Trial by Fire: Ch 4.

The Vlachian royal ship was called the Hóleány, which was pronounced ‘Hoo-lan’ and not ‘Holeannie’. It was easily the nicest ship in the port: a sleek cruiser with four huge magictech engines and layers of waxed silk sails. It looked like a flying luxury yacht made of dark polished wood. 

The pair of knight and priest led me and my saurian friends down the harbor front with some urgency, half sheltering me and Karalti with their cloaks. Guards were pouring from the city now, stopping and frisking people, pulling back robes, harassing dark-colored hookwings and their owners. We reached the gangplank just ahead of the tide of angry soldiers.

“Shelter, at last,” Kirov said hoarsely. He looked to Father Matthias. “Please, Father: you and our guests go first, lest these rogues try to breach the deck. I will stand guard until you are hidden.”

Kirov actually seemed to be a real, honest-to-gods chivalrous knight. I didn’t argue with him, scooping Karalti in my arms and carrying her up to the ship like a puppy. Cutthroat limped up without complaint, too injured to be her normal rage-driven self, while Father Matthias followed up behind her. Well behind, so that she didn’t knock him off into the sea with her lashing tail.

“We have facilities for your hookwing,” he said, once we were on-board. “We will stable her, and then retreat to the guest quarters to discuss our dilemma.”

“Thanks.” I looked back over the railing, watching as a unit of black-cloaked soldiers swept down the road. They were about five hundred feet from us, but I could see them clearly, zooming in my vision like a sniper scope. “We need to hurry. The Mata Argis are going to be on us any minute.”

Matthias was looking at my eyes and face as if he were seeing it for the first time. “You have the dragonsight? That means you trained with the Skyrdon of Ilia? And she-?”

“Karalti escaped a fate worse than death, and so did I.” I blinked, refocusing to close range. “Point me to the below deck.”

The priest escorted us there. Cutthroat was anxious on the ship, hissing at every shadow until we locked her into her stall. I unequipped her muzzle just as the ship’s engines began to roar. Her feathers flattened against her skull, and she crouched down, eyes darting from side to side.

“That’s a good girl. Sit down and don’t murder anyone, okay?” I patted the door, and left with Matthias for the deck. “Thanks, by the way. You didn’t have to do this.”

“It is our honor,” he replied, leading the way back up the stairs. “Our vows include that of hospitality. Your Karalti is a rare and precious creature. How did you come to accompany her?”

I liked his choice of words: ‘accompany’, not ‘own’. “The short version is that the Skyrdon of Saint Grigori enslave their dragons, including Karalti’s mother. Her mother gave me Karalti to protect. She asked me to give her a good life.”

“The gods judge us by the way we treat those in need,” Matthias said, slowing to turn and bow his head. “Do your people worship the Nine, then? You’re not Ilian.”

I rubbed my arm. “I don’t worship any gods, but I work for one. Reluctantly.”

“Meaning?”

I shrugged, and pulled my glove off to show him what lay beneath. “Meaning one of them put a stamp on me and asks me to run errands for him.”

The Mark of Matir was a nine-pointed star, like a chaos star, with a question-mark like symbol at the center. It was burned into my skin like a primitive tattoo, the black lines almost seeming to float underneath the skin.

“Bogdi vris!” His hand flew to his mouth. “The sigil of Chernobog!”

“You mean Matir, right?” I pulled the glove back on and tucked my sleeve in.

“The Keeper of Night is a creature with many names. In Vlachia and the Sathbar Plains, we call him Chernobog, the Black God. And you… you are more than an adventurer.” Matthias spread his hands. “I cannot believe my eyes, but… here you stand. Is it true, then? Does the Keeper of Night stir?”

“Seems like it.” I nodded. “I don’t really know much about him though, to be honest.”

“Something for discussion later. For now, we should get a drink. I will send someone to see to your hookwing and restore her health.”

Karalti yawned, flashing rows of needle-sharp teeth. “Soooo sleepy.”

“We’ll get you to bed soon, tidbit.” I thought back. I spoke aloud to Matthias. “A drink sounds good. Is there any way we can arrange a bed for Karalti?”

“Of course! Come, we shall see to it at once. And perhaps I can tell you what I know of Chernobog… his mark on you surely explains why you desire a pilgrimage to Myszno.”

***

So much had happened in the two weeks since my death that I’d barely had time to sit down and think, let alone grind out levels and skills. I’d arrived in the game in a slave ship, led a rebellion, and in short order found myself trying to join an order of dragon knights. They’d turned out to be assholes, and since escaping with Karalti, we had been running and hiding from them and their agents. For the second time this month, I was back on an airship. But this time, I wasn’t a slave. And thanks to Karalti’s mother, neither was she.

We were well out over the Bay of Knives, the channel separating the Ilian Peninsula from the rest of the continent of Artana by the time that the four of us – me, Kirov, Father Mathias and Karalti – gathered together in the Royal Suite on board the Hóleány. There were thankfully no royals aboard, so we spread out like fat men on a sofa. Karalti was a snoring ball of wings and scales on the grand bed, curled in the middle of the red silk sheets. Me, Kirov and Matthias sat around a small but well-stocked bar, drinking a little bit of everything and a lot of some things.

“Slivovitz!” Kirov boomed, setting a shotglass of clear liquor in front of me. “This will put hair on your stones, rytier! To the Volod!”

“To the Volod!” I picked it up and threw it back. It was fruity, but strong enough that my eyes watered. Still, before being uploaded to Archemi, I was a Korean-American dropout who’d hung around bikers and then soldiered for five years. All of those circumstances meant that I could definitely hold my own in the liquor department.

“Rytier Hector, we come to you with a grave matter indeed,” Kirov said, shaking his head and setting his glass down. “It is no exaggeration to say that Taltos, and indeed all of Vlachia, owes the dragons its foundation. Our cities, our culture, even the land itself was shaped by the mighty Solonkratsu. We venerate their gods, but especially Khors, the God of the Forge. The Church of the Creator is the closest ally of the state, giving us inspiration and a moral framework by which to live.”

“Okay.” Ugh, religion. Not entirely sure where this was going, I helped myself to another shot of slivovitz.

“Something is preying on my brothers in the city of Taltos.” Matthias gestured animatedly as he spoke. “Priests of Khors have been murdered by some manner of terrible spirit.”

Kirov muttered. “Ghosts. Bah.”

The priest shot him a sharp glance. “Do you really think a flesh-and-blood assassin could have convinced Father Darko to kill himself? Of all people?”

“Wait a sec.” I held up a hand. “You just said these guys were murdered.”

“They were. Franz would not kill himself. Suicide is anathema to Khors. A coward’s death.” Matthias’ scholarly face hardened. “No… something killed Father Abel, and something killed Father Darko, and also a young postulant, Brother Orban. But there is no way Franz Darko killed himself. The ocean will rise to the skies before that happened.”

“So two senior priests and one junior priest have been murdered so far?” I asked.

They nodded.

I studied Matthias. “Why do you think it’s a ghost?”

“I am a scholar of the supernatural, among other things.” Matthias shook his head, then reached for the bottle. “Kirov, tell him the details of what you told me. They nauseate me to repeat them.”

“Very well.” Kirov slouched back into his chair, his hands resting on his stomach. “The first to die was Father Lazlo Abel, a patriarch of the church and tutor to the royal throne. He was beaten to death in his own study with one of his own books, and a quill forced into his eye.”

“Jeee-zus.” I grimaced, and threw back my next shot.

“The second to die was Father Franz Darko,” the knight continued. “As His Grace said, he appears to have committed suicide. He was found hanging from the rafters in his sacred forge. The room was locked from the inside. We did not assume it had any connection to Father Abel’s demise-”

“But I do,” Matthias interrupted. “I know Franz like my own brother. He was a ferocious man, full of fire and spirit. He was a man of honor, and even if he were to kill himself, he would do it in the manner of a warrior. He would not hang himself like a brigand, and especially not inside his place of worship.”

“The third victim was found only days ago.” Kirov’s dark eyes glittered with worry as he spoke. “Brother Orban… he was enrolled in the seminary and soon to graduate as a Mastersmith. He went missing in the cat-folk ghetto, where he was serving the poor with food and medicine. Two days later, he was staked out in the public gardens for all to see. I received a letter. What I read was… grotesque.”

I frowned. “Give me details. How did they find the body?”

The knight sighed. “His neck was wrapped with barbed wire, the kind found on the district wall separating the ghetto from the rest of the city. His body was drenched in sewerage, a chamber pot left on his head. We found a rat in his mouth, rammed down into his throat so only the head protruded. That was what killed him.”

“Not the staking or the wire?”

“No. The staking was… surgical in its precision. It is possible to keep a man alive on such a device. The wire was not tight enough. And the rat was still alive, though barely. It had kicked his throat apart.”

“That is some horror-movie-level shit right there,” I said. “That kind of murder doesn’t scream ‘ghost’ to me, though.”

“No one saw or heard a thing,” Matthias replied, lighting up a small pipe. His hands shook as he coordinated the match and sandpaper. “The city guard did not see anything. Not the staking, not the screams… nothing. As if he materialized into the gardens in the dead of night.”

“Nothing human could do this,” Kirov insisted. “But there are creatures with the kind of strength to commit such atrocities. This assassin – monster, ghost, whatever it is – has been named the Slayer of Taltos. It must be destroyed. That is why the Volod ordered that we search for suitable adventurers capable of dealing with such a creature.”

“And you are a Starborn, are you not?” Matthias added.

Yep – this was leading to a quest. A big one. I folded my hands on the table. “Yeah. I’m Starborn. What is your Volod offering to the person who brings this creature in?”

“That, I cannot say. It will be exceedingly generous, but you will have to discuss the reward with him,” Kirov said. “But to start with, you and your dragon will be given full hospitality and guaranteed sanctuary in Vlachia. Will you help us?”

New Quest: The Slayer of Taltos

Priests of Khors, the draconic god of Fire and Craftsmanship, are being murdered in the Vlachian capital of Taltos. Matthias, himself a priest of Khors, and his bodyguard Sir Kirov have been recalled from their mission in Ilia and tasked with finding a hero capable of bringing the Slayer to ground. They believe you can help them restore order in Taltos and bring the murderer to justice.

Difficulty: Hard

Recommended Level: 12-15

Rewards: EXP, Fame in Vlachia. Speak with the king, Volod Andrik Corvinus III, to negotiate your material rewards.

Special: This is an evolving quest. Updates will appear in your log.

The offer of sanctuary by itself was tempting. Wherever we went, the Mata Argis was bound to follow – even if I took Karalti back to Tuungant, like I’d originally intended. But if I was directly under the protection of a foreign king… well, that offered a measure of safety. Not only that, but I had to get my ass to Vlachia soon anyway. I still didn’t trust Matir, but I was willing to fulfil the terms of the quest and see where it led. I could do this quest and level up, then head to Myszno.

I looked over at Karalti. She had rolled partly onto her back, her foreclaws clasped over her eyes. She was sound asleep, oblivious to the noise we were making. The fight with the Mata Argis had exhausted her.

I hit confirm with a small nod, then stood and offered a hand to Matthias to shake. “Fine. Count me in.”