The Dark Lord of Crafting

The fortress at Mount Doom would have been a nightmare to siege without superhuman assistance. If Malphas's army had made it through the main gate, they would have faced a barracks on the left, another, even higher wall ahead of them, and a narrow alley leading up the mountain to the right. The path was a death trap that would force would-be invaders to thin their ranks as they proceeded to the next gate, fighting uphill and under fire from defenders on the second wall.

Thankfully, we were being welcomed. Soldiers in the standard-issue plate saluted me as we rode in and came off of our mounts. A groom rushed up, a young man with a wide, pink scar on his face that suggested he had previously tended the wyverns, eager to be of service.

"My Lord," he bowed, breathless, "may I take your animals to the stables?"

"Thank you," I said. Bojack would not meet us in the open, and horses would have gotten in the way.

"Mind her well," Gastard said, handing the young man Marie's reins. "She has seen many years."

The boy bowed again, and we grabbed a few things from the saddles before he led them away. Esmelda had a second quiver to sling over her shoulder, making her appear comically overburdened, but it was a necessary addition. While I'd never seen Gremory engage in combat, I knew she had a metal affinity. Watching Asmodeus had told me more than I needed to know about how dangerous a demon with that kind of magic could be, and I'd prepared a set of wooden arrows for Esmelda to counter her.

Wooden weapons wouldn't normally have been able to harm a demon, but hopefully, imbued with Shadowbane, they would be enough to give us an edge. Gastard and I both had wooden daggers as well, not that I believed he would deign to use them, but there hadn't been a reason for me to hold on to any extra essence in Kevin's orb.

We were only going to get one shot at this.

Major Garron was on his way from the barracks, a squat, square building that Kevin hadn't bothered to provide with any aesthetic appeal. He wasn't wearing armor, but he was in his black dress tabard, emblazoned with the red sign of Dargoth in a stylized pattern. His silver hair was getting on the long side, secured in a tight man-bun, and he'd recently shaved.

"Welcome home," he said, throwing up a fist over his heart. "Have you quelled the Atlans already?"

"Something like that," I said. "Where's Zareth?"

"In the citadel, I'm sure. Can I be of service?"

I glanced around. Gastard was tense, his hand on the hilt of his sword, scanning the avenue ahead. Esmelda smiled at the Major without a hint of nervousness.

"It's good to see you, Garron. How have things been since we left?"

"My lady," his eyes widened briefly as he took in her new equipment, but he dipped his head respectfully. "The mountain has been peaceful in your absence. We have looked forward to news of your victory."

The trolls on either side of the gate were already turning the iron wheels to grind them shut again. They looked unremarkable, leathery dog faces on gorilla bodies, but I wondered if they were smarter than average or just well-trained. No one had given them a command to do so. Aside from that pair, there were no mobs or demons in sight.

I stepped in close to Garron.

"We've returned to deal with a problem," I said. "The demons are plotting against me, and they may have to be put down."

His brow creased with worry. "My Lord, how can that be?"

"I need to know that you and the men are still on my side."

"Of course," his fist slammed into his chest so hard it looked like he might have hurt himself. "We serve the Throne. Our lives are yours."

"We're going to the citadel to speak with Orobas. I'd like to have your best swordsmen with me." They wouldn't be much help against the demons, but they could stand against whatever mobs Bojack had with him.

"As you command, I'll collect them at once." Garron rushed back to the barracks, and Esmelda frowned.

"Are you sure we can trust them?"

"We need every tool we have," I said. "Nobody likes the demons. They just come with the territory. The System still recognizes me as being in charge here, and that makes them loyal, even if they would otherwise have doubts."

"I never thought about how your blessings might affect people's minds." She didn't look like she liked the idea. "I suppose mine will do even more of that."

"I won't turn away extra swords," Gastard said. "But the longer we delay, the more ready our enemy will be."

There was a lot that could go wrong. I'd considered using Fladnag's store of explosive ingredients to put together some bombs, but the TNT blocks would be as much a danger to us as the demons. Fireworks, likewise, were more of a distraction than a weapon. With more knowledge, I was sure that I could craft something useful, but I didn't have any formulas for grenades, and the combinations I'd tried so far had yielded nothing functional.

Word of our arrival had spread, and it wasn't long before Gremory appeared around the curve of the path, lovely as ever.

"The prodigal king has returned." She smiled sweetly. "Orobas waits for you in the hall."

"That's our next stop," I said, "we're waiting on Garron."

Gastard almost drew on her right there, but I touched his arm to keep his sword in its sheath. Gremory had come alone, and we could have killed her before she responded, but that would have tipped our hand. Harpies had landed along the ramparts, but so had a wyvern. The beast eyed us with too much interest, its conical head tilted almost in a question. Bojack wanted to know what our intentions were, and I wanted to keep Gastard and Esmelda's abilities a secret a little longer.

Sending Gremory was a test. If we attacked him now, Bojack would know I wasn't here to make amends.

"We have no use for him," Gremory said. "You have broken your oath. Are you here to beg for forgiveness?"

"I believe your oath is still in place," Esmelda said. "But you're behaving as if you serve Orobas instead of your Lord. Have you forgotten what you swore?"

Gremory gave Esemelda a measured look. My deal with Bojack was separate from the bargains I'd made with the other demons, and the blade they had all sworn on was still in my inventory. A Curse of Weakening wouldn't mean much to Gremory right now, but she seemed reluctant to trigger it.

"I still serve," the words seemed to be pulled out of her.

"Good," I said. "We faced a serious entity in the North, a shapeshifter, and I'm worried he might have followed us. Keep watch on the wall while I go see to my expiation."

"Orobas wishes for me to accompany you," Gremory insisted. Why was she even bothering to pretend I was still in charge? Would she follow my orders?

"You're needed here," I said. "I am commanding you as your Lord to keep watch until I relieve you."

A look of annoyance crossed her face, and for a moment it looked like she was listening to someone else. A few seconds passed in silence, and then she nodded.

"Very well," the demon turned toward the stair that led up to the ramparts, swishing her dress, "do not tarry."

I had not expected that to work. The wyvern spread its bat-like wings and took off up the mountain as Gremory minced away. Gastard shrugged, still ready to draw in an instant, and Esmelda and I shared bemused glances, but we couldn't discuss the outcome while the demon was still in earshot. Garron was back a minute later with half a dozen Dargothian soldiers in tow.

Three of them had officer insignias painted on their pauldrons, and some were still adjusting the clips on their armor or their belts. Garron himself hadn't stopped to throw on a breastplate, but a blade was at his hip and he seemed set on coming with us.

"I can gather more," he said. "We could march with an entire company at your back."

"This is going to start with a conversation," I said, "and that wouldn't set the right tone. Get a force together, but come a few minutes behind us." The more the merrier. They could at least keep more mobs from pouring into the hall when things went south. Garron briefly introduced the men he'd brought, emphasizing their loyalty and skill, before setting out on his mission.

The officers were Glent, Thrund, and Hurin, but I lost track of which was which almost as soon as he gave their names. It was a drawback of dressing everyone like Stormtroopers. I thought Hurin was the tall one, but I wasn't sure. All the men gave salutes, and the party, now nine members strong, made its way up the cobblestone path toward the great hall that held the Throne of Shadows. Gremory stayed at her new station atop the wall, at least until we lost sight of her around the rise. Oath or no oath, I assumed she was going to follow us.

We passed by the massive cube that was my handiwork, uglier even than the barracks. Was Kevin still trapped inside? I believed so. If he was out, we were walking into even more of a trap. But Kevin had never been subtle. He hadn't utilized his abilities in particularly creative or interesting ways for someone who'd had centuries to build his stronghold. If he was out, he would have already claimed the throne and outed me as a usurper. Garron and the rest of the Dargothians were loyal to the seat of power. They didn't know me on a personal level, and that was my fault.

The citadel looked like it had been carved from the mountain. Despite being constructed of thousands upon thousands of perfectly aligned, identical blocks, it had a natural feel. Its flanks were sharp, dark stones, and its tall stained-glass windows gave the impression of smoke frozen in time. The great double doors were open, as inviting as the throat of a leviathan, and the wyvern I had spotted earlier was perched atop the roof’s peak.

The hall was dim, the already weak light further muted by the only semi-transparent glass. No torches adorned the walls, and no banners, the arches and columns of the interior like the ribcage. Trolls flanked the entryway, lumbering brutes decked out in steel plates held in place by thick leather straps. One of them hooted as we stepped by, wrinkling its snout as it smelled us.

An Voidman loomed in the shadows of the nearest column, its violet eyes as bright as lamps against the darkness of its skin. The hall wasn't brimming with mobs as I'd worried it might be, but Bojack had selected the cream. A massive, twisted shape was scuttling upside-down in the ceiling's vault. One of the vorokai, the spider-scorpion monstrosities that, until now, had remained confined to their cages deep under the mountain. It was forty feet up, its wicked tail hanging loosely. As I watched, a drop of venom glistening on the tip of its spine fell to the floor and sizzled.

No one was sitting on the throne. Bojack stood beside it, the place of an advisor. Eight feet of horse-man dressed in a pristine toga and sandals. I'd never seen him with a weapon before, but he was holding a spear pointed down in his right hand. It was stone from shaft to tip and had to weigh a hundred pounds. It didn't so much as force him to lean.

All of that was bad, but what was behind the throne was worse. Zareth, as well as the maid and footman he'd staffed for us, were among a crowd of people I didn't recognize. Women and children, maybe the families of the soldiers who lived on Mount Doom. With Esmelda and Leto out of the picture, there weren't many people Bojack could be sure would matter enough to me to take as hostages, but he'd done his best. Zareth was clutching his scrolls to his chest, his bald head sweating, and his mouth pinched.

The group was ringed by zombies, facing inward and swaying in place.

It was a long walk down the hall, our footsteps echoing in the vast space. Outside, a harpy called, but they did not fly under the arch. I felt hot. The mountain was always warm, as the storm seemed to trap heat beneath it, and my armor felt stifling. I wanted to lift my visor, maybe step outside and take a few deep breaths, but here we were. I had a medallion clutched in one hand, but no potions to drink, no tricks up my sleeve. Just two friends with fresh Systems and the resolve to bring my partnership with Bojack to an end.

"That is far enough," Bojack said as we came to the steps that led up to the Throne. Its obsidian spikes gleamed in the semi-darkness, reflecting a light that was not there. The soldiers who'd accompanied us remained slightly further back, fanning out in a protective semi-circle. I hoped they weren't about to die.

"Hey Bojack," I said, "long time no see."

He snorted. "You have grown. I can see the change in your presence, but you are also cursed. The binding is nearly tight enough to strangle you. What have you done?"

That was a broad question. "Got into a fight with Fladnag," I said. "Didn't know he was working with you guys."

Bojack's heavy upper lip twitched. "Who is Fladnag?"

"Old guy goes around in a wagon shooting off fireworks. Used to be a hero who could heal people. Now poison tentacles sprout from his arm. That Fladnag."

The demon's long face shook from side to side. "Are you attempting to distract me from the matter at hand? I know of no such entity. You have broken your oath to me, and now you suffer for it. Will you atone?"

Gastard grunted irritably, but it wasn't time for him to act yet.

"What does that involve, exactly?" I asked.

"I have no need of ceremony," Bojack tapped the point of his spear on the dais. "You will swear a new oath, and I will forgive your sin. In the future, your family will remain at Mount Doom when you travel as a precaution against misadventure. I take it Salenus still stands?"

"We broke it open. Released a giant rock monster. It was a mess."

He eyed me for a long moment, and a hostage coughed. A zombie moaned, the sound swallowed by the arches.

"I am inclined to disbelieve you," Bojack said, "but the veil has weakened in recent days. And you should not know what was confined there otherwise. If you accomplished what I desired, what brought the curse upon you?"

The veil had weakened? Well, we had broken the monument before I fixed it, and I doubted my work was as good as the original. If there were supposed to have been runes involved, I certainly hadn't included them in the reconstruction.

"The Fladnag thing. He tried to hurt Leto. We fought him, and the other demons got involved. It counted as me standing against Discord, I guess, and I've been slowly dying ever since. But you know me, I'm a pragmatist. I can't run this empire or deal with Kevin without your help. We can work this out."

Bojack looked from me to Esmelda, and finally, his gaze settled on Gastard. He stared for long enough that I was sure he had sensed the change in my companion's essence, and I readied myself to charge up the steps and go at him for all I was worth.

"You crafted them arms," he said.

"To keep them safe." He hadn't noticed, or was he toying with me? My aetheric sense was weak, but even I could tell the difference in their auras since they'd gained Systems and started gaining levels. Maybe he was too focused on me, too used to thinking of them as only human.

Bojack lifted the spear to point it at me, and I heard claws clattering on the stone above us. The vorokai was directly overhead. From that height, it could simply drop and take one of us out with the impact alone.

"Lay your sword at your feet and remove your ring. Then you may approach me, alone."

I followed his instructions, unsheathing the blue-edged blade and laying it down within easy reach of Esmelda, turning slightly to the side so that Bojack wouldn't have as good a view of what was in my hand. She was better with a bow, but it didn't hurt to have options. Removing a gauntlet to get the Storage Ring off while continuing to palm a medallion was a bit of an operation. Though I was no sleight-of-hand expert, the demon didn't comment on it, and I rose with both my fists clenched as if I was struggling with anger at being treated as a lackey.

A dozen steps raised the dais above the throne, above the rest of the hall. With my attributes as low as they were, just lifting my legs felt like a chore. I'd been nervous walking into the hall, but now that the moment had arrived, I felt calm. The decision had been made. We were going to fight the shadow instead of accommodating it, and that knowledge had caused much of the tension I'd been feeling over the weeks since taking over as Dark Lord to drop away.

What I was about to do would put people’s lives at risk, but there would never be a point when that wasn’t the case. The longer this went on, the more ways Bojack would come up with to keep me in line. I didn’t look at Zareth or the others stuck huddling in a ring of zombies. Thinking about them would make this harder, and I couldn’t afford the hesitation.

Bojack lowered his spear and retrieved the Oathdagger from where he kept it strapped to his arm under his sleeve. The essence trapped in the gem set in its pommel seemed to writhe against its constraints. It had darkened from red to puce, wrathful and alive.

I reached the dais, only another pace separating me from the demon, and clapped my hands together, twisting my torso as I did so and Kevin's orichalcum ax appeared in my grip. Before Bojack had the time to react, I was already swinging at his head.