Chapter 8

  Ganbold and the shop guard shared another look. Dalex hoped his smile was as winning as everyone had always told him it was. His new teeth probably sold it better now.

  “If this is a test, it’s a poorly thought out one,” Ganbold said. “I’m not going to give you instructions on how to publicize a weapon.”

  “But surely you would be willing to tell me what ‘publicized’ means. I know what the words means, but what does it mean to your business?”

  “It means enough folk agree the equipment can do what the forger says it does,” Ganbold began the tutorial. “Someone makes a sword and starts telling people, ‘This sword spits fire.’ One person hears it, but doesn’t believe it, so the sword doesn’t spit fire. Ten people hear it and do believe it, so the sword spits a bit of fire. One thousand people hear it and see the sword spit fire and suddenly the dragons kill the forger and confiscate the sword because no one is allowed to spit that much fire except them.”

  Dragons!? Dalex suddenly wanted to shift conversation topics but managed to keep himself focused on one fantasy concept at a time.

  Ganbold shook his head in exasperation. “This is basic word of mouth power. How could you possibly not know this? Crunch my bones, you’re human!”

  “Let’s just say I missed a lot of school days.”

  Unfortunately for Dalex, his charm was losing its hold over the shopkeeper. After ceding all human authority in the conversation, he couldn’t now insist on it.

  Ganbold crossed his arms and gave Dalex a flat stare. “Listen here, friend. I didn’t haul a thousand stone of steel out into mut territory, building my shop up from twigs and mud, to teach children about publicized equipment. Are you going to buy anything or not?”

  “How about the knife?” Dalex asked. “Can I take a look at that?”

  Ganbold held his stare for a moment and then, without looking away, reached under the counter and produced a knife. He set it on the counter and said, “This knife tells the truth. You can look but no touching.”

  The weapon didn’t wow Dalex. Its blade, sharp on one side and flat on the other, shined in the lamplight of the armory’s dim interior. The handle was carved wood. It looked old but well maintained.

  “It’s elven,” Ganbold said, “so the spell will work.”

  “Is elven magic stronger than beastkin magic?” Dalex asked.

  “No, they just–” he paused to think and then huffed instead. “They’re just elves and the knife is old. Go ask your mum if you want to know more.” He grabbed the knife and hid it back behind the counter. “Do you even have any money? You’re dressed like one of my kind. You didn’t even patch the tail hole in your trousers.”

  Dalex twisted around to look at his butt, but he could only see the pants Seventh had given him on the E7. His armor’s illusion didn’t work for him. He looked at the young guard. “You can’t see my underwear, can you?”

  The guard stared straight ahead, not acknowledging the question. That answered that.

  “If you don’t have any money then get out,” Ganbold said.

  Facing him again, Dalex held up a finger. “I may not have money, but I know where to find a fresh giant chameleon corpse. Would you be willing to barter for that?”

  Ganbold pounded a fist on his counter. “GET OUT!”

  Dalex jumped and skuttled out of the armory as quickly as his legs would take him. Once outside, he opened his character menu and selected a pair of pants that didn’t have a hole in the back.

  “I wanted to know more,” he muttered under his breath, continuing down the main street.

  “I would think you should be satisfied with what you got,” Seventh said. “He was quite patient with you.”

  “I know you were just as curious as I was.”

  “Indeed, it is an intriguing phenomenon. Though I am not yet convinced this memetic understanding is anything more than civilizational hysteria. I would like to see one of these ‘publicized weapons’ tested.”

  “I’m realizing you might be a pessimist,” Dalex said. Being an optimist, he didn’t have to force himself to look on the bright side of things. This world had magic. For now, he only knew of its application to common items, but it sounded like there was more to it than that. And dragons were probably real, the intelligent type in particular. Unfortunately, it sounded like they weren’t exactly the type you got along with, but that was usually to be expected with dragons.

  The smell of cooking meat wafted up his nose, bringing him to a halt. After sniffing the wet air for a few seconds, the scent led him farther down the muddy street to a stall set into the side of a brick building. Two fires burned just outside the stall. Slabs of unknown meat hung on spits above the fires, turning slowly. As they roasted, the shop’s cook slathered a dark sauce over the top. Each thick hunk of meat dripped juices and sauce into the fire.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  It smelled divine, and it seemed the local beastkin agreed with Dalex. A dozen of them lined up into the street, waiting their turn for a chance at a cut of the mystery beef. Dalex wanted desperately to take his place and experience this local cuisine, but the money problem remained.

  Apparently aware of the crisis confronting him, Seventh said, “With enough gustatory information, your armor can synthesize local foods. It should have captured the necessary data at this point.”

  Dalex sighed. That would probably make for an adequate meal later, but he already knew it wouldn’t be the same. No matter what, he needed money. For now, he continued to trudge through town, stopping occasionally to examine a particularly strangely dressed beastkin or an open shop selling dirty vegetables. None of the tubers or leafy greens looked particularly alien, but neither did they look like the produce he was familiar with.

  Towards the far edge of town, Dalex slowly became aware of a commotion emanating from down a side street. Much of the traffic around him funneled in that direction, both beastkin and elves drawn by loud voices on the other side of the buildings that lined the main drag. Curious, Dalex followed the crowd.

  Far ahead, someone called out, “What did they do?”

  A chorus of complementary shouts responded, asking the same question. Dalex couldn’t see what had everyone worked up. From the crowds of people hemming him in, the entire town wanted to be involved. The beastkin looked worried. The elves looked furious.

  A new voice rose above the others, neutral in tone but loud. “These two are guilty of sedition against draconic rule, spreading the printed word, and conspiracy to coin new words of power.”

  A collective groan went through the crowd, reaching back even to the people near Dalex. Considering they didn’t have any better vantage point to see the speakers than he did, they must already have been aware of the details. Boos followed the groan. More people shouted.

  “No one believes that!”

  “Let them down!”

  “You have no right to do this!”

  Dalex finally came out into an open plaza. Hundreds of people, all of them elves, crowded around a tall wooden scaffolding at the center of the space. Beastkin town guards kept them from getting too close. The beastkin townspeople had separated themselves from the elves, gathering in groups on the edge of the plaza.

  On top of the scaffolding, a human man leaned against a wooden guard rail. He wore a high collared evergreen doublet and dark formal pants. His expression spoke to a deep boredom, and he looked over the heads of the elves gathered below him rather than at anyone in particular. Additional beastkin stood on the scaffolding, more heavily armored than their counterparts on the ground. They were decked out in full steel plate and wore steel helmets that covered their faces but left room for their pointy ears.

  Two elves, a male and a female, kneeled toward the front of the platform, their heads and hands inserted into pillory blocks. Both looked young, maybe in their late teens or early twenties, but Dalex couldn’t tell elf age yet.

  The male elf craned his head to watch the crowd, his expression strained but with a defiant bend to his lips. His eyes glowed green against the muddy brown and gray of the town surrounding him. The female elf next to him hung her head against the pillory as if she was dead. Dalex couldn’t see her face. Both were bald, their hair recently shaved completely away. They were bruised and beaten, dressed in rags, and covered in dirt.

  Dalex clenched his fists. What was this? Public humiliation or something worse? It already looked bad.

  He whispered to himself, “{Inventory},” and began scrolling.

  The human next to the pillory gestured to his two captives. When he spoke, his voice boomed over the crowd, though he did not exert himself at all.

  “We have verifiable evidence of all their crimes. The city watch found paper and other writing materials in their place of residence. Several reliable eyewitnesses reported seeing them engaged in spreading messages and their personal lexicon among the people of this peaceful town.”

  As soon as he started talking, the female elf went rigid. She relaxed again when he finished. For the moment, she lived.

  “None of what I wrote was anti-draconic!” the male elf shouted, his voice hoarse. He coughed and tried to continue, “I did not publ–”

  One of the beastkin soldiers kicked him in the side with his metal boot. The elf man coughed more and blood dribbled out of his mouth. He slouched against his block, struggling to breathe.

  Screams and more shouts of condemnation erupted from the crowd.

  “Don’t you touch him!”

  “He’s innocent!”

  “You cowards!”

  “You’re a monster, Castreier!”

  The human, Castreier, put a finger against his lips. “Silenceria means you will be quiet.”

  The air stirred around him. It moved out in a wave through the crowd. Where it passed, silence descended. None of the riled-up elves spoke. They shifted their feet but refused to make a sound. Soon, the plaza was dead still.

  Dalex felt a dryness in his throat. His tongue went numb. He opened his mouth, and a harsh whisper came out when he tried to speak.

  “Detecting inconsistencies in your vitals,” Seventh said in his ear. “I’ve manually activated your armor’s forcefield, but whatever that was might still affect you. I recommend you retreat until I can analyze this new information and form a more concrete countermeasure.”

  Dalex did not move. He was rooted to the spot. How far would this go? He yearned to put a stop to this shameful abuse of power, but something held him back. What was it? Fear? Was he afraid of what this man might do to him if he spoke up? Did Dalex think it wasn’t his place to intervene? Did he doubt the innocence of the elves in the pillory? Their fellows certainly believed they didn’t belong there.

  Castreier pushed off the guardrail and strode to the space between his two elf prisoners. He clasped his hands behind his back. “I have already confirmed the guilt of these two dissidents. I won’t be moved by pity or your insistence that I could be mistaken in any way about their crimes. In these circumstances, my authority as magistrate is absolute.”

  The elf man raised his head just enough to glare daggers into Castreier’s back. “You are a petty pawn of tyrants,” he spat, speckling the human’s formal pants with blood. “Your words of power are borrowed or stolen. One day, your masters will eat you and toss your bones on their horde.”

  Castreier half-turned to look at him. “See? He still has mana reserves to resist my Silenceria. Why would any good citizen need that kind of resilience?” He shook his head. “I’m afraid draconic law is quite clear about what must be done.”

  He turned around, pulling up the cuffs of his sleeves to expose his wrists. Dalex took a step forward, but he was too late.

  Castreier pointed a finger at the side of the male elf’s head and said, “Jetflame means I pierce you with fire.”

  A white-hot rod of thin light erupted from his finger. It only lasted for a fraction of a second. The elf collapsed. His head lolled forward. Wisps of smoke drifted from his temples. The female elf did not react. Her eyes remained locked to the wooden planking of the scaffold.

  None of their fellow elves gathered below so much as gasped. Castreier’s spell lingered among them, keeping them quiet and docile.

  Castreier turned to face them. “There, are you happy? I made it quick.”

  Dalex dug his heel into the mud and launched himself forward.

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