Warsinger

by James Osiris Baldwin

  “Fourteen subjects, then?” He arched a slender eyebrow.

  I shifted from foot to foot, breathing in the smell of old paper. “Yeah.”

  He waited expectantly.

  “Uhh... let's start with Dakhari history,” I said. “Sachara. The Demon Queen.”

  “Hmm.” He set his quill down, covered his ink pots, and looked off into space for a moment. “We don't have any books about Sachara, specifically, but we do have books on Dakhari history. What else? I can remember more than one thing.”

  I brought up the quest menu again. “The Drachan War, the Drachan – species – and the Rostori?”

  The Archivist's brows climbed higher with each additional entry, until I thought they were about to climb off his face. But at the end of it all, he concentrated for a moment and then rose smoothly to his feet.

  “Follow me,” he said. “And bring a cart.”

  The carts were big rattling iron things, cumbersome and hard to turn around corners. I trotted after the librarian like a puppy, stopping when he stopped, and maybe privately jealous at how confidently he skimmed the titles, pulled a book now and then, and skimmed two or three pages within seconds before replacing them or adding them to the growing pile in front of me.

  “Some of what you need is in the locked section,” he said briskly. “We can't take the cart in there. The shelves are too narrow.”

  “Are we going to be able to find everything?

  “Not everything. No library has everything,” the Archivist said, heading briskly down the corridor. “But we have some very ancient records on the Drachan in Vulkan Keep. No one other than I and the Chief Archivist have sat down and read them since they were copied, I suspect. Not really a common subject to enquire about, these days.”

  “They’re about to become real common.” I had to dig my feet in to turn around the shelves as he darted behind the corner.

  It was only when we reached the locked section that I understood the name. The books here were huge, bound in leather and wood and belted shut. Every one of them were also literally chained and locked to the shelves. Each tome had an iron loop, and a heavy-duty chain was passed through each of them and padlocked at either end of the bookcase. They looked like they weighed a ton - some of them were fifteen inches tall and three inches thick.

  “It smells amazing back here,” I remarked, watching the librarian haul out a book the size of his chest and waddle back out to the cart. “Is that incense?”

  “Dragon's blood ink,” he replied. “Not actual dragon's blood, mind you. It is an ink made from the sap of an exotic tree found only on Meewhome. It preserves extraordinarily well on this dolphin-skin vellum they use.”

  “Meewfolk wrote these?” I pulled one from the shelf and opened it up, curious. There was a solid wall of neat red text, pages and pages written in a looping, pretty script I couldn't read. It almost looked like Vlachian, but it wasn't. It was much fancier. “I never imagined them to be like… scholarly types.”

  “The Meewfolk brought both literacy and mathematics to Vlachia, if not all of Artana,” the Archivist replied. “They've been here, on Artana, for longer than any other intelligent species, dragons included. At the time of the Drachan Wars, they were the most sophisticated empire in the world.”

  I gaped. “Are these books that old? What are they about?”

  The man shook his head. “This shelf here is Meewfolk history, about the only books with any account of the Drachan by that name. And they are not originals. These are copies of copies of copies… books translated into Aesari, then Dakhari, re-translated into Old Period Mau, and then Modern Prr’aaow. Some of these are in the language of the cat folk, but we have a few we’ve translated to contemporary Vlachian. In truth, I’d recommend that you take that Old Period Mau book you’re holding and have it directly translated by a Meewish scholar who has studied the language of the period. The Master of the Archives here is human, and is only passingly fluent.”

  I looked down at the book creaking in my hands. “How old is this one, then?”

  “Only about five hundred years,” he replied breezily. “The original it was copied from was probably eight hundred years old.”

  Like everyone who’d grown up in the 2040s, hand-scripted books were a historical curiosity greater even than keyboards and wired hard drives. Intellectually, I knew information could physically endure for more than a couple of years outside of the internet, and that volumes like this had been the way we’d passed down knowledge for most of human history. But it was one thing to know that and another to be holding something that, in real life, would have been kept in a museum under glass. And displayed on the internet, where people would take virtual tours of it.

  “Do any of these have like… a timeline of Meewfolk history?” I asked, looking up at him.

  “Yes. The book I just picked out for you does.” He bustled back. “Might I ask why a Tuun would want or need to know about the Drachan and the Meewfolk and suchlike? Your people are famously insular.”

  I shrugged. “Just curious, I guess.”

  He scoffed. “Pull the other one.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well… short version is that I just became the Voivode of Myszno, but I don’t know that much about the world. I’m trying to learn.”

  He turned an interesting shade of pale silver-gray. “My apologies, Your Grace.”

  “Hector's fine,” I said. “The 'Your Grace' stuff drives me nuts.”

  “It is highly improper to address a lord by his given name.”

  “Dragozin, then. Does that work?”

  “How about we settle on 'Voivode'?” He flashed me a nervous toothy smile. “My apologies for insulting you. I didn't even notice the King's Mark.”

  “No worries. What's your name?”

  “Kythias of Taltos, Junior Archivist.” He bowed from the neck. “We have one more volume to collect. And by the way, these locked tomes cannot be removed from the library.”

  “Can I take a copy?” I asked. “I can put them in my Inventory and rip... I mean, copy the text from them.”

  “By all means. But please spare the ripping.” Kythias shimmied past me and went to get the last book.

  As it turned out, I had to rip copies of almost all of them - because the combined weight of the books I needed to start Know Thy Enemy came out to about two hundred pounds of vellum and leather. I had a maximum Inventory limit of a hundred and fifty, most of which was already taken up by shit I really needed to sort through, stash, throw away, or sell. I only took two books in physical form with me. One was A History of Dakhdir, Her Nations and Empires, and the other was the best book on military strategy Kythias had to offer me, simply titled War and Rulership. It was a relatively small book, maybe about a hundred pages long. It had been written by Lawislaw the Burned, Ignas's great-great-great-great grandfather. I knew from other hints the game had dropped that he was the Vlachian king who had conquered Myszno and the Sathbar Plains and added the territories to his country.

  “You'll be reading for quite a while with these, so it's just as well you're Starborn,” the librarian said cheerfully. “It must be useful, being able to just take copies like that. If we have to duplicate a book, we mere mortals must copy them by hand or send them to a press, which takes almost as long. I admit I'm a little jealous.”

  “I'm jealous you can read and write,” I replied. “Thanks, man. Keep it real.”

  It was a long walk back to the hangar. Everyone had gone home for the night, and it was dark enough that Karalti's body almost blended into the shadows of the cavern. One oil lamp had been left on for her, the golden light glinting off the scales of her neck and jaw. She snoozed on, oblivious as I took the lamp and crawled under her wing, which still covered my bedroll like a marquee.

  Ignas had given me a lot to think about myself and my new responsibilities in Myszno, not to mention Baldr and Suri. He was right, about all of it. Intentions didn't count for shit. Actions, and the consequences of those a
ctions, were what mattered. Actions like, say, prioritizing Dakhari history so that I could show my girlfriend that I cared about her quests and what was important to her.

  I took a deep breath, settled in, and pulled out the book on Dakhari history. It was a big, thick volume on a dry academic subject, full of words I didn't know and wouldn't be able to understand. It weighed half a ton, sitting there in my hands.

  “Willpower, willpower, here we go.” I heaved a sigh, cracked the pages, and began to read.

  Chapter 19

  Three hours and a couple chapters later, I went to see Suri.

  I cleaned up as much as I could before knocking on the door of her suite. By the smell of her perfume and the woody incense she liked to burn, she was home.

  “No, thanks. I don't want anything.” Her voice was roughened from crying.

  “It’s not the butler,” I called back, leaning close to the keyhole. “But you know what? I managed to find a butler for Kalla Sahasi?”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I grinned. “But he’s missing his left arm, so he serves us right.”

  I played a rimshot on the frame of the door. There was leaden silence from inside.

  “I’m still pissed at you, you know,” she called back.

  “I know. I came to say sorry, but bad jokes are literally the only way I know how to start conversations like this.”

  There was the sound of a chair scrape back, then a sniffle, and then jingling steps, getting closer. The bolt on the door turned, and then the jingling withdrew.

  Grimacing to one side, I opened it just enough I could stick my head in. “So I wanted to tell you that- wow-wow-wee-woah.”

  Suri had gotten her hands on a really, really nice dress. It was little more than a sheath of dense golden chains, linked together so closely that it hung like fabric instead of metal. Starting from her neck, the chains covered everything they needed to, draping around the curve of her breasts and around her hips until the lower loops hung past her knees. She'd done her short hair up with a fan-shaped ornament that matched the dress, and her makeup. Her neck and legs both seemed to go forever.

  “Go on, then.” She sniffed, and looked sharply over at me. “Gonna tell me what a waste of money this is?”

  “Uhhh...” I blinked a couple of times, trying desperately to tear my eyes away from the endless rolling plains of her chest. I shuffled the book I'd brought up into my armpit. “No. You’re gorgeous. What can I even say other than ‘sorry for being a self-centered shitlord’?”

  Suri turned and looked down, then sighed. “Yeah… look. Me too. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have chewed you out, then or just now. My head isn’t on straight. You were just try’na be responsible before, and I… fuck.”

  Suri's shoulders dropped, and she went back to the vanity where she'd laid out her makeup and brushes and slumped down tiredly into her seat. I sidled into the room and closed the door behind me.

  “We both screwed up.” I dropped the book onto her bed and went to her. When I was behind the chair, I held my hands up over her bare shoulders. “We're tired and stressed and we took it out on each other.”

  Suri reached up and caught my hand, and guided me to cup her cheek. “Yeah. We did.”

  “You’re right on both counts. I am trying to be responsible for the first time in my life, but I also ended up sounding like an ass.” I had a powerful urge to stroke her neck, and let my fingers play along the thin strands of metal there. “I was speaking to you like your goals didn’t matter. I'm sorry.”

  “It's fine. I was wrapped up in what we’d just read and… I dunno.” She sighed and laid the weight of her head in my hand, baring the length of her throat. “You must think I'm vain as hell, getting all dressed up like this.”

  “I figured you were getting dressed up to feel better.” Her perfume was different to Karalti's, sweeter and smokier, but I breathed in deeply as my brain began to reroute my blood to other, less intelligent parts of my body. “Were you thinking of going out?”

  “Nah. I was just gonna stay in. Eat some chocolate, drink some booze, try and forget the smell of the Dregs, you know.” She nuzzled her cheek against my palm, and as she did, the fine chains slid over the skin of her throat. My heart suddenly jumped to life, beating a deep double thump in my chest. The rest of the world receded into a film of white noise. My teeth and fingertips began to tingle.

  “Yeah... “ I unhooked the clasps on the dress, and let the chains slide down her neck. I slowly traced the unseen line of her jugular up to the edge of her jaw. She tipped her head back, lips parting with a gasp, and a pleasurable thrill pulsed through my fingertips.

  But then Suri froze, the skin of her neck trembling. “Hector? What is that?”

  The sound of my name shook me out of the sudden trance. I looked up to see Suri's eyes wide with confusion and fear. She was staring at me. Specifically, she was staring at my hand. Since becoming a Nasaku half-blood, my fingers and nails had turned dark and metallic, like I'd dipped them into fine powdered iron. The finger resting against her racing pulse had distended into a hypodermic needle point, the tip dimpling the skin just enough to draw a single drop of blood. It welled around the tip, and then ran down the side of her neck in a fine rivulet.

  “Umm.” I blinked, and swallowed. “Well. This is awkward.”

  I was really grateful for that Willpower bonus as I pulled my hand away, took a couple of big steps back, and turned around to hide the intense, sudden, stomach-cramping hunger that wracked through my belly.

  Behind me, Suri rose to her feet. She leaned in, but I warded her back with a hand and pulled away.

  “Sorry,” I croaked. “I just realized today is potion day. Dragon’s Blood Potion. I… uhh…”

  “Was that...?” She seemed to be seeing me - really seeing me - for the first time since Al-Asad. “But you said that the Demon didn't turn you?”

  “He didn’t.” I was panting, torn between hunger, lust, and horror at myself. “I'm a half-blood. A Nasaku halfblood. The N-Nasaku eat flesh the old-fashioned way, but draw blood with their... with whatever these are. The sub-type description warned me I'd still have to have some blood, and I've been putting it off, because we had a lot to do, and, uhh-”

  “Hey. Hey, it's okay.” Suri held her hands up. She advanced a step, and I took one back. “Hector, it's okay.”

  I shook my head, struggling against the sudden urge I had to turn and bite her.

  “Hey.”

  I looked up to see her nose barely a foot from mine.

  “You need blood?” she asked, huskily. “Because you know… I got about six liters of the stuff.”

  I groaned. “Suri... don’t do this.”

  She gently caught me by the wrist and squeezed. And kept squeezing, until I felt something pop painlessly inside the joint and my fingers seized. I winced, and she let the pressure off with a smile.

  “Remember what I told you last time we were here?” she asked softly. “Anything I don't want, I'm strong enough to stop you from doing.”

  The line of blood was still on her neck, winding down in a drying line toward her collarbone. I couldn't stop staring at it. “Look at my teeth, Suri. It's not like it was before. I could really hurt you.”

  Her eyes hooded to glowing golden slits. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it. You know what’s great at making me forget about Al-Asad? Sexy fun pain.”

  “Seriously, though. These do flesh-ripping kind of pain. Not the sexy fun kind.”

  She let go of my wrist, and gently stroked my lips. They parted with a shuddering breath.

  “There you go, telling me what I want and need again,” she whispered, leaning in. “ I love it when you bite me. I REALLY love it. The, umm, surprise finger shiv took me by surprise, I admit. But honestly, I look at you and those teeth of yours and I get wet to the knees thinking about how it'd feel if you just bit me on the shoulder and-”

  “I'm not ready yet,” I blurted. “I'm sorry.”

  Su
ri licked her lips and leaned back, putting a little distance between us.

  “Sorry. It's... I can't. It's too intense right now.” I reached out and stroked her face, her arms, trying to reassure her. “I can still count the number of times I've had sex on two hands and one foot, okay? I'm into it - believe me, I'm REALLY into it - but I'm so into it I don't feel like it's safe. I need to go get to Karalti and get this potion made up, and I can’t do anything until then, alright? Not… not at least until you’ve got a spawn point. So hey, look: I brought you something.”

  I disgorged the book from my Inventory to the bed. Suri blinked at it a few times.

  “It’s a book on the history of Dakhdir,” I said quickly, desperate to talk about anything other than the various hungers gnawing at my body. “I couldn’t get really far into it, but it’s got some stuff about the Old Kingdom Dynasty you were talking about. It was pretty interesting, actually…”

  Suri’s mouth flashed in a brief, tired smile. She looked down for a moment, and then flicked her gaze back up to my face. “Are we... are we okay?”

  “We're more than okay.” I drew a deep breath, meeting her gaze with mine. “So… you coming to Myszno, or do you want to go take care of Big Trouble in Little Dalim first?”

  “I'll go back with you. I can help you sort out those quests and then... yeah. I dunno. We'll think about Dakhdir after that.”

  “You have Karalti and me at your back, if you’ll have us,” I said.

  She looked down again: bashfully, this time. Then she caught my hand, stroking her thumbs over the Mark of Matir. It blazed through the iron-tinged skin like a spiny black hole. “I wouldn’t choose anyone else. You sure you can’t stay the night? We could just sleep, you know.”

  “I used to get up and sleep eat when I was alive. One time, I woke up in the kitchen and found myself shoveling gummi bears covered in hot sauce into my face.” I shrugged and feigned a smile. “Karalti knows what to do. She’s been donating blood to me since she was a hatchling. Felt weird at first, but we’re Bonded, so when she says it’s okay, I know it’s really okay with her.”