form, and not before.
The Xantarrian citadel would be fairly underwhelming if only its size were considered. But everything else about it—the sleek walls of ashen stone, the myriad gothic turrets and spires, the exquisite statues of gargoyles and chimeras—testified to the talent of the artist responsible for this masterpiece.
The castle itself sat on the lake shore and was framed by rows of peach and apple trees, in the shade of which rested clusters of marble sculptures. After bidding us a warm goodbye, Zach turned his horse around and headed off to tend to his affairs.
The guards at the door must have been notified in advance of our coming, as we rode into the inner courtyard without any issues under their intent and scrutinizing gazes. A lanky snub-nosed kid appeared out of nowhere, taking the reins of our horses, and nodded matter-of-factly toward the main entrance to the enormous four-story donjon.
The air inside the building was chilly and seemingly spiced with something. Past the entrance, guarded only by several statues and stone vases, a marble stairwell wound upward with a carpet strip running along the center. The space was illuminated by numerous magic lanterns, as the air filtering in through the embrasures clearly wasn't enough. We were met by a servant who then escorted us to the second floor, through a narrow corridor and a pair of connecting chambers. We walked in silence, our footsteps echoing dully off the walls lined with art, ultimately stopping before the tall ornamented doors of the waiting chamber.
The ruler was alone in his office. Satrap Gorm was a tall tifling of dark hair, neatly trimmed beard, piercing green eyes and strikingly aristocratic features. He looked up from the thick pad he'd been writing in when we entered and rose from his desk. Motioning at several armchairs over by the blazing fireplace, he sent the servant out for some wine.
"I see now," he said contemplatively, taking a seat in an armchair across from me. "An elder... I never thought I'd see another one in my lifetime."
The satrap's face looked pale and haggard, with hollow cheeks, thin dry lips and dark circles under the eyes. He was peering at me with unblinking eyes, and it was starting to make me uncomfortable.
"Are elders such a rarity?" I took a sip from my glass and looked up at him.
"Beyond the pale they certainly aren't, but here... Krian, are you aware that the curse was made to have the worst effect on precisely your kind? Where ordinary demons lose roughly half their strength, an elder stands to lose no less than ninety percent. And that's if he doesn't get blown to bits at the crossing. You are very fortunate to have had the true blood awaken in you here in Craedia, though it's possible that it was the very act of crossing into the princedom that had served as the catalyst."
"How do you know all this? Do you often get guests from Alcmehn?"
"I wouldn't say we never get them, but Lords don't give a damn what happens to us. And there's nothing here for opportunists." The satrap put his glass down on the table, folded his hands on his knees and gazed into the fireplace. "Of course, there might be mountains of treasure in the ruins of the four castles destroyed by Ahriman, or even in Suonu after being ravaged by Korg, but those places are teeming with the undead, and you have to be quite the fool to take the fight to them under the circumstances. That is why guests from the north are indeed rare, bears and leopards notwithstanding. We were a free people once, you know—or barbarians, as the Lords called us. Many of us have kin there. But when it all began just under two months ago, all our attempts to build a portal west have failed, alas. We do not know why."
Oh, but I do. And I even know who's to blame, I thought to myself. But aloud I said:
"I realize I'm asking too many questions, but would you please explain to me the difference between elder demons and ordinary ones?"
"James didn't explain it to you?" Gorm smiled, nodding to the tifling who was sitting in his armchair, silent and stiff.
"I didn't understand much from his explanation," I said. "I was hoping you could clarify the issue further."
"How does a dog differ from a wolf? Or a bonfire from a forest fire?" Gorm mused, gazing into the blazing fireplace. "Erisjat was a worthy ruler, but what had he become in the end?" The satrap gestured at one of the portraits on the wall, depicting a middle-aged tifling in a vinous velvet waistcoat over a white shirt with cuffs and a fine collar. He had handsome symmetrical features, a thick goatee to compensate for a receding hairline, and yellow eyes that regarded everyone in the room with unapologetic irony. "Young man, your question has no answer. The true blood can take inconceivable forms sometimes. You are exactly the same as the rest of us, yet at the same time completely different. Therefore, I wouldn't bother with a question you'll never find an answer to. All I can tell you is that infinitely more possibilities are now open to you, though at a price. Nothing in this world is free—remember these words when the time comes to make the choice." Taking a sip of wine, the satrap fell back in his armchair and fixed me with an intent gaze. "Erisjat was an elder, too, but even he hadn't been marked by so many Great Essences. And that," he shook his head, "is a hard thing to wrap my head around. Now, Krian, have I answered all your questions? Then I would ask you to tell me about yourself. I must say, we've never had a guest as interesting as you in our little backwoods."
It took me about an hour to relay the abridged version of my adventures in Demon Grounds. The satrap didn't need to know of the Twice Cursed god's vault, nor of the knights locked in magic slumber, which cut the part of the story prior to my crossing into the princedom down to several dozen sentences. I did, however, made it a point to briefly mention my drawing the attention of the gods of this world. Then I handed the baton off to Elnar, who had only said a few words until then, and he recounted the battle at Alcene's crossing and all the events that followed, while I enjoyed my pipe, having secured our host's permission.
You've completed the quest: Defending Farot.
You received a bonus talent point.
Your reputation has increased. Gorm, the Satrap of Xantarra, relates to you with respect.
Your reputation has increased. Residents of the Craedia Princedom relate to you with reverence.
We sat in silence for a while, listening to the wood popping and crackling in the fireplace as the flames beamed and bounced off the weapons lining the walls, putting on a resplendent light show.
I'm definitely getting myself a castle, I was thinking to myself. And it will have a room with a fireplace, just like this, where I will spend my evenings with a glass of wine, gazing into the dancing flames in silence. Better still, there will be a woman at my side, one that will appreciate this golden silence in equal measure, and we won't fear being misunderstood. And I want to see an end to this mad race. I want to wake up and know that today I won't need to risk my life or the lives of those I care for... A man can dream.
"I've always loved looking into the flames," Gorm said, finally breaking the silence. "There is a grandness to fire that cannot be captured or attained, a serenity that transcends whatever world
ly problems may be weighing down your mind. If you just allow yourself to dissolve in it, fire will burn away all your enmity and impotence... Are you aware, Krian, that you have not four but five marks of the Great Essences?"
"Who's the fifth?" I asked calmly, still lingering in the fantasy I'd created. The difference in the rapport between Gorm and myself was evident immediately after the bump in reputation. A pleasant and friendly manner had turned to genuine affection.
"You are favored by one of the Netherworld's Seven Lords. Except the favor of such an essence can be more terrible than the fury of any god. Be careful, for the Seven can be as fickle as the Primordial Chaos that rages in their veins."
"Can you tell me a name?"
"No. I am not so strong as to see so much."
"So what am I supposed to do with this information?"
"Nothing," Gorm shrugged. "But keep it in the back of your mind. Now, I will give you however many troops you're going to need. And whatever you want to sell, Askel will take care of that. James knows where to find him."
"Thank you. I also wanted to ask your permission to check out this one book at the library..."
"The library is open to the public, but you won't find Maelissa dar Karis' book there."
"How did you..." I nearly chocked on my own smoke.
"Did you really think that I wouldn't remember the prophecy the moment I received news of a Black Demon appearing in the princedom?" the satrap chuckled. "A week ago some woman asked an acolyte to bring her that specific book, and vanished into thin air when he did. This despite the fact that taking books out of the library is prohibited, not to mention impossible."
"I see," I chuckled, instantly remembering a certain female who seemingly had a habit of disappearing at the most interesting moments. "We're setting out to Callehzia at sunrise the day after tomorrow," I said, shaking the satrap's hand goodbye. "Thank you for lending us your troops, and for answering my questions."