Steel Wolves of Craedia (Realm of Arkon, Book 3) (38 page)

"After seeing that libido in action, I bet they'll all elope before sunrise anyway," he quipped. "It'll be just you, me and Gloom left."

The roaring laughter in the raid channel was all the answer I needed. For better or worse, these demons were the product of their environment. I shook my fist at James as he turned around, and he too couldn't help but burst into gleeful laughter.

Not even on Nittal's main square had I seen a crowd this large all gathered in one place. It appeared that the whole city had come out to meet my century. There were long tables bursting with food over beautiful ornamental cloths, trees decorated with colorful tape and ribbons, and citizens in festive garb beseeching my fighters to honor them with a visit immediately after the ceremony. And joy—the feeling of joy was so thick in the air I could almost touch it. Evidently, my mental resistance was powerless against positive emotions. The consumed wine was whirring merrily in my head, as my mood had done a one-eighty and kept on surging. 

"Here's your chance to redeem yourself and tell me what surprises to expect at the main square," I asked James in the officer channel.

"I'll have to disappoint you, dar," Reece answered for the warrior. He'd been riding somewhere in the back, and was apparently quite bored. "I doubt that Captain Kargal is going to be as forward as your new girlfriend. Of course, if you ask him nicely... Better yet, if you order him to—"

"Shut it!" I snapped at the incurable mage. "James!"

"Nothing to worry about," Elnar reassured me without delay. "The garrison commander will hand you the governor's badge, and that will be the end of the formal portion. You don't even have to say anything," he grunted in conclusion. "You've made everything clear at the gates without any words. The citizens of this town won't ever forget this day." 

"Why do I get the feeling you're all against me?" I sighed. 

"You can relax now, Krian," Salta said to me in a private channel. "If only for one day, today is that day." 

"If you say so," I said to the girl, and gave another sigh. 

As I contemplated her words, I quickly realized the truth of them. I still had over three weeks to recruit four more centuries of fighters, equip them, train them, put them in the saddle... No use worrying about that now. At least not until I had a talk with the garrison commander.

"Krian, I think we should give the troops time off till lunch tomorrow. After we settle in, that is," Elnar said to me in a private channel. "Let them walk around the city, tell the locals about us. We still need to recruit fighters here, and their stories should bring in plenty of volunteers." 

"Good call, James. You have a mind for advertising."

"What's advertising?" 

"I'll tell you some other time. Now, what am I supposed to do at the square?"

"I'll line up the century opposite the city garrison. You'll step forward, accept the badge from Kargal, say a few words and call for the celebration to start. Simple." 

Rectangularly shaped and sized like your typical parade ground, Mishtah's beautifully cobbled main square was surrounded on all sides with folks prepping for a celebration. Curiously, I still wasn't sure what they were celebrating today. Being rescued from the plague? Welcoming their new governor? Both, or something else entirely? I didn't bother asking.

Everything happened just as James had said. After taking a knee, Kargal held out a square golden badge bearing a sword and a miner's pickaxe. Raising the medallion overhead, I cried out something in the vein of, "Don't mess with Texas!" and dismissed the jubilant crowd to start their partying. Elnar proceeded to lead the troops into the castle to oversee their accommodations in the barracks and stables designated for our century. I then waited for the captain to dismiss his own subordinates, and the two of us retreated into the castle as well.

Mishtah's castle was the carbon copy of the one in Xantarra. This wasn't surprising, for designing hundreds of materially different variations on the castle theme was both arduous and unrewarding. It was much easier to switch up the color of the walls, alter the layout of the courtyard, remove some statues or add others, and call it a day. 

With a nod to the saluting guards, I followed Kargal into a small room on the second floor of the castle, then waited for the captain to make arrangements for dinner.

Having settled in a comfy leather armchair, I set about to studying the many weapons lining the walls... And then it hit me.
Damn! All of this is now mine!
The castle, the river I'd seen at the approach to Gilthor, the villages we'd passed on the road, and tons of other stuff I couldn't begin to imagine. Well, technically there was a ten-year-old girl in the castle who was its rightful heiress, and every house in the province had its own direct owners, but still!

I pulled out the governor's medallion, and examined it more closely. A union of warriors and miners, was it? At any rate, I was informed by a system message just as soon as I'd picked up the medallion that I was going to become a satrap at the conclusion of the continental event, with all the ensuing rights and obligations of such a post. If only I had any idea what that meant—alas, no one had bothered to present me with a checklist. The only thing I understood for certain was that as the governor of Gilthor I would be presiding over the province's three satrapies, which, in turn, were ruled by their respective satraps.
Oh dear god, somebody shoot me...
Yeah, sure, most folks in my place would be jumping for joy... Assuming most folks were bloody idiots.

Bearing the responsibility for tens of thousands of lives was no joke, and I was badly lacking for qualifications. It was only in fairytales that a commoner would win the heart of a princess and the keys to the kingdom, and go on to live and govern happily ever after. I recalled the many books in which some bozo—usually a drunk, a retired marine, a middling manager or a student—ended up in some parallel world and went on to conquer and govern entire empires... Which usually came equipped with their own harems.
Damn it, I'm getting distracted again,
I thought, remembering Villena's warm lips. Don't get me wrong now, I had enjoyed reading those middle-aged men's fantasies about empires and harems as much as the next teenager, but those fantasies would do me little good now. I should have read non-fiction books about business and management instead, but who could have predicted my current predicament??

So, let's get into the nitty-gritty. Say I was that very sucker who, by a twist of fate, had gone from rags to riches. Sure, I was only a satrap and not exactly a prince, but no matter. I had actually worked as a middle manager in my past life. Now, granted, managing a team of ten responsible for about one million USD in monthly revenue wasn't the same as governing three provinces, but it was something.

The only thing I found reassuring was that this world still largely functioned by the game's laws. Reputation was more than an empty sound, and the game's characters were incapable of treason by default. If you assigned a shrewd local to assist you, he or she would never attempt to undermine you, and their authority would never rise above yours. In followed that, no matter how badly I might want to take Kargal with me, I shouldn't do it under any circumstances. The demon had obviously done a serviceable job as the city's interim ruler, and replacing him just wouldn't be wise. Nor would I touch any units under his immediate command. I didn't give a damn whom to recruit: farmers or professional soldiers. I could whip anyone into fighting shape within days, whereas for the locals the process could drag on for years.

My contemplations were broken by the creaking door. The captain entered the room in the company of two comely demonesses carrying trays of food. The serving girls quickly set the table and withdrew from the room. When the door behind them closed, the captain made an inviting gesture and poured the two of us a glass of rosé.

For a while the room was quiet save for the rattle of utensils on plates, and the periodic sound of glasses being refilled with wine. Having finally had my fill, I dabbed my mouth with a napkin, rummaged for my pipe and lit up.

"You won't find wine this good anywhere but here, dar," the captain said with a dash of sadness, raising his glass and peering at the liquid inside. "There was a time we used to sell quite a few bottles of it in Suonu and Xantarra." 

"Then let us toast to resuming the trade in a few months' time," I said with total seriousness, raising my own glass. "It might take a while longer with Suonu, but Xantarra shouldn't present a problem." 

"From your mouth—"

"To Hart's ears?" I sniffed. "That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about."

"I'm listening," taking a sip from his glass, the captain set it back down on the table, and sat at full attention. 

"How many sentients are there currently in Gilthor?" 

"Hard to say," Kargal shrugged. "I reckon around fifty thousand, not including children. Roughly twenty thousand in Mishtah, and at least another ten in the nearby villages. And I would guess about ten thousand more in both Zellyn and Careolla." 

"Those are Gilthor's other two satrapies, right?"

"Right," the captain nodded. "They're not quite as populated, with primarily mining, fishing and hunting towns. Each has a fortress with one hundred soldiers headed up by a regent. I expect both Legg and Knoren to arrive in Mishtah before long. They've been fighting the plague, same as us, so you have to think our collective miraculous rescue had caught their attention. If you're wondering about taxes, I'm not sure they've had the—"

"Taxes are the least of my concerns," I assured him. "I need fighters, four centuries of them. I don't intend to hide away in Gilthor. Satrap Gorm will support me in a campaign on Suonu and Craedia, and I will rid the neighboring province of the undead scourge in a month's time." 

"After what you've done for us, my men and I are ready to follow you to the Gray Frontier," Kargal said without hesitation. "In fact, any demon of age in this entire province would deem it an honor to join you, dar." 

"I can't take you or your men, captain. We can't leave the province completely undefended. You will remain here as my deputy, and I will recruit volunteers from farmers and regular civilians. Don't worry, I have a way of training them in just a few days' time. That isn't up for debate. Now, tell me this: why is it that there aren't any undead in Gilthor?"

"As you say, dar," the captain nodded grimly. "About the undead, no one has a definite answer. Nearly three hundred years ago several thousand of Ahriman's getare had approached the city, following the refugees that had poured out of Craedia. We hadn't locked our gates, but they never did enter the city. After camping outside the walls for a few days, they just up and left. Three years after that, Satrap Ellrot, the father of Satrap Rumpel who recently perished, led fifteen hundred soldiers—all the able-bodied units he could assemble at the time—to intercept an undead army two thousand strong up at the Granite Gorge. What happened next defied any rational explanation. The stiffs came to a full stop right in the middle of the gorge, as if obstructed by an invisible wall. Come to think of it, the stories make it sound exactly like the force that was blocking my troops from entering the Derelict Temple. Eventually the undead withdrew, and hadn't turned up in Gilthor since. The old-timers say it must have been divine intervention, but I couldn't begin to guess which deity we have to thank for that great service."

"The Derelict Temple isn't quite so derelict anymore," I mused, not at all certain how the locals would react to the news that Death herself would soon reign in the temple. But then the goddess favored me, and that counted for something.

"The temple belongs to Celphata now," I clarified to the captain, then proceeded to exhale smoke through my teeth, bracing myself for his reaction. To my surprise, the news didn't seem to upset him at all. Quite the opposite—upon hearing of the temple's new mistress, Kargal's expression changed to that of a cat who'd just gorged on sour cream, or a compulsive gambler who'd just won a jackpot.

"You were truly born under a lucky star, Dark One, for the Mistress of Oblivion to bestow such an honor on you!" he muttered in total shock.

"You're not bothered by this at all?"

"Why would I be? The goddess of death has only one other temple, in Iskhart. And from what I hear it's not even a temple, but more like a shrine. But now... We won't have to fear dying anymore. The Mistress is greatly revered in these parts, and now that we can go to her with gifts anytime we wish..."

"So we won't have any trouble finding twenty seven young men and women under thirty to serve in the temple?" I asked with a fair bit of relief in my voice.

"I suspect there'll be a line ten times that number to serve the Mistress," Kargal assured me. 

"That's not a problem. We'll send all who wish to serve to the temple, and let the head priestess figure out the rest."

That was a huge load off my shoulders. As we were leaving her at the temple, Vaessa had asked me to send her twenty seven people and three horses of different coats. The magus laughed at my frowning face, and assured me that only the animals would be sacrificed. Something about their symbolism. The Ancient Greeks had Charon with his boat on the River Styx, and here supposedly the dead departed to the Gray Frontier or whatever in a three-horse carriage and jingle-bells... I was just guessing about the bells. And when I expressed my doubts about finding volunteers for her, the priestess simply smiled and gave me a kiss goodbye on the cheek.