The Cursed Princedom (Realm of Arkon #2)

by G. Akella

  "Did you say something, master?" I noticed that Skyle was silent, as if expecting an answer. "Forgive me, I got distracted."

  "I said that you're doing a good deed, dar," the demon pointed with his mug at the plate and chainmail armor pieces piled up outside the smithy for remelting. "And I happen to have a proposition for you."

  "What kind of proposition?"

  "Gvert said that you will be taking your squad to the swamp cave?"

  "Yes, I will, but probably not right away. Why, what's in the cave?"

  "My father was a hunter, you see. Back in the age of the Black Lord." The master looked to the side, as if remembering. "When all this filth began pouring out of the breach, he and several others headed to the cave to investigate. They managed to slay an enormous toad. Father used to tell me what it was called, but I no longer remember," Skyle sighed disappointedly. "But it doesn't matter. The point is, when splitting the booty, my father got a rare breastplate recipe. It was that recipe, essentially, that led me to becoming a smith. I hadn't even been alive at the time, but later on my father sent me to Master Ghert in Uriatta for apprenticeship that lasted ten years." The demon took a sip from his mug, paused for half a minute, and continued. "As you can see, I did become a smith, and I've learned the recipe as well... The problem is, actually crafting the breastplate requires a number of special ingredients."

  "And those ingredients can be found in the cave, I suppose?" I chuckled.

  "You're right," said the smith. "Except nobody dares go in there after a squad of city guards had vanished in the area. The satrap has got his plate full, and it makes no sense for our hunters to risk their lives."

  "What kind of ingredients do you need?"

  "The blood of something called Skarx, and twenty chunks of defiled ore for one set. As for steel," the master nodded at the heap of metal beneath the canopy, "we'll have more than enough by then."

  You've accessed the quest: Ingredients for Master Skyle.

  Quest type: unique.

  Bring Master Skyle in Ballan one vial of Skarx blood and twenty ores of defiled ore.

  Reward: experience, a breastplate of your choosing: Plated Breastplate of the Swamp Guardian, Plated Breastplate of the Swamp Warrior, Plated Breastplate of the Swamp Cleric, Plated Breastplate of the Swamp Mage.

  "What if we bring more blood and ore?" I didn't want to lose out on the opportunity to outfit half the squad in rare quality breastplates.

  "I'll craft as many as you need," Skyle grunted. "But then I get to keep every fifth one. Deal?"

  "Deal," I smiled at the smith, chugged the rest of the beer, and got up from the log. "Farewell, master. I should turn in, tomorrow's going to be a fun day. Are you coming, Aritor?"

  "Nah," a voice sounded from under the canopy. "I've slept enough to last a month. Tons of work still left to do here."

  "Suit yourself." I nodded goodbye to Skyle, waved to the tank sweating over the workbench, and started in the direction of the common house.

  Passing through the gate, I was surprised to discover Reece sitting on the ground in the corner of the yard. A small green table stood in front of the demon, atop of which a greenish fluid boiled in some metal contraption. I had never seen an alchemist at work before.

  The sky had already grown dark. The weather had visibly worsened, the sky had clouded over, and all signs pointed to imminent rain. The figure of the mage sitting on the ground, beneath the light of lanterns swaying in the breeze, cast peculiar shadows to either side. Watching the boiling vessel with great concentration, his wavy hair a disheveled mess, Reece looked like a character from a horror movie.

  Coming up to him, I grimaced from the unpleasant odors, and lit a four-hour magic lantern over the portable lab.

  "Thanks, dar," the youth muttered without turning around.

  "It'll rain soon," I rounded the table to be upwind of the ingredients laid out on a piece of cloth, lowered myself to the ground, and took out my pipe. With an indignant snort, the boar proceeded to his spot on the bench; there he spun in place, like a dog about to do his business, and finally plopped onto the ground.

  "I'm almost done," said the mage, watching intently the fluid in a transparent retort. "They threw me out of the house—the smells rubbed them the wrong way, you see."

  "No joke," I chuckled, taking a drag. "It doesn't exactly smell like roses."

  "How else should dead flesh smell, pray tell?" Reece quipped, then deftly snatched the retort off the fire and poured out its contents into ten vials prepared beforehand. "Good thing I already had glass and some of the ingredients. This will only be enough for fifty Lesser Essences of Light. Counting only our damage dealers, as you call them, this fifty and whatever you have left will only be enough for three days, at best." Grabbing a chunk of slimy revolting matter off the cloth with one hand, and a small knife resembling a scalpel with the other, he proceeded to cut thin slices right there on the table. "Reena and I should go into the woods for some maldarra. The pasture only has thistle and duck feet growing there. We've picked some today, but—"

  "Maldarra is an herb?" I asked, trying not to watch the alchemist's manipulations.

  "Perennial witchgrass whose buds spawn vegetative and floriferous shoots. It is found on patches free of turf, in mixed and coniferous forests, and—"

  "Hold up!" I chuckled. "Spare me the details—you don't need to teach me the entire Mendeleev's Periodic table. The woods will happen only in three days and under guard. Who knows what we'll run into there."

  "Just your regular fauna," the young man emptied the ground mix into a deep white bowl, then reached for the next chunk of dead flesh. "Wolves, bears, lizards... With our current abilities, the two of us will be just fine. Of course, you can count on Ayim tagging along—he'd die before letting Reena go anywhere with me," the demon shook his head reprovingly. "Who's Mendeleev? Is he a famous alchemist where you come from?"

  I could hardly recognize Reece. Focused on brewing his elixirs, he seemed more like a young and eager lab assistant from some Ivy League school than the cocky brat I'd come to know over the last two days.

  "I suppose so," I said. "He was a famous alchemist back in his day. By the way, I'm surprised you're not bringing medicine to someone today, like you usually do."

  "Oh no, Lady Skarda mustn't have any migraines today," Reece grunted, then raised his eyes at me, deep blue and twinkling with guile. "I am equally surprised, dar," he said in a serious tone.

  "Go on..." I asked warily, half-expecting a trick.

  "Last night Salta made you a bed with such love," the kid said with sorrow. "She'd started it as early as morning. But you still slept on the bench with that pig of yours..." he sighed. "Why do you treat her like that? You know she won't be able to get any sleep if you'll stay out here again with the boar... Don't get me wrong now!" the demon put up his reagent-soiled hands, feigning terror, "I think your boar is a wonderful creature, but—"

  "All right, we're even now," I grunted, getting up on my feet and dusting myself off. "Where is my bed?" I asked, walking over to the house.

  "To the right, on the men's side," the answer came. "It may not be as luxurious as a bench, but..."

  "May I speak with you, dar?" Salta stepped through the doorway, startling me.

  "Sure," I shrugged and took a seat on that very bench, next to a puffing Gloom, and motioned for the girl to sit down next to me.

  The demoness shook her head, her face reflecting serious emotional struggle. After several sighs, she blurted out in one breath.

  "I wanted to apologize, dar. I feel really bad for acting all hysterical earlier today. I promise it will never happen again." Once finished, the archeress finally took a seat next to me, looking off to the side while biting her lower lip.

  "Oh, that," I said. "No worries, it all worked out. It was a natural reaction to the stress of your first battle. Don't let it get to you." I looked at her lovely, tense face, and added: "You can call me by name, you know. In a casual setting like this."
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br />   "You're really not mad at me, dar?" the young woman fell back to the timbered wall of the house, looking up at the grim starless sky with unblinking eyes. "I never cried like that, not even when those monsters came to Uriatta and... my mother..." Salta swallowed a lump. "So many of my friends, my family..."

  "Easy now," I put my hand on hers, trying to soothe her. But the moment we made contact, I felt my entire body convulse in a spasm...

  "Daughter, run!!!" the gate shook under the death knight's blows. Bodies littered the palisade beneath the wooden planking. Her mother's body was there, too. Burned face, singed hair, hand clutching a hunter's bow in a death grip... There were almost no survivors left.

  "Daughter, run!!!" someone was shaking her by the shoulders.

  "Who? What?"

  "Snap out of it!" Her father's kindly, wizened face was terribly twisted.

  Her senses were overwhelmed. The drumming rain, the rattling gate, the wheezing wounded... And the smoke curling and rising from the burning houses.

  "Father! No! I can't!" She shouted back at his face, so dear to her. "Mother... she's—"

  "We can't bring her back, Salta. Go, I cannot lose you as well. The wounded have escaped with the children. The trapdoor behind the old barn, you know it..." her father mumbled. "Go with them... If you don't, who will avenge us... Avenge us, daughter... But now you must go..."

  Tears glistened in his eyes... But her father never cried! Or was it the rain...

  Pressing her to his chest, the demon caressed her hair, just like when she was little, then pushed her away...

  "Go..."

  Salta dashed in the direction opposite the gate, the wet was slippery under her feet. She fell, bumping her knee on a rock painfully, still clutching her father's old hunting bow. The bow-string was torn, but she would never let go off it. She would need it to exact her vengeance! Bastards! You bastards! The rain washed away her tears of pain and despair, her mother's charred face haunting her. Why did this happen? Why?! There was a deafening crash behind her. Glancing back, she saw skeletons clad in plate burst into the broken village gate, led by an enormous black figure. Daeron swung his massive sword, bringing it down with great force, beheading a demon in a blue tunic embroidered with golden flowers who had charged right at him.

  "Father!!!!!" shaking with sobs, she plucked an arrow from her quiver and... dropped it to the ground, gritting her teeth. Bloody bow-string!

  The battle at the gate was over... She hadn't been detected yet. She must be strong! That was what her father had always told her! Biting her lower lip to staunch her tears, Salta darted behind the barn, then slipped through the small trapdoor.

  Ahead of her were the backs of her fellow villagers moving in the direction of Ballan. Hurd, limping on one leg, carrying Reece' lifeless body, Zara holding up a wobbling Surat, Hagedia bringing up the rear with little Malek in her arms, steering the rest of the children egressed from the village. When the archeress reached her own, the tears on her face and in her heart were all gone. Only hatred was left. A raging, all-consuming hatred...

  "Here," Salta took hold of Surat, on the verge of passing out, from small-statured Zara. "Watch after the children," she said to her friend, then turned to look one last time at their burning home...

  "Dar! Krian!" the demoness' face was before me, twisted with worry. My head was killing me from the vision that had just swept through it. "What is wrong with you?"

  "I'm all right," I exhaled, shaking off the vision. I reached into the inventory for my flask, and took five big swigs. "Part of the job, I suppose," I shrugged my shoulders somewhat guiltily, then offered the flask to Salta. "Will you have some?"

  "It was as if you'd turned to stone," the young woman accepted the vessel from me and took a few swigs, then returned it with a grimace. "It's nasty! How can you even drink this slop?"

  "I want to say something," I said after a small pause, looking up at the girl. "Daeron is dead, and your parents are avenged."

  "That monster was but a pawn manipulated by the Twice Cursed," said the archeress without averting her eyes. "And I've vowed to kill as many as their kind as I'm able. How many other Daerons are roaming the satrapy's territory?"

  "I don't know," I shrugged. "A few more, I imagine."

  "You probably want to know why we followed you, dar? Because being next to you give us a chance at revenge, and right now, that is all we want..."

  Peering into her eyes, I realized that the hatred that had taken residence in Salta's heart hadn't abated one bit. If only I was sure I could keep it from growing stronger...

  We sat in silence for a while, listening to Gloom's puffing and the screech of lanterns swaying in the wind. The girl was the first to break it.

  "Time for bed, dar. Tomorrow's going to be a fun day," Salta rose from the bench, stretching like a wild cat. "You don't need to sleep on the bench tonight, by the way. Unless you like sleeping in the rain."

  "Thanks for giving me a bed," I smiled, getting up as well. "Reece already told me."

  "What else did he tell you?" the archeress asked warily. Her eyes shot a glance at the alchemist toiling away at his lab, promising certain, agonizing death.

  "Nothing. Just that I have a place to sleep in the house, that's all..." I replied. And thought to myself that the alchemist should really come in handy for us going forward. He wasn't a bad kid at all...

  "Goodnight then, Krian," the young woman smiled, and disappeared in the doorway of the common house, light-footed as ever.

  "Goodnight, Salta..."

  Chapter 12

  "Is it far yet?" I raised my hand, ordering for the fighters behind me to stop, and turned toward Ayim, who was following behind.

  "No, dar," the demon pointed toward a dry crooked tree that stood by the side of the road straight ahead. "There'll be a path to the right of that erdis over there, which will bring us directly to Uncle Storkh's mill. Once there, it will be just under half a mile left to Feator," the lad nodded toward Aritor, as if urging him to confirm his words. "The main road would take you well over a mile, but it's a stone's throw away through here..."

  "Is there anyone at the mill?"

  "No," a shadow ran over the demon's face. "Storkh lived in the village along with everybody else, and only went to the mill to work, so there are definitely no survivors."

  "I see," I eyed my valiant army over, and, failing to find anything amiss, gave Gloom's sides a light squeeze with my heels.

  The road passed through a forest, still muddy from last night's downpour. Wind rustled the leaves in the trees, joyful at the moisture and the morning sunshine that came to replace the thunderclouds which had disgorged prodigious amounts of water over the forest at night. The forest stood in silence, broken only by Gloom's grunts, the soft creaking of my fellow clanmates' gear, and the chirping of the local avian species. It felt as though no Cursed Princedom or hordes of undead roving across it ever existed, and that at any moment we would come upon my grandma's village from that other, long-forgotten world.

  The last two days had turned out incredibly productive for my young clan. We had completely exterminated the undead in the three pastures around a village, collecting a mind-boggling amount of loot. The yard of Skyle's smithy was filled with fragments of regular plate and chainmail prepared for meltdown. All the cloth, leather and other stuff we had no use for just yet had been deposited into the village's spacious storehouse for later use. The result spoke for itself. The guys leveled up a bit, got fully equipped in unusual quality items, and already looked like seasoned fighters. The archers' damage, boosted by buffs and Reece's elixirs, grew to five thousand, while the tanks could easily hold two or three mobs of the regular sort each, with timely healing.

  Today was the last day I'd been given by the administration to play the clan fee, which meant Feator had to be conquered at any cost. I patted the boar on the nape and turned around to take another look at the demons following behind. Yesterday I'd barely managed to wrest them away from leveling
their professions and get them to go to bed early. Too much depended on today.

  I had no idea how we were going to exterminate the undead in the captured village, and that worried me a whole lot. Vanquishing skeletons out in a field, one pack after another, was one thing. The capture of castles, cities or villages was quite another. Mobs behaved much more intelligently after capturing a settlement. Oh, they still let tanks draw their aggro, and attacked head-on without any sophistication, but they already acted as a coordinated military unit. When a castle was under attack, extra archers manned the walls, and the first thing they tried with their shots was to set the siege engines on fire. The fighters tipped over the ladders used to scale the walls, a designated group of fighters in heavy plate gathered on the other side of the gate, waiting, and regular patrols began making rounds of the castle, which were hard enough to evade even while invisible.

  A backwater village was no castle, to be sure, but the undead were likely to have an overwhelming advantage in numbers, and I didn't know how to handle it. Never mind, we'll cross that bridge when we get there, I tried to reassure myself mentally. At the very least, we are in no way limited in terms of time given for conquering the settlement. There is no respawning within the princedom, so we can try the assault-and-retreat tactic, with a skeleton or two taken out every time. Ten or twelve hours should suffice to do the job.

  Gradually, birdsong became mixed with the sound of running water coming from somewhere up ahead. Lost in thought, I nearly missed the turn that Ayim had warned me about. There was a wide enough path leading right and down, away from the main road. It started right behind the oddly-shaped tree, and seemed to be well-trod from where I was standing. In about ten minutes, my party approached a narrow stream, its banks overgrown with dense rows of reeds.