Black Flame in the Barren Steppe: Epic LitRPG (Realm of Arkon, Book 8)

by G. Akella

  The pair of dragons were dutifully marching on either side of the necromancer's daughter. My mouth automatically curled into a smile watching them. George's surprise had been of a most unexpected variety, and just as timely. Even more interesting was the idea of Lola acquiring the same skill sometime in the future. The upshot was that our small party's firepower—pun intended—had gotten a pretty great boost. Dragon Breath I had a twenty minute cooldown, and zero information regarding damage. Yet, judging by how swiftly it had blown through the reapings' shield, I would put it at fifty million HP, at a minimum. The skill could be activated by Vaessa or by the dragons themselves, depending on the circumstances. Where had it come from? Not even Vaessa knew the answer to that question, having been just as surprised as the rest of us. Saverus had mentioned something about a hundred years, and though it had happened much sooner than that, I doubted that the mage's calculations were erroneous. Another factor was clearly in play. Velargass had breathed life into them for a reason, and had even said something about George and Lola being worthy. It wouldn't surprise me if they take flight a few months from now. I chuckled at the mental picture of George swooping down with Vaessa on his back—just as Bonbon, who had been leading the way, called out that our destination was in sight.

  "Well, shoot," he remarked. "The village ain't looking to hot..."

  A few minutes later, we caught up to the scouts who were waiting for us at the forest's edge, and moved into open space.

  "Do you have any clue what's going on here?" Vaessa inquired, shielding her eyes from the sun.

  "No more than you do," I shook my head, reaching for my pipe as I watched the Dorca soldiers bustling. I was been prepared for almost anything, but not this.

  The outpost was standing at exactly the same place where we had left it. A lopsided tower, four trees directly across, and three boulders of dirty yellow ice... Well, damn. Those weren't our doppelgangers back there. Truly, the Ancient Paths were full of surprises. I pulled up the map, checked if I could build a portal to the great graveyard, and chuckled. No, of course not. We would never be able to run into ourselves.

  "You remember what's that way, right? An inn with beer and..." Reece started dreamily, then stopped short, looking askance at Raena.

  "And what?" the young woman arched her right brow.

  "Oh, nothing. Actually, I just remembered that the local baron invited us over for dinner," the mage gave a comical shrug. "I'm in no mood for beer, either. The knight-commander was going to partake, but not me! In fact, the local beer tastes disgusting!"

  "Nice try," Kan grunted, then looked over at me. "Well, shall we go meet them for the second time?"

  "We shall," I chuckled, waved in the direction of the outpost, and started that way.

  "What exactly happened?" Donut inquired, bemused.

  "We're going to be planting some more trees," Reece explained with a sigh. "Our prince had already planted four, and watered them with care and tenderness, but that's not enough for the baron. And if we don't plant, we don't eat, so..."

  "Oh, buzz off," the rogue snorted, and headed after the others.

  We were spotted from a distance, but that didn't seem to raise any alarms. Sure, the dragons are hard to forget. Nearly all of the village's population was occupied expropriating all the treasures amassed by the undead army, and sweeping the bones into a huge heap. As for my magic meadow, the folks were judiciously giving it a wide berth.

  "I, uh... I have another box to fill," Raena smiled as we drew closer.

  "We all have boxes now," Vaessa returned her smile, and the two of them headed off toward the boulders of ice rising out from pools of water. Reece wasn't far behind.

  Daenic Laetan stood in a circle of his knights. As we approached, he gave a welcoming wave of the hand, and stepped forward to greet us.

  "Is something the matter, brother?" he asked in surprise. "You have just left."

  "We left a month ago, actually," I said, stopping across from him. "Providence has played a trick on us, it would seem. But it's a long story, and I would sooner tell it under more peaceful circumstances."

  The baron took a few moments to surmise the situation, then gave an open smile and nodded over his shoulder.

  "Whatever the reason, I am happy to have you back, prince. And my dinner invitation stands, lest you've forgotten."

  "I hope to take you up on it," I said with a sigh. "Much has changed, and you need to take your people away from here."

  "What happened?" the baron said anxiously, the smile gone from his face in an instant.

  "A vast army of undead is amassing in Arkaetania. And these," I gestured at the carcass of a cerrath, "are likely a fraction of what's to come. We intercepted a bunch more on the way here, and I suspect it was far from the last."

  "This must be the prophecy, then? The mad duke has come into our world at last..." Daenic ran a sweaty palm over his face, then turned to his soldiers with an order. "Arvid, wrap it up here, quickly, and start evacuating everyone. Just as we planned yesterday, only sooner."

  He watched contemplatively as the centurion went about carrying out his orders, then looked back at me with a butter chuckle.

  "You're right, brother, food should be the last thing on our minds. Pardon me, I have more orders to issue."

  With a nod, he gave an obscure gesture to the knights standing behind him, and headed for the gate.

  We stayed in Dorca till evening. Over this time, the locals were busy gathering their stuff, rolling carts out of the village, and using portals to egress to the barony's northwestern section. Besides Dorca, four other villages had to be evacuated, which ended up being a rather lengthy and cumbersome process. But we weren't in any particular rush, and the time flew by quickly. Through it all, Bonbon munched on this thing or other while regaling Reece with stories from the world he'd left behind, Vaessa fussed over her dragons, Kan discussed recent events with the locals, and Donut and Masyanya interrogated Raena regarding all things inscription and alchemy.

  Inscription was the art of transferring spells to scrolls. It wasn't a proper profession—all spellcasters unlocked the ability upon reaching a certain level. The only limitation was one's specialization. That is, a water mage couldn't create a scroll of Wall of Fire, even if in possession of the knowledge and all the necessary reagents. The one exception to this perfectly logical rule—and this came as a surprise to all—was unstable ice. The sorceress demonstrated this clearly by creating a few scrolls with Candle—an ordinary illumination spell with no minimum level to create or use. Only this particular "lantern" was ten times as potent, as it was the kind only paladins and other servants of Myrt were capable of inscribing. Similarly, combat scrolls, which consumed no mana but suffered from a one-day cooldown, could only be created for self-use. But with unstable ice, any high-level healer or fire mage could create a scroll of Ice Storm, for instance. Which naturally made this substance worth its weight in gold. When I'm done with all this, I'll retire and start producing unstable ice—that'll put me on easy street! Assuming I live to see retirement.

  The baron's castle was roughly three miles from Dorca, and dusk was already gathering by the time we rode up to it. It stood on a small hilltop, fully cleared of any vegetation. The approaches to the walls were protected by yard-long spikes, which were hardly effective against undead. A broad strip of scorched earth ran from the base of the hill to a breach in one of the walls. It appeared that reapings had already cleared a path for cerraths to rush in.

  The castle had a quadrangular shape, nearly that of a perfect square. Round towers rose from each corner, and rectangular ones from the eastern, western and northern walls. Located at the southern side of fortifications, the main entrance was shielded by two small guard towers.

  As we drew closer to the castle, I had an acute sense of how odd all this was. Like when you're hung over and trying to take a nap, but your consciousness refuses to cooperate, preferring to keep slipping in and out of a bottomless black pit. The forest at d
usk, the castle, the knights, even the dragons... The scents of tar and pine, the puddle on the side of the road, the anthill by the crooked ramified tree, the soldiers crowding the breach in the wall—all this was real, and it was here to stay, in perpetuity. The last time I experienced a similar episode was back in Xantarra, but that had been merely a premonition to this, a full and profound realization that I would never see Moscow again, nor San Francisco, and that neither me nor my sister would ever be human again.

  Alongside this realization came a sense of relief. No one was ever going to take this world from me. It was really, truly mine... If I were a madman in a straight jacket, the world would be revolving solely around me, as it always happens in dreams. But the people walking alongside me now were proof positive that this wasn't the case. Kan, Vaessa, Raena, Reece—every one of them had something, some knowledge or ability that far surpassed mine. And Arkon's gift to my friend had been incomparably more generous, too. I slowed down a bit, reached out and petted George, prompting a bemused gaze from the necromancer's daughter walking alongside him.

  "Prince?" Vaessa asked sardonically. "Is everything all right?"

  "Indeed," I smiled. "For a second I thought that you all might just disappear."

  "You make sure you don't disappear anywhere," she replied with full seriousness. "And we'll do our best to stick around..."

  Judging by what I saw in the courtyard, the undead hadn't reached this far, aside from maybe the cerrath that had breached the wall. The breach itself, spanning no more than ten feet across, was already filled out by nearly a third.

  Having fed the dragons earlier, Vaessa chose to release them here. Our party was handed off to the local steward who showed us to our rooms and retired, but not before reminding us that dinner would be served in thirty minutes. Things like this made it painfully obvious just how different the local way of life was from that of Earth in the Middle Ages. I highly doubted that some random baron would have had seven neat and tidy quarters available to accommodate distinguished guests at the drop of a hat. But here it wasn't an issue at all, whether the castle stood on human or demon lands. The outer layer of old age and ruin concealed quite a bit of luxury, almost opulence: plush armchairs, hand-carved shelves, fireplaces decorated with bas-reliefs. The whole place was steeped in the pleasant scent of an antique shop. As for meals, well, according to historians, a feast in the times of Walter Scott's Europe looked something like this. Long boards were laid on top of racks, acting as tables upon which food was served. Meat was served on a hunk of bread, and if there were any plates at all, they were sharing plates for two or more people. In contrast, the dining hall we had entered was just like your typical American pub—the only apparent differences were the table arrangement and the lack of photographs on the walls.

  There were maybe thirty people present in all—the who's who of the local nobility, both men and women. In this world, a "lady" needn't wear a lace gown while fanning herself languidly from the tribune as men fought to the death in an arena to gain her favor. No, here she was just as likely to grab a blade and do the fighting herself. The way Arkon was designed, sexism would have a real hard time securing a foothold in this society. On the other hand, the cult of knighthood still remained, and one of the main tenets thereof was the protection of women, so I shouldn't be jumping to conclusions. Some particularly sensitive specimen of the human race would rant about their rights being infringed upon over a Martian expedition landing on Jupiter. First-world problems—or, rather, past-world problems.

  Being guests of honor, we were seated at a separate table, whereupon we proceeded to talk for a few solid hours. About the players who had become part of this world, about the prophecy, and about the events in Vaedarr. Needless to say, I'd gotten pretty weary of telling and retelling the same story for the hundredth time, but these were people, just like us. They were on our side, too, and had the right to be fully informed.

  In lieu of newspapers, TV and the Internet, any minstrel or scribe wandering into a town or castle became a major happening, kind of like a superstar rock band touring through a small provincial town. And our appearance was a thousand times that. If some count were to suddenly decide to spend the night at a baron's castle, he'd be unlikely to regale his subjects with any stories. Thankfully, my head hadn't yet gotten as big as a proper noble, and besides, the castle denizens were in the same order as me.

  The fare was quite similar to the aforementioned typical pub. Yet, going off the fact that we were the only ones eating for as long as the story was being told, this particular rock show was a smash hit. After our tale ended, a silence engulfed the dining hall.

  "So was there a dog in Vaedarr or not? And did the bas-relief actually collapse?" Daenic inquired. Evidently, the audience was running out of questions.

  "The dog was a trick, just an illusion used by the players to mess with the city guard. As for the bas-relief, yes, it did collapse," Donut gave me an askance glance, smiling slyly. "For the second time... ten days ago."

  "I see." The baron looked up from the goblet in his hand. "I will need time to reflect on everything you said today, but until that time, let us talk business. The path to the orcs lies through Vynnern. A comfortable path to their border was paved by the duke's father, but that's not what concerns me. We have had peace with the Bloody Spear ever since the time of Velial's invasion. However, the territory on the other side of the border is largely dominated by bands of pariahs. I have no doubt that you can take any of them with ease, but why waste your strength needlessly? We have the main road, which is patrolled on either side, and tomorrow morning we can guide you to the duchy's border."

  "Vynnern?"

  "The duchy's central and largest city," Daenic explained. "The road would be twice as long, but ten times safer."

  "And who leads the Bloody Spear today?" I asked him in return.

  "Gronn an Ghort, the son of Karrosh the Brave," said the baron, finishing the wine in his vessel, then added. "All of us here owe a debt to his father, both orcs and men... It was he and his cohort who had delayed Vill's army back at the battle of Fertan Valley. Without their sacrifice, the retreating cavalry would never have survived."

  My intuition was right was always—the clan chieftain's badge should be handed in to the son of the perished orc.

  "What about Arkaetania? I remember mentions of some Mad Duke?" I asked.

  "That is a very old story, and I'm not so certain how much of it is accurate or even true," the baron said after a short pause. "I suppose I should start with the fact that there used to be nine Great Duchies in all. Right up to the point when Edgar an Hlodvig of Arkaetania rose up against Erast the Great. I don't know the details of what happened, but by the time the king's army marched into the duchy, it was completely empty. All seven cities—fully deserted. All the people—gone. Some said that Duke Edgar had colluded with one of the Dark Gods, sacrificing all of his subjects to secure the aid of such a powerful but abhorrent ally. Another legend has it that he shall rise from the ashes the year a scarlet star flares up in the sky..."

  With a grimace, Daenic poured himself some more wine, gulped it down, and took a look around the hall, frowning. "Laetan was part of Arkaetania, once. Along with four other castles of Tyremian county. Do not ask me why the king had decided against taking back the entire dead duchy—I know not the answer."

  "But there's no scarlet star up in the sky..." the soft-spoken words came from a woman sitting on the right side of the baron.

  "Indeed," Daenic nodded. "I too very much hope that the land's former inhabitants won't start crawling out from underground. But we had best be prepared for the worst."

  We spend another hour discussing this thing or that. At some point, Reece picked up his guitar, and all the attention turned to him. I sat in for a few songs before realizing the show may last till sunrise, so I got up, arranged with the baron the time for tomorrow's departure to Vynnern, bid everyone a good night, and went up to my room.

  The room couldn
't be made private for want of a door lock, so I was out of luck in terms of coffee and a shower. Another case of first-world problems. There wasn't anything else I felt like doing, so I wasted no time and went straight to bed.

  Chapter 4

  I woke up to the sensation of a rock sliding under my shoulder blade. A rock?! My hand jerked to my scabbard, but found emptiness. Leaping to my feet, I took a hasty look around, and whistled. I'm still sleeping, and yet... It was dawning. I was standing on a mountaintop, surrounded by old gnarled trees with exposed roots. Down below, about a mile from the foot of the mountain, stretched a large oval lake, ringed by a pine wood. Further ahead, herds of large animals grazed on a hillside. But I was all alone. Nothing but thick, shin-high grass scintillating with all sorts of colors, and fluttering butterflies. At this hour? My inventory inaccessible, I had neither weapons nor armor, wearing only the clothes gifted to me by Treis.

  Keep calm, I said to myself, taking a deep breath as I attempted to figure out what the hell I was doing here. Objectively speaking, I was still asleep, but it wasn't your ordinary dream. In fact, I had never been in such a dream in my life! Not counting the two months spent in Vill's vault, which felt eerily similar, though I hadn't slept once during those two months. Fighting a sudden urge to smoke, I spat with frustration, and took a closer look at my immediate surroundings. A tiny house, like a shed on a nascent farm, stood about a hundred yards to my right, half-concealed by the trunk of a tree standing in the way. Finding nothing else of interest in the vicinity, I shrugged and started in the direction of the structure behind the tree.