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

by Akella, G.

  Turning around, I smiled to Vaessa.

  "It'll be all right, girl. But you must go—it's now or never."

  Patting the knight-commander on the shoulder, I took five more steps forward and stopped, turning my head toward the temple, where the dour old man stood by the entrance to the portico, under the bas-relief of a black-and-brown fox. Catching his eyes, I nodded and saluted with my sword, then kept moving, my expression resolute. The camera shifted to Vaessa, her face streaked with tears. The priestess seemed about to yell something to me, but ended up sighing and dropping her head, her eyes closed. Kan Shyom put a hand on her shoulder, saying something while nodding in my direction. His words were inaudible—the unseen operator had cut off the sound again. The camera rose sharply upward, casting one last glimpse at the fortress' corner battlement, its red brick ablaze with ravenous flames in the setting sun. And then the visuals faded.

  "What the hell was that?!" Kert whispered in shock when my quarters returned to being a regular room instead of a movie theater, with a painting on the wall depicting a man under a tree surrounded by gawking cows.

  "I was told that this painting can predict the future," I said musingly. "If that is indeed my future, it doesn't look too bright."

  "I have to say," the son of Cymon poured two glasses of cognac, gestured to me at one, then took the other and downed it in one go. With a wince, he continued. "I've never personally seen any gods or dragons, Krian, but only drawn or sculpted." He motioned at the painting on the wall. "Gods exist—that I know for sure—but I always did doubt the existence of dragons. You must admit, it's difficult to believe in enormous reptiles that fly and spit fire. After today, however..." he sighed and shook his head again. "I am now a believer. But what was that? What did you get yourself into?" Kert literally growled, suddenly changing the topic. "Here you are, a brand new Elder, slaying a creature with a century of farmers that would wipe out a legion of punishers. Then you solo kill a lord and his strongest sidekick. And here," he nodded at the wall, "the monster attacking the fortress is immune to ballista arrows, but you're drawing your sword and walking over to meet it in battle..."

  "This is my future, friend," I upended my glass and reached for the pipe. "My oath, and possibly my death. The vision didn't reveal anything new to me. And you know," I exhaled the smoke through my teeth and looked over at Kert, who was listening intently. "Nothing is predestined, but what you saw is one of numerous scenarios that may end up taking place. Events may end up taking a different path altogether, and this scene may never play out at all. We choose the path we walk, so don't get too hung up on the spectacle," I smiled while waving dismissively at the painting. "But you're right to believe in dragons—they are indeed real. I saw one with my own eyes, and my necromancer friend can even summon a baby one."

  "Bone dragons are typical golems raised from the dust—they cannot spit fire," the son of Cymon shook his head. "But you wouldn't be able to tell me more about that anyway, right?"

  "I'm sorry," I gave an apologetic shrug. "And I have to ask that you don't tell anyone what you saw here today."

  "It's all right, friend, I understand," the prince nodded while emptying the remains of the bottle into our glasses. "I won't be in Nittal for a while—you can imagine how much I've got on my plate these days," he sighed, peering through his glass. "But don't forget that the lord is waiting, and so is my mother."

  "I shall visit her as soon as possible, I promise."

  "Thank you," the prince nodded, his eyes still fixed on the glass. "I must take my leave now. I wanted to drink to our friendship, but..." he looked up at me and frowned. "Our friendship isn't going anywhere, so let's drink instead to you exterminating that filth from the painting..."

  "I couldn't imagine a better toast," I smiled, saluting him with my glass. "That bitch will die an agonizing death—there are no two ways about it!"

  Chapter 13

  Winter in Demon Grounds was rather a wet affair due to its never-ending rain season—sometimes chilly, sometimes not so much. There wasn't any snow here, and the temperature rarely dipped below sixty degrees. The past two days had been surprisingly warm, with the western wind clearing out the dirty gray clouds from the sky, letting the sun's emboldened rays to shine through bare tree crowns and bathe the withered yellow-brown grass, reflecting merrily in the puddles dotting the road. The same road upon which a long time ago—seemingly in another lifetime—a pack of giant dogs had devoured a courier riding to Nittal, thereby granting me the chance to survive, find a path, and deliver on a promise.

  I was sitting on a moss-covered boulder next to a grave edged with flat rocks, smoking in the shade of a tree and letting the warm breeze caress my face as I gazed up at the star-studded sky. The stars were different here. Then again, I knew too little about the stars of Earth to make that claim with any degree of confidence. You couldn't really tell these stars apart from those stars at this distance, but the question remained whether they were incandescent balls of gas of colossal proportions or shiny studs nailed to the sky, the way the ancient peoples of Earth once believed? Somewhere out there, beyond the limits of my consciousness lay Pangea and Lemuria with its Winged Lords, the Netherworld, planes of the gods, and the plane that I cared about most—Karn. I wondered if there were already scientists and philosophers churning out theories on the world's creation and order? Probably not—what purpose would they serve in a world where nobody doubted the existence of gods? I took a sip from my flask. Did I really need to know any of this? It wouldn't make any difference anyway. And yet, when you're feeling down, you can't help but start ruminating on the most useless tangents. Memories of my experiences in Arkon raced before my mind's eye, and vanished just as quickly. Had all those things really happened? I exhaled the smoke and gazed up at the canopy of leaves. They had, they really had...

  One hour ago, a portal had taken me to the very graveyard with six cracked headstones and their indiscernible epitaphs, where less than half a year ago I had sat in rags and a staff that looked like a spade handle, awaiting the continuation of my torments in perpetuity. I fought down the rage the memories were invariably evoking, then took two deep drags on the pipe and another sip from the flask. The village lay nearby, and I would go there in the morning, just like I'd done then, the first time around. My first priority was to visit the grave of someone who had once given me the greatest gift of all—hope.

  Gloom hadn't followed me up the hill, opting instead to rummage around the area a bit, making a racket and scaring the bejesus out of the local gophers, then plopping down for a nap in the largest and filthiest puddle around. I kept sitting there, in the meantime, smoking and struggling to make out the writing, just like before. The shallow hill that served as the archmage's grave stood out starkly against the dreary landscape. The grass on it remained green, and the tree's foliage hadn't fallen or even turned yellow—it was a tiny piece of spring in a sea of gray.

  "I'm back, monsieur," I said softly, looking off to the side. "Wanted to pay my respects. I don't know where you are now, but I'm certain that you're aware that your people have been freed, and your duty completed." I took another deep drag, letting the silence be my answer. "Raena is just as impulsive as you said. And they were all very upset to hear of your demise. You and Lars have trained real good people, monsieur."

  A sudden gust of wind blew at the crown of the graveside tree, and it bobbed, as if nodding in agreement.

  "Also, master, I'm no longer human. Well, I remain human in some ways, and yet... Lars' weapon accepted me, and the ring you didn't get to finish studying and recommended I didn't touch, it presented me with an incredible opportunity that I ended up trading for banal happiness." I smiled, taking another sip and shifting my gaze to the the gemstone, its core radiating light on my ring finger. "At least I desperately want to believe it. Which reminds me, I'm married now! Bet you didn't expect that, did you? And if you're wondering why I'm even telling you, I don't really know. I guess a master would want to know what his
apprentice is up to? I also don't know what to say in these situations... So, let me just say an enormous thank you for what you've done for me. I suppose that's it. I'll spend the night here, next to you, and leave in the morning. Somehow I've gotten myself into quite a mess, and it'll take some time to dig myself out... But I will manage, teacher... I promise you, I will manage."

  The weather hadn't changed by morning. Peeking out from behind the horizon, the sun's rays bounced merrily off the puddle surfaces, softening the dreariness of the area around the hill. Feeling fully rested, I whistled to the boar who was stubbornly pretending to still be sleeping, and turned to the archmage's grave one last time.

  "Well, then, monsieur," I said. "I need to get going. And I have this feeling that we will meet again someday. Send my regards to your lady, master. And farewell."

  Just like the last time, I put my right fist to my chest and bowed my head. Then I turned around, waved to the big black perplexity rising noisily from his puddle, and started toward the familiar village at an even gait.

  And just like last time, as I descended from the hill I felt nudged by a gust of warm wind, and triumphant music filled my ears.

  Attention! A geographical location's name has changed. Eastern Wastes [Demon Grounds, Alcmehn, Ashtar Dominion, Jarus Province] has been renamed Valley of the Fallen Archmage.

  Attention! A geographical location's name has changed. Molten Gorge [Demon Grounds, Alcmehn, Ashtar Dominion, Jarus Province, Valley of the Fallen Archmage] has been renamed Last Stand Gorge.

  I turned around, curious to see if anything material had changed... No, everything was just as it was a moment ago, only there was a clapping of wings overhead. This is right, and entirely appropriate, I thought with satisfaction. Shoving aside the razorback's filthy snout, I gestured at the village in the distance, wiped my hand on a rag that was a staple in my inventory, and continued onward, listening to my four-legged companion huff with feigned indignation behind me. The big rascal knew that I didn't like muck, but deemed it his boar's duty to get it on me nonetheless. Was it programmed behavior or a fundamentally new personality trait? With these pigs, who could tell...

  As I got to within two hundred yards of the village, I was beset by an eerie sense of déjà vu in the form of the same two guards standing watch at the gate. What was this: a bug in the system or mere coincidence? The guards' faces grew long at the sight of yours truly and the razorback trotting behind me, and their jaws fell. Upon recovering their senses, both guards snatched up the spears that had been leaning against the open leaves, then the younger one turned to the older one and uttered something. The elder guard paused, then frowned before replying.

  After acquiring the second tier of my form, my sense of hearing had become so keen that I could overhear a quiet conversation between two demons a hundred yards away. And so I overheard it now. Not the whole exchange, however, but only the ending.

  "...you into a toad now for sure, Geran," said the younger legionnaire. "Or feed you to that ghastly pet of his for giving him lip last time. Just look at the size of that beast! He'll gobble you up whole in the blink of an eye!"

  "Why me?!" the elder guard exclaimed indignantly. "You were the one making fun of the fella, Rhon!"

  "Oh? Who was it that had sent him to Vellakh and referred to the captain as 'elder?'"

  "Oh, shut it," Geran winced, "or we'll both we croaking before long. But I bet he's forgotten all about that misunderstanding. The dar is a good man—did you forget when we all drank together? And you can't turn former drinking buddies into toads—that just doesn't seem right to me..."

  "From your lips to the tip of Sata's tail," the younger soldier muttered. "All right, quiet!"

  "What's happening, fellas?" I greeted them.

  The two legionnaires stood at attention, and the senior one answered for both.

  "Welcome to Lamorna, master prince!"

  It was a firm answer, without servility.

  "How's the elder doing?" I smiled. "The one who doubles as a captain."

  "You're not going to believe it, dar," said the younger legionnaire with excitement. "Vellakh married Zirana, the elder's daughter! After Mirana brewed some kind of magic infusion that caused all the warts to fall off her face, the girl became a real looker. Vellakh is no fool, and wasted no time getting in on that. The wedding was just last month. Only, um," the kid hesitated a bit, "you shouldn't call him an elder anymore. He's even more sensitive about that now—starts getting rowdy and may even throw down..." The guard looked up at me and flinched. "He won't do anything to you, of course, but Geran and I," he gestured at his partner, "we've already caught a beating or two."

  The kid spoke with such frankness and sincerity that I was struggling to keep from chortling with laughter. Indeed, miracles can happen, I grunted at the memory of the stern, sinewy bare-chested captain.

  "Why are you standing watch at the gates again?"

  "Well..." Geran hesitated, his expression suddenly vexed. "The day before yesterday was bathing day, and Rhon and I were last in line. And you know how it is in a bathhouse, prince—you've got to have beer. It's bad time at a bathhouse if there's no beer." He raised his eyes at me, as if for confirmation, then sighed and continued. "It was already evening, after our shift had ended, so we took a two-gallon barrel of beer with us. I took it, rather. Bathing with beer beats bathing without beer, am I right?"

  "Get to the point," I rushed the guard.

  "So, yeah," he sighed again, then nodded at Rhon. "His mother-in-law also happened to brew a bunch of moonshine that day, so he took a liter with him. He didn't know I was already coming with beer. Now, moonshine is good stuff and all, but—"

  "It was a good bathing session," the younger soldier interjected. "A fine bathing session, I'd say. To be honest, dar, I ain't too keen on bathing. Especially nowadays with all this rain—why bother with bathing? The rain washes you anyway! But Vellakh won't have it, and a day at the bathhouse is mandatory. Where was I..." the youth scratched the back of his head, his mouth curling into a smile. "Right, it was a fine bathing session with beer and moonshine. Then Geran remembered he'd stashed another half-liter of moonshine in the barracks, and since we were already drinking, it only made sense to keep going. So we headed to the barracks, singing merry songs along the way. And everything was going real well until we ran into the captain," the youth concluded bitterly. "And even that would have been OK if he didn't have his new wife with him... So we see the two of them walking in our direction, and Zirana starts shrieking on top of her lungs... Dumb broad, like she's never seen the male form before!" Rhon spat on the ground with frustration. "So we forgot to put our uniforms on—it could happen to anyone... And that's how we got this week-long gate duty—for indecent exposure and singing obscene songs."

  By that point I was biting my lip so hard to keep from laughing that it started to bleed. You just had to see that feigned remorse on those sly soldierly mugs.

  "I suppose indecent exposure is a reasonable charge," Geran continued the story. "Though an argument could be made here as well: why is it OK to be naked at a bathhouse but not on the street? We were off duty, after all. But the songs weren't obscene at all!" he added bitterly. "I don't remember exactly what they were, but neither he nor I even know any obscene songs to sing. So, that's the story, dar," he concluded, spreading his arms with dismay.

  The image of the two guards, dead drunk and buck-naked, roving the village belting out songs—and then the image of the captain's face at the sight of his subordinates in such a sorry state—became the straw that broke the camel's back and caused me to roar with laughter. Seeing my reaction, the legionnaires relaxed and laughed along with me.

  "Like I said, it could happen to anyone," Rhon winked. "May I ask you a question, dar?"

  "Shoot," I gave a wave, wiping the tears from my face.

  "Your boar," the legionnaire nodded warily at Gloom, who was looking utterly bored behind me, "does he eat sentients?"

  "He does, but only
when he gets hungry," I decided not to disappoint the kid. "Is Kort around?"

  "Of course he is! Where else would he be?" Rhon said. "There's another fella there with him. And there were two others that have left now. Kort is a man of some importance now—he's been called up to serve as a centurion in the first punisher legion. I reckon he'll be moving to the capital soon. And he's had a son born recently," the legionnaire smiled. "They named him after you, master prince."

  "Then I'm really obligated to pay my respects," I smiled and handed them both five gold coins each. "There'll be a party tonight," I clarified in response to their confused yet smiling faces. "When you're done with your week-long shift, have a round to the health of my namesake."

  "Sure, sure," the legionnaires nodded. "Thank you, dar!"

  Patting the elder legionnaire on the shoulder, I waved for Gloom to follow, and walked into the village.

  "I told you that Master Krian is a good man," I heard Geran's whisper behind me. "And you kept going on and on with your croaking... If you want to croak so much, nobody's stopping you!"

  Something was telling me these two would be at the gate again soon, serving another week-long penalty shift—five gold was no chump change, and could buy quite a bit of booze...

  Nothing had changed in Lamorna in my absence. The houses were the same, and so were the sheds and the barns. Two demonesses were arguing about something by the well to the crowing of roosters and the barking of dogs. The whole scene suddenly gave me an acute sense of being home, odd as it may be to call "home" a place where you had died a hundred different deaths. And yet, remembering those deaths evoked no negative emotions like resentment or rage, the latter having become quite familiar to me. Perhaps this place was home, and that memorable rock where I had sat after yet another resurrection and pondered my course of action after the patch kicked in was my birthday? That must be it. And today I felt joy from returning home and anticipating a reunion with friends that would surely be glad to see me: Kort, Treis... And not because they were programmed to, but simply because I was their friend. And then there were my demon troops, Prince Annat, Gerid, the family of Raey dar Ylsan, the headstrong dwarf-like Master Kryon, and even the elderly Master Regus, the alchemist from Nittal... I considered them all my friends. And friendship in this world was just like in my past life, where I wouldn't think twice about mixing it up with a bully and his pals for picking on Max. Friends told each other the cold and bitter truth, and were always happy to see each other. It amazed me that in less than half a year I'd acquired so many people I considered close, whereas back on Earth, after the death of my parents the only people I truly cared for were Alyona and Max. This was an indisputable advantage of this world—it was more honorable, more pure than the one I came from.