Trial by Fire: Chapter 6

The scene that greeted us at the Taltos skyport was that of armed chaos.

We arrived in the early evening, and the area around the docks seethed with travelers - a very large number of which were non-humans. Elf-like Lysdian, the cat-like Meewfolk, and cliques of masked, hooded Mercurions milled around in crowds, marched up gangplanks onto creaking old airships, or got into shouting matches with soldiers from behind barricades. Some people were clearly leaving. Others were stuck behind temporary fences that kept them from leaving the docks. Some were crying, others simply staring. Parents comforted wailing children.

“What the hell is going on down there?” I asked Kirov, leaning on our ship’s railing.

The tattooed knight stroked the end of his moustache. “I am not certain, but… well. Brother Orban was found in the public gardens. The Volod… hmm.”

Kirov scowled thoughtfully as he trailed off.

“Hmm?” I lay a hand on Karalti’s wedge-shaped head.

“My guess is that the Volod must have issued that decree he was ‘discussing’ with the Holy Forgemasters.” Kirov scratched the thick stubble coming in on his cheeks. “Brother Orban was murdered while he was serving in the Meewfolk ghetto, as I believe we mentioned. When I left, His Highness was talking about a decree to ban all non-human travelers from entry to Taltos. Not a bad idea. Those females might have a litter of six kittens, and who’s going to feed them? Clothe them? Their menfolk don’t work.”

“Stereotypes ahoy.” I frowned, watching a lanky Meewfolk woman console a pair of young kittens while a guard shouted behind her from the other side of the fence. “Come on, man. I expected better of you.”

Kirov’s expression darkened for a moment, but then he shrugged. “Ehn. You’ll see how it is here. The Meewfolk bring nothing but filth and mummery wherever they go. At least the silverskins set up workshops and make watches and carriages.”

“Can’t say I like it,” I replied. “People used to say that kind of shit about my family.’

“Ah, but you were not born to a family of alley cats.” Kirov laughed a deep belly laugh, then slapped me on the back. “Come, don’t trouble yourself. And - oh, look, speaking of carriages. Down there.”

He was pointing at a fine gold-decorated carriage was waiting for us at the end of the wharf where we were coming in to dock. Instead of horses, it had a spinning, glowing mana engine showcased in crystal, a smaller version of what was powering our airship. I grunted. “Fancy. Is that the King?”

“No. His Majesty must have sent his illustrious carriage to collect us.” Kirov jerked his head toward the entry to the below-decks. “Go, get your beast. We’ll need you and her to help clean a path through this mob, eh?”

From fantasy dictatorship to virtual racism: fantastic. Shaking my head, I went to go and collect Cutthroat.

My hookwing was drinking from her bucket, sucking her cheeks in to draw the water up along her tongue. As soon as she sensed me, her head reared up. She sighted down at me, golden eyes narrowing with menace. The effect was somewhat offset by the fact that the tip of her tongue was still sticking out the end of her muzzle. Blep.

“I know, I know. My fluffy little murderbutt’s all pent up.” Before I even opened the stable door, I got within range and reequipped her [Iron Muzzle] from the inventory.

“SCREEEEE!” When the muzzle materialized on her face, she swung her head and bashed it against the side of the doorframe, splintering the wood. I winced, but I’d become something of a vicious dinosaur expert these last few weeks. Before I’d hit Ride 10, I’d only been able to directly equip her muzzle and reins. Now that I was an Apprentice rider, I could equip all of her tack without going through the physical motions of putting on the blanket, then the saddle, then the cinch and saddlebags. I equipped them all. When they appeared on her body, she hissed and lunged at the door, bashing her muzzle into it and sending it flying out at me. I dodged like a flamenco dancer and caught her by the reins.

“That’s right, girl. Time to go and oppress us some cat people.” Dodging her strikes, I led her forward. Just the notion of oppressing anyone, for any reason, made me feel sick. If the Volod was the kind of man to punish a whole species just because a guy was kidnapped from the place that species was supposed to live, I already didn’t like him. “Why are humans such dicks to everything, Cutthroat?”

Drooling through the bars of her muzzle, Cutthroat growled and tried to snap at the back of my head.

“Because we’re fundamentally voids of pointless rage and ingratitude, huh? Sounds about right.” I led her up to the deck, absently weaving from side to side to dodge her snout as it darted forward over my shoulders.

Karalti was still clinging to the ship’s railing with her hind feet and wing claws, and cocked her head from side to side as I led Cutthroat toward the gangplank. There was no way I was getting on her back and riding her down to the wharf - she’d throw me off into the ocean and laugh as I tumbled to my doom. “Okay, tidbit. Time to play turret.”

“Oki!” The little hatchling launched herself into the air and flapped to land on Cutthroat’s rump. The hookwing’s growls turned into a high whistling screech, like a tea kettle. She swung her head around to hiss at Karalti as she found her usual riding place just behind the saddle. The dragon flared her horn stubs and pulled her lips back over her fangs, leering back at her.

“Cut it out, ladies.” Exasperated, I led Cutthroat across the gap between the ship and the dock, and once we were safely on land, used a box to help me mount. Kirov and Matthias followed , along with a foppish man dressed in fine black and red silks. He blanched when he saw us.

“Ready?” The knight’s moustache bristled as he surveyed us. “This herald has informed us that we are to be taken to the morgue so that Matthias may view the remains of Brother Orban. Cremation is customary here, but the Volod’s new investigator demanded that the body not be burned.”

“Smart guy,” I replied from my high perch. “Let’s go.”

“Are you... well... is she coming with us?” He gestured vaguely at Karalti, who chirped curiously and tilted her head to the side.

“What?” I chuckled. “Of course she’s coming with us.”

“Well, no offense intended rytier, but the morgue is a grim place, and she is a child of her species, is she not?” Kirov cleared his throat awkwardly.

I blinked a couple of times. “She’s a dragon.”

“Yes, but, she is a sacred…”

“She rolls on and in dead things,” I replied. “And poop. Dog poop, cat poop, she doesn’t care.”

Karalti harrumphed. “I do too! Cat poop is WAY better than dog poop.”

“Ah. Of course. I guess even the child of the gods is still a beast.” Looking a little green around the edges, Kirov joined Matthias in the carriage. “Well, Hector, please follow us through the city. We are going to the University District. The morgue is there.”

I nodded, and Matthias gave an order to the driver in Vlachian. The driver lifted a crystal wand, and energy arced between his spell glove and the wand as the carriage lurched to life and rumbled off down the road, clearing people in a wave ahead of it. It moved about as fast as Cutthroat’s canter, so I followed behind.

Taltos wasn’t that far from Ilia, but it couldn’t be more different. The earth and stone here were dark, and nearly all the Parisian-style buildings were built of the same grey-black limestone. The low, cloudy European skies had been replaced by clear and cloudless blue, like the kind you saw in Arizona or Nevada, and the weather was punishingly hot. I’d been expecting the same cool-weather foliage here – oaks, pines, roses and grass – but the gardens here were dry and sandy, filled with desert flowers, succulents, jasmine and agave. 

The city was a maze of narrow cobblestone streets. It was dingy at first, but brightened up as we climbed the hill toward the city center. There, the alleys opened up into bustling tree-lined boulevards with shops and cafes serving dinner, open-air bars and restaurants, flower carts and food stands. Hookwings - lighter in coloring and smaller in build than their Ilian cousins - carried fashionable townsmen dressed in silk.

There were other dinosaurs, too - club-tailed Ankylosaurs and horned Triceratops worked as beasts of burden, while smaller bird-like creatures ran messages. Small dog-sized Compsognathus with brightly colored feathers crooned in the laps of ladies playing cards at lattice metal tables, while plainer breeds of small raptors ran alongside children playing soccer.

I had a listen to the Archemipedia entry on the city, which had unlocked now that we’d arrived:

Taltos

The capital city of Vlachia, the biggest country in Eastern Artana, Taltos was originally a dragon settlement built into the dormant volcanic cone of Mount Racosul. It was settled by humans nearly a thousand years ago.

Taltos was formerly its own city-state in the midst of the Sathbari Empire. It was able to hold its own due to its intensely strategic position on the Racosul Plateau, its enduring construction, and the division of the city into fortified Districts which restricted the movement of mounted Sathbari raiders. When the Sathbari Empire collapsed, Taltos remained, and it now serves as the political, economic and spiritual heart of the East.

The ruling king of Vlachia is currently [NUMBERFETCH 12-091g-2-TypeNPC-Vl-Nbl]

The audio cut off abruptly at ‘currently’, and my heart thumped nervously on seeing the error code at the bottom of what looked to me like an unfinished entry. Archemi, despite its depth of world-building, had been a rush-job. Now and then, I was reminded of just how tenuous this new world really was.

The districts the article mentioned were very clearly delineated by walls, checkpoints and arches with gates that could come crashing down to seal occupants inside. Our destination, the University District, took up about ten blocks of hilly, narrow paved streets, and it was crawling with security. It was easy to see why. A good number of clerics lived and worked here in the District’s churches, classrooms, and the seminary. The students and clergy who dared to come outside watched us anxiously as we passed.

The morgue was part of the university the district was named for: a small blocky building that looked newer than the rest of the stately, castle-like campus. No fewer than ten guards stood around the entry with torches. Eight of them were normal city guards dressed in iron chainmail, like ancient Turkish warriors. The other two wore the same fancy black and red lamellar armor as Kirov. They also had lines of runic tattoos down their cheeks, distinguishing them as members of the same chivalric order: The Knights of the Raven.

“Ur Kirov!” The man who stepped forward might have been Kirov’s brother. Same haircut, same mustache, but where Kirov was big and bull-like, this man was thin and gangly. He had stringy hair, slightly bulging eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a long, thin-bridged nose, the kind of face you expected to see inside of a Thieves’ Guildhall. The pair of men clasped arms and then embraced like brothers. “Welcome home, brother. And you, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Ur Pavel,” Matthias replied heavily. “I wish it was for a better reason than this.”

“If you’re here, does that mean His Majesty is visiting this place of death?” Kirov asked, aghast.

“He is. And far too excited about it, too.” Pavel made a sound of disgust at the back of his throat. “The King should not be mucking around in blood and guts, but he was determined to accompany that Dakhari he hired to help us. Pah. Who is your guest? And... by the gods, is that-?!”

“Yes, that’s a dragon. Her name is Karalti, and she’s not a goddess, no matter what she tries to tell you.” I rested a hand on Karalti’s head and smiled wryly. The dragon trilled, and Pavel’s eyes bulged harder. “I’m Hector. Dragozin Hector.”

“Khors heard our prayers, and has sent us a Starborn and a true dragon to help us,” Matthias added piously.

The presence of a dragon seemed to lift five years of fatigue from Pavel’s face. “Well, you can’t do worse than the Dakhari. Three men murdered and not a single clue as to how or why.”

“There is only so much one person can do.” Kirov waved his concern away, then clapped his hands together. “Come, Hector: we shall get you masks with sweet herbs, and then we shall go and view this horror.”

We all got cloth masks, except for Karalti, and trooped our way down into the bowels of the place, descending into a series of cold cellars. Talismans and prayers written on ribbons hung inside the doors to ward away the spirits of the dead, who lay out on slabs under sheets. The staff here wore long plague-doctor style masks and heavy leather robes with thick stitching.

“Smells weird,” Karalti remarked, pausing to sniff at some condensation on the floor. “I wanna roll in it!”

“Come on. We’re about to meet a king,” I chided. “We can’t have you smelling like roadkill.”

The room where the Volod had taken up residence was fairly obvious: it was the one with the two huge fuckoff knights guarding it. They were clad in forbidding black platemail and helmets decorated with backswept dragon wings. My HUD identified them as [Royal Guards: Order of the Dragon]. They stood with their sword points resting on the ground, hands wrapped around the hilts, only moving as we approached. There was an argument going on beyond the doorway - a man’s voice with a sharp, biting sarcastic note, and a woman’s terse replies.

“Ur Kirov and His Grace, Father Petko Matthias have bought his Majesty a most esteemed pair of guests,” Pavel flourished with his hands back toward us. “The Solonkratsu Queen, Karalti, and her protector, Dragozin Hector. I vouch for them.”

“I vouch for them,” Matthias echoed, stepping forward.

“As you say, your Grace. Adventurer, you must leave your weapons with us.” The Royal Guard held out his gauntleted hand in expectation.

I didn’t argue – I just handed them over. My spear, dagger, a ratty crossbow, and a shortsword I’d picked up as an emergency weapon all vanished into the Royal Guard’s Inventory. He seemed to sense when I had no more weapons, because he nodded and waved us through.

“Let me lead the way,” Matthias said to us softly. “His Majesty has a cutting intellect, but he has reservations about strangers.”

That had to be a codeword for ‘foreigners’. Resigned, I nodded, and let him take point.

We entered into the cold room beyond in single file. It was brightly lit, with five or six lamps illuminating the mutilated body of a muscular, light haired man laying out on the slab. Another Royal Guard stood watch in the corner of the room, keeping an eye on the animated conversation between the man I assumed was his majesty Andrik Corvinus the Third and ‘the Dakhari’. Whatever I might have noticed about Andrik vanished into a film of white noise as my world focused in on the woman. 

She was tall and athletic, with dark, coppery skin that gleamed gold under the torchlight. She was stripped down to bloodied gloves, buckskin leggings that hugged every curve, and a faded rose halter top that was firm enough to be practical, but low-cut enough to be intensely distracting. Her short, flyaway hair burned with all the colors of fire. She knew I was looking at her, because she stared back at me with defiant golden eyes, as fierce and beautiful as an eagle’s. She radiated confidence, competence, and power… power that made her seem more royal than the man who strode toward us from the other side of the slab. Not only that, but she was Starborn. She had a blue player halo like mine.

“Ah ha! If it isn’t the Devil of Yorca, and he has brought me Petko Matthias! And just in time, too!” The Volod’s sharp voice cut through my trance. I swallowed and tore my gaze away, fixing a polite grimace to my face and turning to face him.

“Your Highness, we have brought you a most worthy candidate to assist in the hunt for the Slayer of Taltos,” Kirov said, bowing and gesturing across to me. “May I introduce you to Dragozin Hector of Tungaant: Starborn warrior of the Nine, chosen emissary of Matir, and the holy guardian of the queen dragon Karalti, first of her clan.”

Andrik Corvinus was younger than expected: a sharp-eyed, roguish, sly and handsome man, with elegantly styled, short black hair that gleamed with health. The King was dressed entirely in black and red. He wore a black Byzantine tunic with crimson trim, a pectoral collar of glistening rubies, and rings that flashed with dark jewels. He pulled a scarf down from over his nose as Kirov talked, revealing a sly, thin-lipped mouth. When Kirov said the d-word, the King’s eyes widened. Then he looked down and behind me, and his eyes widened more.

“Magnificent,” he whispered, stepping away from the body. “How marvelous. A dragon, here, in my capital!”

Karalti, nearly invisible in the dark and half-hidden by my leg, bobbed her head and trilled a small, friendly chirp.

Andrik looked me up and down, hands on hips, then nodded. “Who would have thought that Khors would answer our prayers so directly. And where are you from? The Western Continent, if I’m not mistaken?”

“You’re not, your Majesty,” I replied. “I’m from Tungaant.”

Andrik smiled a wry, challenging little smile. “That goes without saying. It seems the Nine like to choose their champions from among your people. Well, honored guardian, I wish the circumstances were better... were it not for these infernal murders, the nation of Vlachia would be offering you and your dragon a far more gracious welcome.”

“No worries, your Majesty.” I shifted from foot to foot. All the olde-worldy formality was making me really uncomfortable. 

“And you, Father. You’re looking well,” Andrik opened his hands to Father Matthias as the priest bowed. “I am heartbroken to be here, and to be witness to the loss of Brother Orban and all the others.”

“As am I. It is good to see you again, Your Majesty,” Matthias said carefully. He bent a knee and leaned in toward Andrik’s hand, but the Volod pulled it away before he could get his face near it.

“Please, do not follow the usual routine of kissing my ring today. We’ve been poking around down here in this cadaver for half an hour already, and I have who-knows-what under my nails,” Andrik grinned, a little awkwardly.

Matthias bowed from the neck, getting back to his feet. 

“We thought that Dragozin Hector would be of great benefit to the investigation, Your Highness,” Kirov said, laying a friendly hand on my shoulder. “I have offered him provisional sanctuary, dependent on your approval, of course…”

“Sanctuary?” The Volod regarded us curiously. “What for?”

I steeled myself, drawing in a deep breath, and held my hand out for Karalti to approach. I heard her claws clicking on the damp stone, and she brushed her head up from under my palm. “The dragons of Ilia are laboring under slavery. My dragon’s mother entrusted me with her egg, and asked me to flee with her and see her somewhere where she could be free. The Mata Argis of Ilia have been pursuing us ever since, and thus, we share this moment.”

“Unsurprising. Backwards country… it only recently went through a bloody revolution that replaced the king with some soldier rabble and his pet merchants.” 

The Volod nodded sharply, then looked back down to the body. “Yes… I think a man of your ability would benefit this investigation. But I will make the same offer to you that I have to this lovely woman: I am offering a reward of ten thousand olbia and a royal favor to whoever brings me the Slayer’s head. However, before I am willing to sign the bounty contract, I must have compelling evidence of the Slayer’s purpose. In the interim, I will compensate by extending full hospitality to the hunters seeking to bring this madman to bay… and hospitality includes provisional sanctuary for you and your dragon.”

The red-haired woman was looking less impressed by the minute.

I nodded at the Volod’s words, and my HUD flashed a quest update alert:

Quest Update: The Slayer of Taltos

Priests of Khors, the draconic god of Fire and Craftsmanship, are being murdered in the Vlachian capital of Taltos. After accepting the invitation of Sir Kirov and Father Petko Matthias, you have met the Volod (King) of Vlachia, Andrik Corvinus, who has offered you provisional sanctuary on the understanding that you will investigate the Slayer and return to him with a report on the Slayer’s motives.

Reward: 10,000 gold Olbia, Royal favor, EXP (Progressive), +500 Fame in Vlachia, Faction relations go from Neutral to Good.

Special: While you are undertaking this quest, you have Hospitality in the nation of Vlachia. The capacity of foreign actors to pursue and attack you is greatly reduced. You are able to undertake quests and sidequests in Vlachia without attracting attention.

Special: Failure Conditions – Fail to bring evidence to Volod Andrik Corvinus at the Vulkan Keep within 3 days.

There was an option to accept the conditions of the quest. I confirmed it with an affirmative thought, and the title blinked green before vanishing.

“Excellent. I shall give you my mark, so that the guards of the city know you are in my employ.” The Volod stared at me for a moment, and then the mark added to my HUD as a new status – it looked like a stylized raven wearing a crown with five points. Karalti got the same mark.

Once that was done, Andrik inclined his head to us with a stiff little smile, then turned his piercing gaze to Father Matthias. “Now, Father, if you would come to examine the body-”

“There’s no point in examining the body more than we already have,” Suri interjected. Her voice was exactly what I’d imagined it: a smooth contralto, dark as burned honey. She had a thick accent that I couldn’t immediately place. “Which is what I was getting to, when we were disturbed. Any evidence there might have been was obliterated when the city guard trampled all over the scene of the murder.”

Her blunt words effectively shut down the niceties, to my relief. Andrik scowled, turning back to her. “What were we supposed to do then, Suri? Leave him there in the commons for all and sundry to gawk at?”

Suri. I repeated the name inside my head as her player nametag appeared. I had mixed feelings when I saw it. On the one hand, I’d been hungering for contact with people who could give me insight into what was happening in the outside world. On the other, the worst experiences I’d had in this game had been from other players.

“Have the Captain of the Guard put up curtains around the body and call your investigator.” Scowling, Suri motioned to Orban’s corpse. “When your guardsmen picked him up and carried him out, they destroyed all the forensic evidence that might have helped us nail the murderer. Fingerprints, bootprints, all of it. So with all due respect, your Majesty, next time you need to order them to preserve the scene, then call me in before anyone touches it. You wanted to know why we weren’t getting anywhere? That’s why.”

Forensics? I blinked. Jeez. She sounds like a cop.

The Volod scowled back at her. “How are fingerprints supposed to help with anything?”

“Every person’s fingerprints are unique.” I dared to step up beside her at the slab, Karalti trailing behind, and looked over the corpse. “And if the murderer forgot to wear gloves, you can find their prints and match them to suspects.”

Suri’s head snapped around as I pulled up, flashing me the kind of look I was used to getting from Cutthroat before she glared at the Volod. “Exactly.”

Faced by two Starborn saying the same thing, the Volod’s hostility turned to visible curiosity. He rubbed his thumb across his jaw.

“It still can’t hurt for me to examine him,” Matthias said gently. “And in any case, I must give him his funeral rites before he is burned.”

“He was working as in a smithy in the catfolk ghetto,” Andrik replied. He was struggling not to look at Karalti. “He may have had contact with any number of common rabble.”

“Was he working alone, or with a group of priests?” she asked.

“Brother Orban was not a priest, m’lady. He was a Forge Brother, serving as a craftsman for the poor and needy.” Matthias gently corrected her.

Suri gestured impatiently. “Point being, was he with anyone else?”

“Alone. As I understand it, this was some sort of test for him. You would have to speak with the High Forgemaster himself to get the details of the assignment...”

“Then that’s where I’m going. Cheers.” And with a curt nod, Suri turned and strode toward the door.

“Wait.” The Volod and I both said at the same time.

The woman turned back around in the doorway.

“Why not go to the ghetto?” The Volod spoke before I did. “The Catfolk rabble there surely did this as a form of protest.”

“No. They didn’t.” Suri looked between us.

The Volod gave a testy little sigh. “And how do you know this?”

Suri grimaced. “You told me nothing was stolen from his workshop, right?”

“Yes, but-”

“You made the laws that prohibit Meewfolk from carrying weapons, didn’t you?”

“Yes-”

“Do you see any claw marks on him?”

“No, but-”

“Do you really think a Meewfolk mob would leave his gold earrings in?”

I glanced down at the body, struggling not to smile or laugh as the king of Vlachia wilted under the glare of Suri’s reasn. 

“That’s what I thought,” Suri replied. “Now, by your leave, I’m gonna go talk to his High Forgeness.”

“Mind if we tag along?” I asked her, patting Karalti to indicate the other half of ‘we’.

“Yeah, actually. I do.” Suri flashed me a ferocious glare, and stalked off through the door like an atom bomb on legs. She paused to collect her gear, then kept on going.

Chasing after Suri gave me a magnificent view of her ass, but it made communication difficult. I whistled to her as we clattered up the stairs. She turned near the top, glaring down at us as we caught up.

“Let me guess,” she said, eyes narrowed. “You want to party up with me.”

“I’m pretty sure the only kind of party you’re into is the Donner party.” I tucked my spear under my arm, and reequipped my brainbucket-style [Militia Helmet]. “I’ll put a raincheck on that, thanks. My name’s Hector.”

Suri grinned mirthlessly, flashing a mouth full of sharp white teeth. She’d re-equipped her armor and weapons: a coat of mail with plate armor for her arms and legs, a pair of axes, and a huge scimitar-like sword nearly as long as she was tall. “Well, Hector, you’re a good judge of character. This is my bounty, and no, I don’t want to share it. This city has plenty of quests. Go find your own.”

“Uh-oh, Karalti: Someone just told me to forfeit my story quest.” I held up both hands and rolled my eyes. “I’ll be right on that ma’am, just as soon as you go fuck yourself.”

Karalti threw her head back and gaped her jaws, emitting a sound disturbingly close to a human laugh.

I’d picked Suri as the sort of woman to respect someone who was capable of giving and taking shit, and the gambit paid off. She smirked. “Well, that won’t be happening any time soon. But seriously: bug off, mate.”

Mate. That was the word that finally tipped me off, and that made her accent – filtered through the fictional Afro-Arabic accent of a Dakhari woman – suddenly click with me. “Wait. You’re Australian?”

Suri had been about to stalk off again, but she froze in the doorway, her back tense. “I wasn’t aware that was any of your bloody business.”

Yeah, ouch. She was Australian. That was awkward. 

Australia had been on the other side of the Total War.