Officially, every secular spellcaster in the city was a member of the Council, but for ninety-nine percent of them, that membership entailed paying an annual fee of one gold per level, in addition to being extorted of more money through a variety of licenses and permits. None of those ‘members’ would miss the decapitated organization. The Council of the Wise was dead. Kaiser had killed it, initiating a massive shift in the balance of power in Akila.
“That tower was filled with priceless treasures!” Orelio blurted out. “Millenia-old artifacts. Priceless books!”
Kaiser grinned. “I am sure that the perpetrators – whoever they may be – are aware that the proper order when pillaging is to kill, loot, and only then, burn. They must have rescued all the priceless treasures before destroying the Tower. As to the ordinary books… well, you people have had the printing press for two thousand years. Much longer than we had it on Earth. If you didn’t bother to make copies of everything, that’s your problem.”
“You… you…”
A gesture with the Blackblade silenced the Prefect. “Before you start casting accusations at innocent parties, rest assured that you will find plenty of evidence in the Tower’s remains that will show that the Green Coven was responsible for this atrocity.”
The witches were outsiders that avoided the city and consorted with the froglike inhabitants of the saltwater swamps that filled much of the land around the city. Kaiser had run afoul of them while escaping the deadly area that the Arbiters had selected as the local Eternals’ starting area. Setting them up for the destruction of the Council solved two problems with one fell swoop.
The Prefect turned away from the burning tower – the City Watch was reacting, as indicated by the ringing of bells, and would soon extinguish the conflagration before it spread into the rest of Akila – and looked at Kaiser. “What do you want?”
“A couple of things. First, the City should take over the licenses and fees the Council was imposing on magic users, instead of simply taking a cut. Maybe lower them a bit, which would make you very popular among the sorcerous community, but that’s up to you. I just want the Council gone. Without their leadership, it really doesn’t have any reason to exist, does it?”
“I suppose not,” Orelio said after doing some math in his head and realizing just how much more money the city would gain from taking over the Council’s rackets. The power vacuum that the destruction of the wizards’ gang had left behind would benefit a lot of different groups besides the Nerf Herders. That was fine with Kaiser. Spreading the profits around made it easier for everyone to accept the new status quo and not worry too hard about who had made it happen.
“But what I mostly want is for the City to leave my Guild alone. No more attempts to investigate our inner workings. All our members joined us willingly. Our rules are simple and legal. We may be outsiders, but we are doing our best not to disturb your way of life.”
By way of reply, Orelio tilted his head toward the sight of the burning Council Tower.
Kaiser shrugged. “Regrettably, sometimes our best is not good enough. A number of city factions wanted to destroy my Guild. In this case, we had to take action. Hopefully that will not be necessary again. With your help.”
“You want the city to give you free rein.”
“Within reason, of course. Allow us to conduct our own affairs in peace. In return, we will support your office when the inevitable conflicts arise, following this regrettable tragedy.”
“I can see how that could benefit everyone,” the Prefect said.
“We will put our considerable resources at your service, should you need help to maintain law and order, or confront any threats,” Kaiser added. “And we would do it for no fees, besides the usual rewards Adventurers gain while performing great deeds.”
Translation: we will stomp your enemies, political, military, or personal, and do it for nothing more than the loot and XP we get along the way. Always good to throw in a few carrots after showing them the stick. Orelio was now very aware that the Herders could break into his bedroom despite his considerable defenses. The destruction of the Council of the Wise made it clear that nobody was safe from the Guild. The Nerf Herders might not be able to kill everyone, but they could kill anyone.
Orelio was no coward, but he was no hero, either. He wouldn’t throw his life away on a meaningless gesture. The official story would blame the Coven, but word would get around: messing with the Herders was a losing proposition. Add some incentives along with the veiled threat, and things should progress nicely. Kaiser had decided that ruling Akila directly would be too difficult, as well as not worth the effort. Having an arrangement with the local government was better, freeing his Eternals to grow in power without having to waste time on the rabble.
“That seems reasonable,” Orelio said after a few moments of consideration. “Maybe we can meet again at a more convenient time and finalize the agreement.”
“Of course. My people will release all your servants and guards. As I said, they are all in good health.”
“That is good. We can all forget that this incident ever happened. I will have to attend to the tragedy at the Council’s Tower, of course.”
“Of course. With your leave.”
“Yes. You may go,” the Prefect said. Both of them knew who held the whip by the handle, but they might as well stick to the niceties.
Kaiser and the strike team gathered in the main courtyard. The Herder’s top mage Aristobulus the Magnificent, activated a Recall scroll and the eight-man force disappeared in a flash of light, returning to the Nerf Herders’ compound. Mission accomplished.
The reward for a job well done was more work, of course. Kaiser had several irons in the fire. Amelia Blueflame had failed to complete a fairly major Quest, but he had her out on another assignment. The level-grinding operation was proceeding nicely; the average active-status Guild member was now at level fifteen. And news of a mysterious Domain to the south had reached him. That had to be Hawke’s. Girl-Has had been investigating rumors leading in that direction when she dropped off the face of the Earth as well as the guild’s rolls. Dead, most likely, since that was the only way to leave the Herders, but he wouldn’t bet money on it. The creepy assassin had been too good. In any case, if Hawke had killed or turned her, he needed to be disposed of.
Kaiser grinned. Taking over a Domain might just be the thing the Nerf Herders needed. A fallback position, if things in Akila turned sour. And dealing with Hawke Lightseeker once and for all would be extremely… satisfactory. He’d put some thought into what he would do to the Paladin.
Aristobulus took a look at Kaiser’s face and recoiled in fear.
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The Adventure continues! Guilds at War, Book Four of the Eternal Journey, will be released in November. You can read the Prologue and first chapter below:
Guilds at War Sample Chapters
Prologue
Laryn the Huntsman still remembered a time when he had been alive.
His old state of being had not been exactly pleasant. Few of the Fae knew much joy, only brief episodes of pleasure when watching the suffering or downfall of others, or indulging in some decadent pursuit. Such feelings never lasted long, being quickly replaced by an emptiness that demanded to be filled but rarely was. Their near-eternal lives were spent chasing one fleeting high point after another, never sated, always wanting more. Nevertheless, it had been preferable to his current state.
Laryn the Unliving no longer felt anything. Even the urge to serve his creators lacked any passion. It was merely a drive that only resembled hunger because it needed to be satiated, but brought no sense of satisfaction or even closure. Even the brief moments of joy of his previous existence were denied to him. He did as he was to
ld, and neither the magnitude of his accomplishments or the suffering they inflicted on others brought about any sense of victory or regret. On the few occasions when he had enough time and leisure for contemplation, Laryn examined his previous existence with what one might call it yearning, although that was too strong a word.
He had been defeated, suffering a reversal so complete that it would have driven his old self into a murderous rampage, or even to seek his own destruction. Here and now, he simply reported his failure to his master and awaited new orders. The remnants of the Fae he had been were inside him somewhere, howling in utter torment, but they did not concern him. He used them to empower certain abilities, that was all.
Suspended in utter darkness, with only the Maker’s presence to keep him company, he finished the report. The initially-successful invasion of the Labyrinth had collapsed when interlopers severed his connection to the Dungeon that he had used as a beachhead into the Infernal lands. He had barely managed to escape while the few surviving minions that weren’t destroyed outright fell protecting him. When he finished telling the tale, the Maker revealed the identity of the leader of the attackers. It had been the same Fae half-blood who had destroyed his army of Wild Sidhe.
If he had been able to feel anger, Laryn would have raged against Hawke Lightseeker. As it was, he simply noted that defeating the Champion of Order would require greater efforts on his part.
New instructions were delivered to him, imprinted directly into his mind without the use of words, a procedure his former self would have found agonizing. Powerful spells and enchantments were woven into his body, designed to hide his true nature from all but the most powerful senses. To finish the disguise, his former self’s personality was reawakened and imprinted onto the Undead who had replaced him. The behaviors he would affect would be nothing but a façade, but they would allow him to travel among the living without arousing suspicion.
After the process was complete, Laryn was transported near the mortal city of Akila, where he would prepare the way for a Great Plague of Undeath.
And, incidentally, where he would confront Hawke Lightseeker for the third and final time.
* * *
Desmond the Destroyer woke up from one nightmare to another.
“Wakey-wakey!” Leara said, her piercing voice almost as painful as the second poke with a sharp dagger. She liked to use the weapon as her version of an alarm clock. Desmond was usually awake before his mistress, but whenever she got up before he did, the hateful voice and a couple of dagger prods made his mistake painfully known.
Desmond rolled out of the large circular bed that Leara took with her everywhere she went. The two minor wounds she’d inflicted on his hide – five and six damage, respectively – were healed before he was done summoning his clothing and gear from his Bonded Vault. The pain wasn’t a big deal, not anymore. Desmond had learned the hard way just how much agony he could tolerate. He followed the Fae out of her tent, a huge colorful thing that wouldn’t have been out of place in a circus. Leara made a gesture, and the forty-foot tent promptly disappeared into her Vault. You didn’t need an inn when you traveled with the Grinning Dancer.
Today, Leara had chosen to look like a blonde girl, human and athletic. The Cheerleader, she called the persona, using the English word. She spoke English as well as a native, and claimed to have lived on Earth for decades, running assorted missions for her lords and masters. Desmond watched her Glamour with mild interest. She had used sex to entice him into her service, but after he had sworn the right oaths, she only slept with him when it suited her, and it wasn’t always a pleasant experience. Leara liked to play some bizarre games.
With another gesture, she summoned a pair Fae Warhorses, massive beasts with wide mouths full of sharp teeth that betrayed their carnivorous nature. Desmond had seen one of those things bite off the head of an Orc Berserker a couple of weeks ago, when a group of bandits had unwisely decided to attack Leara and her manservant. Riding one of those monsters was like surfing a tsunami wave. They moved as fast as a car, except cars didn’t pummel your ass with every massive step they took. The mounts shimmered for a second before assuming the appearance of normal-looking riding horses, although Desmond knew that was just an illusion, a Glamour, just like Leara’s appearance or the name, species and stats on the status box floating over her head.
Over the past few weeks, Desmond had learned that the Fae lived in an ever-shifting dream state, reshaping their environment as it suited them. Their world was full of lies, and the worst part was that those lies often became reality. And he was trapped with one of them. He felt a panic attack coming up.
Trapped! Can’t get out! Can’t leave!
“You’re upset,” Leara said, sounding concerned. Another lie.
“No, I’m good,” Desmond said, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. If he lost his cool, she would punish him.
“Here.” She handed him a small flask. “Drink this.”
He did. The fruit-flavored liquid had as much alcoholic content as eighty-proof vodka; he felt it burn all the way down his throat and chest. That wasn’t the only ingredient, though. The potion numbed his fear and despair, made them something remote, detached. He stopped caring about being bound body and soul to a cruel and possibly insane Fae woman. Everything was okay. He had gained a lot of levels and some great gear in her service. He was okay.
“Better?”
He nodded, and she ran her fingers lightly over his face.
“Good. Maybe after today’s ride, I’ll let you ride me for a bit. Would you like that?”
“Yes,” he found himself saying. “Very much so.”
“You’re so cute. Now, get on your horsey. We are going East!”
“As you wish.” She liked that phrase from The Princess Bride a lot.
He didn’t ask her why they were going east. He had quickly learned not to ask too many questions. After recruiting him, she had taken him to a Dwarven city, where they had murdered a merchant and his bodyguards. Then they had traveled north, among the Orc nomads that dominated the plains there. They had infiltrated one of their gatherings and killed a Shaman who had been forging a great alliance of tribes. After that, they had wandered around, doing nothing specific besides engaging in some recreational serial-killing. The victims were people who weren’t likely to be missed. Travelers, prostitutes, beggars. Leara didn’t care, just as long as she could entertain herself with some casual torture-murder.
Trapped. Can’t get out.
The thoughts were still there, but the potion made them distant, less urgent. He only wished that numbness would last forever.
“We are going to the Ruby Empire,” Leara deigned to explain. “To the city of Akila. You remember the place, don’t you?”
“Yes.” That was where everything had fallen apart. He and Nadia had been a team until they went to that cursed city and she had abandoned him.
“It’s going to be an old-fashioned reunion,” she went on. “Hawke Lightseeker is headed there as well. Wait until he gets a load of you.”
Desmond no longer recognized the face he saw in the mirror, except on the days when Leara made him look like his own self. The things she had done to him had changed him irrevocably, both physically and mentally. Regardless, the thought of seeing Hawke again brought a smile to his face.
He might be trapped. But he would enjoy getting some payback.
One
“This isn’t working!” Hawke shouted as he held on for dear life at two thousand feet.
Killing it a little too fast. The sudden lurch forward flung Hawke against the improvised leather and steel harness keeping him attached to the Drakofox. For a sickening second, he felt himself sliding free of the straps, but a quick grab at the handles in front of him – they weren’t reins; Blaze went where he wanted, and Hawke could make suggestions, that was it – prevented him from falling
off. At their current altitude, Blaze would have about fifteen seconds to catch him before he hit the ground. The kit could probably manage the feat; he was surprisingly nimble for a thirteen-foot long beast. But Hawke didn’t want to find out one way or another.
“All right, no diving or speeding,” he told his adopted son.
After stopping in midair, Blaze was hovering in place, his wings spread but unmoving. The furry wings helped him steer, glide and brake, but they weren’t what kept the silver-white critter aloft. Magic handled that, lots of it. They had discovered that Blaze burned through one Mana unit per second to fly when he was carrying Hawke, which didn’t sound like much until you figured that translated to sixty Mana per minute and thirty-six hundred Mana per hour.
Blaze regained power at the rate of eighteen Mana per minute; he could fly for a maximum of thirty-five minutes before running out of juice, and that was if he wasn’t casting spells or breathing fire, which also cost Mana. Gliding could add a few minutes to his flight time, but his range was limited. When flying by himself, the big furry spent only half as much energy. Hawke’s dream of spending the rest of his adventuring days in the saddle of a flying mount had been crushed.
And then there was the issue of the saddle itself. Orom’s leatherworkers had done their best, but the contraption and its straps kept stretching out under the stresses generated by the flying half-Fae, half-dragon beast. Whenever Blaze accelerated or decelerated too abruptly, Hawke was shaken back and forth, which had a way of loosening the straps holding him in place. There was also the small matter of whiplash, which required him to keep casting healing spells on himself. Blaze’s top speed with a passenger was a hundred and fifty miles an hour, and he could stop in a few seconds, which felt a bit like smashing into a wall at forty or fifty m.p.h. Even with magic, physics was a cold, uncaring mistress.
Labyrinth to Tartarus: A LitRPG Saga (The Eternal Journey Book 3) Page 31