The Dark Lord of Crafting

One by one, and then in small groups, the Dargothians gave up their swords and passed into the waystation. They gathered their wounded, and I watched them working out how to pull people who couldn't walk using the limited supplies they had. It mostly involved blankets. I stood sentinel until the last of the soldiers had worked their way out of the crowd of lillits that were still stretched out along the bridge. They hesitated in coming forward, but there was movement among them, and eventually, Boffin appeared.

"William!" He called, power walking up the ramp to meet me. Aside from looking like he had gotten too much sun, he appeared to be unharmed. His vest was dusty, and there were deep circles under his eyes, but he was as vigorous as I'd ever seen him as he high stepped across a pile of swords.

"I'm glad you're okay," I said. "You are okay, right?"

He grabbed my arm.

"Esmelda, where is she?"

"She went to Eerb. Gastard came with me. He's hurt." I gestured to the top of the waystation. "Up there."

"Many people are hurt," he said. "Is there water in the tower? Food? Some of the townsfolk won't make it back if they don't have a chance to recover."

"There's both," I said, though I would have to unblock the passage that led down to the well and the storeroom, as well as make sure there weren't any mobs lurking, before letting any of the lillits in. "Once the Dargothians clear out, we can try to give everyone what they need. But Gastard is in awful shape. He was hit by lightning."

"What?" Boffin's eyebrows disappeared under his curly gray hair. Then he met my gaze, and his mouth dropped. "What happened to you?"

"To me?"

"Your eyes, they've changed."

I hadn't looked in a mirror, but I could see in the dark now, so I wasn't surprised that alteration had come with a physical component. Corrupted by the spirit of a passing demon, one more thing to add to my resume.

"The demon's magic." I pointed to what was left of Beleth. The harpies had finished their procession, and Celaeno was going in for seconds. "He's the one who shocked Gastard."

The little mayor eyed the harpies like he was wondering whether they were strong enough to carry lillits off in their talons. From what I'd seen, they probably could.

"Let me get Brenys," he said. "She'll know better how to help him than I would."

He rushed off, and a couple of minutes went by as I continued my vigil. No more soldiers remained in line to give up their swords. Fewer were left than I had initially thought, and many had already set out on the road beyond the way station. Now that they were disarmed, I could have shut the place off and taken my time murdering them all, but the thought turned my stomach. What they had done was evil, but soldiers didn't get to pick their assignments, and I doubted Dargoth was a realm where dissent was welcomed. We would take what we could from this place and hopefully be back in Drom before the empire got around to a sending a reprisal.

Brenys had been captured in a nightdress, but she apparently never left home without her green felt hat. It was tilted back on her head as she took the ramp.

"I knew you would come," she said, folding her arms and giving me an approving nod. "You still smell like a dog, but the goddess chose you, after all."

"Thanks, I guess."

"Where's the patient?"

Brenys, Boffin and I made our way up to the top of the tower. Lillits had come forward to claim the waiting weapons and monitor the Dargothians, but none of them seemed eager to exact vengeance for what had been done to their town. They looked tired, relieved. There was anger, too, but not enough to make them go berserk. The little folk were peaceful by nature, and they wanted to return to that peace, not spill more blood in the sand.

Gastard hadn't moved, but he responded to his name with unintelligible muttering, and I counted that as an improvement. Brenys took a waterskin from me and carefully helped him drink. He tried to take the skin from her to do it himself, but as soon as he lifted his right arm he grimaced and let it drop again. Swallowing was about all he could manage.

"This is bad," Brenys said. "We need to get him out of all this steel. Be as gentle as possible."

We started with his feet. Medieval knights wore greaves, which were plates that protected their shins over normal boots. Metal shoes were inconvenient if you had to do anything on foot. During a period of my imprisonment where the only book in my possession had been a dictionary, I'd gone pretty deep into the obscure vocabulary pool, so I knew the metal shoes were called sabatons. But these weren't those, exactly. My crafted equipment didn't follow the blueprints of what people had actually made and worn in the era of knights and castles.

The System recognized four armor slots; head, chest, legs, and feet. When I crafted leather footwear, the result was high-top boots. Iron came out the same way, only more complicated, because it comprised overlapping metal bands, and you couldn't slip an iron boot on and off like you could if it was made of supple zombie skin. Instead, it had clasps running up the back of his ankle that would allow some bands to loosen.

We unhooked the clasps and slid off his boots. Gastard's eyes shot open, and he grunted. His wool socks had scorch marks around the soles. Once we got those off, the burns on his feet were, if anything, not as bad as I expected. Red sores marked the skin, but the damage looked to be surface level. Brenys and I continued working at the clasps to get the plates off of his legs, and at that point, he was fully awake.

"Wait," he said, his voice guttural, "let me stand."

"Are you sure you can?" Brenys said.

"I was only resting." Gastard shot her a challenging look, and she backed off. He rose, stepping tenderly out from under the shade of the planks, and ground his teeth. "I may require assistance with the cuirass."

After we removed the shoulder plates, he had to raise his arms for me to lift the chestplate off of him. His discomfort was obvious from his expression, but he made it through the procedure without complaint. He removed his tunic, revealing a scar along his chest that looked like a red tattoo, fractal branches patterned like the root system of a tree. There was a similar pattern on his right arm. Brenys spent a few minutes examining him before shrugging.

"You'll be fine," she said.

Gastard nodded soberly and put his tunic back on.

"Wait," I said, "is that it? There's nothing you can do to help him?"

Brenys looked at me like she thought I was an idiot. "A poultice for the burns, but I don't have any herbs with me. He survived. I prescribe plenty of rest and water. He'll recover if he lets himself."

"Can you walk?" I asked Gastard.

"Of course." His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked woozy. "I may gather my strength for a span before attempting the ladder, however. What of the demon? What did I miss?"

I filled him in on everything that had transpired, and he nodded along as if it was no more or less than he had expected. He gestured at my eyes.

"Those who slay the Dark Lord's generals are forever marked. You became a true templar before I could."

So it wasn't just a me thing, or an effect of Kevin's sword. The gem was still glowing, though it had dimmed somewhat, and the daylight made the glow less obvious as it hung from the loop on my hip.

"Did you make that?" Boffin asked, looking curiously at the blade.

"Nope. Stole it. This place is full of stuff I need to collect before we go. I'll open up the storeroom so you guys can get supplies for the road, and we can try to get you out of here before nightfall."

Boffin agreed, and Brenys told Gastard she would bring him something to eat if he wanted it. He acted like he was barely interested, and only grudginly accepted.

"I'm glad you're okay," I said. "I was worried that lightning did it for you."

Gastard gripped my shoulder. "And leave you with your training incomplete? Never. As a squire, you are lacking in many respects, but you have potential."

The lower levels were nearly clear of zombies. Opening up the storeroom on the ground floor involved a jump scare, but I took care of it, and the lillits could shortly make their way down to the well. There was still an absurd amount of resources in Kevin's workroom for me to collect, so that was most of my day. Coins became tokens, tokens became medallions, and medallions transformed into the colored crystals my System insisted on referring to as cabochons. They flowed through my hands, bounced, slapped, and clicked, as I sorted them into a fresh backpack. Hours later, Boffin found me nodding off over the worktable.

"Are you well?"

I startled, dropping a newly minted cabochon in my hand, and then scrambling to pick it up before it bounced away. The gem was the color of amber, and it represented almost as much wood as I'd ever harvested myself.

"Fine, just a little tired."

"Don't push yourself too hard," Boffin said, taking in the room. The chests were empty, but the diamond studded enchanting table still had a way of drawing the eye. "The Dargothians are long gone, and Gastard is down in the main hall. Our people haven't got as much rest as they need, but I think it's time for us to go back. There's no telling when more soldiers will come marching down the bridge."

"You're going to have to go ahead of me," I said.

Creases formed around the edges of his mouth. "Is that wise?"

"There are a few more things I want to do here, and when night comes, it won't be safe around me, anyway. I'll follow a few hours behind."

Not long after that, I was alone in the tower. Kevin's tools were incredible. Whatever material he had crafted them with was as heavy as stone, but they cut most of my harvest time's in half. The chests, the worktable, and the furnace all popped into medallion form almost as soon as I started tapping them with his pick. The anvil took a little longer, and though I was worried that my skill wasn't high enough to do the same to the enchanting table, it ended up in my pack with the rest.

Then I took his bed, because it was nice, and why not?

The shrieks of the harpies greeted me as I ascended to the roof. I waved at them, walking to the edge of the platform that extended out over above the ramp. Harvesting the connecting blocks was a work of moments, and after half of the granite was gone, the crafting force holding the overhang in place gave out all at once. Hundreds of blocks, a long arm of stone, crashed down and through the bridge below. I stood at the rampart to observe the result. Whenever the next force came, they would have some construction to do before they crossed.

I climbed back down and took to the desert. Some coins I had lost fighting a troll under the bridge were readily recoverable, but I wasted little time searching the sand for the rest. The harpies followed me, reacting with joyous noise when phantoms spawned as the sun dipped once more over the mountains to the west. Once I reached the support column I had turned into steps, I went back up, harvesting the landings below me as I went so that no one could climb up that way again.

It had been a long few days. Hopefully, Gastard sleep in the saddle as he traveled with the lillits, but I was going to be returning on foot. Redroad stretched out ahead of me, the smooth granite squares illuminated by torchlight. Erihseht was gone, but we would build a new home as soon as Godwod signed off on the paperwork. Kevin was going to find out about me, but it wouldn't be tomorrow. We had some time to prepare.