Warsinger James Baldwin (read this if TXT) 📖

skipped, then sunk as my 24th quest alert of the day appeared.

[New Main Quest: The Gathering Storm.]

I swiped it away without listening to it. “Today’s date is Boseg Hava 1st, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Istvan gave a curt nod.

“Thanks,” I said. I looked back to the Herald. “Do you need a room? We don’t have much to offer here, but you’re welcome to a bed and whatever food we have.”

The Herald bowed again. “Thank you, Your Grace, but I must beg pardon and refuse your hospitality. His Majesty requested I return to Taltos as soon as you have finished preparing your return message.”

I thought about asking her if I could stay on the airship for a while. Given the state of the castle, the cruiser probably had better food and beds than we did. I rubbed my face. “You can memorize and play back anything I need to say to him, right?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” She bowed a second time.

I heaved a deep sigh. “Alright… ‘Ignas, thanks for letting me know. I’m glad to hear Rutha is awake. Me, Karalti, and Suri will be there on the 5th come hell or high water’. End message. Please make it like… more formal and polite than that.”

The messenger nodded. She almost seemed disappointed it was so short. “Is that all, Your Grace?”

“Yeah, thanks. Give him my regards, as well.”

She bowed a second time and departed without a word.

“She’s good at her job. She even sounded like Ignas.” I plopped back into my throne, but couldn’t sit still. I restlessly got back to my feet and started pacing. “What’s happening twenty-seven days from today?”

“Next month is Szuret Hava, the month of the harvest,” Istvan replied, watching me solemnly. “Myszno harvests one month after the other provinces, due to our unusual climate. The middle of the month is the point of no return for our crops. If we don’t have enough people able to harvest them, our prospects for the coming year are grim. Racsa barely has enough food for the next thirty days. The rest of the province is at capacity, but without the southern harvest, that will decline sharply over the next year. By the next winter in 1659, we will be at approximately 25% of the food required to sustain Myszno without outside aid.”

“Fucking great.” I scowled at the faded green and silver banners hanging from the ceiling. I liked green places - forests, fields, gardens - but I hated it as, like… a color. “I don't know what to do, man. Suri is stuck in Al-Asad, and now Ignas wants to see me. Let’s say it takes four days to track Suri, then another two to visit Taltos and teleport back. That leaves us twenty-one days to handle twenty-four quests, plus the non-Myszno related ones I still have to do. We’d have to complete one quest per day, every day, along with any other ‘evolving’ questlines that stem from them. How the hell am I supposed to do this? I’m not fucking Santa Claus, and Karalti isn’t a flying reindeer.”

Istvan gave a testy little sigh. “My lord, you don't do them yourself.”

I stopped rubbing my eyes to glare at him.

“You delegate,” he said. “You are no longer an adventurer ranging across the land, picking up bounties and camping in hostels. You are a landed Lord with a castle and personnel at your disposal. No single man or woman can single-handedly fix the realm, Dragozin.”

“We don't have anyone to delegate to. Suri and Rin aren’t here. Vash is injured and his HP hasn’t budged a point from 50% in two days. Racsa’s army is still marching across the Endlar, and it’ll be two weeks before troops arrive. We have a hundred and fifty soldiers, two airships, one of the quests was issued BY Lord Zediwitz, because he’s too exhausted to do it himself…”

“Check the Combat Management System and see who we do have, then.”

I sullenly opened the menu and scanned the contents. “I guess we have the Royal Engineers to take on the infrastructure quests. There’s some Vets that have been elevated to Hero status? I didn’t see that. Who the hell is Timofey Lostra?”

“Commander Lostra assumed command of the Royal Navy ships when Admiral Gehlan was killed in action, which you would have known if you’d been paying attention to your alerts,” Istvan replied sourly. “And you said it yourself: we have a hundred and fifty soldiers and two airships, engineers, even a few mages. Our veterans are tired, yes, but the man or woman who successfully completes one of these quests for you will look forward to coin, perhaps even elevation to knighthood. A knighthood means that any of these common-born soldiers could own property, their own armor, cattle. Pay in peerage, and you will have volunteers throwing themselves at your feet. And for the larger quests, like routing those bandits out of Vyeshniki, we have Taethawn’s mercenaries for that. Meewfolk make some of the hardiest soldiers known to Archemi, and they’re well suited to that alpine desert climate.”

“I guess. As long as they’re fresh enough to ride all the way to Assfuck-Nowhere, Vlachia, and then fight a bunch of bandits.” I gestured vaguely in the direction of the doors at the end of the Great Hall.

“Honestly, Dragozin. You’re not stupid,” he said. “Stop and think about what you said for a moment.”

I grimaced, and thought. Well, tried to. My brain was basically a cardboard box full of gerbils on crack. “I dunno. What else are we going to do? Stick them on airships?”

“That is exactly what you should do. It’s a one-day flight from Karhad to Vyeshniki in good weather. And in the meantime, you can check the health of Taethawn’s units in your Kingdom Management System, or the Combat Management System. We haven’t released them from service, so the information should still be there.” He gave me an exasperated look. “Why haven’t you learned to use these tools?”

“Between almost being turned into a vampire and losing my girlfriend, I’ve had