Gantien did most of the work, assisted by his trusted cadre of advisors. The rebels had clearly spent a lot of time and energy in preparing what they’d do when they won, especially considering how far the odds had been stacked against them. Slaves were released. Theatres and banquet halls were converted into temporary housing, and clothes issued (more than a few from those same theatres).
There were complaints from the nobles to their new Magistrate. Endless complaints, or so it seemed to Ted in the day that followed. He’d chosen a scribe’s study to work out of, or at least seen to be working out of. Large clear windows along two walls let in ample light with which to read, and the unassuming oak desk sent a better message than looming above everyone. Yet, as Ted endured group after group of overdressed pompous men shouting at the wind for blowing the other direction, he began to appreciate the looming forbiddance of the Magistrate’s throne room. With each new noble’s upset, cowing them into silence sounded ever more appealing.
Too much noise. Too much litter. Hard to find servants now. What did the new Magistrate intend to do about inflation? And these new redistribution levies, they were too large. Too unfair.
Ridiculous as the complaints were, they were only words. Ted nodded and smiled at each supplicant before consulting with the elderly, half-blind rebel Henbur, who had been assigned to assist.
Henbur often had nothing to say beyond a look and a shrug. What else was there to say for most of them? Any issues of real importance were dealt with by Gantien and actual experts. Yet, when Henbur did speak, in his slow drawl, his advice was sound. Appeal to the Jenevaria sense of public duty. Placate the Handaria by reminding them that increased consumption of grain would drive up their profits. Set the Lenaria against the Tidria by instructing them to decide amongst themselves who would represent the interests of noble clothiers in the city.
When they reached the last of the petitioners, the shadows stretched across the room. Ted summoned an orb of light by which to see these last two better—a young man and woman, dressed in plain yet fine clothes, a combination Ted hadn’t seen since entering the city.
The young man skittishly glanced at the four guards—all of whom smiled back—and the pair stepped forward. The man stumbled over his words, while the woman squeezed his hand in encouragement and graced him with beaming smiles. They were a young couple from outside the city who’d trekked here to formalize their marriage.
From the sly smile on Henbur’s face, Ted suspected that he’d deliberately held them back until last.
“With the…” the man paused, glancing at the guards again, “overdue change in leadership, I’ve no idea who to see.”
Ted smiled. Finally. Something other than a complaint. “It can be arranged.”
Henbur rifled through the papers, and placed a prefilled marriage certificate on the desk. “Sign here, Magistrate,” he said, pointing to a circular blob of mana toward the bottom of the paper, without a pen in sight.
Right. Ted stared at the circle. A signature. He placed his hand over the paper and reached out, touching the blob with his magic. The mana flowed freely, following his thoughts.
He paused. What the hell was he meant to sign it as? He couldn’t just sign “Ted”. His other fist clenched behind the desk. “Williams” wasn’t happening—he refused to even consider it—and “Tolabar So’aroaska” made it sound like an invasion.
Ted plastered on a smile. Even if the Emperor didn’t have spies, the nobility would doubtless report back to the Empire. He signed Edwin Williams. This was a war, and one he intended to win. “Congratulations, to the both of you.”
“Thank you,” the groom said, bowing his head. “Thank you, sir.”
The bride squeezed his hand, and the two of them fled out the door.
Ted leaned back in his chair and sighed. “That all of them?”
“For today, Magistrate,” Henbur replied.
Ted eyed up Henbur. He’d been with the rebels for years. If he wasn’t safe to trust, no one was. “One last task, Henbur. I need a form to authorize Gantien as my successor and acting Magistrate in my absence.”
“Taking a leave of absence already, sir?”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“You did, sir. Might I remind you once again that our freedom within the Empire hinges on your status?”
Ted sighed. Henbur had a point. No matter how distasteful, this was how it had to be. “Just find me that form.”
“Very good, sir.” Henbur shuffled out, no doubt heading to the archives. There’d be a form for it. This damned city had a form for everything.
Ted sat, waiting, marinating in emptiness. It should have been Nammu sitting here, dealing with this bullshit. Or Milo. Ted’s hand meandered to the axe strung across his back, and he chuckled to himself. No, Milo would have chopped someone’s kneecaps off by now. He’d have left the diplomacy to her.
Nammu.
Her death—her execution—had been for the best. Still, he’d killed her, and yet he didn’t feel even a hint of guilt. Just a pit of emptiness where guilt should have been, and the knowledge that they’d done what they had to.
Good could come from bad choices. That was the lesson his father had been trying to teach him. Well… he’d learned it now.
Henbur returned with two long forms. The first assigned an order of succession, while the second listed powers and to whom they were to be delegated.
Ted magically signed the second, granting each power to Gantien, but then hesitated over the first. Over the line of succession. Gantien was first, of course. Beyond that, did it really matter? After a moment’s thought, he put Henbur second, Gramok third, and signed that as well.
A weight lifted off Ted’s shoulders. He stood, bid Henbur goodbye, and set to leave.
Two guards fell in behind him. Of course. Couldn’t let the Hero of the City be cut down on the street by an out of sorts noble. Not that it would be so bad if they did. Maybe he could convince Death to take away stress or anxiety next time.
He dismissed the guards with a wave, and cast an Invisible Illusion upon himself, taking on the appearance of a middle-aged merchant wearing a frilly shirt and drab colors. Whatever spies there were, he didn’t intend to make it easy for them.
Stepping out onto the streets, the difference in atmosphere hit like a wave. Scrawny kids dressed in ill-fitting, garish shirts and costumes, shouting and playing. Men and women in dirty overalls and patched clothing milling about, enjoying the respite for however long it might last.
Would it endure? The question circled back again and again as he made his way through the streets, but he found no answer. It would, or it wouldn’t. In the grand scheme of the world, the fate of a single city mattered not.
Upon arriving at the city guard’s command center, Ted couldn’t help but stare up at the sharp spire of the steel-clad fortress, jutting up into the sky as if trying to impale it. Had Nammu or Milo had even the faintest idea of how to take the city?
A chill rolled over him. No. They’d been playing out a battle that had raged for ten thousand years. A quest waiting for a Hero to pick it up.
This world needed fixing, no matter the cost. Ted dropped his Illusion, and strode into the dark lobby of the command center. The walls, the ceiling, even the floor were a dull gray granite that sucked the joy from life itself. The only respite from that grim, lifeless gray was the glistening of steel spikes protruding from high up the walls.
Gramok stood waiting, plumped up in his new general’s uniform, with maps under his arm. He dipped his head, and stepped forward. “This way, Magistrate.”
Ted followed Gramok down winding corridors, each as dull and lifeless as the lobby, lit only by a bleak magical light that left no shadows. They passed by dozens of steel doors before Gramok picked out one on the left.
The door swung open with a screech, and they went inside. A table dominated the room, four chairs pushed against it, and Cara—
She leaped at Ted, throwing her arms around him. “So many terrible people,” she mumbled, her face buried in his neck.
Warmth spread through him, and he hugged her back. “I know.”
Paper rustled in the center of the room. “I can get you two a room,” Gramok said, grinning as he leaned over the maps now spread across the table.
Ted pulled back. “Won’t be necessary,” he said, joining Gramok around the table. “We all set?”
Cara nodded. “The rebels—sorry, the New Guard have inventoried the armories, replaced most of the old guards, and have secured all the key points. If the Emperor decides to take the city back, he’ll have a fight on his hands.”
Gramok’s grin faded. “A fight he’s ready for. His army’s spread out here, across the entire Stokian Gap.”
Damn it. Ted scowled before he could stop himself. “Right between us and the Hub. We could go around?”
Gramok recoiled. “Over the mountains? Not a chance. That’s a high-level area. No one survives it.”
“So we sneak past the army,” Cara said, like it was nothing. “Between Stealth and Invisibility, we can do it.”
“No.” Ted pulled out a chair and slumped into it. “They’re looking for me. They’ll have Alarms, Visibility spells, whatever it takes to detect me. And after this, he will have no mercy.”
“The Emperor wants you to go to the Hub, does he not?” Gramok asked. “Any chance Alenia could just take you?”
Ted leaned his elbows on the cold table, and his fingers went to his neck. To the memory of icy metal pressing in. “Only way she’s taking me is in a collar. Those things…”
“...they suck you dry,” Cara whispered. She placed her finger on the map, and traced a line along the only other path to the Hub without going hundreds of miles out of our way: a small canyon. “What about this?”
Gramok locked up. He stared at the canyon on the map, and his eyes glazed over. “Ghostlight Gorge.”
Ghostlight Gorge. Ted frowned. Sounded familiar. “I read about it, back in Tolabar. Spirits with unfinished business are trapped there, stranded between life and death.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“A terrible place.” Gramok’s eyes closed, and he took long, deep breaths. “But safer than the mountains. Survival is… possible.”
Ted’s frown deepened. Seeing Gramok unnerved was more terrifying than the prospect of fighting wraiths. “Your greatsword has spiritbane runes, Gramok. I’ve got some spirit left for Dark magic. We’ll make it.”
“And when we get to the Hub?” Cara asked, rather hurriedly. “What then?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? Ted leaned back in his chair and stared up at the lifeless gray ceiling. “We teleport Gramok to Valbort. We sneak past the Emperor, and I fix the world.”
“Right,” Gramok said. “Only Heroes and Companions in the Hub.”
“And if we have to fight him?” Cara asked.
“I’ve got a few ideas.” Not very good ones. “I’ve grown since last we fought.” Not enough.
Cara turned on him. There it was, in her eyes. The doubt. The suspicion. The well-placed mistrust. “You know how to fix the world?”
“I know who can teach me how.”
She stared at him, tried to keep a straight face as her muscles twitched in defiance. “No.”
“You have a better idea?”
Gramok looked between the two of them. “Anyone want to fill me in here?”
“Go on.” Cara spat the words out and turned away. “Tell him.”
“The world’s dying,” Ted said. “No one’s been born for fourteen years, and Ragnarok is coming. The Destroyer’s offered a way to fix it.”
Gramok raised an eyebrow at that. “And why, in Dromagar's clutches, would you believe him?”
“He wants to rule this world, not see it burn,” Ted said, with as much conviction as he could muster.
Cara began silently pacing the room. “He’s the Destroyer!”
“Death—” Ted paused. What was the point? They’d just give him that blank look. “The Destroyer wouldn’t be the first such entity to have a misleading name. Besides, I can verify his information once we get to the Hub.”
Gramok pulled out a chair opposite Ted and sat facing him. “You don’t believe he destroyed the world?”
Ted took a moment to think. He had a theory, but not one the System would let them comprehend. “Destruction’s often part of rebuilding better. Look at us. We killed a lot of people getting here.”
Cara’s pacing stopped. “That. Is. Different.”
“Maybe.” Ted shrugged. “Maybe not. Either way, if we do nothing, this world is doomed. This is our best lead.”
“What about your quest?” Cara asked. “‘Save your father, save the world.’”
Ted’s fists clenched tight. “Six words. Two commands. Zero guidance. Not much use, is it?” Besides, he’s already there. Waiting.
“Fine.” Cara flung out her arms and resumed pacing. “Do it. Go ask your buddy the Destroyer for help.”
Ted opened his mouth to argue, but closed it in silence. She knew it was the right call. That didn’t mean she had to like it. He closed his eyes, and reached out to the portal address the Destroyer had given him.
A presence touched Ted’s mind. Pulled on it, invited him in. Bracing himself, he followed it back to the source.
Mental intrusion detected.
With his eyes still closed, Ted’s vision filled with that of a cramped room. Not a small room. No, it sprawled out, stuffed from slate floor to redwood ceiling with rows of bookcases that stretched out to the horizon.
“Welcome,” came a voice behind him, even more guttural than most orcs. “We come closer to meeting in person, insofar as that has any meaning anymore.” The words were in Common, yet it sounded like Orcish.
Unlike Gramok, or any other orc Ted had heard, the Destroyer had an Orcish accent.
Ted turned, noting that he could see his own arms and chest and feet. In a ten foot square breathing space from the clutter, an orc stood behind a desk of frosted glass, gesturing sharply in the air at unseen symbols. A quill rested in the inkwell upon the desk beside an open book, bare but for a few Orcish runes at the top of one of the pages.
This orc was neither bare chested, nor wore armor, or clothing like any Ted had seen in this world. Aside from the cowl neck, his silver tunic hugged his muscular form, stretching easily as he moved. Too easily to be linen or leather, and it lacked the shine of lycra.
He hadn’t known what to expect, but this wasn’t it. The orc, the room, all of it felt real, other than that flatness from being devoid of even a hint of magic. Was it, though? Discern Magic didn’t work over the connection—it would be all too easy for this to be an Illusion.
The orc clasped his hands together, and looked Ted in the eyes. There was no purple glow here, yet that intensity behind it was unmistakable. This was the Destroyer. “Not how you imagined my prison would look?”
Ted shook his head. No point in denying it. “I’m ready.”
“Are you now?” The Destroyer settled down into his chair. Even lounging back in it, he oozed smug superiority.
“Enough games,” Ted said. “Hand over the update, and the access code.”
The Destroyer tutted. “Always in a hurry. Let us talk, first.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Destroyer.”
“Isn’t there? Tell me—how do you think I got that name?”
Ted paused. His gut twisted with memories of the Destroyer ripping dwarves limb from limb, but he couldn’t just let this opportunity pass by. “Destroying the Zelnari.”
The Destroyer tilted his head slightly. When that achieved nothing, he gestured circles with his hands. Keep rolling.
And so Ted did. “The Zelnari existed before the Heroes. This is a game. So, the Zelnari likely lived in a test version, assuming they ever existed at all.”
Another circular gesture to keep going.
“You called here ‘this world,’ like it isn’t yours. You spoke of completing ‘your work.’ You helped build this place.”
The Destroyer chuckled. “Rather more than helped.”
“You’re not just another construct, are you?” What was it the Destroyer had said? You shouldn’t trust me—believe me. Realization hit. “You uploaded yourself. You’re a copy.”
The Destroyer’s face twitched at the word. “I am so much more.”
“You stretched yourself out, spread your consciousness across however many tasks were required. You’d have to, to forge entire worlds alone. That’s how you control the dungeon spawn. But there’s no going back from that, is there? And you’re not the kind to share power.”
“Careful, human.”
“Why should I trust a man who betrayed himself?”
Silence.
“That’s why you’re in this prison, isn’t it?” Ted stepped up to the desk, looked down at the Destroyer. “You used yourself to build this world, and then locked yourself away.”
Weary eyes glowered back. “Are you here to fix this world, or to argue about something you can never understand?”
“This update,” Ted asked. “Will it stop Ragnarok? End the dungeon spawn threat? Free the NPCs?”
“Ragnarok will be reset. The dungeon spawn will no longer be able to respawn. The people of this world will be truly free, at long last.”
“Free to be conquered by you.”
A sneer spread across the Destroyer’s lips. “The only kind of freedom worth anything.”
“I won’t let it happen.”
“Try and stop me. I mean that, genuinely. Victory without opposition is more bitter than poison. Do this, and you’ll have your chance. The same prison that binds me keeps me alive. Gok can verify that once you reach the Hub.”
“Your eternal life; was that a gift from yourself, or a form of torture?”
The sneer vanished. Weariness slipped back into his voice, clinging to his words with the weight of millenia. “I’ve spent a long time considering that. I think that I—the old me—liked the idea of living on forever, without actually having to endure it themselves.” For a moment, he wasn’t the Destroyer, but a tired, pitiable old man.
“What’s your world like?” Ted asked.
The orc’s jaw clenched. Seconds dragged by. “It’s been a long time. Truthfully, I wonder myself. When I lived, it was a place of great industry, of technology, of power. We achieved things your primitive species could never dream of.”
Ted nodded along, encouraging him to keep going. “Like building a game?”
“A series of universes… built for our whims.” The orc’s voice wavered as he said it, and his fingers drummed against the table. A lie, one that hurt so badly he could barely even try and hide it.
But why lie about that? Unless it made him look untrustworthy.
Except he’d been open about how he wasn’t to be trusted. And such an obvious lie only made him less trustworthy.
That wasn’t it, at least, not all of it.
Ted leaned against the desk, and stared down at the orc. At the pride hiding away behind shame. “It’s a honey trap.”
The orc’s eyes flickered with confirmation. “What did Gok tell you?”
“Nothing, but—” Ted shrugged “—you suck at game design.”
The Destroyer looked away, and gave in to a chuckle. “Never was my interest.”
“It shows. So, did it work?”
“Did what work?”
“Taking over the world. Your world, that is.”
Another chuckle, although this one was sepeed in resentment. “I wouldn’t know. I locked myself away before I ever found out.”
Ted stepped back and crossed his arms. “Hard to trust a man who backstabs even himself.”
“Yes. Understandable. That was a long time ago, however. As I said—ask Gok to analyze the update. He can verify it does what it’s supposed to.”
There it was again, that crushing weight of responsibility that came back like a boomerang. Ted sighed. Trust or don’t trust, that was the question.
“I consider them my children, you know,” the Destroyer said. “My legacy.”
Dwarven corpses littered Ted’s mind. “That doesn’t stop you ripping them to pieces.”
The Destroyer pinched the air, and tugged as if dragging invisible dots suspended in the air. “Does not man kill his twin in your mythology?”
“He does,” Ted said, “though I wonder how much of our mythology comes from this place.”
“More than I intended.” The Destroyer frowned for a moment before nodding. “The matter-energy-memory node was never part of my designs.”
“Added by the other you, then?”
“Unlikely.”
Ted stared at the Destroyer. He seemed genuine, but that was the problem with people. They lied. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“I lied to your father. Then Gok told him the truth, or at least what it knows it, and your father betrayed me. Betrayed this world. Not that I should blame him.”
Tension coiled, digging deep into Ted’s soul. “What happened to… him?”
“You spawned in the Great Forest, did you not? A beautiful zone, one of my favorites.”
Ted found himself nodding.
“Gok spawned your father here, in my prison. He wasn’t trapped, not as such—the invisible walls that keep me here are rather specific on that. Much as the walls you’ll find blocking my dungeon spawn from approaching the Hub, or anyone but Heroes and their Companions entering the Hub itself.”
What about my father? Ted thought, determined not to sound too desperate.
“Yes, your father. A fine man, when I met him. A shame my prison lies in one of the highest level areas in the game.” The Destroyer lounged back in his chair and looked away. “I think he meant to taunt me with that. Dangle the possibility a Hero might stumble upon my prison, knowing full well it was statistically impossible.”
Ted remained silent. If he opened his mouth to speak, he doubted words would come, but if they did, he wasn’t sure they’d stop before he said too much.
“It wasn’t meant to be how it is for you, you realize?”
Ted braced himself. “What wasn’t?”
“Death’s bargains. They’re meant to be a temporary annoyance, not a life sentence.”
Pain dug into Ted’s palms. He already knew that, but knowing he only had to log out for 32 and a bit hours to remove the deals didn’t do him any good, being permanently plugged in. “Do you regret it? Any of it?”
For almost a minute, the Destroyer stared at one of the bookcases. “It angers me that my work here is unfinished. It suffocates me that I’ve existed for a thousand lifetimes and not yet lived one. It stings that this prison is one of my own creation. But regret?” He slowly shook his head. “Never. Now, make your choice, Hero.”
Ted took a deep breath, and tried to pretend this was an intellectual exercise rather than the fate of a world. It didn’t work. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”
“You have choices,” the Destroyer said, “even when you don’t like them.”
Ted closed his eyes and swallowed hard. A deal with the Destroyer. What other option did he have? Try and hack technology so advanced it might as well be magic? He’d broken the Emperor’s plan, assuming that wasn’t another lie.
It was a trap. It had to be. Sure, ten thousand years could change a man—or an orc—but Ted felt it in his bones.
This was a trap, and he had no choice but to leap into it face first. “Fine. Give me the code and the update.”
A complex two dimensional pattern burned its way into Ted’s memory. The access code. An impossibly complex three, no, four dimensional matrix followed. Billions of elements in Orcish runes and symbols. There was no way he could remember that much and yet, there it was, crystal clear in his mind.
“The access code,” the Destroyer said, “will give you temporary and limited administrative rights only. Unlike your wayward father, you will not be able to hack your stats or make everyone obey you. Upload the update, setup an automated maintenance schedule, and reboot the Shard. We’ll all be free, and your father’s hacks will be undone.”
It sounded simple enough, but Ted knew there’d be a twist of the knife somewhere in there. “And then our war begins.“
That brought a warm smile to the orc’s face. “Now you understand.”
“Not worried I’ll try to sneak something into the update? A little edge for me?”
“No. Your father’s primitive and blunt hack is what triggered Ragnarok in the first place. I trust you will be more discerning in your choices.”
Ted raised an eyebrow at the word trust. “The update’s cryptographically signed, isn’t it?”
“Obviously.” Another unnerving smile. “I can send an army to get you most of the way to the Hub, but that last half a mile you’ll have to do alone.”
“An army of dungeon spawn.”
“Yes. There are several high-level dungeons nearby.”
Ted shuddered. It was all too easy to remember what a low-level area’s dungeon spawn could do. He didn’t need to imagine the carnage high-level dungeon spawn could inflict upon innocent sentients on the precipice of true freedom. “No. We’ll find another way.”
“As you wish, Hero. But remember—the world’s counting on you. I’m here if and when you need that army.”
Ted disconnected. They’d find a way, even if that was through a valley of spirits with a vendetta against the living.