“Was he working alone, or with a group of priests?” I asked.
“Brother Orban was not a priest, rytier. He was a Forge Brother, serving as a craftsman for the poor and needy.” Matthias gently corrected me.
“He was working as in a smithy in the catfolk ghetto,” Andrik replied. He was struggling not to look at Karalti. “He may have had contact with any number of commoners there. I don’t know if Meewfolk have fingerprints.”
“They do. Not that it matters now.” Suri gestured impatiently at the body. “Who was he with? You never answered me when I asked before.”
Andrik’s mouth sloped to one side. “Alone. As I understand it, this was some sort of test for him. You would have to speak with the High Forgemaster himself to get the details of the assignment...”
“Then that’s where I’m going. Cheers.” And with a curt nod, Suri turned and strode toward the door.
“Wait.” The Volod and I both said at the same time.
The woman turned back around in the doorway.
“Why are you going to see His Grace? Why not go to the ghetto?” The Volod spoke before I did. “The Catfolk there surely did this.”
“No. They didn’t.” Suri looked between us.
The Volod gave a testy little sigh. “And how do you know this?”
Suri grimaced. “You told me nothing was stolen from his workshop, right?”
“Yes, but-”
“You made the laws that prohibit Meewfolk from carrying weapons, didn’t you?”
“Yes-”
“Do you see any claw marks on him?”
“No, but-”
“Do you see any bruises that look like they were left by hands with feline finger pads? And do you really think a Meewfolk mob would leave his gold earrings in?”
I glanced down at the body, struggling not to smile or laugh as the King of Vlachia wilted under the glare of Suri’s reason.
“That’s what I thought,” Suri replied. “Now, by your leave, I’m gonna go to the Seminary and talk to his High Forgeness.”
“Mind if we tag along?” I asked her, patting Karalti to indicate the other half of ‘we’.
“Yeah, actually. I do.” Suri flashed me a ferocious glare, and stalked off through the door like an atomic bomb on legs. She paused to collect her gear, then kept going.
Chasing Suri upstairs gave me a magnificent view of her ass, but it made communication difficult. I hissed to her as we clattered up the steps. She turned near the top, glaring down at us as we caught up.
“Let me guess,” she said, eyes narrowed. “You want to party up with me.”
“I’m pretty sure the only kind of party you’re into is the Donner party.” I tucked my spear under my arm, and re-equipped my brainbucket [Militia Helmet]. “I’ll put a raincheck on that, thanks. My name’s Hector.”
“I heard, in case you forgot I was in the room ten seconds ago.” Suri grinned mirthlessly, flashing a mouth full of sharp white teeth. She’d re-equipped her armor and weapons: a coat of mail with plate armor for her arms and legs, a pair of axes, and a huge scimitar-like sword nearly as long as she was tall. “Well, Hector, you’re a good judge of character. This is my bounty, and no, I don’t want to share it. This city has plenty of quests. Go find your own.”
“Uh-oh, Karalti! Someone just told me to forfeit my story quest.” I held up both hands and rolled my eyes. “I’ll be right on that ma’am, just as soon as you go fuck yourself.”
Karalti threw her head back and emitted a sound disturbingly close to a human laugh.
I’d pegged Suri as the sort of woman to respect people who were capable of giving and taking shit, and the gambit paid off. She smirked. “Well, that won’t be happening any time soon. But seriously, bugger off, mate.”
Mate. That was the word that finally tipped me off, and that made her accent – filtered through the fictional Afro-Arabic accent of a Dakhari woman – suddenly click with me. “Wait. You’re Australian?”
Suri had been about to stalk off again, but she froze in the doorway, her back tense. Then she slowly turned back to face us.
Yeah, ouch. She was Australian. That was awkward.
Australia had been on the other side of the Total War.
Chapter 7
I’d never actually spoken to an Australian before, short of screaming ‘DIE, YOU ROO-FUCKING SCUM!” while we rained machine gun fire down on each other in the jungles of the Crescent Front. I’d been a conscript for Team USA. Australia had been part of the Pacific Alliance. We’d killed each other a lot.
“I’d like to establish something before we go any further, alright? I really don’t care if you were Australian. I don’t hate you, the Alliance, or anyone except the fuckwads that started the War.” I held my hands up in mock-surrender. “Yes, I was an Imperial Stormtrooper. No, I didn’t want to do it. I was a conscript. All I wanted to do was ride my motorcycle, play old video games, and eat a lot of pizza. If you like one or more of those three things, we’ll probably get along just fine.”
Suri’s expression soured more with every word that tumbled out of my mouth. She folded her arms and thrust her chest and jaw forward. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Which one? The bikes, the games, or the pies?”
Her eyes narrowed. “The war.”
“You know… the War. The war that’s consumed about twenty years of our lives out there?” I gestured up and ‘out’, as if toward the Real World.
“Out there in the sky?” Suri snorted. “Alright. So, not only are you annoying, you’re a nutcase, which makes you exactly the kind of person I do not want hanging around me.”
I peered at her owlishly. “Do you… not remember the war in which you probably died? The one where you learned concepts like ‘forensics’ and ‘pizza’ and earned you a PC corona?”
She sighed. “In case the dark skin, red hair combo wasn’t enough to clue you in, I’m from Dakhdir. Last twenty-year-long war we fought there was close to a thousand years ago. Now, sod off.”
“All jokes aside, I really can’t.” I laughed. There didn’t seem to be any point in forcing a reality check on her, so I gestured to Karalti. “This dragon doesn’t pay for her own groceries, so to be frank with you, I don’t give a shit where you’re from or what you want. My little scaly princess needs food, shelter, and safety, and Andrik’s going to give us that.”
On cue, Karalti deployed her ultimate weapon: cuteness. She looked up at the woman with great big puppy eyes, her crests held flat to her skull. Not even Suri’s resolve could withstand the pathos of a quivering baby dragon. She pressed her lips together, glowering back down at her, but I could almost hear her ovaries swell.
“Fine,” she growled, turning on her heel. “Just try to stay out of my way.”
We set off again. As soon as Suri wasn’t looking, Karalti dropped the cute act and stalked after her, her tail lashing stiffly. “She’s mean. I want to burn her like how I did with the bad mask man.”
“No, Tidbit.”
“But burning bad people is fun! And she called me a pet.”
“No fire,” I said. “No setting anyone on fire. I want to get to know this lady better.”
The hatchling harrumphed. “You’re only saying that because her chest is bouncy.”
Dammit. I’d forgotten Karalti could sense my... “interest.” I blushed despite myself. “Okay, yes, but it’s not just that, okay?”
“What is it, then?”
“She’s a Starborn, like me,” I replied. “But… I don’t think she remembers who she is. Or maybe even what she is. She’s clearly an Australian, which in and of itself is really weird. They were our enemies… I don’t know why there’s a Pacific Alliance citizen in Archemi. Like, how the fuck did she upload in? This an American game.”
“Oh.” The real world metagame stuff flew over Karalti’s head, as it usually did. “So is she good or bad?”
“I don’t think she’s bad… or at least, I hope she isn’t. She’s pro
bably just grumpy.”
“So grumpy people can be good?”
“Sometimes. I have a feeling this lady’s grumpy because she’s seen some bad shit.”
“Oh.” Karalti pensively dropped her head. “You mean she’s done a lot of bad things?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or had bad things done to her.”
We emerged into the fresh night air outside, and I gratefully drew a deep breath.
“The High Forgemaster lives in the monastery on the other side of this college,” Suri remarked, stretching her arms back in a way that was both alarming and distracting. It wasn’t just the boobs. Suri was built like an MMA fighter. Her biceps were bigger than mine.
“That’s a long hike. Want a ride?” I asked.
She gave me the side-eye. “Cheers, mate, but I’ll walk.”
“Suit yourself.” I shrugged, then summoned Cutthroat from the stable. The big, black dinosaur materialized in front of us, swinging her head from side to side to orient on her surroundings, and then on us. I froze. Someone had taken her damn muzzle off.
The sour expression left Suri’s features, and she beamed like I’d just teleported in a box of kittens. She approached Cutthroat fearlessly. “A black destrier? She’s beautiful! Hi there, baby girl...!”
“Uh...” All the hair on my back and scalp lifted as Suri strode up to my vicious, unpredictable hookwing. Cutthroat took a step back from her, pawing the ground and rattling warningly in her throat. “I’m going to say right now that trying to pet the slavering hookbeast is a very bad idea.”
Suri clicked her tongue and bobbed her head, circling around. To my surprise, Cutthroat didn’t lunge forward and rip her head from her shoulders. Instead, she took a cautious curving step, then another, and then made a low crooning sound in her throat. Suri smiled and repeated the head bob gesture. Cutthroat’s nostrils flared, snorting, but then she tentatively bobbed back.
I squinted at them. “Are you… are you some kind of wizard?”
“Hang on.” Suri clicked her tongue, and went in closer. Cutthroat’s feathers flinched as she lay a hand on her neck, but she didn’t turn her head to bite. I watched in disbelief as Suri began to scratch, and Cutthroat not only let her, but turned her head to the side to guide her hand to the best scritchy-spot.
“She’s a lesbian,” I said. “That is literally the only way I can rationalize what I am seeing right now.”
“Are you a little birdy dyke, Cutthroat?” Suri was clearly into it. Her whole face lit up, and she got that high-pitched voice women reserve for babies, puppies, and best friends they haven’t seen for years. “Yeahhhh, there you go! Who’s the baby bird? You’re the baby bird!”
“I cannot fucking believe this.” I crossed my arms. “That raging hairy anus of a dinosaur has been the biggest learning curve of my entire life, and you just waltz up and lesbian-seduce her.”
“I always liked hookwings. All animals, really.” Suri shrugged, and reached up with her other hand to give a double-barrel scratch. Cutthroat’s eyes rolled back with pleasure. “Haven’t you ever tried the pack greeting with her? Hide your hands, bob your head, move around in a circle?”
“Of course I have.” Scowling, I watched my hussy of a hookwing preen under her arm, then shake her feathers out. She looked like a puffy black canary. “I’ve done that, and I’ve tried to scratch her like how you’re doing... and she bit my head off. Literally. All I was trying to do was give her love. Because I do love her. I mean, it’s terrifying, co-dependent, masochistic love...”
“You can scratch my head,” Karalti said, huddling against my leg. “My head’s better anyway. And it’s REALLY itchy.”
Suri laughed a warm, rolling laugh, and my skin prickled for a totally different reason. “Well, you know, birds of a feather and all that. Big, scarred-up old bitch like this knows another one when she sees her. What’s her name?”
“Cutthroat.” I slowly approached to try and join her in the scritchfest. I got within two feet before the hookwing’s head whirled around, jaws gaping wide. Out of reflex, I Shadow Danced six feet to the side, evaporating as her teeth chomped together in the space where my shoulder would have been.
“Cutthroat? Good name. Rolls off the tongue better than Guillotine.” She pronounced the word like ‘Gilla’teen’. “Ooh, she’s feisty, isn’t she?”
“You have no idea,” I replied. “Now, stand back. We have a launch procedure.”
Suri chuckled as she moved away. Cutthroat moved to follow her, chirping like a hungry chick, but then I equipped her muzzle. It was like pressing the button to blow up a stack of C4. The hookwing shrilled with fury, spittle flying everywhere. I tucked my hands behind my back and bobbed my head at her, but there was no friendly return greeting. Sticky drool streamed from her jaws, and she lowered her head menacingly, moving it from side to side in time with her tail.
“See?” I sighed as I tried to grab the saddle, but she turned in a circle away from me, darting her head out and banging the muzzle cage off my boot. “Muzzle or no muzzle, she’s hated my guts from the moment she saw me. The only time she’s fine is when she’s killing things. Most of the time, she’s like the incarnation of PMS.”
“I always seemed to be able to get along with them.” Suri said from the sidelines. “They like the red hair.”
“Really? That’s it?” I dodged Cutthroat’s hind sickle claw, and jumped up onto her back in the brief interval between her attempt to eviscerate me and the stumble to recover her balance.
“All of them like red stuff. You should try waving a pair of red flags when you walk toward her.”
My eyes narrowed. “Fuck you. You’re trolling me.”
Suri only grinned.
“I like red!” Karalti chirped. As soon as I found my stirrups and gathered the reins, she flew up to perch on the hookwing’s butt. “So do you. You like Grumpy Lady’s hair.”
“Hey, you know what my dragon calls you?” I called back to Suri, wrestling Cutthroat into walking the right direction. “You’re ’Grumpy Lady’.”
“You wanna know what I call your dragon?”
“Go ahead, but keep it PG-13. She’s a baby. Kid-friendly insults only, thanks.”
The woman scoffed, jogging ahead of Cutthroat. The effect was instantaneous. Cutthroat trilled happily, and pranced off after her at the same speed, completely ignoring the reins, me, or anything else other than the new love of her life: Suri, the angriest and most athletic Disney princess in the world.
“So,” I began, once we were out on the street. “You’re Australian, but you think you’re from Dakhdir… and you don’t remember the Total War? So either everyone in Dakhdir is Australian, or your upload must have screwed up even harder than mine.”
Whatever goodwill I’d earned by introducing her to Cutthroat vaporized, and suddenly, Suri had her rage face firmly back on. “How many times do I have to tell you that it’s none of your bloody business, mate?”
“Is calling someone ‘mate’ in that tone of voice more or less friendly than calling someone a cunt in Dakhdir?”
“Less. But you’re a real annoying cunt, anyone ever tell you that?”
I beamed. “After my morning bacon and eggs, I sit on the toilet with my acoustic guitar and make up sad country songs about how annoying I am while I take a big ol’ cry-shit.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Suri muttered.
That’s right. Dragozin Hector, Ladies’ Man.
The Temple District, which was adjacent to the University District and the Trades Quarter, looked more rundown than you’d expect of a holy area. The winding street that led to the Seminary was lined with stone apartments, guild halls, and open-air smithies. Bald monks in heavy leather aprons poured sweat as they hammered out farming tools, weapons, and machine parts in forges that looked like open dragon mouths. To my surprise, there was a players-only bar here, too. It was currently closed, something I noted with a twinge of sadness. Archemi simply didn’t have enough players to populate all th
e cities.
Yet, I thought to myself. A nuclear strike had probably taken out Aurora Shard, one of the huge sealed megastructures in the USA and the joint Japan-American development center for Archemi. It was currently running off the off-world orbital servers, but that didn’t mean there weren’t survivors. Any day, the Devs who’d survived could come back online.
We approached the massive seminary, a star-shaped building with interlocking archways and a huge onion dome made from translucent amber. The central hall was big enough to admit a full-sized dragon. A burly guard took Cutthroat, and they made us peace-bond our weapons with red silk rope before we were admitted. It was like walking into an aircraft hanger: a huge open space with airship hulks, giant sails, crates and pallets stacked high. Layfolk craftsmen mingled with more worker-monks, and priests in red or blue robes. The ones in blue poured over diagrams and books, led prayers around giant forges, cleaned and swept. The red-robed ones had their sleeves rolled up and were instructing people on all manner of repairs and craft skills.
“We could grind Crafting like crazy here,” I whispered to Suri.
She grunted her agreement, and slowed warily as one, then a dozen heads turned toward us. And they were all staring at Karalti.
“By the gods!” A young man exclaimed.
“They come with a dragon!” A woman cried.
“A goddess!”
“It’s a sign! They’ve come to stop the Slayer!”
“It’s beautiful!”
I took a step back, shielding Karalti with an arm as a crowd formed and pressed in around us.
“Yeah!” Karalti puffed her throat out, flipping her wings as she strutted back and forth. “I’m the best!”
“So, how’s it feel being popular?” Suri squinted, a hand resting on one of her peace-bonded axes.
“Kind of terrifying,” I mumbled back.
“What’s going on here?” A gravelly voice boomed over the chattering people gathering around.
The crowd parted as a thick-set man rumbled forward. He was dressed in red and gold, his sleeves tied back over muscular tanned arms, and a heavy, brown leather metalsmith’s apron loaded with tools. Worshippers and craftsmen bowed as he passed. The newcomer’s thick beard, square face, and graying blond hair gave the impression of an old lion. When his dark eyes lit on Karalti, he turned pale.
Trial by Fire: A LitRPG Dragonrider Adventure (Archemi Online Chronicles Book 2) Page 7