Kingdom Come - Ch 8

I woke up to a solid pounding. On the door to my suite, that is.

“Hector!” Suri was on the other side, beating the door hard enough to rattle the solid oak in its frame. “Wake up, lover boy! It’s time to go see the King!”

I whined wordlessly. “I don’t wanna see the King.”

“Well, too bad! Are you okay in there?”

“Uhhh…” I was flat on my back, stark naked, and lying on a damp towel. Irritable and slightly alarmed, I patted over myself, then sat up and swiped in my HUD. Yep, there was the Unto Death quest alert, which I’d slept through. It was after ten PM. “That’s debatable. Is passing out and waking up five hours later ‘okay’?”

“Oh, I see how it is. I go to the Festival all alone, while you whack off until you pass out from dehydration.” Suri called back. “Not even going to invite me in, are ya?”

“Not until I have pants!” I was already getting dressed, hopping around with my breeches until I remembered that I could just equip the damn things. 

“Yeah. You need pants to go see the King. At a minimum.”

I equipped some of my armor, but left off the gauntlets and the visored helmet I used for flying. I slung the Spear over my back, shortened up the knotted cord that acted as a bandolier, and then I reached out to my dragon. “Karalti? Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She sounded - and felt - grumpy. “But I suck at hunting.”

“Okay... well, you come back if you can’t catch anything tonight,” I said. “What’s giving you trouble?”

“Everything! I can’t do it!” she replied. “I’m black! I can’t hide in the sun, so the animals see me coming and get away into the caves!”

“Okay. What about hunting them at night?”

“None of them are awake at night!”

I grimaced. Since gaining in size, Karalti had been ‘hunting’ by picking off herd beasts from the royal flocks. They were fenced in with nowhere to run, like a bovine smorgasbord. I was tempted to just tell her to go and pick off a cow or a ceratopsian, but it was important that she learned to hunt like an adult. “Try thinking strategically, then. You can’t change your scale color or the way your camouflage works. So what about hunting just after sunset or just before dawn?” 

“But I get tired around those times.”

“Karalti. You can’t change what you are, okay? You have to work with what you’ve got. That means timing your naps, hunting when it’s dark enough to hide, and working with the times your prey are out and about.”

“But...” Karalti sounded positively dejected. “I never had anyone to show me how to do this. Will you please come out with me and help?”

Oh boy. I took a deep breath to steel myself. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have to figure this out. You can figure this out.”

“But I don’t know how!”

“I just gave you some advice.”

“But you’re not a dragon. You don’t know unless you see what it’s like!” She was sounding increasingly like a surly teenager being told she had to do her homework.

“No, I’m not. But I am your human, so here’s how I’m going to help you. Tell me what you want to eat.”

“Beef. The Volod’s farm guys feed them beer and they’re really tender and-”

“No. Tell me what game you want to eat.”

She thought for a moment. “Fine. I like sheep. Or goats. They’re a good size. I’ll be flying a lot tomorrow... I don’t want to be too heavy.”

“There you go. Where do they live?”

“On the mountain.”

“Okay, you know where they are. What can you do to find them?”

“Smell them, I guess,” she muttered.

“Right. And they’re habitual critters, right? They make trails and graze in regular spots?”

“No. But they go to these salty rock-places to lick the rocks when they wake up.” 

“And when do they wake up? Dawn?”

She huffed. “Fiiine! I’ll camp near the caves!” 

“There you go. I’ll see you after dawn tomorrow, okay?” I said, opening the door. Then I saw Suri, and nearly choked on my tongue.

She was still dressed for the festival. Her scarlet hair was styled like a 1950’s starlet, falling in waves over one eye. The other side was pinned up with a golden fan that kept it out of her face. Her dress poured down her curves like a river of amber scales from neck to ankles. It was slit all the way up to her hips, baring a long stretch of bare brown leg. When she saw my expression, her lips curled in a wicked smile.

“Okay.” Karalti sounded a little better now. “What’s the matter? Your thoughts just got all fuzzy.”

“Nothing. Just going to see Ignas.” I held up a hand to Suri, pointed at my head, and then made a little flappy-flappy butterfly motion with my hands. Her grin widened. “You come back tomorrow with blood all over your face for me, okay?”

“No!” Karalti giggled. “I’ll wash first, silly Hector. But I’ll try, okay?”

She cut the link then, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Wow. Sorry... talking Karalti through some adolescent angst.”

“Story of your life.” Suri motioned me with a finger. “Come on: Ignas is waiting for us already.”

She turned, and my blood pressure went up a little more when I saw the back of the dress. The front was demure, but the back plunged all the way down to her tailbone. I might have moaned a little.

“So about sleeping in that bed tonight...” I said. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours. Your bed’s bigger.” Suri’s high heels struck the floor as she sashayed ahead. “Is your big black dragon buttplug old enough for me to do things to you without traumatising her?”

“She should be. Admittedly, I’m not thinking very clearly right now, because dat ass.”

Suri laughed, and put a little extra sway into her walk. It was only when she almost stumbled on one of her heels that I realized she wasn’t just in a good mood, but also tipsy.

The Writing Room was a small parlor off-side the Grand Hall, where the Raven Throne brooded at the end of the cathedral-like chamber. The court was bustling: nobles and other courtiers were gathered round large trestle tables, picking at finger food and drinking in celebration of the Dark Moon Festival. Many people curtsied or bowed to us on our way to the parlor door, which was guarded by a pair of heavily armored knights.

“His Majesty awaits.” The one on the right gave us a short nod, then opened the door ahead.

Ignas was seated in the same overstuffed scarlet armchair that his younger brother had once occupied. Andrik had a habit of putting his feet up with a bottle of wine and a glass by his elbow, but Ignas did not. He had both feet on the floor, a glass of water resting in one hand and an open letter in the other. He looked up as we entered, smiled, and set both down on a table next to his seat before standing. “Welcome, lord and lady. My goodness, Suri: you are a vision of loveliness tonight.”

“Thank you.” She smiled back pleasantly as we bowed. “Can’t live in armor all the time.”

“Indeed.” The Volod motioned us to the seats he’d set up for us, a pair of gilt golden chairs he’d arranged on an angle to his own seat. “Please, sit. Do you want a drink?”

“Sure,” Suri said. “Slivovitz, if you’ve got it.”

“Same again,” I said.

“Naturally.” There were no servants here, so Ignas just went to the cabinet on the other side of the room and poured the drinks himself. “It’s late, so I won’t waste your time with pleasantries. If you are wondering why I wished to speak with you both, the short answer is that I must ask for a great boon in order to obtain great reward. It has to do with the politics of the outer provinces.”

“Nothing like a bit of politics before bed. Gets the blood flowing.” While his back was turned, I let a hand hover over Suri’s leg and arched an eyebrow. She arched one back and nodded. I rested it down, fighting the urge to work my fingers under the hem of her dress.

“More like the bile.” Ignas snorted, bringing back two little glasses of clear, sweet liquor. “Fuel for one’s nightmares, isn’t it? Well, I’ll try to keep it as simple as possible. Your quest should update with the essential details after the fact.”

It was still weird to listen to NPCs - like Ignas - so readily fall into metagaming.

“I have only just realized how far Andrik let the Crown’s authority slip,” he continued, setting the glasses down on the small table between Suri and I. “Do you understand the essential structure of Vlachia? Politically, that is?”

“Something about Voivodes ruling provinces,” Suri recounted. She threw her slivovitz back like a shot.

“Yes. Eleven of our twelve provinces are ruled by a Voivode, save for this province, the Province of Taltos. We have a special structure of rule here.” Ignas resumed his seat, and had a sip of water. “The Voivodes are the vassals appointed to administer the affairs of their province. “They also serve as judges in the Royal Court. Now, every province is divided into counties, and every county has its own ruling lord: The Satrap, which is a rank equivalent to a Count. Voivodes are also Counts. This means that Satraps, while deferring to the Voivode, are not lower in station. This is because Voivodeship is an administrative role, not a ruling title. Does that make sense?”

“Provinces ruled by Voivode, who oversees counties run by Satraps,” I said. “Voivodes and Satraps are equals because Voivodes are basically in service to the province.”

He nodded. “Correct. The fact that the Voivode and his Satraps are peers is an important balance against the Voivode’s power. There is a historical precedent of ambitious Voivodes bullying their Satraps into fealty, usurping the royal dues, and even fomenting rebellion against the Crown. The further the province from the capitol, the more readily this kind of rotten behavior sets in. My dynasty, the Corvinus line, has persisted only because of our commitment to maintaining strong communication links with our outer provinces. Our airships link the East and West, and nothing commands loyalty from a Voivode quite like their king paying a friendly call with his armada of Hussar-class destroyers.”

“Right.” Suri reached down and laid her hand over mine, and a small thrill passed through my chest.

“Andrik rarely left Taltos, and he never did a royal tour of the country.” Ignas motioned toward the east. “Without strong central leadership, the regional nobility took on more and more authority. They’ve had five years to get used to it. The Voivode of Myszno, Lord Dragutin Bolza, was a conservative loyalist and my father’s contemporary. He did the best job he could, despite retaining a strong dislike of my brother. But then the Demon came, and Andrik saw that as a chance to ‘get back’ at the Voivode who ‘snubbed’ him. Now the Provincial seat has fallen and Lord Bolza is most likely dead.”

I made a face. “Fuck. Who’s in charge now?”

“Good question,” the Volod replied wryly. “The Satrap of Vastil County, Lord Lorenzo Soma, has taken it upon himself to assume control of the province in Bolza’s absence and has proclaimed himself Voivode.”

Suri’s eyebrows lifted. “Did he petition you before deciding he was taking charge?”

“Not a word,” Ignas said. “Apparently he nurses some conspiracy theory that I am in fact a doppelganger, bred by Mercurion organized criminals in a vat so that they might rule from the shadows.”

“You’re saying you weren’t?” I grinned at him.

He demurely rested a hand over his heart. “The vat is a private matter.”

Once we finished laughing, he made a gesture and continued. “Vastil County is currently the wealthiest county in Myszno. The Pass the county is named for is a major shipping route between Vlachia and the Shalid. This is also somewhat confidential information, but our military airships are manufactured in Vastil. Let us say that our young Lord Soma possesses a sense of entitlement beyond his station.”

“Ambitious, huh?” I sat back in my seat and drained the rest of my glass.

“Oh, it gets better. You see, when the Voivode fell, it was Bolza’s loyal Castellan, Istvan Usoya, who took command of his lord’s banners. Captain Usoya is everything anyone could want in a military commander. He is competent, inspiring, brave and intelligent. His troops love him. There is one problem: he is a sworn knight of common ancestry, and not only is he common, he’s a bastard of mixed Yanik and Vlachian heritage. His father is a Yanik prince.”

“Who are the Yanik?” Suri asked.

“They are a native people who dwell in the Endlar. They are known to be fierce warriors… they tame and ride Allosaurus. However, in Vlachia, being the son of Yanik royalty is about as worthy as my title of ‘the King of Cats’.” The Volod made an irritable gesture. “Personally, I couldn’t give a rat’s arse if a man has foreign blood in his veins: once a knight has been sworn in, he’s been sworn in. Many of Myszno’s best cavalrymen are Yanik. However, a lot of the provincial noblemen have nothing better to do with their time than fuck their sisters and draw figure eights on their family trees, and Lord Soma in particular takes great offense to this ‘swamp rat’ taking control of ‘his’ army.”

“Then tell him to quit it, or you’ll bring down the royal hammer,” I said.

“I have. But there must be action to back up the royal decree. Provincial lords are masters at making messengers disappear in the woods, or accidentally dropping their parchments in the kitchen hearth.” Ignas gave us a thin smile. “And that is where you both come in. Your titles were, up to this point, an honorary peerage. But I rather fancy the idea of having immortal, loyal vassals in a strong position in Myszno, for reasons that should be obvious… and so I am considering extending that title into a true peerage, and specifically giving you the title of Count and Countess of Racsa, Voivode and Voivodzina of Myszno. This will make you the reigning lord and lady of the province. In an administrative role, of course.”

I coughed as a slight pressure built behind my eyes. Suri blinked several times, as stupefied as I was.

Ignas waved his hand. “You will have to fight for the position, but if you succeed, then I will be glad to deed the ducal castle to you. You can either be Voivode and Voivodzina together, or one can rule and the other can willingly accept the position of Castellan or Castellana in its stead. The position comes with great responsibilities, of course, but provincial Voivodes reap most of the wealth of their domain, minus taxes and the king’s due. What do you say?”

“I...” I looked at Suri. “Uh... what kind of responsibilities?”

“A lot of rebuilding and replanting, for sure.” Ignas shrugged. “Resolving disputes, making appointments, acting as a judge for both local and national causes. You are will have to deal with the Counts and their intrigues. Your peers and subjects will both test you and reward you. The normal burdens and privileges of power, in other words.”

“I need a bonded spawn point,” Suri said. “I don’t wanna be a Vuvuzela or whatever, but I need somewhere to revive when I die. I’d be happy to become Castellana of an estate. Count me in.”

[You have gained new Knowledge: Politics of Vlachia (C-grade)]

[Quest Updated: Unto Death]

Despite the urge to stand up and scream ‘yes!’, I hesitated. Fantasy novels for the last hundred years tended to focus on a ‘rags to riches via adventure’ arc. Farmboy gets a sword, kills shit until he gets good at it, marries a hot princess, becomes king… that was almost what this was. The AI was supposed to only offer quests within my capacity… but I didn’t feel capable of looking after two hundred thousand people. Hell, I could barely take care of myself and Karalti.

Ignas cocked his head expectantly.

“I’ll need to think about it,” I stammered. “Your Majesty, I already have a lot of responsibility weighing on me, between Myszno, my duties to Matir, then Karalti and the Spear and now Rutha… so I’ll think about it and make a decision after that.”

The Volod stood up from his seat. “As well you should. My father always said it was better to plan twice and act once. It can wait until the Demon has been defeated… but there is foolishness to be found in thinking too much, as well. Will I see the pair of you at the sendoff in the morning?”

I rose and saluted out of habit. To my surprise, so did Suri – in the Pacific Alliance style, with the straight right hand beside her eye, the left arm crossed in front of her torso. “Yes sir.”

“Good.” He gave us both a tired smile. “In light of this morning’s debacle, you have no idea how relieved I am to know we have our own Starborn to aid us.”