Day Eight-Fifty-Eight: Make Haste

‘Dear DragoFuck,

The rats are up to some shit. My guys spotted a tear in the sky. They think it’s bad. So do I. I’m calling a truce with you for now because I don’t want to deal with you nibbling at my tail feathers. Leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone.

Yes, I know you work for them. Yes, I know you think this is bullshit. But it’s not. I have a bad feeling. The only person who makes portals is me. I don’t want other fuckers horning in on my turf. Besides, portals aren’t supposed to just sit there. That makes shit in the world unstable. I’m not done killing people, so instability doesn’t work for me.

I’m not asking you to fight alongside me. Just stay out of my hair for a while. Do that and I promise to leave Pubton alone for half a year. I’d say forever, but I know you wouldn’t believe me. Imagine what you can do with six months of free time. Maybe you can even give me a good fight once I purge the planet of these rat motherfuckers. They’re worse than I am, and that’s saying a lot, I know.

Truce, Dragofuck. kthnks? kthnks.

Kierkegaard the Omnipotent’

Dragomir read the letter over again as he walked, lip curling each time Kierkegaard called him ‘Dragofuck’. He still wasn’t sure exactly what it meant. Was it a play for time? An attempt to stop two fronts from attacking Kierkegaard’s army? An admission of fear over the werewolves now in Dragomir’s army? Or an honest attempt to stop Grayson from doing… something?

“It vill not change iv you read it a thouzend timez,” a voice said from beside Dragomir.

He jumped. Antonio was walking beside him, a pack slung over the orc’s shoulder. Antonio was staring straight ahead, smiling as enigmatically as ever. Scowling, Dragomir stuffed the letter into his pocket.

“Just thinkin’ about it,” Dragomir grumbled. “Might not change, but my interpretation of it might.”

Antonio thought about that, then grinned broadly, nodding. “Ya, ya, true. Iz wize. Maybe you are well in charge.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Not that a declaration of a truce really mattered. Dragomir’s group had moved quite tirelessly for three days, now, swiftly crossing the western lands at a tireless pace, and they’d gotten into skirmishes with Non scouts on several occasions. Apparently they hadn’t received word of Kierkegaard’s ‘truce’, and needed to be destroyed or driven off. Dragomir’s group had nevertheless made excellent time… especially when they’d spotted the glowing tower in the distance, as sure a sign of their destination as anything. Even The Baron, the slowest of the party, seemed to pick up his pace at the sight.

Now they were a day from the tower. Perhaps less. It was a horrifying thing, a pearlescent, twining shaft into the heavens that made Dragomir’s skin crawl. The tower was somehow worse than the blackened puncture it had left in the sky, perhaps because Dragomir had already seen codespace before.

My son did that, Dragomir thought, peering at the fringes of the bright light that seemed to pulsate at the tower’s apex. My son. Gods, my gene pool is fucked up.

“We should move more slowly from here on,” hissed Gortrap, the goblin scout leading their party across the landscape. He paused to pick something out of his nose, a habit he exercised often and without shame. “Ye’re all fuckin’ large. Ye’ll be spotted a mile away if ye just traipse up.”

“We don’t have time to move more slowly,” Dragomir grunted. “We have to get there now.”

Eve, walking nearby with a brown parcel under her arm, nodded silent agreement. Traveller ignored the minor debate altogether, focusing instead on his bare toes and looking sad. The rest of the party seemed to grumble disagreement.

“If we get caught it won’t matter how fuckin’ fast we went,” Gortrap insisted. “We need time to survey the landscape ’n make sure they aren’t on te us, ye ken?”

“My name’s not Ken,” Dragomir retorted. “Shut up. We move normally. Double time, if we have to.”

“Iz not good,” Antonio muttered. “Hazte zometimez makez wazte, ya? Perhapz I retract what I zay before.”

“Retract whatever you want,” Dragomir countered sourly. “I’m in charge here. Let’s get a fuckin’ move on.”

The party moved on, their footsteps swift and reckless. They moved so quickly that none of them noticed the dragon riding in Cedric’s hair, posing as a ladybug, and so none of them appreciated that the entire conversation was moot either way.