Patch 17 (Realm of Arkon) (24 page)

"I forgot, give me a sec."

I went into my bag, opened the character menu and tried putting the earring into the proper slot. For some reason it wouldn't equip, although I appeared to meet all the requirements. I glanced at Ylsan and saw him rolling with laughter. Reacting to his glee, Rioh turned and spread his mouth into a grin.

"Take off your helmet, man. You're not a soldier like Lirrak," the tifling said through the laughter. "I'm sure he doesn't take his off even when he's with a woman, but we mages are a refined breed."

That was the problem! In the game a helm didn't hinder eyesight, so I'd completely forgotten about it. I'd even slept with it back at the inn. And when I was trying to equip the earring into the slot, my hands were making the motions of actually putting it on in real life—a comical sight if ever there was one. Laughing along, I took off my helm and put it away into the inventory, then tried equipping the earring again.

"Give it here," the tifling reached for the item, "you need to make a hole there." He took the accessory and deftly slid it through my left ear lobe. I felt a slight prick. What the hell? Removing my helm AND punching a hole in my ear? Both those things were new. And strange. At least I could still equip armor the old fashioned way—otherwise I'd need to travel with a full-time squire.

"So, what about those ingredients? Will your father be interested?"

"You bet. Come by tomorrow around dinnertime. We live in the upper city. Have you got a map? Give it, I'll mark the location."

Chapter 5

That same evening I felt that we were getting close to the capital. Castles and villages became more frequent, alternating with plowed fields and cultivated gardens. And the road itself was becoming much more crowded. I marveled at the extravagance of design—Medieval with a dash of magic. As the dusk gathered, we rode past a huge guard fortress and stopped near a large inn. We didn't go inside, but dined and slept right in our wagons. Ylsan explained that the inn likely didn't have space for nineteen people; besides, paying one gold per man for only six hours of sleep fifteen miles away from Nittal would be beyond foolish.

Come morning, we had a quick breakfast and set out, aiming to make it to the city by lunch. Initially the road stretched uphill, toward a mountain upon which loomed another guard fortress—a squarish gray structure with twenty-foot-tall walls and towers on all the corners. Same as the other fortress, this one stood right on the road, blocking the way. As we were passing through the stronghold, I gazed respectfully at the thick walls and the countless vertical gates. Having undertaken the burden of being my guide, Ylsan explained that the fortress quartered roughly two hundred legionnaires, all of whom were replaced every two weeks, and that there were six such fortresses in all—two on each road leading into the city. When I retorted with the reasonable question, "Why bother with these defenses when the enemy host can attack the city via a portal?", he gave me an incredulous look, then remembered who I was and clarified that all the inner space between Nittal and the aforementioned guard fortresses was more or less protected from this type of invasion. Except perhaps for the overlord's army, which was quite capable of executing such a maneuver, but no sane demon would even entertain the thought of squabbling with him. As for the rest... Sure, technically the enemy might build a portal here, but the operation would require such tremendous reserves of power that the attacking army's mages would quickly turn into useless puppets for the battle following their emergence from the portal.

The only thing I understood from that explanation was that any army advancing on Nittal would have to resort to the old-fashioned, sword-swinging and ladder-climbing means of capturing the fortresses.

We pulled out of the gates and rounded a small hill, whereupon I froze in complete awe.

The hilltop offered a spectacular view of Nittal, which sprawled a few miles below. Fields and gardens seemed to occupy every inch from here to the city. Shielded by massive white walls and mighty towers, Nittal abutted a giant river to the east. A grand citadel stood in the center of the city, built with white stone and girdled by tall walls—the last line of defense. Several more large structures struck the eye: a racetrack ringed with marble columns, and the Temple of All Gods that Ylsan had told me about in our travels, stood on either side of the citadel. The dominion's capital city had a radical layout, with the main square, shaped like an equilateral triangle, branching outward with myriad avenues.

"Impressive, isn't it?" the tifling grinned.

"No words," I said with total honesty, lauding mentally the design team that had toiled on Demon Grounds.

"Our house is there," the mage pointed in the direction of the temple. "Tomorrow, dinner. Don't forget."

"I'll be there. By the way, do you know a hotel called The Learned Troll?"

The mage thought for a moment.

"The Learned Troll? Wait, do you mean The Candle? That's near the trade district. Head toward the the harbor once past the gates. When you get there, ask any guard and he'll show you."

"I will escort you there, master," said Rioh, having been relieved from his shift.

"Mighty kind of you to volunteer!" Harn chortled from the coachbox, tugging at his mustache. "And I think I know why!"

"Shame on you! Master Krian saved all our lives—how could I not help in return?" the young demon scowled.

"Help all you want, just leave the money with me. Keep only a few gold, otherwise you won't come home for a week again. And your mother will nag me to death." Harn turned to me and clarified, "There's an establishment nearby called The White Lily. They provide a rather, um, specific type of service. I can see Master Ylsan knows all about it," Harn nodded at the tifling who was smiling sheepishly. "And no wonder, a young demon like him. Anyway, that's why my son is so eager to help."

"Come on, pop, I'll be back in a jiffy, I swear," Rioh tried changing the slippery subject.

"Best be sure that your 'jiffy' means tomorrow night at the latest. Or I
will
marry you off, just you watch. Now hand over the dough."

They're pretty strict with their young,
I thought to myself, watching the frowning coachman hand over his gold to his father.

In the meantime, the caravan had reached the square city gates. There wasn't any commotion or traffic, and we entered the city without a problem. The guards on the outside—four level 200 legionnaires—followed us with indifferent eyes. Once inside, the wagons rode into a kind of settling basin to the right of the entrance. Lirrak dismounted and said something to the sergeant of the guard that walked over. Two legionnaires walked past the wagons—customs inspection. Well, inspection might be too strong a word—all that happened was that one of them kicked the wheel rim of the second wagon and suggested that the coachman replace it.

"Go over to that desk," Ylsan said to me, "and register. It won't take long. I'll see you tomorrow," he offered me his hand.

I shook it, then bid my goodbyes to Harn who reminded me about my promise to visit them in Urcahnta, nodded at Rioh who promised to wait for me at the exit, and went over to the registration desk, nodding my farewells to the legionnaires and the coachmen with whom I'd spent the past four days.

"Krian," Lirrak intercepted me on the way. "Look for me if you need anything. Go to the city guard barracks and ask for the caravanners' section. Once there, every dog knows my name. I'll be in the city for two whole weeks, then I'm back on the road. Take care now, light one," the captain smiled at me with his signature orc smile and gave my hand a hard squeeze farewell.

The passport control office was right outside, in the shade of the customs building. A young hook-nosed demon was behind the wide desk. A mage judging by his mantle—blue with embroidered silver pattern—he sprawled in his chair, chewing lazily on something. Standing at his side was a tall and scrawny level 300 tifling with slightly diverging horns, giving me a sour look with arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked to be about forty, with a long melancholic face, dark hair combed back, and slightly pointed ears. The names of both were hidden from me—strange, I thought that only players with VIP accounts could activate that setting. Next to the tifling was the sergeant of the guard that Lirrak was speaking to not five minutes ago, reporting in hushed tones.

"I was told to register here," I said.

The nose moved closer to the desk, threw open the thick registration log and picked up a quill.

"Name?" he asked in a rasping voice.

"Krian."

"Purpose of visit?"

"Pleasure," I blurted out customarily. Seeing the other's bemused look, I clarified, "I'm traveling."

The mage pushed a peculiar construction my way. It resembled an azure hemisphere, convex side up, attached to a black stone stand.

"Put your hand on it and answer my questions."

Was that the local lie detector or something?

I didn't really have anything to hide, so I did what was asked of me without worry. My palm felt warm and a slight pricking.

"Have you been to the Zorn or Alcatta provinces?" the demon began his questioning.

"No."

"Are you in any way associated with Prince Vallan or any of his vassals?"

"No."

"Are you plotting against the rulers of Ashtar Dominion, either directly or indirectly?"

"No," I shrugged.

"You may remove your hand. Where will you be staying? And for how long?"

"I will probably stay at The Learned Troll. As for how long, I do not know yet."

The demon scribbled another note in his log, then closed it and shot a questioning glance at the tifling. Still boring me with his vertical eyelids, the latter looked contemplative for a moment, then asked in an insinuating tone:

"Was there a breakthrough of light forces somewhere in our domain? Where did you come from, mage?"

"I think that your subordinate just reported to you all the particulars," I gestured at the sergeant of the guard. I never liked his type, but I wasn't about to pick a fight with him. That would be idiotic.

The tifling shook his head, put his arms behind his back, cocked his head slightly forward and spoke:

"A human mage named Krian somehow appears near Lamorna, a village in Jarus Province, slays the Great Netherworld Demon Shaartakh..." I watched both the clerk's and the sergeant's eyes blow up to the size of golf balls. "Then, while traveling with a caravan toward Nittal, gets caught in a misty rift," the tifling took the arms from behind his back and crossed them over his chest once more. "At night the caravanners are attacked by a skhiarta—the first such reported incident in at least fifty years. Our mage here doesn't succumb to the monster's charms, but destroys it along with its brood. Did I miss something?"

"No, that about covers it," I said. "But tell me," I held a pause, looking at him expectantly.

"Annat. Dar Annat, if you insist. I'm not big on ranks," the demon introduced himself.

I nodded and continued:

"Tell me, venerable Dar Annat, slaying Shaartakh and the skhiarta—are either of those things a crime?"

"No, of course not. Both are commendable by the dominion, only..." the tifling looked at his subordinates. "Leave us," he commanded. "And you can take a seat, if you wish," he motioned at the now-free chair.

"It's all right, I'm not tired," I remained standing. There was only one chair, and sitting on it would mean putting myself in a position of weakness from the get-go, since I'd have to be looking up. No thanks.

"A moment," the tifling spread his arms wide and made a subtle motion with his right wrist. My ears clogged up for a second, to which he nodded in satisfaction and explained. "Shroud of Silence—to keep curious ears away. So, where were we? Oh yes," Annat gave me another intent look. "You are an enigma, and therefore potentially dangerous. And one of the objectives of the organization that I have the honor of belonging to is precisely this—eliminating any possibility of trouble arising on the dominion's territory."

His heavy gaze had a hypnotic quality to it. As if at any moment a forked tongue would slither out of his mouth, and I, entranced, would readily allow myself to be swallowed whole. Barely fighting back the delusion, I asked:

"Secret police?"

"Not quite, but you're not far off," Annat brushed a nonexistent speck off the sleeve of his gray tunic. "The magistrate I have the honor of belonging to is responsible for internal security in the dominion."

"And how is it I've come to be of interest to such a powerful security service?"

"I just want you to answer a few questions," he motioned at the hemisphere on the desk.

"And if I refuse? Will you arrest me, or worse?"

"Arrest you? Heavens, no. Why would we? You've done us an invaluable service." There wasn't a hint of sarcasm in his eyes. "You will simply go your merry way," he shrugged. "Having said that, you're obviously a shrewd individual—you realize the benefit of cooperating with an organization such as ours. Especially since you've already confirmed that you're not connected to the rebels and aren't plotting against the state."