Steel Wolves of Craedia (Realm of Arkon, Book 3)

by Akella,G.

  "Yeah, I suppose," I finished off the wine and refilled my glass. "So what comes next? Celphata mentioned something about me finding a woman, and lots of other stuff."

  "Celphata?!" Gorm choked on his wine, put the glass down on the table and looked up at me, teary-eyed. "You spoke to the goddess of death?"

  "Who do you think advised me to capture the altar in the Derelict Temple and chose Vaessa as her priestess? And besides, you didn't seem too shocked by the gods' marks on me when we first met, so why now?"

  "It's not the same," Gorm shook his head, clearly stunned. "All those marks I saw on you then could have been made by the gods, even a Lord of the Netherworld, without actually appearing before your eyes. But to speak with Celphata herself..."

  "Then? You mean you don't see them anymore?"

  "No, now they are hidden from me," Gorm reached for his glass. "You have changed a great deal since our last meeting, Dark One. I couldn't quite tell you how, but I sense it clearly."

  Must be the blood of the Nameless from when he struck me. If it can conceal entire zones, the marks of five-six gods is but a trifle, I thought to myself, but asked out loud:

  "What else does the prophecy say?"

  "Nothing else," Elias didn't seem at all impressed by the news that I had conversed with the goddess of death. Or perhaps he had exhausted his capacity for shock for today.

  "What do you mean! Celphata was saying something about a woman!"

  "I'm sorry, dar, but that is all I'd been able to read. Past that point all I remember is some unintelligible glyphwork."

  "So what am I supposed to do with this?" I produced the scroll and showed it to Gorm. "And what is this Spectral City, anyway?"

  "Death herself plants a gentle kiss on him..." Gorm recited softly. "You know, Dark One, I can't be bothered to be shocked anymore."

  "Trust me, it wasn't so gentle," I smirked. "Her lips are a bit cold. Other than that, the goddess is a beautiful woman, no doubt. Now, what about this Cathella town?"

  "According to legend, Cathella is the capital of the ancient Pangean civilization that used to inhabit these lands before departing from here," Gorm explained, gazing into the blazing fireplace. "As they were leaving, their shamans raised two great bone dragons, Vaell and Velargass, to protect the treasures they would leave behind. The legend has it the Pangeans returned to their homeland. As to where it's located or why they left when they did, nobody knows."

  Well, that wasn't very helpful. No matter, Cathella wasn't anywhere near the top of my list of priorities. First I would get the hell out of here, and then decide whether or not to head over there. True, Celphata had mentioned I'd be able to find answers about the prophecy and the Nameless in the Spectral City, but I supposed the quest could wait till after I made it to the higher plane, and found my sister and Max. Then all of us could head back down to Cathella. Even Cheney, that scumbag, would need to wait. And let's be honest here—I was still too weak to challenge him. I clenched my fists unwittingly at the thought of Cheney, feeling the cold fury begin to overtake me. Oh, what the hell! I cried out mentally, driving off the unwanted companion. Here I was—a rational, pragmatic, intelligent being, and the mere shred of a memory of my tormentor instantly transformed me into a rabid beast! Why?! The pain I had suffered in Vill's cursed vault was a thousand times worse than anything that had happened in Cheney's basement, but I bore no ill will toward Hart or Ingvar. Even Vill didn't elicit such rage in me, despite being a certifiable shitbag. Could it have something to do with that same prophecy?

  "Are you all right, Krian?" the satrap's alarmed voice wrung me out of my ruminations.

  "I'm fine, just remembered an old buddy of mine," I said, taking a few gulps.

  "You're better off remembering him only in battle, Dark One," Gorm said, shaking his head. "The emanations of fury and hatred coming from you when you're thinking of him are just too powerful."

  "Speaking of hatred," I said. "All the things mentioned by Elias in that prophecy have materialized. I spoke with Syrat, and he did hint at where I should look for answers to certain questions."

  At those words, Gorm broke down and burst into hysterical laughter. Forgetting all about etiquette, Legate Elias snatched the bottle off the table, put it to his mouth and started guzzling, without bothering to come up for air. Still laughing like a madman, the satrap rose from his chair, walked over to a cabinet and produced a large clay jug.

  "Almost three hundred years ago I'd decided I would drink this cognac before the final march on Suonu."

  Looking up at him, I asked just one thing:

  "When do we move out?"

  "You're the commander. You decide," he shrugged.

  You've completed the quest: Satrap Gorm's Trust.

  You have gained a level! Current level: 196.

  You have 4 talent points to allocate.

  Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

  You have 12 stat points to allocate.

  You have gained a level!...

  You have gained a level! Current level: 198.

  You have 6 talent points to allocate.

  Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

  You have 18 stat points to allocate.

  Gorm emptied what was left of the wine into the fireplace, and filled our glasses with the cognac. Rolling up the right sleeve of his shirt, he grabbed a dagger from its sheath and made a deep cut on his arm.

  "The Xantarrian army is ready to follow you, Dark One! he said ceremoniously. "I swear by the true blood that courses through my veins that I will follow your every command. My people and I are ready to fight for you, dar! And to die for you, if need be!"

  At the first words of the oath, the old legate leaped to his feet, bowed his head and froze. The ensuing silence was paramount, broken only by the crackling of wood in the fireplace.

  I rose as well, took the dagger from Gorm and made a cut on my right arm, in the same spot as Gorm. Peering into the satrap's eyes, I said:

  "I accept your oath, Gorm. I swear by the true blood that I will rid the princedom of the undead scourge, or die trying."

  "That's that, then," the Xantarrian governor raised his glass. "We are with you, Dark One. The army will be ready to march by noon tomorrow. Elias," he turned to the legate, "tell Askel to supply Krian's troops with whatever they need. Coordinate the movement between the two armies with Elnar, and send engineers to the catapults right away. I want them in full working order by sunrise."

  The legate finished his cognac and took his leave. As for Gorm, the satrap refilled his glass, fell back into his armchair, and said:

  "And now, would you repeat the part about joining your clan, and allocating talent and stats..."

  Chapter 19

  In all the books I'd ever read, the authors always made it a point that being at the top was the hardest. The commander carried a heavy burden, having to answer to his higher-ups and being responsible for the lives of his subordinates while making tough decisions through it all. Well, I'm here to say that all that is bullcrap. Once you've made a decision, you simply couldn't afford to agonize over it and second-guess yourself. Not to mention, the right decisions were often self-evident. The one big exception would be if the decision-maker was positively clueless about his reality, which could then lead to disastrous consequences

  Looking over the interior of my private tent, I poured myself a shot of cognac and downed it at once. Oh, right, I had a tent now. I never asked for it, and I would have been perfectly fine without it, but I didn't bother putting up a fight when it was allocated to me. The canopy fabric was heavy-duty, kind of like tarpaulin. The interior room was round and maybe one hundred square feet in diameter. Inside was a fairly wide bed, a table, six stools, a carpeted duckboard, a small cabinet and a chest with various necessary sundries like cups, plates and bottles of cognac. This whole construction never had to be dismantled, but simply traveled as is in one of the wagons. Only Gorm, Elias, Vaessa and myself had these. Oh well, you shouldn't loo
k a gift horse in the mouth. Gorm wouldn't have understood my refusal—I was the commander-in-chief, for Hart's sake.

  All around me, the two thousand strong camp was getting ready for sleep. Everyone was doing their own thing: the sentries stood watch, the cooks cooked, and off-duty soldiers were gathering around campfires to unwind and shoot the breeze. Only I was alone in my tent, not counting the cognac.

  Our collective host, comprising six and a half centuries of plate-clad cavalry and fifteen hundred infantry units, had departed Xantarra the day after demolishing the undead army. Even at this stage in the game it had been a surprise how quickly Elnar and Elias had managed to organize the campaign. Of course, Elnar's leadership bar was rapidly creeping toward the legate mark, and Elias was already a legate. And commanding a legion—about four thousand infantry and nearly fifteen hundred cavalry—was no joke. The game automatically improved an officer's command skills as they ranked up, but where did that leave me? I had to make my own way, which was why Gorm, who had left my tent ten minutes ago, had been teaching me the general and finer points of commanding a legion for going on four nights now, at the end of each day's march. In the real world this process would have taken a decade, but here my ability to absorb information far exceeded reality—a few more evenings over a bottle of cognac and I would be fit to lead my army all on my own. Of course, there were other, often striking differences between the game and reality. For instance, our caravan, consisting of ten catapults seized from the undead, forty wagons carrying parts of two siege towers and private tents for the high command, was moving at the same speed as the main host.

  If memory served me right, in the Roman army every legionnaire carried two-three poles on him with which to pitch a transit camp. But here, I alone could carry three to four hundred poles. Our army had dedicated units carrying twenty each, which was more than sufficient. Others carried tents, food, weapons... And yet we were as light-footed as ever, moving at a clip of three miles per hour. Today was day four of our campaign, and we had roughly eighteen miles to go to Suonu, and from there Craedia was a stone's throw away. I wasn't anticipating serious resistance in the dead city. Technically, it had already been captured—I had the symbol in my inventory. There were no undead anywhere in sight—I would guess that Korg had picked up every last skeleton in the city's vicinity when setting out for Xantarra. What Suonu did have, however, were certain characters that I was itching to see and have a chat with.

  I fought back the fury inside me by force of will, and took two deep drags on my pipe. Those bastards would pay for killing my people. They would pay dearly.

  It had been a dreary march. Even my razorback had abandoned me. And no wonder, seeing as he had become a symbol of our clan on par with the wolf. The sly beast must have gained another two hundred pounds over the past four days with everyone and their mother slipping him treats, to the point where he'd been refusing food at regular feedings. But maybe it was for the best. I recalled the first night in my private tent, and chuckled. Master sleeping alone? Not on my watch! Gloom had shoved his bulk into the tent—thankfully, the entrance was wide enough—and had plopped down to sleep right down the middle. Only the razorback didn't think to steer clear of the central tent pole. As a result, when I awoke from the commotion and saw stars overhead, the boar was already off for a stroll through the camp. Well, a "stroll" was one way to describe it. If you took a rhinoceros, thrown a car cover over it and set it afire, the beast probably couldn't match the destruction wrought by my gregarious piggy. It was a miracle he didn't kill anyone! Everything worked out in the end: the palisade was repaired, and Gloom was found a quarter mile from camp, lost in the woods. It took a long while to pacify the panicked razorback, but the incident became a source of much glee and gossip for the troops.

  Aunt Tanya had been hospitalized again, and couldn't be reached by phone. Apparently, the doctors prohibited patients from talking to their dead relatives. Maybe I could bring her into the game with me? She would probably refuse, but there was a little something I could interest her with... Maybe after she got out of the hospital. For the first two days of the march I'd been passing the time by exchanging messages with Alyona—all of them through our aunt, naturally. I had told her all about my adventures, and had spelled out all the names of the bosses I'd killed and the gods I'd encountered—all in the interest of allaying my sister's worries. It was too bad we couldn't speak directly. The real world was full of people who were on real bad terms with technology, and were prone to fainting at the mere mention of some hi-tech innovation like "voice recorder." And my aunt just happened to be one of those people.

  I wasn't sleepy at all, but sitting here in the tent all alone, listening to chatter and laughing all around me was the worst kind of torture. Should I come out to the guys? Maye check that the sentry posts were filled... Heh, as if there wasn't already someone taking care of it... No, the general mustn't be doing such things—it was bad for morale. Damn, damn, damn! I refilled my glass, and lit up. Maybe Vaessa wanted some company? No, visiting the magus in my drunken state was an even lousier idea.

  Back then in Xantarra, after my chat with the satrap, I had gone to the local brothel and had found it empty. Everyone had gone out to celebrate, and I wasn't about to go scouring the streets for succubi. It would be unseemly, and I just didn't feel comfortable meddling and spoiling other people's good time. So I ended up going to see Vaessa, as promised. The local apple wine was a cunning beverage. It seemed innocuous enough when you drank it, but then it would sneak up on you, and before you knew it you were drunk as a skunk. And considering that Gorm and I had had ourselves more than a few drinks not long before my meeting with the magus...

  What happens between a man and a woman after they share a few—and I'm being conservative here—bottles of wine? That's right, it naturally leads to kissing and... Thankfully, there came a moment when I realized that the desire raging within me was enough to tear the woman before me in half, and I knew—I just knew—that if we continued she would be meeting her mistress before the night was through. I still didn't know how I'd managed to control myself then, only that I did. Perhaps it was my past experience suppressing my inner rage. I ended up going to sleep on the cold floor, resolved to never again drink with women one on one, at least not unless I was sure my partner could survive the aftermath. It was different with succubi. Maybe it was their aura or some other trick of the trade, but somehow they managed to fill you with desire while keeping you from losing your head.

  All right! Another shot and a dose of sedative, and then sleep! There were more loud voices outside. I listened for a moment, then poured myself some more cognac. Here in my tent I could hear everything that went on outside, and I could scream at the top of my lungs with nobody hearing a peep. The tent was completely soundproof. Not that I had anything to hide...

  In addition to teaching me the art of war, Gorm had been trying to instill in me an aristocratic manner. That was the main reason I was sitting here in total solitude. No, you can't do this. Nor that... Surely a commander could check on sentry posts? Yes, of course, but not five times per night. Truthfully, I had nothing against Gorm. He was a good man with a surprisingly keen sense of humor, even he had never heard jokes from good old Earth. But that only added to our evenings together. He would be in the middle of explaining which specialists were necessary for erecting siege towers, then giggle like a schoolgirl as I countered with classic jokes that, in any decent company at least, would have my authority plummet right into the gutter.

  "Greetings, demon!" the voice that spoke was soft and throaty, and had come from the tent entrance. I turned around sharply... and thought I would sooner have had someone toss a grenade inside. At least then I would feel more comfortable.

  The woman standing in my tent might as well have stepped off the pages of a Japanese manga. She wore silver-embroidered ankle boots on her feet, and what must have passed for a pair of shorts at the waist. Her top was a collarless camisole with pads that jutted ou
t just so, exposing nearly half her cleavage and white-as-snow shoulders.

  The fickleness of the creature before me was the stuff of legend, both in this world and in the one I'd come from. She was sizing me down with those emerald-green eyes, her black tail with a white tip quivering near the ground. Her cheeks bore three stripes each, and her black-and-white ears peeked out from under a cascade of luxuriant hair most harmoniously...

  This one will be the end of me, I thought, rising toward my unexpected guest. But wait, why should she be the end of me? Maybe I would be the end of her!

  "I welcome you in my humble abode, my lady," I bowed my head and made an inviting gesture. "I want to thank you for playing such an active role in my life."

  "So this is you, Black Demon," Sata sniffed. Without standing on ceremony, she took a seat on a stool near the table. "You need not thank me, I played absolutely no role in your life. Unlike you in mine," notes of frustration were apparent in the goddess' tone.

  "Errr..." I stammered, more than taken aback by her words. "Could you... explain?"

  "Quit standing there like a dummy! Pour the lady some cognac!" she demanded, ignoring my question.

  "Yes, of course," acting in total stupor, I produced a new bottle and a clean glass from the chest. Walking over to the table, I poured the cognac, took a seat across the goddess and looked at her searchingly. "So, how did I, uh..."

  "How did you?" She sipped the cognac, then fell back in what was now an armchair at a snap of her fingers. Folding her hands over her chest, the goddess gave me a reproving look. "As if you don't know!"

  Damned anime lovers! Sure, they wanted to make her as pretty as possible, but I was the one left to suffer! Finishing my own glass, I sighed and shook my head, trying real hard not to stare at her chest.

  "My lady, I really am at a loss as to how I could have wronged you," I said, trying to think through all possible scenarios... Hart! The last thing I wanted was the goddess of fortune upset with me, whatever her reasons!