Steel Wolves of Craedia (Realm of Arkon, Book 3) (21 page)

 And then, in the finest tradition of Murphy's Law, a couple of low-level orcs disembarked on that very shore, that very night. Earlier that day they had taken a boat out into the open sea to work on their fishing skill, but had been chased back ashore by some sea monster. Being too low to build a portal out of there, they had decided to call it a day amid a cluster of what looked like large round stones, and logged out of the game.

When morning came, the adventurers were in for quite a surprise. The whole coast was ablaze and quaking from mighty magic blows. Roaring amid the mountains was an enormous dragon, with hundred of fireballs, lightning bolts and boulders being hurled right at her. Melee fighters in plate and mail surrounded the majestic creature in a ring, plunging all manner of sharp and shiny weapons into her scaly coat, resplendent in the rising sun. The orcs started a live feed of the battle, broadcasting it online, and then it dawned on one of them that the round stones around them weren't stones at all but dragon eggs, laid by the same dragon whose roar was presently soaring over the beach and the sea. And, naturally, the brainiac decided to peek inside.

In a later interview the orc, who ended up being an ordinary student from Canada, admitted that he had hoped to obtain unique pets for himself and his friend. Unfortunately, that wasn't what ended up happening. When the two doofuses finally managed to break the shell on one of the eggs, it set off a truly legendary chain reaction. Too bad the orcs couldn't witness it firsthand, since the baby dragon that had crawled out of the egg instantly dispatched them to the nearest graveyard. A moment later another egg cracked open, and then another one. In less than a minute a veritable century of dragons were rushing headlong into battle to aid their mommy. The raid wiped within minutes—each newly hatched dragon was roughly equal in level to the players, while adding an extra percent to Onexia's health and five percent to her damage output. The chain reaction also could have been avoided if the eggs had been dragged apart from each other by ten yards or so, but the clan simply hadn't enough time, having arrived at the site of Onexia's clutch the day before the dragons were due to hatch. There might have been some other reasons as well, but I couldn't remember for sure. When it was all over, the victor and her brood took off, leaving behind five hundred corpses belonging to one of the game's preeminent clans, a couple of overly curious orcs, and a few carcasses of perished baby dragons. Naturally, Onexia never returned to the bay. Firstly, her babies had already hatched, so there was nothing for her there. Secondly, she was a free creature without a permanent home, which only added to her already enormous value as prey. Only unique bosses trumped world bosses, like Shaartakh or the bastard that in a month's time was due to escape the soulstone that had been his prison courtesy of the death goddess Celphata. Oh, and lest anyone feel sorry for those orcs, I should add that they ended up arriving first to the scene of their crime. Naturally, they weren't allowed to loot any of the players' gear, but the money and items the raid had been carrying was enough to turn them into millionaires in real life. Of course, they had to delete their characters thereafter—when there's a bounty of twenty gold pieces on your head, anyone with time on their hands is going to be after you. And dying in the game was far from a pleasant experience, even at only ten percent pain sensitivity. And especially if it happened several times a day.

Finally, besides well-intentioned idiots there were those who sought to reap the rewards of someone else's labor. Imagine your clan had just taken down a major boss in a barnburner of a fight. Your fighters had gone all out, burning all of their cooldown-based abilities and potions. Some of your clanmates are chilling at their bind point or jogging briskly toward the site of your glorious victory... When suddenly you're attacked by a rival clan, a PK group or an enemy faction squad that just happened to be passing by. Naturally, nine times out of ten they mop up all the survivors, grab the loot from the boss, and go their merry way. And sometimes they rub it in by uploading the video of your careless blunder for all the world to see. Sadly, such incidents were all too frequent, and that was why, as a rule, all the powerful clans organized their raids by splitting up into two groups—one to take down the boss, the other to guard against intruders.

"What are you thinking, Krian?" the daressa's voice disturbed the prolonged silence. 

"A nasty bugger," I closed the journal and produced my own pipe.

"And?" 

"And what?"

"Still think you can tear up the Lord of Darkness with what you've got?"

"Do I have a choice?" I tried to add as much confidence to my voice as I could. 

"No, but..." Vaessa motioned at the books lying open on her table. "I can dig around. Maybe I'll find something useful."

"How long might that take?" 

"I don't know," the woman bit her lower lip and turned around. 

"Well then," I chuckled. "No choice, no time for extended research. That means we'll just need to go and kill him."

After those words, the daughter of the late Master of Death got up sharply, and proceeded to pace around the room anxiously, head down and arms folded.

"Do you even realize what you're risking?!" her voice was on the verge of screaming. "What's going to happen to you all if you fail? You will cease to exist! Com-ple-te-ly! This is the bloody Soul Devourer!"

 Without reacting at all to the agitated Vaessa, I picked up the glass and finished off its contents, then rose from my seat. 

"Your cognac is good. And you're no slouch yourself," I smiled at her. "But it's time to go. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

My own analysis of my situation was quite sober. Even if I were to recruit the required number of bodies, my century was no match for Nerghall. There wasn't a single realistic scenario in which the monster ended up biting the dust. With our current getup and full buffs, we were capable of doling out roughly half a million damage per second against a boss around our level. Now divide that number by three and subtract thirty percent—his approximate damage absorption between resistances and armor—and you're left with around 250,000. Assuming that, in a fight against a century, the boss would heal himself for 300,000 HP every two seconds in the battle's first and third phases, that brought the century's damage output down to a measly 100,000 per second. At that rate, even if Nerghall just stood there cracking jokes, it would take us over four hours to take him down. The problem was, he wasn't going to do that! Between Siphon Life, Devour Souls, Dark Rain and the like, we'd probably need three times as much time. And all that assumed zero room for error: no deaths, no blunders, no falling asleep at the wheel despite hours and hours of intense combat. This would be our only shot. And what if we failed? Would I even resurrect, or would my soul be devoured along with the rest?

Was it within my right to risk the lives and souls of the demons that had trusted me with them? I tried not to think about that—the decision had been made, and I couldn't afford to second-guess myself. To be sure, I doubted that anyone but a god or a great mage could challenge the monster from the Gray Frontier. A pity I didn't have Altus at my side anymore; Ingvar probably didn't give a damn; Celphata hadn't been able to dematerialize Nerghall for whatever reason; Setara I had only seen in the form of a statue... And then there was Hart, who might just find this matter of interest in light of the potential fallout if the terrible beast were to be let loose somewhere in the middle of Nittal. How much damage would he do, how many souls would he devour before the Lord and his punishers put him down? So yes, my century alone didn't stand a chance against Nerghall in a fair fight. But who said that I intended to fight fairly?

"You really are sick, Dark One," Vaessa shook her head. "I heard that creatures like you exist, but it's only now I see the legends don't lie. How do you intend to kill Nerghall?"

"That's my problem. Thank you for showing me the journal. And now you must excuse me, I really do have to get going," with a nod goodbye, I made for the exit.

"Stop!" I heard her voice. And so I did.

Vaessa dar Luan requests to join the Steel Wolves clan.

I spun back around. The woman stood there, her chin raised high, staring me down with defiance. The color was gone from her face, but her narrowed eyes shone with resolve. 

"Why do you need this?" I asked for formality's sake, realizing that the daressa had already made a decision and wasn't going to back down. "You do realize this is forever?"

"When my father was trekking to that cave, he too knew it was forever," she exhaled. "I don't know who you are, Dark One, but I
do
see more than most. You've slain Shaartakh. I realize the significance of that act. Now you're standing here, telling me you're going to slay the Lord of Darkness, and damn it, I believe you! If we succeed, then my father's sacrifice and my own life won't have been in vain. Do you see now? The guild can make do without me—sadly, I'm no battle mage. But the undead wreaking havoc on the princedom today, all of them combined aren't worth a bloody rear paw of the Beast from the Gray Frontier. Besides, I can help by fully blocking all of Nerghall's abilities for five minutes. I'd been preparing for it my whole life! I know that won't be nearly enough, but—"

"That would be immensely helpful," I shook my head, suddenly feeling great sorrow for myself and all the millions of people that had come into this world. How many of us
real
people were capable of such a selfless act? To cast aside one's own interests and sacrifice oneself for the greater good? I realized that NPCs were inherently prone to such behavior, that it was part of their programming... But so what? They were more genuine for it! Back in the real world, how many people would I have trusted to have my back? Max, Ivan, Alyona... But here, in a
game
, I wouldn't think twice about trusting any one of my clanmates! Not to mention Kort, Raey, Annat... 

"What now, commander?" Vaessa gave me a searching look. "Will you tell me now how we're going to slay Nerghall?"

"We have a fortnight and a half to nail down a strategy. I promise to share my thoughts with you soon, but for now I need your help."

"Yes?"

"I know you felt it already—something isn't right. I'm going to need to reallocate your talents and abilities—call it special elder magic, if you will. And since I understand virtually nothing in necromancy or the dark arts, I need your advice. But before all that, would you answer me one question?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember Reece?"

"He's alive?" her brow arched upward.

"Aye, and he's one of the Wolves," I nodded.

"And Luitha, his mother?" 

"She died when the undead took their village. He was rescued when he himself was at death's door."

"I
told
his mother to stay here, in the city," Vaessa fished for another bottle in the cabinet, refilled the glasses, and upended hers in one go. "How is he?" she turned to me, putting the glass down on the table.

"He's a mage with potential, a good alchemist and a fun-loving fellow all around," I said, reaching for my pipe again as the meeting appeared to be extending. "He seems to be slightly wary of you, albeit very grateful for teaching him alchemy."

"Hart," sighed the tiflingess, easing back into her armchair. "It's been a century since I drank this much! I can barely stand! About the boy, Reece, he's like a son to me. And he mustn't be afraid—I'd long forgotten his tomfoolery, and I'm not angry at all. So, what is your question, Krian?"

"He wants to know who his father was. He believes that you gave your word to his mother to keep it a secret." 

"Aye, that is true," Vaessa gave a bitter smile. "But I know almost nothing about his father. Only that he was one of the barbarians that used to frequent these lands. I don't know his name, not even his clan... And he doesn't even know he has a son. Luitha gave birth to him at home, in the village. She feared that the boy would someday decide to find his father and try leaving the princedom, which would be tantamount to suicide. But she's gone now, along with her fears. You can try asking the merchants, especially the ones who used to trade with outsiders. Or probe the girls in the Bellflower, though I suspect Reece had already tried that route. Maybe it's for the best? What's the use in stirring up the past?" folding her hands on her knees, the daressa looked up at me. "Now, what did you want to know about necromancy?"

It had grown completely dark outside, with the moon's crescent assuming its rightful place in the sky. The wind had picked up, gusting into the trees that framed the mages' guild's tower. It made the branches creak and the solitary streetlight clang as it swung to and fro; it rustled the patterned curtains, and drove off the midges swarming the table-mounted magic lantern.

The daressa was initially skeptical that she would be able to learn anything new, and I'd had to dig deep into my reserves of patience to convince her. It wasn't until I drew both the dark mage and necromancer talent trees on paper for her that she got the concept, and then she was hooked. Imagine the face of an eight-year-old girl whose parents took her to a toy store on her birthday—the kind that sells not only dolls but also doll cars, doll clothes and doll castles—and told her to pick any five things she wanted. Better yet, imagine taking your girlfriend to an upscale boutique with the same instructions: any five items she wants, but no more. Suffice it to say, surviving the ordeal is going to require quite a bit of self-medication in the form of good ol' alcohol. Good thing we had plenty of cognac. I had to explain even the most basic, elementary things, like the fact that you couldn't change anything after distributing talents, and why it made sense to have an idea of a final build and gradually work towards it as opposed to grabbing a little bit of everything in all branches. After a good hour and a half, in the course of which I'd nearly lost all my hair and the second bottle's contents had been transferred into our bellies—mine mostly—we had settled on a build for Vaessa that would take her to level 350, at which time she would be able to summon her first bone dragon. The build would max out her summoning branch, the rationale being that her father's kris greatly boosted the strength of creatures Vaessa either summoned or raised from the dead. The level and quantity of creatures controlled by the necromancer were fully determined by so-called summoning points, so I ended up dumping more than half of her available talent points to boost them. Then, summoned creatures required a lot of mana-intensive upkeep, which meant a necromancer had to have crazy high mana regeneration. Out of those considerations, I threw a bunch of stat points into spirit.