Spear of Destiny by James Baldwin (little bear else holmelund minarik .TXT) 📕

I unequipped my helmet to wave back down, returning to the saddles grips as Karalti and I wordlessly synced through the bond. I dropped back down and held on as she barrel-rolled overhead. Cries of wonder were drowned out by the growing roar of the airships as they came in low behind us. I looked back to see the decks lined with Yanik and Meewfolk, all of them waving and whistling to the townsfolk.

“I didn’t know the Renown boost was going to make THAT much of a difference!” I almost shouted to Karalti telepathically, before remembering that she could hear me over the noise. Musicians had struck up in the market, blasting cheerful music on fiddles, flutes and zithers.

“They’re happy that the harvest is gonna come in,” Karalti said. “The Demon ruined their lives, and now they see things turning around. I’d be happy, too.”

As we drew up on the castle, I couldn’t help but notice that it was bustling. I frowned, trying to make sense of the number of people inside. They were all over the scaffolding, reinforcing it and adding more.

“Hang on—I DEFINITELY did not order repairs on the castle. I wanted to rebuild the university first.” I leaned out over Karalti’s shoulder, squinting into the wind. “Holy shitsnacks. Are those the volunteers?”

“I dunno.” Karalti replied. “Let’s go down and ask Istvan. I can see him from here.”

Istvan stood beside a table manned by four guardsmen, talking animatedly with Rudolph as the guards processed lines and lines of people. There wasn’t enough room to land in the courtyard: Karalti had to fly past the Gatehouse and land outside the Orphans Camp, scattering a crowd of curious, bored Meewfolk and awestruck volunteers.

I surveyed the commotion and struggled to understand how and what was happening. Carpenters sawed at logs, while masons shaped blocks of stone to repair the curtain wall. Workers shifted wheelbarrows full of rubble, or walked beside grunting triceratops as they hauled creaking wagons of stone and sand up the road. The cleanup was going at a surreal speed. Like players, NPCs had Inventories and Menus. They crafted by running through kinetic mini-games that distilled crafting into a fun, but challenging act of pantomime. As I watched, a Mercurion [Master Stonemason] and their assistants rapidly stacked and fit drystone into a broken doorway, while others pried broken paving stones out of the courtyard and replaced them with new sheets of slate.

“My lord—we heard the news of your victory!” Istvan seemed genuinely cheerful as I pulled up at the table in a daze. “As you can see, it was not only us here at the castle. Word has spread of the fall of Zoltan Gallo.”

“But who... how...?” I bought up the KMS logs, scanning for activity, but there was no history of anyone with access to the system rustling up all these volunteers. “Was it Bubek?”

“No, I haven’t heard from him. Believe me, Your Grace, we weren’t exactly expecting this ourselves.” Istvan planted his hands on his hips, looking out over the crowd with satisfaction. “They began showing up yesterday.”

Numbly, I checked the KMS. Sure enough, we were in the right Renown tier to command about a thousand volunteers. Emphasis on ‘command’.

“My lord, there are two matters I must bring to your attention,” Rudolph said, as drawn and dignified as always. “There are guests waiting to speak with you in the great hall. Starborn, in fact.”

“Starborn?” The giddiness faded around the edges, replaced by wariness. I’d had very mixed interactions with other players in Archemi.

“Yes, Your Grace. You hired them for Kingdom Quests, and now they wish to introduce themselves and possibly pledge service to Myszno specifically and Vlachia in general,” Rudolph said. “Also, I have taken the liberty of contacting an artist to help you design livery and heraldry suitable for your House. We cannot fly the standard of House Bolza. The designer is charging a very reasonable rate within our budget.”

“I... thanks. Man, I don’t know what to say.” I rubbed my eyes, then let out a tense breath. “I guess the first thing I need to do is go and play greeter.”

“Welcome to the life of nobility,” Istvan replied dryly. “Oh, also: Vash has been in contact. He says they have begun extracting the goods from the dragon graveyard, and all is going well. There is, as Vash so eloquently put it, ‘enough gold in that place to make me cough so hard my asshole popped out like a mushroom’.”

I shook my head in amazement. “Vash should have been a bard, not a monk. The man is a poet.”

“The man is something, that’s for sure.” Istvan let out an irritated sigh, but he couldn’t hide the smile at the corners of his mouth.

“Thanks for handling this.”  I rolled my shoulders, glancing up as the shadows of the frigates fell over the skyport. “I’m grateful for your work, both of you. Rudolph, I’ll meet with your artist after talking with the Starborn, so that we can sit down with Suri and hash something out. I think you’re right. It’s about time we had a flag to rally behind.”

Suri was with the ships, so I went to meet with the players alone. I entered the great hall to find a knot of five people talking and laughing—four Meewfolk and one human—and a second human sitting apart, wrapped in a feathered grey cloak, her shield resting against the edge of the bench beside her. She had a boxy kind of face, with a hard jawline and very large eyes. Her hair was brown, falling like a mane halfway down her back. When she heard the door open, she looked over—and my eyes widened as recognition dawned.

“Nethres?” I called, picking up my pace. “Holy shit.”

Nethres tensed when I called her name, rising to her feet. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been clad in the blue