Edwin M. Griffiths
patreon
The Newt and Demon - Book 4 Chapters 64,65,66
🕑 Added 2023-12-01 12:00:08 +0000 UTCChapter 64
Cookies and Poker
Theo stood on the walls of Broken Tusk as the day faded, expecting lightning to strike at any moment. The Season of Fire had been especially tame for rain, compared to the Season of Blooms. But the thunder he expected came in the form of demonic assassins, the sudden arrival of some errant prince to the Qavelli throne, and so on. But it didn’t come. The sound of peaceful insects drift in from the swamp. People chatted below about their day, and what they planned to do tomorrow. No lightning came. No thunder boomed in the distance. The silence was almost more unsettling.
Both deals the alliance had struck in the past week were profitable. Squeak, from the lizard-folk, forged a deal concerned more with culture than profit. Pogo, in the underground below, had her sights set on protecting the Nameless City. Things were going well without hitches for once. But tomorrow would see Fenian off to something no one in town could understand.
The Elf’s journey into Balkor’s dead realm would have been impossible without Xol’sa. The extra-planar Elf had taken a hit for the team by prying into Tero’gal. Theo and Tresk had come to understand the error of his approach, but had yet to tell him their solution. They were both waiting until after Fenian’s departure to invite the wizard into their realm. If a person were to force themself upon a realm, the patrons would shift their gaze to them. But if that same person were forced to traverse the Bridge, plopped into a realm by an interdiction event, everything was by the book.
That list of strange, unwritten rules seemed to grow by the day. Navigating it was a minefield unto itself. Theo pushed off from the wall, then descended into the town below. Something in his chest told him things would change soon enough. The world would become a better place sooner than he expected, but the form it took was still unknown. He skipped dinner entirely, and went straight to bed. Without Tresk or Alex.
The Dreamwalk was a place that required all participants to be present. The alchemist found himself in an in-between place of thick shadows and heavy air. Tresk had done this once before. She didn’t enjoy the experience, but Theo found himself at peace. Aarok wanted to kick off a monster wave tomorrow after Fenian departed. Fortunately for the Elf, Azrug volunteered to watch the enchanted Karatan with the help of Miana.
Theo had time to reflect on his own in that strange place. Broken Tusk was a very defensible location. It was bordered on the north and south by impassable mountains. To the west, there was the sprawling swamp. Only the east provided an avenue for attack, and even that would leave a sieging force exposed to the withering effects of the magical towers. Added to the deadly mix was Throk’s guns, which would be completed soon enough. The alchemist had seen to that through the use of piles of gold coins. But as ever, it was the sky he feared most.
The scene shifted without warning. Theo found himself standing on the eastern battlements of the town, gazing off into the rolling fields. Tresk and Alex stood next to him, both holding postures of impatience.
“Couldn’t have waited for us?”
“I needed a minute to think.”
Penny for your thoughts?
Theo explained what had been going on in his mind. Not just about Broken Tusk, but the Southlands Alliance. The Southlands Region of Qavell was very easy to defend. Just like the town itself. Everything from Broken Tusk to Gronro-Dir was encased in mountainous regions. The only access to the sea between the two towns was the harbor and beach. As always, it wasn’t the land, the sea, or the underground that the alchemist feared. It was the sky.
The alchemist shifted the scene, bringing them to the walls of Gronro. It was an old memory of Tresk’s, something she had gained by scouting the region. He would never get over how defensible the area was. A path, perhaps wide enough for a single merchant’s cart to traverse, connected the town to the northern mountain passage. Crags stabbed skyward in all other directions. It was a nightmare for any assaulting parties. Especially the undead, who often tumbled into the chasm below.
An imagined airship appeared above the town, looming among the wispy clouds. “Even an airship would have trouble getting here,” Theo said, gesturing to scoot the ship along. “Operating at high altitudes was a problem on Earth. I’m assuming this is no different.”
“Nah, you’re missing the point there,” Tresk said, swiping her hand through the air. The undead stirred below. Ribbons of sickly energy rose into the sky. “Remember what dad said? Magic is an airship’s worst enemy.”
“Interesting.” Theo imagined a map of the area in his mind. Assuming Qavell could launch an airship from the capital, they would have to run a course to the east. It would be a horrid scenario, exposing them to even more of the undead. “The closer they get to Gardreth, the worse it gets. More magic coming from the Fallen Kingdom.”
“Yeah. They’ll go north,” Tresk said with a sharp nod. She traced her finger through the air, making a wide circle before clicking her tongue. “Then around and over the sea.”
Benton’s people wouldn’t act against the crown, Alex said. They’re hiding right now. Waiting for the curse to lift.
“But who would take the reins after Karasan dies?” Theo asked. He shook his head, breaking loose thoughts away. “Of course, he has descendants. Doesn’t he? Kids?”
Tresk nodded. “I’ve heard about them. Daughters and sons.”
“So, if Fenian is scheming with the patrons… Karasan is likely scheming, too.”
Reasonable.
The scene shifted once again. Tresk transported them to the piers outside of the harbor, looking out over the expansive ocean. “This is where they’ll strike.”
Theo couldn’t help himself. He laughed, gesturing to both towers. Two rail guns appeared on the towers, then an airship in the sky. “This is what I felt. I knew we would run into problems with the administrators soon. I felt it.”
“You think they’ll try to stay your hand?” Tresk said, cackling. “Good luck!”
“We’ll need to override them. We should slip the Adventurer’s Guild an order to fire on sight when we get the guns set up. Highest payload.”
“No mercy!” Tresk shouted.
Agreed, Alex said, honking and shooting a small ball of fire. So long as the airship comes within the time we expect, we can assume that it is Qavell. After Fenian leaves, the airship should take about a week to arrive.
“How do you figure?” Theo asked.
Alex seemed to shrug her wings. Just estimating based on assumed speed and the distance.
Theo turned his attention to the airship above. He had imagined a flying ship, like the ones Laedria created. That was the most reasonable assumption, based on Throk’s findings. An airship needed to be light enough to fly, and would likely rely on magical defenses rather than physical ones. The alchemist imagined a payload of his improvised explosives, potions that took advantage of the volatile nature of Drogramathi alchemy. Firing only two shots, the rail guns annihilated the airship. Twin explosions issued at the same time, reducing the imagined hunk of wood to nothing but ash.
There were other payloads they could send, though. Theo dragged his mind away from war crimes, and simply focused on the fastest way to down the ship. Drogramathi Iron slugs warded with [Dragon’s Dance] would be the most effective. But he didn’t discount the idea of using [Anti-mage] infused loads, either. That required experimentation. Instead of running off to train, both Tresk and Alex stayed behind to help him create new slugs. He needed the Marshling’s willpower to extract the properties of the [Mage’s Bane] flower, turning it into a poem for his [Toru’aun Mage’s Core].
Throk had refined the firing of his rail guns down to a simple process. The sled that launched the shot was the most important to Theo’s application. The alchemist imagined a Drogramathi Iron slug, rifled to make it spin better in the air. He then sat down with his companions to mess with his new skill, [Linked Wards]. Unlike the regular spell crafting system, linking wards together had more to do with creativity than following a pattern.
“Have you ever tried to put two wards on the same thing?” Tresk asked.
“I haven’t,” Theo said, looking down at the hunk of purple-black metal in his lap.
The group spent several hours experimenting. They all felt the same goal form in their minds. The desire to combine the [Anti-mage] property with [Dragon’s Dance]. The two poems were so different, it seemed impossible to get them to work together. Both Tresk and Alex drew on Theo’s knowledge of Toru’aun’s secret language to create new tales. But something finally stuck. They realized that, like the second tier wards, there was an inter-linking of words required to get the [Linked Wards] skill to work. The alchemist only knew it was working when the skill spun in his chest, singing a happy song as he applied a new ward to the metal shot.
A faint sheen of chromatic energy rippled across the Drogramathi Iron slug. Everyone leaned in to inspect the effect.
[Dragon’s Antimagic]
[Advance Ward] [Linked Ward]
Creates a reactive field of [Dragon’s Antimagic]. Field only activates when enemies are detected in range.
Trigger:
Detect Enemy
Duration:
5 days.
The system loved generating vague references with wards. They drilled deeper, inspecting the [Dragon’s Antimagic] effect mentioned in the description.
[Dragon’s Antimagic]
The dragon’s dance combines with the anti-magical effects of the anti-mage property. This effect creates a field of anti-magic that lashes out in a violent dance of death.
Effects:
Creates a sphere of blades that deals massive damage to all targets, living or otherwise.
Targets hit by the blades cannot use magic for one minute.
Any non-living targets affected by the magical restriction will be unable to operate for the allotted time.
“That’s an anti-airship weapon right there,” Tresk said, hooting with excitement.
Not only was the effect monstrously powerful, but it came with a ruthless slug. The ward’s field would react when it came in contact with the ship. But after that? The slug would do immense damage to the vessel, rendering it useless. If the blades of death didn’t tear it apart, the supersonic hunk of Drogramathi Iron would. Theo ran simulations, summoning and shooting down airships with ease.
“This is perfect,” Theo said. He held up a Drogramathi Iron slug, testing its weight in his hand. “Throk already has a small arsenal of these.”
“Well, that’s what we’re doing tomorrow,” Tresk said with a laugh. “Maybe you could make me some more poisons.”
Tresk was already using his best poison. There might be improvements he could make, but that was doubtful. She was disappointed when he told her. But it was more important to practice his wards on the towers near the piers.
“Once I start my hybridization program with the reagents, I’ll come up with a better poison,” Theo said.
That seemed to satisfy her enough. After settling the matter, the group envisioned more scenarios of attack. They found holes in the town’s defenses, and made notes to plug those up. None of them felt as though their paranoia was unwarranted. There were people out to get them, and it was important to brace themselves before the attack came. Not after.
The Dreamwalk ended as it often did. Theo felt himself being tugged out of the imaginary realm, sent hurtling into his comfortable bed. As always, he awoke to find Tresk already scampering out of bed. The scent of cooked meat drifted up the stairs, causing his stomach to rumble. Groggily, he found his way down the stairs and into the dining area. Fenian was already there, tapping his fingers on the table nervously. He might not care to show it, but the Elf was worried about what happened next.
After breakfast, there were a few meetings requesting Theo’s attendance. He declined them, and prepared to send Fenian packing. Aarok and Luras gathered in the manor, just in case anything unexpected happened. Alex jumped into the Elf’s lap, preening herself as Theo and Tresk prepared to depart for Tero’gal.
“Remember to talk to Uz,” Fenian said, nodding to himself. It was the most nervous the alchemist had ever seen him. “I have faith that you’ll interdict me correctly, but…”
“We can talk to Drogramath if you need,” Theo said.
“No, that won’t be necessary. I’m ready.”
Theo shrugged, grabbing Tresk’s hand. “See ya in a sec.”
The pair fell through the realms together. They slipped through the fabric of the mortal plane, then passed over the bridge. Tresk urged them to the surface of that shadowy spot, and they both landed on it without issue. Without prompting, the Queen of the Bridge of Shadows emerged from nowhere. As always, her face was a mask of impenetrable shadows.
“Blah, blah,” Uz’Xulven said. “Yes, this should work. No, I don’t know the details.”
“I’d be more comfortable if you were here as a backup,” Theo said. “Can you catch him if he falls?”
“That’s the plan, anyway,” Uz’Xulven said, pacing on the bridge. “Balkor’s realm has been more active than normal, so I assume this should work. His dead soul can feel the king coming. Pray the king doesn’t know that this is a trap.”
Theo wanted to trust Fenian and Uz’Xulven. But he didn’t. He steered himself and Tresk away from the Bridge, even as the queen shouted after them. A moment later they landed in Tero’gal, among the smiling souls that had taken residence there. It only took a single thought, but the world shifted slightly. The alchemist summoned the Arbiter with little effort, catching the sandstone-colored gaze of Khahar.
“It will work,” Khahar said, striding over to place a comforting hand on Theo’s shoulder.
“Seems like a plan you could have done yourself, Khahar,” Tresk said, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow. “Oh, unless you made a rule that you have to follow. So, you tied your own hands. Hah!”
“Something like that,” Khahar said, smiling. “Are you going to bring him here before sending him to Balkor’s domain?”
Tresk shrugged. “My plan was to send him straight there.”
“You can do that?” Khahar asked, seeming doubtful.
“Oh, yeah. I bet I could toss him into your domain if I wanted. Watch this!” Tresk scrunched up her face, then grunted. “Nevermind. Can’t interdict the Arbiter.”
Theo pat the Marshling on the shoulder. “It was worth a try. Why don’t you bring him here first. So he can see our realm.”
Khahar’s expression didn’t evade Theo’s notice. This wasn’t a normal thing to do. Perhaps the power he and Tresk had gained was outside of his expectations. The alchemist was certain that interdiction was now a banned practice. But Yuri had placed a loophole in that rule, allowing them to do it. Why? Because they weren’t patrons. They were mortals who commanded a fully realized realm.
“Alrighty. Here he comes,” Tresk said, closing her eyes.
Theo felt Tresk wrap her willpower around the realm. Her senses spread through realities, snaking between places until she found Alex on the mortal plane. To the alchemist’s surprise, she grabbed both the goose and the Elf, then tugged. “Twofer!” she shouted, yanking like a fisherman hooking into a large fish.
It was the most impressive interdiction even Theo had ever witnessed. He always considered dimensional travel to include one important fact. One needed to pass over the Bridge of Shadows to reach the realms. That was a fact lodged firmly in his mind. But as Alex and Fenian appeared in Tero’gal, he realized that Tresk skipped that step entirely. She made a hole in the void large enough to drag both of them through, then mended it shut like a surgeon closing a wound.
Tresk placed her hands on her hips, wiggling her eyebrows. “Huh? Pretty cool, right?”
Fenian looked around, his mouth hanging open. “Not exactly what I expected,” he said, licking his lips. “This isn’t Balkor’s domain.”
“This is Tero’gal,” Theo said.
Fenian’s eyes dragged over the scene, then locked onto Khahar. He bowed his head.
“Tresk is great at not following the plan,” Khahar said with a sigh. “How long can you hold him here, Marshling?”
“Heh. You gods with your rules. He’s here forever. Until we reverse-interdict him back to the mortal plane, or he takes the bridge.” Tresk’s smile beamed.
“That shouldn’t be possible,” Khahar said.
“Possible-schmosible. I did it. Deal with it.”
Theo studied Fenian as Tresk bickered with Khahar. Spirits who trespassed in a realm broke down if they weren’t invited. The Elf’s body showed no sign of wear. He was wrapped in an aura of protection, something provided by the Marshling. She had dipped into the system and given him a pass to be in Tero’gal forever. An interesting turn of events. As if punctuating his thoughts, an icy doorway opened. Benton stepped out, holding a plate with cookies.
“Anyone hungry?” he asked. His eyes darted around, then went wide. “Oh! A mortal? Arbiter, is that a mortal? Should I go?”
“Stay,” Khahar commanded, his voice rough as gravel. “I’d like some of your tea, Benton. And a few cookies.”
“Right,” Fenian said. He looked more nervous than ever. “So, am I going?”
“I think he should stay for tea and cookies,” Tresk said. “Dad always said not to travel on an empty stomach.”
“Agreed,” Theo said, clapping a hand over Fenian’s shoulder and grinning. “Maybe a few games of poker. Why not?”
Chapter 65
Hallowed Realm of the Dead
Foul odors didn’t seem to carry as well in Tero’gal. That was a good thing, considering the amount of bodies crammed in the small cottage. Benton, Theo, Tresk, Fenian, Khahar, and Belgar all sat at a round table. The Elf let out another frustrated breath, then tossed his cards across the room.
“I don’t care for this game.”
Khahar’s lips twitched, hinting at a smile. “You have the best poker face I’ve ever seen. I don’t understand how you’ve lost this badly.”
“Deception in the real world is easier. This game is a farce.”
Fenian was frustrated, but not from the game. The longer he sat in Tero’gal, the more Theo understood the extent of his plan. That plan held more facets than just killing the king of Qavell and claiming the Throne of the Herald. Khahar hid those pieces of the plan perfectly within the realm, but the Elf wasn’t so skilled.
“Might as well get going,” Theo said, standing to dismiss the matter.
Everyone filed out of the cottage. Tresk cracked her knuckles and rolled up her sleeves. They bunched up, then rolled down her scrawny arms immediately. But she wasn’t a Marshling that cared for ceremony. She steepled her fingers before sending her senses through the realms. Theo could feel it, like an itch in the back of her mind, as she quested. Khahar nodded with approval.
“She’s frighteningly good at this,” he said. “I can’t sense an ability… hmmm.”
“If she’s hiding an ability,” Theo started, smiling at his companion. “She’s hiding it well. Could it just be aptitude?”
“I doubt it,” Khahar said. “It must be a hidden ability.”
“I’ll never tell. Alright. Are you ready, Elf-boy?”
Two rapiers appeared in Fenian’s hands. The silver-blue one for Parantheir, and the shadowy one for Uz’Xulven. “Khahar knows what to do if I don’t return. Send me to the dead realm, you angry little Marshling.”
It took only a snap of her fingers for Tresk to send Fenian away. Space didn’t warp around him. There was no visible indication that he had gone, but he was. A cold silence settled in over the bright landscape of the realm.
“Well, this is awkward,” Belgar said, folding his ghostly arms in front of him. “I expected an explosion.”
“Hmmm. I must go,” Khahar said, vanishing without another word.
“That’s not ominous,” Benton grunted. He turned to regard Tresk. “Any insights, little savant?”
“Meh. He zorped back to Khahak, and I can’t see that far.”
“You’d tell me if you had a hidden ability. Right?” Theo’s feelings for and with Tresk shifted by the day. They were mostly synchronized now, leaving no room for lies.
“No ability. But I don’t want Khahar knowing that. Heh.”
It made more sense that Tresk had an innate ability to command the realms. It fell in line with Theo’s thoughts on Khahar’s long-term plans. The grand scheme involved him, but it was in a supporting role. Tresk was the genuine star of the show. Like most things with the long-lived people, there would be more twists and turns before the end. So long as the walls held firm, both in the mortal realm and Tero’gal, everything would turn out fine.
Belgar cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous. But the spirits here spend a lot of time without you. I’ve been giving them tasks.”
“Not a bad idea,” Theo said. “Are they getting bored?”
“Bored? No, but they’re restless.”
“What’s the difference?” Tresk asked.
“We’re mapping the realm. Most of us haven’t been in a heavenly realm, so we don’t know what we should be doing. Benton has been helpful in that regard.”
“Oh, do go on,” Benton said.
“Tero’gal isn’t like the other heavenly realms. According to Benton,” Belgar nodded at the bear god.
“Right. Normally, they’re a reflection of your station. Mine is cold and without life. Khahar’s is a fortress—or so they say—and so on.”
“Uz’Xulven has a bridge,” Tresk said, giggling.
“Right,” Benton said. “She formed her realm into the concept of a bridge, which links realms. But Tero’gal? This is just a place. Like a different version of the mortal realm.”
This wasn’t news to Theo. Tero’gal was described as a mortal dream realm in some system descriptions. His theory was that it was the manifestation of their Dreamwalk ability. A way for Khahar to bypass some rules in the monitor system’s ‘coding’ to allow them to own a heavenly realm. The most accurate description of the realm was that it was a dream made manifest in the heavens. The alchemist wasn’t eager to share this information with anyone. Not because he was afraid they would abuse the knowledge, but because of the implications.
Watch this! Alex shouted into Tresk and Theo’s minds from afar.
They heard wings flapping in the distance, then the slap of webbed feet on packed mud. The group swiveled their heads to spot the goose taking off into the sky. She soared high, then off into the distance.
“She finally learned to fly,” Tresk mused, watching as the goose became little more than a speck against the sprawling sky. “Once she’s big enough, I’m gonna ride her.”
“That’s a sight I’d pay to see,” Belgar said. “Combat goose.”
Theo wasn’t eager to get back to the mortal plane. Instead, he consulted the maps that Belgar and the souls had drawn up. They had already estimated the size of the world in halms, but the alchemist converted them into miles because halms sucked. If they were right, Tero’gal was larger than the continent Broken Tusk rested on. It would only continue to grow. But would it wrap around like a spherical planet? Or would it just go on forever, like some weird flat plane in the void?
Alex flew overhead as Tresk and Theo met with the various souls of the realm. They held less reverence for him than the people of his own town, which felt like a relief. There was something about being a lost soul that made one independent, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Some complained of listlessness, but Belgar promised to give them more tasks. There were too many questions to give anyone solid answers, so they settled on an open promise of excitement.
They hiked through the land, following the various maps to find points of interest. Dotting the landscape were the structures generated by the system upgrades. The towers here reminded him of those on the walls back home. But the natural landmarks were nothing like the swamplands. Clear streams ran from the snow-capped mountains, emptying into massive lakes. Like everything in the realm, there was no wildlife. Just an endless sprawl of Earth-like plants and open fields. Those plants grew at a normal rate, though. Unlike the trees outside of Broken Tusk, the dream plants had nothing to feed off of. Or the pseudo-physical forms they took weren’t entirely adapted to absorbing magical power.
Theo and Tresk watched Alex swoop down into a lake, plunging beneath the surface. She honked with excitement, flapping her waxy wings to remove the water. Belgar lingered nearby with a group of souls. All who followed the group had an appreciation for nature, and Tero’gal was happy to provide.
“I wonder where this turn leads us,” Theo said, pulling Tresk close.
“Nowhere good,” she grumbled.
“I don’t know,” Belgar offered. “You’ve already saved some lost souls. Count that as a victory.”
“Yeah!” one soul shouted, pumping their spectral fist in the air.
Let’s just hope this isn’t the end of Fenian’s journey, Theo thought, eyes locked on the goose in the lake. Let’s hope he didn’t rush into this like last time.
Traveling to a dead realm was nasty business. Fenian didn’t want to do this. He wanted nothing to do with Balkor’s power, but every turn of his life had shunted him closer to the damned demon god. Khahar had reassured him it was all part of some large plan, and that the dead Dronon was part of it. Only, he had to do all the heavy lifting. Luring the king into a false sense of security, then into the dead realm. The unveiling of hidden powers locked away for a century.
“I’ve gotten myself into it this time, haven’t I?” Fenian asked himself.
Balkor’s dead realm offered no response. The act of being interdicted into Tero’gal, and then into the unpronounceable realm of Ho’ch. It was a sprawling place that contained nothing but rot. Semi-organic structures loomed high into a pale green sky. The scent of death carried on a stagnant breeze, blowing nothing but a stomach-churning odor into the Elf’s nostrils. His steps squelched underfoot as he pushed forward. To the place where the god had fashioned himself a spire.
Like Khahak, Ho’ch contained a massive tower in the center. In the early days of the first ascendancy war, the Dronon God of Necromancy had carved a niche for himself. A place where no other god would dare attack, lest their servants be turned against them. Scholars of the time had done their best to document the fight, but those records were mostly lost. All that remained were ruined realms that none could see. It hadn’t even been that long since he died. 873 years. A blink in the grand scheme.
“Ah, there you are,” Fenian said, surmounting the last rise.
King Karasan stood, back against the seething green stone. His elegant Elven countenance was locked in a permanent grimace. His mage’s robes swept the ground behind him as he pushed off, black hair streaked with white trailing as though driven by the wind. “I see you’ve had enough time to recover.”
“How is the old home?” Fenian asked. “Infested with Balkor’s cast-offs yet?”
“Almost,” Karasan said. “Should I die here, my son has a plan to destroy your pets.”
“Otherwise, you’ll be the one to wipe the Southlands Alliance off the map. I have to say, I’m impressed you haven’t dropped a city-sized fireball on them.”
“Bringing errant towns to heel is nothing new, Southblade. Or fallen Tarantham houses, for that matter.”
“Oh, please. If you define the slaughter of a people as obedience, you’re a fool.”
Karasan sighed, then shrugged. As always, he treated this as a matter that bored him. “They were all like you. All craved one thing. Death. The desire to rejoin lost loved ones. You held back in our last fight. Why?”
“Put it together, my king,” Fenian sneered. He tightened the grip on both of his rapiers.
“Would Parantheir make you his avatar here? I don’t think so. Neither would Uz’Xulven,” Karasan said, his eyes focusing on the space between them. Bored as ever. “You couldn’t beat me in the void. Or in the minor realms. You didn’t use [Parantheir’s Challenge], because you knew you would die. So, you lured me here in the hope that a dead god would help you? Maybe that would work. If Balkor rose against me—which he won’t—you stand a chance. Perhaps the alchemist has given you some anti-mage potions, which might help. If my mana pool wasn’t so vast.”
“Everyone has a weakness.”
“I’m sure of it!” Karasan laughed. “I’m content with my life. I’ll die here, if that’s what needs to happen. But perhaps you should consider the weight of the station. The system has not accepted my suggestions as Herald. But I’m rambling on. Let’s see your trick.”
Fenian sent his senses into his soul where his cores rested. Everyone saw him as the wielder of a legendary [Elven Trader’s Core], and that was true. He also had his [Parantheir Duelist's Core], and his [Uz’Xulven Duelist’s Core]. Few might guess he got his hands on a [Planar Mage’s Core], which had done him little good. And not a living soul on the planet knew about his other two cores.
“I had to let you win the first fight,” Fenian said, licking his lips nervously. “That was the only way you would follow me here. I had to be a servant of Uz’Xulven, so she would let you use the bridge. Before all that, I needed to sow the seeds of doubt.”
“What doubt might that be?”
“Doubt that any of Balkor’s followers were left alive.”
“Your wife was the last,” Karasan said. “Not that it matters. With Balkor dead, his cores were removed from his followers.”
“Interesting thing. Balkor never died. Not completely,” Fenian said, gesturing to the realm. “This place withers, but doesn’t perish. When he was cast down to Gardreth, it was a feint. What necromancer worth their weight stores their soul in their body? Even gods.”
Fenian had never seen Karasan’s face so much as twitch. But the slight raising of his brows told him everything he needed to know. The king reached for a magical item in his possession, but the duelist activated his [Parantheir’s Challenge] ability.
[Parantheir’s Challenge]
Parantheir Duelist Skill
Epic
Challenge all surrounding enemies to a duel. No one may leave the designated area until a victor is crowned.
Effect:
All hostile persons, or monsters, are locked in a duel with you. No party may leave until the other is dead.
Walls of shimmering silver-blue energy emerged from the rotting ground. Karasan winced, holding an ornate black sculpture in his hand. The stone of the statue crumbled onto the ground, burning with green fire until there was nothing left. This was it. Either Fenian’s gamble paid off, or he was dead. The ability would last until one of them was dead on the ground of Balkor’s domain, feeding the flagging spirit of the god.
“This is it, then,” Karasan said. “Grace me with the name of the core before we fight to the death.”
“Cores,” Fenian corrected. “[Balkor Mage Hunter’s Core], and [Balkor’s High Priest Core].”
Karasan’s face twitched again. “Your wife’s?”
Fenian nodded, crouching on the spot. Karasan held his hand out, channeling his magic. The duelist kicked off from the ground with such force that pieces of fetid ground broke off, shooting back to slam against the barrier. He spun in the air, bringing both rapiers against the king’s powerful barrier at the same time. Coated in anti-mage poison as the rapiers were, they sucked away at the magical power. A shockwave of antimagical energy shot in every direction. The king buckled.
But one didn’t become the king of Qavell through idle scheming. Bolts of electricity shot in every direction, bouncing against the barrier. Fenian deflected several with his swords, only succeeding in sending them bouncing faster. Karasan twisted his hands through the air, performing complex magical gestures that brought spikes of arcane energy drilling into the duelist’s body. His mage hunting core sang, drinking the energy in and filling him with power. The pair broke their stalemate, standing apart and staring daggers.
“It seems you have too many tricks,” Karasan said, unable to hide his labored breath.
“We’re just getting started.”
The Wanderer had known nothing but rage for almost a thousand years. His mind hadn’t been his own since Balkor’s false death. He raised his head in recognition for the first time since that day, gazing up with rotting eyes. The white towers of Qavell stabbed toward the heavens, as though defying the gods themselves. A boiling mass of undeath surrounded him. Seething creatures that groaned and rattled in response to the duel. He wheezed, clearing away a thousand years of dust and mucus from his throat.
A shiver ran through the army of undeath. There were new bodies here. New vessels he didn’t remember from the fall. He wheezed, then cleared his throat again. A trickle of his old power returned to him, affording him consciousness enough to know.
“West,” he croaked. The command rippled through the undead. A word of power that drove them on.
Fenian’s body and spirit felt broken. He drew ragged breaths through one ruined lung. Both Balkor-aligned cores rested somewhere nearby. Somewhere near the corpse of a fallen king. The realm shivered around him, filling with new unlife. The fight had gone on far too long. It was a flash in the pan compared to the heavenly scale of time, but to a mortal? He had spent years fighting with the king in that box. With nowhere to run, they were forced to fight with abandon.
That barrier had fallen, bringing with its demise a rush of stinking air. After evacuating the bile in his stomach, Fenian had collapsed. The next thing he felt was the collapsing and rebuilding of disparate powers. Gears turned somewhere, then locked into place. To own the Throne of the Herald was an honor. And a curse.
“That’s sorted, I suppose,” Fenian wheezed.
“Yet,” another voice said, wheezing from all around him. “You cast away gifts.”
“I have no interest in serving you,” Fenian said. “Just used you, didn’t I? A means to an end.”
“Hmmm,” the voice hummed. “Did you figure out my phylactery on your own? You drew it so close to the Qavelli settlements—you must have known.”
“Balkor, I don’t know the extent of your madness.” Fenian gazed up at the green sky above. Even the putrid clouds above made him sick. “What I know is that you’re needed.”
“Life to life, undeath to death,” Balkor said, his voice bright.
“The scholars of old thought you were too smart to move against the other gods. They figured you had a plan. You were close with Drogramath. So, I figured why wouldn’t you hide your soul away?”
“Indeed. But you’re dying, Elf. I’m happy to accept you into my realm… Or perhaps I could grant you eternity.”
Fenian shivered. He expected to be able to walk out of the realm. All his tricks should have brought Karasan low in moments, but the old man was crafty. Now he was bleeding out in the realm of a risen god. He obtained the throne, only to accept a leash. How fitting.
“We’re not that desperate,” Fenian said, pulling a healing potion from his inventory. The first few he drank only dulled the pain. Maybe this one would work.
Balkor laughed. “Fine. I had to try, you know.”
“What happens with the undead on the mortal plane?”
“They’re headed west.”
“Why?”
“Hah! Impetuous. Fine. I suppose the Herald ought to know.”
Balkor revealed his plans to the prone Elf. Perhaps the throne wasn’t worth the price.
The Watcher stood on the surface of Antalis. Iaredin spread before him, a blue-green gem floating in the vastness of space. Things hadn’t gone the way he expected, but they were interesting enough. Fenian had proved to be more capable than any of his other candidates. And he was born here. That was the most interesting part. His feathers ruffled as he turned, spotting the two men that had hounded him from the start.
“We’ve done all you asked for,” the grumpy paladin said.
“Every single thing,” the wizard added.
“Service doesn’t guarantee my compliance,” the Watcher said, shaking his head. The corners of his beak-like face rose to something resembling a smile.
“We’re never ascending, are we?” the paladin asked.
Both had lost their cores in the coup. The Watcher could flick a single feather and send them back to the planet. He could do the same motion and turn them into living gods. He could do anything he wanted. But he wouldn’t. Because rules existed for a reason. If he stomped around creation, meddling with the systems, they would grow out of his control. Both men reminded him of the people he seeded on this world. They were too greedy for their own good. Too eager to abuse the power given to them. Next time, he would employ a tighter leash.
“Ascension was never guaranteed.”
“Yet you allowed that Khahari to do as he pleased,” the wizard said, snorting a laugh. “Hardly fair.”
“He has operated within the rules. You were too weak.”
“What other options do we have?” the paladin asked.
The only option they had was ironic. “Can you see the realms from here? You’re ascendant, aren’t you Sulvan Flametouched?”
Sulvan shifted uncomfortably in place. He kicked up a cloud of white powder, sending it drifting over the desolate landscape. The pair always refused to mingle with the peoples that lived on Antalis, thinking them weak. The system’s rules said that anyone over level 100 could sense the realms. If they were strong enough, or wise enough, they could even ascend to godhood. Whatever that meant for the ants on this world.
“I am.”
“And you, Uharis Banetouched, are on the cusp.”
“Yeah,” Uharis said, grimacing.
“There is a new realm. A thing that grows in power by the day. You know the owner.”
Sulvan clenched his fist, gritting his teeth. The Watcher chuckled.
“Beg him, and he may accept you. You have the means.”
Because there was no greater irony than begging the man they attempted to control for help. And Theo could do it with the help of Tresk. That Marshling girl had surprised the Watcher at every step. No one, either brought here or born here, had the aptitude that she had at controlling the realms. Soon enough, she would realize her full potential.
On the mortal realm below, the First Prince of Qavell sensed his father’s death. The city of Qavell rumbled, unleashing magical energies that had been dormant since its construction. The Watcher nodded with approval.
Chapter 66
A Dark Pact
An ornate cabinet, older than the kingdom itself, soared across a spacious sitting room. It slammed against decorated pillars, falling into a thousand pieces to the ground. Servants and attendants scattered, fleeing First Prince Hanan’s rage. Under all his finery, he seethed. He drew ragged, growling breaths. Only the soothing words of a black robed figure brought his temper down. Because that temper was legendary among the people of Qavell.
“This is good,” the robed creature said. “All according to plan.”
“And what plan is that?” Hanan asked, spinning to glare into the impenetrable darkness of the figure’s hood. “The king is dead!”
“Long live the king,” the figure said, gesturing to the prince.
“Stow your scheming, beast.”
It didn’t matter what Hanan wanted. Karasan had fallen, foolishly pursuing his damned rival into a realm. From the start, the fool king had done nothing but put his people in danger. Starting with the war in Veosta, and ending with his inaction when the undead arrived. There was no protecting the people outside of the walls. They should have activated the city from the start. But, no. Now it all fell on his lap. The corpse of a kingdom.
“The ritual has already begun.”
Hanan wheeled, leading with a gauntleted fist that tore through the dark creature’s face. He felt nothing as it passed through, then watched as the darkness reformed around his fist.
“Damn you.”
“The pact,” the creature said.
Hanan removed his fist from the pool of shadows, turning and shaking his head. He cast his eyes over the frescos on the walls. The history of his people was a haunting reminder of hubris. Qavell now stood on the edge of a new era. Perhaps the newly formed Southland Alliance would have mercy on him. But he knew the creature wouldn’t allow it. Perhaps they were strong enough to banish it. Or perhaps he would die. The last option was the one he hoped for the most.
“Fine,” Hanan said, stomping out of the room. “Activate the sigils. Perform the ritual. You’re going to do it anyway.”
Qavell wasn’t the most defensible city. It was open on all sides, open planes as far as the eye could see. If one were to stand on the ruins of the outer walls, they could see the curve of the planet in the distance. As the city rumbled below, the only sight was the exodus of the undead. Fields of skeletons, rotting corpses given life, and other horrors shambled westward. None inside the city knew where they were going, or why they fled, but they celebrated.
Four hundred years ago, the foundations of the mighty city were laid. Both the [Kingdom Core] and [Town Core] pulsed with power as dark Core Smiths performed their rites. Thousands of souls, destined for their godly realms or the void, were sucked into the stones of the city. The place where the magic of the seeds met with natural earth cracked. That crack quickly became a fissure, then a ravine.
Until the city rose.
“Mighty fine weapons you have,” Bilgrob said.
After returning to the mortal plane, Theo had thrown his weight around. The administration wasn’t happy. Throk most certainly wasn’t happy. But as he stood on the towers near the piers, gazing at his new rail guns, he knew it was necessary. His magical senses were still weak, but he could feel it. Something in the distance rumbled the bedrock. Two distinct magical energies flooded through the world like a tide of untamed power.
“Indeed they are.”
“Preparing for war?” the Ogre priest asked.
“Yeah. Want a demonstration?”
The rail guns worked splendidly. Theo had to clear the team of adventurers that was manning the station so he could inspect the weapons. He loaded a plain Drogramathi Iron shell, fed it a mote, then pointed it in a random direction. The adventurers were far more skilled at operating the weapon, but this was simply a demonstration. He set the dial on the side of the gun, then smacked the firing button. The weapon filled the air with a loud cracking sound, sending the slug hurtling through the air. It slammed into a distant island, sending a plume of sand high into the air.
“Your prey must be large,” Bilgrob said, placing his massive hand on the alchemist’s shoulder.
“Airship-sized, I think. We’re working with Gronro-dir to arm them.”
“And what of that rail system I’ve heard so much about?”
“Throk is working on it. He’s taken an artificing apprentice, so hopefully that goes faster.”
The biggest problem with the rail line was the toughness of the carriage compared to its weight. Copper was too brittle, Iron and Drogramathi Iron were too heavy. But Tworgnothi Copper? The old Marshling had determined that it was incredibly strong and light. Similar to aluminum on Earth, but with more impressive structural properties. There was already a prototype outside of his workshop, something that dragged in crowds of people. The metal also provided bonuses for all artifices constructed with it.
“Spit doesn’t take sides,” Bilgrob said, leaning against the wall’s edge. “He heals and provides chaos. Nothing more.”
“I’ve heard about your Ogre magic. That’s what caused the rat infestation.”
“Rat-like creatures,” Bilgrob corrected. “I’ve heard you don’t build weapons of war.”
“I don’t sell weapons of war. I only build them for defensive purposes.”
“Hmm. How different are those paths?”
Theo shrugged. He didn’t care how different those paths were, because he knew how important these weapons were. He was certain there would be an attack from the air. It was only a matter of where that attack came from. What Bilgrob was suggesting was to lay back and let them attack, which was insanity.
“Never confuse defensive capabilities with a willingness to defend. Within these walls, it’s all sunshine and roses. Out there? You need to face the reality of that, Bilgrob.”
The Ogre gave a massive shrug. Ogre culture had two sides. Abject brutality, and infinite compassion. It was weird.
“I don’t disagree. So, the rail. What’s the completion time on that?”
“Ziz and the gang already laid the foundation. Raised stonework next to the road they built. All white marble, of course. Throk and his guys just need to go through and lay the rail, and the power relays. We don’t want to have stations where people feed motes into the track, so he made an automated system.”
“Then I heard a plan to go south. To the islands.”
“Yeah, that’s more challenging.” Theo laughed at his own ambition. The rail to the lizard-folk’s islands was going to be a nightmare to build.
“We have one fact on our side. The waters between here and there are mostly shallow.”
“But what is ‘mostly shallow?’” Theo asked. “A hundred halms?”
“Something like that.”
“May as well just freeze the entire ocean at that point.”
The logistics of any long-distance road over water was a nightmare. The best idea Theo had was to create pylons that went down into the seabed. They would stretch lengths of Drogramathi Iron between them for support, as it was the strongest material they had. Ziz and Nira gave him some early estimates on the span they could achieve that way, and the alchemist wasn’t happy. It was still a worthwhile pursuit, but there were other things they could do with their time.
Airships were something Theo was interested in from the start. Throk refused to build one, due to safety concerns, but there was a middle ground. If he could make an artifice that provided force to a vehicle, he could make speedboats. Not like the ones on old Earth, but artifice-powered sailing ships. Then there was the latest notification in his administration window. The alchemist pushed off against the wall, punching Bilgrob playfully in the arm.
“I have a meeting.”
“Spit watch over you.”
There was an all-hands meeting for all members of the Southlands Alliance. Both Grotgrog Stormfist and Trevas Parn were attending remotely, representing Gronro-Dir and Rivers and Daub respectively. Theo made his way to the town hall, stopping only to shield his eyes from the sun and look up to the sky. Alex flew overhead somewhere, honking with excitement as she patrolled the skies. The moment Aarok discovered she could fly, he put her on patrol duty.
As expected, the meeting room was crammed with people. Theo found his seat at the head of the table, nodding to everyone as they drummed their fingers on the table. Perhaps he had kept them waiting for too long.
Alise cleared her throat. “Right. We’ve had a development.”
“A big development,” Gwyn said, clapping excitedly.
“The undead are moving off,” Aarok said, spoiling the administration team’s surprise.
“Moving off? Why?” Theo asked. His thoughts twitched, and a Wisdom of the Soul message appeared. He didn’t want to read it.
“I’m collecting information on that,” Alran said.
Theo fell back into his chair, letting out a long whistle. He read the message, then shook his head. It was certain that they were moving off because Balkor was alive again. Being the God of Undeath must have meant he had command over those creatures. The group chattered with ideas, none of which hit the mark.
“So, Balkor is back,” Theo said, cutting through the chatter with so few words.
“What?” Aarok asked.
Theo rubbed his hands together, letting his thoughts gather for a moment. Mercifully, everyone remained silent as he thought. “Karasan is dead. Fenian killed him in Balkor’s dead realm. The soul of an ascendant being, and a holder of a throne, fed the demon god.”
“Uh… is that good?” Gael asked nervously.
“The undead are moving off, aren’t they?” Theo said, running his fingers through his hair.
A junior administrator spoke up. “Yup. But what they’re leaving behind is horrible.”
It took Theo a few seconds to realize that the administrator was speaking for Grot. They were using the message system to relay information.
“They already cleared out from the gates?” Theo asked, leaning in over the table.
“Uh… he says… Yep! They’re gone. But the ground is corrupted. No one can walk on it without getting sick.”
This was within Theo’s expected outcomes. That much necromantic energy in one spot would lead to some horrific consequences. The land around Qavell would be tainted for years to come.
“We’re experiencing something similar,” the administrator representing Rivers said. “A slight corruption of the land.”
“Does the alchemist’s potions have an effect?” Alise asked.
“Minimal,” Grot said through his proxy.
“Is it possible to bring me samples of the corrupted soil?” Theo asked.
“En route.”
The administration from all towns took the opportunity to hijack the meeting. They shifted to mundane topics, but it was necessary. Theo was left with a feeling of unease and excitement. The undead had been a buffer, but it was good they were moving on. Once Qavell was dealt with, they would have free reign of the lands to the north. So long as Tarantham or Veosta didn’t come to claim them. Both Rivers and Gronro offered to support the rail initiative, which brought some much needed cash flow to the project.
Next, they covered the standing trade agreements and general flow of cash. Broken Tusk had not recovered after their access was cut off from the rest of the continent, but it was improving. Drogramathi Iron seemed to be the biggest draw from foreign parties. Theo let the admins go wild. It was easy to target them as problem children of his growing alliance, but they were just doing their job. Without them, the day-to-day problems encountered by citizens would have been a grind.
Trevas, the new leader of Rivers, was doing well. Unlike Alran, he had an altruistic nature. He gave a few reports about his town and how things were improving. But that was part of his agreement with the Southlands Alliance. While they still didn’t have formal laws, most agreed that trade guilds were nonsense that did nothing to help the average person. It wasn’t as though capitalism was outlawed but trade guilds always fixed prices and made things worse for everyone.
The meeting concluded around dusk on the twenty-second day of the Season of Fire. Theo met with Sarisa, Salire, Rowan, Tresk, and Alex at Xam’s tavern. Instead of eating in the manor, they all planned to eat at the Marsh Wolf then hit the baths.
“Steak? Tresk asked, scooting into the booth. It was awkward to fit everyone inside, but they didn’t seem to mind. “Yes, please.”
“I’m just happy we got most of the rats,” Rowan said, stretching.
Theo withdrew a notebook and created a table listing all the reagents that might help restore the land. Practiced understanding told him that there was a solution already. He just needed to find it.
“What was it like?” Salire asked, leaning in over the table with dreamy eyes. She stared at Tresk. “Sending Fenian through the realms, that is.”
“Oh, it was easy,” Tresk said. “Just… boop! Tossed him over. Turns out, I can’t use it on anyone. All the conditions are hidden from me. Go figure.”
“It’s better that way,” Theo mumbled, scribbling a plan out.
“You could try not working for five minutes,” Tresk said, elbowing the alchemist.
Theo snapped his notebook shut, then smiled. She was right. The undead were leaving. It didn’t matter why they were going, just that they were gone. “What’s the next holiday in the southlands?”
“Embers,” Sarisa answered with a nod. “We make a big fire, write our dreams on a sheet of paper, then burn it.”
“I always hated Embers,” Rowan grumbled. “Why start a fire when it’s already too hot?”
“I thought most Half-Ogres ran a fire in their house all the time,” Theo said, chuckling.
“Yeah, but a big one is different!” Tresk shouted.
“I think we should do a mid-season celebration!” Salire bounced in her seat.
Tresk sighed. “That would be awesome.”
Once the train was built, everyone could travel from both Gronro and Broken Tusk to Rivers in a matter of an hour. Assuming Throk could get the thing running at break-neck speeds safely. “I like that idea,” Theo said, nodding with approval. “We could tie it into the opening of the train system.”
“Nothing better to show your wealth than a big party,” Sarisa laughed.
The sun set over Broken Tusk the way it often did. Her citizens were safe behind her walls bristling with defensive weapons. Night watchmen patrolled the walls, investigating disturbances and responding as needed. None behind the safety of that place knew that the dawn of a new age had fallen over the mortal plane. Fenian had taken the first step to right a broken system. The world he dreamed of was one where destruction wasn’t part of the cycle.
Two stars brightened in the sky above the Span. The place that segmented the continent into two pieces, Veosta and Qavell, had been a bastion against the constant attacks from undeath. The defenders there didn’t know the meaning of the new stars. One for the new Herald, and the other for the Demon God of Undeath. Unseeable by their eyes were the two new stars that had formed. Ancient gates were unlocked. The monitor system was made more whole.
As the thrones of the Dreamer and the Dreamwalker gained metaphysical materialism, the monitor system shivered with recognition. It was closer to its true form. Two down. Two to go.
