The Twilight Obelisk

by Alexey Osadchuk

  Those so-called generals had thought that a powerful magic attack on the Citadel’s defenses would allow the warriors to storm the walls and slaughter the defenders. So naïve. Had it indeed worked out as planned, the players would have had a ball.

  Naturally, a powerful strike like that demanded a wealth of energy which the shamans simply hadn’t had. Still, they did have a solution. They could perform this so-called Desolation ritual. As far as I gathered from Laosh’ reluctant explanation, it was nothing more than a mass sacrifice which sucked energy out of living creatures.

  Laosh cringed when he spoke about it. I could see he would never have agreed to something like that. He’d much rather have sacrificed his own life to save his clanmates than killed them. I’d already witnessed that during our battle by the river.

  “What were they thinking of?” he kept whispering. “Killing women and children! The future of their clans! And what for? They must have lost their minds! I know whose idea it was! It must have been Joddok! The leader of the Stone Fists! The Great Shaman! The strongest amongst us! That must have been his fault. He was toying with forbidden knowledge!”

  “And he paid the price!” Orman growled.

  The others nodded,

  “Yes!”

  “Oh yes, he did!”

  “They’re dead now, anyway,” Droy summed up.

  He could say that. The game developers seemed to be conspiring to strip my army of any magic support. First it had been the Black Axes’ shaman, so cleverly killed by Furius. Now it was Gukhur who’d executed the remaining three. Granted, there was still Amai roaming around the desert, but I’d had plenty of opportunity to realize that he was more harm than good.

  Besides, I wasn’t at all sure if I’d ever see the Northern Wolves again. They knew the Noctean horde was coming here. As long as we were battling them, they were unlikely to leave their steppes. I couldn’t say I blamed them.

  “Which is why we need to take care of the living,” Droy summed up. He turned to Shorve the Hasty, “How many did you count?”

  “Almost two hundred warriors,” Shorve reported. “The rest are old men, women and children.”

  I made a quick calculation. In total, that was about five hundred new arrivals.

  “Many of them are sick or injured,” Shorve continued. “They told me they’d been constantly attacked on their way. Lots of monsters and Nocteans around.”

  Droy turned to me. “Do you think your magic could help them?”

  The Red Owls already knew I was in possession of some magic that could heal them and make them stronger. I was pretty sure Laosh had something to do with it. He must have told his clanmates that the City Keeper was basically a healing artifact on two legs.

  I nodded. “It might. On one condition. You know it, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Droy kneaded his beard, thinking. “In order to be healed, they need to join the clan.”

  I shrugged. “Sorry, but that’s how it works. Alternatively, you can ask your wise women to help them. They’ve become much more skillful now, don’t you think?”

  “Thanks to you,” Crym gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder.

  He was right. Thanks to all the new recipes and materials, the clan’s medicine women could now treat the simplest first and second-degree injuries. Unfortunately, there were no monsters in No-Man’s Lands capable of dealing such minor damage. The smallest of the wounds they gave you were type “blue”.

  “So what do you think they’re going to do now?” I asked the question which worried us all the most that night.

  Silence fell in the tent. I peered at my clanmates’ faces, trying to second-guess what they were thinking.

  Seet frowned, biting his lower lip.

  Crym sat there impassive, polishing his battle-axe blade with a leather cloth like he had nothing to do with any of it.

  Orman was studying his friends’ faces just like I was. A skeptical smile lurked on his lips. He must have already made up his mind; now he was waiting to hear what his comrades had to say.

  Shorve was busy with a needle, mending a piece of gear. He was never idle, that one. Constantly busy doing something. He didn’t seem to give a damn about the newcomers’ fate.

  Arrum Red Beard was snoring away, his arms crossed on his chest. Ditto for Horm the Turtle.

  Droy was silent. I knew what he was thinking, anyway. I was curious about Laosh, though. What did he have to say?

  As if reading my thoughts, the old man spoke,

  “One can’t see the future in every detail. There’re too many variables. What we can see, though, is our present. The way we use our present will decide our future.”

  Everybody nodded.

  “So what do we see in our present?” Laosh continued. “We see the remains of three clans which used to be quite powerful. Most of them are women and children, emaciated and sick. Their warriors’ morale is low. They don’t have single leadership. They’re about to starve. Many of them are seriously ill. I’m afraid, we might see the first funeral pyres in their camp already this morning.”

  Laosh must have noticed me frowning because he added, “Olgerd, I know you wanted us to allow them into the city. Still, we can’t afford it. Yes, they are Calteans like ourselves. True, we have a provisional truce in place. Still, they’re more numerous. Unlike you, we know their leaders and what they’re capable of. We can’t risk it.”

  “He’s right,” Droy agreed. “We’ve done a lot for them as it is. We’ve shared our food supplies with them even though there won’t be enough for us now. Our healers are doing what they can. And most importantly, you’ve let them enter under the protection of the magic sphere. Trust me, that’s more than enough.”

  “To spend a night in a perfectly safe place without having to worry about a surprise attack in the night is worth a lot,” Crym added.

  “But even despite everything Laosh has just said, I don’t think they’re going to stay with us,” Orman summed up.

  “I agree,” Shorve nodded without looking up from his sewing. “Badwar is too proud. I don’t think he’s going to go hat in hand to a Red Owl. Besides, they already know about the Horde’s arrival. If they chose not to fight when all of their warriors were still alive, what makes you think they’ll do it now?”

  That was a killer argument. We had nothing to say to that.

  Droy was about to object when his son hurried into the tent. “Father, you’re wanted on the wall.”

  Droy rose. “What now?”

  “The boy messenger said that the Northern Wolves were back.”

  * * *

  The morning seeped a dull sunlight by way of greeting the earth. It might actually snow later. We had to hurry. Despite the early hour, works were already in full swing in the outer moat which encircled the fortress like a giant snake trail.

  The open areas outside the wall had been cleared of snow. Fires burned all along the perimeter, warming the ground and thawing out the ancient ruins.

  Dozens of Calteans were bustling about in the moat, scooping out the molten slush and hammering in sharp stakes of different sizes. They’d been putting in a united effort, relieving each other day and night. No one was shirking: this was a matter of survival.

  The newcomers watched them closely, exchanging comments in low voices and casting glances at the wall and the glaive throwers mounted upon it.

  Oh, well. Let them look. That might give their thoughts a push in the right direction. Even in their work clothes, the Red Owls looked dramatically more civilized now. And the wall they were building kept growing in leaps and bounds. The Calteans had never made anything as good as this wall.

  Still, at the moment we had more important things to think of than worrying about the newcomers’ state of mind. Droy’s son had been right: we had the Northern Wolves on our doorstep. Not a small recon group: this time we were looking at their entire clan.

  The proud steppe riders trudged in silence, looking pretty worse for wear. There wasn’t a single warr
ior among them. Holy mama mia, how many of them were there?

  My warriors lined up along the perimeter of the magic sphere’s radius.

  What kind of groundhog day was this? We’d been standing here only a few hours ago just like we were now, greeting Badwar and his group.

  But in this case, we had no reason to be too strict. We had a treaty with the Wolves, after all. They could come and go as they pleased.

  The Red Owls crowded by the wall, greeting the tired Wolves with tears in their eyes. About two hundred armed men rode in the rear. This must have been what was left of Amai’s little army.

  Actually, I couldn’t see him anywhere. Pike appeared to be in command. Exhausted and wounded, his left arm bandaged, he was the last to cross the magic protection border.

  His horse snorted as it stopped a few paces away from us. Pike dismounted unhurriedly and with dignity.

  “Greetings, O Keeper!” he croaked.

  “Greetings, valiant warrior,” I replied, studying him closely.

  He had an impressive black eye. His clothes were covered in blood — others’ as well as his own. Oh. He’d had it rough.

  “Brave warrior, I can’t see your leader,” I said.

  Still standing tall, Pike heaved a sigh. “My leader and two hundred of our best warriors have met their end fighting the Nocteans.”

  The devs had to be kidding! I lost another shaman!

  “I remembered our treaty,” he continued. “Which is why I brought the survivors here.”

  “You did the right thing, O Pike of Many Hands,” I motioned them to enter. “My Owls and I, we hold our treaty sacred.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I THINK I’VE FOUND something,” a grinning Pritus slapped the Brock’s ample leg.

  He had asked to see me as soon as our “round table” with all the clan leaders had finished. Predictably, it had ended in nothing.

  You couldn’t imagine a more fruitless pastime. It reminded me of a well-known Russian fable telling the story of the Swan, the Pike and the Crab who tried to pull a heavy cartload. Naturally, it didn’t work because each of them tried to pull it each in their own direction.

  I hadn’t taken part in the discussion. What was the point? The Caltean leaders didn’t recognize my authority: I didn’t have enough reputation with them. Having said that, my personal relationship with Badwar had improved from Suspicious to Neutral. Ditto for the other two: Gukhur and Lavena.

  I had a bad feeling about the four of them. First Pike, and now those three. They actually had a lot in common: all four were celebrated warriors whose names commanded respect from every Caltean. I just hoped I wasn’t going to get into trouble.

  Which wasn’t so improbable, knowing me.

  A hand lay on my shoulder. “Are you listening?”

  “Eh? Sorry?”

  Pritus squinted at me. A sarcastic grin played on his lips. “Are you with me?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “All these council meetings are exhausting.”

  Pritus and I had grown quite close over the last few days. Having to assemble a bunch of Ennan machines does that to you.

  “They don’t want to become Owls, do they?” he grinned his understanding. The glasses of his pince-nez glinted. “Not the first time.”

  I remembered the Black Axes. They used to scream and dig their heels in, too. “You could say that.”

  “Olgerd, you know what? Out of all of us, I was the one who was most against joining the Red Owls.”

  “So what do you think now?”

  “Now I think joining you was the best thing I ever did.”

  “Really? What made you change your mind?”

  “You did. Our other leaders used to send us to a sure death, deceiving us with high goals and made-up prophesies. Their inflated egos and their fear of losing power prevented us from joining together in order to confront the enemy. Their cowardice forced us to leave our homes. When our shaman died, followed by some of the stronger warriors who could have claimed leadership, we felt free for the first time. Can you imagine? Nothing like that had ever happened to us before. For the first time in its history, the council of elders could actually decide something. Before, they only used to go through the motions. And this time, the fates of the clan depended on our decision.”

  Despite Pritus’ praise, I still had my doubts. What if I was just as stupid as their previous leaders? What if it didn’t work? What if I had brought them to a sure death?

  In the meantime, Pritus continued,

  “Freedom intoxicated us. We were our own masters! And you know the important thing? Yes, we became Red Owls, but that was our own choice. Can I give you some advice?”

  “Good advice is always welcome.”

  “Give them some space. Let them enjoy their freedom. Let them experience the full extent of it. Once the euphoria wears off, it’ll leave behind the great responsibility for one’s clanmates’ lives. Then they’ll need someone who knows what to do without losing their precious freedom.”

  “You think I can do it?”

  “Well,” Pritus smiled, “we’re still alive, aren’t we? And I don’t think our shamans had anything to do with it.”

  “I don’t think so, either!”

  We laughed. Finally, Pritus asked,

  “So fancy doing a bit of work?”

  “Sure,” I replied. “What’s all this about?”

  “I’ve studied all the machines,” Pritus explained readily, “and I noticed a very interesting thing. All the Brocks and glaive throwers have indentations in the same place, same size. What’s interesting is that these indentations spread energy canals through the whole length of the machines.”

  “Strange,” I said. “What do you make of it?”

  “I had a talk with a few fellow engineers and we think that this indentation is in fact a plug to plug a power block in. Which means that the machines are self-contained. As long as we supply them with power blocks, they can work non-stop! Naturally, we went directly to the warehouse. We looked everywhere but we didn’t find anything which even remotely looked like them.”

  “Show me,” I said, curious.

  Pritus motioned me to approach, then pointed at a small indentation. “This one.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Did you say all the machines have them?”

  “Yes,” Pritus replied. The Brocks have them on their second right leg. The glaive throwers, just next to the trigger.”

  “It’s hexagonal,” I commented.

  Pritus nodded. “That’s right. I can bet all you want they’re meant for plugging in accumulator crystals.”

  “Which can’t be big. Incredible. Can you imagine that a tiny piece of crystal can power something this huge?”

  I was about to touch the indentation to see how deep it was when a new system message appeared before my eyes,

  Would you like to plug in the Charm of Arakh: Yes/No

  Startled, I jerked my hand away, then reread the message.

  The Charm of Arakh... The Charm of Arakh... The name rang a few bells. Where could I have heard about it?

  Wait a sec...

  I had a head like a sieve, really. By assembling the machines, I’d leveled up my other profession really well. I’d had those old blueprints in my bag ever since I’d built the Replicator, albeit dimmed and inactive. Now that I’d assembled the Brocks, they’d finally become available, so I’d studied them just in case, then happily forgotten all about it. No wonder. Too many things had been happening just lately.

  “Can you feel anything?” Pritus’ voice asked just above my ear.

  Oh. I’d forgotten all about him.

  “I think so,” I said, theatrically closing my eyelids. “I need to concentrate.”

  “Got it. I’ll be silent as a grave.”

  Excellent. I hurried to press the Blueprints Studied tab. What did we have here... Yes. The Unworked Charm of Arakh. I could do that. I had seventy of the wretched things in my bag.
/>   And I used to think those were useless trash items!

  What other blueprints did I have?

  Name: A Blueprint of the Frame of the Charm of Arakh

  Requirements:

  a Bundle of Steel Wire, 1

  “Pritus,” I said without opening my eyes, “I might need some steel wire. A few bundles will do. Ask the blacksmiths, they should have loads there. They use it all the time to make chainmail.”

  “Got it,” Pritus replied.

  The sound of his footsteps faded quickly.

  Good. What next?

  Name: A Blueprint of the Charm of Arakh

  Requirements:

  A Frame of the Charm of Arakh, 1

  An Unworked Charm of Arakh, 1

  5,000 pt. Energy

  I made a quick estimation. That was enough for twenty rounds from the Brock and five glaive clips.

  My heart pounded like mad. That meant that I wouldn’t be tied to the machines anymore!

  When I opened my eyes, Pritus was scurrying toward me with Zachary in tow.

  “Here! Take your pick!” he offered me several bundles of steel wire in different sizes.

  I began trying them — but the system rejected each and every one of them.

  I very nearly cussed. There I was, one step away from an energy breakthrough had it not been for a miserable piece of wire!

  Damn those blueprints! I might need to leave the city and go back to the continent.

  “This is all chainmail wire,” Zachary said who until now had been watching my manipulations in silence. “Try this one. It’s thinner but just as strong. It’s jewelry wire I use to make chains with.”

  I took it from him.

  Yes! It worked! The system was happy with our offering!

  Congratulations! You’ve just built a Frame of the Charm of Arakh!