Dream Drive Ch. 08

"No," Charles said. "Food and water for two weeks, a very heavy bag of the local currency, and two horses."

"Two? You dare take her with -"

Charles pushed the flat of the blade against the princess's cheek. Her shuddering intake of breath cut the knight off. "Yes," Charles said. "I dare. And considering you can't kill me, you'd better do what I tell you." Charles refreshed his smile. "Where I come from, we don't have nobility. You know that I don't bleed. Does she?"

Someone in the back coughed. No one moved. Everyone was pinned in place by Charles's smile.

It was the princess who eventually answered his question. "I bleed," she said. "Please. Stay your sword."

"That depends on your father," Charles said, "and I wouldn't bet on him."

Murmurs rolled over the room. The emperor's face turned red. The princess clenched her fists - Charles could feel them balled up at his waist. "And what would you know of my father's honor?" she growled.

Charles looked out over the room. This was a public place, a lot of bigwigs gathered together. Appearances were important for a leader; maybe he could put pressure on the emperor to show some concern for family and hasten his own escape.

"Honor?" Charles asked, raising his voice. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't hear your father and ruler doing much bartering for your life at the moment. I suppose blood doesn't mean much to him either."

"You come into my home," the emperor said, "kill my men, assault me and mine, threaten my daughter's life, and you dare speak to me in such a manner?!"

"And all without a single article of clothing. Notice, if you would," Charles said to the princess, "that your life was at the end of that list."

"I'll have your head!" the emperor shouted.

Charles decided that further enraging the emperor would be pushing his luck. "If you do as I've asked, I won't hurt her," he said. "I don't care about her, or any of you. I just need to get moving. I'll take her out with me far enough to ensure my safety, and then I'll let her go. And then you can see about having my head."

"You expect us to trust you?"

"You don't have a choice."

The knight gestured across his chest. "You're a madman and a murderer. Your word is barely worth so much mud. You could take her out there and slit her throat!"

Charles cocked an eyebrow. "I could do that right now."

"And it would be your last act," the knight said.

"I just ate an axe, a sword, and had a bit of crossbow for dessert. Do you think I'm only good as a target?"

"You might not fare as well if you were split in half."

Charles smiled again, as brightly as he could. "You're so noble and just, aren't you? A true knight of the realm. Do you always lecture men you shoot in the back about how worthless their word is?"

The knight's hand went to the hilt of his sword. The guards tightened the grips on their weapons. Charles could hear the cranking of crossbows winding back up. He couldn't afford to take much more damage. Time to go all in.

"Your Imperial Highness," Charles said, "I'm trying to be kind. Now I'm getting impatient. You can stab me, gut me, cut me, shoot me - it won't do anything." Charles looked at the knight. "Your knight threatens to cut me with his sword, but he assumes that his weapon would have a chance to get near me. I am not limited to handheld weapons of war. The only thing stopping me from walking out of here over all your dead bodies is the life-giving light of my conscience, and you all seem quite determined to stamp it out." Charles shifted his gaze back to the emperor. "Make your decision. I don't want to hurt anyone, but I will - if you make it the most efficient way of getting out of here."

Silence. A long, disquieting moment that flickered along with the room's candles. No one moved.

"Your excellency," a man said. Charles squinted at the newcomer - a man bulging with fat. Stains ran down the bib he had tucked over his clothes. He waddled over to the emperor. "Please. Consider the situation. We must preserve her life - and the man has told no lies. He only acted after he was assaulted. For her sake, and mine - let us treat fairly."

He leaned in and whispered something else to the emperor. Charles squinted. Was Porky just offering the king a way to back down without losing face? No. Something was going on.

The fat man stepped back. "Sir Gerod," the emperor said.

"Your Highness."

"Lead the man to the fitting room, the one off the armory. Give him what he requests."

"Your Highness, I must -"

"Lord Niemon is correct. Preserving life - my daughter's life - must be the priority." He looked at Charles. "We will take you on faith. Betray that trust, and whatever magic you possess will not save you from the consequences. Sir Gerod will assist you in whatever you require."

The knight straightened. "Follow me."

Charles began to lead the princess around the table. She had wisely decided not to put up resistance; it wasn't much trouble to manipulate her.

A nearby lord gave Charles the evil eye as they walked by; the man's fingers were still wrapped on the hilt of his sword. Charles stared back at him. "Careful you don't get too close. Wouldn't want my hand to slip."

The lord's fingers clenched, but he took a small step back. Whispers filled the silent hall between the sound of Charles's feet on the dance floor - the slap of his bare left foot alternating in rhythm with the soft thump of his prosthetic.

****

"Sorry about the whole fish thing."

"I'm sure you are." The princess wiped herself down with a padded vest that had been in the fitting room, though the stains of the food still dotted her dress. She threw it on the stone floor when she was done with it, then kicked it away.

"What's your name?" Charles asked.

"I am Ellesmere Kalgradis, Princess of the Four Kingdoms."

"So, Ellesmere, or Elle?"

"You may address me as Your Highness."

Charles looked up, his new trousers half pulled up his legs. Ellesmere was facing the wall opposite him, arms folded tightly. She could sound surprisingly gruff, for a princess.

The fitting room of the armory was relatively small, a cylindrical tower that projected out slightly from the castle. There was a thin window opposite the door. The room was filled with wooden crates and racks that held both leather and steel armor, as well as more of the cotton vests, for use as padding.

Charles tied his trousers off, then started working on the shirt. No buttons - apparently they weren't advanced enough for that. Everything was tied on. He pulled the strings as tight as he could. The last thing he wanted was his clothing getting in the way.

"Do you think," Charles said, "you should be making demands of your captor?"

"I am a princess. I will be addressed as such."

"Oh, good. I like them uppity."

The princess turned on him, narrowing her eyes. "You're a vile wretch."

"Fear not, Your Highness," Charles said, tugging on a boot, "we'll part ways as soon as feasibly possible."

He didn't usually wear a shoe on his prosthetic foot; rather, he changed the footpiece. One was measured for the correct height when he was barefoot, the other for when he wore a shoe, which was what he was currently sporting. His new boot didn't quite match, but it lessened the difference to the point that he wasn't walking awkwardly.

As Charles laced up his footwear, he glanced up to the corner of his vision. There was a small pentagram on the left side of his health bar. It blinked white every once in a while, but didn't seem to have any other function. He couldn't remember Morgan mentioning it.

He glanced at the armor on the table next to him. He considered leaving it, but these people wouldn't bother with the hassle if it didn't work. He tied on a padded vest over his shirt, then hung the chainmail over that. It fell loose around his waist; he added a belt to tuck in the slack.

"Your leg is made of iron," Ellesmere said.

"Thank you for the reminder, Your Highness. I'd almost forgotten."

Ellesmere opened her mouth for a retort, but there was a knock on the door. "I have the supplies you requested," came Sir Gerod's voice.

"Leave them on the floor," Charles said. "Wait at the end of the hall."

"I will do so."

Charles heard the thump of several sacks and bundles. Armor clinked as the knight walked away. Charles glanced at his health - back up to 36, now - then grabbed his sword and walked up to the princess.

She looked at the weapon and swallowed. "What?"

"You're opening the door," he said. The princess huffed, but moved over as instructed. Charles stayed on her, keeping the sword at her back.

Ellesmere wrenched open the door. The piles of supplies were in place. "Satisfied?"

"Pull them into the room."

Ellesmere made a grimace, but she grabbed the bags and dragged them inside. After going back for one she hadn't been able to fit in her hands, Charles shut the door.

"Kneel," Charles said.

The princess looked at him, then knelt. Now that he had a chance to appraise at her, he could see she certainly looked like a princess. Pale as snow, high cheekbones, lustrous brown hair, and far too thin for his taste. She was pretty in the same way fine china was pretty - nice when arranged in a glass cabinet, but not something you'd ever actually use.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked.

"No," Charles said. "I need you." He rummaged in one of the sacks. "Here we go." He pulled the map out, crouched, then unrolled it on the floor in front of her.

The map was huge - several feet wide, about half that tall - and entirely hand-drawn in black ink. The mountains were shaded and jagged. The oceans were swimming with imaginative sea serpents, finely detailed scale-by-scale. A treasure-packed pirate ship with a skull flag lingered between a few islands off the coast. An ivy-lined compass dotted the upper right corner. Landmarks and regions were labeled in a cursive, swirling hand.

Depicted was a single continent that was roughly the shape of a fat foot, toes pointed left. The eastern section, the heel and ankle, was the busiest, packed with names, dotted border lines, and drawings of cities.

"Where are we?" Charles asked.

The princess looked at him a moment, then indicated a spot on the east of the map. "Renstadt. The capital of Hadraan. Seat of the emperor."

"Thank you," Charles said. "Stay there for a second."

Charles stood, then examined the back of his left hand. Just like Morgan - just like Rachel and Jackson - he now sported a black scar. The skin wasn't raised, but it looked as if someone had spilled bubbling ink over the sketched outline of a pentagram.

If he slid a finger across it from middle to the bottom point, he'd be prompted to teleport himself to the 9th Circle - which was his current destination, in theory. Unfortunately, that wouldn't work. Morgan had tried; it just gave him an error message when he went through with it. First, they had to complete the quest.

Charles tapped the bottom point of the pentagram scar twice. A blue-tinted menu opened in front of him.

Quest Log

Active Quest: Revival of Dis, The City that Strides the Worlds

Quest Giver: Emil Mohammed

Quest Recipients: All

Goal: Revive the ancient power of the City of Demons, Dis. Travel to the 9th Circle.

Quest Rewards: To be determined.

Quest Marker: Available

Other Quests:

None

Completed Quests:

None

It stood to reason that the 9th Circle was somewhere inside of Dis. He probably had to restore the city's power before he could teleport there.

Charles knew his sister well. She loved games, and she loved beating them. Isis would be no exception. For her, it was relief from Shakeman's Disorder - an escape from her own mind. If she was in Isis, she'd be trying to complete that quest - Emil Mohammed's sole task for new arrivals.

There was nothing stopping Charles from logging out of Isis. If he tried right now, the game would probably make him wait 30 seconds, which, given his circumstances, might prove lethal. But he could still do it if he really wanted.

They knew from Morgan that when a player logged out, they returned to Earth in the same location they logged in. Rachel had never returned - which meant she was either enthralled with Isis, or something was stopping her from returning. He could only pray it wasn't the latter.

"Quest marker," Charles said.

A sharp chime rang in Charles's ears, the sound of a glass being tapped by a spoon. A blue arrow leapt on top of Charles's vision, near where his health bar ended. It pointed toward the wall between the door and window of the tower. When Charles turned, the arrow rotated - it always pointed the same direction, toward his goal.

The City of Demons, Dis.

Charles had always enjoyed his literature classes. They were his own little escape from business and daily life - the small escape he allowed himself. Dis was named by Dante in the Divine Comedy. It was the region of Hell containing the bottom four circles of hell, sixth through ninth.

Video games were always over the top, but this wasn't a game. Charles wasn't sure what kind of place Dis would turn out to be, but it was his only lead on finding Rachel.

"I don't understand," Ellesmere said. She was watching him. "Quest marker? What do you mean?"

Charles tilted his head. Ellesmere couldn't see the quest arrow, or his health bar. She wasn't in the game. "Just talking to myself," he said. "Do you know where Dis is? It's a city."

"Dis, you said?"

"Yeah."

Ellesmere frowned, then brushed some of her hair behind her ear. "No. I've never heard of it. Is it far?"

"It might be," Charles said. "Are you good with that sort of thing?"

"I drew this map," the princess said, "so I'd hope so."

Charles swiftly reevaluated his captive. "That's fantastic news." He reached into one of the bags and drew out a length of rope. He pointed the way his arrow indicated. "What direction is that?"

Ellesmere looked to the window. "I believe...this window looks roughly to the north, so where you're pointing is west."

"West. Alright. I can do west." Charles grabbed another length of rope - the knight had brought them in segments, for some reason. He began tying the two ends together. "Anything out west I should know about?"

"Well," Ellesmere said, "the first city outside of Renstadt is Vulgorstadt, due west on the imperial highway." She looked to the map, tracing her finger along an intricate brick road she'd inked between the two cities. "Past that, there aren't any large cities. The last major holding is Hadraan-alsta, the capital of the western kingdom, Steroth. It's governed by Lord Reigart Hale, here, near the plains." Ellesmere indicated a large region surrounded by a dotted line.

Charles looked closer. A tall stone tower marked what Charles imagined was Lord Hale's castle; his coat of arms was neatly denoted above it. Past that, the map grew vague. There was a great, undetailed wilderness without clear borders. A large, craggy mountain was drawn near the center of it. Two spears were set above the mountain, crossing one another. The label there read The Plains Around the Mountain.

Charles blinked. He couldn't be quite sure, but the words seemed to shift a bit as he looked at them. Rearranging themselves. At the corner of his vision, he saw odd symbols; whenever he focused, it was plain English.

Morgan had mentioned something about languages translating themselves. Charles could only lament the weeks and weeks of wasted time. Hours of my life spent learning other languages, useless. He cheered himself up by thinking about all the money he stood to make cornering the language software market.

"What's that big plains region?" he asked.

"The Plains Around the Mountain," Ellesmere said. She smiled, just slightly; her eyes seemed to twinkle. "It's mostly unexplored. Flatlands as far as the eye can see. It's said that there is a tremendous mountain directly in its center; it can be seen from a great distance on clear days. Wild men live there, warlike tribes that hunt the plains beasts for food. They kill anyone that comes close to the mountain. Something in their religion."

"If they kill everyone, how do you know anything about them?"

"They're not totally uncivilized," Ellesmere said. "They allow traders to pass on the edge of their lands, and they themselves trade at times. Their buffalo hides are valuable, and make for very warm clothing. They were the height of fashion a few years back. They worship God and angels, like we do, but it's bound up in an odd pagan mysticism. Spirits, nature-worship, and the like. I'm sure that if we could communicate more effectively, they'd make powerful allies. Perhaps even join the empire of their own volition."

"You're pretty knowledgeable," Charles said. He moved back to the bags, then started consolidating them, loading skins of water and wrapped food items into a single pack.

"A princess has to know these things," she said. She straightened from the floor. "I have to know about my people, their condition. Lord Hale means to take those lands someday - and that means I'll be responsible for them, in part. It does me well to understand how they live, so that I may better understand how to rule them. If not, then what's the point of all this, of nobility."

Charles raised a hand. "You don't have to be defensive about it."

"I wasn't being defensive."

"Of course not, Your Highness. Far be it from me to question the princess."

Ellesmere cleared her throat. "Well. Sometimes a princess has to defend her right to learn geography, rather than attend yet another dance lesson."

Charles snorted. "Daddy Dearest set on pigeonholing you into a proper woman's role?"

Ellesmere's eyes flashed. "I will create my own role. I'll be empress, one day. You'd do well to remember that."

"Yes, the mighty empress-in-training," Charles said, "brought low by a single nude man with a sword." He gestured at her drawing of the continent. "I'd stick to the maps."

"You're despicable."

Having finished putting everything truly important into a pack he could handle alone, Charles pulled the drawstring tight, then hoisted it over his shoulder. 45 health, now. Pretty quick recovery once he wasn't in combat. According to Morgan, it would go even faster if he lay down and rested.

"Well, it was nice meeting you," Charles said. He tied one end of the rope to a few racks of steel armor, then started feeding the rest out the window. He threw her a grin. "Thanks for the help, Your Highness."

"You can't mean to climb out there?" she asked.

"Obviously," Charles said.

"But - why? What about your plan? The horses?"

"They're setting me up," Charles said.

"What? My life is in danger. They wouldn't try anything while -"

"They already have," Charles said. "Remember when they shot at me? I think your life was in danger then."

"At the time," she said, "I'm sure they thought that would kill you."

"And if they missed?"

Ellesmere made as if to respond, but her voice caught. She folded her arms.

"Look," Charles said, "if I go out there, they're going to ambush us at the worst possible time. I don't know the castle. I don't know the city. They could bring in magic, or two hundred men. Neither of which would kill me, but it would certainly make my life more difficult."

"My father wouldn't risk my life like that."

Charles looked at her. "Do you have any brothers?"

"Two."

"Then you're not inheriting anything, and you're not going to enough dancing lessons to be good for marriage. So what good are you?"

"I'm the eldest!"

"Apparently," Charles said, "you're also the most naive."

"It's not unprecedented," Ellesmere said. "I'd be the third empress. There was Empress Lassalle, 246 After Unification, and Empress -"