Tristan
October 14, 1786, Realm Timeline, Pajštún Castle, The Slovakian Protectorate
It was no mystery why the village complained about their neighbors. The roads were jammed with vehicles, and more than half had coats of arms painted on their doors, belonging to rich Viennese kids spending their parents' money unwisely. The noise coming from the castle was unbearable. Loud enough to reach the village, it was deep and harsh, with sharp edges that hurt Tristan's ears, and screams. It matched its name: Rock and something.
To pass the time, Tristan played with his Menu and discovered the HUD. It was an extraordinary perk, and he was beyond ecstatic, until he noticed the clock. Two hours had passed since Eliza had left, and Tristan began to worry. The woman was eccentric, but good-hearted. He didn't want anything to happen to her.
On an impulse, he decided to check if Eliza was Oh, kay. To avoid the inspection that he was sure every guest had to undertake, he entered the woods. Two-thirds of a mile uphill was nothing, and likewise jumping over the wall. It was dilapidated, and to the west, reduced to rubble. Tristan entered the inner courtyard of the castle unwound.
What sounded loud downhill was deafening up there. Black boxes, everywhere, spread the noise. He bleeped a few times and hid the spear behind a tree. No one was watching the main entrance; the only guards were near the contraption on the cable. Entering the castle through a side door, he explored the premises for a few minutes, then passed through a small mud room and followed the noise, reaching the party.
There were well over a couple of hundred revelers there, rejoicing in the abominable noise, jumping in place, hands above their heads, like hypnotized moles waiting for the wooden hammer to smack them. At the few tables, youngsters drank, smoked, or inhaled white lines of dust. Skimpily clad lasses were walking around, and some were accosted by young nobles, disappearing from the main hall, undoubtedly to engage in intercourse in private rooms.
Oh no! Is THIS how she plans to charm the bandit-in-chief? Posing as a whore?
A lump built up in his throat. The next second, he noticed Eliza dancing on a small stage in the back and relaxed. Her dance was also weird, with wide jumps and toe-walking throughout the scene. At least, Eliza had a bit more clothes than the other dancer, who was in her underwear, twirling around a thin metal post that reached the ceiling. A third dancer was shaking her booty in a mesmerizing way, and what a booty it was... Tristan gathered all his willpower to look away.
That lass sure has magic powers... like a siren.
The reasons for having a Will stat became evident—resisting temptations—and Tristan decided to invest more in it as soon as possible. The music changed to something quieter and slower. He squeezed himself between two couples who were dancing indecently, tongue kissing in the French fashion, trying to hide his revulsion and get back to the back exit and wait outside.
Opening the door, he almost bumped into a large man wearing armor. He glimpsed a short gray beard and a helmet covering the upper part of the face. Then, a kick in the stomach propelled Tristan back into the ballroom, skidding across the floor, knocking dancers down like bowling pins.
The armored man yelled something, but no one paid attention. Then all the light and music disappeared all of the sudden, the room plunging into darkness and silence. Even Tristan, with his enhanced night vision, had problems seeing.
"Found the fuses, chief!" a voice yelled outside.
A line of dark shapes entered the space, spreading to the right and left of the side access. They wore metal cuirasses and leather greaves and were armed with shields and thick metal rods. Many partygoers panicked, rushing out through the main door. Many more remained behind, their eyes glassy, still dancing to an absent music, or lying on sofas, in a stupor.
"You're all under arrest," the large man bellowed. "Little John, show yourself!"
"Who the heck are you?" On a balcony Tristan hadn't noticed before, a giant shape had emerged, getting up from a coach. The man was so big he couldn't believe the balcony could support his weight. Dressed in thick red velvet, he vaguely resembled an engraving of Henric the Eighth that Tristan once saw in a book.
"Chief constable Jakup," the armored man roared. "Give yourself up."
Why are all the villains so big? Tristan remembered the Tamer had been a hulk of a man as well. He rushed away from the center of the room on all fours, aiming for the main door, hoping Eliza was smart enough to do the same.
No one stopped him from getting out; however, near the funicular, more men-at-arms were tying down the nobles who had tried to run away, knocking out those who resisted. The guards were shackled together fifty feet away. He hid behind a column, waiting for the opportunity to make a run for the ruined wall.
"How the bleep did they get jumped without noticing? And why the bleep are you here?" a voice hissed in his ear. A familiar wiry sensation pressed against his back—Eliza's bra.
"Milady!" Tristan's heart filled with joy. "We should run."
"We can't—"
"It's not worth the risk," he insisted. "There'll be other bounties."
"This is not about the bounty anymore. It's about local authorities interfering with Outworlder business. Little John is one of ours. He cannot be taken by the police, or we lose face... Bleep! We have to do something."
"I could do a diversion," Tristan proposed, looking behind him. In the hall, Little John and the constable were throwing insults, each daring the other to start the fight. The access to the balcony was a narrow wooden stair, and it was clear that whoever tried to go up was at a disadvantage.
"Good idea. That would allow Little John to run."
"I need five minutes."
"Then I'll buy you those five minutes," Eliza said solemnly, patting Tristan's back. "Try not to kill anyone." She returned to the ballroom, slapping her shoes on the floor awkwardly, waddling like a duck. It was beyond weird; it was pathetic and spooky. No sane person would have dressed and walked like that.
"What's the meaning of this!" Eliza screamed, her voice much stronger than her lithe body would have led her to believe she could. "I'm Countess Erzsebeth, and I demand answers!"
"What is a countess doing in such a place, and in such indecent attire?" the constable asked. "Are you a participant in this orgy?"
"I'm a diplomatic envoy of the Council, and this is a normal party. I vouch for it..."
Eliza's words faded as Tristan snuck as discreetly as possible to take back his spear. Good job, mistress... Now's my turn.
"Hey, there's a runaway!" a man-at-arms yelled. Tristan ignored him, snatched his spear, and ran toward the stables.
"Where?" another gendarme yelled.
"Bernard, Henri, Levy, with me," the first man shouted. "He's going to the stables."
Accelerating, Tristan dashed inside the annex, going through the smaller door cut in the larger one. There was one thing that could help him tremendously, something he had noticed during his scouting: a war steed, the only horse on the premises. How the animal ended up there was a mystery. It looked malnourished and in bad shape, but was still a war steed, and if there was one thing that breed knew to do, it was to fight. Seeing him, the horse neighed.
"You won't give me trouble, are you?"
Stopping for one second, Tristan offered his palm for the horse to smell, then jumped on its back. The steed's muscles tensed, preparing to vault. Tristan shifted his weight accordingly. In that second, the horse knew the man was a true horse rider. There were differences between them—the horse was too big to be a light cavalry horse—but the steed adapted to Tristan's style instantly.
"That's a good boy! Heya!"
Even without a saddle, spurs, or anything, that was all it needed. The war steed slammed the door open with its weight, throwing the gendarmes away like ragdolls. Tristan pushed on, guiding the horse with his calves. Two other men who tried to stop them renounced their plan and ducked away. A charging war steed and a lance were both frightening enough.
Their speed barely decreased when they went up the stairs. Inside the room, nothing had changed, with Little John, the constable, and Eliza yelling at each other. Unfortunately, she was in the way. Noticing the incoming charge, her eyes widened.
"Move!" Tristan screamed.
The next second, she dissolved into specks of light, reconstructing herself behind the bandit.
Neat... Tristan thought, proud of his mistress. Restraining his horse at the last second to avoid a killing blow, he thrusted his spear in the constable's biceps. The man had chainmail underneath the cuirass, but it didn't help him much.
The constable screamed and ran away toward his men. It was nothing unusual. Even strong people became frightened when they were hurt, and that was a bad wound. Blood and a bluish spray of blue motes were spewing out.
Mana? Tristan let go of his curiosity, flourishing his spear at the gendarmes to deter them from attacking.
"Run!" Eliza yelled at Little John.
A couple of men-at-arms grabbed their boss, pulling him to safety, while the others arranged themselves into a shield wall. Some had brought swords, unsheathing them and pointing them at Tristan. The war steed neighed in defiance, preparing to slam into the defensive formation, but Tristan pulled it back. Giving his life for the Emperor was one thing; risking it for a bandit was another.
The only warning was a growing shadow, then something huge slammed into the middle of the shield wall. Little John had jumped down from the balcony, crushing a few gendarmes in the process. He rose to his feet slowly, pressing a finger on his ear.
"Now!"
Gunshots followed, and people fell.
"Bleep!" Tristan yelped, leading his horse out. He passed between two women, dressed in Outworlder military fatigues, with irregular patterns, who ignored him and stepped inside, shooting on the go and taking cover behind pillars.
At the same time Tristan exited, the gendarmes began to flow out of the castle through the back door, retreating and carrying their bleeding constable and a few limping comrades.
"Use their weapons," the constable yelled, pointing at the mercenary guards' guns, gathered in a pile, not far from the prisoners. A few of his men nodded and ran toward the rifles.
Tristan froze, then launched his steed in a straight charge. He swiped his spear, knowing he'd miss, but also that the gesture would make the gendarmes balk, and so they did, ducking, rolling, both, or jumping back. The steed began circling the pile, while Tristan kept the men-at-arms at bay.
"Enough!" Little John bellowed. "This is Outworlder property. You have ten seconds to leave, or we shoot to kill!"
The mercenary and the two women had taken position atop the stairs. The man had a revolver in his left hand. Tristan hated that kind of weapon; it was devastating against cavalry at close range.
There was a general pause in the courtyard. Tensed bodies, ready to jump into action, one way or another. Outworlder guns were terrifying, but the gendarmes had numbers on their side. The constable cleared his throat, ready to give an order. Tristan could read on the man's face that it was not the one he had hoped for.
Unexpectedly, the lights came back on, bathing the open space in brightness. Tristan covered his face with the back of his palm, and many others around did the same. The tied prisoners could only squeeze their eyes shut. A loud, annoying screeching sound followed. Then, a voice.
"One, two... One, two. Testing... Testing... Do you hear me? Yeah, I bet you do... I can hear myself, and I'm quite far away. I'm using a remote control, that goes without saying."
Tristan slackjawed. MisterSam?
Sam continued. "Hello, everybody. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Samurai Sam, bounty hunter extraordinaire and member of the Council."
"Fuck off!" Little John yelled.
"Sure, I'll fuck off as soon as the standoff is settled."
"What do you propose?" the constable yelled.
"I think you'll love my proposition," Sam's voice said. "It's simple and elegant. I found a huge quantity of explosives in the castle's basement. Lucky me, huh? Naturally, I planted radio detonators. As soon as we finish this conversation, I press a button, and it goes boom. You all die, but that's excellent. An Outworlder selling sex and drugs to underage nobles? A local police officer overstepping his jurisdiction? Problems solved. There's the small matter of the bounty requiring non-violence, but I'll come up with something. A meteorite, maybe?
"Now, there's also option B: you agree to follow any order I give you, to the letter. You have one minute to decide. If somebody makes the wrong move, it's option A instantly."
Silence descended over the courtyard, with only frantic whispers running around. And some prayers.
[Eliza]: Tristan! Run!
[Tristan]: Milady?... Yey, I managed to use the chat!
[Eliza]: Run, you idiot!
[Tristan]: You think he'll do it?
[Eliza]: Sam? YES! Without a second thought. He's nuts.
[Sam]: I can hear your chat, remember?
[Eliza]: Sam, stop it! You can't—
"Time's up. If you prefer option A, just say so," Sam's voice said.
"Option B," Little John yelled.
"B!" the constable followed. "Please, sir, spare my men."
"Good choice. Everybody among the police who're not hurt, leave the same way you came, in pairs, at thirty-second intervals. The wounded, stay put for now; my Healer is on the way. She'll check for serious injuries and provide first aid. Little John, you will surrender to me, and I'll escort you to Bratislava."
"I've heard of you, asshole," Little John spat on the ground. "I changed my mind. Go for plan A. You can kill us all, but I won't surrender to a cos-player."
"Okay."
[Eliza]: Sam!
[Sam]: Fine.
"What about option C? Surrender to the boy on the horse if you hate me so much. He's also a Bounty Hunter."
"Boss, please," one of the women with the guns pleaded.
"I surrender," Little John said, holstering his revolver and raising his hands.
[Sam]: I did it on purpose, to help you guys level up. Hope you appreciate it.
"Boy!" the bandit yelled, looking directly at Tristan.
"Me?" Tristan pointed at himself and, looking around, checked if there was someone else behind him.
"Yeah, you. I surrender to you."
"I know, I've heard him," Tristan said. Are you stupid? he felt an urge to add, but insulting a bear of a man in that specific situation didn't look like the best idea.
The first two gendarmes left, walking through the opening of the funicular and running down the slope. A woman in an off-white Healer robe uncloaked only a few feet away from Tristan, starting by checking the constable. Tristan expected a spell, but she slapped a bandage on the wound and waved the man away, focusing next on the bruises some young nobles had received during their capture. It was an open display of treating the rich better, because they received full doses of healing magic.
One of the women guarding Little John started to cut the ropes that tied the young prisoners, then the ropes of the guards. The first freed mercenary rushed to pick up one of the rifles, but Tristan pushed the horse and showed a no-no finger sign, and the man retreated.
"Don't touch the guns for five minutes after your boss leaves... Bleep... "
Sam's words were cut off by the loud music, erupting even with more force than before. Somebody had pushed the fuses back on. Instead of leaving, the young revelers had returned to the ballroom, without exception.
"That was extra-cool!" a girl yelled, giving Tristan a thumbs-up. She even beckoned, which could have meant an invitation to dance, or even to go together in one of the private rooms, for indecent contact, but he didn't plan to find out.
"We shall go!" Tristan screamed at Little John, struggling to raise his voice over the noise.
The bandit pointed at the cabin. Eliza appeared from the castle at the same time, her coat wrapped around her, now wearing her normal boots. It turned out they could fit together in the funicular, even with the steed. The horse was a bit frightened, but Tristan kept his hand on its neck, and all turned out fine.