Patch 17 (Realm of Arkon) (7 page)

"What year is it, and who governs in Vaedarr?" the mage continued his questions.

"Year 1376 from the last Chaos War," I quickly looked up the answer in the wiki. "And Rayan I Erast, dubbed 'the Wise,' is the ruler."

Archmage Altus fell in thought for a moment, then made a casual gesture and two chairs materialized out of thin air. He took a seat on one, putting the staff, which he had been holding in his right hand, on his knees.

"Sit and tell me what the temple at which you fell asleep looked like." He frowned. "And what are these rags you're wearing? Are you a beggar?"

"I am a mage!" I declared, trying to instill my voice with confidence. Noticing Altus' look of irony and amusement, I corrected myself, "Well, um, I intend on becoming one."

"How the times have changed," the archmage shook his head despondently. "Used to be that the gift would only awaken among the noble, but now..." he sighed heavily. "So, about the temple?"

The two of us made a quite a comical sight—a human and a ghost, sitting in the middle of a road at night, a quarter mile from the closed gate of a demon village, engaged in a calm conversation.

"I'm not sure, it was nighttime," I was scanning the information on gods, out of which only Myrt was known to me. "It might have been Setara or Loaetia," I added, finally pulling up the list of Arkon's pantheon.

Your reputation with Archmage Altus of Erantia has increased! Archmage Altus is neutral to you.

The bar above the NPC's head changed color from pale red to yellow.

"Setara, you say," said the archmage contemplatively, "perhaps it was her who sent you—to put an end to my three-hundred-year-old solitude."

In this scenario, I was supposed to be offered a quest...

"How may I be of service?" I spoke the standard phrase for such a situation.

He sighed and gave me an intent look, whereupon he seemed to have reached a decision.

You've accessed the quest: Duty Calls.

Quest type: hidden, chain.

Help Archmage Altus perform his final duty to his people.

You've accessed the quest: Duty Calls, Part I.

Quest type: hidden.

Listen to Archmage Altus' story.

Reward: experience.

Hidden quests were highly coveted by all players. Acquiring one was only possible by being in the right place at the right time, and after fulfilling a heap of conditions to boot. In one example, a player from South Korea spent a whole month pummeling a mannequin. The sheer stubbornness must have had its effect, as the governing AI eventually took mercy on the poor bastard, whom his fellows Koreans were already beginning to perceive as an NPC, and offered him a secret quest for some unique profession.

I accepted the quest, looked at the archmage sitting across from me, and was transfixed by his gaze...

***

The royal palace—Vaedarr's chief structure—was built by the renowned Vel'cato during the reign of Erast the Great, who had used both sword and coin to unite the eight Great Princedoms under his banners. The palace's beauty was staggering, its tiniest detail materialized with the utmost love by the architect. Time appeared to stand still, and you could hardly resist the illusion that the warrior by the wall could step down off his pedestal, square his shoulders, shaking off the weight of fifteen centuries, and finally breathe in a chestful of air. It was here, at a graduation ball two hundred sixty years ago, that the master of flame, still young at the time, had met his Elsa.

Archmage Kyam Altus, Grandmaster of the four elements and one of Arkon's mightiest mages, chased away the somber memories. He looked around the small hall of the Royal Council, and the rulers of Erantia that had gathered there around an oval table. All were waiting for the king, and each was doing their own thing in the meantime. There was Count Calle, the commander of the Royal Guard, sitting right across and explaining something quietly to a portly bald fellow with the face of a street vendor. The latter's harmless appearance belied his station—a dirty trick played by fate, for the name of Count Gel'ta, head of the Secret Chancellery, was whispered by humans and other races residing in Erantia exclusively in hushed tones and with great trepidation. Sitting to the left of the throne, the head of treasury was writing something into his notepad; the first minister was listening to Archmage Stavus, nodding his agreement periodically, and only the fighters—Duke Grasse and an unfamiliar colonel—were sitting quietly.

He and Lars were clearly out of place. Altus had long retired from public life, and his friend, Champion of the Order of the Red Flame—a mercenary troop for all intents and purposes—were not among the royal advisers. And they wouldn't be here if not for what had happened...

"Lars, do you think it's some lord colluding with Darkaan? Or is this an independent initiative by one of the Covens? The dark emanations and astral traces left in the ransacked villages is clear evidence of necromantic activity, but the survivors speak of demons," Altus nodded at the papers. They hadn't had time to speak before the council assembled, as the archmage rushed here from the Great Forest in response to the highest appeal (not even the king could flat out summon him). Lars had been busy preparing the operation—working out the details with his Foxes, as the order's knights were unofficially called.

"Do me a favor and drop the emanations talk. It's enough to make my head swell, and I need it to eat," Lars looked up from his pile of papers. "On a serious note, I really don't care who's involved. Our job is to penetrate the portal blocked by those sanctimonious fools, destroy the scumbag who's causing all this shenanigans, and get the folks out of there. As to whether demons are involved or necromancers," he petted the hilt of his precious sword, "the Silver Tear doesn't care any more than I do."

"Quit acting like a dimwitted jarhead," Altus frowned. "Nobody knows what we're dealing with here. I get that two million is a fair price for the risk, but I propose we at least throw some ideas around. Especially since, as you well know, building a portal from the demons to us cannot be done without divine intervention."

"Fine, let's brainstorm," the master sighed. "We can probably rule out Ahriman—I doubt that the overlord would get mixed up with the Twice Cursed. He's more likely to rip out the heart of any lord who did. They'll sooner come to terms with the Untainted."

"Then Untainted, then," Altus smile at the mental image of Father Sebastian whiling away an evening over a bottle of Arto with some demon ruler.

"However, should some lord or prince secure the support of anyone from the Great Essence... If I had to guess, I'd say one of them has colluded with the Twice Cursed."

King Ritar III Erast entered the Council hall at a brisk pace. Puckering his brow at the servant shouting out his arrival, he waved to the nobles as they leaped to their feet, bidding them to keep sitting, then went and took his own seat.

"You may proceed, earl," the king looked at his first minister. "But be brief, we're short for time."

Duke Galean opened the red folder on the table in front of him.

"In the past month there have been four attacks on villages in Borderlands. The nature of these raids is nearly identical. The attackers are presumably demons. Those who resist are butchered, the rest are abducted through a portal. Four peasant eyewitnesses claim that the attacking force is roughly one thousand strong." The minister took a sip of water from the glass before him. "On the portal site the crown mages have discovered trace emanations of dark magic—"

The king slammed his palm on the table:

"We are just beginning to recover from the war with the orcs. Squash those scum on the other side. The hermit has predicted the time and place of the next attack. This is great fortune, for he is unlikely to speak with my messenger again."

"My guys and Monsieur Altus' forty aces are ready," Lars said. "As long as the mages hold the portal on this end."

"Perhaps you could use more fighters?" the king asked. "Two and a half hundred sounds small to me!"

Lars shook his head.

"Monsieur Altus' mages can cover no more than two hundred at maximum effectiveness—any extras would only get in the way. Three years ago we destroyed Saart Dak with precisely these forces."

"Well, you will have six hours," the king looked expectantly at the realm's foremost mage. Upon getting his nod, he continued, "You will be accompanied by fifteen hundred swordsmen, reinforced by Colonel Morris' archers, and five hundred Silverwings under Calle's command. This is to ensure that the invading force in our lands is destroyed in its entirety." The colonel and the guard commander nodded in unison. "We will open twenty portals in three hours in Livedum. Colonel Morris will lead the assault. That's it for the Council, gentlemen. Time is of the essence."

Three miles from the city, on a training ground in Livedum that was the mages' favorite for honing their skills, the troops were immersed in pre-battle hustle. Putting their squads in formations, lieutenants scorched the air with obscenities, as staff officers scurried to and fro. Off to the side stood Silverwings—the finest cavalry in the realm, having yet to taste defeat, their armor shimmering silver. They were making minor adjustments, cool as cucumbers.

"Monsieur, champion. Greetings," Saverus, Kyam's right hand, walked up confidently to Altus and Lars. "We're ready to move out. The first four squads of eight will go with Champion Lars' troops, each covering fifty soldiers. I will be with you, monsieur, as part of Raena's eight," Lars shook his hand and started toward his fighters—to listen to reports and issue final orders.

"Another hot mess, why am I not surprised..." said Altus, for a moment the quintessential grumpy old man, when he and Saverus walked up to their assigned squads of eight. Seeing the brass, the commanders and their subordinates jumped up to their feet and, hastily fixing their mantles, tried taking up some semblance of a formation.

"Saverus, when are you going to teach these nitwits discipline?" the archmage groused in his typical fashion.

Saverus showed his subordinates a fist, and they responded with the customary fear and zeal on their faces.
Nothing changes,
Altus chuckled, surveying his students: the ever-dolorous Gerat, the beautiful Alsa, the twins, Gable and Ronan, the cold and contemplative Raena—once green academy graduates, now hardened battle mages.

"Nobody knows where the portal will lead us, so we had better be ready for anything. As always, we'll be coordinating everything with the Foxes. Maximum focus should be placed on protection from dark magic." Altus looked around everyone's faces sternly. "Do you even understand why we've been selected for this?"

"Because we're the best," Alsa replied vibrantly and without a second thought.

"And the most humble," Gerat looked at her sideways. "Will you be coming with us, monsieur?" he asked right away.

"Yes, I'm with you," he watched their faces light up. "And we were selected because, despite all your tomfoolery, we have the highest coefficient of defense and area of coverage when collaborating with battle groups. Well, that and," he looked and Alsa and smiled, "we really are the best."

"Monsieur Altus!" Colonel Morris addressed Kyam. Standing next to him were ten strangers, six of which wore distinct gray robes—the Untainted. Lars and his officers had approached as well. "We start in half an hour. You, the count's troops and Captain Arx's fifteen hundred," the colonel pointed at one of the people present, "will take the six furthest portals that we'll open here," he gestured toward the groups of mages bustling at a distance. "After the portal is captured, it is your job, Arx, to hold it and make sure not a cockroach escapes. As for you, Norris," he turned to one of the Untainted, "you know what to do. The Silverwings and I will cut the enemy off and destroy them. Good luck, gentlemen. See you after the operation."

They were late. The village was already burning, the gate was broken, and the palisade was breached in two places. Captives were streaming from the gate, prodded by the invaders toward the portal roughly three hundred yards away, glimmering red with black streaks. But the demons—for they were indeed the invaders—were likewise caught off-guard by the torrent of humans pouring out of twenty simultaneously opened portals and quickly getting into battle formations. Their defense corps—roughly six hundred redskins—was still turning toward the new threat, the demons hurrying into formation, when the first arrows began to pepper their ranks.

"Three hundred eighty yards to the goal, twenty six mages, around fifty soldiers, two giants and six gods know what," Saverus' dry voice sounded in the archmage's head.

"Elders, most likely. They can remain in combat form for a long time," said Altus. "Let's take a look."

In an instant, he teleported six hundred feet toward the red portal. Wasting no time, he struck at it with Icy Fan, then followed it up with Windfist.

The enormously powerful combo literally swept away the enemy soldiers and mages; one of the giants toppled onto the grass, his head severed by icy blades.

"Dang, grandpa got skills!" a young voice exclaimed in appreciation, as one of the Foxes was running up behind him. Altus only grunted in response. Whoever had started this, they were going to get their due when all was said and done!