Steel Wolves of Craedia (Realm of Arkon, Book 3) (23 page)

"That's common everywhere," she smiled. "Except here we run the risk of passing into the Flame every day, so we can skip that part under the circumstances." Moving right up to me, Salta kissed me on the cheek, then rested her head on my shoulder. "Now stop being mad at me. It's not my fault you're an elder."

"Now your man is bound to get jealous," I grunted.

"Why would he? He's no idiot either. And besides, you said yourself that I'm like a sister to you—now reap the fruits of your words... You know, whenever my father had that face, the same face you have now, my mother always sat next to him and rested her head on his shoulder," she said quietly.

What an ability certain women had! Being able to ease your mind, relieve all your tension with just a few minutes of conversation. A pity nothing could happen between us. Then again, James was probably a better match for Salta than I could ever be. He had a whole castle, too—or rather, would soon have it again.

"You've no reason to worry, by the way," the girl drew away, wrapping her knees again with her hands.

"What do you mean?" 

"Krian, I may have only met you a month ago, but I've gotten to know you well. You're sitting here, thinking how many of us will die during the assault on the castle. And you shouldn't. This is war, and casualties can't be avoided. The important thing is that we believe in you."

"Of course," I chuckled bitterly. "If only your faith in me could help me protect you." 

"Look around you, dar!" the young woman made a broad gesture around the campsite. "All of us here, we're only alive because of you! You've turned simple farmers and hunters into the princedom's finest warriors! You've given us a cause, a chance to have our vengeance! We all realize how hard all this is for you. And yes, of course, we mourn our fallen brothers and sisters. But they will be reborn as warriors, don't you understand that?! Who of us could have ever dreamed of such a thing?!"

"The monster hiding in that stone, it devours souls... And we're going to need to find a way to kill it. If we don't, there won't be any rebirths—do
you
understand
that
?"

"I don't care! You already have a battle plan, don't you?"

"Only in broad strokes. But that's not the point. You know that once I've decided something, I always follow through. We will drive the undead from La-Kharte, save Gilthor from the plague, and slay the Ancient Beast. But trust me when I say, these decisions don't come easy for me."

"We're all with you," the demoness repeated, putting her hand on my shoulder and peering into my eyes. "Myself, Reena, Iam, Reece, Zara, James and the rest. And even if Nerghall devours all our souls, we'll still be better off together." 

Stirred awake by her voice, Gloom leaped to his feet and moved with his scar-covered snout from side to side, surveying his surroundings. Satisfied that his master wasn't in danger, the razorback settled down visibly, but his bloodshot eyes changed most magically the moment they fell on the head archeress. The boar, who must have weighed at least a ton at this point, wiggled his "stern" like a house dog greeting his mistress, and trotted over clumsily to the young woman. 

"There, Gloom is with you, too." Smiling gently, Salta fed the razorback something round and green, then spread her arms in an attempt to hug the champing perplexity of a mount. Needless to say, she couldn't do it, but the boar froze still just the same, as if afraid of hurting her, then lowered his carcass slowly to the ground and turned his head, inviting her to scratch behind his ear.

"You'll spoil him rotten," I shook my head, thinking that all the trainings I'd attended in my past life on the loneliness of leadership had just been rendered null and void by the former farmerwoman. No, not farmerwoman—the demons had ceased being farmers the moment I accepted them into the clan. They were warriors now, with a fundamentally different outlook on reality.

"Your master doesn't scratch you nearly enough," paying no attention to my grousing, the archeress kept scratching away at the boar, his eyes screwed shut in ecstasy. 

"Soon enough he won't let me mount him without a treat."

"Are you even aware that while you and our amorous mage were off having a siesta at a very particular establishment, the boar raced over there in the middle of the night, took up a post outside their door and wouldn't let anyone else in till the two of you had had your fill by the afternoon of the following day? He let people out, sure, but new customers were driven off screaming... Hart forbid anyone disturb his master!"

"It wasn't Reena that had brought him?" I asked, blushing slightly.

"No, she was just coming around to talk to you about reagent prices, seeing as our main alchemist was AWOL with you. Though I realize it was probably all his initiative—that one could drag a nun into a brothel," the demoness chuckled. "Once there, Reena felt it was her duty to babysit Gloom for the next three hours, seeing as the boar had completely blocked access to the local house of ill repute. You didn't hear her yelling outside? I must say, a priestess bawling outside a brothel must have been quite an amusing sight—I heard half the city had gathered to gawk. And our new recruits have been looking at Iam funny ever since."

"Uh, I didn't mean to, you know..." I mumbled, totally lost for words.

"Sure, sure," the demoness burst out laughing, gave me another peck on the cheek, and rose to her feet in one fluid motion, snatching up the empty pot. "You're cute when you get embarrassed. Shall I gather up everyone as planned?" 

"Go ahead," I nodded to her.

By my second day in Xantarra I was beginning to realize that I needed help sharing the burden of command. The upshot was that a new clan council was formed, which included all the officers and other members tasked with any meaningful responsibilities. The newly minted councilors were James, Salta, Reece, Aritor, Reena, Ivar, as well as Schen the quartermaster, who had become possibly my favorite demon ever for taking on that nightmare of a job, Slemm as Elnar's sole surviving sergeant, and Daressa Luan for the simple reason that excluding her from high command would have been the height of stupidity. We were gathering for our council meeting, which would be taking place every evening henceforth, and where I'd promised to update what our century would be doing for the next several days, as well as to finally reveal the plan for capturing a castle the garrison of which numbered more than two thousand mages, archers and warriors.

We ended up staying two days in Xantarra, most of which I'd spent running around handling various organizational matters. The volunteers sent our way by the satrap, which ended up being surprisingly high in number, I'd gladly accepted to beef up the clan. Along with Elnar and Schen, I spent half the day with Askel, Xantarra's quartermaster, a wiry elderly tifling with a luxuriant gray mustache. Then, after being joined by Myglan, who supervised the Callehzian community whenever Elnar was away, we visited the local markets to stock up on provisions and construction materials. All in all, the two days were anything but boring. 

After finally handing in our seemingly endless reserves of old bones, we were rewarded with a six percent increase to armor class and damage output. Though the quest was repeatable, each subsequent upgrade required five hundred more bones than the last, so the quartermaster ended up taking ten and a half thousand from us, and leaving us with fifteen hundred to work with toward the next hand-in. Moreover, the six percent bonus was calculated not off the base damage but on top of all existing upgrades, which was a pleasant surprise.

We were able to sell roughly half of the uncommon quality loot we'd amassed over the course of our travels. The rest were handed over to the clan's two enchanters, Hagedia and Zara. And while they did raise their skill by disenchanting the items, we didn't net any additional enchanting formulas suitable for our level, which was unfortunate. Neither were we able to find any for sale in the city. We still had the three level-appropriate formulas dropped by the Reaper several days prior: 100 strength or constitution to chest armor, and 1% chance to heal critically to wrist armor. It wasn't much, but I wasn't going to argue with an extra 1,000 hit points or another percentage point to land a critical heal. Then again, the utility of the latter formula was questionable—I'd rather my healers didn't crit much as it raised their chances of drawing aggro. After a bit of deliberation, I ordered the constitution enchantments for everyone, but out of twenty healers only six—the ones with the poorest stats—received the extra crit to healing. All the other recipes were for lower levels, so I decided not bother even if we had reagents to spare, which we didn't. Besides, changing an enchantment on an item later on would require additional rare reagents—another reason to avoid frivolous enchanting.

The enchanting profession was generally regarded as one of the priciest to raise. A fledgling enchanter would level their skill by breaking down uncommon, rare and epic items into their magic components, then use those components to enchant various pieces of armor and weapons with additional stats and abilities. It was precisely that process of breaking down whole items, known as disenchanting, that generated enchanting reagents: magic dust and void shards, and their quantity was determined solely by the enchanter's skill. So then, when all was said and done, it had cost the clan four hundred thirty uncommon quality items to raise the girls' enchanting skill to the apprentice level, and the amount of reagents acquired in the process ended up being barely enough to enchant one hundred breastplates. The reagents situation was probably more lax up above, since magic dust and void shards were regularly procured from mages' guilds and divine shrines, but I had zero knowledge as to how that was done, nor did I have anyone to consult with.

We also left all our wagons in Xantarra. Mobility was of top priority for our century, and drawing a whole caravan would really slow us down. Money and valuables could be transported in bags, and the metal we'd collect could easily be smelted at any village smithy. The clan treasury was nearly empty and should easily accommodate the truly valuable items, and if all else failed, finding a cart or two in a pinch shouldn't be so difficult. 

Having finished all our business in the city, my rebuilt and reequipped century set out on the road to La-Kharte in full force. It took us a day and a half to traverse about one hundred and twenty miles to the castle. With the flocks of undead encountered along the way, it had seemed like killing them was taking less time than looting their bodies afterwards. The biggest group we had run into was maybe fifty warriors strong, led by a level 170 mini boss, and it had taken us all of three minutes to wipe them out.

La-Kharte Castle stood on a hill, its dark gray walls looming over the environs by some twenty feet. Elnar's family nest had a rectangular shape, with each side about two hundred and fifty yards in length. There were battlements rising up from each corner, and two more along each wall, allowing the defenders to fire at any target outside the castle walls in the event of a siege. There was no moat and no drawbridge for want of necessity—attacking a castle on top of a hill while clambering up a thirty degree incline was already a suicide mission. All in all, it was your typical level seven castle reinforced with extra battlements, the kind I must have drawn a hundred times in my time. 

Needless to say, we were in no hurry to attack the castle's garrison from below. In fact, I was interested in another matter altogether. After bidding everyone to wait and tossing Gloom's reins to Salta, I downed an invisibility potion and made for La-Kharte's open gates. No use in being cute—I hurled a Stone Disc at the level 190 skeletal sentries, caught four arrows fired from the battlement above the gates with my shield, and Jumped to a safe distance. A dozen skeletons ran out of the castle after me—only to be stomped into the ground by my getare in a matter of seconds.

Now it was time to wait and study the undead's reaction. In the ensuing silence I could almost hear gears turning in the virtual brain of the castle garrison's AI, trying to formulate a strategy. Not that there were many options—obviously, it had to attack. Were I to bring a legion to the castle, the skeletons would have shut the gates well in advance and wouldn't even peek a nose outside. Or whatever served for a nose in their case. Alas, I didn't have a legion to command, so the only question remained what size of force the castle's AI would deploy. Essentially, that would determine which of the two plans to capture the castle I would set into motion. 

NPCs may have changed, but mobs are still mobs,
I thought to myself, looking at the string of undead crawling out of the gates—a flashback to a few weeks ago in Feator. Four detachments of walking corpses had left the city, and were now falling in formation about a hundred and fifty yards from us. It was a veritable theater of the absurd. The governing AI must have decided to play it safe, deploying far larger numbers against us than logic would dictate. Even if there wasn't anyone else left in the castle, the troops forming before us were quite enough: nearly fifteen hundred warriors, five hundred archers, and one hundred liches. Leading this undead army were ten death knights, all named and boasting from eight to twelve million hit points. And the cherry on top of this shitcake was a century of level 200 bonehounds led by the raid boss itself, the sight of which made me cuss in misery. Apparently, the top dog in the castle, figuratively and literally, was precisely this level 250 bonehound named Kharsa. Roughly one and a half horses in size, she had a massive croc-like elongated jaw, and close to 100 million HP. I looked back to my brave but visibly dejected warriors, and gave the order to retreat. I didn't know how fast bonehounds could run, but I wasn't going to risk it—even I knew that if one of those beasts dealt even one point of damage to a target, it would never let go off the scent. That might not be a problem under different circumstances—simply build a portal and get the hell out of there—but it wouldn't suit our current situation.