Unruly Summon Chapter 30: Report (Patreon)

We couldn't do the entire journey at a sprint. Taylor was the next to fall, followed by Benjamin, but after half an hour, the less physically inclined of the slayers were starting to flag too, and we ran out of people capable of carrying them.

Or, looked at another way, our group had just sprinted for half an hour. I may have had hero cheats, but the others didn't. Everyone was using body strengthening on some level. Juan's performance wasn't something I'd describe as superhuman, but everyone else's certainly was. Even Taylor's.

Even after slowing, it was only to a jog, with Christine still worried about a demon ambush. She refused to stop to rest for more than five minutes at a time, and didn't relax until we were safely back behind the walls of Odimere, with Bill and David handed over to a group of sullen guards.

But even then, her relaxation didn't last long.

"Something's wrong," she said, a hand drifting to the hilt of her sword.

"You're not wrong," agreed James, looking around. "I thought the gate guards were acting oddly, but I assumed that was just because we were reporting a demon spy. This is the whole city, though. I've never seen it like this."

Not having a great idea of what the city was like normally, I wasn't sure what 'this' was. The streets were certainly quieter than when we'd left, but that could simply have been due to the time of evening; the sun was already setting. I hadn't noticed the guards acting oddly, either, but having never entered the city through a traditional gate before, I once again had no idea what was normal.

"It's not fear, and there's no panic," said Lindy. "This is something else. Resignation? Depression? Anger? A strange mix, for sure."

"It seems there's no imminent emergency," said Wendy. "Let's get back to the castle."

As we trudged up the main street, finally moving at a simple walking pace, the strange mood became apparent even to me. The word I would have used was 'subdued'. Conversations were whispered. No-one seemed to be doing anything; just sitting, or leaning against walls staring into the sky. It was as if they were simply waiting.

"What the hell?!" exclaimed Wendy as we stepped into a plaza near the castle.

In the centre was a wooden structure that certainly hadn't been there yesterday morning. A raised platform, a thick wooden beam above it, a couple of lengths of rope hanging from it. Neither had a noose at the end, but perhaps there was an obvious explanation for why...

"It's been used. Twice," said James, confirming my guess that they were gallows.

"No executions were scheduled," said Christine. "If there were, I'd certainly have heard about it."

"It must be related to the mood in the city," said Lindy.

"More demon spies?" I suggested.

"Let's keep going. There's no point standing around and debating it."

The castle seemed unchanged, which was a good sign. Then again, since the guards tended to stand around in watchful silence anyway—which was, after all, their job—they couldn't exactly get more broody.

"You're back early," stated the guard on the front door. "The king wanted to see you immediately on arrival, but as he wasn't expecting you back until tomorrow, I imagine it'll take some time to get an audience. Please take a seat in the third waiting room."

"The third?" frowned Christine.

"The third," confirmed the guard. "There's a queue."

"I believe this is where we part ways," said James as the door-in-the-door swung open. "If you would, please?" he added, holding out a hand.

Christine took a pair of metal disks out from a pocket and handed one to James and the other to Philip.

"It was a pleasure working with you," she said, but I felt that while the words were a good start, she could have put more effort into sounding like she meant it.

"It was certainly interesting," said James. "Demon attacks aren't something we normally worry about as slayers. And you never did explain what this hero business is all about."

"And I hope you never do," said Philip. "Whatever that was, I don't want to know. I'm going to collect my pay, spend it on ale, and never take a job that involves the words 'royal' or 'court' again."

"I don't see any point in us hanging around, either," said Benjamin. "We were only there as a cover story to begin with. A cover that turned out to be completely pointless, I might add."

Christine waved them off.

"Thanks for your time," I called as they left, feeling that a little politeness wouldn't go amiss.

"What do they do when they aren't jogging cross-country, complaining about blisters?" I asked as we took our seats in a rather cramped room a short distance away from the castle's front door.

"Those three? They're part of the fertility team, researching ways of improving our harvests," said Wendy. "Their current project is breeding miasma-resistant varieties. It's easy enough to do. The problem is that the results are all poisonous, in the same way as monster meat is poisonous. They're trying to breed crops that store miasma in specific parts of the plant, leaving the rest edible, but so far they've not had any luck."

The concept of an entire society built around maximising food production had been strange enough to start with, but now that I'd witnessed it in action over the past couple of days, the oddness was more striking. The way James had just casually mentioned not being worried about demons, for example. The slayers killed monsters, and hence prevented the corrupted lands from expanding. The demons did not want the corrupted lands to spread any more than the humans did. Therefore, the slayers did not join the war effort, and the demons did not attack the slayers.

We were made to wait a couple of hours before we were finally called. We weren't even provided with snacks, although we still had our packs, and being a day ahead of schedule, they still contained plentiful rations.

Wendy, who had fallen asleep waiting, awoke with a snort.

"The hero Thomas Smith, the royal knight Christine Standler, and the court mage Wendy Windchild," declared a herald as a guard pushed open the throne room door.

The queen wasn't present, her throne unoccupied, and the king was slouched, face in his palm, not half as regal as in our last meeting.

... Although still more regal than the stew incident.

"Prince George?" asked Christine in confusion, and the 'king' finally looked up, glaring at us with hate. It was indeed not King Edward sitting on the throne. Thinking back again to the conversation that followed the stew incident, I recalled Prince George as being King Edward's oldest son, and next in line to the throne. Then, for him to be sitting there...

"That's King George to you," he snapped.

... The former king would need to be dead.

"What happened?" fired back Christine.

"You did!" he exclaimed, "but we'll visit that later. For now, report on your mission."

"As you command," replied a very uncertain Christine. "We successfully reached the corrupted lands, about one mile in, where Thomas was able to perform Miraculum. The spell successfully purged the land of miasma, but it also uncovered one of our escorts as a demon spy. We were attacked by waves of monsters, but it was inconclusive as to whether they were drawn by the demons or by Miraculum. An entire demon platoon showed up, and we were forced to retreat without recording the exact effects of Miraculum. We did confirm that the effect extended for more than two miles in the direction of our retreat, and that it purified the corpses of monsters. We didn't test for edibility."

"Show me," he said.

"Pardon?"

"Cast it. Here and now. If you were only one mile into the corrupted lands when the spell was cast and yet you measured an effective radius of more than two during a retreat, logic dictates that it must have purged traces of miasma from land that was already considered viable. That means there's the possibility of making the land around here every bit of productive as the Chiral Plains. In the short term, that's more valuable than reclaiming more land. Fields are already planted, so we'll see tangible results far sooner."

That seemed perfectly logical, and two hours waiting around meant that I had plenty of mana, so I saw no reason not to oblige. "Miraculum!"

As ever, each syllable slammed into the world like a hammer against a gong. Banners hanging from the rafters swayed as if in a breeze, dust raining down from them. Lights flickered. I sprayed blood over the luxurious carpet, which at least was already red, so hopefully the stains would hardly show.

"So you truly can cast it on demand," sighed the presumed king as I subvocally cast Sanatio on myself. "I almost wish you could not. I will have the results checked. If they look promising, I will have you circle the area around the capital, improving the quality of the farmland. We must improve this season's harvest."

"Why do you wish he couldn't?" asked Wendy, every bit as confused and uncertain as Christine.

"Because I want him to hang!" shouted back King George, face red with rage. "His refusal to fight has cost countless lives, not least my sister, my mother and my father. And my family weren't even permitted dignity in death. My sister is to become a mindless doll, existing only to fulfil his every whim. My parents were executed in public, disgraced, not even permitted a funeral, and the corpses handed over to the demons to display in their capital."

Wendy's mouth dropped open. Mine probably did the same. Christine at least managed to squeeze out a comprehensible, "What?"

"Isn't it obvious? Father surrendered to the demons, but they were no longer content with merely taking our land. Thanks to Miraculum, they said their old demands wouldn't hurt us enough. Father asked them what it would take to stop the fighting. They demanded his head, along with Mother's."

"The timeline makes no sense," I pointed out. The leader of the demon group certainly hadn't seemed to know surrender was imminent. "We've only just reported that Miraculum worked."

"You think we weren't watching you?!" shouted back the new king, launching spittle an impressive distance along the carpet, which made me feel a little better about the blood. "Both us and the demons had every scrier available spying on your little experiment. The moment you parted from the demons' group, Father signed the surrender. If he hadn't... Port Hope was already under siege, and its walls were built to keep out monsters, not demons. It would have fallen today. Even had the demons returned it after our surrender, any damage to the port in the fighting would have prevented supplies from the elves, and given the terms of the surrender, we need them. In exchange for keeping the forfeit section of the Chiral Plains for seven seasons, we're returning five times the amount of food that was stolen. That's an amount that we simply do not have."

"Is it true the nobles of the Chiral Plains used taboo magic in the theft?"

That question was finally enough to dull King George's rage, albeit only slightly.

"... That's what Father claimed in a speech before his execution. But that was the first I'd heard of it, and I hardly trust an admission made with a noose around his neck and demons on either side, ready to report whether the terms of the surrender were fulfilled. More likely, it's just an excuse by the demons for their invasion, made up after the fact to justify their land grab."

"Are the demons sticking to the terms? Are they withdrawing?" asked Christine.

"Yes. The siege on Port Hope has been lifted, and we've re-established communication with the captured northern settlements. The situation up there is dire, but not as bad as it could have been; the demons did nothing to interrupt our farming or the delivery of food from the farms to the captured settlements. Nor did they interrupt slayer activities."

"Then by your leave, we should prepare for a tour of the local farms," said Christine.

"Not just yet," said King George, the corners of his mouth edging up into a vindictive smirk. "I have one more matter to deal with first. Both you and Wendy have made a number of spectacular failures that I would love to address."