Civil War

by James A. Hunter

  Roark was also pleased to find he’d unlocked a new Jotnar Spell called Infernal Invigoration, which would restore 10n (n being his character level) of Health to any Infernal-aligned creature he cast the spell on. A tremendous boon in a battle such as this. Moreover, his World Stone Authority had leapt significantly; he now had fifty-one Lesser Vassal slots available and two Greater Vassal slots. He’d been saving his Greater Vassal slot, not wanting to squander one on an unworthy ally, but now that he had two, he needed to find someone else to add to his inner circle.

  The Vassal increase also piqued his curiosity enough to inspect the World Stone Pendant he’d pilfered from Marek, which was when he discovered the final perk of his new status as a Soul-Cursed: another of the pendant’s hidden properties was now visible.

  ╠═╦╬╧╪

  World Stone Pendant

  Durability: Indestructible

  Level Restriction: 1

  Property: Soul-Forge - Imbue the undead with life and will.

  Current World Stone Authority: Greater Vassal 3/5; Lesser Vassal 49/100

  Property: Glamour Cloak - Use arcane power to disguise your appearance even to the keenest of eyes.

  Cast 1 per day; duration 3 hours.

  Property: ???

  Property: ???

  Property: ???

  Property: ???

  The World Stone can bend, shape, and distort reality, allowing the bearer the power of Creation and Life itself …

  ╠═╦╬╧╪

  Glamour Cloak. Now that was a truly intriguing spell.

  In his world, simple illusions and glimmerings weren’t a terribly uncommon form of magick, but to cast a full-body glamour, capable of fooling even trained practitioners? That was another thing entirely. Roark couldn’t help but wonder how the Tyrant King had used this trick—a dark spell that ought not to exist—against the folk of Traisbin. Marek always had known too much. Things only those at the highest levels of the Resistance had known. What were the chances that Marek himself had infiltrated the ranks of the T’verzet in the guise of a stalwart follower? Concealed as one of their own by an impenetrable mask of magick? Disguised as Roark himself without the original around to reveal the impersonation?

  It was a terrifying notion.

  But in Roark’s hands … well, the possibilities were nearly endless. Assuming he could get back to his home world, such a spell would surely allow him to get close enough to the Tyrant King to plant a blade in his black heart. Just as he’d planned to do the night he’d found himself cast through the worlds and into this strange citadel.

  How best to use it here was the real question, though.

  Roark stewed on that as the next few days sped by—a barrage of pitched battles, endless griefing, and tireless effort in the heat of the forge.

  In what seemed like no time, Roark earned another two levels, bringing him to a solid 20, while Kaz had crept up to level 14, halfway to his next evolution. Zyra slashed and backstabbed her way to level 15, earning her another evolution—this time to Dread Reaver. Her next transformation would happen at level 21, where she would be forced to choose her path, becoming either a Champion or a Shaman. Mac, unable to craft to add to his leveling, only managed to eke out a single level. Roark watched the bloodthirsty beast as he leveled up to 10, curious to see what evolution Mac would go through next. But other than the usual ascending chime and golden light shining from Mac’s slate skin, nothing had happened.

  Ten, it seemed, was not an Evolving level for salamanders.

  In less than a full week, Roark had crafted enough weapons and armor of Faultless quality that all three allied floors were wielding and wearing the finest items that could be made. They were weaker than Azibek’s troops, true, but at this point they were far better equipped. And the cursed items worked just as well against Azibek’s loyalists as they did against the heroes, though sadly Roark earned nothing for the kills. Nothing save for the sweet satisfaction of seeing Azibek’s followers blown limb from bloody limb.

  It certainly didn’t level the playing field, but Roark was starting to see payoffs. Fewer respawns on their side. More kills against Azibek’s troops. No new lost ground. He’d also built up quite the stockpile of Enchanted items, which now sat in the smithy’s storage chest—every one of them worth a stack of gold. Unfortunately, he could no longer pass for human, and everyone who could possibly take them to the market was too busy to go …

  And then a thought occurred to him as he was hunched over the rough-hewn table in the kitchen, a spit of hearty roasted boar on a tin tray before him. What if he could go? Was it possible he could use the Glamour Cloak ability to assume the guise of a hero? The glamour wouldn’t change his actual shape or size, of course, so he would need to be careful in crowds or when going through doors, but it seemed distinctly possible that he could venture topside again. And in the form of a hero, he might even be able to ask around for any rumor of Lowen’s dungeon.

  “Roark!” Kaz’s hysterical shout echoed down the corridor, cutting off his thought. “Where is Roark!”

  Convinced that Azibek’s supporters had broken through the third and second floors and were now invading the first, Roark leapt over the bench, rapier and dagger in hand before his feet hit the flagstones.

  Kaz sprinted into the kitchen and nearly collided with him.

  “Roark, finally!”

  “What is it?” Roark demanded. “Are we under attack?”

  “No, no. Look!” Kaz shoved a crumbling board book under Roark’s nose, one razor-sharp claw tapping the woodcuts. “Kaz has found the saffron crocus!”

  “So, we’re not under attack?” Roark’s heart hammered in his chest.

  Kaz cocked his massive head to the side. “What would give Roark an idea like that?” Then before Roark could mention the Brute Thursr screaming bloody murder up and down the halls, Kaz forged on, onyx eyes glittering with exhilaration. “Kaz was in the library between griefings—Kaz knows Roark said to stay at our stations, but Kaz’s quest countdown timer has less than two weeks left—and anyway, Kaz found Unique Flowers of Hearthworld underneath the table. Does Roark see?”

  He pointed to the woodcut of a mountainside again, and this time Roark did see. According to the writing on the opposite page, the mountainside was the Hearth, the volcano the world was named after, and on its slopes was an intricately carved field of flowers.

  Mai ambled over from an enormous cook pot in the corner, wiping her hands on her apron. She leaned over, eyes squinted, and read aloud, “The saffron crocus grows only on the north slope … Why, I didn’t know you were wanting a saffron crocus, Kaz. You could’ve just asked.”

  Kaz’s eyes doubled in size. “Mai has seen saffron crocuses?”

  “I used to gather them with my mum, now didn’t I?” she said smartly, drawing herself to her full height. “We ate like the gods themselves in our house, and that’s the truth.”

  The board book clattered to the kitchen floor as Kaz fumbled out the moth-eaten quest book he’d bought at the market. His huge fingers turned the crumbling pages gently until he found what he was looking for.

  “Does Mai also know where to find white truffles, buzz fish caviar, or chocolate orchid bean pods?”

  “Well, I don’t know about no truffles nor bean pods,” she said, “but the buzz fish spawn just down the mountain from the Hearth, in the mineral springs. They like the heat, I suppose.”

  “Two ingredients!” Kaz threw his head back and crowed triumphantly at the ceiling. “Mai is a treasure of information!”

  Mai waved him off, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks.

  With a sigh, Roark slid his rapier and dagger back into their places on his belt. “Kaz, don’t get excited. What Zyra said about side quests right now—”

  Kaz shut the book, his manner suddenly grave. He rested a hand the size of a stewpot on Roark’s shoulder.

  “Kaz didn’t want to bring this up,” he said, “but Roark did promise he would help Kaz finish this
quest. Besides, becoming a Gourmet is about more than food now, wonderful though food is. When Kaz is a Gourmet, he can prepare meals that will benefit all Infernal chimeras fighting for Roark. Even Roark himself.”

  Roark fell silent, stilling his gut-reaction to protest as his mind worked over Kaz’s words. He had to admit that it made sense. The food here—aside from being impossibly delicious—also seemed to have numerous side benefits. Everything from restoring Health and increasing Regen rate to slightly boosting Experience gain and combating the ill effect of some poisons. Truly, there was no downside to food that could boost the stats of anyone who ate it. And to find two ingredients in one place … Hadn’t Kaz’s quest book said something about a unique weapon, too?

  Still …

  “We’re in the middle of a war,” Roark finally said with great reluctance.

  Kaz slammed his enormous fist to his chest, eyes blazing with conviction. “This is why Kaz must complete the quest. It is his duty to the citadel.”

  Roark rubbed the back of his neck, trying to come up with a valid reason not to go. Except he could find none. They did need every advantage they could get, and he’d promised Kaz he would help. He’d already failed on the Troll of his Word quest, and didn’t want to become known as a man, or Troll, who wantonly broke oaths. Besides, if he had enough time to go gallivanting in the marketplace disguised as a hero, he certainly could afford the time to assist Kaz on his expedition. It would have to be after he and Kaz had pulled their shifts below, during Zyra’s next stretch. And Griff would have to agree to oversee the griefing for a turn … But it was doable.

  Roark looked at Kaz. “How long does it take to get to the Hearth from here?”

  TWENTY-SIX:

  Savory Saffron

  Gray-white smoke billowed overhead, hiding the sun behind a thin layer of cloud, and sandy black soil shifted under Roark’s boots as he and Kaz trekked up the side of the Hearth.

  Suddenly, the ground began to rumble, grains of that rocky black sand skittering down the slope. Roark raised his arms overhead to protect his face, then turned toward the mouth of the volcano, counting. This was the third eruption they’d experienced so far, and always prefaced by that low thunder beneath their feet.

  “And … now,” Roark said when he reached nine.

  Like clockwork, a cracking like ice floes breaking up sounded down in the belly of the Hearth, marking the explosion.

  He squinted up at the spray of lava as it hit the open air. So far, nothing larger than a coin had fallen, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Especially when his companion on this quest was more concerned with the local flora than the hot rock spewing from the living mountain below them.

  Moments later, flakes of ash and tiny bits of pumice rained down, bouncing harmlessly off the protective barrier of his arms.

  “Hmm?” Kaz looked up at the sky as if confused, then turned back to the patch of yellow flowers growing from the black soil. The huge Brute Thursr leaned down and pressed his nose to the cup of one bloom like a vastly oversized minute-flit sipping nectar. “No, no, no.” He shook his head and moved on to the next delicate, identical crocus.

  With the brief rain of debris over, Roark laced his hands over the back of his neck and blew a long breath up at the sky. It was all he could do to keep from groaning with frustration. They’d been on this volcano slope for nearly two hours already. Kaz had inspected hundreds—if not thousands—of yellow flowers. He had stared, sniffed, gently prodded, even stuck out his tongue and taken the occasional exploratory lick. But each time he came to the same conclusion: coquelicot, not saffron.

  Mai had warned them before they left, “You’ll have to be dreadful careful. They grow together, the saffron and coquelicot crocuses, but one’s a heavenly spice and the other’s a devilish poison. Keep in mind: the cup of the saffron is scalloped while the coquies are just in waves, and the saffron’s a creamy gold. Coquelicots are just flat yellow.”

  Roark had tried to listen while she listed the dozen or so other differences between the two flowers—most of which sounded like similarities to him—but Griff had interrupted, needing his old arena short sword and shield Improved before he took over Kaz’s round of griefing, and then Mac frisked around wanting to play, and before Roark knew it, he and Kaz were creeping out into the graveyard that surrounded the citadel’s bailey.

  Near the beginning of their hike up the mountain, Roark had tried to help Kaz assess the flowers, but every time he showed one he thought was saffron to Kaz, he received a good-natured chuckle and “Oh no, Roark. That is coquelicot.” After the first hour, he’d given up looking and taken up a guard position, watching for attackers and overlarge debris from the Hearth’s eruptions.

  By this newest patch of crocuses, Kaz shook his head and straightened up.

  “None of those?” Roark asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

  “No, no.” Kaz grinned at Roark as if he were a stupid but lovable family pet. “The saffron will be scalloped, not wavy.”

  “Silly me,” Roark muttered under his breath, glaring down at what certainly looked like a patch of scalloped crocuses to him.

  Kaz didn’t hear the grumbling. The Brute Thursr was already headed for the next blanket of yellow farther up the slope, in a natural bowl in the landscape. Roark sighed and followed.

  While Kaz bent down in his studious pose and began to poke and prod at the next round of crocuses, Roark pulled out his Slender Rapier and Kaiken Dagger. First he went through the exercises he’d already known when he came to Hearthworld, then he practiced the new combinations Griff had shown him during their training sessions. The Off-Hand Combo. The Feint and Stab. The Dual Slash. The Throat and Kidney.

  With the exertion and the heat radiating up from below, Roark was covered in a sheen of sweat by the time Kaz dismissed this bowl of flowers as the deadly coquelicot and moved on, diving into the next patch a little farther up the slope.

  A stiff breeze chilled the sweat rolling down Roark’s back, and he shivered. In Traisbin, a cool wind often blew in rain. He turned his face up to the sky, searching for clouds behind the smoke.

  Rather than storm clouds, however, Roark caught sight of a flock of monstrous creatures like gray, winged horses swooping down toward them. He put away his rapier and dagger, trading them for the Bow of the Fleet-Fingered Hunter, to which he’d added a Flawed Jade. When he nocked an arrow and aimed it at one of the winged creatures, the dappled green stone enhanced his eyesight by four.

  Up that close, he could see the flesh clinging to the horses’ ribs. Their feet were small and cloven like goats’ hooves, and curling beards fell from their bony chins. Their wings were made up of iridescent feathers that shifted seamlessly from ash gray to black to deep ruby, and their coats went through the same shifting of colors.

  Over the long, narrow head of the creature Roark had in his enhanced sight floated spidery white letters, almost invisible against the curtain of pale smoke.

  [Lava Kelpie Foal]

  He tracked the Lava Kelpie Foal as it swooped down toward Kaz, ready to loose his grip on the bowstring and put his first arrow through the creature’s chest. But at the last moment, the Foal banked away, gliding up the slope a dozen yards to land beside a wide stream of red-hot lava flowing from a crack in the earth, its coat and feathers shimmering to match the black of the sand beneath it. The rest of the Foal’s flock followed, dropping to the black sand by the cascade of molten rock. One by one, the weird gangling creatures stepped into lava, their bodies and wings shifting to match the red surrounding them, and swam to the middle of the stream until even their heads disappeared beneath the rippling surface.

  Roark relaxed his hold on the bowstring and returned the arrow to his quiver. He turned to ask Kaz whether he’d felt the breeze on that Foal’s dive, but the Brute Thursr was already moving up the slope to the next patch of crocuses, completely unaware of what had passed overhead.

  A patch not ten feet from the edge of the lava strea
m.

  Roark saw Kaz kneel and begin his inspection of the yellow cups without a glance at the flowing molten rock. Almost immediately, the top of one long, bony head rose in the swell of lava, only visible against the glowing red around it because of its motionlessness. Its orange eyes, set on each side of the skull, blinked slowly, then focused on Kaz and narrowed. A second head pushed up from below, then a third. Suddenly, there were six of them, and they were swimming toward the sandy black shore and the oblivious Brute Thursr absorbed in sniffing crocuses.

  “Roark, look!” Kaz tore a flower from its stem and turned to show Roark, putting his back to the stream, face awash in pure delight. “It is the—”

  “Behind you!” Roark pulled an arrow again and began to sprint toward Kaz, feeling as if he were running through a chest-high sucking mud pit.

  The flower-smelling Brute looked over his shoulder just as the first wave of Lava Kelpie Foals galloped out of the stream. They whinnied furiously, an eerie combination of a goat’s bleat and an owl’s screech, as they raced for Kaz. Their cloven hooves struck sparks when they met rock, and their wings spread wide, shedding beads of cooling stone as they reared up and leapt into the air.

  Kaz was pulling his wicked-looking Fulgurite Short Spears, but too slowly. The Foals swooped and circled, screeching and diving at him, trampling him from the air.

  Roark stopped, took aim with the enhanced eyesight the Flawed Jade provided, and loosed his first arrow. The bolt landed just left of center in a Foal’s chest, gaining its attention—and its fury. The creature veered toward Roark. He drew again and fired, his arrow punching through a wing. A third of the Foal’s Health bar disappeared. The creature foundered and veered off course, screaming as its injury dragged it back to earth. A third arrow pierced its throat and drained the last of its red Health bar. It stumbled and fell, its wings flopping brokenly as it died like a crushed bird. They were impressive creatures, but fragile.