The Long Road to Karn (Realm of Arkon, Book 5)

by Akella, G.

  Chapter 6

  The midday sun was gentle up in the sky, adding a coat of soft yellow to the orange and magenta colors of autumn that had arrived in the princedom. Bathed in its rays, the gray clouds crawling over the valley looked like shrouded human figures, as if the souls of the disavowed dispatched to the Gray Frontier by my hand had gathered to observe how today's impending confrontation would end. I shook my head to drive off the idiotic thoughts, and cast another stern gaze over the troops gathered before the citadel. I hadn't seen a crowd this large even in Saint Basil Descent on June 12, 2030, when an acquaintance of mine had dragged me there to a concert celebrating Russia Day, though, admittedly, I hadn't gotten to see the view off the stage. The bigger difference was that back then the crowd was of the living kind, save perhaps for a few especially "patriotic" partiers. I scratched my scraggly chin and slipped a pipe between my teeth, which seemed especially appropriate in this situation. Why hadn't I bothered to actually calculate the approximate numbers of the undead remaining in the princedom? The math was elementary, after all: nine satrapies, not counting Gilthor, each containing fifteen-twenty zones. Xantarra, Suonu and Callehzia had been fully cleansed of the undead, and the zones adjoining the Craedia Citadel, partially cleansed. Even a conservative estimate of five thousand undead visitors per zone yielded rather distressing numbers... Oh, screw it! Whether one hundred thousand or half a million, the area outside the citadel's northern wall couldn't fit more than forty thousand anyway, so I should be focusing on the positive. For instance, on the great riches that must abound in the giant gray swarm stretching for a quarter mile from the castle wall.

  The undead had begun to gather in the wee hours of morning via hundreds of portals that opened into the valley at the same time. Looking down at the gathered army, one might have perfectly reasonable questions in the vein of: When had the brainless undead acquired portal technology? Who had issued them all those scaling ladders and even a few battering rams? But I decided not to bother, leaving it all to the developers' conscience. In fact, a part of me was glad we wouldn't need to wait Hart knows how long for all those skeletons to schlep hundreds of miles across the princedom. And now that they had all gathered, it shouldn't take us more than two-three days to wipe them all out. Then again, in obeying the orders of the AI leading this innumerable bunch of bones and rotting flesh, the skeletons exiting the portals instantly fell into orderly lines that formed even rectangles, the narrow side facing the fortress. And the physical embodiment of the AI stood a good ten feet above the crowd—a level 350 raid boss named Naurim.

  Some ten thousand mobs in each troop. Heading up each column were mini bosses the mere sight of which inspired a certain admiration for the artists' unhinged imagination. If only the setting could be switched to a comfy seat in a movie theater with some soda and popcorn, or a home couch with a lady friend... My mind unwittingly recalled last night's debacle of a conversation with my new significant other, and I cussed with frustration, then pulled on my pipe and looked over my army as it prepared to defend our new home. They weren't all my troops, to be sure—Altus' knights and mages were only in our raid group, but not in our clan. Still, I was the one running the defense. The looks on their faces were satisfying indeed when Kan Shyom had accepted my invitation to help defend the citadel. I had no idea whether free NPCs like them could see the math behind their stats, but they were obviously capable of recognizing upgrades to their abilities. And nearly doubling one's damage output was a powerful argument for any soldier. Though the general morale had dropped to twenty four percent, all the other bonuses had combined for very impressible numbers, and none better than Legendary Warlord. No doubt, the players of the upper plane were pining to earn the title, but where else but at a continental event could you gather a united mob of mobs (pardon the pun) more than one hundred times greater than your raid group? At a choke point? With all the mobs a higher level than you and your troops? No regular castle would survive such an assault, no matter how fortified. The only reason I remained optimistic for the coming battle was that the undead gathered around the citadel averaged around level 175—given the level difference, I expected them to drop from a single shot. Like soap bubbles popping with a single poke, I recalled my little sister pestering as a child—this was one of her favorite games...

  I'd situated myself at the top of the over-the-gate battlement, having deemed it the best vantage point for observing the battle. You could hardly call it a battlement now—only a small platform had remained from the destruction wrought to it by Ahriman's punishers, eight by ten feet at the most. Still, it made for a fine observation point, especially considering none of our guns could be installed here. Gorm and Elias were in command of the western bastion, and Elnar was in charge of the eastern one. Kan Shyom would join me shortly, after placing his foxes and Saverus' mages along the entire length of the castle wall. The chat channels were quiet—at least the general and officer channels, since every century also had one of their own. But then, what was there to talk about? The plan had been disclosed, and every single unit knew their role. Our twelve guns—two ballistas and ten catapults—were set up on the bastions and the two battlements that had outlived the centuries-old storm. I didn't know which principle my officers had employed when deciding the arrangement of forces—for instance, one battlement had a ballista with a catapult, and another a pair of catapults—but pestering them out of idle curiosity would be pointless, if not counterproductive. They had a job to do, and my meddling certainly wouldn't help them do it. Better to postpone the inquiry till better days. My own role in the coming battle was probably closest to that of an artistic director. In any operation you've got people who aren't really responsible for anything, yet they excel at looking busy—a position after my own heart! To be the boss without any actual responsibilities... Of course, this was just my way of coping with the fact that I had nothing of value to offer—all that remained for me was to keep my nerves steady and instill confidence into the troops with my menacing appearance. And I fully embraced this role. With my OP capabilities, I wasn't going to join the battle until after the skeletons scaled the walls. And I very much hoped that it wouldn't come to that...

  I felt the caress of a soft breeze upon my cheek, and smelled the fragrance of violets. Shortly, the air in front of me began to scintillate, whizzing, and then... This time she wore an outfit of a cool beige color with tight russet half-boots. A delicate head of copper-colored hair that cascaded freely onto her auburn cloak, bearing intricate runic patterns. And her eyes, those fantastical green eyes... Feeling my connection to reality slip away, I took several deep breaths, restraining my thoughts from galloping in all directions by a force of will. At that moment, all of my mental resistance seemed like a shield made of wet toilet paper. I felt like a teenage boy who had accidentally wandered into the girls' dressing room to see the school's full cheerleading squad in various states of undress. Why was it so much harder this time around? Hart! Good thing my metal greaves were a fair bit tougher than sweatpants, or else... Ignoring my inner struggle, the cruel beauty who'd just materialized from thin air was looking at me with a touch of gravity and alarm. Walking right up to me, she peered upward, locking her eyes on mine—and the only reason I didn't flinch was the friendly green color of the legend floating above her head.

  "You did it!" she exhaled with relief. Then, finally noticing my flummoxed state, she gave a smile, and the mental pressure abated at once. Standing before me now was a woman of incredible beauty, and nothing more.

  I wonder if arousal can be fatal? I thought absently, feeling trickles of cold sweat roll down my back.

  "Greetings, Lady Lilit!" I addressed the guest, trying to keep my voice steady. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

  "Oh, quit it, Dark One," she chuckled. "I like it better when you call me Arsa."

  "As you say," I returned her smile. "My question remains, however. I suspect I know why you're here, but not why you're happy?"

  "Had my daughter t
aken control of your body, we wouldn't be having this conversation," she spoke quietly, lingering for an extra moment on my ring finger.

  Hart! To say that her look made me tense up would be to say nothing at all. Were one of the Seven Lords to decide she wanted to take the ring from me, my quest would end right here and now. Even if I were to miraculously recruit the undead horde outside the castle gates to fight alongside my legion and Altus' foxes and mages.

  "What exactly are you saying to me?" I muttered, frowning.

  A shadow of approval flickered on the demoness' face; she smiled and shook her head.

  "Don't worry, I do not need that ring. Just the opposite, I want to see you rescue my daughter. The ring... it wouldn't make me stronger, and I don't wish to follow Vill's path. Nor am I foolish enough to pick a fight with Primordial Chaos or mess with a demon drawn into an ancient prophecy. No, that is not why I'm here."

  "Then what is it you want from me?" I couldn't see what I looked like from the side, but I suspected even a middling sculptor could memorialize the relief on my face into a true masterpiece.

  "She's a smart girl, my daughter," sighed the copper-haired demoness. "After losing, she latched on to her only chance. I believed that you would prevail in a duel against her, Dark One, and you didn't let me down. The two of you will make an excellent couple."

  "You're rejoicing at your daughter's defeat?"

  "We do not feel parental love the way you understand it," Lilit explained easily. "Lords are all about practicality, which is why we can never trust one another. Why do you think Rakata became her father?"

  "Because he's the plane's most powerful demon?"

  "It would be a real stretch to call the locals 'demons,'" she mused, gesturing at the fighters on the wall to my left. "There's too much mixed into them. But you're right—the Seal Keeper is as strong as any one of us, and he cares not what happens outside his long-gone seals. But my daughter... I feel her power. Vill needed the soul of an Elder Demon, and he got one. And, as I said, Elder Demons can never reach an arrangement between them."

  "Then what is it you wish to arrange with me?"

  "I have come here simply to offer you my friendship, and to her by extension," Lilit nodded at the ring. "Don't think that I don't see the bonds of the trueblood oath on you..."

  "So you've come to offer a truce. Did I miss the part when we were at war?"

  "You misunderstand me, Dark One," Lilit sighed, turning away from me and folding her hands. "The essences whose marks I'd noticed on you last time we met... Have you ever wondered why they would favor a demon? Only one of them actually needs you, but the rest..."

  "The prophecy?" I grunted, studying the bronze pattern of her cloak flapping in the wind.

  "Exactly," nodded the demoness. "But I, too, have need of you. It's practicality, nothing else. Providence is like a deck of cards, from which each side is allowed to take the same number of cards. Why Providence has decided to stake its bets on you who have arrived from another world, no one will ever know. But we are forced to play by the rules it dictates. And there's no cheating in this game. Nobody wants to pass into the Void—we've grown far too accustomed to being..."

  "Has anyone ever bothered to ask the cards themselves? Or at least explain the rules of the game to them?" I sniffed at her back.

  "You think anybody is ever asked their personal opinion?" turning her head, Lilit raised a brow mockingly. "Or are you unhappy with all your gifts?"

  "What if I don't make it to the end of the game? What if I lose?"

  "You may lose," she agreed readily. "Any game is bound to have a loser. I won't stand here and tell you that Vill and those backing him don't have plenty of aces up their sleeves, but it's three times now you've managed to beat his hand. You'd be a fool to expect them to leave you alone now. No, they will pull out all the stops to get in your way—or, if possible, remove you from the table altogether. Too great is their hatred... And I suspect your old acquaintance is behind it. Their assault will be relentless, Dark One, but know that each rebuffed attack makes you stronger. If you make it to the end, you will get your shot. Those who've left their marks on you are actively trying to boost your power, because your defeat would mean their defeat. Still, they must play by the rules, just like everyone else. Just like me... This is your war, demon! And if you make it to the end, your prize will be great indeed..."

  Hart! What drivel was this?! I'd never thought of myself slow-witted, but why couldn't I make heads or tails of all these "revelations?" Why couldn't this woman just speak plainly? Was it that her mind operated by very different forms and categories? All I'd gleaned from the exchange was that the loser would cease to exist—the fact that Vill was being backed by Cheney wasn't news to me. What I still didn't know was what goal the bastard was pursuing, and what I could do to stop him? Or why did this "Providence" had picked us? Though I had my suspicions about that last part... My working theory was that, having found some kind of loophole, Cheney and co. exploited the blood of the White Dragon, controlled by a powerful AI, and organized a project for which I would later be tabbed to design that strange secret zone. No violation of the game's laws thus far, right? And then I appeared—a character created by exploiting a bug. So now we had the White Dragon, who didn't even really exist, and me... And since only a developer could slip me into this plane—the AI's defenses were completely immune to any hacks—there wasn't anyone else like me in the entire Realm of Arkon. So, yeah, that was my theory, which probably should have been obvious to any keen observer. And if it was true, my conflict with Cheney here had nothing to do with what had transpired between us back in the real world. How ironic! Even more ironic was the fact that one of the Seven Lords was presently offering me her friendship, and this whole theater of absurdity was currently playing out in a tower wrecked by her baby daddy, in a castle besieged by an undead army. You couldn't make this stuff up! At least my troops couldn't see her now, or they'd never let me live down my "chosen-ness." What did this woman want from me? Friendship? Sure, why not? She was a creature of high standing who also happened to be my mother-in-law, so it would behoove me to please her... If she wanted me to please her properly, I don't think I'd have much choice in the matter, I thought with a tinge of panic, remembering my state when she'd just appeared in the battlement. Why was I hemming and hawing like a seventy-year-old virgin, anyway? Nobody had even offered me anything concrete! Was I an Elder Demon or what? As my wife had rightly noted, we weren't humans, meaning we were above all this stuff. And besides, I hadn't pledged fidelity to anyone, so why should the sheriff be bothered with the problems of Indians?!

  There was a clang of metal behind me, and the swishing sound of a blade being drawn. Hart! After seeing to the combat readiness of his men, Kan Shyom must have decided to pay a visit to the local prince—and how was he to know that said prince had company? I had to give it to the old soldier—he hadn't retreated at the sight of an Elder Demon, but whipped out his sword and took a step forward, knowing full well that he had absolutely no chance of winning this fight... Yes, he was a real man, and a true warrior. I'd like to see him and Vaessa make it work, I thought while gesturing to him that I was all right, even as he himself must've realized it. Ready to die just a moment ago, presently he was standing on wobbly legs, his mouth gaping as he stared with astonishment at Lilit, then at me, then back at Lilit. Turning to the commotion, the demoness gave a friendly nod to Lars' former deputy.

  "I'm going to... check on the troops..." Kan Shyom mumbled, backing away. "I'll be... later... Lady. Prince." Two quick nods and I was alone again with the demoness.

  "We're about to have ourselves a little reception," I explained, motioning at the undead swarming in the valley below. "Could you answer a question for me? A few minutes ago you mentioned not wanting to mess with a demon drawn into a prophecy. But then why does that towheaded son of a bitch—"

  "He's a player, like you," said the demoness. "Do you think you're all that different from him, Dark One? You,
who have sentenced several dozen sentients to death just a few days ago?"

  "Not a player, but a card in the hand of Providence, right?" I shook my head. "As for those scum, they got off easy. I won't stand for anybody killing my people!"

  "And what if they weren't a few dozen, but a few thousand?"

  "I'd have them all croak..." I knew what she was getting at, but I'd lived too long in a world where double standards were a perfectly normal phenomenon.

  "You are the lightning god's wolf—do you realize how many innocents perish in every war? How many wounded and prisoners? Or do you think fewer sentients have passed into the Gray Frontier in terrible agony on the altars of the dark elf goddess than on the altars of your blond-haired chum?" Lilit's voice was dripping with irony—the succubus was clearly enjoying her soliloquy. "Do you think Celphata is an innocent lamb? Or that justice is the flawless ideal minstrels sing praises to in cheap taverns across Karn? The whole reason behind the War of the Great Rift was that one side thought that it was being mistreated. Do you need me to recount for you the fallout of their march for justice?"

  "I am aware, but what is your point?"

  "My point is that as soon as your victory is secured, I will have no further interest in you. And considering the identity of your spouse, you will become dangerous! Gods can be such fickle creatures..."

  "And Elder Demons aren't? Tell me, why did you remove Maelissa dar Karis' book of prophecies from the Xantarrian library?"

  "To keep you from filling your head with nonsense, Dark One," the demoness broke into a hearty laugh, flashing her dazzlingly white teeth. "Is that still gnawing away at you? Here, then, have a read..." Just then, a small book in gray leather binding appeared in her hands, which she then proffered to me.