Steel Wolves of Craedia (Realm of Arkon, Book 3) (18 page)

The guards at the door must have been notified in advance of our coming, as we rode into the inner courtyard without any issues under their intent and scrutinizing gazes. A lanky snub-nosed kid appeared out of nowhere, taking the reins of our horses, and nodded matter-of-factly toward the main entrance to the enormous four-story donjon.

The air inside the building was chilly and seemingly spiced with something. Past the entrance, guarded only by several statues and stone vases, a marble stairwell wound upward with a carpet strip running along the center. The space was illuminated by numerous magic lanterns, as the air filtering in through the embrasures clearly wasn't enough. We were met by a servant who then escorted us to the second floor, through a narrow corridor and a pair of connecting chambers. We walked in silence, our footsteps echoing dully off the walls lined with art, ultimately stopping before the tall ornamented doors of the waiting chamber.

The ruler was alone in his office. Satrap Gorm was a tall tifling of dark hair, neatly trimmed beard, piercing green eyes and strikingly aristocratic features. He looked up from the thick pad he'd been writing in when we entered and rose from his desk. Motioning at several armchairs over by the blazing fireplace, he sent the servant out for some wine.

"I see now," he said contemplatively, taking a seat in an armchair across from me. "An elder... I never thought I'd see another one in my lifetime."

The satrap's face looked pale and haggard, with hollow cheeks, thin dry lips and dark circles under the eyes. He was peering at me with unblinking eyes, and it was starting to make me uncomfortable.

"Are elders such a rarity?" I took a sip from my glass and looked up at him.

"Beyond the pale they certainly aren't, but here... Krian, are you aware that the curse was made to have the worst effect on precisely your kind? Where ordinary demons lose roughly half their strength, an elder stands to lose no less than ninety percent. And that's if he doesn't get blown to bits at the crossing. You are very fortunate to have had the true blood awaken in you here in Craedia, though it's possible that it was the very act of crossing into the princedom that had served as the catalyst."

"How do you know all this? Do you often get guests from Alcmehn?"

"I wouldn't say we
never
get them, but Lords don't give a damn what happens to us. And there's nothing here for opportunists." The satrap put his glass down on the table, folded his hands on his knees and gazed into the fireplace. "Of course, there might be mountains of treasure in the ruins of the four castles destroyed by Ahriman, or even in Suonu after being ravaged by Korg, but those places are teeming with the undead, and you have to be quite the fool to take the fight to them under the circumstances. That is why guests from the north are indeed rare, bears and leopards notwithstanding. We were a free people once, you know—or barbarians, as the Lords called us. Many of us have kin there. But when it all began just under two months ago, all our attempts to build a portal west have failed, alas. We do not know why."

Oh, but I do. And I even know who's to blame,
I thought to myself. But aloud I said:

"I realize I'm asking too many questions, but would you please explain to me the difference between elder demons and ordinary ones?"

"James didn't explain it to you?" Gorm smiled, nodding to the tifling who was sitting in his armchair, silent and stiff.

"I didn't understand much from his explanation," I said. "I was hoping you could clarify the issue further."

"How does a dog differ from a wolf? Or a bonfire from a forest fire?" Gorm mused, gazing into the blazing fireplace. "Erisjat was a worthy ruler, but what had he become in the end?" The satrap gestured at one of the portraits on the wall, depicting a middle-aged tifling in a vinous velvet waistcoat over a white shirt with cuffs and a fine collar. He had handsome symmetrical features, a thick goatee to compensate for a receding hairline, and yellow eyes that regarded everyone in the room with unapologetic irony. "Young man, your question has no answer. The true blood can take inconceivable forms sometimes. You are exactly the same as the rest of us, yet at the same time completely different. Therefore, I wouldn't bother with a question you'll never find an answer to. All I can tell you is that infinitely more possibilities are now open to you, though at a price. Nothing in this world is free—remember these words when the time comes to make
the choice.
" Taking a sip of wine, the satrap fell back in his armchair and fixed me with an intent gaze. "Erisjat was an elder, too, but even he hadn't been marked by so many Great Essences. And that," he shook his head, "is a hard thing to wrap my head around. Now, Krian, have I answered all your questions? Then I would ask you to tell me about yourself. I must say, we've never had a guest as interesting as you in our little backwoods."

It took me about an hour to relay the abridged version of my adventures in Demon Grounds. The satrap didn't need to know of the Twice Cursed god's vault, nor of the knights locked in magic slumber, which cut the part of the story prior to my crossing into the princedom down to several dozen sentences. I did, however, made it a point to briefly mention my drawing the attention of the gods of this world. Then I handed the baton off to Elnar, who had only said a few words until then, and he recounted the battle at Alcene's crossing and all the events that followed, while I enjoyed my pipe, having secured our host's permission.

You've completed the quest: Defending Farot.

You received a bonus talent point.

Your reputation has increased. Gorm, the Satrap of Xantarra, relates to you with respect.

Your reputation has increased. Residents of the Craedia Princedom relate to you with reverence.

We sat in silence for a while, listening to the wood popping and crackling in the fireplace as the flames beamed and bounced off the weapons lining the walls, putting on a resplendent light show.

I'm definitely getting myself a castle,
I was thinking to myself.
And it will have a room with a fireplace, just like this, where I will spend my evenings with a glass of wine, gazing into the dancing flames in silence. Better still, there will be a woman at my side, one that will appreciate this golden silence in equal measure, and we won't fear being misunderstood. And I want to see an end to this mad race. I want to wake up and know that today I won't need to risk my life or the lives of those I care for... A man can dream.

"I've always loved looking into the flames," Gorm said, finally breaking the silence. "There is a grandness to fire that cannot be captured or attained, a serenity that transcends whatever worldly problems may be weighing down your mind. If you just allow yourself to dissolve in it, fire will burn away all your enmity and impotence... Are you aware, Krian, that you have not four but
five
marks of the Great Essences?"

"Who's the fifth?" I asked calmly, still lingering in the fantasy I'd created. The difference in the rapport between Gorm and myself was evident immediately after the bump in reputation. A pleasant and friendly manner had turned to genuine affection.

"You are favored by one of the Netherworld's Seven Lords. Except the favor of such an essence can be more terrible than the fury of any god. Be careful, for the Seven can be as fickle as the Primordial Chaos that rages in their veins."

"Can you tell me a name?"

"No. I am not so strong as to see so much."

"So what am I supposed to do with this information?"

"Nothing," Gorm shrugged. "But keep it in the back of your mind. Now, I will give you however many troops you're going to need. And whatever you want to sell, Askel will take care of that. James knows where to find him."

"Thank you. I also wanted to ask your permission to check out this one book at the library..."

"The library is open to the public, but you won't find Maelissa dar Karis' book there."

"How did you..." I nearly chocked on my own smoke.

"Did you really think that I wouldn't remember the prophecy the moment I received news of a Black Demon appearing in the princedom?" the satrap chuckled. "A week ago some woman asked an acolyte to bring her that specific book, and vanished into thin air when he did. This despite the fact that taking books out of the library is prohibited, not to mention impossible."

"I see," I chuckled, instantly remembering a certain female who seemingly had a habit of disappearing at the most interesting moments. "We're setting out to Callehzia at sunrise the day after tomorrow," I said, shaking the satrap's hand goodbye. "Thank you for lending us your troops, and for answering my questions."

"Krian," there was something in Gorm's voice that gave me a start as I turned around.

The satrap was standing with his hands folded. The ashen and haggard face of Xantarra's ruler had assumed the look of a predator, his green eyes blazing with boldness and purpose. He had an air of resolve around him, as if he had made a decision that may cost him everything, but he would see it through to the end.

"I'm tired," he spoke hoarsely. "I've spent nearly three centuries alone, surrounded by enemies and bereft of hope. If you dislodge those bastards from La-Kharte and save Gilthor from the plague, I will raise an army and follow you to Suonu, and then on to Craedia, if need be. You have my word! Farewell, Dark One, and may the gods watch over you!"

You've accessed the quest: Satrap Gorm's Trust.

Quest type: unique.

Clear the La-Kharte Castle of its undead invaders and repel the assault on the castle that will follow.

Slay Ulrich the Zealot in the Derelict Temple.

Reward: experience, increased reputation with the Craedia Princedom, increased reputation with Satrap Gorm, formal alliance with Xantarra and the ability to lead a united army in a campaign on Suonu and Craedia.

Attention! The time for completing part two of this quest is limited! If you do not slay Ulrich the Zealot in the allotted time, the residents of Gilthor Province will perish, and you will fail the quest.

246:59:59… 246:59:58… 246:59:57

"And you have mine," I nodded to him, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword. Then I turned around and left.

Tension was thick in the air throughout Xantarra. It had filled every crevice and blanketed every square, reflecting in the face of every citizen we came across. Yet there weren't any more guards patrolling the streets than usual. This made sense—the undead weren't the type of enemy to infiltrate Xantarra with their agents, perform sabotage or recruit the locals to their cause.

After riding through several dozen streets, I sighted the tower of the Xantarrian mages' guild from Bovine Square. The square owed its curious name to the shrine of Wolce, the patron god of cattle-breeders, standing smack in the center of it. The tower itself was shaped like the chess figure rook, with a base roughly fifty yards in diameter. Its walls, painted crimson by the setting sun, loomed over the rooftops, squinting down on the city through narrow window slits. This was where James and I parted ways—he had his own business to attend to, besides verifying that our people were all set with accommodations. As for me, after rounding a blanket of bruised pears hawked by one of the fruit merchants, I turned on a narrow alley that led to the abode of the local mages.

There were plenty of quests for the taking. Since leaving the castle I had spotted at least a dozen demons with translucent exclamation marks above their heads, though I hadn't approached any of them.

First of all, I simply didn't have the time. Second of all, it would be rather comical for a knight-lieutenant to be running around the city, looking for missing kittens or rooting out weeds for a grouchy gardener. Sure, I might lose out on something important with such a careless attitude, but my quest log was already overflowing, and if past experience was any indication, the truly rare and unique quests had a way of finding me just fine. Perhaps once this frantic race was over and I had the portal scroll to Karn in my hands, I could swing by all the local instances to grab the bonuses for being the first to complete them. It made sense to be as prepared as possible before leaving this realm, and the clan should reap tremendous gains in the process. But all that was still a long ways away. I didn't want to think that my streak of luck might end outside the walls of La-Kharte Castle or in the Derelict Temple, but I couldn't afford to freak out about it either. I was ready for whatever the future held, and as long as I still had the favor of Sata, the local goddess of fortune, I liked our chances. After knocking the monsters out of Suonu, we would move on to Craedia and finally complete the archmage's quest...
Come back down from the clouds, Krian. You don't even know if you'll succeed with James' castle, let alone everything else.

The tower stood at the center of a lovely park. After passing through an alley paved with white tile, I rounded an elegant fountain teeming with fish of every color, and continued down a path framed with beds of red and yellow tulips on either side that ultimately led me to the entrance to this holy of holies for the local purveyors of the magic arts.

Standing guard at the door were two soldiers in chainmail with round shields painted blue and white.

"Forgive us, dar, but entrance is forbidden to everyone but members of the Free Mages' Guild and the governor," said one of the guards—a gray-haired mustachioed demon with a small one-handed axe hanging at his waist. "Everyone else needs an invitation."