“Aye, it be one, but not fer that. The Assassin’s Guild has re-established itself and be taking contracts from the undead, an’ be responsible for killing loyal humans both fer the coin o’ other humans, an’ the coins o’ things not human at all,” the Mick informed Master Oswald coolly, his own dark eyes flashing and betraying what he thought of such people.
“By word an’ authority o’ King Borelean - an’ Queen Mother Elysa, even!- if ye wipe the traitorous bastards from Dereth once an’ fer all, yer debt be paid, the price on yer life be lifted, an’ ye kin walk even in the royal court a free man… but mind, don’t be taking coin for lives any more, although I be thinking the King might be looking for a spymaster,” he added on the side.
Oswald barked out a short, incredulous laugh. “Borelean certainly has more imagination than I gave him credit for, I’ll grant that!” he half-smiled, his fingers working. “You want me to wipe out the Assassin’s Guild entirely…”
“Ye can kill them all, or ye can recruit as many as ye like, but those who took coin t’ kill our own die. Those who remain, if ye can teach ‘em better, aye, we’ll take them back in, given how they were raised. If they want to go rogue… that just means the Guild will rise again, elsewhere, an’d we be not putting up with it this time.”
Oswald considered that, his piercing green eyes alternating between Kris and I. “I’ve heard the two young ladies are recently come from Ispar,” he said, dodging an immediate answer.
Kris stepped forward slightly. “You seek news of home, elder?” she asked archly.
“I’d heard there were many changes back home, and wondered how true it was.”
“My mother slaughtered Grandfather Orgrigel and the twelve Hands of Night in their mountain hold. No less than six hundred and twelve members of his guild were put to the knife all across Ispar. None of the senior members have survived, and that includes any who might think there’s still a deathmark on you.”
He blinked at her, clearly not expecting that answer. “And who is your mother?” he had to ask.
“Master Oswald of the Crimson Trade,” I interrupted, stepping forward. I saw just the tiniest wincing at my choice of appellations. “May I introduce Imperial Princess Kristie Rantha, Daughter of Briggs, Emperor of Ispar, and Sama Rantha, Empress of Ispar!” I paused significantly for him to digest that. “You are probably more familiar with the names of Commander Briggs of Celdon and that damn Hag, Sama, his wife.”
It was the assassin’s turn to look at me, then her in shock. “Those two actually became Emperor and Empress?” he asked in half-disbelief.
“They rode to the throne on a tide of Viamontian bodies and crushed Blueblood dreams. The Viamontian Royal House of Corcosi is annihilated, half the population of Viamont was slaughtered, and Roulea, Sho, Aluvia, Viamont, and Gharu’n bow to the will of my parents,” Kristie replied with the icy calm of certainty, and a certain overwhelming power to her stare of rulership ladled on to a deadly amount of competency. Even the Green Hunter had to be wary of a noble with a reputation as a Warlord as dangerous as hers.
“That matches what I had heard in passing, although it was somewhat incomplete,” Oswald nodded slightly. “Although I had no idea the Guild was targeted so thoroughly...”
“At least nine of their agents escaped to Dereth over the years, judging by their records, and they sent one of their own after them, to see if it was deliberate or fleeing their hand. Also, potentially coming after you.” Kris’ smile was mirthless.
“Yes, Selaina did allude to the fact that more than the Viamontians had a price on me. Her selling out to the undead is, unsurprisingly, right in line with guild ideals. They do not care where the coin comes from, in the end,” he nodded thoughtfully.
“Are you the one who taught them the Magic Rogue tricks?” Kris asked directly, her eyes narrowed.
That gave him pause. “Magic Rogue tricks?” Oswald repeated narrowly, meeting her pale violet with his own brilliant green eyes with sudden interest. “You actually have a name for my little tricks, Princess?”
“Yes.” Kris inclined her head, and I waved my hand, Holos popping up in repeated pages of information and data about the Magic Rogue Class, dredged up from replicated memories from the Guidebook, Wiki, and more laborious testing and options discovered by the rare person who followed the Class. “We’ve got you pegged at about a Twelve in the Matrix system you inadvertently stumbled into, based on what the assassins we’ve uncovered know of you and their reports of your own skills. Impressive on its own merits, Master Oswald.”
He was now obviously in new territory, where his clever tricks and skills that no one else had managed to fully duplicate or knew as much about were clearly not anywhere as mysterious as he thought.
Or not. “Interesting. I’d received some recent guidance on the path I’d taken, and he used those exact words, Magic Rogue,” was his testing response.
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The reaction from Kris was as to be expected, as her gaze sharpened noticeably. “Is that so. Big guy, swings a big hammer around, probably took over as Warlord in your little safe haven up north?”
He eyed her speculatively, plainly wondering just how much she knew. The Aun had refused to speak anything about him and his aid in evacuating their people, and we hadn’t pressed them on the point… although they had confirmed he had helped them.
“Indeed. Do you know him? He’s been here considerably longer than you seem to have been, and he came in by boat during a storm, right through the Shoreward. He even shares your father’s name, if you are who you say you are,” Master Oswald finally responded.
“Only by reputation and intentions.” Her smile was wide and Oswald actually minutely twitched at the sight of her set of eight canines. “I’ll presume he’s still up in Stonehold, which is another question we would like an answer to.” She didn’t take a step forward, but the pressure she exuded seemed to swell up, and it was the master assassin who retreated ever so slightly. “Why have you kept the people up in Stonehold isolated from the rest of the survivors here, to the point that only we three actually know that the town survived the Fall? Even the Aun weren’t sure where you were using as a base.”
Oswald’s own eyes were narrowed now, clearly knowing that he was now dealing with something beyond his expectations. He visibly debated what his answer was going to be, and finally replied, “If you know the history of Stonehold, it isn’t all that far off from the history of MacDugal’s own castle of bandits and skulldiggers in its history. They settled up there because they wanted to get away from the rest of society and particularly anything or anyone that called themselves royalists. The Fall was an opportunity for them to be free and return to the way of life they’d had before, and they didn’t really want to know or care what happened to everyone else.
“As for the rest who did, well, it’s a long trip overland, and they probably didn’t make it back.”
The Mick held out his palm. I slapped five pyreal coins into it, just shaking my head. “Eager to profit, eager to cut ties. Can’t fault them for self-reliance,” I murmured, as the Mick pocketed his winnings in satisfaction. “Did you get Plateau and the Beach Fort evacuated safely, Master Oswald?”
“Aye, that I did, Lady Magos, despite all their protests. They’d seen what happened to the strongest adventurers and guards, and didn’t have the will to resist my orders, despite my, ah, reputation. They managed to make it to Stonehold before the undead started sweeping the north, and then my reputation proved to be something of an asset.”
His own smile was small, but cunning and proud at that statement.
“You perma-killed the undead commanders of the force meant to lay siege to the town, and indicated you’d take it as a personal favor if they backed the fuck off?” Princess Kristie asked with an arched eyebrow.
His thunder stolen, the Green Hunter seemed to deflate slightly. “That is… grossly oversimplifying matters and just how many undead I politely removed from their status before the siege of Stonehold was lifted and they found other matters to occupy themselves. However, they have made very sure no overland messengers were going to get in or out without excessively lethal roundabout travel.”
“The virindi? The gurogs? Even the tuskers, and the monugas?” the Mick took the opportunity to speak up, more of a morbid interest than anything else.
“The Fall completely shattered the Bloodstone Rituals the undead were using up in the Frozen Valley, and incidentally shattered their hold on the gurogs they’d bred up there, too. The mattekar-men and the tuskers there formed an ersatz alliance and pushed out all other forces rapidly and brutally, and have held the valley ever since. While their hatred of humans, lugians, and tumeroks remains completely undimmed, the gurog don’t come over and make trouble with us, given that the olthoi are so active across the North. Someone who might have been able to get their attention may have warned them that if they didn’t stop them, the bugs were going to grind them under their pincers, and turn everything in the North into food or slaves. If they want a fight, they go east, and run into all the olthoi trouble and havoc they could possibly want.
“The monugas recognize the gurog as tied to the mattekars, and basically leave them alone, not that they are the equals of the mattekar-men or the Snow Tusker tribe.”
“Given our investigations, we believe the people around Neydissa managed to evacuate into the Crater and the Elementals ringing it have basically kept out the olthoi and let them live in relative peace,” Kris spoke up next.
Master Oswald definitely was wondering at our information sources, but he nodded in confirmation. “She was a smart woman and moved quickly once she realized how perilous the magical situation was. There are a lot of random Elementals around, but if they are careful, it isn’t too dangerous. The ones ringing the Crater are not bothered by the olthoi, and destroy any sign of their ecology in the area, too. The humans are basically trapped inside, but it’s not a bad life, and they are learning to control and bend some of the fire Elementals to their wills, mostly just so they can wander the area more freely.”
“The undead never tried to get in?” the Mick asked, mostly in disbelief. “I were of the feelin’ that the forges there might be important.”
“They tried exactly once, McMikal. The Elementals gathered from all over the Crater to fight them, spawning faster and faster as they died, with more powerful versions coming out as they did so, including some I’d never personally seen before. They beat the undead back with enough exploding flame that a good section of the slopes were blasted black and clean even now, hissing with heat even where should be snow.
“Not even the virindi dared investigate after that.”
“Huh. And me greedy sot of a great uncle?” the Mick pressed on. “Me other uncle be interested t’ hear what become of him.”
“MacDugal is still alive, but is under great pressure, both from within and without. The freebooters who established Northwatch Keep had to abandon it under pressure from the olthoi, and they all fled to his hold. They do a lot of fighting against the olthoi, and the menu there isn’t very robust at all. I bring in supplies on a regular basis to them, and they pay careful attention to what I say as a result.”
“Master Oswald, I know ye’re on the Freebooter Council, an’ ye thought the two Keeps were a great grandiose waste o’ time. Me uncle thought so, too, as ye might recall.” The Mick wagged a finger at him casually, and the master assassin actually managed to laugh at that.