Steel Wolves of Craedia (Realm of Arkon, Book 3) (27 page)

"I wanted to know why he—"

"No!" the goddess' eyes flashed crimson. "Some things even gods mustn't know. The balance is too fragile, and I don't trust myself to not disturb it."

"But how am I supposed to live with all this if even you refuse to hear me out?!"

"You're insolent, demon," Celphata shook her head reprovingly. "But were you any other way, you wouldn't have done one tenth of what your destiny holds. Are you familiar with the parable about a pebble in millstones?"

"When a tiny pebble gets mixed into grain accidentally and ends up breaking massive millstones?"

"Precisely, Dark One, precisely! And you might just be that very pebble..." She sighed. "But no one knows for certain, not yet. As for the prophecy, look for answers in Cathella. Speaking of which, this filth right here," the goddess motioned at Nerghall's rotting bulk, "has a map on him—that will be your key to getting there. And now, Krian, I must say farewell. Try to avoid death, if you can help it..."

The goddess' parting words hung in the air as my surrounding reality came rushing in.

With a sigh, I turned around and took a seat on a nearby rock, watching my clanmates moving about the battlefield. I needed to analyze all that had happened to me in the past half hour. It appeared that somewhere on the Primordial Paths—whatever that was—guarded by a dark deity in a dark cavern, one of the game's governing AIs was being held captive, shackled to the ground. I had no way of knowing how many there were altogether, but this was clear evidence that RP-17 wasn't the only one. This particular AI had been used by Cheney and his crew to hide from RP-17 certain zones, one of which I myself had designed. If there was anything else in play, there was no way for a lowly artist like myself to know anything. For instance, how was the Nameless slipped into the game in the first place? Perhaps under the guise of a god-slayer. Celphata hadn't noticed his mark upon me until I brought it up. The gods didn't see him, but he saw them... In the absence of other information, let's accept that as the working version. That the dark gods were supplying Cheney with the White Dragon's blood to somehow hide all this monkey business from the top governing AI... It sounded like the ravings of a lunatic, but I had nothing else to go on.

Hart! It stinks here!
I took a drag and exhaled, then fished around for my flask and took three big swigs. That helped a little. What else? Had the dark gods grown self-aware with the last patch, as a result of which some of them began pursuing their own goals? That seemed the most likely scenario, as evidenced by the Twice Cursed god's vault. Ingvar's female sidekick had told me once that the gods were struggling to find Vill's main citadel. This made sense—an AI grown self-aware was no dumber than a person, and would use all the weapons available to them to their full extent. What was it the dragon had said about the heavens weeping tears of blood? It sounded corny as hell, but then the prospect of Vill becoming the supreme deity in the Realm of Arkon was frightening indeed. And RP-17 seemed to not be intervening into any of this, but acting more like an observer. After all, if the game's basic rules were being adhered to, then everything was hunky-dory as far as he was concerned. Same if he wasn't aware that the rules were actually being broken.

It was starting to feel less than cozy. I shivered and took another swig from the flask lying on my knees. What about those Primordial Paths that were likewise hidden from the top governing AI? Could those be a new plane? Something akin to a test server, a place for the devs to try out innovations before implementing them in the game? Whatever they were, getting there was a problem for most—even gods were apparently barred from entry. I remembered the grotesque three-headed monster from the cavern, and shivered again. 

The question was, did I personally care enough for all these goings-on to get even more involved? On the one hand, I was getting pretty sick and tired of it all; on the other, this world had become my home, and I didn't want it to plunge into Chaos! If I were to get mixed up in this story, all my escapades in Craedia would seem like child's play in a sandbox by comparison. It was only in cheesy adventure novels that the good guys came out on top in a fight against omnipotent villains. I'd already fought—and beat—my villain on the balcony of that hotel... My mind jumped to Jane, and I wondered if everything was all right with her. And then to Ivan and Sarah—I hoped those two were doing well. And what about Alyona? I'd found her last letter unsettling—in it my sister wrote that she, Max and some other characters took up an easy—in her words—quest chain in the vicinity of Ellorian, and would return to the city and wait for me there after completing it. But I knew my ginger-haired little sister too well to believe that story. A quest chain outside the dark elf capital should easily stretch into weeks. There was something that devil's child wasn't telling me! The one thing that gave me confidence was that Max was with her—that man was too levelheaded to let them get into any real trouble.

But I digress. The simple truth was that I couldn't avoid getting involved in all this world-saving business. Finding Cheney without the Nameless' help was out of the question—the AIs couldn't lie, at least before the latest patch they couldn't. Now this was interesting—any recollection involving the former board of directors' member seemed to unleash in me a storm of irrational fury. Were Cheney to materialize here next to me, I would take my sweet time cutting him up into a million little pieces, even though, in some twisted way, everything that I had achieved, I owed to him. Was it an aspect of my current hypostasis, perhaps?
Yeah, right!
I scorned the thought. That scumbag deserved none of my gratitude; were it up to him I'd be getting torn apart in Lamorna in perpetuity. No, my decision was irreversible. I didn't know what form my vengeance would take, but I'd make damn sure that son of a bitch paid dearly for every one of my countless deaths. It was settled, then—I would try and rescue the White Dragon. As for the dark god guarding him... Well, there was another dark god lying not thirty yards away, dead as a dingbat. So, we'd cross that bridge in due time. 

Gloom plopped down on the ground next to me. The boar looked at me sideways, roared something with a questioning tone, but seeing that his master was deep in thought, sniffed resentfully and closed his eyes. Moments later Tilly came running by, clearly on some errand. The girl braked sharply, gave me a wink, licked her lips, blushed, laughed and took off just as quickly.
Hart! I'd promised to let her ride the boar,
I watched the girl go. It didn't matter that I couldn't be with any of them—promises had to be kept just the same. The Nameless had mentioned something about a woman, though rather vaguely. Was I supposed to find her, or was she going to find me? I leaned over and scratched the dozing boar behind the ear.
You and I are all alone, Gloom, buddy. You could use a female as well, but not every sow could handle a formidable specimen like yourself.
The boar opened one eye, which stared at me dubiously. Seemingly reasoning that I had a treat for him, the sly beast leaped up to his feet, and nuzzled my shoulder.
In your world, the answer to everything is more grub,
I rummaged in my inventory and produced a yellow cucumber—the local equivalent of a potato—slipped it into the razorback's mouth, and burst out laughing. All in all, things were looking up! What was next on the list: Derelict Temple and Gilthor? Coming right up!

"Great darkness!" Vaessa lowered herself on the stone next to me. Frazzled and disheveled, she the had look of someone who had been clubbing all night long, and relying on more than just booze to keep her batteries charged. The necromancer's daughter snatched the flask off my knees unceremoniously, twisted off the lid, and proceeded to relieve the vessel of much of its contents. 

"How do you even drink this?" she grimaced, tossing me the near-empty container, and took several deep breaths. 

"Your manner is especially aristocratic today," I sniffed, putting away the flask.

"Suits me just fine," Vaessa shivered from the chill, and wrapped her mantle tight around her—the woman had categorically refused to wear plate. "Did I miss the fun part?" 

"That depends," I took out the signet ring received from the goddess, and handed it to the magus. "This is for you. Your mistress said you're a big girl now." 

"You saw her?" the tiflingess' hand froze midway to mine. 

"No, I just happened to become a master jeweler while you napped!" 

"What else did the mistress say?" Vaessa took the ring from my hand gingerly, slipped it onto her ring finger, and held out her hand in the classic gesture, admiring the ornament.

"That she'll be in touch. Especially now that you can behold her without harm to yourself."

"What?" the woman asked, unable to look away from the ring.

"Did I say something confusing? Or did you lose your hearing while the goddess took over your body?"

The goddess?! My body?!"

"Hart almighty!" I spat on the ground in exasperation, and proceeded to recount all I remembered of the battle.

We sat in silence for a while. The demons under James' command were raking all the bones scattered across the battlefield into one giant heap. The magus was in her own thoughts. 

"I just don't understand you, dar," Vaessa finally broke the silence. "You speak of the gods as though seeing them, let alone talking to them, is a common occurrence for you. All my life I've dreamed of seeing the mistress with my own two eyes, if only for a moment." 

"So, what's the problem? You'll be seeing her soon," I decided to keep mum about the vacancy with her name on it. Let that be a surprise.

"You're insufferable, Krian," she sighed. "There's just one thing I regret..."

"What's that?"

"That I'm not a succubus! Those foolish women in the city don't know any better! If only I were one, I'd—"

"Now, now," I smiled. Seeing that the woman had fully recovered, I got up and fixed her with a serious look. "Believe me, I would love it if you were a succubus," I said with a sigh, then turned around and made for the carcass of the slain monster.

"Dar, a word?" James' voice stopped me mid-stride. 

"What is it?" I said, turning his way.

With a nod to his men, the tifling hurried over, a hand on his scabbard to hold it steady.

"I wanted to apologize for not believing you then." 

"Is that all?" I sniffed. "Don't sweat it, James. I didn't believe myself at the same." 

"Then there's the matter of the castle. You see, it's—"

"The castle is yours. It's your birthright."

"But..." the warrior stammered.

"No buts," I put my hand on his shoulder, and peered into his eyes. "I haven't captured my castle yet, but you don't doubt anymore that I will, do you?"

"No doubts whatsoever," the tifling replied with total earnestness.

"Good," I nodded. "In the meantime, I hope you will allow your castle to serve as the Steel Wolves' temporary headquarters."

The tifling stepped back, sliding his blade midway out of his scabbard, and declared ceremoniously, speaking into the raid channel for all to hear.

"I, James dar Elnar, the heir to La-Kharte Castle and all surrounding villages, do solemnly swear for all eternity that any member of the Steel Wolves clan, no matter what happens to them, will always find food, shelter and protection under my roof!" Sliding his sword back in with a clang, he nodded to me, then spun on his heels and was off to tend to the still-growing mountain of corpses.

 If any other player were to read my mind at that moment, they would no doubt dismiss me as a total loon. And no wonder! It had been fifteen minutes now since my clan killed a unique boss, and one that was way, waaaay out of our league. It was the moment ninety nine percent of people played for—the sacred moment of loot! And I wanted nothing to do with it... What could the monster have on him? More junk that would have me waking up in cold sweat? Forcing me to put the lives of people I'd come to care for deeply on the line? Hart!

Holding my breath as best I could, I stepped over a tentacle and put my palm on the slain monster's cirrhotic hide. There was a blinding flash that dazed me for a moment, and I took a step back. A thick pillar of light shot up from the beast's lifeless bulk into the sky, then burst into a myriad twinkling specks that rained down on the ground like fireflies. As the specks danced their mesmerizing dance overhead, a magical melody began playing in my head. The demons all froze in awe of the wondrous sight: necks craned, mouths agape. Even the sky seemed to change color from crimson to a gentle cerulean. I heard a child laughing somewhere on the edges of my consciousness, as the specks of light drew closer, gathering all around me. Frolicking like tots at a playground, the specks began flowing into me, filling my chest with a warm and gentle glow.

You've earned an achievement:
Liberator of Shackled Souls.
You and your allies are granted a permanent 95% resistance to Dark magic. 

I stood there, transfixed, afraid to move lest I disturb the entrancing dance of the souls we had rescued. A translucent orc figure appeared in the air to my left. The six-and-a-half-foot warrior in chainmail stood there, powerful arms folded over his chest, sizing me down. A battle-axe at his waist, a gruesome scar across his face, a sigil of a crescent with upturned ends on his chest. His whole demeanor radiated tremendous inner strength. At last the warrior let his eyelids fall in a sign of approbation, and his silhouette dissipated in the air. The rest of the illusion receded along with him. There followed a total silence for nearly a minute, after which the air exploded with cries of excitement. My soldiers were gesticulating wildly and talking over one another about what they'd just witnessed. Allowing myself a smile for their unbridled enthusiasm, I put my palm on the dead boss once again.