Warsinger by James Baldwin (most inspirational books TXT) 📗

I’d dismissed to find something to distract myself, and frowned when they came into view.

New Story Quest: A Desperate Plight

You have assumed your duties as the new Voivode of Myszno and boy, do you have your work cut out for you. The entire province is in dire straits after the Demon's invasion attempt, with your county seat, Racsa, being the most badly affected region.

Your Vassal Lords are marching on your new castle, Kalla Sahasi. You will have to deal with them sooner than later. Kalla Sahasi was slighted during the invasion of Myszno, its defenses all but ruined, and you cannot endure a siege.

To consolidate your rulership of Myszno, you must hold your first court and hear the grievances of your citizens, or risk losing your tenuous grip on the province.

Reward: 450 EXP, Leadership +2, Insight +5, ???

Special: This is a time-sensitive quest – it must be confirmed in 47 minutes or less.

Special: You now have access to a range of tools to assist you in managing your province. Complete the tutorials for the Kingdom Management System to gain EXP and levels in the Leadership and Insight Skills.

“A siege? Why the fuck would I need to endure a siege?” I closed them down without accepting, yet.

“Uhh…” Karalti backwinged, beating them to hover in place. “You might want to look over my shoulder and down the mountain.”

I scowled and leaned out. Then I felt all the blood drain from my face.

There was an army winding up the road from Karhad. Ranks of heavily armored knights rode hookwings with the same stocky, powerful build as Cutthroat. They marched ahead of columns of footsoldiers, wagons, and light cavalry. Torn banners fluttered in the wind. There were four different companies, and behind them, a teeming mob of at least five hundred townspeople, villagers, and refugees. Some were mounted on Europasaurus, the dwarf sauropod used like cattle in this part of Archemi. The commoners were armed with everything from farming tools to broomsticks. Torches blazed in their hands.

“Holy fuck.” Since I had become half a vampire, the sensations of my heart were more noticeable – especially when it sped up. Dismayed, I looked away, and paused when a dark shape on the horizon caught my eye. I zoomed in on it. It was a dark-hulled airship, with brilliant red sails. As good as my vision was, I couldn’t make out the design on them, but only one person in the country had the right to fly the black raven on a solid crimson field aboard his ships. His Majesty Volod Ignas Corvinus the Second, the king of motherfucking Vlachia.

“We need to take care of this,” Karalti said, her voice small and worried. “Suri will understand that we have to deal with this now.”

I wanted to argue with her. I wanted to scream, but I didn’t – and wouldn’t, because no matter how much I hated it, she was right. And so was Istvan.

With a heavy heart, I accepted the quests, and added them to my ever-growing queue. “Yeah. She wants a home more than anything. She’d want us to make sure she has one to come back to.”

***

I got ready in the Count’s Suite while the angry mob raged outside the castle walls: a thousand pissed-off Vlachians, all screaming at Karalti and the soldiers doing crowd control at the ruined gatehouse. Firelight flashed through the windows while I unlaced my long braidhawk and re-braided it as neatly as I could, shaved the sides of my head, and made sure I looked the part of a newly-minted nobleman. While I prepared to host my first court session at the barrel of a metaphorical gun, I couldn’t help but think back to the day I was conscripted.

The letter had come on a warm, drowsy Sunday morning in smoky Los Angeles. I was tangled in the old sleeping bag I used as my blanket, snoozing after a long night working in the Full Stop, the biker bar beneath my apartment. The room smelled of cigarettes and old leather and eighty years of old beer and energy drinks. A rattling air conditioner kept the bedroom bearable during the day, cooling the corner of the room where I reclined upon my stylish floor mattress bed.

Saturdays were the busiest night of the week. I’d handled two fights, three removals, who-knew-how many fake I.Ds, one junkie and a girl whose date slipped something in her drink. I’d only been in bed about four hours, dreaming about my new motorcycle when a heavy BAM-BAM-BAM rattled the door and shook through the house.

I nearly hit the ceiling, scrambling around in the covers. Feet briefly scuffled outside, and then withdrew. By the time I was upright, silence hung heavily over the apartment.

“The fuck?” Bleary-eyed, I checked my phone to see if I’d ordered a package and forgotten. Then I remembered: it was Sunday. There were only two reasons someone would knock on my door on a Sunday. Either someone was dropping off something I’d forgotten at the club downstairs, or one of the guys I’d thrown out or handed over to the cops had figured out where I lived.

I got the extending baton I kept by the bed just in case of that second occurrence, and flicked it out with a satisfying ‘schick’ before padding over to the door in my underwear. There was no sound from the other side. Scowling expectantly, I made sure the chain was attached, and cracked it open.

There was a letter lying on the floor.

I peered at it owlishly, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. No living breathing human being in the UNAC had sent letters in like… thirty years. Paper letters were up there with keyboards and gas-powered cars in the anachronism department. Suspicious as only a half-awake, mostly naked bouncer could be, I poked the envelope with the baton, in case it was full of anthrax or Liquid Ass or both. When it didn’t explode, I picked it up and tried to read the envelope.