The Twilight Obelisk

by Alexey Osadchuk

  “So,” Pritus broke the silence first. “What brought you to my humble abode?”

  “Firstly, I wanted to get to know you better,” I said, earning an encouraging nod from him. “Secondly, I did mean it when I said that your engineering crew was worth an entire army. Artillery is an important argument in any battle.”

  He looked up at me in surprise. “How do you know these words? ‘Artillery’, ‘engineering crew’ — have you heard them before?”

  I nodded. “I have. I’ll tell you more: I’m an engineer myself, although in a different field.”

  You wouldn’t expect me to tell him I didn’t yet know myself which field it was, would you?

  He seemed to be completely floored by this last revelation. As he was busy picking up his dropped jaw, I decided to capitalize on the effect,

  “I’ve come to you in order to find out what you might need in order to fix the trebuchet and get it running.”

  * * *

  An hour later, I left the engineer’s tent carrying the list of all the materials he needed. As it had turned out, he’d already found four new assistants for himself to replace those killed. Now he needed to ask the clan leader’s permission to recruit them. And seeing as I was the aforementioned clan leader, I’d given him my permission on the spot.

  Also, I entitled him to use my name whenever he heeded to seek help from any other craftsmen. And once Pritus found out I could get him any materials he could possibly need, he hurried to compile a lengthy list.

  Once that was out of the way, we’d spent some time talking over tea. The red-bearded engineer told me the sad tale of their failed storming of the Citadel. About Laosh’ useless command. About the death of his friends. And about the loss of ten machines out of eleven, the last one only salvaged by his colleagues’ heroic efforts. I ended up soothing him and calming him down.

  If the blueprints he’d shown me were any indicator, the machine in question did resemble a medieval trebuchet. It seemed to work well even though, according to Pritus, it could use a few improvements.

  Despite his “gray” gear and tools, I could see that this individual was long ready to advance to the next level. And of all people, I could help him with that.

  As I walked back, I noticed the orderly layout of all the tents and marquees. Droy must have taken my advice to heart and made sure that the camp didn’t resemble an illogical maze anymore.

  The sounds of hammered steel were coming from Zachary’s mobile smithy. I was just about to go and see him when my gaze alighted on one of the carts.

  How interesting. This was a traditional Caltean cart which looked no different from the rest, with one exception. All of its parts were covered in a fancy vine-like pattern.

  I walked over to it. On closer inspection, the patterns turned out to have been made with ordinary green paint. Still, the artistry of them was incredible.

  I walked around the cart several times, tracing the vine pattern. The more I looked at it, the more details I noticed. Not a single identical leaf or twig. Each of them seemed to have its own meaning and purpose.

  This was amazing.

  Curious, I decided to check the item’s stats. Imagine my amazement when I realized that the anonymous artist had considerably improved both the cart’s protection and its durability.

  I opened the clan control panel and looked for the Transportation tab, then searched through items by durability. The painted cart was at the top of the list well ahead of all the others.

  “Nice, eh?” a wheezing old voice asked behind me.

  I promptly closed the windows and turned round.

  An old Caltean stood not five paces away from me, his hair snow white, his broad face furrowed. His bushy white eyebrows stood on end like the wings of a bird. Despite his old age, his shoulders were broad and strong.

  I hurried to check his stats. Aha. This was Crunch. His most advanced skill was Cart Maker, with Cart Driving and Draught Animal Care just behind it. I’d been expecting something like that.

  I checked the blueprints he’d studied. This was a very, very useful senior citizen.

  “This is awesome,” I agreed. “And the durability it adds!”

  The old man kneaded his beard, then cast me a suspicious look. “We are talking about the cart, aren’t we?”

  I smiled amicably. “Not exactly. I was talking about your drawings.”

  He stared at me, uncomprehending.

  Then it dawned on me. This old NPC couldn’t see all the advantages of his own work. How was it possible? Judging by his large rough hands that resembled two digger shovels, how could he have even managed to create something this beautiful?

  “Haven’t you noticed that your cart became sturdier after you’d decorated it?” I asked him.

  The cart maker gave his creation another look, as if seeing it for the first time. He crouched and studied the bottom of the cart, then yanked at the wheels.

  “I think you’re right,” he finally said. “I couldn’t understand why the shaft had lasted so long. Normally, it should have broken several times already. And the wheels are still in one piece. Actually, it’s lasted me for ages without a single accident,” he ran his hand lovingly over the painted designs. “Thanks for telling me what it was, Olgerd. I heard people say that you can see things nobody else can. Now I’ve witnessed that myself.”

  Oh. I’d love to know what else they were saying about me. Still, I couldn’t wrap my head around the man’s behavior.

  He must have read it in my face because he dissolved in a smile. “You must be thinking, ‘How’s that possible? How come a master can’t see the results of his work?’ Am I right?”

  I shrugged. I had nothing to say to that.

  His next phrase confused me even more. “I’ll tell you something. You’re probably right. The master can see the results of his or her work. But I can’t,” he smiled dreamily, thinking about something.

  Oh, great. An NPC with a split personality disorder.

  “Dear Master Crunch,” I said, slowly backing away, “thank you very much for your time. I really enjoyed talking to you. Unfortunately, I have too many things to-”

  “You wait,” he said. “I’m not crazy, if that’s what you think. I told you that the master could see the results of her work. I think she did. She did tell me the cart would drive much better.”

  “Wait a sec,” I said. “Now I’m totally confused. Who is she? What’s with the master?”

  “My granddaughter! My little one! She is the master! She painted the cart for me. And she did tell me it might not need repairs for a while. I didn’t believe her, did I? I just let her paint my cart, why not? There’s no harm in that, is there? She’s my only flesh and blood... Her parents died two winters ago from the sweating sickness. And now this... Oh no!”

  I jumped from his sudden change of temper. The old man grabbed at his head, his eyes wide open. “She’s painted everything we have, hasn’t she? The tent, the kitchen pots, even my tools... She wanted to paint my clothes too but I didn’t let her. Our neighbors were laughing at us as it was. How strange...”

  Curiouser and curiouser. His oversight was quite understandable, but me? How could I have missed a girl capable of improving items’ protection and durability? Very clever, Sir Olgerd.

  Oh well. I had to correct my mistake now, didn’t I?

  “Dear Master,” I said, “You don’t need to worry. I suggest we both calm down and talk about it. None of this is your fault...”

  “No, but-”

  I didn’t let him finish. “You don’t have anything to do with magic, by any chance?”

  The question completely floored him. “Who, me?” he mouthed, voiceless.

  “Yes, you.”

  “I don’t think so...”

  “So you see,” I raised a didactic finger. “If you and your neighbors didn’t have an aptitude for magic, how could you have noticed your granddaughter’s skills?”

  He stared at me, uncomprehending. Before he could
get his wits together, I continued, “You couldn’t. Only a shaman or a shaman’s apprentice is capable of that. But as you well understand, they’ve had their hands full with other things just lately...”

  He nodded. “You could say that.”

  “So you shouldn’t worry about it. I suggest we rectify this slight oversight on our part.”

  “Excuse me?’“

  “Well, how about we meet your little Master for a start?”

  “Yes, yes, of course!” the old man swung around, drawing me along. “Of course! Please come this way!”

  He was quite fast and agile for his age. As we approached his neat tent, I came across plenty of evidence of the young artist’s work. Everything around me was covered in fine intricately drawn patterns. The fence poles that served as tethering posts for the large, slow buffaloes munching on their grass, were decorated all over. Ditto for all the spades and pitchforks, hoes and buckets and clay pots. Each item sported durability and protection bonuses. Cool!

  I peered closer at the vine-like patterns. They were identical. Even the paint was the same hue of green. Having said that... not really. The girl had also used black and white paints.

  Three colors. A single pattern, masterfully drawn. What did that mean? It meant that the girl was ready to advance to the next level but couldn’t. She had neither the knowledge nor the right materials. Nor the tools, most likely.

  “So what did I say?” Crunch made a sweeping gesture around his household. “You can see for yourself, can’t you?”

  “You bet,” I replied with a smile. “I’ll tell you more: I like it a lot. Your granddaughter is a very precious asset to the clan. A craftswoman like her should be treasured and cherished.”

  His surprised eyes filled with tears of joy. I could understand him. He’d been living all those years suffering his neighbors’ ridicule about the weird child he’d sheltered under his roof.

  We found the heroine of all the commotion sleeping soundly inside. Unhesitantly I opened the girl’s stats.

  Name: Lia. Ten years old. A tiny little thing. A fragile frame; a head of raven-black hair. Her plump little fingers were clutching a thin paintbrush. There was paint all over her face.

  My heart clenched. She was so like my Christa. Was she okay?

  A hand touched my shoulder.

  “Go in,” Crunch whispered. “No point in standing in the doorway.”

  “Sorry. Of course,” I shook off the memory and returned to Lia’s stats.

  Skills: a standard set. The girl was a gatherer and a housekeeper. I scrolled through the list.

  Aha. There it was! Magic Painting. The numbers were good: much better compared to her other skills.

  “Cheeky devil!” the old man whispered. “Look at my tools! She just couldn’t help it, could she?”

  Indeed, the familiar vine pattern coiled around the wooden handles of his modest tools.

  “This is a very good thing,” I told him. “Now this hammer, chisel and saw will last you a lifetime. I suggest you ask her to paint everything else you have in your house. The sooner you do it, the better. What your granddaughter does, she adds magic bind lines to the objects she paints.”

  At the words “magic bind lines” he cast a reverential look at the sleeping girl. “Why such a rush?” he asked me.

  “Because, dear Master,” I replied in a whisper, “very soon Lia might have lots of work to do. With your permission, of course.”

  Chapter Five

  I SPENT THE REST OF THE DAY walking around the camp talking to workers. Blacksmiths, saddlers, shepherds, miners, stonemasons — I hadn’t missed anyone. I spoke to each and every one of them, asking questions and listening to their requests. By the time I got back to Droy’s tent I was dead on my feet. I had a splitting headache. Still, the result was worth it.

  I’d been right all along. The Red Owls clan was balancing on the edge of a small local revolution. All the Calteans needed was a tiny nudge to send them to stage two of their social and cultural development. All I had to provide was a scientific base — that is to say, new recipes, new blueprints and sketched designs for my future masters.

  Unfortunately, the expensive materials I’d so generously provided them with didn’t work at all. You can’t fool the system. The clan’s development had to run its course. What a shame.

  The heat from the fire felt soothing. The embers crackled, sending sparks into the night sky. A meat stew bubbled in the pot, whetting my appetite. My nostrils welcomed the amazing aromas.

  Droy grinned at me. “Tired?”

  I sighed. “You can’t imagine. Still, it’s all gonna work out in the end. You’ll see.”

  “Don’t take their complaints too close to heart,” Droy said, stirring the stew. “They love moaning. It’ll take you an entire lifetime just to look into it all. Have you learned anything about the city?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing new. The Black Axes keep rehashing the same old legends which you already know. Crym is still the only person who’s seen the place from afar. All the others are already dead. Some were killed at the Citadel walls, others by the River Quiet.”

  “It’s all right,” Droy reassured me. “Tomorrow we’ll call up a council. We need to decide how to purge the dungeons you found.”

  “I’d like to strongly discourage you from that idea,” I said.

  Droy stared at me in surprise, forgetting his stew. “Pardon me? I thought you guys couldn’t wait to go back there. And now you strongly discourage the idea...”

  I ran a tired hand over my forehead. “I have a funny feeling we might not come out of it alive. It’s just a hunch. A foreboding, if you like.”

  How else could I explain it to him? The dungeons were crawling with high-level mobs. How was I supposed to tell him that Caltean weapons and gear were just not up to the task? He wouldn’t understand me. He might even take offence.

  “A foreboding? That’s serious,” Droy agreed, returning his attention to the pot. “You should never disregard a bad foreboding.”

  “I’m not going to,” I said. “We need some time. Once we settle down a bit, then we can start worrying about these things.”

  “I like your way of thinking,” Droy nodded, bringing a steaming spoon to his mouth.

  He smacked his lips several times, then paused, apparently thinking what else he could add to his brew. Still, the result seemed to have pleased him.

  “Ready,” he lowered the ladle into the steaming, bubbling thick stew. “Let’s eat.”

  I offered him my bowl. Life was good. My stomach growled its agreement.

  “Tim,” Droy called his son. “Come and eat before it gets cold.”

  The boy ran out of the tent. Grinning to me, he plopped onto a rock by the fire. His bowl was even bigger than mine. No wonder. He’d been seriously sick, almost dead, for God knows how long, and then he’d had to hike along with the rest of the tribe all across No-Man’s Lands. And he was only thirteen years old. His body needed nutrition to grow.

  Actually, judging by his stats, this boy was mere points away from becoming a Warrior. He had a healthy Hunting skill plus some introduction-level sword and spear work. His father must have been training him. Add to that whatever quarry the boy had managed to shoot on his way here, and that could explain why his level was not very far from my own.

  “What about Pritus?” Droy asked. “Can’t he tell you anything?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, setting my empty bowl aside. “I don’t think he knows anything.”

  “Well, he wasn’t the best the Axes had,” Droy said with a hearty burp. “The Lighties slaughtered their leading techs in the first minutes of the fighting. At least that’s what Crym told me. Apparently, the Lighties started by destroying the trebuchets, and only then did they turn on the foot soldiers. Yeah... The Axes used to have the best army. But after what happened by the River Quiet, nothing can surprise me. And that was only an avant-garde! I can only imagine what’s gonna happen if the Lighties bring the
ir main army here.”

  I heaved a sigh, staring at the fire. What could I say? Droy’s words had cut me to the quick.

  Still, our enemy had its weaker points, too. “Droy, you know what? I don’t think our enemy even has an army. There’s a Citadel garrison and also one in the capital but an army? I doubt.”

  “Yes, but what about-”

  “What about what? Look at yourselves. Can you honestly call Calteans a united nation? All you have is a few clans who failed to unite even in the face of a common enemy. The powers of Light — or Dark, for that matter — are no different. And if — or should I say when — they come here, they’ll arrive as a military union of several clans. Not as a single army under one sole command. And that gives us a definite advantage.”

  “What kind of advantage is that, Uncle Olgerd?” the boy — who until then had been listening to us with bated breath — voiced his curiosity.

  “Well, think for yourself,” I told him. “A united army under the authority of a single commander can be compared to a human body. It acts in synch. Each one of the troops knows their own job. There’re archers, footmen, the cavalry, the artillery and the service corps. There’s a strict hierarchy when everybody knows their place and their direct commander. The troops are well trained and maintain a strict discipline. Luckily for us, that’s not the kind of army we’re about to confront.”

  “Why not?” Tim ventured.

  “Because an army like that doesn’t exist in this world. Not yet. The powers of both Light and Dark have some very strong warriors. When they group up together, they’re a power to be reckoned with. And still they’re not a proper regular army like I’ve just described to you.”

  I paused, trying to focus. How was I supposed to explain to an NPC that all those super warriors were nothing but fancy avatars concealing ordinary human beings inside? They weren’t professional soldiers: they were teachers, doctors, programmers, builders or even translators like myself. Trying to organize them was a job and a half. They only obeyed clan leaders if they felt like it and only if it was worth their while.