The trail toward the center of the island was a steady uphill trek. The small fields and vegetable plots were terraced into the slope and carefully manicured to prevent runoff. Jace guessed this island was built from a volcano, and the gentle stream of smoke he saw in the distance may not come from a building as he had initially assumed.
With Rock tied into the train directly in front of him, Jace had a clear view over the dwarf of the other prisoners and watched with interest as Leah took everything in. She had difficulty standing upright, and the constant tug on the line was the only reason she kept a steady pace, but her eyes were alert, and she searched the workers for someone she recognized. A few elves and halflings moved about them, but most of the workforce was human. Jace knew it had been seven years since she had cast the curse, and Joe would be very different, but her sister should still be recognizable. The shaman didn’t think she would find her relatives among the two dozen workers they passed, and he detected no recognition in her body language.
They walked for ten minutes before reaching the largest building so far. They had passed several structures Jace had identified as storage sheds or residences, but nothing as grand as the palace-like edifice they now entered. It was built from wood and stone, rising two stories high with gold and silver highlighting the windows. None of the building materials were native to this tropical island, and Jace figured not all the ships that came here traded slaves.
Djona had been at the rear of the line initially, having stayed back to cast a restoration spell on the troglodyte guard Esther had level drained but not killed. The morality of killing minions was still something Jace was getting used to. He had seen his people kill half-orc guards, storm shamans, orcs, and other minions. Because the game spawned these creatures right back into existence, their value as living beings was questionable. They didn’t have families or memories. Most of them didn’t even have names.
Disposable minions were necessary in a game where people played to fight and kill things. If it had been Earth, and Esther had just killed two police officers trying to arrest her, she would have been gunned down on the spot, and it would have been justifiable. Instead, the other troglodytes had taken her alive, and no one had stopped to mourn the dead lizardmen. That was part of life, and even though it broke the fourth wall a bit, the other guards knew those lost troglodytes would be replaced the next day.
Now, Djona jogged forward, reaching the front of the prisoner train before they entered the palace. Eight other lizard guards escorted them, but the leader was required to gain access to the prominent building. Eventually, the steel gate opened, and they entered a courtyard filled with palm trees and flowers. A few workers tended to the gardens with several troglodyte guards standing at attention, flanking the arched doorway that led into the building proper.
The large wooden doors opened for the silent procession, and soon, they were crowded into a foyer with a grand hall spreading out before them. Potted plants lined the chamber, with a red carpet leading toward the far side, ending before an elevated throne. A female troglodyte stood adorned with robes, a floral skirt, and a tight-fitting golden chest piece that displayed her scaly cleavage. Jace didn’t understand why a cold-blooded creature required human-shaped breasts, but the Realm of Infamy cared more about sensual aesthetics than the inconvenience of biological reality.
The slaves were instructed to stop while Djona jogged forward to address the queen. Jace saw her lips move but couldn’t pick up the words from this distance with the white noise from the weary prisoners. He leaned back and whispered to Psycho. “Can you hear them?”
The ranger strained his hunter’s senses for a moment and then nodded.
“Good,” Jace said, “let me know what they say.”
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Djona knelt before his queen until she bid him rise.
“What is the meaning of this?” the female troglodyte said, cutting right to the chase. “Did not Captain Potiphar arrive today? These are not the dregs of his kingdom. Did Lamashtu make a delivery I was unaware of? Six deliveries? Six heroes and a wolf? You don’t think I will let you keep them, do you? I give you a long leash, Djona, but not that long.”
The humble troglodyte stayed still with his head bowed, patiently waiting until she was finished. He looked up. “Queen Pharah, these came from Ishmael through his servant.”
The female laughed. “Ha! Are you my court jester now? That weaselly sorcerer could never handle a group like this. Likely, they killed him and forced his boy to take them to us.” Pharah paused in thought, and Djona searched her face. It had dawned on him as well that these heroes were here on purpose, and they weren’t just innocent kidnap victims. “But why?”
Djona shrugged. “I can only assume it is for one of Lamashtu’s victims.”
“Yes, of course,” she scolded in a dismissive tone, “but which one? The merchant? The professor? The noble? I would not think any of them had the connections to bring a group like this.” She paused but eventually discarded that line of thought. “It matters not. Now, we will certainly have a sacrifice. Moloch has waited long enough. He shall surely bless us once we give him these six mighty warriors.”
Djona’s face contoured in disagreement, and Pharah saw it. “Out with it,” she said. “What excuse will you give me now? It has been three years. Would you have an orc picking pineapples or an elven warrior trimming a hedge? Or maybe you want the . . .” she trailed off as she cast a spell of identification toward the group, “ . . . the vampire rogue arranging flower centerpieces?”
“There shall be a sacrifice,” he said tentatively. “But not all six. That would ruin the balance we have created, and . . .”
“Not everything is about balance, Djona. Some things are about power. We could demand more prosperity from the god we serve. We could demand more riches from the merchants we trade with. We could build an army with the blessings we receive, and I could rule more than a spot of volcanic ash in the middle of the ocean.”
Djona waited for more, but Queen Pharah had said her piece. “I have not questioned them yet,” he replied. “I do not know their purpose here. If they do not return home, more might come.”
“Let them come,” she said.
“In time,” he agreed. “But not yet. Their silence might be bought with their freedom. Their freedom at the cost of a sacrifice. They did kill two of our soldiers.”
Pharah laughed in his face. “You think I want vengeance for the lives of two lizards? Justice perhaps? I would sacrifice a thousand of your minions if it got me one inch closer to the power I am owed.”
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Djona didn’t know what else to say, and Pharah had no other drums to beat. “Very well. Go, wine and dine our ‘guests,’ but if one of them is not burned alive in the hands of my god before noon tomorrow, you will be the one in shackles. Perhaps I’ll let Lilith have her way with you. She’s asked often enough.”
“I will not fail you,” Djona said, bowing deeply and rising to return to his captives.
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Jace and his friends were seated at a fabulous dinner within the hour.
After the meeting with Queen Pharah, they were escorted further into the palace, and the eight other humans were taken to a separate room while the “Heroes,” were shown to an impressive dining hall. A massive table with seating for 10 sat in the middle of a room three times too large. A dozen troglodyte guards filled the extra space around the table, all armed with tridents.
Djona went to each character, released them from their shackles, and healed them of any wounds. He wisely did Jace first, and the orc leader advised each party member not to lash out. The troglodyte priest was level 16 and likely would have saved against a spell by Leah or Draya, as they were both suffering from exhaustion, hunger, and probably half a dozen other banes, but Esther could have taken him. Djona hesitated when he got to the rogue, reading the intensity in her eyes. She obeyed Jace and didn’t attack.
Soon, they were seated around the table with their host at the head. Human servers came in with salad, bread, and bowls of soup. They threw a raw steak at Snowy. Having recently been drugged, the party members were a bit hesitant to dig in despite their state of hunger. “Ah,” Djona said, “I imagine Captain Potiphar crimped you with a meal much like this, did he?” The troglodyte took a piece of bread, dunked it in his soup, and stuffed the whole thing in his large mouth. “I can assure you, the food is not poisoned. Potiphar wanted you debilitated; I do not.”
Esther, the least hungry in the group, was the first to dig in, and the rest eventually followed. Jace’s character was hungry, but now that his hands were free, he could go into his settings and turn down the effect it had on his senses. It would still be good for him to eat, but he could control his appetite. “Do you feed all your slaves like this?”
“Actually,” Djona said, putting down his food, happy to get the conversation rolling, “yes I do. The eight people you were brought here with have been shone to their new homes and are having a meal just like this one served to them.” Draya and Psycho looked up from their food to ensure their host hadn’t said this with a false expression. “And,” he continued, “you can call them slaves if you want, for surely they were brought here against their will initially, but ask any of them if they want to leave now.”
“They may be fooling you,” Psycho said. “Playing the part of contented workers to catch you off guard. You get lax in your discipline, and they revolt.”
“Perhaps,” Djona admitted. “But I doubt it. Unlike you all, most people here were collected from the gutters of their home cities. They owed debts they couldn’t pay or were facing jail time for crimes committed by dead relatives. Now that they are here, no one is after them. They have all the food they need. They live in beautiful homes and spend their free time on tropical beaches. Some have married other workers. Some have given birth since they’ve arrived.”
“And they work for nothing,” Draya said. The Mongorians enslaved her people, and Jace assumed the brutal overlords had tried to sell their arrangement in much the same way.
“Only if you consider food, shelter, and security nothing. Conditions could be worse.”
“And were they before you took over?” Jace asked.
The lizardman smiled broadly. “Perhaps. I find you get more flies with honey than vinegar.”
“Why do you need flies?” Esther asked, looking up from her food for the first time. The rest of the table laughed.
“And what of the people brought here by Lamashtu?” Jace asked. “Does she also only bring in the dregs?”
Djona nodded appreciatively. “No, she doesn’t. But she does bring in people who have enemies back home that want them dead. I have offered freedom to some, as many are too old to work effectively, but most turn it down, preferring a life here in luxury.”
“As slaves,” Draya persisted.
“Everyone works, child,” Djona snapped back a bit too harshly. “How much does your master pay you?”
That silenced Draya. She glanced at Jace, but her leader didn’t return the look.
“But enough about me,” he said. “Let’s talk about you. Why are you here?”
“Two humans were taken by Lamashtu about seven years ago,” Jace said. “Their names are Rachelle and her son Josephus.”
The shaman looked for any reaction from their host, but he gave none. Surely, he had already recognized Leah, so he would have expected this. “I was not in charge seven years ago,” he said. “What did they look like?”
For this, Jace had to turn to Leah. She had been quiet thus far, partly because she was weak and partly because Esther had told her Jace would take care of everything. However, she understood she had to enter the conversation at this point. Some of her strength had returned with the food. “Rachelle is my sister. She looks a bit like me, only younger and . . . prettier.” Her hands went to her face to hide her appearance, but Esther, sitting beside her, reached out and grabbed her arm to pull it down.
“You’re beautiful,” she said. “You can do this.”
“She’s about the same height and hair color,” Leah continued after a pause. “Her son, Joe, was tall and handsome, with dark hair, but he was only a boy, maybe fourteen. He would be a man now.”
Jace looked between Leah and Djona at opposite ends of the table, impressed by the troglodyte’s composure if he was who Jace thought he was. “Ah,” the host said. “I know who these people are.” Both Rock and Leah’s moods brightened. “But I’m afraid they are dead. Sacrificed to Moloch shortly after their arrival here.”
“No!” Leah cried. “It can’t be.”
Rock slammed his fist into the table.
Jace jumped a little in his seat as his left hand tingled. He had his pain setting turned down, so he barely felt it, but he looked down and saw his cursed ring shimmer as if it had just shocked him. Did he just fail a save? He looked back at Djona, who must have lied if he really was Leah’s nephew. Of course, the game would force everyone to fail that deception check. Jace glanced at Esther, who should have felt a shock too. She shook her left hand as if a bee had just stung it but was too concerned with her sobbing friend to give it more than passing attention.
“You must be wrong!” Rock roared above the crying of his treasured artist. “My operator told me, uh, I mean, there must have been a human slave who proved himself to you during his time here. Someone who did everything right. This island looks like it runs efficiently. Is that your doing? Or did you promote a human to second in command?”
“I am second in command,” Djona said with a bit of a smile. “There is no one here with more authority besides Queen Pharah herself.”
“But there has to be someone else,” Rock said. “Is there at least a young man here who shows promise? Your best worker?”
“None of the humans under me fit that description,” the troglodyte said carefully.
The dwarf lost it, pacing away from the table with his hands above his head. Three lizard guards leveled their tridents at him, and he stopped and remembered where he was. Rock carefully returned and looked pleadingly at the orc across the table.
Jace was beside himself. How could he not see it? Djona was so obviously Joe that it was painful.
{Not everyone who plays is a gamer,} Gracie said in his head, feeling his frustration. {He is in it for the money. The riddle is obvious to you, not to him.}
Jace shrugged his shoulders and turned to their host. “A curse has befallen the land from where these people were taken. The son is prophesied to end the plague. Did he leave anything behind? Anything that might help us to save our people?”
This did give Djona pause, but not much. He eventually shook his head. “I can think of nothing he might have left behind that could help you.”
“Well, that is why we have come,” Jace said. “If we have come in vain, so be it.”
“No,” Rock said, staring at the shaman. “I can’t accept that. There must be another way. You are Jace Thorne. You always find a way. You must have another plan.”
Jace looked to his left, where Esther still comforted Leah. His rogue companion truly cared for the woman. Rock didn’t. He only wanted her abilities. Jace was tempted to walk away from this mission to make Rock suffer, but Esther would suffer too, and that’s really why he was here. “I don’t know what you want me to do,” he replied. “I can’t raise someone from the dead.”
Rock thought about that momentarily and then turned to their host as if he had figured something out. “You said they were sacrificed to Moloch. Who is that? What does that entail?”
Djona grinned broadly. “Well, it’s funny you should ask.”