Winds of Fate
Date: 2014-01-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Science Fiction
Description: Harry’s back! The even more anticipated third book from the best-selling Fayroll series is here. With even more epic battles, challenging quests and even rarer items. Following on from ‘The Road East,' Harriton’s work has been very well received, and his new bosses are pleased with him. Seemingly everything is going well, as he enjoys visiting Fayroll more and more and spending time with his new girlfriend, Vika. But is everything as it seems? Can things stay so positive with him? After a visit from his ex-girlfriend’s brother and a meeting with Raidion’s Security, it seems the real world migh
Publisher: LitWorld

Cold Winds of Fate

Fayroll

Book Three

Andrey Vasilyev

Copyright © 2017 Litworld Ltd. (http://litworld.info)

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase another copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Fayroll 4:

Book recommendations:

Chapter One

In which accounts are settled.

“Well, what can you do, babe?” I gave Vika a quick peck on the cheek. “It’s always the good, smart ones that die young; lazy idiots live forever. That’s just the way life is.”

“I don’t want you to die.” Vika’s lip quivered. “You and I are good together.”

“You think I have any say in it?” I responded sadly. “Some old guy with a scythe will walk up one day, knock on the door, ask for me, and that’ll be it. But I appreciate the compliment.”

“Moron.” Vika pulled her chin off my shoulder. “You'll jinx yourself talking like that. Are you going to write the obituary?”

“What, you want it?” I asked with surprise.

“Not in the least. I’m afraid of things like that…” Vika shivered. “You go ahead and write it, okay?”

“Sounds good,” I answered amiably. “I just have to go somewhere first.”

“Where?” Vika frowned and put her hands on her hips teasingly. “Where are you running off to, hmm?”

“Hey now, it’s all for you. Look out the window—do you see the car near the entrance?” I pointed at the Impala.

“Yeah, nice. Retro.”

“‘Retro’!” I laughed. “Ah, you kids all grew up on your little Jeeps. That’s a Chevy Impala, a four-wheeled legend. And as of right now, it’s our trusty steed that will take us to and from work. Well, and anywhere else we want to go.”

“A-a-ah,” Vika squeaked. “You bought a car!”

“What do you mean, ‘bought’?” I said, momentarily taken aback. “It was a gift. For a job well done!”

“From them?” Vika jabbed her index finger upward.

I nodded.

“Nice. How much did it cost?”

“A boatload of zeros,” I said for lack of a better reply. “Handmade, one of a kind. I can’t imagine how much it cost.”

“What did you do for them?” asked Vika, her eyes wide. “Kill someone?”

“You bet,” I answered ironically. “A whole crowd of someones.”

“Boss,” said Yushkov, unceremoniously barging into our conversation. The guys no longer had any problem with how close Vika and I were—they understood our relationship and had made their peace with the fact that Vika was irrevocably my assistant. “What should we do with the lead article? The obituary is going to take up page one now, right?”

“Let’s save it for the next issue. They’re going to be sending us pictures, so pick one where the dead guy is smiling. All right, I have to go. I’ll be back in a couple hours.” I threw my coat over my shoulders and started down the stairs.

The man in the car turned out to know just about everything. He gave me an express tour through all the different stops we had to make, from the traffic police to the insurance company, occasionally asking me questions.

“Do you want a special license plate number? Or just whatever? Which insurance company do you want? Do you have a preference?”

I languidly responded that I didn’t care about the number. Sure, it would be nice to have the kind of license plate that tells people not to play games with the driver, but those are expensive, no? I wasn’t sure if that was included in the deal. Insurance didn’t really matter to me either, given that there wasn’t an insurance company out there who would compensate for the full value of the car if something happened to it.

Once everything was set, we turned around and headed back toward the office. The guy next to me was quiet and left me to my thoughts.

Needless to say, they swirled around the news I’d gotten that day about poor Stavros. Okay, maybe not “poor” Stavros. He was a rat, God rest his soul, and he got his just—if harsh—deserts. I figured it highly unlikely that the company paid him so little that he had to sell secrets on the side. If I—nobody that I was—made the kind of money they were paying me, then someone important like him must have been on par with the annual budget of your average African country. Or maybe even the budget of a former Soviet Union country like Moldova.

It may not do me much credit, but I didn’t feel the least pangs of conscience about the part I played in writing his death sentence. I wasn’t even the reason for his demise; I was more a minor catalyst. That is not to say that I’m some kind of soulless monster who couldn’t care less about human life. It’s just that my profession had taught me the value of moderating my responses, not to mention the fact that we all pay for what we do in this life. Stavros had paid in full.

The car I’d been given was there to put me in my place. Do a good job and keep your nose clean, Nikiforov, and you can have it all—money, your job, and a new car. Have your eye on a pretty girl? No problem; make her your assistant. I figured they’d give me a chalet somewhere in the Alps if that’s what I wanted.

On the other hand, it was perfectly clear that if I tried to play games with them, I’d get a heart attack of my own, if not a much simpler solution. I wasn’t the same kind of person, and so a bullet to the head or a rope around my neck would probably work. The possibilities are endless.

There wasn’t much of a choice. Being fed and healthy is always better than being poor and hungry, especially since they weren’t asking me to do anything illegal. They just wanted honest work from me, so I made up my mind to give them exactly that.

By the time we got back to the office, I’d almost completely convinced myself that everything was okay and going according to plan.

I walked in to find one more surprise: a woman from Raidion who’d been waiting patiently for almost an hour. It turned out that it was payday, and she was there with our money. The feel of the fat envelope she handed me was enough to push me over the edge; my decision was the right one.

“Why are they giving us our salary in envelopes? Why can’t they just transfer it to our cards?” mused Samoshnikov in surprise.

I was about to open my mouth when Vika stepped in.

“Samoshnikov, you’re crazy. Where do we officially work?”

“At the Capital Herald,” answered Samoshnikov.

“Exactly,” said Vika. “And we’re paid here, where we sign for the money we get. So, how is Raidion going to send us money? I mean, sure, if you’re not happy about getting a wad of money in an envelope, you’re welcome to call them up—”

“And we’ll have a second obituary on our hands,” said Yushkov, finishing her sentence.

“Can you hear yourself?” I jumped in, happy that the woman who’d brought us our money had left before she could hear the idiot in front of me. “Words have consequences, and sometimes serious ones.”

“Oh, come on!” Yushkov blanched. “I was just kidding.”

“Next time, think about who and what you’re kidding about,” said Vika pointedly, with a glance in my direction.

“Exactly,” I said. “Use your brain every once in a while—and that goes for all of you. Okay, get back to work.”

I quickly threw together the obituary using the text I’d been sent and all the usual clichés, checked my team’s work, saw that they were slowly starting to round into form, and left for home in my new car.

What is there to say about the Chevy Impala? It’s a Chevy Impala. I was just afraid that some daring car thieves might think the same; their kind didn’t care about fancy alarms, special license plate numbers, or the law. With that in mind, I dropped Vika off at my building before driving to a new parking building and paying for the 101 spot. It may not have been the cheapest option, but it was good enough.

Autumn was in full swing, though the street lights hadn’t yet been adjusted, and so it was dark near the entrance to my building by the time I got there. That may have been why I didn’t see the three young men standing by the entrance until I walked up to them.

“Are you Nikiforov?” asked one of them.

“Yes, and…?” I answered, receiving a shot to the solar plexus in reply. There was barely enough time for me to gasp for air before I saw stars. As I doubled over in pain, one of them smashed his knee into my face.

From there it was simple; they worked me over with all the due diligence and effort they could muster. They started by kicking my legs, two of them picking me up while the third, who had asked who I was, reared back and put his weight behind a shot to my crotch. Thank God, he wasn’t exactly on target. I’ll have to have Mom light a candle for that. Any farther to the left, and she wouldn’t have seen any grandchildren. After that ordeal, the barrage of punches to the face they wrapped up with felt like a light tickling. Two last kicks to the kidneys, and they were done.

“That’s for my sister, bastard. I told her to stay away from Russians, but she didn’t listen.”

“Hey, Raville, look what fell out of his pocket!”

I was interested to hear what had fallen out as well, but I was in no hurry to open my eyes. One of them had a ring on his finger that had left a gash on my forehead. The blood dripping down my face left me effectively blind.

“Money, Raville,” chattered one of the attackers in excitement. “Seriously, money—and a lot of it.”

“Take it. We’ll call it compensation for my sister,” announced Raville imposingly. He had apparently leaned over me, as I heard his voice right next to my ear. “And you remember, this is just the beginning.”

“Hold on,” said the third member of their posse. “Beating people up is one thing, but robbing them is another. That’ll definitely have the cops after us. Do we really want that?”

“Oh, come on. He won’t tell anyone,” said Raville soothingly, bending over once again and pulling my head up by the hair. “You won’t, will you? You get it, right?”

I decided to keep my mouth shut.

“What did I tell you? He’s a smart little coward. What did my sister see in you?”

He let my suffering head down, leaving me lying on the asphalt once more.

“We’ll be back once this is spent,” Raville said with a laugh. “Let’s go, guys.”

His sister’s honor avenged, he ran off with his friends, laughing and cackling about a job well done.

I lay there a little while before trying to get up. It took some time, but I was finally on my feet. I worked my way to the elevator, blood dripping and legs buzzing as I went, and pressed the button for my floor.

Vika surprised me once again. Her first reaction at seeing my bruised and bloodied face wasn’t to pace around the apartment, screaming about how we needed to call the police or ask what happened. Instead, she quickly gave me a shoulder to hold onto and walked me over to the bathroom. She turned on the cold water and dipped my suffering head under it.

“Wash off, but be careful, and don’t rub anything too hard with your hands or you’ll get an infection. Where’s your first aid kit?”

“There was an old one from my car in the pantry, but I don’t usually keep much at home,” I mumbled.

My mouth was nearly swollen shut, making it difficult and painful to talk.

Vika made a noise, similar to how Marge Simpson sounds when she’s frustrated, and walked out of the bathroom. By the time she got back, I’d washed myself off and apparently stopped looking like the end was near.

“This is going to hurt,” Vika warned me. “I found some hydrogen peroxide, so you’re going to have to get through this. Sit on the stool there, so it’s easier for me.”

I did my best, though I spent most of the time squealing as the liquid seared its way through my many scrapes and cuts.

“They really did a number on you,” Vika noted when she was finished. “Did you at least see who it was? We need to call the cops.”

“No cops,” I responded. “I know exactly who it was, which is why we won’t be calling anybody.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Vika. “You know who beat you to within an inch of your life, and you’re not going to do anything?”

“They took my money, too,” I said, filling her in on the details.

“So, they robbed you, too. What are you, a little Jesus going around forgiving everyone? Why don’t you just hand over your apartment the next time they drop by?” The undisguised anger in Vika’s voice mixed with sarcasm.

“Calm down,” I said with a grimace. “I told you—no police. But I didn’t say we weren’t going to do anything. Give me a couple days, and we’ll see who comes out on top.”

I tried to get up, my failed attempt accompanied by a gasp of pain. My muscles spasmed, and I felt my kidneys begin to ache.

“Damn, they just had to go for the kidneys.” I grabbed my low back. “They’re screwed up as it is…”

“What do you mean?” Vika crouched down in front of me.

“It’s normal after the Army,” I said. “The water was awful there, and it screws up your kidneys when you don’t always have the chance to boil it. Those bastards out there gave me a nice one-two right there as a parting gift.”

“Unbelievable,” Vika said, her eyes narrowing. “So who was it?”

“El’s brother and his friends, which is why I’m not going to call the police. If they throw him in jail, all I’ll get is a bullet to the head. Elvira was a Candidate for Master of Sport in shooting, and she’s Tatar—family is everything to them. I’ll have to do something, though, since kids like that won’t leave you alone once they get a taste for your wallet. They’re young and crazy; life still hasn’t gotten through to them. But that’s for later. I need to go lie down.”

“Of course,” answered Vika, turning something over in her mind. “I’ll make an iodine grid for you. And wake me up tonight if you need anything, though I doubt I’ll get any sleep.”

The next morning, things hurt that I didn’t even know I had. I had been particularly worried about two parts of my body, but things turned out okay. One worked fine and, as far as the other was concerned, I didn’t see any blood when I, well, you know. My kidneys were all right, as well. I wasn’t about to leave the house looking like that for fear of everyone who saw me calling the police. There was also no point in scaring (or, in some cases, making the day of) the people at the office. I hadn’t looked in the mirror, but I had a feeling I looked like some kind of hideous sea monster—or maybe like dead Captain Flint, my face all blue and puffy.

“So have you decided to call the police?” Vika asked as she was getting dressed. “Or, even better, there’s someone else you can talk to. I’ve seen little bastards like that, too, and you’re right; they always come back. I kind of like you, and I’d rather not be carrying flowers to your grave.”

“Come on, Vika, give it a rest. I’ll figure it out,” I answered, grimacing from the pain in my lips.

“Oh, sure. If you only saw yourself…” A shadow crossed her face. “You relax here and don’t go anywhere.”

“Very funny. Where am I going to go looking like this?”

“Exactly. And if those animals start doing this every week…”

“Okay, okay, get out of here. I could use some sleep.”

Vika frowned as she left the room, and a second later, I heard the front door close.

I was obviously not planning to let the little idiots get away with beating me up or taking my money. But I had to figure out who I would start hunting them with—old friends from school or the newer, well-placed ones I’d made in the past few years. You can’t help but pick up a wide range of contacts when you spend your professional life hanging around clubs. I slipped off to sleep without even noticing it, my mind swirling with thoughts of revenge.

A phone call woke me up. My phone had survived the events of the previous day and was lying on my desk. I set off on the arduous journey to retrieve it, moaning and groaning as I did. The screen read “Zimin.”

“Hey, Kif, is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me.” He was the last person I was expecting to hear from.

“Kif, do you remember our conversation in your boss’s office? When we first met?” There was nothing promising in his voice.

“More or less,” I mumbled, trying to figure out what he was hinting at.

“Maybe that ‘more’ includes what I said about you being under the protection of the company?”

“Well, I didn’t think…” I wonder how he found out. Although, I guess it’s obvious…

“That sounds pretty clear to me. Very clear, in fact.” There was steel in his voice, and I didn’t like how formal his tone was. “If you’d have thought about it, you would have called me yesterday or at least today. You would have called me yourself since that would have been faster and easier. It’s just a good thing your girlfriend turned out to be smarter than you are. She called our security, and they filled me in. So, I had to hear from them how you were beat up and robbed—from them; not from you.”

“Who was smarter?” I thought I must have misheard him.

“Well, that’s what she said. They told me that’s how she introduced herself.”

Oh, that Vika. Although…maybe that was a good move. She’d at least proved that she could make decisions and follow through with them.

“She gave us all the information we need, so our people are already on it. They may stop by your place, so don’t be afraid to let them in.”

“Of course.” His tone had relaxed, which I found immensely reassuring. “I’m sorry I didn’t call; my brain is a little scrambled.”

“Oh, about that.” I could hear through the phone how he snapped his fingers. “Our doctor will be coming to check you over in a couple hours.”

“I’m fine.” I tried to brush him off.

“And that’s what he’s there to make sure of.” Zimin was barely listening to me anymore. “You’ll feel better; we’ll all feel better.”

“Thanks.” I really was touched. Sure, you have to take care of the pig before you chop it up for bacon, but it was still nice of him.

“And remember, you’re under our protection. Vika, too, by the way, so give her my phone number. I already trust her more than I trust you when it comes to your safety. Just don’t forget to invite me to the wedding.”

“Ah, it hurts to laugh,” I said. Zimin chuckled and hung up.

The doctor came by and impressed me. He was much better than your everyday clinician, and he made sure I was okay. My ribs weren’t broken, all my cuts and scrapes were taken care of, and no abscesses would be showing up. I was supposed to sleep and take some vitamins, though you can never get enough of either, as it is. He declined 1,000 rubles and left.

An hour later, the security officers stopped by. They weren’t alone. With them, were the trio who’d attacked me the day before, and they dropped them—already not in the best shape—on my floor.

“Here they are,” said a hefty gentleman by the name of Evgeny, nodding in their direction. “They’re the ones who beat you up yesterday.”

“Wow, they really are young. Even younger than I thought,” I replied. “It was dark, so I didn’t get a good look at them, and then once they started, I had other things to worry about.”

They looked to all be between 18 and 20.

“It’s the kids that are the most dangerous,” said the second security guy, who was short, equally hefty, and didn’t introduce himself. “They wouldn’t think twice about slipping a knife between your ribs. That’s just what gets them going in the mornings.”

“So, what do you want us to do with them?” asked Evgeny.

“What do you mean?” I shrugged reflexively before gasping from the pain. “Take them to the forest, dig a hole, bullet to the brain, call it a day. Just make sure they give my money back first.”

“Got it. We already got the money, by the way.” Evgeny held out an envelope that was greasy and seemed to have lost some weight. “Well, what was left, at least. That’s it then?”

He kicked one of the three.

“Up, you trash, it’s time for a quick trip out of the city,” he said to them, as they sat meekly on the floor. “Although, you only have a one-way ticket.”

That’s when I realized that they were actually planning on killing them. I’d been joking, but they weren’t. Raidion gets points for discipline, at least!

“Hold on,” I said to Evgeny. He stopped and turned around with a look on his face that wondered if I’d changed my mind.

“There was a lot more money than this,” I said angrily. “Three times as much.”

I had to save the trio from their appointment with the firing squad. It wasn’t that I felt bad for them. My conscience wasn’t the cleanest as it was, but I had no desire to add three lives to it.

“We’ll give it back,” one of the three suddenly said in a passionate tone. “We’ll give back the money. We’ll give you more. Just don’t kill us.”

“I don’t need more,” I replied. “Just mine.”

“So, you’re just going to let them go?” asked Evgeny sharply.

“Of course not,” I answered, squatting down with a slight grimace in front of the one with the all-too-familiar features. “Why would we do that? We need to teach them a lesson. Hi there, Raville.”

He cast an appraising glance at me but kept his mouth shut.

“Oh, come on, this is all your fault. If you had just offered to fight me one-on-one for your sister’s honor instead of all jumping me at once, I would have let it go, if you hadn’t threatened me, mocked me, stolen from me. But now you have to answer for it. Are you a man?”

His mouth remained shut.

“Don’t want to say anything? Good choice; there’s nothing to say.”

“Don’t kill the guys,” Raville said. “They’ll give you the money—I swear.”

The security guys laughed.

“Of course they will. What choice do they have?” asked one of them.

This one’s not as rotten as he seems. He said not to kill the other two, but he didn’t say anything about himself, I thought.

“So, what’s the plan?” asked Evgeny.

“Well, they’ll give me back the money, and we’ll call it a day.”

“No punishment?” asked the nameless hulk, all business.

“Of course!” I grunted and assumed the dark voice of a Very Serious Villain to make it perfectly clear I wasn’t joking. “Break a limb, whichever one you want, for those two and snap Raville’s fingers. But, please, leave their spines alone; I don’t want them invalids.”

“Got it,” said the hulk with a laugh. “Let’s go, you clowns.”

I closed the door and noticed that what I was feeling wasn’t fear. It was an unpleasantly sticky feeling that told me I’d gotten involved in something I couldn’t understand or handle on my own.

It was very clear that if I made a single wrong move or bad decision, I’d have that same Evgeny dropping by to pay me a visit and put a bullet in my head. He’d made it clear how willing he was. It was his job, and that was that. Sure, I was under their protection for the time being, but that was because they needed me. What will happen when they don’t need me anymore? They’d probably give me some reward and cut me loose, or maybe give me some cushy job in the company. Here, you just keep editing the paper. But that would be only if I didn’t make a mistake. So, I had to be ten, twenty times as careful about everything I did. My best interests were at stake.

There was only one problem; how does one never make a mistake?

Chapter Two

In which the hero finally heads north.

There was no time for me to catch my breath. No sooner had the group tramped out the door than Vika called, clearly worried that I might start yelling at her for taking matters into her own hands. Once she figured out that there would be no reprisal, she filled me in on what was going on at work and sent me the draft issue. I gave her a few pointers.

Next, my underlings called to express their sympathy. Certainly, they had no idea what had actually happened. Instead, Vika had thought up and told them an “official” version, that I had sprained an ankle. Their social calls were well done; they were starting to figure out how the world works.

A few hours later, Evgeny showed up yet again—this time alone—to give me a stack of money. He asked me to count it and give him a call immediately if any was missing. I promised I would.

That night, a tired Vika returned, spent a good while looking me over, clucked, and nodded in satisfaction. I told her about the doctor and assured her that he cut quite the impressive figure.

“Hey, so you don’t mind that I called Raidion?” she asked a couple of hours later, obviously making up her mind to just ask me if I was mad about what she did. It clearly weighed on her.

“Vika, you did what you thought needed to be done. Why should I be mad about that?” I said in a neutral tone. “Zimin asked me to thank you and give you his direct number. That way you can call him if anything else happens to me.”

“Give me Zimin’s number?” said Vika in surprise. “Wow.”

“Yup. You picked up your 100 reputation points today,” I continued. “It sounds like they trust you more than they trust me. Women are always more level-headed than us men, so there you go.”

“I think you’re still judging me,” muttered Vika, a touch insulted.

“Sweetie, let’s leave the romance novels at home, ok?” I asked. “You did what you did. I would have taken care of the problem a bit differently, but that’s water under the bridge at this point. And, honestly, Raidion was more effective than I would have been. Regardless, let’s call that issue settled.”

Vika sighed in relief, and I decided to change the subject.

“By the way, does your sister wonder where you are? I mean, sure, you’re an adult, but still…”

“My sister?” Vika’s brows arched. “No, she’s fine. I told her that I moved in with my boyfriend.”

Well, isn’t she the decisive one? As usual, nobody asked for my opinion. It was the hallmark of our emancipated times—if you get tired of waiting for something to happen, do it yourself.

“What did she have to say about that?”

“Nothing, really. ‘But you just met! You barely know each other!’” Vika’s hands flew to her cheeks as she mimicked her sister.

“There’s something to that, to be fair,” I noted loyally. “What did you say?”

“Me?” Vika giggled. “I told her that I live and sleep with a normal, live man, while all she has is her digital creations in the game. And she’s thirty!”

“That was kind of harsh…”

“It’s fine. She told me she has someone now, too, though she made it sound like they met in the game.”

“That happens. You meet online and then take your relationship out into the real world.”

“Oh, who needs her?” Vika snorted. “She’s been like that her entire life—a quiet, boring nerd.”

“Sounds like you guys have a great relationship.”

“Oh, forget her. Instead, why don’t you tell me—”

Vika was interrupted by our landline ringing. I was about to get up when she stopped me and got up herself. Half a minute later, she glanced in from the hall, which was where my grandfather’s old fossil of a rotary phone was (I certainly didn’t need a city number in the digital age, so I’d just let it sit there). She had a strange look on her face.

“It’s for you.”

I walked over, picked up the phone, and almost went deaf.

“Nikiforov, you bastard! You know what I’m going to do to you for what you did to Raville? You’re going to be sorry you were ever born! You—”

“El, why don’t you be quiet for a second and listen to me?” I had to interrupt her stream of consciousness with a sharp shout. A more delicate and refined approach would have been steamrolled into oblivion.

“So, now you’re going to shut me up?” The shriek was deafening. “You loser deadbeat—”

“Listen to me!” I could feel my blood starting to boil. I’d had enough of the whole Gizmatullin clan over the past couple days. “If you don’t shut your hole right now, I swear to God that I will make you regret your words, and oh, how sincere that regret will be.”

“What are you going to do?” Her tone was the same, though her voice had dropped a couple decibels. “Sic your dogs on me like you did with Raville?”

“You think I just did that to Raville?” I guess he’s more of a rat than I thought. “Right. What did he tell you happened? Just so we’re on the same page.”

“He hasn’t said anything. But I imagine he went over to talk to you man to man, like normal people. I don’t know why; I didn’t ask him to do anything. But you didn’t want to talk, so you had some of your jailbird friends break his arm. They even took a hammer to his fingers!”

“Oh, wow.” I nearly sat down on the floor in surprise. First, because I was stunned by her version. She’d always had a vivid imagination, but that was pretty far out there even for her… Second, I was sure that Evgeny realized I was joking about the second point. Apparently not. They took me seriously, and the unlucky trio paid the price. “Really? So that’s how it happened?”

“I’m sure of it,” announced El grandly. “I know you, you bastard.”

“You shouldn’t have trusted your intuition this time,” I answered. “It was pretty much exactly the opposite of that. He met me at the entrance to my building yesterday with two of his friends and lit into me. Then, as if that weren’t enough, they stole my money right out of my pocket and promised they’d be back soon for more. I wasn’t a big fan of that idea, so I asked my new employer for help. Their security, as you can see, explained to your brother and his friends that stealing isn’t right, and beating people up isn’t great either. Believe me; they got off lightly. Though I didn’t think they were going to break anything. Apparently, people like that don’t have a sense of humor.”

“You’re lying like you always do,” said El with conviction.

“Oh, God. Hey, babe, hand me my phone,” I said to Vika.

“Oh, she’s already ‘babe’?” El said mockingly. “You aren’t married yet?”

“Not yet,” I answered, glancing at Vika as she gave me my phone. “So far, we’re just living together, but I think we’ll be stopping by the ZAGS[1] soon. You’d be surprised, but it turns out there are women in this world who do more than yell and fool around. They cook, clean, and iron, too. Incredible, right? How can you not marry someone like that? As it turns out, being full and clean is better than being hungry and dirty.”

Vika’s eyes gleamed triumphantly. Hearing something like that and humiliating my ex at the same time? What a day!

El said nothing.

“Babe, take a picture of me from the waist up. Hold on, let me take off my shirt.” I put the phone down on the shelf. Vika pressed a button, and I saw the flash go off.

“I’m sending you the proof,” I said into the phone as I sent her the picture. “Take a look and see how much fun your brother had.”

“I don’t think I need to see any nude shots from you.”

“I’m telling you, just look,” I added a cold edge to my voice. “You may not need to see the picture, but I could check with the police. Maybe they need to see it.”

There was silence on the other end of the line until I heard El’s voice cut back in. She was, of course, a bitch through and through, but she wasn’t an idiot. I knew that much.

“Raville really did this?”

“Naturally,” I confirmed. “And he really did take my money.”

El was skeptical. “How do you have money? Is there something I don’t know?”

“It just so happens that there is,” I answered, “since, just recently, I’ve been doing more than just work at the paper. I’m now involved with a much larger corporation, though I won’t say which, and they’re paying me quite a bit. You know how it is, big company, big pay…”

“Sounds like you’re telling the truth,” El said slowly. “They got Raville good, and Uncle Anas said we should leave you alone.”

“I’m telling you; he got off easy,” I assured her. “You should be thanking me that he’s there with you right now.”

“Oh, you just wait!” announced El sharply. “Tomorrow, I’m going to make sure everyone knows what you did. I’m—”

“A landmine ready to go off—that’s what you are. Your Uncle Anas was right. Do you realize that I could have your brother thrown in prison right now for stealing? It would even be aggravated since he was with a group and planned it in advance. And just look at what he did to me. We’ll find witnesses, so you don’t have to worry about that. That should be enough to give him five to seven, easy. But I have a different idea. I want to put this behind us, and I’ll even forget about the money your brother still owes me. I’ll forget the whole thing. But you have to promise me that I’ll never again see or hear anything from you or your brother. You have your life, and I have mine. Let’s just leave each other alone.”

“You really are a bastard,” I heard from the other end of the line. “I had no idea.”

“You reap what you sow,” I answered. “Or did you think I was just going to kiss your ass while I’m getting yelled at, beat up, and robbed? You still didn’t answer me, woman. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” El answered before hanging up.

I breathed a sigh of relief, leaned up against the wall, and complained to Vika. “That family will be the death of me.”

She was standing there with a satisfied smile on her face and winked at me. “So, we’re heading to the ZAGS soon?”

I decided not to take the bait. “I’m hungry. Want to order a pizza? Maybe with ham and pepperoni, something nice and filling?”

***

The excitement of the week’s beginning faded into the past, and I had a great Thursday. I couldn’t play yet since my body still ached, but I watched more TV than I had the previous few years combined. As it turned out, there’s plenty to watch during the day—who needs evening or weekend TV? I got the feeling that “prime time” is just a concept thought up by TV bosses to get more people watching their shows.

That evening, I read through the third release of the Fayroll Times and was very happy with my team’s work. A recognizable face and style were emerging with each subsequent issue.

***

On Friday, I saw Vika off on her way to work and closed the door behind her with a quietly happy feeling, ready to jump back into the capsule—life in Fayroll was pretty good. It was certainly quieter and more welcoming. Although to be fair, you never knew where to look for the next arrow flying at you… Maybe it was the fact that you could rely on yourself more in the game, rather than being so dependent on the people around you? Who knows…?

Nothing had changed in the game. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and NPCs shared the streets with the occasional player.

Kroytsen certainly didn’t appear to be the game’s most popular city, even considering the fact that it was a weekday. That didn’t matter to me, however; I had a meeting with the group to get to. There was half an hour left before the deadline. That should be plenty even though I have to get some things done first.

The first thing was to head to the nearest mailbox since the little envelope in the interface showed me that I had mail. I figured it was money from the auction.

There was money for me, but I was surprised to see that there were also two very unexpected letters. One was from Elina, my favorite clan leader; the other was from Milly Re.

I was even more surprised by the fact that the two letters were nearly identical. Both ladies needed to see me right away to talk about something highly important. I was supposed to—or rather absolutely had to—get in touch as soon as I logged in. They would both be waiting impatiently. What in heaven’s name do they need from me? I mused back to how good life was when I first started playing. Nobody knew me, I didn’t owe anyone anything, all I had to do was avoid Euiikh, and I was golden. I could just give all this up and go live in the swamp with my dearly beloved.

Life pressed on, however, and I, well-mannered and cultured that I was, needed to answer. I sent them identical replies.

Dear recipient,

I would be happy to meet with you, although I am unable to do so at present. Today, Friday, at 10 a.m., I am leaving for a trip through the mountains that will take me to the northern part of the continent.

As soon as I arrive, I will get in touch to set up a meeting.

Yours truly,

Hagen

A well-written letter, I thought, that politely and clearly said I was too busy wandering through tunnels and dodging rock slides to think about them. Very romantic.

My secretarial duties done, I visited a trader to buy some dried meat. Food in Fayroll was simpler than in other games. All you got from eating it was a faster regeneration time for your life energy. Some games offered an attribute boost for chowing down on some roast pig, but we didn’t have anything like that. Nothing even happened if you decided to go without eating completely. You could just indulge after a tough battle to get back on your feet.

After dropping by my hotel room to drop off the money, I set off for the gate at a brisk trot. Time was ticking, and it was just about time to leave.

There were already five people at the gate, and all of them had the Hounds’ symbol over their heads. That has to be the group of kiddies I’m supposed to join. “Kiddies” may not have been the right word, though; none of them were below Level 50.

I recognized Fitz from the Gray Witch’s office. He was yelling some kind of lesson at one of my future companions.

“Oh, you ‘thought’? You mean to tell me that the head of cabbage sitting on your shoulders is what you use to think with? The decomposition going on up there is actually some kind of cognitive process? I’m going to have to disappoint you; you have no business anywhere near the word ‘cognitive.’”

I walked over to the red-faced warrior and announced my presence. “Hagen, participant in the Northern Campaign. Present and accounted for.”

Fitz turned to me, rolled his eyes when he remembered who I was, and growled at me. “Fall in with the rest. Yes, that bunch of no-good animals. At least, they’ll have one real person in the group.”

“Fitz, do you ever get tired of yelling?” I heard a lazily imperious voice call out.

Turning, I found the owner of the voice was a Level 98 elf warrior named Miurat. So he’s the reinforcements they sent.

“Well, we all know how you can get out of anything, but I have to make sure these idiots get to the other side of the mountains—all of them, preferably,” roared Fitz. I was getting the impression that he was the kind of person who spoke in a bellow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Miurat replied impressively. “I’m coming with you and sharing the responsibility for everyone, so I’ll be right there with you if anything goes wrong.”

“Like in Mirron?” growled Fitz spitefully.

“You watch your tongue!” answered Miurat, losing for a second his gentility in favor of a flash of anger. “You weren’t there, so you don’t get to have an opinion on what happened.”

“You’re right; I went too far,” answered Fitz quickly. “Okay, is everyone here?”

“Yep,” answered a Level 51 archer girl with the hard-to-pronounce name of Tirnuvinuel. “Weren’t there supposed to be just five of us though?”

“Correct,” confirmed Miurat. “Six with our Thunderbird friend, eight with the two of us. We should be fine.”

“Why is a Thunderbird coming with us?” asked a warrior dwarf named Frag.

“Because,” Fitz said, glowering, “we’re allied with the Thunderbirds, so they’re friends of the clan. You’re all too green to see how they fought on the walls of the Wild Heart citadel. This one may not look like much, but he made a name for himself there.” Fitz jabbed a finger in my direction. “He was in the middle Mouse, right on the top level, and he was one of only a few to survive. So there you go.”

“Oh, really?” Miurat’s eyebrows shot up. “That was you? Valent told me how you saved his life.”

My companions turned respect-filled faces toward me. Fitz and Miurat certainly were talking me up.

“Well, not exactly. I just backed him up a little,” I said modestly.

“We’ll talk when we stop for breaks,” said Miurat before going to stand next to Fitz.

“All right, fighters!” screamed Fitz at the top of his lungs. “Check one more time to make sure you have everything you need. Potions, good; weapons, equipment all repaired? You have exactly ten minutes before we leave. If you need more time, you can spend it sitting here picking your nose.”

Oh, no! I haven’t repaired my equipment in forever!

I quickly looked around and located the blacksmith. Happily, he was nearby, and so I moved in that direction as casually as I could (I had a reputation to uphold, after all).

Thankfully, equipment repair in Fayroll was fast, if pricey. I was done by the time our ten minutes were up, and we heard our “Everyone ready?” We left peaceful, calm Kroytsen behind us. In front of us, loomed the mountains.

Once out of the city, I started to get the jitters. I was setting out on one of my most risky endeavors to that point in Fayroll. My life certainly hadn’t been smooth sailing before that point, though I had always stuck to areas I could handle or where I had powerful backup to make sure everything would be okay. This time, we’d be going through an infamous location I was a good seven levels short of being ready for. The group was made up of similarly low-level players, a brave soldier with the manners of a drill sergeant, and an unflappable elf I couldn’t get a read on. I had good reason to be nervous.

Lost in my thoughts, I gradually fell back to the rear of the column and realized I was last in line. Oh, no, there’s Miurat catching up to us.

“Don’t worry,” he said as he came up to me. “We’ll be fine. The mines are bad, of course, but I’ve been through them three times—both directions. Fitz has been there, too. We wouldn’t let anything happen to the Gray Witch’s personal friend, would we?”

He winked at me and headed up the column to catch up with Fitz.

***

From the third edition of the Fayroll Times:

…his colleagues all referred to him as a great person and a highly competent professional.

Fayroll as we know it was, in many ways, his baby, and it is hard to believe that he has left, for good, a world he knew so intimately.

Classes: which one is right for you?

Mages, Part 3.

…and other spells. At the beginning levels, mages also face a critical decision: which school they will practice. The choices are the schools of air, fire, water, and earth, and they are what determine how effective a mage’s spells will be in those and other areas…

History and Creation of the World

Nobody expected the advent of the gods in Fayroll. The dragons assumed the gods’ arrival marked a challenge to their power; the light races looked to them as protectors and patrons; and the dark races regarded them as worthy of adoration. The true reason the gods came was to achieve absolute dominion over the Fayroll world.

Announcements

Dear readers,

As you no doubt understand, we are in no position to keep track of everything going on in Fayroll, no matter how much we would like to do so. With that in mind, please send us short overviews of the events you think are worth publishing.

Excerpts from the Fayroll Chronicle

The yearly Silver Arrow competition was held in the Borderlands. Hundreds of Fayroll’s best archers gathered in Nottsburg for two days and three rounds of shooting. The winner was Ellan of the Plain from the Leviathans clan. He was given the traditional silver arrow and the 20,000 gold purse.

The Eyes of the Beast clan visited Ouk Cave in search of Klatornakh, an epic monster. The entire clan went in, but not a soul returned to tell the tale. Unfortunately, that is how some raids end…

An attempt to descend Nabia Falls in the southern reaches ended in the death of a well-known adventurer. TurDal, a famous traveler and adrenaline junkie, decided to conquer the enormous and nearly vertical waterfall by locking himself in a barrel and throwing himself into the river just upstream of the falls. When the barrel reached the bottom and was plucked out of the water, the players waiting there found only the brave dwarf’s possessions. TurDal remains optimistic and is looking for other ways to master the watery beast.

Fun Times in Fayroll

Today, we learned, yet again, that just about anything is possible in Fayroll. Just recently, three alchemists in Anselm, a town on the southern coast, made a bet about which of them—in three weeks—could make the most realistic grenade they could using nothing but alchemical ingredients. The results have been explosive: a burned-down building, a partially melted road, and ten scalded people living in what had, until the bet, been a very quiet town. The local government evacuated part of the population. We will keep an eye on events and fill you in as they develop further.

Coming up in the next edition:

An interview with Harry the Eye, head of Rivenholm’s strongest clan.

Chapter Three

In which the hero finds himself crawling around underground, yet again.

The mountains towered high above us. I’ll be honest, they were the biggest I’d ever seen—the Pyrenees and the American Cordillera had nothing on what was right in front of me. You couldn’t help but realize how small and insignificant you were standing there.

It was as if the mountains were saying, “Well, hello there, you little bug. Oh, you’re going to climb around on us? Be our guest. Your whole life is an instant to us, a gust of wind in our peaks.”

We noobs were the only ones staring up at the mountains, by the way. Our veterans had been around the block a few times and remained untouched by their beauty. Still, Fitz and Miurat knew how we felt, so they gave us a few minutes to gaze at the majestic splendor. Once they saw our glances shift from the snow caps to the snarled mess of stones around the foreboding entrance to the infamous mines, they started in on their first and, presumably, only briefing.

“Listen, kids. We’re about to enter the Rina Mines, a rotten, unpleasant, and evil place,” said Fitz, laconic to a fault.

I shifted my stance and was about to ask a question when I saw Miurat motion me to keep quiet—there would be time for questions later. Fitz continued his speech.

“Your job is simple: stay alive. But for that to happen in the mines, we’re going to have to be a well-oiled, precise, and steady machine. If we aren’t, Miurat and I will be the only two walking out the other side—and maybe just me. So, you can check your ambitions at the door, forget your high opinion of yourselves and leave what you have to do in the North alone for now. That’s it. Questions?”

Fitz bristled his mustache, coughed, spat, and looked us over with a threatening glance that told us he’d be jamming any questions we asked right back down our throats. The young Hounds obviously had questions, though the timid way they were looking back at our leader made it clear to me that none of them wanted to risk it. I raised my hand. Who cares what Fitz thinks of me?

“I have a couple questions.”

“Yes?” The warrior’s brows creased menacingly.

“What do you mean, it’s an ‘evil’ place? God-forsaken like Snakeville or something else?”

“Nobody knows what’s in Snakeville, and the people who do, don’t talk about it,” answered Miurat before Fitz had a chance. “Here, it’s simple. The mines are an alternate route to the North. It’s shorter, faster, easier, and not as cold as the pass, but it comes with a price. It’s incredibly dangerous and hard on you mentally.”

“Mentally?” I asked.

“Yes.” Miurat tucked his hands behind his back like a professor beginning his lecture. “Nobody likes being down there in the mines, even—you’d be surprised—dwarves. The whole time, you feel a relentless psychological pressure bearing down on you. You see the souls of burned miners; you hear footfalls and cries; and the darkness whispers in your ears. You may even see fragments of a battle. Also, don’t be surprised if someone who just died appears to you. A guy I know was shocked to see a girl from his clan he’d been chatting with not an hour before.”

“Why are there burned miners?” I asked with interest.

“Oh, that’s a fascinating story,” answered Miurat, perking up. “Back when—”

“Enough!” barked Fitz. His whiskers stood on end. “You can chat later. We have to get to the Ninth Hall, which is about eight hours away including breaks, and we may have to fight our way there.”

“Okay,” Miurat said to me softly, “I’ll tell you on the way. And stay close to me, by the way. Do you like to play the hero?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that.” Miurat smiled. “You know, ‘one for all and all for one,’ ‘go out in a blaze of glory,’ all that. Do you have a thing for heroics?”

“Me? No, I don’t care about all that,” I answered honestly. “I mean, I won’t run from a fight or abandon the group, and I’ll do my level best, but I try to stay away from the middle of things.”

“Excellent,” said Miurat. “I think we’ll get along fine.”

I nodded. “Agreed. Two smart people can always find common ground.”

“Okay, fighters, let me remind you one more time,” said Fitz, who was finding his stride as an orator. “The key in the mines is discipline. Relax, get cut off from the group, and you’re a goner. Nobody makes it alone in the mines. That’s a theory that’s been tested on many an occasion and by players much more advanced than you. Oh, and if you die, you can kiss your belongings goodbye—portal scrolls don’t work in the mines. Not even the messaging system does. Everything clear?”

“Got it,” we answered discordantly.

“We’ll go like this.” Fitz waved at us. “I’m up front, behind me are Frag and Moris.”

The dwarf and human, both warriors, nodded. Fitz noted their assent and kept going.

“Then Tirnuvinuel…” He shook his whiskered head as if brushing off a fly. “That’s too much of a mouthful—you’re going to be Trina from now on. Flores will be next to you.”

The elf archer and mage girl also nodded, stepping into position.

“Okay, next is you, Hagen, and Engis.” The healer standing next to me glanced quickly in my direction. “Miurat will bring up the rear. Questions?”

Nobody said a word.

“Excellent. Flores, go ahead and buff us with whatever you can, and let’s go. We should’ve been in the mines an hour ago.”

Flores waved his staff, blurted out something unintelligible, and I got +25% to my life energy restoration speed for two hours.

“Great,” growled Fitz happily. “Well done. Oh, I almost forgot; there’ll be all kinds of armor, weapons, and whatnot lying around just begging to be picked up. Don’t even think about it! I won’t lift a finger to help you since there’s no chance you’ll get back to the group alive. You don’t make it far in the mines by being greedy.”

“A-a-ah, that’s a shame,” said Frag. Dwarves are a rapacious bunch even when they have yet to see what’s going to be out there for the taking.

Fitz looked at him fiercely before giving one final order. “Move out!”

Our column tramped into the looming chasm that served as the entrance to the mines.

You entered the abandoned mines under the Rina Mountain. Long ago, hardworking dwarves worked veins of rich gold and precious gems until a fight broke out in the Last War between…

I would have liked to read what happened, but I closed the message to make sure I kept up with Fitz.

Everything inside was gloomy. To be fair, nothing is ever much fun underground, I don’t think, either in the game or in real life. There’s no space, the air is stale…it’s just unpleasant, in a word. But in the mines, it wasn’t just the walls and ceiling closing in on us; the very atmosphere was depressing. It was like somebody had started sucking the life out of us drop by drop.

“Well, has it started to get to you?” asked Fitz quietly.

Everyone except Miurat nodded in unison.

“This is nothing,” the veteran said. “It’ll get worse. You just pray to all the gods that we don’t meet a marching band of dark dwarves—that’s when it’ll get really bad awfully quick! Okay, let’s go.”

The column moved forward. We must have looked positively infernal in the dim light illuminating the way forward. The light came from the many mushrooms covering the walls. It looked like they were there to match the glowing moss I’d seen in the citadel dungeons.

“What was that about a band of dark dwarves?” I quietly asked Miurat, who was walking behind me.

“Dark dwarves?” he responded. “Ah, that’s a long story.”

Miurat dove into the whole history of the mines. Engis listened in next to me, although he didn’t catch the whole thing.

It turned out that, at one point, the mines were the biggest supplier of gold and diamonds for the entire continent, and they kept up a steady supply of other jewels as well. Master dwarves lived there picking away at the rock, cutting the stones they found and setting them in jewelry pieces they also created. Wars waxed and waned around them, but the dwarves in the mines, in contrast to many of their kin above ground, had no interest in the combat raging outside. However, the peace and quiet they enjoyed came to an end in the dying moments of the Second War of Hatred. The remnants of the dark army were corralled near the mines, driven like wolves before the oath-breaking light side, whose only guiding principle was to unite all good races and destroy the bad.

Two regiments of dark dwarves, a sparse race of incredibly strong fanatics devoted to the dark side, made it into the mines. Unlike regular dwarves—with whom they mingled between wars by necessity and who generally made fine art—the dark dwarves were always ready for a fight. They often hired themselves out as mercenaries and only ever made weapons and armor. Darkness was their only allegiance, as they were said to have been created by Tekhosh, the God of Darkness, himself.

Those pleasant fellows were the ones who were swept into the mines we now walked through. They quickly slaughtered most of the locals, took up positions, built defenses, and prepared to repulse the attack of the light forces.

At the same time, some regular dwarves managed to escape the mines through secret passages and got word to the light side that their evil kinsmen were killing their way through the mountains. The dark dwarves needed to be destroyed, they said.

The light side had no desire to get caught in the narrow spaces underground, where all the advantages would be on the side of the defenders. They discussed the problem and decided on a simple solution—a Fireworm born in the fires of light magic. It took an unbelievable amount of magical energy, but it was a plan as sure not to backfire as a Winchester rifle. The enormous worm wouldn’t leave the mines until it scorched to death everyone inside.

To hasten the process and offer a more humane end to those in the mine (burning them alive was cruel and painful), the light mages also released a pair of Poison Flowers in the mines—another incantation used for mass destruction. It was like mustard gas, only it smelled better.

As a result, everyone inside burned or was poisoned to death, including all of the dark dwarves, the remainder of their regular dwarf kin, and all the rest of the intelligent and unintelligent creatures living in the caves. The latter included ice devils, fellings, and yetis, not to mention the remains of a tribe of swimmers—strange creatures that live on the banks of underground lakes. They were a quiet, harmless, and peaceful group of fish-eaters that would never hurt a fly and lived for their two innocent pleasures: collecting jewelry and telling riddles.

Nobody knows who cast the dying curse, though somebody did cast one. The souls of all those who met their end at the hands of the light races in the mines stayed there to roam the tunnels restlessly. While death certainly made them no tamer, most of those doomed to remain preferred only to scare those they came across. Just a few of the races became the blood-letters that gave the mines their fearsome reputation.

Dwarves tried on multiple occasions to push their way back into the mines, putting together forces that marched resolutely underground, but only tens of the thousands who went in actually returned. Veterans of those attempts did their best to forget what happened inside. None of them would say a word about what they’d seen.

The dwarves eventually gave up on the mines, figuring that the wealth they held came at too high a price. Centuries passed without the evil in the mines disappearing, and nobody paid much attention to them. Nothing ever came out, day or night. All you had to do was take one step out an entrance or exit, and you were free. The inside was another matter entirely…

Things had only gotten worse by the time we arrived. New tunnels had been dug, goodness knows when and by whom. There were a multitude of traps; bloodthirsty ghosts were everywhere; and the local fauna had spread throughout the caves: ice devils, malicious and fanged creatures that posed no threat alone but were incredibly dangerous in packs. The walls and ceiling could also cave in at any moment. The worst part, however, was the fear that ate away at your soul and sapped the attention you needed to survive.

That was why most travelers preferred to spend several days climbing through snow and ice in the pass rather than risk the short but ghastly paths through the abandoned mines.

“And that’s how it is,” said Miurat, wrapping up his story.

“Wow.” I shook my head respectfully. “Impressive.”

“Did you think it would be anything else?” asked Miurat. “Okay, we’ll talk later. That’s the entrance to the First Hall up ahead.”

Fitz raised a hand from the front of the column, letting us know in no uncertain terms that we needed to halt. Even in the dim light, I could see that he was right at the exit of the tunnel we’d been walking through.

I couldn’t tell what was going on since there were too many people in between me and the hall to see in. It wasn’t good; that much was certain.

Fitz waved us all closer. We crowded in and carefully peeked into the opening. I don’t know how it affected everyone else, but I felt sick to my stomach. If I hadn’t known that I would die and irretrievably lose everything I had with me before I ever made it out of the mines, I would have turned around and happily joined forces with the smugglers to get through the pass.

It was a medium-sized room that featured half a dozen dwarves swinging tools at a vein of gold in the middle of the room. Their beards bristled, they chatted with each other, and every once in a while they bent over to pick something up and put it in purses on their belts. It would have been just a few of the little guys going about their daily life if it hadn’t been for one fact: all of them were ghosts. They were blue, semi-transparent, and absolutely repulsive. And even though nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary with their clothes, the dwarves themselves appeared to be in exactly the state in which they died. Discolored, badly burned faces were covered in singed beards, and burns ate away at their arms. “Repulsive” didn’t begin to describe them.

“Listen,” said Fitz in a whisper. “We’ll walk single file along the right-hand wall until we get to the next passageway. See it over there on that side of the room?”

We nodded.

“Keep the noise down and watch your step. If we’re quiet, there’s a chance they won’t attack us or even notice we’re here. If you make noise, we’ll have to kill them. Forget that there aren’t that many of them; they’re nasty, and they’ll give us some nice debuffs.”

“And they can call for help,” added Miurat.

“I’m going first, then everyone behind me in order,” hissed Fitz. “Stay five strides behind the person in front of you. We’re safe once we get to that passage.”

Fitz slipped ahead with a light tread. I was surprised to see how cat-like he could make his gigantic figure.

Miurat poked Frag, who was staring at the undead.

“Wake up, let’s go. Be quiet.”

Finally, it was my turn. I took up position next to the wall, nervous about tripping over some small stone and therefore keeping a close eye on where I was stepping. The ghosts in the middle of the room were far too terrifying to look at as it was.

Right then, Trina, who had almost gotten to the far passageway to the next tunnel, scraped her bow up against the wall. We heard the grinding sound and immediately following a hissed order from Fitz.

“Halt! Freeze!”

We froze all right. Against my will, I turned my eyes toward the middle of the room. The ghostly dwarves had forgotten their work and were looking in our direction.

I swear, one of them glanced directly at me. Our eyes met for a second, and I found myself staring into the abyss. Raging madness danced in his eyes.

Time stood still as I waited for the six dwarves to hurl themselves at us. If any of us had moved, that’s probably what would have happened, but not a single muscle fiber twitched. One of the dwarves, apparently the one in charge, looked over at us one more time, shook his finger at us threateningly, and motioned for his friends to get back to work.

“Let’s go,” we heard Fitz whisper.

If we had been doing our best to follow orders and be quiet before then, I don’t think anyone’s feet actually touched the ground after that. We realized that we wouldn’t get off with just a finger-shaking the second time around.

Fitz’s whispered voice was on its third minute laying into Trina when Miurat walked through the passageway. She stood there somewhere between living and dead, her eyes on the floor and her nose quivering.

Finally, Fitz had his fill. “We’ll keep going in the same order. And this time listen to me!”

We were ready to do anything he said so long as he got us out of there.

I should note that the mines were nothing if not uniform. The wall and the tunnels that from time to time opened out of them, the mushrooms on the walls, the standard rooms we went through and, happily, didn’t find any more of the locals in—everything was identical. An hour later we were forced to draw our weapons for the first time when we came across two yetis in one of the tunnels. They were big and aggressive, though they made up for it with their stupidity. We may not have been able to take them out alone or in pairs, but the group together made short work of them.

In another three hours, Fitz raised his hand. “Welcome to the first attraction: the Fifth Hall. Keep an eye out—it’s enormous, and there are plenty of surprises. Sometimes groups can get through without meeting anyone, other times, you have to fight for every inch. We’re going to see what kind of luck you all have. Stay close, but don’t get in each other’s way.”

We carefully walked into the huge room, the other side of which was hidden somewhere far off in the darkness. I was expecting hordes to rush us like some kind of Moria. Nothing. It was just a room with piles of trash here and there. I saw a cocoon on one of them where some poor traveler had met his end and poked Engis.

“Look, some stuff over there.”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Can you imagine how much there is?”

“Quite a bit,” said Miurat from behind us. He was turning his head so quickly from side to side that it looked like it was on a swivel. “And everything’s just waiting for you to pick it up.”

Engis and I glanced at each other with the same thought in our minds—leave well enough alone; it wasn’t worth the risk.

The room was gigantic. We walked past some kind of dark patches, and some had fires flashing out every once in a while. The sudden flames unexpectedly rushing out of the ground and walls were terrifying. The darkness along the walls wavered back and forth, looking just about ready to attack us.

Here and there, were cocoons left by previous adventure-seekers. Even we could hear Frag cluck his tongue when we saw the ornate handle of a halberd poking up from between two slabs in the floor.

“We’re almost there,” I heard Miurat say, and started to feel better. The narrow tunnel was much better than the vast room, where I felt bare and defenseless.

“Hey!” Frag said just as Fritz walked through the passageway between the Fifth Hall and the next tunnel. “That’s a set hammer!”

The dwarf’s figure leaped away from the passage, ignoring Fitz’s cry. “Stop, you fool!”

I saw his hand close around the hammer’s handle and pull it away from the pile of trash it was lying on.

Maybe he’ll get away with it.

He didn’t. The handle evaporated as we watched, after which a whitish shroud appeared out of nowhere and enveloped Frag. He disappeared beneath it before anybody had time to react.

“A-a-ah!” came his scream. “Help!”

The only sound we heard after that was Fitz’s roar. “Stand where you are. Not a step!”

He didn’t have to say anything. None of us was going anywhere since we could all see that the dwarf was a goner.

The white shroud shuddered a few times as if breathing in and out, hung there for a minute, and floated down to the ground.

The very same handle belonging to the hammer stared back at us, though this time there was a cocoon next to it. That was all that was left of Frag.

“It’s his own fault,” said Miurat from behind us. “Greed killed the dwarf. Let’s keep going.”

Everything thereafter was the same—tunnels, halls, passageways. We walked along through the monotony, realizing more and more how hopeless they were, how foreign we were, and how we were probably doomed to wander on until we found peace as part of the local scenery. There was a constant feeling of someone whispering in our ears.

You won’t get out of here. Stop torturing yourself and let death come. It’s easier that way. Simpler.

But we kept going. There were more tunnels shooting off in every direction, and the light coming from the mushrooms grew fainter.

“Ah, there we are, almost done for today,” Miurat said to me a short while later. He picked up his pace and caught up to Fitz, telling him something when he got there. Fitz nodded and held up a hand. We followed his direction to the right.

We turned again and again, soon seeing some kind of bright gleams far off. Five minutes later, we walked into a small room with a hillock in the middle. A fire burned at the top of it.

“Time for a halt,” Miurat said without bothering to lower his voice. “There are five of these spots in the mines. They’re in all the big dungeons. Monsters and ghosts don’t come here, you get a break from the mental effects, and there aren’t any traps. We’ll spend the night here.”

It was true; the weight of the past several hours fell off our shoulders, and it became easier to breathe.

“Engis,” I said, turning to my partner. He didn’t answer. I spun around and saw that he was nowhere to be found.

“Fitz,” I said quietly to our leader, sensing that something was wrong. “Engis is missing.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” asked Fitz.

“When you waved. I followed you and didn’t look around for him as we went.”

“How many turns did we make? More than five, wouldn’t you say?” Fitz asked Miurat.

The latter nodded.

“Then Engis is dead,” said Fitz calmly. “Let’s get some sleep.”

I looked back at the darkness of the tunnel we’d just come from before lying down on my side.

Chapter Four

In which the hero sees the light at the end of the tunnel.

Once we’d all clambered up onto the hill, Fitz addressed us.

“All right, everyone, that’s all for today. Tomorrow, be here at 9 a.m. You won’t want to be late because we won’t wait for anyone. Otherwise, you can just spend the rest of your lives here.”

That made sense to us all, given that the day’s events had put us all past kidding around. He was serious, and we all took him at his word.

I got comfortable next to the fire, stared thoughtfully into the flames for a minute, and logged out of the game.

Being above ground was unsettling. I hadn’t been in the mines for too long, but my brain was obviously having a hard time with the incredible contrast between my real-life apartment and the bluish gloom underground. It was something like how divers who come up too fast have their blood boil. In my case, it was my brain boiling.

I threw a shot of tequila down the hatch to ease my nerves, not bothering with all the salt and lemon you see in the movies, and earned myself a reproachful glance from Vika. She had apparently gotten back from the office a while before I stepped out of the capsule.

“What?” I asked disgruntledly.

“Nothing,” she answered in a calm voice. “Just wondering why you went straight for the tequila. I made some borscht[2], and it would make the tequila go down easier. Liquor is always better with something spicy. Plus, it’s exotic: tequila and borscht.”

I felt bad. She’d been looking out for me, and I very nearly jumped down her throat for it. I’ll have to watch that.

“Sure,” I said with a smile, “only Professor Preobrazhensky[3] doesn’t recommend soup with alcohol.”

“Oh, forget all them,” said Vika with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, don’t worry; it doesn’t bother me. You should see Elmira sometimes when she logs out of the game. She recently captured some kind of fortress, and when she got out of the capsule, she was spitting mad. I woke up when I heard her. Then, the next morning, something got on her nerves, and she started yelling all over again. I don’t know what happened, but I just left her alone. She was crazy!”

Interesting. Elmira. Vika’s sister. Captured a fortress recently. Could I know her?

I quickly forgot about all that, however, and focused on the borscht. My mind had cleared, and I needed something hot and spicy with potatoes. Not to mention a couple…well, okay, three more shots. I felt better and went to sleep.

Vika was still asleep when I got up the next morning to smoke two cigarettes. Yes, two. You think I’m itching to crawl back into those mines? The dreams I had that night were enough to make a grown man cry. Anyway, my two cigarettes smoked, I took a deep breath and lay back in the capsule. I’d come that far; might as well go the rest of the way.

As it turned out, I was one of the first there. Fitz and Miurat were already standing by the fire arguing about something, though Fitz smiled and waved when he saw me.

“Well done. The Thunderbirds are disciplined, I see—not like our crap.”

His clan mates weren’t too bad, though, and everyone showed up over the next five minutes with the exception of Trina. She was nowhere to be found.

“All right, time to go. Form up, column!” barked Fitz.

“We’re definitely not going to wait?” Miurat asked him quietly.

“No, I warned everyone that we wouldn’t be waiting. She can find her own way out.”

Miurat wanted to say something, though he contented himself with shaking his head. It was obvious that the only way out was a quick trip to her last headstone.

“There are only about half of us left, so here’s the new order.” Fitz looked us over. “I’m at the front, Flores is behind me, Hagen and Moris are behind her, and Miurat brings up the rear. If we have to fight, we make a circle around Flores. Questions?”

“What do you think?” asked the mage girl dejectedly. “Is there any chance of us getting out of here alive?”

“I’m not sure,” Fitz answered frankly. “We’ll see. We should be okay, though only the gods know what’s waiting for us. Okay, buff us like you did yesterday and let’s get started.”

We walked out of the cave, and I looked back to see that nobody had appeared by the fire. Trina, it appeared, had made a serious mistake she’d be paying dearly for—both when she logged in and later. But that was her problem. I was more worried about how I was going to get out.

The tunnels and branches were the same as the ones I’d gotten so tired of the day before. A feeling of hopelessness and despair seeped through my bones and muscles. There’s a lot you can get used to in this life, but what we were dealing with there was different. It would have been simpler to die than keep going. That’s not the worst idea, actually. A quick jab with my sword, and I would be free. Suddenly, I heard a voice whispering in my head. Exactly. Stop torturing yourself—death is quick, just like life.

My hand crept down to the hilt of my sword, a movement Miurat caught immediately. “Hey, none of that,” he said as he knocked my palm away.

“Fitz, we were trying to figure out who’d be the suicider, and it looks like our friend here drew the short straw.”

“And here I thought it would be Flores!” boomed Fitz through his whiskers.

“What are you talking about?” I stared at Miurat.

“The mines always pick someone in the group to start thinking about killing himself,” he explained. “It’s more interesting that way, I guess, though the person always commits suicide sooner or later if you don’t stop them. I’m just glad you’re a swordsman, and I saw you go for your sword. It’s harder with thieves or mages since they can slip a dagger into their throat before you notice and can stop them.”

“On the other hand, it sure does help everyone else when that happens,” noted Fitz. “For two hours afterward, you don’t have to worry about anything else happening. It’s like a sacrifice to the mines.”

“Sure,” said Flores with exasperation. “Give them blood, and they’ll leave you alone.”

“What can you do?” asked Miurat, shrugging ruefully. “Well, what do you think? Do you still want to kill yourself?”

As they’d been talking, a second voice joined the one telling me to end it all and enter the land of the endless hunt. It was harsh and raspy, and it didn’t waste time before starting to yell at me. What the hell is this? Are you a warrior or not? Don’t give me any of this “easy death” stuff. The only way warriors die is on the field of battle at the blades of their enemies—and that’s it!

Miurat looked at me.

“No,” I mumbled. “The feeling passed.”

The voices in my head had indeed disappeared along with the desire to put an end to myself. I certainly wasn’t about to say anything about the squabble that had just gone on in my mind, so I simply took my hand off my sword and looked at the Hound veterans in a way that assured them I was firmly planted on their side of the grave.

“In that case, let’s keep going,” ordered Fitz. “We’re close to the Ninth Hall, and once we’re through it, we’ll be halfway there. Everything will be simpler after the Ninth Hall.”

“What happens there?” I asked Miurat quietly.

“You never know, just like everywhere else down here. Assuming you know that something will happen in the mines is the worst mistake you can make. As far as the Ninth Hall is concerned, I’ve been there twice. The first time, we got through it in ten minutes without coming across anything. Just silence, dust, and the usual twilight.”

“And the second?”

“I didn’t make it out the second time, and neither did half our group. A herd of ice devils attacked us out of nowhere when we got to the middle and slaughtered a good number of us. We didn’t stand a chance.”

“Quiet,” said Fitz, hushing us. “We’re here.”

We stood at the entrance to a gigantic room. All it took was what little we could see through the passageway to tell us how big it was.

“Okay, we go like usual—quietly and trying to avoid being seen,” Fitz said. “Just remember, the worst of the mines always happens to whoever is noisiest and whoever decides not to follow orders.”

He walked out of the passageway, battle ax at the ready. His head swiveled side to side, as he made sure there weren’t any clear or direct threats. A gesture with his chin let us know that it was time to follow him in.

You unlocked In the Depths.

To get it, enter 9 more large caves located in different Fayroll dungeons.

Reward:

Title: Veteran of the Darkness

+2 to wisdom

To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

I was happy to get at least some sort of benefit from the mines, though the chances of me getting the action were slim to none. I’ll probably be staying away from holes in the ground for a while.

The room really was enormous. The sickly mushroom light mixed with flairs of sunlight leaking in through cracks in the ceiling high above us. We were apparently inside one of the Rina Mountain peaks. The mix of lighting made for whimsical shadow play that I found enchanting. It was obvious that the dwarves had kept their tools away from that particular area, loath to spoil the room’s natural beauty.

We made our way through the Ninth Hall without making a sound. I wasn’t sure what my companions felt, but I couldn’t help once again noticing my insignificance in the face of the grandeur around me.

There wasn’t anyone else in the room, but Fitz’s constantly quickening pace told me he found the emptiness unnerving.

The daylight was starting to fade as we approached the exit, giving way to the usual blue before disappearing altogether. The blue color, however, grew stronger until we could see some kind of ultraviolet light raging its way through the corridor.

“What is—” I opened my mouth to ask the question, but Fitz, eyes bulging, yelled back at us in a voice no louder than a whisper (I had never realized such a thing was possible), “Into the corner! Everyone into the corner! Go!”

“Didn’t you say…?” Moris was about to object when Fitz ignored him and sprinted away from the passageway into a corner of the room.

I had no idea what was going on, but I figured I should follow suit if even Fitz, who wasn’t prone to being jumpy or panicking, decided it was time to run.

Once in the corner, we found Fitz waving us over from his prone position behind a pile of trash. He motioned for us to get down next to him, which we did just in time.

The blue glow coming from the corridor burst into the Ninth Hall accompanied by dwarf ghosts. They were no ordinary dwarves, however, and the difference wasn’t so much that they were taller and had shorter beards; it was their spectral faces. Even the faces of the burned dwarves I’d found so terrifying had retained some of their race’s former peacefulness. But the faces marching by me were twisted with hatred and anger toward all things living. They tramped by in a steady march, the column equipped with identical armor and battle axes resting on their shoulders.

Row after row poured out of the passageway, their radiance illuminating the hall and instilling yet another wave of horror in us. Is there anything in the mines that doesn’t project fear like that? I missed the yetis we’d fought the day before; they, at least, were warm-blooded.

The column of dark dwarves (Who else could they be?) finally finished filing out of the tunnel and wound its way into the heart of the Ninth Hall. Fitz peeked over the trash and watched them carefully, checking to make sure that they’d left without leaving any patrols behind.

When the glow from the dark dwarves finally disappeared, Fitz got up and brushed himself off. “Aren’t you a bunch of lucky ducks? Most people have never seen them on parade, and here you got to see them your first time.”

“On parade?” asked Moris in surprise.

“Yes, that’s what it’s called,” explained Fitz. “Those were dark dwarf ghosts marching, the ones they burned and poisoned here. They’re still here, and they parade around like that with their weapons drawn—let them find you, and you’re dead. They’ll hunt you down if you try to run away, too. The worst, though, is that they’re the only ones in the mines—and maybe in all of Fayroll—who don’t kill players right away. They torture them first.”

“Really?” I was having a hard time believing that. “But what about the game rules? And censorship?”

“I don’t know; it’s just something I’ve heard from people who have been around the block a few times.” Fitz frowned. “I haven’t tested the theory out myself.” He spat over his shoulder.

“I’ve heard that, too,” said Miurat, who joined the conversation. “They even say the dark dwarves here in the mines are waiting for the rebirth of the Dark Lord, and that they’ll be his personal guard when he takes his throne. That’s why they kill everyone they meet; they don’t want anyone to know where they are.”

“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” Fitz said with a grunt. “Where is the Dark Lord going to come from? Just a bunch of nonsense. Okay, let’s get out of here. The way will be clear for another hour now that the dwarves have cleared it. Even the scum down here are afraid of them.”

We headed toward the exit, brushing trash from the filthy floor off of us as we went. Next to me, Flores shook off her mantle.

“I don’t even sweep at home, but here—”

I was about to mention that having a mess at home is nothing to be proud of when a large, black shadow bounded across the hall and raked Flores with its claws. The latter dropped with a cry, and I grabbed my sword, only to hear Fitz roar back at us. “A cavewight, damn it! You’ve got to be kidding me! It was hiding from the dwarves the same as we were.”

He whipped out his ax and tried to leap forward to sink it into the shadow, but he was too slow.

At the same time, the rest of us were trying to catch it with our blades, but it dodged them all and leaped away down the hall in the direction the dark dwarves had gone.

When we turned to look back for Flores, all that was left was a cocoon. Fitz picked it up. “I’ll give it to her, don’t worry. Okay, in pairs now, Moris with me, let’s go.”

I turned toward Miurat, who was next to me, as we walked away. “What was that thing?”

“The cavewight? Oh, they’re nasty all right—partially intelligent, incredibly strong and agile, and with incredible hearing and vision. There are only a handful of players that would even think about taking them on by themselves. Cavewights can always figure out which side is stronger in a fight. If Fitz weren’t here, believe me, that monster would have ripped into us and sent us all to an early grave.”

“Wow,” I said, looking back over my shoulder. “Are there a lot of them?”

“One, maybe two. This set of caves belong to that one, and they don’t share food or territory with each other. Thank God, there aren’t many of them. I just hope it’s not following us.”

We kept moving forward, one foot after another, hour after hour, halls following passages. At one point, we had to climb over a cave-in that Fitz nervously said looked fresh.

Nothing happened in the Tenth or Eleventh Halls, but just as we were about to enter the Twelfth Hall, which was the last in our journey, Fitz turned to us. “Well, everyone, we’re almost there. On the other side of the room is a tunnel, then one more tunnel, then a tiny little room, a small passageway, a turn, and we can breathe fresh air again. Moris, well done—you’ve impressed me down here. Hagen, I’ll be writing the same to your leader.”

“Fitz, let’s not count our chickens before they hatch. That’s a bad omen,” said Miurat quickly.

“Oh, come on, don’t be superstitious.” Fitz laughed gruffly. “Okay, let’s go.”

We walked into the hall, which was pretty large, if nothing like the Ninth Hall. Our barely noticeable path took us straight down the middle as usual, and everything was so normal that I didn’t even notice what happened at first. Something white flashed, and Moris disappeared from my field of vision with a cry. A second later, we heard his yell receding into the distance.

“Run!” roared Fitz, apparently no longer caring who or what might notice us. “Run for the tunnel! Ice devils!”

Miurat shoved me forward as he took off headlong toward the exit, and I sprinted after him, looking back as I did. All I could see in the middle of the path was some kind of black hole that poor Moris had fallen—or been shoved—into, as well as something white that was far off but approaching quickly. I realized it was less “something” and more a heaving mass of ice devils. That did nothing for my hopes of getting out alive, though the idea of dying so close to the exit after surviving so much spurred me to run even faster. Getting hacked to pieces there, of all places, would have been more than frustrating; it would have been some kind of epic fail.

Ice devils poured out of cracks in the walls and holes in the ceiling to merge with the crowd already hot on our heels and thirsty for our blood. The air was thick with their howls, the ground shook under the onslaught of their pounding feet.

We flew into the tunnel.

“Fitz, you jinxed us, you bastard!” shouted Miurat.

I ran into Fitz—who had stopped—and yelled at him, “What are you waiting for?”

“Run!” he ordered me briefly. “It’s true; I jinxed us. I can hold them for a minute or two while you make a break for it. Wait for me outside!”

He took up a defensive position right outside the entrance to the hall. Miurat dragged me off through the tunnel before I could see what happened. “Go, go, go! There’s no time!”

We had sprinted through that tunnel and almost all of the next before we again heard the hammering of their myriad feet.

“Too late!” Miurat gasped. “Unbelievable. So close!”

We dashed into a room that really was small; maybe twenty strides in diameter.

“You go on alone!” barked Miurat, whipping out his blade. “You’re almost there—go! Go! I’ll meet you outside.”

“I’ll wait there!” I yelled as I ran for the passageway.

I’m not sure if Miurat heard me because the last passageway muffled all the sound traveling back and forth. A small passageway and a turn, I remembered Fitz saying a few minutes before. I made it through the passageway, rounded the corner, and saw soft evening light pouring through the exit in front of me. The sun must have been on its way down.

But that’s when I was knocked off my feet and sent sprawling on the floor. I jumped up, spun around, and brandished my sword.

A couple dozen of the abominable beasts were three steps away from me. They were covered in matted white fur, had twisted horns atop their heads (where they, presumably, got their name), and fangs that jutted out of their mouths. The narrow tunnel meant that only three of them could attack me at a time, but it was enough to keep me from making it out alive. There was no chance of me covering the remaining ground no matter how fast I ran. All that was left was for me to die a hero’s death in battle and ask Miurat to collect my cocoon afterward. Then I’d go take the pass with the smugglers if Fitz and Miurat had already left Kroytsen. Why didn’t I buy any potions? Me and my damn stinginess…

The devil standing in front of the group roared and prepared to leap at me. I held up my sword and crouched behind my shield. Wait a second, what about that thing Wanderer gave me? What did he say? Break it if things are really bad, right? Things, to be fair, were about as bad as they get.

I ducked left, quickly flipped my shield over my shoulder, and dug my hand into my pocket to retrieve the glass figurine that had been there since Wanderer gave it to me. It broke just as the devil finally launched itself at me. I caught him with my sword, threw him to the side, met the second with another strike, slashed one more time, and found myself flung backward. The momentum flipped me around, leaving me on my stomach protected by the shield I still had on my back.

I tensed, anticipating the strike from behind, but instead, I heard the crunching sound of axes biting into flesh.

Turning around, I saw something I never would have thought possible. The ice devils were being hacked to pieces by the dark dwarves. Five of them blocked the passageway, aided by the fact that they were smaller than the devils, and deftly wielded single-handed battleaxes. Behind them, were another five ready to join the battle if need be, as well as some kind of commander further behind them. I blinked, thinking I might be seeing things. The worst of the creatures we’ve seen down here are fighting for me? The ice devils were just as perplexed as I was, judging by how they faltered and started to run off into the darkness.

The dwarf commander turned and looked at me, gesturing with his hand for me to leave. He turned back to his troops.

I decided not to test my luck and figured I could think things through out in the fresh air, so I sprinted toward the exit and found myself on a small stone platform. It was cut out of the mountain and ended in a narrow path leading downward.

A large red sun greeted me as it set behind a cloud and lit the vast green expanses stretching out in front of me. The towers of a city were visible on the horizon.

I made it! And I don’t care what all the employers in the world have to say about it—I’m never going back in with those ice devils.

Sitting down on the platform, I gazed up at the sun and let my mind start to work. I had some things to think about before Miurat and Fitz got there.

Chapter Five

In which all the action takes place on the small stone platform.

I had many more questions in my head than answers. What was that with the dark dwarves? Where did they even come from? I figured they must have just materialized out of the walls, but why did they decide to save me? Even Fitz, fearless as he was, preferred hiding in trash to being seen by them, and they hunted the light races wherever they found them. Who is Wanderer? Sure, he’s an odd duck, but not that odd. Most importantly, how did he get the dark dwarves to help me? Why did Miurat play on Fitz’s honor to get him to cover our retreat? Did he have something in mind, or did he just want to save me? And why did he sacrifice himself? He didn’t seem like that type of person at all.

A few minutes later, I gave up on the whole thing. I knew I wouldn’t be able to come up with any answers, and my brain was about to explode. All in good time. I figured the information I was missing would come later.

I sat on the edge of the platform and dangled my feet over the edge. It was quite a ways down, but there was no scaring me with little things like that after the mines. I figured Fitz and Miurat would show up soon after dropping by a hotel, changing, and porting there. Can you port right here to the platform, or do you have to climb up the mountain? I could have experimented, but I really didn’t want to waste a scroll.

Just when I was about to get to work on something useful like going through my quests and declining a few of them, I heard voices working their way up the stairs. I got up, figuring they belonged to my companions, but a second later, I found they were nothing of the sort. In front of me, were two human warriors named Damian and Mirro. Did they forget something here? They looked like normal players, and neither of them had a PK badge.

“Hi,” I said, waving to them.

“Hey,” answered Mirro. Damian waved back. “Did you just come out of there, by any chance?” He nodded toward the dark mouth of the mines.

“Yep,” I said. “Scared myself half to death, to be honest. Not a great place. Believe me, the two of you have no business going in there. Of the eight of us who went in, I’m the only one who made it out alive.”

“You’re lucky,” said Damian. “If you were the only one who made it. The rest probably died somewhere in the middle, no?”

He asked the question in a neutral, sympathetic tone, but there was something about it I didn’t like.

“Oh, all over,” I answered evasively. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. And why are you waiting here? Shouldn’t you be on your way to the city?” asked Mirro.

“I needed some time,” I answered with conviction, “to calm my nerves down after everything that happened down there.”

“You have to take care of your nerves; you need them to stay healthy,” said Mirro with a nod. “You’re probably waiting for your friends, too, right?”

“What if I am?” I liked the pair less and less. “What’s wrong with that? It’s a team game, after all.”

“So, they probably died near the entrance.” The smile on Damian’s face was unnerving. “High level?”

“That’s none of your business,” I replied sharply with steel in my voice. “They are what they are. Would you mind telling me why you’re asking?”

“It’s simple,” Damian responded, still smiling. “This is our business. Every once in a while, we drop by and check the areas close to the entrance. The players who get this far are usually pretty high-level, so we often get lucky with abandoned cocoons just inside the mines. They let down their guard when they’re this close, and that’s what the mine monsters are waiting for. And then they run off back to the depths when the deed is done. They don’t like the light, so they leave the cocoons here for us.”

There was logic to what he was saying, though letting our guard down wasn’t what did our group in. The ice devils would have slaughtered us either way. Well, okay, Fitz may have relaxed a bit prematurely. Moris, too.

“Well, not this time, gentlemen.” I was doing my best not to exacerbate the situation. “My friends will be coming soon to pick up their things, so I wouldn’t call them abandoned.”

“Why not?” asked Mirro in surprise. “Are they yours? If so, go get them. But if you’re not going in, then we will. You snooze, you lose.”

“Guys, do you really need this?” I had no desire whatsoever to fight them. Each was past Level 60. I may have had an outside shot at killing one of them, but I had no chance against them both. “They’re Hounds of Death veterans, both good friends of the Gray Witch. Is that really something you want to get involved in?”

“Oh, please,” snorted Mirro, having finally decided to throw off the façade of good manners. “Why would Hound veterans take a noob from—what is it?—the Thunderbirds with them? Listen to yourself; veterans from a top clan died, while some nobody survived. Does that sound reasonable to you? Next, you’ll say they died protecting you! How can you say that with a straight face?”

I smiled involuntarily; he was right. The truth, the honest-to-goodness truth, sounded like complete nonsense.

“Believe it or not, that’s up to you. What I told you is 100% true.” Just in case, I pulled out my sword, unslung my shield, and stood with my back to the mine exit. “As long as I’m alive and my friends haven’t come back, I won’t let you in there. You can decide how much you want a PKer badge and a spot on two clan blacklists.”

The pair glanced at each other and pulled their swords out of their sheaths. Damian wielded a gladius with a pretentiously decorated hilt, while the enormous two-handed sword Mirro fought with made me feel a bit better. That type of weapon takes skill to use, and you need more space than was available on the platform the three of us were standing on.

“Somehow, I think we’ll be okay,” answered Damian. “Maybe you’d be better off wondering why two clans would blacklist us for your sake. Even if they do, we’ll be fine. Our clan is much stronger than your Thunderbirds, so your clan leader will think twice before trying anything.”

Judging by the badges over their heads, the raiders belonged to the Sons of Taranis clan. I had heard of it. The Sons of Taranis was a strong, ambitious clan that focused on filling their ranks with powerful warriors, and they were the kind of players who, as they say in the movies, believed in an even “nine grams of lead for everyone.” Damian was probably right that Elina wouldn’t stand up for me, though the same could hardly be said of the Gray Witch. And when Miurat hears who made off with his stuff… Not to mention Fitz!

I wasn’t that worried. Even if they killed and robbed me—something I figured would probably happen—they wouldn’t be able to sell everything I had very quickly. Even if they made it to the town, they’d have to auction it all off; vendors didn’t take things like mine. The cavalry would be along any minute. It was just a shame I’d have to part with the experience I’d gained…

“Let me warn you one more time. Get out of the way,” said Mirro slowly and threateningly.

“And I’ll give you one more chance. Walk away,” I answered.

“You made your choice,” said Damian idly as he stepped toward me.

Well, that didn’t work. I was in for a fight, and I was probably going to die. What if they can’t port directly here?

“Wolf Soul!” I shouted. It was as good a chance as any to see what I was able to summon.

From nowhere, appeared a hulking gray wolf. He took up position in front of me and bared his teeth at my opponents.

So how do I tell him what to do? There was only one way to find out.

“Bite the one with the short sword,” I said, pointing at Damian with my blade.

The wolf quickly leaped, traversing the platform with a snarl. It’s just a shame he won’t last long. Damian was a tough nut to crack, and an animal like that would barely put a dent in him. I figured I’d bought myself thirty seconds. To be fair, that’s an eternity in a fight, so I hoped something might swing my way.

Mirro whirled his two-handed sword around dexterously, making his way toward me. If I had been fool enough to get in its way, he probably would have finished me off in just one or two swings. You can’t even take hits from a sword like that on your shield. Happily, I was able to dodge his swipes, and the third time I ducked, jumped forward, and smoothly ran my sword through his back. The Memory of the God, which I shouted as I did, worked—about 20% of his health slipped away.

A plaintive cry from my wolf told me that I was about to die and that the damage I’d been able to do to Mirro would probably be my only success in the duel. I raised my sword and—

“Well, what do we have here?” I heard Miurat’s jolly voice ask. “Who are you, my friends? You don’t look like you’re from our neighborhood.”

“Not even our county,” continued a voice I didn’t recognize.

“I certainly didn’t die down there just so you could die out here!” Miurat shoved Damian and Mirro aside before coming over to me. “So, what are you and these fine young men fighting about?”

I sheathed my sword and tossed my shield behind my back. “Oh, nothing. They wanted to go pick up Fitz’s and your things,” I said without an ounce of pity for the two marauders. “I told them it was a bad idea, that they belong to some strong players from the Hounds of Death, and that you wouldn’t be happy if they did. They didn’t believe me, and they said they didn’t care who the cocoons belonged to or what clan they were from—this is their business, and nobody’s going to get in their way. That’s when we started fighting.”

“Oh, come on, it wasn’t exactly like that,” said Mirro sullenly.

“Miurat, you figure this all out!” barked Fitz. “They didn’t get my things, which is good news for them, so I’m going to pick them up. Just make sure they understand what we think of rats. I’ll grab your stuff, too; you died in the hall, right?”

Miurat nodded.

“Let’s go!” ordered Fitz, who dove into the darkness followed by another eight veterans covered in iron. I thought I recognized one of them—especially when he waved before he jumped in after Fitz. Was that Turok? Maybe Nox.

“Well, well, well.” Miurat stretched like a cat, stepped closer to the marauders, and continued in a smooth tone. “So, which part was my friend lying about? Did he tell you those things belonged to someone? Answer me!” His voice changed, adding sudden aggression.

Damian and Mirro nodded together.

“So, he told you.” Miurat was clearly in his element. “And that they belonged to someone from an important clan—did he tell you that?”

They nodded again.

“Did you listen to him? Ah, I can tell from your faces that you didn’t. Your swords are still out of their sheaths, which is also a bit of a giveaway.”

The unlucky grave robbers hurried to sheath their weapons.

“It’s a little late for that,” Miurat said sympathetically. “You’re already in up to your necks. Attacking an ally of the Hounds of Death—not to mention a personal friend of its leader—trying to pull a trick like that, what you said about the clan and its leader… Not good. I’m afraid to even think what Glen will do to you when he hears that he has rats like you in his clan… Given his principles, I don’t think we Hounds will need to lift a finger.”

“Maybe we don’t have to do that?” asked Mirro tentatively.

“Do what?” Miurat responded, half inquisitively and half mockingly.

“Tell Glen.”

“If it were only Hagen and me, that might be possible. You could give us something for our trouble, and we’d call it a day. But Fitz is involved, too, and he won’t stop until you’ve paid in blood. That’s just the kind of stubborn mule he is. Yes?” Miurat looked at me.

I pursed my lips and nodded as if to agree that, yes, he was stubborn to a fault; he wouldn’t be happy until he got what was coming to him. They didn’t need to know that old Fitz had probably forgotten about them already.

The pair stood there dejected, but they jumped when they heard steps coming up the stairs and a voice I didn’t know.

“Miurat, you old rascal. If you yanked me all the way out here for nothing, I’ll have your head on a pike. And I’m not getting in on one of your scams!”

A man walked up onto the platform, and I couldn’t help but notice his green cloak, claymore (it must have cost a fortune in real money, as it was an exact replica), and carefully trimmed beard. I looked at his name and saw that it was Glen, the head of the Sons of Taranis.

He hugged Miurat, apparently an old friend, amiably, nodded to me cordially, then looked at his clan mates in some confusion.

“Miurat, my friend,” he said thoughtfully, “is there something I don’t know?”

“I think so,” answered Miurat in a friendly tone. “Allow me to tell you about a small venture your underlings here thought up.”

With that, Miurat told Glen a story that bore only passing resemblance to the one I told him and was even further from the actual truth. It was, however, witty to the point where I could barely keep from laughing at points. Miurat was a fantastic storyteller, something I’d noted already in the mines.

“Well, you made half of that up, though the other half is the truth,” summed up Glen. “And that half is enough for me to chase these animals so fast around Rattermark for the next six months that the ground starts to get hot under their feet.”

He stared fiercely at Damian and Mirro. “You just wait. We’ll head to the clan fortress, and the Large Council will decide what to do with you.”

Glen looked them over hotly one more time before coming over to me. “You did excellent work—taking them both on and keeping your cool, not going crazy or trying to play the hero. Respect.” The leader of the Sons of Taranis held out his hand. “Glen.”

“Hagen,” I replied, taking it. “Warrior, Thunderbirds.”

“Elina is lucky to have someone like you in her clan. But what are you doing with this character?” Glen motioned in the direction of Miurat with his chin. “You keep your distance from that spider.”

Miurat crossed his arms over his chest and looked back with mock indignation written all over his face.

“Okay, what kind of compensation would you like for these two fools?” Glen asked with a broad smile. “If you want gold, just tell me how much.”

“Oh, I don’t want anything.” I shrugged. “Everything ended well, thank God. And I gather you’re going to be giving them a hedgehog birthday today anyway.”

Glen’s eyebrows shot up. “A hedgehog birthday?”

“Well, I imagine they’ll be giving birth, spines-first.” I winked at him.

He roared with laughter.

“I like this one,” he said to Miurat. “He’s our kind of guy.”

“For sure,” answered Miurat with a nod.

“Still, I don’t like letting something like that go without an apology from the clan,” said Glen, turning back to me. “Ah-ha! Got it!”

He pulled off his cloak and held it out to me.

“Here, take this. It’s just a gift from a friend, I don’t mean it to be an insult, a brush-off, or compensation. Just one warrior to another.”

I took it and looked it over.

Sir Berj’s Cloak

Belonged to a great warrior and poet who gave up everything for the sake of his true love’s happiness.

Protection: 280-346

+22 to strength

+16% chance of parrying opponents’ blows

+12% to dodge ability

+7% protection from cold

+3% chance of getting hidden quests

Boosts Worthy Reward to Level 2 (if that passive ability is learned; this happens once, while the ability’s effect is permanent)

Class limitation: only warriors

Durability: 378/440

Minimum level for use: 48

“Wow,” was all I could say. “That’s such an expensive gift!”

“Not too expensive,” answered Glen with a shrug. “It’s fair. Oh, and here’s one more thing.”

He pulled a ring out of his bag and handed it to me.

Sons of Taranis Friendship Ring

+22 to stamina

+18 to agility

+18% protection from fire

+9% defense against all weapon types

Durability: 232/260

Minimum level for use: 45

Cannot be stolen, lost, or given to anyone else.

If the owner dies, does not remain at the location of their death.

“I always keep a ring like that on me, but I very rarely give them out,” added Glen. “In this case, I think it’s well-deserved. I hope there’s no bad blood left between you and our clan?”

“There wasn’t any to begin with,” I answered sincerely, stuffing the cloak into my bag and slipping the ring onto my finger. “Why would there be? Clans all have their idiots. You don’t even have to do anything; they appear on their own.”

Glen smiled. “Isn’t that the truth? Our clan fortress is here in the North not far from Holfstrig. If you’re in the area, stop by and say hello. Just flash the ring at the gate, and you’ll be our honored guest.”

“I definitely will. It looks like I’ll be staying in the North for a while anyway.” There was no point being coquettish about it.

Who knows? Maybe I really will drop by.

Glen shook my hand, nodded, and turned to Damian and Mirro, who were standing in a corner staring at their feet. “Well, you little parasites, let’s see where you’ll be flying off to.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the stairs. “See you, Miurat.”

Just then, a happy Fitz, wearing his usual armor, pulled himself out of the mines.

“Here, Miurat, take your stuff!” he bellowed. “Oh, hey, Glen. Did they complain about your little pipsqueaks? You need to push your people harder. They’re over here robbing honest warriors and digging up graves, the creeps.”

“Hey, you old bear.” Glen waved. “Yeah, I know, I’m thinking about what to do with them. So, you’re still dragging the kids through the mines? Careful or you’ll kill them off before they can grow into the clan. You should think of something easier.”

“Never!” roared Fitz. “Better have them learn up front that being a Hound of Death is about surviving, not playing games. This way they’ll be ready for anything—especially after the mines. Right, Hagen?”

I stood to attention. “Yes, sir!”

“There you go.” Fitz waved a plated hand in my direction. “See what we’re turning them into?”

Glen coughed to hide a smile.

“And I’m sure Elina appreciates it,” answered Miurat with a voice as smooth as silk.

“Ahem.” Fitz made a noise in his throat. “Today he’s Elina’s, tomorrow he’s ours! Here, take your junk.”

Miurat walked over to Fitz, Glen waved to everyone and took the pair of robbers down the stairs, and Damian turned to give me a look of hate that told me I’d definitely gained an enemy that day.

“Excellent.” Miurat was dressed in his usual clothes and perked up noticeably. “All’s well that ends well.”

“Hey there, Hagen.” Something smashed into my shoulder and took off 5% of my health. It was Nox—I was right.

“Hi, Nox.” My hand bounced off his iron-encased shoulder. “How is it in there? Are the devils gone?”

I didn’t actually care about the devils; I was more interested in hearing if the dark dwarves were still there. The giant would definitely tell me if they were.

“Yeah, they always run back into the depths after they kill everyone or push them out of the mines.” Nox laughed for some reason. “We did have to take out the cavewight, though; he was right by Fitz’s things—tough son of a gun. Look, eight of us, all nice and hefty, and it still took us five minutes to finish him off. I have no idea why he left you all alone. Fitz said that you met him near the passageway. He killed a mage?”

“Yes,” I said, sadly thinking back to Flores’ pointless death. “Screw him.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” said the giant with a laugh. “We avenged her! And Fitz got her things, he said.”

“Still.” I really felt bad for the young mage girl. “She got so close. It’s a shame.”

“It happens.”

“So, how do you two know each other?” asked Miurat, who had come over. “I thought you only knew our leadership, and it turns out you know half the clan!”

His question—or rather how curious he was—took me aback for a second, but Nox went ahead and spilled the beans. “Hagen, Milly, and a couple of our other guys killed Sviss the other day, on extra.”

“Really?” said Miurat, surprised. “On extra? Who had the quest?”

“This one over here.” Nox poked me. “What a guy!”

“That he is.” Miurat nodded and quickly asked a follow-up question. “Why didn’t you go with your people?”

“I didn’t even have time to ask them,” I answered right away. “No sooner did I get the quest than I came across Milly Re. One thing led to another, and we decided to go together. Plus, she’s cute.”

“That’s for sure.” Nox smacked his lips.

“You’re telling me,” said Miurat slowly. “Anyway, sounds good. It’s always great when clans can be friends!”

“Are you guys almost done talking?” we heard Fitz shout. “We’re leaving for the fortress. Who’s coming with us?”

“Fitz, go ahead,” Miurat replied. “I’ll take Hagen to the city, seeing as how he has a talent for getting himself into trouble. Let me take Nox, too, just in case.”

“What do you need him for?” asked Fitz threateningly.

“You may have forgotten that there are plenty of bandits around here, and he’ll scare them off before they ever get close. If he doesn’t come, we’ll have to fight, and I’m not in the mood.”

“Lazy bum,” answered Fitz with a shake of his head. “Nox, you take them wherever they want to go. Come here, Hagen.”

I walked over to the mustachioed warrior.

“You did good work today, young man.” He wiggled his facial hair. “And you’re going to make waves. If you want, feel free to join us; there’s always room for you.”

He clapped me on the shoulder and unexpectedly leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Don’t believe everything Miurat says. There are a lot of stories going around about him. Okay?”

I nodded. Fitz turned around and tramped down the stairs, his warriors climbing down noisily behind him.

Miurat walked over, glanced at the receding figures, and checked the setting sun.

“We need to get going, too. It’s going to get dark soon, and we have an hour or more to go. Nox, let’s roll.”

I looked back one more time at the entrance to the mines before heading down the stairs

Chapter Six

In which the hero realizes that things aren’t so simple in the North.

The sun was just clinging to life before sinking beyond the horizon as we walked down. From the stairs, we saw two portals flash. One sent Fitz and his rapid response team back to the Hounds’ castle, while Glen dragged his two unlucky marauders into the other.

“Nox, you walk up ahead of us,” ordered Miurat. The armored giant trundled off. “If you need anything, just give us a call.”

Nox rattled and clanged his way forward; we followed him at a distance of about ten paces.

“Miurat,” I said to the happily whistling fellow, “can I ask you something?”

“Go for it,” he answered. “I even have a good idea of what you’ll be asking. Your first question is about what happens to the players who died during the trip, right?”

“Yep,” I lied.

I was actually interested in learning about the North, caring next to nothing about the fate of my fellow travelers. What did that have to do with me? The whole thing was pretty clear, but I figured it was worth giving Miurat the satisfaction of thinking he knew what was going on in my head.

“Before I tell you that, I should start with the reason why we went into the mines in the first place. Any guesses?”

Appearing unsophisticated and guileless is one thing, but looking like an idiot is quite another. That could have some very negative consequences.

“That’s not exactly rocket science,” I replied. “It was a trial by fire—not the first one I’ve seen. I mean, sure, that was the toughest I’ve been through, but the Thunderbirds like to thin the herd as well.”

“Lots of clans put new members through something like that, though not all of them have Fitz,” admitted Miurat. “Well, none of them have Fitz, to be perfectly honest. He only takes the most promising recruits into the mines.”

“They were promising?” My surprise was completely genuine. None of the players in our group had struck me as all that talented.

“If they were with him in the mines, he saw something in them.” My companion grunted. “Believe me, four out of five of our newcomers wouldn’t last to the halfway point, and we had two get to the Ninth Hall. But you, my friend, were a revelation!”

“What do you mean?”

“The way you stood up to the mental pressure you were under, especially given that none of your items give you any protection against it. How were you able to fight back against the desire to commit suicide, not to mention, get rid of it that quickly? I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“I have no idea.” I shrugged. “Honestly, if I knew, I’d tell you.”

Suddenly, we heard a bellow from Nox up ahead, the clash of metal, and some cries. I was about to run forward to help when Miurat grabbed my sleeve.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said lazily. “Nox is a big boy, he has a steel head and steel fists, and he’ll take out whoever’s up there, believe me. Oh, there you go—they’re already dead. Nox, my friend, what was that? Or maybe who?”

“Oh, just a bunch of robbers. I killed them all!” roared Nox proudly.

“Well, you shouldn’t have. Why did you have to kill them so fast?” asked Miurat. “Did they target you?”

“No…” Nox rubbed his head under his helmet in confusion. “What’s the problem?”

“If you were a little smarter, you’d have come over and invited Hagen to join a group,” said Miurat instructively. “Then you could have gone back, wiped them out, and given our mutual friend a little experience to boot. You have your fun, and he gets a little something out of it.”

“A-ah,” replied Nox. “I didn’t think about that. Good idea!”

Nox is inviting you to join his group. Accept?

I accepted without a second thought—it was like entering a cheat code.

“Where were we?” Miurat asked me.

“You were talking about how I impressed you.” My answer was honest, though I wasn’t a big fan of the topic. I’d gotten mental protection as a bonus for the ability I got when I joined the Legion of Vitar, though I certainly wasn’t about to tell Miurat that. I trusted him less and less by the minute, though my distrust was based more on intuition than anything concrete. Nobody was supposed to know that I was in the Legion, after all.

“Oh, right. Everyone else had something that made them stand out among the other clan newcomers, though I can’t tell you what. It’s not that I don’t want to; I don’t know any more than you do. But you’re right that the mines were a test to see who would progress further in the clan. I imagine Flores and Moris will be moving on despite the fact that they died, though the other three won’t be. The dwarf couldn’t control himself and his greed, plus, he didn’t follow orders. Fitz told him not to pick anything up, and that’s exactly what he tried to do. He’ll never be anything more than a low-level member of the clan.”

“What about the other two?”

“They’ll let the one that got lost try the mines again if he wants. The archer they’ll probably kick out of the clan.”

“Really?”

“Why not?” Miurat looked at me. “It wasn’t just that she didn’t show up. She knowingly weakened the group when we were in a tough spot, and we take that kind of thing seriously. You let the clan down, and you get a demotion, kicked out, the blacklist—the whole nine yards. We had something like that recently when a player got a secret quest and didn’t tell the clan leader or the council about it. You should’ve seen how we flogged him up one side of Fayroll and down the other.”

Miurat squinted dreamily as he thought back to the experience.

“He tried to hide in the Al-Karakh Jungle, almost in the Monkey Temple. Believe me, you’d think the mines were some kind of resort if you’d been in or anywhere near that god-forsaken temple. But we still found him there. And, obviously…”

Miurat made a gesture demonstrating how they’d broken the neck of my fellow secret-quest-hider. Or maybe he was showing how they just bent him over…

“If you have something to tell your clan, it’s always better to tell them right away and on your own initiative,” said Miurat seriously. “That’s just a piece of advice for the future. That archer is going to be kicked out now, too, though that’ll be all in her case.”

“And good riddance,” I said in agreement. “You can’t have that!”

We heard some sounds from up ahead again, including yelps and a guttural cry from Nox.

“Oh, I’ll bite you right back, you little toad!”

You unlocked Wolfman, Level 1.

To get it, destroy 99 more Northern wolves.

Reward:

+4% orientation in forests

Title: Wolfsbane

To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

“What’s up?” Miurat noticed that I froze.

“I unlocked an action,” I answered happily. “Something about wolves.”

“Ah, yes.” Miurat nodded. “The wolves. The third level gives you a nice bonus—not epic, but a good one. You can summon a wolf, and that action is the only possible way to do that in the game. Still, you’ll have to kill 1,000 wolves before you get there. Not everyone has that kind of time and patience.”

I had been about to say that I could already summon a wolf, but for some reason, I stopped myself. Miurat finished, and I mentally patted myself on the back.

“Wow!” I answered. “I’ll have to look into that—I could use a wolf.”

We walked past the dead predators, and I collected their skins and a few fangs.

“Nox, you don’t need anything from the bodies?” I called up to our tank.

“Screw it,” came his laconic answer from out of the darkness.

“So, did you get an answer to your first question?” asked Miurat.

“Quite. And for my second, too.”

“Excellent. But it sounds like there’s a third, am I right?” He squinted sideways at me.

“And a fourth.”

“Go for it,” Miurat said complacently. “But let’s say this: I’ll answer all your questions, and then you have to answer one of mine…but you have to be honest. Okay?”

“You can ask two for all I care,” I answered cheerfully, mentally preparing for what the smart operator next to me could be getting ready to ask. It was already 1 a.m., so I knew I was in for a zinger.

“Go ahead; fire away.” Miurat bent over to pick a weed (I had no idea how he saw it in the gathering darkness) and stuck it into his mouth.

That darkness, incidentally, had fallen like a bag over the head as soon as the sun sank below the horizon. That type of thing happens more in the South than the North in my experience, though Fayroll had its own quirks. At least, it wasn’t the kind of dark where you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face; the moonlight made sure we could at least see the hulking figure of Nox meandering ahead of us. But to see a weed on the ground…

I really wanted to ask what it was about him that put me on my guard, but I went with a different question.

“Miurat, tell me about the North—what I need to know, where I should go…the basics.”

“What about reading the guide?” Miurat said with a grunt. “Ah, you’re a lazy one, all right.”

“Well, the guide is one thing, but a pro who’s seen it all is something else,” I said, throwing in a little flattery.

“Fine, buckle up.” And with that, Miurat dove into life in the North.

The North, as it turned out, stood alone among the four great areas in Rattermark. While the other three were more or less similar to each other, the North offered players something different.

In the East, West, and South, the reputation players earned with NPCs held only relative value. Sure, there were some benefits to a strong reputation, like quests and information you could pick up, but there wasn’t anything terribly important.

“Hold on a second,” I said, stopping Miurat right there. “What about sailing down the Crisna? It’s so expensive without a good reputation!”

“So what?” retorted Miurat. “You can always earn the money or, if worst comes to worst, walk. But here in the North, you can’t even get into any of the burgs; the guards won’t let you in. They don’t need you, so you can just take a hike. And don’t interrupt me. Listen and take notes; write it on your forehead if you don’t have anything to take notes on.”

Just then, Nox took out three more wolves, earning himself a reproach from Miurat. “Hey, watch it up there! I don’t want Greenpeace coming after us!”

Then he went back to his story.

It wasn’t easy earning a reputation among the Northerners, but it was certainly possible. One way was to go with the old tried and true: do quests and master quests. The other way, however—one that was both more difficult and more time-consuming—was to enlist in the army of one of the local rixes.

Miurat interrupted his story about the importance of a good reputation there and switched over to social structures and geopolitics.

The far-reaching expanses of the North turned out to include a total of eight cities and one capital. The cities were called burgs, despite having their own names. The capital was the only city that went by its name: Holmstag. It enjoyed nominal authority over the burgs. The problem there was that the burg rulers, who were called rixes, didn’t care much for the central government and tended to stray further and further away from it. That, of course, included not bothering to pay their taxes.

The könig, the high king of the North, didn’t like that at all from his throne in Holmstag, and so, he periodically went off on short campaigns to lay siege to especially wayward burgs and threaten to slice his way through everyone inside. Things never got that far, since the rixes always took just a few days to flex their muscles before opening their gates and throwing themselves on the mercy of their conqueror.

A little richer from some looting and having proven his might and power, the könig would return to the capital. “Remember this day, you sons of bitches, and make sure I don’t have to come back here,” he’d say.

The rixes waited until he was gone before spitting at his receding shadow and muttering to themselves, “Oh, we’ll remember all right. We’ll remember when you’re bathing in tears of blood, you bastard aristocrat.”

But joining forces to overthrow the könig was apparently beyond the eight rixes. They weren’t smart enough, they were all too ambitious, or their programming didn’t allow it—nobody knew the true reason.

That was the lay of the land, but the North had water, too—saltwater.

Its shores were bathed by the Northern Sea and the Frozen Ocean. How the sea and the ocean existed side by side without being merged into a single geographical entity, well, nobody knew that either. It’s just the way it was.

The Northern Sea was ruled by the Sea Kings. They were a fun and somewhat crazy people dressed in shiny chainmail and horned helmets, and they had no home on dry ground. Instead, they made do with the decks of their drakkar-class ships, all of which were made out of wood and capped with the heads of dragons and serpents. The crews called themselves hirds.

They sailed the seas, surfing the waves and leading a standard vagrant life. Sometimes, they pillaged; others, they hired themselves out to the rixes, and some claimed they even performed services for the könig on occasion.

As they recognized no authority, the only leader they had was a jarl they selected themselves. Elections were generally spontaneous and were held for any reason under the sun. Sometimes, they were because the current jarl died; others, because he’d done something unseemly or there just wasn’t enough ale to go around.

The Sea Kings always kept their word, serving faithfully for as long as they said they would even if whole hirds died in the process. Neither money nor anything else was ever enough to persuade them to switch sides in a conflict. On the other hand, they were perfectly fine with walking away from an employer when their contract was up or, at that point and only at that point, switching sides if their erstwhile employer’s opponent offered them a better deal.

While there were plenty of small villages and homesteads scattered across the North, they were, as a rule, under the protection of one or another of the burgs.

Besides all those human factions, there was one more creature who wielded immense power.

At the very edge of the North, where the land ended and the Frozen Ocean began, was a place where the crazy Sea Kings’ drakkars never sailed—the enormous Ice Wall and Great Fomor’s palace, which was stood within it. Nobody knew what race Fomor belonged to, but he was a strange and incredibly dangerous creature. Nobody knew where he came from, and nobody had ever tried to kill him. There was a very simple reason for that; he was an NPC rather than some kind of epic or other monster. Killing NPCs, as everyone knew, only earned you problems. Sure, there were hotheads out there who were curious enough to find their way to his door in search of hidden quests. Some of them were taken out by Fomor’s guards, while others managed to make it all the way into his throne room and have a chat with him. Nobody got any quests; all they got was a recommendation never to visit again. The creature didn’t like people and did no business with them. He cherished plans to enslave the entire North, and visitors kept him from planning his conquests. The guards then unceremoniously tossed them out of the ice castle with a kick in the pants to make sure they got the message.

That convinced the gaming community that the Great Fomor was a lost cause and not worth the trouble it took to walk away with nothing.

Fomor did pull some of the strings of power in the North, with some people claiming that a few of the rixes answered to him.

Miurat paused there and glanced up at Nox, who was walking back toward us.

“What’s up?” he asked the giant.

“I need to go to sleep! Have to stick to my routine!” he boomed, embarrassed like a schoolchild.

“Hmm.” Miurat scratched his head. “Ah, don’t worry about it, we’re twenty minutes away. Get us to the walls, and you can go nighty-night. Look, you can see the burg from here.”

Nox nodded and headed back toward his post in the vanguard. Miurat went back to his story.

“Okay, so back to reputations. You can bump yours up with quests, of course, and you can get pretty far that way, especially since all the burgs have quest chains that give you all kinds of goodies. You won’t be able to max out your reputation that way, though. Most players who want to keep going sign up to serve one of the rixes. Later, if you work hard enough, you can even enlist with the könig.”

“Can you just go straight to the könig?” I asked.

Miurat grinned.

As it turned out, reputation in the North was just as local as it was important. First of all, there wasn’t any “friendship” or “respect.” There was just a scale from zero to 100. If a burg had no idea who you were, your reputation was zero. Once you got to 100, you could kick open the door of the rix’s house, and they’d pour you a glass and even give you something nice and salty to eat while you drank it.

However, the only thing building a maximum reputation in one burg meant in the others was that they’d let you in the gates. There was a chance the locals would even talk to you, but that was about it. You started from scratch, doing quests or showing your skill with a blade as a hirdman serving the local rix.

As if that weren’t enough, your reputation in the eight burgs barely touched your reputation meter in the capital. He might deign to talk to you, though that was only if you’d built up a good reputation in at least six of the burgs. At least, you could always enter the capital, which made sense—the auction and everything else were there.

But, otherwise, the könig threw a wrench into the whole system. He had his own scale you had to climb, but 100 points weren’t enough for him. You had to collect a whole 300. His scale was called Respect among the peoples of the North, and everything you did fed into it. Build up your reputation in one city and the könig’s scale would jump a few points. Finish a series of quests—that was a few dozen points. Maxing out that scale gave you respect and honor throughout the Northern lands, as well as a chance to unlock hidden and even epic quests. That last part was random, but the precedent was there. It just took you forever to get there.

Long story short, my job was to build up my reputation in the burg we’d almost arrived at; there was no way around that.

“But will they let me in?” I looked up at the looming walls apprehensively.

“In Hexburg?” Miurat jabbed a finger in the direction of the walls. “Of course, it’s the city closest to the pass, so it’s sort of a starter city. Everything’s simpler here. You very well may not be let into the next city, however, unless you build a reputation here.”

“So complicated,” I said, shaking my head. “In the West, it’s simple: you just go wherever you want and do whatever you feel like…”

“You thought it would be like that up here?” Miurat’s eyes narrowed. “Down there, the people don’t really want to stress too much. In the North, everyone is more serious about the game. There are a lot of role-players, for example—I know a guy who likes to pretend he’s a Viking, so he’s been off sailing around in a drakkar with the Sea Kings for half a year now. He grew out his beard, he drinks ale by the barrel, and he even curses in Swedish. Fun times!”

“Cool,” I said, appreciating his devotion to the role.

“A lot of people are pretty hardcore. There are half a dozen really tough locations. There’s the World Snake, the jotunn caves… I wouldn’t even touch them on the hard level. Nox probably did though. None of that matters to you, on the other hand, since you need to be Level 100 to even think about all that.”

“Agreed, though I wouldn’t mind seeing the World Snake,” I said, drawing out my words.

“Just look up a video online,” replied Miurat. “So, is that it? Have I answered all your questions?”

“Pretty much.” I nodded. “What’s yours?”

“Did the Gray Witch give you a ticket for a trip to Rivenholm on the flagship?” Miurat squinted at me again.

“Yes,” I answered, surprised at the absurdity of the question. I thought—

Miurat threw a handful of powder into my face, getting a sneeze out of me. The smell was familiar; it was truth powder.

“Why did you do that?” I whined. “I have an allergy to that stuff! And why would I lie to you?”

“Trust, but verify,” answered Miurat. “We’re both adults, so I’m not going to apologize. I think you understand.”

I had to agree that we were both adults, though I didn’t understand anything. What did that question have to do with anything?

We walked up to the burg gate to find Nox there shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“What’s with the dance?” asked Miurat. “Need to go pee-pee?”

“Can I go? My coach is going to kill me!” answered Nox plaintively.

“Yes, go, go,” said Miurat with a wave. “Well done; you did your job.”

“Thanks, Nox,” I managed to say before the giant waved and disappeared.

Miurat pounded on the closed gate and roared to make himself heard.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

From above us, presumably from the platform above the gate, popped the sleepy head of a guard.

“What do you need?”

“We need to get inside,” answered Miurat. “Just a couple travelers looking for a place to sleep in the common house.”

He looked over at me, so I nodded and confirmed Miurat’s story.

“Yep, just two pilgrims.”

“Who’s out there? A messenger?” we heard someone say from behind the wall.

“No,” answered the guard, looking us over carefully. “Travelers, apparently foreigners. I can barely understand them.”

“Then let them in. We can’t leave foreigners waiting outside the gate this late at night.”

The guard disappeared, and a couple minutes later, the gate swung wide. I walked into Hexburg.

You unlocked Cities of the North.

To get it, visit all eight of the burgs in the North (visited so far: 1) and then visit Holmstag.

Reward:

Title: Connoisseur of the North

+5% protection from cold

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

“Got the burg action?” Miurat nodded knowingly.

“Yup.”

“It’s easy enough. Okay, head over to the common house over there; that’s what they call the hotels up here. I’m off. If you need anything, call or write. If you have money, send it; if you have news, send that, too.”

Miurat wants to add you as a friend.

Accept?

“It would be an honor,” I responded.

“Oh, and one more thing I almost forgot,” Miurat said, snapping his fingers. “Your reputation doesn’t just go up. If you do something to compromise yourself in the eyes of the Northerners…oh, I don’t know…like getting caught stealing, hitting a woman, or betraying someone with somebody there to catch you in the act, your reputation will drop. So, think before you speak and definitely think before you act. Although to be fair, the North isn’t the only place you should do that.”

Miurat playfully saluted before stepping into a portal he opened.

I was exhausted, but I took the time to walk over to a headstone I’d noticed and then dragged myself to the common house. Once there, I woke up a glowering gentleman named Holm, who was asleep behind the concierge desk.

“Why are you still awake?” grumbled Holm. “Normal people are long since asleep, and this one’s still up and about. Your room isn’t even paid for.”

“It isn’t?”

“Nope! Pay or get out!” he barked.

I figured the money I’d paid in…Oh, what was that city’s name? Oh, well, doesn’t matter. Anyway, it had apparently run out.

“Here’s 100 gold. Can I have the key?” I asked Holm wearily.

He grumbled something under his breath, but he grabbed the money, gave me a key so big it would have made Pinocchio hang himself in envy, and went back to sleep.

I walked up to the room, collapsed on the bed, and logged out of the game.

It was night in Moscow, too, and Vika was quietly snoring as she slept peacefully. I lay on the couch, convinced I’d be out before my head hit the pillow.

Chapter Seven

In which the hero first assumes he’s just a bit unlucky, then realizes things are much worse than he thought.

Back in the game, I figured I’d be out like a log as soon as I crashed into my bed. Nope! For some reason, I couldn’t get to sleep. I tossed and turned, adjusted my pillow, and nearly woke Vika, who mumbled over at me sleepily.

“What are you so antsy for? Go to sleep.”

I couldn’t. I don’t know if it was all the leftover adrenaline still in my blood or just how tired I was after the past few days. That definitely happens to me. If I get tired enough, it gets to the point where I don’t even want to eat or sleep anymore. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t happening. I lay there, wide-awake.

After half an hour of that, I turned over once more and decided to give up, have a smoke, and do some digging in the Fayroll forums. No sooner had I made that decision, than I fell fast asleep.

I decided to take that Sunday off after the rough time I’d been having in the virtual world. It wasn’t to the point where the virtual and the actual were mingling in my head; it was just time for a break. Plus, it was a Sunday, after all.

Rainy fall was well underway in Moscow, though the sun was shining through the yellowing leaves that day. I love autumn, how easy it is to breathe, and all the colors that come along with it. It’s the best time of year to go for a walk along some leafy path in a cozy little park.

So, that’s exactly what Vika and I did. We headed for Kuskovo, one of Moscow’s most beautiful estate museums, and walked along the alleys, enjoying the tall, thick oaks they say were planted back in the time of Peter the Great. Everyone knows how much the old tsar liked oaks—to the point that he would take foreign dignitaries out to plant them. Anyway, we had a great time and even visited the museum in the Sheremetev house.

Vika had never been to Kuskovo, and I could tell she loved the peace and quiet, the rustling of the leaves, and even the acorns that were everywhere. We walked, Vika giggling at my jokes.

I’ll be honest, it had been a long time since I’d had such a calm and soothing day. You don’t need much to be happy, do you? I mean, sure, there’s a lot you need, but one thing’s for sure, that day, I was happy.

I’m not sure why that was. Maybe I didn’t have grandiose needs, maybe I wasn’t that ambitious, or maybe I just have simple tastes. Whatever the case, the good weather, Vika—who didn’t leave me wondering in the back of my mind when she’d be leaving (that was big for me) and who was fun to walk with—enough money in my pocket, and some confidence in what the future held were enough for me to breathe in the breadth and depth of life. I didn’t want the day to end.

***

But all good things must, in fact, come to an end, and Vika left for the office Monday morning. A couple hours after the door closed behind her, closer to noon, I climbed into the capsule completely against my will. I told myself that it was better than working as a night watchman or selling papers on the street. There were worse jobs that didn’t pay nearly as much as I was making…

Life in the burg, interestingly enough, was indistinguishable from life in, for example, Fladridge. There was the same well; the same girls with their buckets walked by; and the only difference was that it was all a bit bigger. The girls were well-built and featured wide, powerful shoulders. Northerners. Blonde beasts.

There was a blacksmith pounding away at a hunk of iron with his hammer just like in all the other cities in Fayroll, and that was where I headed first.

“Hi there, my friend,” I started off, picking one of the lulls in the battering the strip of metal was taking. It looked to one day become a sword.

He glanced up at me before going back to his work without so much as a “hello.”

Okay, so I get that my reputation is at zero and all that. But isn’t this a bit much?

“Mr. Blacksmith,” I jumped in again when he took a break from his hammer work. “I know I’m new here, but, still, I haven’t caused problems for you or anyone else. What’s so terrible about just hearing me out? That’s what a decent person would do, anyway.”

The blacksmith set his tool down and stared at me, apparently waiting to hear what I had to say. Or something like that.

“I need to have my armor fixed. It’s a little beat up after a trip I just took.” I pointed at my chest.

That wasn’t the whole truth; it wasn’t all that beat up, especially since I’d had it fixed just three days before in Kroytsen. But I needed a reason to start a conversation with one of the locals, first of all, and I also needed to start working on that passive ability and the money I stood to save if I could level it up. Little by little; step by step.

“I don’t do work for just anyone,” he finally said. “That’s not my thing.”

“I’m not just anyone,” I answered with a shrug. “My name is Hagen, Hagen from Tronje. I’m a free laird and seeker of adventures.”

So, not only had I found a little, nicely sounding homeland somewhere in the depths of my memory; I also had a title the venerable old knight gave me for some reason. I had no idea why I’d decided to promote myself to a “free laird” other than the fact that it sounded good, too.

“You’ll get my name when you need it,” muttered the blacksmith. “Anyway, Laird, if you need me to do something for you, you’re going to have to do something for me first. Does that work for you?”

“Why not?” I shrugged again. “How can I help?”

“Get me twenty pieces of grave iron from the old burial mounds,” he said with what sounded like a malicious tone in his voice.

You have a new quest offer: Grave Iron

Task: Get twenty pieces of grave iron.

You can find it in the old burial mounds, and it can be fragments of weapons or armor scavenged from warriors killed in ancient times.

Reward:

600 experience

+10% discount with the Hexburg blacksmith

+3 respect in Hexburg

Additional information: this quest can be repeated up to four times, but it can only be completed once per day. The task and rewards may change each time you complete it.

Accept?

I was happy to see that there was a loophole in the whole reputation-building thing. If I could find enough of those quests, I could just go through each of them every day until I got my reputation where it needed to be. The rest of the burgs would have similar quests, too, I figured. But what could change about them?

“Let’s shake on it, Mr. Blacksmith. You’ll have your iron,” I said strongly, as befits a warrior.

“We’ll introduce ourselves when you get back.” He grunted and slammed his hammer into the metal again.

No worries, I got what I needed. I decided to wander around the burg a little more and see what I could find. There wasn’t much point running off with just one quest.

Sadly, the only person willing to talk to me of their own free will was the local trader, and he offered me a few copper coins for my goods while demanding a mountain of gold for his. The city rix should have talked to me as well, but, as luck would have it, he was off visiting the rix in Fiodal, the neighboring burg. At least, that’s what a guard told me begrudgingly. I got the feeling he wouldn’t have said anything at all if it wasn’t his job to tell me.

Once I realized that the only way to get anywhere was to just start building a reputation, I headed for the gate leading to the plain. As I went, I opened my map to see where those iron-infested burial mounds were. I figured I’d have to go during the day, preferably right then, as heaven only knew what happened there at night. Live and learn.

There were two red spots on the map not far from the burg. They were very close, indeed, I noted to myself as I closed my map.

Wait a second! Why were there two spots? Could there be two sets of burial mounds?

I pulled up my map again to see what quests the red spots were for. One was for the burial mounds and the grave iron inside them. The second, which was a little to the left of the first—and here I nearly plumped down on the ground in shock—showed that the local dryad was half a day’s walk away at most. I was as happy as I was surprised to see that. My previous experience with the beaten-up little creatures had me used to what I thought was the fact that they were all off in the middle of nowhere. But there… Something was fishy, that was for sure. The developers could put lipstick on a pig, but in the end, it was still just a pig. But, I didn’t have much of a choice, so what did it matter to me?

The decision was made, so I just took a quick jaunt over to the trader to buy a couple apples. The dryads liked them, I’d noticed, and my fruit basket was running low. I also picked up some dried meat.

Once out of the city, I headed toward the red spots at a moderate pace. If the map told the truth, and there was no reason to think it didn’t, I just needed to go straight. Sooner or later, I’d get where I was going.

There wasn’t anything that special about the local scenery. Open plains were speckled with small groves of trees, and somewhere off to the left, I could see the sun glinting off a small lake. As I walked, little creatures jumped out from under my feet, though I had no interest in killing them—my time chopping the heads off snakes and gophers had long since passed. What was the point? I wouldn’t have gotten any experience, so I had no reason to go chasing them. Let them run. It was just a shame that the burial mounds were off somewhere away from the road. Maybe I should try to take a shortcut? I'd still have plenty of walking to do afterward, and I knew I'd be fine visiting the dryad in the evening. They always lived somewhere quiet. If all else failed, I could spend the night near the dryad, but I was kicking myself for not taking a portal scroll with me. I made a mental note to always have one in my bag. My stinginess will be the death of me.

So I started bearing right, having decided to first collect my grave iron. To be honest, I wasn’t in much of a hurry. After the dust, sand, and monotone of the West, I was particularly enjoying the green landscape and fresh air of the North. Even the lone wolves who jumped out at me every now and again didn’t ruin the trip. They were easy enough to kill one at a time, and, happily, I didn’t have to deal with any packs of them. I was even working on that action at the same time.

Two hours later, some hills appeared on the horizon, and I assumed they were the burial mounds I was looking for. To be fair, they looked more like the piles of sand and gravel you see left next to roads that are being built—the contractors leave them there and then leave the roads, too, when the money dries up. These were a bit bigger. Although…maybe that’s what burial mounds looked like. I’d never seen them before.

What I can say for sure is that it was a bad place, maybe nearly as bad as the mines. The elusive taste of danger hung in the air somehow—that, and I had to step over human bones here and there, not to mention pieces and fragments of armor. Soon, I could see whole skulls, although only some of them were human. I couldn’t tell what race the others belonged to, but I’m no anthropologist.

It got to the point that I wasn’t even surprised when I heard the creaking sound of a pile of bones assembling. I turned to my left and saw a skeleton staring back at me angrily. A rusty sword (What else?) rattled in his hand as he charged me.

“Hi there, my friend,” I greeted him amiably. “Go ahead, come on over. Let’s get acquainted.”

It was as if the skeleton understood me, and he ran up, joints crunching, to kill me where I stood. That plan didn’t quite work for me, however, so I met him with a sideways blow aimed at his legs. My bladе struck home, and the Level 45 skeleton never saw it coming. He collapsed, his legs taken out from under him, and tried to drag himself away. Finishing him off was a piece of cake that even came with a pleasant surprise.

You unlocked Northern Undead, Level 1.

To get it, kill 49 more warrior skeletons, warrior ghosts, or mage ghosts in the North.

Reward:

0.4% to mental resistance

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

Title: Vanquisher of the Undead

To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

That struck me as odd, given that I’d already gotten an action for skeletons way back when. I made a mental note to check back and see if local varieties were included in the overall count.

I wasn’t terribly surprised to see grave iron in the loot I got from my twice-dead foe, and the system even helpfully informed me of it.

You need to collect another 19 pieces of grave iron to complete the quest.

So, I was going to be doing some skeleton-killing; not the worst way to pass the time.

Sometime later, having taken out a few more of the walking dead, I made my way over to the burial mounds themselves. They were just what I imagined burial mounds to be—two squat, pockmarked hills that I’d say were about nine stories tall. They even had their own backstory.

Fallen Warriors Burial Mounds

In ancient times, this area, the Sveltyattur Valley, was the scene of a great battle between two Northern tribes that ended in one of them being completely wiped out. The victorious buried the fallen in two mounds, one for the bodies of their kinsmen, the other for the bodies of their foes. The latter had earned their respect by fighting courageously and fearlessly, which is what Northerners value most.

After the darkness had come from the West, during the Second War of Hatred, the shadows of those killed in the battle were disturbed by Evil, and since then, misfortune awaits unwary travelers who wander too close during the day. Those who come at night await certain death. If they come across the Lord of the Burial Mounds, their afterlife will be equally terrible.

I knew right then that I wouldn’t be coming back after dark—that Lord of the Burial Mounds didn’t sound like anyone I wanted to be messing with. But that was fine; all I needed to do was pick off another seventeen skeletons and get out of there, especially since it was already afternoon and I still had a long way to go. Just then, the sun ducked behind a cloud. A cold sensation wrapped itself around my feet, and I heard a familiar sound. But why is it so loud?

Glancing to my left, the chill ran up my legs and the rest of my body. Mother of God! Dozens of skeletons were pulling themselves out of the many holes dotting the hills, their eye sockets pointed directly at me.

I’m certainly no coward, and I can be as courageous as anyone when I need to be. That was exactly why I bravely took off in a headlong dash that was faster than even I thought possible. When I stopped a couple kilometers away from the mounds, I looked back for the first time, crossing my fingers and hoping not to see a mob of skeletons thirsting for my blood.

Happily, there was no mob to be seen; just two skeletons laboriously and lazily meandering toward me, joints rattling as they came. I chopped them up into soup bones, taking out on them the fear I’d just felt.

After standing there for a minute, I decided to make the safe play and headed off to see the dryad. Everything made sense with the burial mounds; I needed to come back with a group looking to slaughter some skeletons or lure them out one by one if I couldn’t find anyone to come with me. Catching them wouldn’t be that difficult, but it would be time-consuming to the tune of at least an hour and a half that I couldn’t spare from my long trek. And I’m not about to try it in the dark, I thought to myself as I recalled the previous night’s wolf packs and marauders. I didn’t need that. Spending the night by the dryad and coming back that Friday with plenty of time to slice and dice the skeleton hordes was a much better plan.

I checked my map one more time to orient myself, glanced up at the sky to make sure I had enough time before it got dark, and walked off across the green grass in search of yet another brain-teaser of a quest. Why a brain-teaser? Well, I don’t believe for a second that it’s going to be anything like simple and straightforward.

The copse that was home to my next poor damsel in distress was easy to pick out. First, of course, the map told me I was in the right spot, but it was also the only one anywhere in sight. The sky was darkening quickly as dusk made its way across the terrain. I quickened my pace, and ten minutes later, found myself in the middle of the three-dozen stumpy trees the dryad called home.

“Hey, North, where are you? Your sisters said to say hi—Ogina and Eiliana. They sent you a bow in greeting. And you should see them now; you can’t look away!”

Something shuffled around under the trees until a disheveled head popped up from a hole among the roots.

“Really?”

“You think I’m lying?” I asked, a little hurt. “My parents taught me not to lie.”

“So, my intuition was right; my sisters are free.” The creature sniffled, crawling out from her hiding place.

That dryad wasn’t just ragged and bedraggled like her sisters; she was also filthy to an extent that made sense for someone living under the roots of a tree.

“And you’re the hero?” she asked.

“In the flesh,” I answered, still a bit peeved. “Who else? How else would I know to look for you?”

“And find me!” She poked her finger skyward.

You completed a quest: Find Hilda the North

This is the third in the Children of the Goddess series of hidden quests.

Reward:

7500 experience

White Prince Crown

Class ability scroll

Ability to unlock the fourth quest in the Children of the Goddess series.

That’s when I heard a ding!

You unlocked Level 49!

Points ready to be distributed: 5

That was a nice surprise.

“But finding me is only half the battle,” the dirty face said, all business. “You have to help me, too.”

“Seriously?” I slapped my forehead. “No!”

“Oh, you do,” Hilda said with a nod. Bits of earth flew in every direction.

“That’s crazy,” I replied in feigned shock.

The grimy dryad’s crinkled her eyebrows, but the effect was lessened by the dirt caked over them. She clenched her fists at her sides and looked threateningly at me. The effect, however, was anything but menacing. In fact, it was hilarious, and I had to do my best to keep from laughing.

“Oh, come on, do you have to be that scary?” I asked, holding out my hands. “I’m already afraid of you. And, of course, I’ll help—that’s why I’m here. Just tell me how. Okay?”

The dryad looked at me.

“You have to get my crown back.”

“What crown?”

You unlocked Crown of the North.

This is the fourth in the Children of the Goddess series of hidden quests.

Task: Return the ice crown belonging to Hilda the North that was stolen in ancient times by the servants of the Great Fomor.

Additional task: Kill the Great Fomor.

Reward:

12000 experience

+50 respect among the peoples of the North

+10 respect in each of the Northern burgs

Set item matching your class: random

Elite quest-starter item: random

+10% life energy or mana: random

+20% chance that the Fayroll animal world will come to your assistance in your time of trouble

Ability to unlock the fifth quest in the Children of the Goddess series.

It was only when I’d read that the third time that I realized how screwed I was. In a word, it was the usual—impossible. How would I kill the Great Fomor if he were an NPC since NPCs are protected by the administration? If I killed him, the quest wouldn’t count, and my character would be a dead man. If someone else killed him for me, well, why would they do that? And why would they give me the crown if they did? It was one big, nasty spiral. At least the reward was great. Nice and out of reach.

I handed the dryad an apple, almost without thinking, and sat down on a log at the edge of the copse. The dryad sat next to me, bit into the apple, continued eating it noisily, and started telling me her story through a full mouth.

“The first thousand years here weren’t bad. I was hungry, sure, and it wasn’t much fun, but at least it was doable. It was just me sitting around waiting for my rebirth. But then that witch, Fomor’s helper, came by and stole my crown. She set fire to my copse and nabbed it while I was putting everything out. And what am I without my crown? That’s where I get my strength, my power over the weather and plants, even over animals. That Fomor can’t use the crown, but I can’t do anything to him without it—even after my rebirth. I can’t get my power back on my own, so please get it back for me. Are you even listening?”

The dryad tugged on my sleeve.

“I’m listening, little one, I’m listening,” I answered sadly.

“‘Little one,’” Hilda snorted. She scrutinized the apple core from every angle, thought about what to do for a second, and ended up popping the whole thing in her mouth. She really was hungry. “I don’t remember when the world was created, though I do remember when it was under the sway of the gods. I was created by Mesmerta, the greatest of the goddesses. That was thousands of years ago.”

“I don’t remember that, of course, but I wasn’t talking about your age. I was referring to your size,” I said apologetically. “But what does it matter? What am I supposed to do with this quest?”

“Go kill that Fomor,” Hilda answered imperturbably. “You’re a warrior; killing is what you do.”

“Not all enemies are that easy to kill,” I retorted. “And how am I supposed to kill someone who can’t be killed?”

“Everyone can be killed,” answered Hilda firmly. “You just have to find the right blade. That’s what the God of War you worship said. I was in the Halls of the Warrior when he said that—Mesmerta took me with her, and the Lord of the Guards himself favored me. He used to spend most of his time up here in the North where his fiefdom was.”

“Really?” I said in surprise. “What kind of god was he?”

“Valiant,” Hilda answered thoughtfully. “Uncompromising, sometimes reckless, always direct. He didn’t like going the long way around.”

“How did he never get his neck broken?” I grunted.

“Well, he’s a god,” the dryad answered, her nose wrinkling. “Who’s going to break his neck?”

“The other gods.” I looked at her steadily. “As far as I know, there was a whole community of them back then. A snake pit, or worse.”

“You’re talking about the gods, even if they are departed.” Hilda’s gaze was reproachful. “Show a little respect. I mean, sure, things were complicated—that’s why he spent so much time up here. None of the other gods liked the North since only bloodthirsty, battle-hardened warriors lived here. They’d rather trust steel and muscle than the gods. And so, they spilled blood in search of power and gold, rather than in service to the gods. It wasn’t like in the East or the South.”

“It’s all the same, here and back where I live, too.” I shook my head.

“Well, yes,” the dryad agreed. “Anyway, don’t get too down. Think about the weapon you can use to fight with someone you’re not allowed to fight. Hey, do you have another apple, by any chance?”

She looked at me hopefully.

“Of course.” I sighed and handed her a second apple.

She took it, breathed in deeply and happily, and sank her teeth into it, spraying juice everywhere. There was a spark of childlike happiness in her eyes.

I took a deep breath as well. At least life is good for one of us. I was feeling a bit depressed.

Night fell on the North just as completely as it had the day before, though this time there weren’t even any stars. Although, wait a second… I thought I caught a smattering of lights on the horizon, but they definitely weren’t stars. They were approaching—quickly.

“What is that?” I pointed at the horizon.

Hilda’s eyes widened, which surprised me, as I didn’t know they could get any bigger. She quickly hid the half-eaten apple in her rags, and then had some even faster words for me.

“The Wild Hunt. Oh, you’re out of luck this time. Run, although that probably won’t save you. Maybe they’ll ride by without catching your scent. Run! They’ll definitely catch you here. Go!”

She dove into her hole, disappearing in an instant.

I had no idea what was going on except for the fact that I seemed to have found myself yet another problem. Why, oh why, did I leave my last scroll in the hotel? I’m such an idiot!

Following the dryad’s instructions, I turned and sprinted away, noticing as I did that the lights were rushing toward me at an incredible pace. It was like the Wild Hunt was out riding some kind of high-speed transport.

All too soon, I heard a clatter of footfalls and a girlish voice from behind me. “There it is! Get it! A-oo!”

The clatter grew until I realized that running was pointless. They were going to catch me one way or another, and I was just prolonging the inevitable. The thought crossed my mind that I should have stayed in the copse—at least that way, I could have asked Hilda to hide my things somewhere so it would be easier to find them after I died. But there was no use crying over spilled milk. I didn’t even get a chance to see what that crown she gave me was.

I turned to face my death and saw a dozen riders on skeleton horses. Their inhumanly beautiful faces gleamed out above shiny armor and chainmail, and they were armed with lances. One of them, a girl, pulled her horse up and cocked her spear to run me through. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Chapter Eight

In which the hero benefits from a few surprising twists of fate.

“Signu, wait!” I heard a masculine voice cry just when I thought that spear would pierce my ribcage.

“Ragnar, you’d better have a good reason for not letting me kill this coward!” The girl’s voice quivered with pent-up emotions, but I couldn’t say which exactly they were—a thirst for blood or frustration that she wasn’t being allowed to take the kill.

“I’m not sure I’d jump to that conclusion,” another masculine voice responded. “Not everyone who runs is a coward.”

“So, why can’t I run him through?” The blood-thirsty girl was persistent.

I opened one eye and tried to look around. The second stayed shut, although I wasn’t sure why.

It turned out that I was surrounded by riders sitting astride terrifying horses. Well, sort of horses. The eye sockets in the skulls of the awful creatures gleamed with a greenish-yellow flame, functioning almost as headlights to illuminate the path ahead. That was probably what I’d seen when they were still a ways off. The light was incredibly bright, and the area where I stood was bathed in an eerie luminescent glow.

The riders themselves (I could only see maybe half of them, with the rest on either side and behind me) were just as picturesque as their steeds. They were deathly pale, and they behaved and dressed like warriors. Clad in iron from head to toe, the only difference between the men and the women was that the former wore armor and the latter were covered in full-body chainmail.

“He has the mark of Father Ratei,” another of the riders announced solemnly. “Look carefully, Signu—you really can’t see it? And it’s not just the mark. He’s the first to swear allegiance to the Lord of Mortal Blades.”

“And he’s the first member of the Legion reborn,” said the person who saved my life. He was a warrior with an enormous sword strapped to his back and snow-white hair tied back behind his head, even though his face was as young as everyone else there. He was sitting on one of the awful steeds right in front of me and next to Signu, who still had her spear raised. “The prophecies were true—change is coming to the world.”

He jumped down lightly and walked over to me. I opened my second eye, realizing that nobody was going to be killing me just then. Once he got to me, he looked me over appraisingly. I can’t say I was happy to feel his eyes on me, and I realized I was being weighed and could be found wanting. The consequences would be dire if that was his conclusion. Still, I had a chance to prove my worth, and so, I decided to see if there was any way I could tip the scales in my favor.

I held my arms out to either side and slowly rotated, in the process noting that there was indeed a ring of riders surrounding me.

“Would you like me to do a dance as well?” I asked the white-haired warrior, who was still looking at me implacably.

“He can hold his own,” said one of the other warriors, laughing.

“Insolent scoundrel,” muttered the familiar voice of the blonde beauty with the spear—Signu, who hadn’t been allowed to kill me. “Sure, insolent,” agreed a woman behind me, “but he grabbed the chance to look around and see what’s going on behind him. This one is more warrior than farmer, that’s for sure.”

“Trina, sometimes I don’t know where you come up with these things,” noted a man in one of the rows farther back. “Would Father Ratei put his hand on a land-tiller? He only ever cared about swordsmen, and they’re the only ones he ever respected. Well, pretty much.”

The white-haired leader held up his hand, and the chatter ceased.

“Who are you?” he asked me.

“Hagen from Tronje, a free laird,” I repeated.

“‘Laird’ is a title where you’re from? Or does it have something to do with your rank as a warrior?”

Whoops. The only person curious enough to ask that question was a piece of code? How am I supposed to explain to him that a laird is a low-ranking nobleman in Scotland? Then I’ll have to explain to him where Scotland is…

“It’s a noble title,” I answered, hoping not to broach the topic of Scotland or get into where exactly Tronje was. “But I’m my father’s third son, and so all I have besides my title is my sword and a few other belongings...plus, my ability to use my sword.”

The beauty with the spear snorted, still frustrated that I’d wriggled away from her.

“I didn’t notice any of that when you were running away like a rabbit.”

“A timely retreat is no act of cowardice,” I countered. “Just about anyone can fight and die. Choosing your battle and death is for the brave, and living to fight another day is for the wise. I wouldn’t exactly call myself wise, but I do know that I’m in no hurry to die.”

Most of the riders nodded in appreciation, but the blonde with the spear just crinkled her nose—Yes, we’ve seen your type. It looked like I hit the right nerve.

The white-haired warrior smiled and introduced himself, which surprised me.

“I’m Ragnar, one of the einherjar, and close warrior to Father Ratei, my lord and yours. Before you, are all that is left of the first brigade of the great Vitar, God of Warriors. Six einherjar and six valkyries—the last of those who remember the great battles of the past. It is my pleasure to greet the first in all these centuries to accept the mark of our father. He is, indeed, our father, as we are his children. Each of us was once among the best warriors in our tribes, and each of us was faced with a decision after death in battle: go into the afterlife or serve the god faithfully and eternally. Here we are in our everlasting life and battle.”

“But didn’t the gods leave ages ago?” I asked with a shrug. “Why are you still here?”

“Yes, they left,” agreed Ragnar. “They couldn’t take us with them, but nobody freed us of our oath of allegiance. If we can’t serve them in other worlds, we’ll wait for them in this one. Many of us lost faith in their return and disappeared from this world. Many, but not all. We await them, and we are here. And now you’re here as well, living proof that the long centuries of waiting have not been in vain. What do you know about the god’s return? Where did you make your oath of allegiance?”

The other warriors climbed down off their steeds, the sight of which still sent a shiver down my spine, and encircled me. Only Signu stubbornly remained astride her horse and did her best to show that she had no intention of listening to or caring the least bit about me. Principled. I can respect that.

“There isn’t much to say,” I answered, shrugging again. “I found Vitar’s temple and swore my allegiance to him there, seeing as how he’s much more my type of god than any of the others. I’m a warrior, and he favors them—what’s there to think about?”

The einherjar and valkyries again murmured their approval.

“Understood.” Ragnar nodded. “What do you know about his return to this world? That’s what’s most important.”

“Nothing much,” I said, treading carefully. You can’t just go around spilling the beans to everyone you meet.

“If you swore your allegiance to him and the omens and prophecies speak the truth, his return is near at hand…but you have to do something for it to happen. What do you have to do?” Ragnar raised his voice slightly and stared closely at me.

“There’s a quest I’m doing,” I answered without looking away. “It doesn’t have anything to do with his return, but a lot could change by the time I complete it. Father Ratei could even be back by then. But I won’t give you any details about the quest; it’s not my secret to tell.”

“And if I ask you to give them?” Ragnar put his hand on my shoulder.

“I still won’t.” I gripped the hilt of my sword and stuck my jaw out aggressively.

“Well done,” Ragnar replied, clapping me on the shoulder. “You did everything a true warrior should do. Skald Skeggy, is he lying?”

“No, hofðing,” answered a curly-haired young man with an open face. “Neither in word nor in thought. He’s being clever, but he’s not lying. There really is a quest, and he really has a secret. But he’s not lying.”

“Skeggy can always tell when you’re lying; that’s his talent. Wear any mask you like and speak as profoundly as you like, but he’ll still plumb the depths of your thoughts and bring to life the truth of your words,” explained Ragnar. “So, it appears the hour is at hand.”

The expression I saw spread over the faces of the warriors was the same enraptured smile you might see on the face of a child who got the present he or she was hoping for on Christmas morning or on their birthday. They shoved each other happily, raising their hands to the sky, and even Signu got down off her horse.

“Hagen, what were you doing here?” asked Ragnar. “There aren’t any human settlements closer than half a day’s walk away, and it’s dangerous out here—especially at night.”

“I had things to do,” I answered evasively.

“He was probably here to see Hilda,” announced Skeggy loudly. “There’s nobody else nearby.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Signu said, twisting her face in disgust. “A normal woman wouldn’t give him a second thought, so he picked what he could get. Hilda never was much of a beauty, even back then, and now she looks more like an earthworm than a woman! I saw her a couple times recently.”

“You watch yourself, you walking piece of iron!” An echo of a voice reached us from the direction of the copse.

“Wha-a-at?” Signu had grabbed her sword and was about to explode, clearly ready for a quick chat with Hilda under the shadow of the trees.

Ragnar stopped her by placing his hand on her arm.

“That clears some things up for me. So, you’re helping Hilda, who, as I recall, was one of the favorites of our lord’s wife. I imagine you have quite the load on your shoulders, warrior.”

“You imagine correctly,” I said with a sigh. “The farther I go, the heavier it gets, too, and I only have two shoulders.”

“Difficult roads harden the warriors they don’t break,” noted Ragnar. “Those are the only two outcomes.”

“To the contrary. You can always just find different roads,” I replied.

“That’s true, but I don’t imagine you will be looking for those other roads.”

“You’re also not alone,” said Skeggy, jumping into the conversation. “I can see that you have met several people in your journey who helped and will continue to help you. Of course, there are also those who would stand in your way.”

“Skeggy, as always, you talk about everything and nothing at all,” said a Valkyrie named Freidis, laughing. “We used to have someone like that who predicted the weather. ‘It may be sunny tomorrow,’ she’d say, ‘but there may be rain. Everything is in the hands of the god.’ Sometimes she even got it right.”

“I’m no soothsayer,” said Ragnar, “but I know this—it was your good fortune to meet us, as our roads are now intertwined. Our fate depends on yours, and so, to give you every chance of success that we can, I, Ragnar Olaffson, give you, Hagen of Tronje, my word that we will aid you when and where it is needed. When you call me, I will fight fairly and even die for you.”

Ragnar pulled out a small knife, made a cut across his hand, and watched as a few drops of blood dripped onto the ground.

One after another, the einherjar and valkyries made similar cuts on their hands and gave me their word as well. I stood there taken aback. The whole thing was great, but how was I supposed to use them? I couldn’t very well drag an admittedly fantastic combat group of Level 100+ warriors around with me. What would I do in cities and villages? They’d burn me as a wizard as soon as they caught a glimpse of those horses. Well, that or they’d stone me. But I wasn’t sure how I could summon them if they weren’t with me all the time.

Signu was the last to swear to me, and her mask of angry aloofness had long since gone. I expected an action but didn’t get one, presumably because the situation was so unusual. I doubted that any of my fellow players had ever succeeded in getting away from the group of warriors, not to mention making friends with them.

“You can call for us at any moment,” Ragnar announced grandly. “Just be aware that our power is limited—we can only fight during the daytime for ten minutes. However, if you summon us somewhere sheltered from the sun or at night, we will fight to the death—yours, ours, or the enemy’s. Ah, and we can only help you here in the North. Our path does not lie toward the South, West, or East. You can also summon just one of us by naming whoever you need.”

Right, like I’m going to remember everyone’s names.

“But how do I summon you?” I asked Ragnar. “Is there some kind of spell, or do I just shout something out loud?”

“No need to shout,” Ragnar replied with a smile. “Here.”

He handed me a small silver horn. I took it and turned it over in my hands.

Wild Hunt Horn

A unique item, the only one of its kind.

Can be used to call the remains of the first brigade of Vitar, the God of War.

Limitations:

The brigade can only be summoned once a day.

The horn only works in the Northern Lands.

Cannot be stolen, lost, or broken.

Does not disappear from the holder’s inventory after dying.

I was surprised to see the note about how unique it was; I didn’t even know there were such things in the game.

You unlocked Connoisseur of Rarities.

To get it, collect another four of the nine unique items in Fayroll that were created by the Departed Gods.

Reward:

Title: Collector

+2 to intellect

+5% chance of getting hidden and elite quests

To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

Yeah, right. I didn’t imagine that was an action anyone would ever be doing. The likelihood of picking up five completely unique items I didn’t imagine it was possible to buy was incredibly low. Still, I knew I could get a pretty penny for the horn.

But I wasn’t about to sell it, at least not yet. Twelve warriors ready to save my skin for conscience’s sake rather than out of fear was manna from heaven.

“Well, I’m glad we met. I think it was fate that brought us together.” Ragnar placed his hand on my shoulder.

“I think it was good fortune as well. There are always plenty of enemies out there, and you can never have enough friends,” I answered, bowing my head as I did.

“Well said,” cut in Skeggy, squeezing his eyes shut in appreciation.

Great, another von Richter…

“Where were you going, Laird Hagen?” asked Ragnar. “Our horses are fast and do not tire, so perhaps we can take you somewhere?”

“I wanted to get to Hexburg,” I said frankly. “But you were hunting in the opposite direction if I remember correctly.”

“The Lord of the Burial Mounds isn’t going anywhere,” Ragnar answered evenly. “And we won’t all take you where you’re going. Skeggy or Signu will be fine on their own.”

“Me?” Signu pointed a finger at her chainmail indignantly. “Why me? Ragnar!”

“Wait a second,” I said, waving my hands. “You’re going to hunt the Lord of the Burial Mounds?”

“Yes,” said Ragnar with a nod of his head. “I’ve heard rumors that he hasn’t been speaking as deferentially about us and our lord as he should. We need to teach him a lesson. He’s immortal, so we can’t kill him outright, but reincarnation is unpleasant and painful for him. He’ll change his tack.”

“Take me with you!”

“Wait, why do you care about him?” asked Orm, one of the einherjar, in surprise.

I remembered the living lie detector next to me and told him the truth.

“I have a quest from the Hexburg blacksmith to collect grave iron. There’s plenty of it there since you get it from all the skeletons living in the burial mounds. You’ll have to take out the skeletons to get to him, and I can grab their iron. Plus, I’m intrigued. When else am I going to get the chance to see the death of the Lord of the Burial Mounds?”

Ragnar glanced quickly at Skeggy, who nodded.

Exactly. If you don’t have to lie, it’s always better to tell the truth. Or at least keep your mouth shut.

“In that case, you’d be more than welcome.” Ragnar nodded and pointed me in the direction of his horse.

I had two impressions after riding the skeleton horses: it was incredibly fast and incredibly uncomfortable. Throwing convention to the wind, I grabbed hold of Ragnar’s sides and concentrated on making sure I didn’t fall off. I had no doubt that nobody would have noticed a thing if I had, given the speed we were traveling at. The fall would probably have killed me, too.

We covered the distance between the burial mounds and Hilda’s copse, one that took me several hours to walk, in a little less than half an hour, scaring away everything in our path. I noticed shadows running away from the light streaming from the horses’ eyes. So, I was right about walking around here alone this late. It’s as bad as Moscow, and probably just as dangerous.

The column dismounted near the burial mounds, casually dispatching a few especially nimble skeletons that jumped out of the ground to greet us, placing their spears in special holders strapped to their saddles, and pulling out swords with shining blades. Multicolored shields with some kind of circular figures in the middle rounded out the picture.

“Gudrun, protect our friend and make sure nothing happens to him,” Ragnar said to one of the valkyries. I looked over to see a tall, beautiful woman with a long, straw-colored braid of hair streaming behind her. She nodded to Ragnar.

“I can loot the skeletons?” I asked her. She nodded again, just as silently.

“Don’t expect her to say anything,” Skeggy whispered to me. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say anything. I wasn’t sure she could even talk.”

Gudrun glared at him darkly, giving the einherjar a kick to show her disapproval of his commentary.

“Okay, okay,” Skeggy mewled, heading back to the main brigade. The group was walking toward the gap between the mounds, clearing out the skeletons that got in their way.

All I had to do was go around collecting everything I could from the piles of bones they left behind them, thrilled to be getting a free ride and crying inside at all the experience disappearing in front of me. Unfortunately, I had no idea how to ask an NPC to join a group. I mean, I could have tried, but I wasn’t sure how Ragnar and his harsh Northern manners would react. Oh, so you want to grab someone else’s fame, you scoundrel? Signu, go ahead, do your worst with that spear of yours. I don’t think he’s the kind of person we thought he was!

Much better not to risk it and pass up the experience, I decided.

A few minutes later I got a message.

You completed a quest: Grave Iron

You got twenty pieces of grave iron.

To get your reward, talk to the blacksmith in Hexburg.

Thank God. My trip was a success, and the group was about to take out the Lord of the Burial Mounds—I was sure of that. I figured Ragnar probably wouldn’t be interested in loot, so I mentally rubbed my hands together in anticipation of what I’d find.

I thoroughly enjoyed watching the children of the Departed Gods wield their swords. Thinking back to how Turok, Erador, and Nox made short work of the nagas, I realized that they were amateurs next to the einherjar and valkyries in front of me. They were barely exerting any effort as they shredded everything that opposed them. Bones flew in all directions, and it didn’t look like anyone in the group had come close to being wounded. Their swords flashed like lightning, illuminating the skulls as they arced through the air and adding an apocalyptic feel to the whole picture.

At one point, four skeletons emerged out of the darkness to throw themselves at Gudrun and me, and I didn’t even have time to swing my sword once. She scattered their bones with four strokes that merged into one graceful maneuver.

It took us no more than five minutes to get to where we were going; a hard-working group of players would have taken at least twenty. Regardless, Ragnar called into the darkness as soon as we arrived.

“Hey, so-called Lord. Get out here! Let’s see if you’re as strong as everyone says. It’s me, Ragnar Olaffson—I think you’ve heard my name.”

“Ah, the faithful dog of a forgotten lord,” said a squeaky voice. Two small, red fires awoke in the darkness at the foot of one of the mounds. We heard footsteps shuffle forward until a large skeleton walked out into the circle of light created by the group’s swords, a crown on his head; black, battered armor covering his bones; and a two-handed sword in his…claws? Hands? I wasn’t sure. He wasn’t the most pleasant of fellows to look at, but I was intrigued to see that his cuirass was decorated with a picture of a tower being hit by a zigzag flash of lightning. That’s fun.

“What do you need?” the Lord of the Burial Mounds—it was definitely him—asked peevishly.

“I’m surprised you even have to ask,” answered Ragnar, eyebrows raised. “You’ve been saying some nasty things about me and my people, which is enough for us to kill you right there, but you also besmirched the name of my Lord. We’re here for your head.”

“I don’t think you’ll be getting it anytime soon,” said the Lord with a scratchy laugh. “You know very well that I’m immortal. All you can do is send me to nothingness for a short while. I won’t even notice, even if it will be a bit painful, after which I’ll assume my throne under the Mound like nothing ever happened. And that’s only if you can kill me.”

“If we have to, we’ll stop by more often.” Ragnar smiled. “But that’s enough talk—the night won’t last forever.”

“As you wish, you old fool. But as far as your lord is concerned, I’ve seen the signs, too,” the Lord said, baring his boney mouth. “He may be coming back, but so is mine, and that’s when things will get really interesting. Yours is just one of many; mine, the one that will ascend the Black Throne, is alone and unstoppable. Hey, mortal, you’ve already seen his power or at least a few droplets of it. What did you think?”

The Lord of the Burial Mounds stared at me. A shiver ran through me, though I really had no idea what he was talking about.

“You undead sure do love to spout nonsense,” Ragnar said with a sigh before swinging his sword at his opponent.

“Circle up!” I heard Signu shout. I barely had time to respond before I found myself in a ring formed by the group. Dozens of skeletons clambered out of their holes and rushed at us.

Two fights broke out at once. One was a duel between the Lord and Ragnar, and the second, the one we were in, saw us fighting off hordes of skeletons.

With that said, “fighting off” skeletons is a bit of an overstatement, as my new friends barely even broke a sweat. One wave of skeletons after another broke against them and collapsed into piles of bones at their feet. I just stood there, my sword hanging lifelessly from my hand, and hoped that I’d get to pick clean just ten percent of the bodies as well as that of the Lord.

“We’ll meet again,” I heard his voice say, and it was followed quickly by Ragnar’s reply.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Immediately afterward, came the clang of a sword jabbing into a cuirass. A flash of red light erupted into the night, letting us all know that the Lord of the Burial Mounds was dead. The skeletons around us disappeared.

“Well, that’s that.” Ragnar’s tone was carefree and betrayed how easy the whole thing had been for him.

It was impressive how he took out a monster like that so emotionlessly. Life is simple when you’re an NPC. So simple… Simple… He just up and killed a named monster. Hmm. Interesting. I’ll give that some more thought later.

“Ragnar,” I said, walking over to the white-haired warrior as he was about to wave his hand and give the order to mount and ride off. “Do you mind if I grab his things?”

“Go ahead,” Ragnar answered indifferently. “I don’t need them.”

I leaned over and checked the body.

You received

2700 gold

Molton’s Cuirass

Ulfrida’s Bracelet

12 pieces of grave iron

5 tines from the rusty crown belonging to the Lord of the Burial Mounds

Molton’s Cuirass? Who did we just kill? I recognized it as a set item since I already had the gauntlets. So, he wasn’t just a local boss? Or was that because an NPC killed him? I decided to check the forums later.

“Hagen, are you coming?” Ragnar was waiting for me.

“You bet!” I jumped up and ran over, Gudrun striding silently next to me.

Ragnar stopped his steed about a kilometer away from the burg and swung me down.

“By the way, what did that talkative skeleton mean when he was talking about his lord?” Ragnar looked at me sharply.

“I’m not sure.” I shrugged. “Really, I’m just as surprised as you are. Skeggy, am I right?”

“He’s not lying.” Skeggy nodded. “He really doesn’t know. Or, at least, he doesn’t yet know enough to connect different things he may have seen.”

Ragnar sprang down off his horse and extended his hand.

“I think we have quite a few battles ahead of us, Laird Hagen. And I imagine we will conduct ourselves well.”

We shook hands, and soon the Wild Hunt was riding off into the night.

“They could have dropped me off at the gate, considering how valuable everything I have with me is,” I muttered before walking away in the direction of the burg.

Thank God, my short trip was uneventful, and I stepped into the hotel alive and well. The local “commandant” was snoring again. I pounded my fist on his desk, but that wasn’t enough to wake him.

“Hey, my friend, the early bird gets the worm!” I barked.

He opened his eyes, pulled himself up, stared at me for half a minute, and started mumbling at me.

“Oh, it’s you, the new guest. Your room isn’t paid for, so fork over the money.”

I exploded. The night before, I’d been pretty sure that he was pulling one over on me because the math wasn’t adding up. I can be non-confrontational at times, however, and the sum wasn’t that large, so I decided just to let it go. But the second time, I realized it was going to be a regular occurrence unless I put a stop to it…

A few short steps took me around to the other side of the desk, where I slapped Holm as hard as I could. He recoiled away from me, and I grabbed his hair. Pulling him up, I looked him in the eye and quietly gave him my reply.

“You think you’re going to milk me like a cow, you little backwater scum? I’ll slit your throat and toss your body over the wall, and nobody will ever be able to prove anything to anyone. And, you know, judging by what a piece of trash you are, I don’t imagine anyone will care enough to try.”

Obviously, I knew I couldn’t actually kill him, but there was nothing in the rules about scaring him. If I could kill him, I’d kill—

“Okay, okay, I get it,” stammered a cowed Holm. “I’ll give you back what you paid yesterday, too! I’ll give it all back!”

“Put it on my account,” I replied. “And don’t let it happen again.”

“It won’t, I swear.” Holm nodded vigorously and handed me a key.

You showed conviction in standing up for your interest, something that is esteemed highly in the North.

+2 respect in Hexburg

+0.5 respect among the peoples of the North

Interesting. Just one last surprise in a day that had gone surprisingly well. I decided to look over what I’d gotten the next day once I’d gotten some sleep.

After walking into my room, I hit the button to log out.

Chapter Nine

In which the hero figures out what he’s going to do next.

Back in real life, my underlings were starting to show some real promise. That was no surprise; they’d been working on the Fayroll Times every day for more than a month, and that had given them an idea of what was expected from them, a stable routine, and a chance to get acclimated. They were also more or less acquainted with everyone at the Capital Herald, and our staff had given them all kinds of professional tips. A month in, they knew everything from how best to submit a text to why it wasn’t a good idea to sleep with Lena, one of our proofreaders.

That Tuesday morning, I was once again pleasantly surprised that the chaos had been replaced by an orderly and mature three-person team.

I should also note that the conversations they were having with my old colleagues were taking effect, as well. No longer, did they call things and processes what they’d been taught to call them at school. Instead, thank God, they were using the slang I was used to. Jeans and t-shirts had replaced the old costumes. Yushkov even had an alcoholic smell to him—it was light, if constant, the result of an apparent friendship with someone from our sports department. Yesterday’s honors graduates, to put it simply, were normal people stripped of their affected habits. It was a job well done. We ran a newspaper, after all, and not a glamor magazine.

We decided to make Rivenholm the focus of our next issue. The paper took a look at the new continent from different angles, talking about points of interest, the clans that were gaining power there and preparing to repulse potential invasions from Rattermark, and monsters that were only in the new world. We figured the issue would push more experienced players to focus on their efforts to reach the new continent, while also encouraging new players to start there.

We did have some materials, including an interview with Harry the Eye, leader of Terra Incognita. He was a harsh guy who’d switched over from Rivenholm to Rattermark after either selling or losing his previous character—a high-level tank—and founded the continent’s first clan. Anyone wishing to establish a foothold there would have to go through him.

There was plenty more to write about, and so, we even cut out some of our normal columns to come up with Special Issue: Rivenholm. Everything besides announcements, a few short columns, and the chronicle of events was pushed back to the next week. The whole thing happened spontaneously, but we figured that was a good thing.

“Huh, boss,” I heard Yushkov say a little while later as he sorted through the materials we’d pulled for the issue. “This is cool. It’s a player who looks exactly like you.”

“What?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Look,” he replied, coming over. “See for yourself.”

I checked what he was pointing to and found exactly what he’d said—a player who looked exactly like me. Well, to be more precise, it actually was me. The picture was a screenshot taken by some player right when Mandiblefighter was killed. Everything was there, including Mandiblefighter with his legs cut out from under him and the clan leadership on the hill. And there I was a bit farther but no less recognizable. I looked great, too—my eyes bulged, drawing attention away from my patchwork armor…

“Come on, you have to see it,” babbled Yushkov. Who does he think he is, a photographer for the Watchful Eye? It looked like my cover was about to be blown, and I was in no hurry to have anyone there know who I was in the game. It wasn’t a secret, of course, but still.

The other three came over and looked to see what we were talking about.

“Yeah, that’s the boss, all right. Maybe it’s really you? You play, right?” laughed Samoshnikov.

I chuckled, as well, to show that I appreciated his joke. Sure, yeah, of course, that’s me, as if to say, Look at me, so cool, off spider hunting…

“I’ve heard that we all have doppelgängers in parallel realities,” said Gennady in a doleful tone. “Maybe that’s true about games, too? Maybe that player has some kind of astral connection with the boss.”

“Gennady,” I said, cutting off that line of thought. “You need to stop taking those pills. The little blue ones and the little green ones, too…that won’t end well.”

Vika had taken the whole scene in, paying special attention to Mandiblefighter, and wrinkled her forehead before asking a question.

“What’s that scary guy? Looks like a monster that's about as unnatural as it gets!”

“Unnatural? That’s Mandiblefighter,” Samoshnikov explained condescendingly. “An elite monster. And you said you were going to be writing about the monsters in the game!”

“An unnatural monster that looks like a spider? I’d never heard of that,” said Yushkov.

“Yep,” replied Vika with a smile. “Awful and terrifying.”

“And I’m supposed to lay off the pills.” Samoshnikov rolled his eyes.

Thankfully, the conversation about my double finished on that note, and I made a mental note to be better about fading into crowds when it came to moments like that. It wasn’t worth having my face out there. There wasn’t much harm in it, but I wasn’t thrilled by the prospect of turning into some kind of public figure in the game. Oh, look, it’s a Walking Fayroll Legend over there! My job was to wiggle by the battleship clans dominating the game, take care of my quests, avoid attracting attention, and leave Fayroll forever. Okay, maybe I’ll stop by every once in a while for old times’ sake.

Ah, Fayroll isn’t what it used to be, I’d say. I remember when…

Vika, by the way, was a smart cookie. She’d uncovered my dirty little secret.

Our team, really… Actually, I don’t like using that word at work. It just reminds me of all those terrible team-building exercises. Who are we? We’re a team! And…applause. So let me rephrase that.

Our group, really, was growing closer to each other. The guys realized that I wasn’t actually a monster just as they realized that they’d been in the wrong on that first day. The first issue brought us together as well. Then we’d gotten drunk together, which is the best way to get to know anyone before really jumping into the work. They were rough, but I could see real promise.

***

The two days before publication flew by as quickly as ever, but I didn’t have much to do that Wednesday besides a few little things. I’d been the good boss and set up a solid process, leaving myself free to make small adjustments and keep everyone in line. I’d already written my main editorial the day before when Vika went home to spend some time with her sister.

And so, I spent the day thinking and studying. First, I studied, saving the thinking for the evening.

I had just finished reading all the information I could find about building a reputation in the North. The reason was simple: before that, I’d learned everything there was to know about what happens in and around the Great Fomor Palace. It didn’t look good.

But my train of thought left the station well before that. As I looted the body of the Lord of the Burial Mounds, I thought to myself how simple it was for NPCs to kill anyone at all. That brought to mind Hilda’s words about choosing the right weapon. The dirty little apple-lover had been exactly right. Choosing the right weapon was everything, and it didn’t matter who held that weapon so long as they served my interests. What was wrong with a blade in the hands of an NPC? It would kill just as simply and effectively as mine would, and even simpler and more effective given the fact that an NPC wouldn’t be subject to the penalties I was worried about. There was nothing in the quest about who exactly had to kill the Great Fomor, after all. And so my job was simple: I had to get into the throne room and summon my new friends. Done.

At least, that’s what I thought until I read all the posts written by people who’d been up by the Ice Wall. It turned out that the guy Fomor kicked out after their discussion got in less by lucky chance and more because his host actually wanted him there. Fomor was tired of all the players tramping around his palace, and so he’d ordered his guards to bring one of them in so they could have a talk. The rest, as they say, is history. Everyone else, no matter their level, both before and after that conversation, was sent back to the respawn far before they ever got anywhere near Fomor. And that was hardly a surprise.

The Great Fomor valued his life dearly, and so, in addition to the 100-strong palace guard he’d made himself out of ice, he hired a motley band made up of a couple thousand soldiers from the many different warm-blooded races in Fayroll to take up residence outside. There were also five nearby ships with fully equipped crews ready at a moment’s notice for battle on land or sea. Finally, there were rangers spread out over the distant approaches with the order to stop and destroy anyone coming toward the Ice Wall, or at least send up a signal so the regular troops could arrange a welcoming party.

Long story short, breaking through the marshaled defenses with just the remnants of a brigade—no matter how skilled they were as fighters—was suicide. They’d get buried under the bodies, and I’d be buried right along with them.

Once that information sank in, a gloom set in with it, as I concluded that there was no way to do the quest fairly and without resorting to cheats. Sure, I knew there weren’t any quests in the game that were actually unbeatable unless the admin specifically wanted that to be the case. But here, that couldn’t be because the quest was made to be beaten—there had to be some way to beat it. That, however, didn’t mean that the way to beat it was absurd, something like getting to some super-level and killing them all. Unfortunately, that option didn’t work for me, if only because I didn’t have the time.

Then it hit me that the whole rigmarole with the reputations had to be there for a reason. Come on, I thought to myself. There are three huge locations where you can live a happy, meaningful life without ever touching your reputation. Just to make sure, I checked the South; it was the same as the East and the West. And way over there beyond the seas and the oceans, was an entire continent where that was also true. But in the North, you couldn't take your next step without a reputation. You were nobody without one. What’s that all about?

I also wondered if someone with a max reputation could manipulate the locals, making them do things for them. In my case, I wondered if it was possible to collect enough warriors to storm the Ice Wall and pin the Great Fomor to it. That’s when I started reading about reputations and the North, both about how to get them and what they give you.

Miurat, to be fair, had been right on the money with everything he told me, though he’d missed one small, insignificant detail. If you maxed out your reputation with the könig, it was significantly easier to boost your reputation in each of the burgs. You got a pretty good bonus right off the bat, meaning that helping people out gave you even more goodies and more of a reputation bump.

The könig could also take care of any problems players with maxed reputations had in a given burg. In my case, he could mobilize the militia and march against the icy foes to the north. I would still need a max reputation in the burgs, as that would decide how determined the militias would be to answer his call and defeat the enemy.

It was just a shame that building a reputation with the könig was awfully hard. Some players, again, had done it, but the amount of time they’d spent…mamma mia. Even getting an audience with the könig (so you could get one of the starter quests before you had some sort of reputation) was difficult, if not impossible. And you only got a reputation with the könig beyond the table scraps I already had once you finished a starter quest. Some posts did mention an alternative way to build a reputation using some nonstandard quests, though the messages were old and oddly written. They did plant the seed of an idea, however, as they mentioned something about the Tearful Goddess Order—one I already knew well from my time in the West. I’ll have to visit the mission in the capital. Maybe they’ll have something for me.

Anyway, that was the dreary—if only—road that lay ahead of me. I didn’t see any other options, but I didn’t rule anything out. At the same, time, all the different things that had to go right for me to do the quest didn’t really bother me; there had been many more with the Mandiblefighter affair, after all. At least, I had some kind of goal and the Wild Hunt as an ace up my sleeve. Maybe I wasn’t sure how I was going to get the könig to turn on the Great Fomor to the point that he’d be ready to go to war, but that was a bridge I could cross later. Perhaps, a good reason would pop up down the line. One thing that would help when it came to that was… It’s too early to be thinking about that. First, I have a reputation to build.

So, I was all set to talk with the blacksmith the next day about the quest I’d completed and set off for Holmstag. It was just a shame that the Wild Hunt could only be active for ten minutes in the daylight; their steeds would have gotten me to the capital in an hour tops. Unfortunately, at night, I was too busy sleeping, especially after the craziness of the previous few days.

With a plan in my head, my mood lightened, and I decided to check in with my staff.

“How’s everything going?”

“We’re just about done,” responded Vika. “If you could sign off on the issue, please, we’ll send it to print.”

She was always very respectful to me at work, which I attributed to the excellent principles she had. So far. I didn’t imagine they’d last for long.

I signed the issue and waved everyone out of the office.

“Okay, guardsmen, time to go. Nothing else to do here, and I’ll be walking to the metro soon, as well.”

“Walking?” asked Yushkov. “What happened to your car?”

“Oh, of course,” I said, rolling my eyes at myself. “I still haven’t gotten used to having one again.”

“They shouldn’t have given you a car like that,” Stroynikov noted philosophically. “It’s just going to get stolen.”

“Hey now, don’t jinx me,” I replied sharply.

“It doesn’t matter.” Stroynikov wasn’t letting it go. “My old man had this one friend—well, still does—that paid big money to import a car from the US. It was some kind of classic Buick, a collector’s edition. You know, like in the old gangster movies: guys in hats waving Thompson submachine guns around and smoking unfiltered cigarettes.”

“What happened?” asked Samoshnikov, who had been eavesdropping on our conversation.

“It didn’t end well; the car was stolen a couple weeks later. They had alarms rigged up in the garage and a tracker on the car, the works, but it was still stolen.”

“You’re kidding!” I sympathized fully with Gennady, although inside I couldn’t help but admit that he was right. I’d seen the looks my car got from of the long-nosed people hanging around with fresh morning stubble. Sooner or later, I figured, someone would put out an order on it. I had no idea what I could do about that, instead relying on Raidion’s reputation. Maybe the thief would realize who the car belonged to and wouldn’t risk getting involved with them. There was no getting around the fact that the Impala stood out like a sore thumb in the parking garage…

***

Vika was quiet in the car on the way home, and I realized she’d been that way since the previous evening. I had to break through somehow. The best way to do that was with a direct question, and so I decided not to overthink it.

“What’s wrong, my young companion? Is something up?”

“No, everything’s fine,” she answered darkly. “I’m just tired.”

“Oh, lovely,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “You, too! If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that phrase over the twenty years since I started having sex… You have no idea.”

“Wow, twenty years? You got a late start.” Vika shook her head.

“It was just a different time,” I told her. “But that’s not important. What’s on your mind, sweetie?”

“Really, nothing. Well, almost nothing.” She was obviously hiding something from me.

“Vika, I’m not a fan of all that, so let’s say this: if there’s something between us, it’s better to just go ahead and air it out. If it’s physical, it’s better to get that out in the open, too, so I don’t spend too much time wrinkling my brain. But if it’s really personal, you can just tell me that it doesn’t have anything to do with me. Believe me, keeping things to yourself only makes the problem worse—I know that for a fact. If we don’t tell each other things today, tomorrow we’ll hear them from someone else, and that’ll be worse. There are lots of lovely people out there.”

Vika laughed.

“It’s a bunch of nonsense; my sister just got me worked up. We chatted for a while yesterday. She didn’t go play her game, and we talked like we haven’t talked in quite a while—I was surprised. She asked about work and then about you, what you like and how you look.”

“And?”

“Well, I described you, all the details. For some reason, she got really nervous and said you look just like someone she knows. And so, here I am wondering if you’ve ever been involved with my sister. Your ages are similar, at least.”

“How long has she been working as a teacher?” I asked.

“For a while, ever since she graduated. Maybe eight years.”

“Then nope, definitely not. I’ve never been with any teachers, even just for a one-night stand.”

“But still, take a look at her picture.” Vika pulled out her phone, fiddled with it for a few seconds, and showed me a picture of a very attractive middle-aged woman. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and there was a strong-willed expression on her face. I did, it so happens, have the feeling that I’d seen her before, but it was just the shadow of a feeling. It wasn’t worth pointing that out, especially since they were sisters—I could have just been recognizing Vika’s features.

“Nope, never seen her before,” I declared confidently.

I could feel Vika watching me closely that whole time. She believed me, and I could feel the nervous energy drain from her.

“And next time just forget about crap like that. Don’t bother me with it either, especially when I’m driving,” I continued in a lecturing tone.

She nodded and joked, “So my sister is crap? I see how it is!”

The problem was taken care of, but something didn’t sit right with me. Why did her sister get so nervous when Vika described me? I had definitely never met her before, and there was nothing wrong with my memory. So, could we be friends over in the other world? Wouldn’t that be a funny coincidence?

“Did you tell her my username?” I asked Vika.

“No,” she answered firmly. “She asked me a few times, but I told her I didn’t know.”

“But you do know.” I grunted.

“Yes, but she doesn’t need to.” Vika pressed her lips together.

Women…inscrutable and unpredictable…

The next morning, I looked over the fourth release of the Fayroll Times, happy with our work. We’d decided against publishing a map of Rivenholm, saving that for later, but it still turned out fantastic.

My phone rang, pulling me out of my reverie. It was Zimin.

“Morning, Kif. How’re you feeling?”

“Good morning! Perfectly fine,” I responded, surprised by the question. What was that about?

“Excellent, I’m glad that incident is gone without a trace,” Zimin continued, lending clarity to the conversation.

When I realized what he was talking about, I decided to shift the conversation to a more neutral topic. “What did you think of today’s paper?” I asked proudly.

“Yes, that’s why I’m calling. You picked an unusual topic for it, and you didn’t okay it with me first,” Zimin answered, annoyance creeping into his voice.

Uh oh, too much initiative for the boss. Well done, Harriton, you screwed yourself. You’re about to be taken out back and whipped unless you can wiggle your way out of it. As a colleague who worked in radio once said…

“Maxim, it’s just a classic media trick. You publish an issue on a completely unexpected topic, and the surprise factor attracts new readers, subscribers, and, most importantly, players.”

“Well, you’re the media guy, so you would know… I mean, yes, I’ve heard of that.” His voice softened appreciably. “Kit said the same thing, too. Still, next time, just give me a call—these types of issues are really important. But well done for thinking outside the box. You found a way out again…”

“I don’t know what you mean…” I replied sheepishly. Was he talking about the paper or the game? I’m certainly not going to ask.

“How’s the car?” Zimin asked out of the blue.

“Still running.”

“Great. You should stop by the office to see Nikita and me. We can have a chat, maybe a drink, have a good time.”

“Sounds good to me,” I answered boisterously. “Next week—for sure.”

“Great,” Zimin laughed. “We’ll be expecting you.”

What a guy. Called, scared me like that, and then… Dealing with management is never easy. Having come to that conclusion, I decided to make life a little easier for my own staff.

***

We got home, and I jumped right into the capsule.

My first reason for my hurry was that I was starting to feel pressed for time. I had no idea how long I’d be wandering around the North, and I still had the South to go—and I didn’t even know how to get there, not to mention what I’d have to do once I did. I also had my marriage to the vila looming, with one month out of the six I’d been allotted already gone. More than a month, in fact.

My second reason was that my curiosity was eating away at me. What kind of goodies did I get?

I stuck my hand into my bag and pulled out the first thing. It was Ulfrida’s bracelet, the one I’d gotten from the Lord of the Burial Mounds. I read the description and whistled.

“You’re kidding me!”

***

From the fourth edition of the Fayroll Times:

From the editor.

...new lands, new quests, new problems, and new discoveries. It doesn’t matter how you get to the Promised Land, be it by registering there or overcoming all the many difficulties, seas, oceans, storms, and calms in your path. Just remember: new lands await!

From an interview with Harry the Eye, leader of Terra Incognita.

“All those Rattermark veterans need to realize that they won’t have it easy here. They think they can just show up and we’ll all go hide in the woods…but no. This is our land, we were here first, and we’ll always be here first. If they want to play here, let them learn to bend the knee. And if they don’t want to learn, we’ll teach them.”

Advanced Magic.

The first test of Starfall, a new ability that was found in a Rattermark dungeon, took place to great fanfare. The ability is for fire mages Level 130 and higher and features a fire strike that rains down on a kilometer-wide zone from the sky. It costs more than 5000 mana to cast, a significant amount. The small forest targeted for the demonstration was completely demolished.

Excerpts from the Fayroll Chronicle.

The Strength of the Brave clan was restructured due to a conflict between its founders. Their disagreement was so strong that it tore apart the long and storied history of one of Rattermark’s oldest clans, leading us to believe that the game will soon feature two or even three new clans.

The Eyes of the Beast clan once again set off for Ouk Cave to take on Klatornakh, still just as epic a monster as before. The entire clan entered and, just like the last time, none emerged. Their persistence, at least, is admirable.

The Hounds of Death announced a major celebration they’ll be throwing next week in honor of several different events to be announced as part of the festivities. Invitations have already been sent to the heads of all clans friendly to theirs. The evening is set to include a fire show by the clan’s mages, a pet review, arm wrestling, competitions, and more.

The Wild Hearts are accepting new recruits. All players Level 20 and higher are welcome, regardless of their class and abilities. Just remember: fortune favors the brave.

Coming up in the next issue.

A new column entitled Legends of Fayroll: The Players You Know, Revere, and Emulate.

Chapter Ten

In which the hero pulls off a trade to get where he’s going.

Ulfrida’s Bracelet

A piece of jewelry belonging to the beloved daughter of König Harald the Curly.

Quest item

If you don’t have the quest this item is for, you can accept it right now.

Would you like to accept it?

Huh, a quest-starter. So I guess Ragnar took out a quest undead? I was just worried that the quest would say I had to get the bracelet from the skeleton and also kill him myself. In that case, I’d have to start the whole thing over… Anyway, I obviously accepted the free quest and thanked my lucky stars. I really had been getting lucky, incidentally. But would I end up paying for that when the pendulum swung the other way?

You have a new quest offer: Favorite Piece of Jewelry

This is the fifth in the Missing Daughter series of quests.

Task: Get the könig’s daughter’s favorite piece of jewelry from the Lord of the Burial Mounds and deliver it to König Harald the Curly.

Reward:

1000 experience

1500 gold

A rare item from the könig’s treasury matching your class

+5 respect among the peoples of the North

Warning: This quest is impossible to complete alone, so create a raid and take 18 to 24 friends with you.

Warning: Your level is too low to comfortably beat this quest.

Warning: You cannot currently inform the quest-giver that you completed the quest given that you have not yet completed the preceding quests in the series.

Additional

The main target of this quest is a rare, named monster with unique abilities. He has caused major problems for Northerners, and so you should check with other NPCs to look for quests related to him.

Additional

This quest is part of the Missing Daughter series. You can accept the starter quest, though your level and reputation are not high enough to beat the series comfortably. For more information about the Missing Daughter quest series, talk to the quest-starter (König Harald the Curly).

Accept the starter quest?

Well, that was a good bit of text. It was enough to have me wondering what I’d gotten myself into, in fact. I’ll accept it. Why not? And the second one, too. I’ll have something to talk about with the könig, at least…

You have a new quest offer: A Father’s Grief

This quest is the starter for the Missing Daughter series.

Task: Listen to König Harald the Curly’s story about the loss of this daughter.

Reward:

500 experience

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

The second quest in the series

Warning: Your reputation isn’t high enough to talk with the könig. First, focus on boosting it, or find another way to the foot of his throne.

Accept?

So the grieving father wasn’t ready to talk to me yet. Ah, well, it was his loss. Here I am ready to give him his daughter’s jewelry. But it was okay, I was just happy to see official confirmation that there was some way other than the main one that was much too long for me. I just had to find it.

Really, the whole thing was intriguing. I’d completed a quest I hadn’t gotten to but couldn’t report back on because I hadn’t completed the previous ones, and I couldn’t complete those because nobody wanted to see my ugly mug. It was twisted logic, but what else can you expect from a virtual world?

I shook my head and stuck my hand back into my bag.

White Prince Crown

This crown belonged to Eric Lightbearer, a great warrior and seafarer, who sailed across the seven seas to create the first great empire in Rattermark.

To this day, the monarchs of the West claim to be his descendants with his blood coursing through their veins.

None of them has ever been able to prove that he is actually descended from Eric since everything having to do with the White Prince was lost or destroyed over the millennia. Breaking the news that this item has appeared can therefore safely be assumed to cause an incredible sensation.

Whoever holds the White Prince Crown can lay claim to the Aegan throne, and with it, rule over the entire Western Mark. The many challengers for the throne, of course, will do their best to wrest the crown from the holder, using any means necessary—from purchasing it to killing whoever is wearing it.

The owner of the crown, should he or she decide to part with it, can expect a princely reward from the ruling family of the West or their competitors for the throne. With that said, it may just as easily earn the owner a knife between the ribs.

Remember that this crown is nearly priceless, and so think carefully before you decide what to do with it.

Wait, that’s all? Just an item all by itself? Where were the attributes, the message that it gives incredible strength or something similar? I was surprised, to say the least.

Certainly, it wasn’t a bad little crown to have on you; it opened up some highly intriguing doors. I could, for example, forget my mission, go marry my Elmilora and try to seize the throne with a claim that I had royal blood in my veins. Excuse me, does anybody know where you get in line to be king?

Another option was to put it up for auction with a string of zeros at the end of the price. The possibilities were endless. I wonder if local rulers arrange royal marriages. Could there be a connection between the North and the West? Or with the South?

I dipped my hand into my bag one more time and pulled out the scroll.

Fire and Ice

For class: Archer

Minimum level for use: 110

One-time use.

Used to learn Fire and Ice, an individual class ability (costs 360 mana).

The ability lets the user shoot two arrows simultaneously, one of which does instant cold damage (up to 960 damage), and the other, fire damage (up to 880 damage). The instant damage is followed by a 55% chance to do up to 340 fire or ice damage per second for 30 seconds.

To use this scroll, read the name of the scroll aloud and say, “Learn.”

It was probably a nice scroll, just as everything else had been great, but I only had a vague idea of how much it was worth. I’d have to check that out at the auction. I personally couldn’t use it; my wonderful clan would be perfectly fine without it; and so the best option was just to sell it. If any of my clan mates asked where I got it from, I figured I could just tell them that I picked it up in the mines and didn’t owe anyone anything.

No, I’ll just sell it at a 10% discount. Though that will have Elina and the other grabby little hands in the clan coming to find me—“Items like that are the property of the clan, so hand it over right now!” And that will be that. Whatever, I’ll think of something later. It’s perfectly fine lying in my chest for the time being.

The crown tines were obviously for a quest, though they didn’t give it to me right away. Still, I figured they would come in handy sooner or later and turned my attention to Molton’s Cuirass.

Molton’s Cuirass

Belonged to a great knight and protector of the Old Gods. He died asserting their authority over mortals, though he lived on in the memory of his enemies as a worthy and honorable opponent.

From the Knightly Collection set

Set includes:

Wilfred’s Helmet

Sir Nigel’s Pauldrons

Sir Adrian’s Gauntlets

Molton’s Cuirass

Black Rose Belt

Mihal’s Greaves

+40 to strength

+43 to endurance

+18% chance of opening a painful wound

+22% chance of disarming your opponent

+11% durability for all your equipment

+7% mana restoration speed

+5% chance of getting hidden and epic quests

Durability: 2500/2500

Minimum level for use: 92

For class: Warrior

Cannot be stolen, lost, broken, or given away.

Does not disappear from the holder’s inventory after dying when coupled with at least two other items from the set.

The following bonuses are unlocked by using the complete set:

Three random active class abilities

Two random passive class abilities

+3 to one random attribute

+15% to your chances of getting items from dead enemies

+13% life energy

It was a worthy item ticketed for a worthy spot in my chest with the rest of my riches. I wondered if I could get a third item from the set. It was a good-looking piece of armor, and I would have happily worn it if I ever got to Level 90. Really, I was building up a nice little collection, even after turning that medallion over to the clan. I’m going to have to find a way to sell all this for real money when I decide to stop playing the game. That’s against the rules, of course, but come on; this is Russia. Things are different here. If you really want something you aren’t supposed to have, you can get it if you don’t stick your neck out too far. How my owners would react, was a different and much more important story.

Anyway, those were all questions for another day, and I had enough on my plate as it was. I needed to go visit the blacksmith and figure out how to get to the capital. I got the impression that the action was there, and it was the most likely spot to figure out that alternative way to the throne. I just needed some kind of taxi.

After grabbing the portal scroll out of my trunk, I walked out onto the street, safe in the knowledge that there was nothing left for me to do in my room. As I walked past Holm, I gave him a glaring reminder that it doesn’t pay to play the fool. The blood drained from his face, and I smiled to myself.

Finding that taxi to the capital was my priority, so I left the rude blacksmith for later and headed toward the mailbox.

There were a few letters waiting for me there, all of them from the auction. Most of my lots had sold, dropping some gold into my pocket, though a few letters were there to tell me that nobody wanted what I was selling. I mentally checked them off as “probably lost.” There was no reason to trek all the way to Selgar for them, as they weren’t worth the cost of the scrolls I’d have to use to get there and back. Anyway, I still had another month, so I figured I’d wait and see what would happen. It’s realistic how they return things from the auction, I thought to myself, but it sure is a pain. Why can’t they let you pick your things up at any of the auctions in any of the capitals? That would have been so much easier.

After having gone through my incoming mail, I pulled up the new message form.

Good afternoon,

As promised, I’m writing you at the first available opportunity to let you know that I’m ready to meet and hear what you wanted to tell me. I’m currently in Hexburg.

Best, Hagen

Then all I had to do was wait and see who took the bait first. In the meantime, I made up my mind to go finish my quest. Ah, no, wait a second—I need to check something out.

I glanced into the local tavern, an establishment with the proud name of Melniere. Just as I expected, it was gloomy; dirt was everywhere; and the whole place stank of sour beer and fried onions. A few of the people there were already sleeping prostrate on the tables, but two boozy dwarves named Triukh and Partavi were still more or less upright. They’d obviously been going at it for a while since their faces were red.

Partavi was in the middle of a story. “Back when I had the bone plate on my ass, I was really cool. I was like a god, hic. I could have roped the moon and brought it down to earth if I’d wanted to. I could have taken on anyone, no questions asked. And now?” The dwarf sadly tried to twist around to see his own backside, spun slightly, was unsuccessful, chewed on his beard in frustration, and kept going. “Now look at me—I’m a clown.”

“Oh, come on,” his friend replied, trying to cheer him up. “Clowns are in the circus or off in some country of idiots. But you…you…you…”

He never got around to explaining exactly where his despondent friend was, as he joined the ranks of those sleeping draped over the tables. The only difference was that he collapsed right onto the floor.

The plateless dwarf looked at his fallen friend sorrowfully and went back to his beer. The suffering written all over his face was unmistakable.

“It’s terrible,” I said, giving my opinion of the place. “Perfect!”

Encouraged by how my plan was coming together, I went to see the blacksmith.

The unsociable fellow was doing what he always did: hammering metal into shape. He saw me and didn’t even nod. Apparently, my two reputation points didn’t mean much.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Blacksmith,” I said loudly. “How are things?”

“What’s it to you?” His hammer slammed down. “My business is my business.”

“I’d have to agree with you there,” I replied. “But I did what you asked me to. Here’s the grave iron, if you wouldn’t mind signing for it.”

“I don’t know how to write,” he said sullenly, looking up at me. “But thanks for the iron.”

You completed a quest: Grave Iron

Task: Get twenty pieces of grave iron.

Reward:

600 experience

+10% discount with the Hexburg blacksmith

+3 respect in Hexburg

“This is good metal,” the satisfied blacksmith said as he fingered the hunks of iron. “It’s just a shame there’s so little of it. You don’t want to go get some more, do you?”

I thought for a second and checked my bag. There were maybe ten more pieces—not enough for the quest. And I had no plans to head back to the burial mounds in the near future.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have time right now. But, if you want, I’d be happy to give you another five pieces. I don’t need them, and I’m sure you’ll put them to good use.”

I pulled them out of my bag and put them on the forge, waiting to see if I’d guessed right.

You showed kindness and selflessness, something the North values very highly.

+3 respect in Hexburg

+0.4 respect among the peoples of the North

Ah-ha, it works! I’d seen a few hints to that effect on the forums and thought something like that would go over well.

In the North, you didn’t just have to do quests and actions to boost your reputation; the people there also liked to see personal qualities like kindness, directness, fearlessness, and selflessness. All of that was taken into account, both positively and negatively. I liked that attitude and had made up my mind to utilize it, so I realized I needed to watch what I did and said. One could lose a reputation just as easily as he could gain it.

A notification dinged to tell me I had mail. I hope that’s my taxi.

“Okay, Mr. Blacksmith, it was great doing business with you, but I have to run,” I said, giving him a small bow. “If I’m ever in these parts again, I’ll be sure to drop by.”

“Please do,” I heard to my surprise. “By the way, my name’s Truggvy.”

Eight reputation points may not get you friendship, I realized, though it would at least get people to talk to you. And that was a start.

The letter was from Milly Re. I was happy to see that, as, between her and Elina, she was the one I really wanted to see. Elina would just get on my case again with her exasperated voice. Everything was simpler with Milly. So what did she write?

Hey! That’s great, I’m glad you’re already in the North. What I wanted to talk to you about isn’t that important anymore, but let’s still get together. I’ll be waiting for you in Holmstag near the northern gate in half an hour.

Milly

Yeah, right, pumpkin, here I come. No, I think we’re going to play by my rules. I really needed to get to Holmstag.

Milly, you overestimate me. There’s no way I can get to Holmstag since I haven’t been there yet, so if you really need to see me, I’ll wait for you in Hexburg. If not, we can get together later.

Of course, if you’re patient enough, I can meet you at the northern gate in a month or two. Just don’t feel bad when the locals start wondering why you’ve been there so long…

Anyway, I’ll be at Melniere for another twenty minutes or so.

Faithfully yours, Hagen

I figured she would either tell me to go screw myself, or I’d see her in another five minutes. In the meantime, I walked toward the tavern.

Seven minutes later—a full two more than my estimate—a portal whooshed open, and the provincial calm of Hexburg was broken by Milly Re, a dame from the capital looking down her nose and showing off her extravagant outfit.

She stepped out of the portal and sniffed. “Who invites a young, attractive warrior maiden to a hole like this?”

“I do,” I said shortly. “I invite them wherever I can. Want to go inside and grab a beer? It’s not the best spot—”

“Right! I know the bars in these burgs. ‘Not the best spot’ my ass! Pigsties is more like it. A bunch of blockheads drinking themselves into a stupor on the tables, and they smell like all get out. No, thank you—not for me. It’s better in Selgar, so let’s go there.”

Wait, what? You can forget about Selgar, baby cakes.

“Milly, I just left there a week ago,” I whined. “Why don’t we just go to Holmstag?”

Milly looked at me and grinned.

“All right then, Holmstag it is. You take the cake sometimes.”

I didn’t care what I took so long as she opened that portal.

A minute later, we walked out into the capital of the North. It was noisy and loud like Selgar, rather than busy like Aegan. But the first thing I noticed was the smell of the sea. It was a touch salty, with a light hint of seaweed and a pleasant chill.

The people in the city walked by calmly, with nobody running or bustling, and most of the players were high-level. There weren’t even street sellers; trade was done in stalls and even stores, with the latter well-situated and even featuring window displays. I stopped stock-still next to one of them. It was a clothing store that stood out like a sore thumb in a game that lived and died by magic and the sword. In the window, were two mannequins, one an elf and the other an orc woman, and they were dressed…unusually. The handsome, golden-haired elf was wearing a tailcoat with all the trimmings, including a snow-white dickey, a bow tie, and a top hat, while the orc woman was just as dressed up in a white ball gown and fur boa. They made quite the pair.

“Surreal, no?” said Milly Re with a wink. “Everyone around here loves them so much they named them. What do you think their names are?”

“Romeo and Juliet,” I replied, hazarding a guess.

“Almost. Gerda and Kai,” she said with a laugh. “Okay, come on, there’s a nice place nearby called the Two Heroes.”

It really was a nice place. Just as nice as the rest of the city, in fact—a city I’d taken such a liking to that I would have enjoyed taking a day just to walk around and drink it all in. It was a mix of two of my favorite cities, St. Petersburg and Stockholm.

The streets were straight, the people spoke and moved unhurriedly, and everything was solid, graceful, and majestic without any unnecessary frills that would have ruined the picture. It was the type of city you strolled through instead of galloping by with a no time to spare. I’m late!

The Two Heroes, needless to say, lived up to the standard set by the rest of the city. The sign on top of the roof was two statues cut to look like some figures from antiquity: a big guy in chainmail with a hefty sword and a skinny companion wearing a gray cape and wielding a long, slender blade.

“Who are they?” I asked Milly.

“How should I know?” She stared at me.

Inside, everything was just as it should have been. The first floor was an open room with strong oak tables, while the second floor was split into separate rooms. We took one of them.

Milly ordered, for both of us in fact, put her hands on the table and her head in her hands, and looked steadily at me.

I squirmed in discomfort under her gaze. “It’s nice here,” I blurted out, not sure how I was supposed to act. That’s a favorite trick women like to play: they stare at you in silence, sending very clear signals that screw with you and tell you that you have to say…something. But who knows what? They aren’t saying anything, after all!

“Sure is,” agreed Milly. “Fine. Calm down. Here’s what I wanted to talk to you about—you were in the mines with Miurat, right?”

“Yes,” I said with a nod.

“And you left them with him?”

“Not exactly. He stayed back to keep them busy while I got away. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have gotten out alive.”

“Agreed. Though if you’d died that close to the exit, you wouldn’t have lost anything. Our guys would have jumped in and collected your things for you. So, it turns out he played the hero for nothing.”

I thought to myself and realized that she was right. With Fitz, everything was clear—he was a warrior doing his job, and that kind of person couldn’t care less for intrigue. But Miurat’s sacrifice… It really didn’t cost him anything.

“And now you owe him one,” Milly said, finishing her thought.

“Well, he didn’t say that,” I pointed out.

“Of course not. He won’t say anything until it’s time for you to return the favor.” Milly laughed softly. “And you’ll have to; you can be sure of that. It’s Miurat.”

“Who is he anyway?” That question had been bothering me for a while.

“Miurat? He plays by his own rules, and he doesn’t care whose roof he’s under or whose bowl he’s getting his next meal from. And that’s really starting to get to a certain someone.”

“What does that certain someone want from me?” I decided to take the bull by the horns.

“Put it this way: you need to just let anyone know—me, for example—whenever Miurat starts asking you questions.”

“That’s if we cross paths or he finds me,” I noted. “We haven’t seen each other since we got to Hexburg.”

“Oh, he’ll find you,” Milly reassured me. “He needs you.”

“Me?” My surprise was sincere. “What does he need from me?”

“The Gray Witch likes you,” explained Milly, “and that means you know more than everyone else. Or, at least, you might know more.”

“Oh, come on,” I said skeptically. “I stay out of high politics.”

“Sure, and that’s exactly why the Witch told Miurat to personally make sure you got to the exit. Or, at least, far enough that we could jump in and grab your things.”

That was news. But why did I have the feeling, yet again, that I was just a pawn on an enormous chessboard?

“Very touching,” I said. “Sometimes I don’t even know which clan I belong to. The Hounds take better care of me than the Thunderbirds.”

“That’s for sure. Seriously, you should just give up and switch over.” Milly smiled hospitably. “What do you need Elina’s hysterics for anyway?”

“I’ll think about it. By the way, Miurat did ask me one question I was surprised to hear.”

“Yes?” asked Milly, perking up. “What was it?”

“He asked me…” I paused for effect. “…if I had tickets for passage on the clan’s flagship when the armada leaves for Rivenholm.”

“And?”

“I told him the truth—I do,” I replied with all the dignity I could muster. “It’s not like that’s classified information.”

“True.” Milly sat back and thought.

Just then, a waiter brought our food, and the conversation petered out while we ate. Soon, Milly left, reminding me one more time to let her know if Miurat showed up with questions or a request.

I paid for the meal and noted to myself that the taxi ride came out fair and square: she got food and information out of the exchange. It was a nice little trade, in fact. I used her, which she was aware of, and she recruited me, which I was equally aware of. To be fair, I wasn’t at all sure that I wasn’t getting the short end of the deal. Whatever. That whole thing is their business, and it doesn’t have anything to do with me.

That conclusion drawn, I resolved to think more about it. I cleared my mind and walked out into the city in search of the next step in my plan. If everything turned out well, I had a very good chance of finding my way to the foot of the könig’s throne in the very near future.

Chapter Eleven

In which the hero’s reputation pays dividends.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said to a city guard walking by with a proud and purposeful look on his face. “Could you tell me where I can find the Tearful Goddess Order mission?”

“It’s close to the könig’s palace.” The guard held out his hand, pointing me in the direction. “One block before it. I swear; you won’t miss it.”

I thanked him and set off in the direction he’d indicated. He was right; it would have taken considerable effort not to see the mission.

It was a tall, red-brick building that looked more like an oversized and overgrown two-story barracks. But that wasn’t what grabbed my attention. On the roof was an enormous copy of the order emblem—a tear in the middle of a circle. In combination with the elongated figure of the building and the eerie color, it looked at least funny and maybe even monstrous and ridiculous. It was very reminiscent of a small-town version of the Eye of Sauron atop Barad-dûr. Barad-dûr lite, as it were. The coincidence was amusing given the mission’s dedication to the defense of good in the world. But what can you say? That’s avant-garde for you.

I stepped up onto the porch, doing my best to keep the smile off my face—that wouldn’t have been appropriate for a serious institution like the one I was entering. And there’ll probably be another monk sitting there with a doleful expression on his face. Walking in with a huge grin on my face won’t do me any favors.

It turned out that there really was another lean-faced monk walking toward me as I entered. He’d apparently heard the bell ring when I opened the door.

“What can the order do for you, good sir?” he asked me politely.

“Nothing much,” I answered. “Actually, I’d like to speak with the local master so I can pass on a greeting.”

“Our mission doesn’t have a master,” said the man in the robe indifferently, which made me wonder if he actually belonged to the order. He definitely hadn’t seen my reputation, or he would have been speaking to me very differently.

“Oh, yes?” I said in surprise. “But you must have someone in charge, right?”

“Grandmaster Ulof der Bottom heads up the order mission in Holmstag,” the monk answered gravely. “He, however, only accepts visits from exceptionally important people, and is currently busy with chapter affairs. My good traveler, I’m afraid you will not be able to meet with him. If you’d like, I can call one of the younger brothers for you to report to.”

“Okay, Brother…what’s your name?”

“Brother Peter,” he humbly answered. Just then it struck me how odd it was that the gods were gone and the monks were still there. Something was wrong there. I mean, sure, there’s the Tearful Goddess and all that, but this guy isn’t from the order, so who does he worship? He certainly looked the part, what with his robe, prayer beads, and rope belt. What is that called again?

“Okay, Brother Peter, is there really no way to speak with the grandmaster? What he’s doing is really that important? It’s not just anyone’s greeting I have to give to him—it’s Hugo von Shippenshtain himself.”

“No way whatsoever.” Master Hugo’s name didn’t have the least effect on Brother Peter. “I’m trying to tell you: two days ago a plenipotentiary representative from the chapter arrived, a full Knight of the Temple, with business from the great Magistrate Leo von Aikhenwald, himself. He and Grandmaster der Bottom have important issues that they’re attending to. At least, they’ll be attending to them as soon as the temple knight gets back from his visit to the könig. Ah-ha, there he is now.”

The door creaked, the bell rang, and I turned to see the disheveled head and gray eyes of an old friend. Two things quickly arrested my attention: the golden hilt of his sword and the equally golden symbol of the order embossed on his armor atop his heart. The knight had apparently made quite a name for himself in the order. How did he do it so quickly? I guess we’ll see if he had to sacrifice any of his moral standing to get there. If he was still the same excellent young man I knew, he was my ticket to see the könig. If not… In that case, we’ll have to see.

“Whatever you say, Brother Peter,” I loudly announced to the monk. “If the Tearful Goddess Order has no time for me, its friend, that’s a shame. Good day to you.” I nodded and wheeled around once more to face von Richter.

“Laird Hagen!” His voice was incredulous. “Is that you, Laird Hagen?”

“Ah, Gunther!” I smiled. “Of course it’s me! Who else? Here I stopped by your order to pass on a greeting to the local master from old Hugo and ask how things are going with you, and they won’t let me in. I’m too ugly for them, I guess.”

“I said no such thing,” interjected Brother Peter quickly. “I just said that the grandmaster is busy.”

“And that he only gives audience to very important people, one of which I am not, according to you,” I clarified cantankerously.

“You can’t be serious, Laird Hagen!” Gunther’s cheeks flushed a deep red. “Peter, I want you to take a close look at Laird Hagen, so you remember his face and let him into our mission at any time of day or night.”

Gunther took a step forward and hugged me the way a knight should hug someone—hard, like a man. I’m not a big fan of all those new ways of treating people, what with the men hugging each other and the Hi, my dear, with a kiss on the cheek, but this was different. It was like part of a ritual I didn’t know.

Whatever the case may be, I hugged him, too, and clapped him on the back.

“You recognized me, you old devil,” I said with a smile. “You recognized me!”

“What are you doing here?” Gunther finally let me go. “What brings you this way? Your timing couldn’t be better!”

“Well, are we going to talk here?” I asked slyly.

“Ah, I’m such a fool!” Gunther’s face fell. “Of course, let’s head up to the hall. I’ll introduce you to our grandmaster right now.”

“Gunther, what are you doing here?” I asked as we walked up the stairs. “I thought they sent you off to make mud pies or something.”

“Well, yes,” agreed von Richter. “They sent me to the chapter to see our great Magistrate Leo. This one thing happened, and it turned out that I saved his life, and right then, the message Master Hugo sent telling about the witcher got there. Aikhenwald and the council decided to consecrate me a Knight of the Temple and assign me to the order’s chapter. I was opposed to their decision, as I didn’t think I was worthy of such an honor, but there’s no arguing with the council.”

It didn’t look like he was lying, which meant that he really had stood up at the council and announced his unworthiness. It’s a good thing for you, my good von Richter, that you live in this world rather than ours. You wouldn’t fare nearly as well…

“If it hadn’t been for that, I’d have headed east to meet up with you like I promised. But then they sent me here at the request of the könig. Some bad things are afoot here, Laird, very bad. I’m telling you right now, the goddess, herself, sent you.”

I’m not sure about that. Maybe she sent me to you, but maybe, my naïve friend, she sent you to me.

We walked into a pretentiously decorated hall with a mosaic floor, large windows, and weapons hanging on the walls. The asceticism of Fladridge, in short, had been left far behind. Von Shippenshtain, the quintessential old warrior, was also nothing like the round character who came bounding over from the other end of the hall. Grandmaster Ulof der Bottom, I guess.

“Ah, von Richter, my friend, you’re back,” the plump sphere said. “And so fast! How’s the könig doing? Is he still sad and depressed? And who is this? Let me introduce myself—Ulof der Bottom, grandmaster of the order.”

He gave me a ceremonial bow.

“Grandmaster Ulof, allow me to present one of the bravest and most noble people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing in this life,” von Richter said stiffly.

Oh, great, I’m going to take off with pride or die of embarrassment. Damn von Richter and his flair for the dramatic. Krolina didn’t teach him anything…

“…Laird Hagen.” Gunther gestured toward me.

No, no, no. It should have been “La-a-a-aird Hagen!” And then the fat guy would have clapped his hands on his cheeks and exclaimed, “Oh, wow, so you’re Hagen!”

“Of Tronje,” I added, trying to clear my head so I wouldn’t laugh inappropriately. That would have been embarrassing. “I think Gunther overstated my virtues—he’s still young.”

“Not at all,” the plump fellow countered. “I’ve heard of you. Plus, we don’t just make anyone a friend of the order—our friendship is a reward for bravery and honor, so you must have those virtues. That makes you worthy of his praise.”

“Master Hugo even offered the laird a place in our order. Sadly, it was declined,” Gunther mentioned to the grandmaster.

“Really?” der Bottom asked as he clasped his hands together. “Why?”

He looked funny, but there was a hard undertone behind his question. The conversation wasn’t as friendly as it seemed.

“I am carrying out a mission, and, until it is complete, I have neither peace nor a free will,” I explained. “How could I serve the goddess like that?”

“That’s true,” der Bottom said with a nod. “So how can our order be of assistance? What do you need? Money, a roof over your head, seconds for a duel?”

“Oh, I don’t need anything,” I said, smiling. “Just stopping by to say hi. I’m a friend of the order, after all. How about on your end, do you need help with anything?”

The fat grandmaster was about to open his mouth, most likely to decline my offer and dash my hopes when Gunther beat him to the punch.

“We certainly do need help, Laird Hagen. And yours would be particularly useful! I still remember how you found that witcher.”

“And?” I looked at him inquiringly.

“And it was great,” Gunther answered, perplexed, with a shrug of his shoulders that said, and that’s all.

“No, Gunther, our guest is asking what kind of help we need from him,” explained the grandmaster.

“Ah!” The young knight sighed in relief. “It’s like this—”

“One second, von Richter,” der Bottom interrupted. “I realize that your trust in your friend is boundless, and I’m sure there is good reason for that. However—and forgive me for my boldness, Laird Hagen—but I don’t know you personally. The secret my young friend would like to divulge to you does not belong to our order alone. Further, and with all due respect to von Richter, I don’t think we have the right to involve people from outside the order.”

“I understand.” I nodded. “And I certainly don’t insist on being involved in anything.”

“Grandmaster!” a red-faced von Richter exclaimed irritably. “Can you hear yourself? Talking with a noble person like that, it’s just—”

“Gunther, your colleague is right,” I cut in. “You have to be awfully careful about sharing the secrets kept by the order with third parties.”

“I’m glad you understand,” replied der Bottom.

“Grandmaster,” announced von Richter in a cold and official tone that didn’t suit him in the least, “I, as a plenipotentiary representative and full Knight of the Temple, insist that Laird Hagen be involved in the investigation brought to us by the könig of the Northern Mark. I assure you that his participation will help us bring the situation in which we find ourselves to a positive conclusion, something as important to the könig as it is to the order.”

“I submit to the will of the chapter,” the fat grandmaster said unwillingly. “By I insist that Laird Hagen take an oath of silence. That is my right as grandmaster and keeper of the Northern Lands.”

“Agreed,” said von Richter, nodding. “Laird Hagen, let me ask you: would you do the Tearful Goddess Order the honor of helping us restore peace and justice in the Northern Lands?”

Your reputation with the Tearful Goddess Order gives you the opportunity to complete the Secrets of the North series of hidden quests.

Reward for completing the entire series:

7000 experience

5000 gold

An elite item from the order storehouse matching your class

A random ability matching your class

Title: Knight of the North

+20 respect among the peoples of the North

+10 respect in each of the Northern burgs

Accept?

I was thrilled to see yet another hidden series. This one, it appeared, didn’t even have a level restriction.

You have a new quest offer: Disturbing News

This quest is the starter for the Secrets of the North series of quests.

Task: Hear out the representatives of the Tearful Goddess Order and fulfill their requirements and wishes.

Reward:

500 experience

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

The next quest in the series

I just hoped they wouldn’t ask me to do anything too unpleasant.

“Certainly, von Richter, I’d be happy to serve the Tearful Goddess Order, and will keep my mouth shut about the entire affair,” I said. “If need be, I don’t mind taking the oath the respectable der Bottom mentioned. It would not insult my sense of pride in the least. His misgivings are perfectly understandable.”

Der Bottom nodded happily, clearly pleased with my words. The knight continued staring at him coldly.

“Still,” said the latter, turning to me, “I would like to apologize for my brother.”

“Honorable Knights!” I exclaimed, holding up my palms, “I understand both of you and would like to propose that I take the oath now so we can get started. We’re wasting time, and time always works against us.”

Gunther looked back at the grandmaster with distaste. “Sir Ulof, this is your initiative, so begin the ritual. The floor is yours.”

Der Bottom stepped closer to me. “Laird, place your hand over your heart and repeat after me. I, Hagen, swear to maintain the secrecy of all that I hear, see, and learn in the Tearful Goddess Order related to the affair the order is about to inform me of. May the wrath of the goddess and the order fall on me if I break my oath.”

I obediently repeated the whole unpretentious oath, inwardly noting how soft it was in comparison to what I’d had to swear my first day in the Army.

Der Bottom nodded and continued.

“I, Ulof der Bottom, have heard and so confirm the oath. From this moment on, Hagen has the right to know the secrets of the order and make use of that privilege until he is released from his oath, he breaks his oath, or he dies.”

A boom echoed under the roof, and a bolt of lightning snaked downward. The smell confirmed that the oath had been approved and signed. Well then…

Because of your new circumstances with relation to the Tearful Goddess Order, the chapter bestows on you the following attributes and benefits to be enjoyed until you complete the quest series:

+80 respect among the peoples of the North

+40 respect in each of the Northern burgs

The city guard in all Northern towns and villages will be prepared to come to your assistance and defend your interests at any moment.

All knights in the Tearful Goddess Order will be prepared to offer you all available assistance and defend your interests.

Alert: Your reputation is now high enough to begin the Missing Daughter quest series.

I was certainly glad I’d decided to stop by the order. Still, I hadn’t heard what the quests they needed me to take care of were about. Could the two quest series be related? It certainly seemed like a possibility.

“Is that all the formalities?” I asked der Bottom, who had receded into the depths of the hall to sit in an enormous chair in front of a roaring fire.

“Certainly, Laird Hagen. I apologize once again.”

“You apologize…” snorted Gunther, still dissatisfied with the whole thing.

“It’s fine, gentlemen,” I assured them both. “Having me swear an oath was a perfectly rational decision. Now, I’d just like to know what problem I’m supposed to take care of.”

“I’ll be the one to tell you.”

The knight threw a glance in the direction of the fidgeting grandmaster. “After all, the affair was entrusted to me, not to you.”

“As you wish,” der Bottom replied casually as he extended his hands toward the fire.

“You see, Laird,” Gunther said, pacing up and down the hall, “our order was founded to serve the goddess, who left this world long ago. You’re aware of that.”

I nodded to show that I was aware.

“The goddess adored peace and called on us all to do everything in our power not to break it, as she hated violence and bloodshed. The first knights of the order were unarmed and unarmored. They visited those who shed blood in nothing but their robes in an effort to make them rethink their ways. In nearly every case, they were killed. Evil, alas, cannot be stopped by the word alone in this world and its imperfection.”

“A kind word and a sword are always better than a kind word alone,” I noted, to turn a phrase.

“Precisely. Well said, as always. Was that the samurai as well?” Young Gunther may have been enjoying a higher social status, but he was as inquisitive as ever.

“No, that was someone else, though he was an excellent gentleman also. So what happened then?”

“Well, when nearly all the founders of the order were dead, one of the last to remain in the ranks of the living decided that, if they couldn’t stop evil with words alone, their task was to take up swords and use them to turn the tide.”

An excellent approach. I think that’s how the Inquisition started, in fact…

“That knight’s name was Sonarola, and he became the first Great Magistrate of our order. Our order still stands on the foundation he built. No matter who stands before us, be he a plowman or a king, we care only about one thing: does he live justly? And that is why the könig of the North requested our aid.”

“The order has a special relationship with the North,” noted der Bottom from the fireplace. “The North is our cradle, and it’s where our first stronghold was built, although it has long since been abandoned. Most of our recruits come from the North because our influence is strongest here.”

“It’s true,” said von Richter, nodding. “Every word of it. That’s why the chapter sent me here to see what’s going on.”

“And what is going on?” I was getting a bit fed up with all the beating around the bush.

“The chapter is of the opinion that the North has become the board for a game being played very unfairly,” Gunther replied, his voice rising. “The rixes of four burgs have died for no apparent reason, all of them being strong, healthy men and warriors. The Claptorn rix is missing without a trace. It’s like he was never here, to begin with.”

“The Hexburg rix is dead. You were with the könig when we got the news,” der Bottom said to the knight. “The official version is that he was torn apart by a pack of wolves, but the question remains: what was he doing outside his burg last night?”

“Exactly,” I said helpfully. “I just came from Hexburg, and the guards told me they had no idea where or why he’d gone.”

“The rest of the rixes are traders, not warriors,” continued Gunther. “It feels like someone’s clearing the board of all the strong players who could put up a fight. Do you play tafl[4], by the way?”

Gunther had dropped the official, respectful tone he’d always maintained with me, and I couldn’t have been happier.

“I do, and I understand what you’re trying to say. Someone’s making a play to set up puppets in key positions, right?”

“Exactly right, Laird. I need to know who and why. And I need to stop them. Would you help me—along with the rest of the order and the entire North? I remember how you found the witcher, and I think this assignment will be perfect for you. I’m no investigator; I’m a warrior. You’re a warrior, too, but you know how to uncover secrets as well.”

“Well, I don’t have a choice, Good Knight; of course, I will.” I threw up my hands.

You completed a quest: Disturbing News

Reward:

500 experience

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

“That’s fantastic, Laird Hagen…fantastic!” The knight slapped my chest. “Then it’s time for us to get going.”

You have a new quest: Disturbing News in the Burgs

This is the second in the Secrets of the North series of quests.

Task: Visit six burgs in the North and figure out what could be behind the deaths of their rixes.

Reward:

800 experience

Tearful Goddess Order Medallion

+5 respect among the peoples of the North

The next quest in the series

“Hold on a second,” I said to Gunther. “We’re getting the cart before the horse.”

“What do you mean?” The knight looked at me in surprise.

“Your friend is obviously hinting that we haven’t discussed the reward he’ll get for his help,” the voice from the fireplace said sarcastically.

Okay, that does it. “Stop it,” I said quietly, though sharply. “Not everything can be measured in terms of money. And just because gold is more important than anything else to you, doesn’t mean that the rest of the world is the same as you.”

The chair screeched as it was thrown backward and the fat little blob appeared next to me. Der Bottom’s eyes flashed. Well, isn’t that interesting; he’s a warrior, too, and not just a lazy, clever little fatty. I’d have never thought it.

“I’d stuff those words right back down your throat if you weren’t a friend of the order, protected by the law. But I’m patient enough to wait for when I do have the chance,” the grandmaster said penetratingly and in a singsong voice.

“I sincerely hope that you don’t have to wait long,” I answered in kind.

He had really gotten on my nerves.

“You insulted the laird first by supposing that he holds money and profit in higher regard than honor and friendship,” von Richter said evenly, “and so, at the close of my mission, you will fight, though it will not be with him. You will fight me, as the law says nothing about that. And for now, this conversation is finished. What did you want to say, Hagen?”

“I just meant that you’ve already talked with the könig, and I haven’t. He may know something we don’t, so I’d like to have a chat with him.”

“He doesn’t know anything.” Gunther shrugged. “He’d have told me if he did. Plus, the könig is grieving. His daughter was kidnapped three days ago. I offered to help find her, but he said that I already have enough on my plate.”

“Then that’s one more reason to talk to him,” I replied, rubbing my hands. “I happen to know something about his daughter.”

“Really?” asked von Richter, perking up. “Then, of course, we’ll definitely talk to him. You can ask your questions at the same time.”

“Will he give us an audience right now?” I asked doubtfully.

“Certainly. The highest ranks in the order have the right to an audience any time of day or night if the issue concerns the safety of the region or the könig’s family. That’s a law of the North.”

“What are we waiting for then?”

Neither of us bothered to say goodbye to der Bottom.

Chapter Twelve

In which the hero learns quite a bit about the könig and his entourage.

The könig’s palace was absolutely the largest building in Holmstag. I hadn’t found time to visit the palace of the sultan in Selgar or the royal castle in Aegan—I’d had too much to do and didn’t have a reason to visit. I imagined it would have been hard to get in without a quest anyway, given that royal families don’t tend to be all that accessible to the public. I wasn’t sure how enjoyable the others would have been, but this one was quite somber.

The palace guard—made up entirely of muscular, bearded gentlemen—let von Richter through without question, but the faces they made at me were more menacing than welcoming.

“Is the könig expecting you?” bellowed one of them, replete with a red beard done up in braids. It’s like he has dreadlocks hanging off his chin.

“He’s with me,” Gunther said with authority.

“Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place?” mumbled the mustache as he slid his ax back into the loop on his belt. “You get all kinds gallivanting around here, and then the könig’s daughter goes missing.”

I walked into the palace thinking to myself about how I’d have to go back and talk to those fine young men once I got the quest. They may know something I’d like to hear. Who exactly comes “gallivanting around”?

“Hey, isn’t the könig’s guard a bit odd?” I asked Gunther as we walked up the stairs. “They’re not in uniform, and they look kind of…wild.”

“That’s not the city guard,” answered Gunther. “They’re mercenaries from the Sea Kings, Torville Magnusson’s hird—the best swords on the coast. As soon as Ulfrida went missing three days ago, the könig turned the head of the city guard into a blood eagle before beheading every third guard who was on watch the night it happened. That same day, he signed an agreement with Torville, and the mercenaries took up their posts. It’s not that the könig thinks his guards are involved; the whole thing is just very strange.”

“Got it.” I nodded. “The könig sounds pretty harsh.”

“He is that,” agreed Gunther, “though he’s fair. In my opinion, he was right on the money. Like I said, everything that’s going on in the North points to some sort of foul play, and for those thugs, their honor is their life. Well, of course, as much as you can say that they have honor. But I’ll admit that I’ve never heard of a Sea King going back on his word or retreating in battle after signing a contract.”

“And it also makes sense to have the best swords on the coast in his pocket rather than in someone else’s, given the times,” I responded, continuing his thought.

“That, too.” Gunther stopped in front of tall double doors. “This is the könig’s chamber.”

“Where’s the steward or herald?” I asked in surprise. “Isn’t someone supposed to let him know that we’re here?”

“Welcome to the North,” said Gunther with a grunt. “We’ll tell him ourselves. Out of the whole pack you see around the king in the West, I’ve only see two here: his cupbearer and his lover. Even then, the cupbearer has the proud name of ‘Hey, you in the beard, pour me some ale,’ and his lover is whatever woman happens to turn up right when the cupbearer’s services are no longer needed.”

He knocked before calling out into the room on the other side of the doors, “König, it’s Gunther von Richter on business. Can I come in?”

“I swear, you’re in here more often than I’m out visiting girls,” said a husky voice. “Didn’t you just leave?”

“I have news, könig,” replied the knight with a laugh. “Good news.”

“Then get in here! Why are you still out there?”

“Let’s go.” Gunther gestured with his head and walked in.

The hall was large and much more humbly decorated than the order mission. On the walls, hung weapons, the steel of which had clearly spilled a good deal of blood. The battleaxes and rounded swords dully gleamed with a reflection of the flames burning in the enormous fireplace.

In the middle of the hall, was a big, low-set table with benches set up around it. On the other side, was a tall, burly, bearded man with long, tangled hair already streaked with gray. In front of him, were a large cup and a dish with pieces of meat piled high.

“Who’s that with you?” asked the könig. (Who else could it have been?)

“Laird Hagen of Tronje, a renowned warrior from the West, a most worthy gentleman, and my friend.”

“Yes? Then he can stay, by Nidhogg. Hey, paunchy!” he roared suddenly. “Ale for my guests and something to eat!”

“We’re not hungry,” von Richter said hurriedly, apparently knowing something I didn’t.

“Who cares? Don’t eat it if you don’t want it,” the könig responded indifferently.

We sat down across from him.

“König Harald Snorrison, Lord of the North, its capital, the eight burgs, the coast, the far mosses, and three hills,” he informed me, wiping a hand on his hair and holding it out to me.

“Laird Hagen of Tronje, my own master.” I shook his hand.

“A skald, are you?” The könig’s bleary eyes stared at me.

“Why would you say that?” I asked, taken aback.

“You just said that smoothly,” noted Snorrison. “It was just so-so in general, but it was smooth, at least.”

“It just happened that way,” I admitted. “I’m no poet.”

“You’re not what?”

“A skald,” I translated. “We’re warriors. Though we’re good at finding people, too, if that’s what you need.”

“Really?” The könig’s eyes suddenly cleared as he glanced over at von Richter, who was squeamishly sniffing the foam-covered mug a tubby man in a greasy shirt had placed in front of him. I had one in front of me, too, in fact.

“It’s true,” said von Richter. “He can; I’ve seen him do it. And he’ll keep the whole thing a secret, too. Oh, and könig, he knows something about your daughter, which is why we hurried over.”

“What do you know? Tell me everything,” the könig demanded, staring closely at me.

“No, könig, we can’t start with that,” I replied firmly.

“What?” he exploded. “You’re giving me orders now? I’m the könig here, and I decide who will tell me what and when! How long has it been since you had your ribs straightened?”

“Ooph, I’ve never had them straightened,” I said, spitting over my shoulder. “And I’d rather not start!”

“Well, I can make that happen,” the könig replied, suddenly amiable again. “It’s easy. One snap of my fingers, and you’re tied to the ground while they slo-o-owly slice into the skin on your back.”

“I don’t doubt that it would happen just like that,” I assured him. “But still, you tell me what you know first. Just be detailed and tell me everything—that’s the only way.”

“Are you out of your mind?” The könig stared at me. “You’re giving me orders in my own chamber. What happened to the world? There’s no respect for the monarchy anymore.”

“König Harald, he really does know what he’s talking about.” Gunther looked at the suddenly depressed Lord of the North, aggrieved by the shattered foundations of his absolutism. “I know you trust me, and I trust Hagen as myself. Just do what he says.”

“I know, I know,” the könig replied ruefully. “I’m just sad and afraid for my daughter—she’s my only one. And well done by you, my friend. You’re no coward, and I respect that.”

He took a long pull from his barrel-like mug.

You made a good impression on the König of the North.

+0.5 respect among the peoples of the North

“König, we shouldn’t waste time,” I said, trying to hurry him as he halved the drink in large gulps and set his powerful Nordic jaws to work on the nearly raw meat on his plate.

“So what should I tell you?”

“Everything you know about the disappearance of your daughter. Every little detail, since the details are sometimes what let you get to the bottom of things.”

The sad lord of three hills informed me that he didn’t know any details since the whole thing was simple and straightforward. That evening, Ulfrida was having fun and making plenty of noise. But, in keeping with tradition, she started yelling at him closer to nightfall about how he drank too much and needed to stop sleeping around. Kids these days, he said, don’t respect their parents anymore, or at least not how they used to. König Harald himself was afraid of Snorry Big-Bellied until the end of his days. Even when the old man was laid on his funeral pyre, Harald was too afraid to walk nearby. But now…

“König, sir, you’re getting away from the main story,” I said, interrupting him.

“You said yourself that I should give you all the details,” he responded reproachfully.

“I meant the details about the disappearance, not about how kids these days don’t have any manners.”

“What did you say?” The könig frowned. “Gunther, tell your friend to watch his tone while he’s a guest of the Lord of the Northern Mark.”

“I meant nothing of it.” I needed to rectify the situation. Since the könig seemed to be a very simple guy, it wouldn’t be long before he’d grab an ax off the wall and send me back to the respawn point in my underwear.

“Besides, I could tell you all the same things about kids these days—my father’s always saying the same thing.”

“I swear, your father sounds like a fine man,” the könig replied, throwing back some more ale. “If he ever happens by these parts, tell him to drop by and have a drink with me.”

The odd part was that I thought he and the wild—if emotional—Northerner in front of me would have hit it off. It would have been an absurd picture, but still…

His ale finished (I tried it; it was bitter and thick somehow), he told me that Ulfrida had left the chamber to go to sleep. She didn’t make any noise that night, as the könig had been up drinking until practically morning and would definitely have heard her fighting off attackers.

“Why do you think she would have fought back?” I asked.

“Ha!” The könig pointed a finger at me and laughed deeply. “Because she’s my Ulfrida. It’s a rare warrior that will risk taking her on in single combat. She’s good with a weapon, too, since I taught her myself, so nobody could have gotten the jump and tied her up while she was asleep. No-no, my friend, this was something different: magic.”

“It’s true,” confirmed Gunther. “I’ve seen Ulfrida myself, and she wouldn’t be easy to kidnap.”

“So, there you have it. My daughter is gone, and nobody heard or saw a thing, damn it!” the king exclaimed sadly before suddenly yelling in rage. “Parasites! Fools! Spawn of Nidhogg! I sent off ten brigades to search the surroundings, and nobody found anything!”

You completed a quest: A Father’s Grief

Reward:

500 experience

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

The next quest in the series

Message:

Reward for beating the entire quest series:

5000 experience

3000 gold

+30 respect among the peoples of the North

Two random items from the König of the North’s personal armory matching your class

Title: Friend of the König

“So did you learn anything useful, guest of the North? Can you do anything? Maybe you need to talk to someone else.” The könig swallowed yet more ale.

You have a new quest offer: Eyewitnesses

This is the second in the Missing Daughter series of quests.

Task: Interrogate everyone living in the könig’s palace and try to figure out who kidnapped Ulfrida, how, and why.

Reward:

700 experience

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

A random item from the könig’s armory

The next quest in the series

Warning: if you fail this quest, you will fail the entire quest series, and your reputation among the peoples of the North will suffer.

Accept?

“Of course I do, könig,” I said, looking him in the eye. “I need to talk with everyone who was in the palace that evening and night. You don’t have too many people living here, do you?”

“It all depends,” he answered carelessly. “It’s always different. Sometimes it’s just us, other times we have visitors.”

“And relatives? Do you have many of those?” I asked.

You never know what to expect from family, especially when they’re royalty.

“No. We rarely see them here, and there aren’t many of them in the first place. Barely any are left—just Federic the Seventh, my mother’s brother.”

“Really?” exclaimed von Richter. “I didn’t know your father married the King of the West’s sister.”

“That he did. Sure, he didn’t really care that much about getting her permission,” Snorrison said as he scratched his chest beneath his beard. “When Federic’s father, Rugo the Fourth, married for the second time, he invited my father. To be fair, I guess they didn’t have much of a choice—he would have come regardless, only angry and with a hird if they hadn’t invited him. He was a sensitive old man, and passionate. Anyway, everything was fine, they invited him and all, and there wasn’t any reason for anyone to kill anyone else. Federic’s sister—old Rugo’s daughter—was there, and he took a liking to her. That mother of mine was a beauty.”

“What happened then?” asked the ever-sentimental Gunther.

“What happened then? He asked for her hand. I say ‘asked’…”

“Got it,” I replied. “And?”

“Rugo wasn’t against the marriage, and he knew very well that refusing my father would turn the West red with blood.” The könig smiled, proud of his father. “The Crisna’s a wide river, and our drakkars would have had an easy time sailing up it. But my mom dug in her heels and said she wouldn’t go off with a wild man. So, my father thought for a few minutes, rolled her up in a carpet, promised he’d send a drakkar for her dowry, and left for Holmstag.”

“He sure knew how to treat a woman,” I said, shaking my head in awe.

“Who knows?” Harald scratched his protruding girth. “But they lived happily for twenty years and had me and my three brothers. So there’s that.”

“Where are your brothers now?” I asked.

“All up there in the heavenly palace.” The könig’s finger jabbed skyward. “Long since.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied sincerely. The story with his relatives looked promising, though it wasn’t meant to be.

“Not really.” Snorrison’s shaggy head shook. “On the one hand, sure, brothers are your blood. On the other, there wasn’t a fight for the throne. A lot of blood is spilled up here in the North when power is shared.”

“So Federic the West is a relative, even if he’s a distant one?” The knight said, slowly processing the whole thing.

“He is indeed,” the könig said with a nod. “He’s my uncle, one of my last few kinsmen. I just have him, his children, and Ulfrida—that’s it. My brothers died childless; old Hugo—as Gunther, I’m sure, remembers—didn’t have children with his second wife and died of the plague five years back; and my father killed all his relatives.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I told you: a lot of blood is spilled when power is divided,” explained the könig. “He was the only one left from his father, too. Some they poisoned, some had their throats slit, and they even slipped snakes into my father’s bed twice. One was a real viper, and the other was a naked one with a poisoned dagger under her pillow. In the end, there was only one left: my father, Snorry Gustafson, the one they called Big-Bellied. And I inherited the throne from him.”

I was too polite to ask how his esteemed father had departed this world, although, to be fair, that may have been more from a sense of self-preservation rather than politeness…

“And Federic doesn’t have any family? What about his mother’s side?” I asked.

“Sure, he has two sons and a daughter, like I already mentioned. The rest are enemies, not family.”

“What do you mean?” I was a bit surprised.

“In the West, everyone who isn’t too lazy tries to get their hands on the crown—they all claim it’s theirs by birthright,” Gunther explained reluctantly. “Your nearest relative is always your most dangerous enemy.”

“Quite,” agreed Harald. “I think that’s true everywhere except in the Eastern sultanate. Over there, they’re smart about it: the oldest kills all their brothers and sisters before they’re out of diapers. The East…it’s a special place.”

“It’s not bad in the South either,” replied Gunther. “They don’t have an ultimate authority at all; whoever’s strongest just goes ahead and seizes power.”

“Unbelievable.” I was flabbergasted by the whole mess. What a sweet, humane little game this Fayroll is…

“It’s tough without family though,” said Harald, again slipping into depression. “You don’t have anyone to really talk to.”

“That’s true,” Gunther agreed, joining his depression. “As far as I know, I have a father, brothers, and sisters, but it’s the same thing. I was raised by the order, and I’ve never even lived in our family’s castle.”

The two unfortunates looked at each other with sympathy and understanding. This has to stop. I slapped the table. “Well then, that’s a dead end. So, I should talk to everyone who was in the palace that night.”

“Hey, Magny, you clumsy seal, where are you?” bellowed Snorrison.

“Here, könig, what’s the noise about?”

The man who’d brought us ale ambled over to the table.

“Call everyone who’s in the palace now except the new guards—they couldn’t know anything. And don’t go find everyone yourself or we’ll be here until morning; send the girls. I want everyone here in ten minutes, and I’ll straighten the ribs of anyone who isn’t!”

He obviously wasn’t joking about the ribs, as ten minutes later about thirty people—what looked like everyone who lived in the palace—were standing in front of us. The remainder of the guard had also been dragged in—I recognized them by the bedraggled appearance that spoke to days of confinement.

“My dear witnesses,” I started off, “I’m going to have each of you come to me one by one and tell me exactly how you spent the evening and night three days ago. Just so you know, I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.”

“And if the laird has reason to doubt a single word you say, you’re in for a world of hurt. Okay, start with the executioner. I trust him completely, and he might have a little extra work here in just a bit.” The könig settled onto the bench and watched with interest to see what would happen.

I followed his lead and began with the executioner. Once I was done with him, I thoroughly questioned everyone else in the group, including cooks, cleaners, and a few women I wasn’t sure about. They may have been maids or concubines, and one of them had an alibi the könig confirmed. I guess he wasn’t just drinking ale all night.

Nothing came of the exercise. None of them were lying, that much was clear. But none of them knew anything either. I was thrown for a loop: the person who could throw light on the affair had to be in the palace. It was a quest, not real life after all.

“König, is this definitely everyone who was here then?” I asked.

“It should be.” Harald stroked his beard. “Truvorsson isn’t here, but you won’t be questioning him.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’d have to visit the heavenly palace for that,” he responded, arms spread wide. “I carved him a blood eagle. He was a tough nut, took him a while to die.”

“And the guards are all here?”

“The ones I left alive, yes. They’re over there batting their eyelashes,” he replied.

“Worker Flosy isn’t here,” squeaked one of the girls.

“Right,” confirmed a chubby cook. “Ingvar is missing, too.”

“Of course!” The könig started. “Ingvar isn’t here. But he couldn’t know anything since I sent him to one of the burgs that morning on business.”

“Who is Ingvar?” I asked.

“Ingvar? He’s my advisor and trusted representative,” the könig explained. “He writes decrees, runs negotiations, is in charge of the treasury. A good man, and proven; we grew up together. We didn’t cut our hands under earth, but I’m as confident in him as I am in myself.”

I’ll have to chat with him. He sounds like the kind of person who could know quite a bit.

“When will he be back, könig?” Gunther appeared to share my thoughts.

“Tomorrow or the day after, I think,” Harald answered.

“And who is Flosy? Is ‘worker’ a nickname?” I asked about the second person who was missing.

“No,” the girl who noticed his absence replied. “His nickname is ‘stinker.’ He’s a seasonal worker who comes in to clean the latrines, though I didn’t see him around yesterday, either.”

“That’s true,” confirmed a big stableman. “He’s supposed to carry manure out of the stables, but there’s already a huge pile waiting for him. I was just about to go look for him.”

“He’s probably off drunk somewhere.” A housekeeper, who was unusually tall for a Northerner, joined the conversation. “What else is new?”

“Silence!” barked the könig. “That’s enough. Hagen, do you still need all these good-for-nothings?”

“No,” I replied with a shrug.” You can let them go. I just need someone to tell me where I can find Flosy. He lives here, right?”

“Yes, but not in the palace itself. He’s off in the back courtyard where the garden is. There’s a shack he lives in there,” rattled off the same girl.

“So, take the laird there,” ordered Harald before turning to Gunther. “While you’re doing that, von Richter and I will drink to everyone near and dear to our hearts.”

“I think I should probably go with Hagen,” von Richter said, throwing up a feeble defense before he saw the ferocious look on the könig’s face.

“Do you respect me?” Harald asked threateningly.

“König, what are you talking about? Of course, I respect you!” Gunther sighed.

“Then drink!”

Their mugs clinked together as I walked out of the room.

The girl, whose name turned out to be Agnes, chattered away the whole time we walked to the back courtyard where the garden, shack, and Flosy where. I found out that she’d had a suitor named Sigurd and they’d even been about to get married, but her parents were against it because of how poor he was. Sigurd gave up on the whole thing in disgust, told her materialistic parents off using some choice words, and apparently went off to join the Sea Kings—Nidhogg damn him for that. In short, the girl’s heart and bed happened to be very available.

Happily, we reached the shack we were looking for before anything could happen. I had the mark of Mesmerta on me, not to mention the oath I took, and any untoward behavior on my part would have meant a world of problems.

“Laird Hagen, I’d rather not go with you,” Agnes said, her face reddening. “He smells so bad…”

“Then don’t go.” I shrugged. I didn’t care what she did so long as I found the toilet cleaner in his right mind.

The door eased gently open, and the entire force of the stink cooped up on the other side smacked me in the face. So I guess he’s not overly fond of aromatic soap and fluffy towels.

The bearded and tubby Flosy lay snoring on a cot, legs and arms splayed wide. He took up more than half of the tiny shack. Mom and dad’s shed is bigger than this.

I poked him with my scabbard, afraid to actually touch anything. He mumbled something but didn’t wake up. I poked him again. The result was the same, and I realized I’d need to take radical steps to get him up.

Leaving the shed, I saw Agnes a little way off. “I saw a bucket by the stables. Can you bring it here?”

She was off like a flash and came back with a heavy wooden tub she’d even filled with water. Some girls they have here in the North!

“Don’t close the door, okay?” she said. “He hates water, so this is going to be funny.”

“He hates water? That seems odd, given his job,” I replied in surprise.

I walked back in and heaved the water onto Flosy. There was an earth-shattering bellow, the toilet master jumped up off the cot, and I found a pair of blood-streaked eyes staring at me.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said immediately. “I’m a guest of the könig and an authorized representative of the Tearful Goddess Order, so you’ll get one of those—what are they called?—blood eagles if you try anything.”

“What do you want?” Flosy mumbled almost inarticulately.

“The truth,” I replied. “What did you see during the evening and night three days ago when the könig’s daughter went missing?”

“The inside of my eyelids,” Flosy said, his eyes shifting away from mine. “I was sleeping.”

Ah-ha, this one knows something. And I’m sorry, but you’re going to tell me even if I have to drag you over to the executioner myself.

“You’re lying.” I stamped my foot. “You’re definitely lying.”

I heard a sniff behind me as Agnes appeared to be all ears. “Sweetie, come over here,” I said, turning to her.

When she stepped toward me, I looked deeply into her eyes and whispered intimately to her. “Run away nice and fast, or you’re going to die nice and long. And pray you don’t hear a word I’m about to say to this guy here since these aren’t my secrets. They’re the könig’s, and if you hear them, your little girlie instincts are going to have you spouting them off to everyone who will listen to you. What will Harald do to you then? Maybe he’ll bury you alive, or maybe he’ll feed you to the bears—that guy has quite the imagination.”

She turned white, and I watched her fear quickly overcome her feminine sense of curiosity. The only sound I heard was the one her boot heels made as she tap-tap-tapped away across the stones.

I walked back into the shack and closed the door most of the way. Flosy was sitting on the cot, which was just as wet and stinking as he was.

“Who was it, Flosy? Just tell me now, because I’m going to get it out of you sooner or later. You can tell me, or you can tell the executioner. He loves putting on a good show, you know that.”

“Yes, Svald is definitely good at his job,” agreed Flosy. “But maybe what I saw is scarier than he is. How do you know?”

“I don’t,” I answered, shrugging. “But I definitely know that old Svald is here, while whatever you saw is not.”

“I don’t know about that…” said Flosy tentatively.

“Would you like me to get him so we can see which is closer?”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll tell you what I saw.” Flosy’s eyes dropped, his head followed suit, as he obviously worked up the nerve to talk.

“Oh, come on, this isn’t the theater, so you can forget the dramatic pause.”

Flosy clearly didn’t understand what pause I was talking about, but he finally opened his mouth to talk.

“It was that old woman, Gedran,” he said softly.

Chapter Thirteen

In which the hero figures out his plans for the near future.

You completed a quest: Eyewitnesses

To get your reward, talk to the könig.

The quest was done, which was great, but I had no idea what was going on. Some kind of old lady…what old lady? I did know that I needed to take the toilet worker to the könig. Otherwise, I’d be stuck playing a game of whisper down the lane, or worse: running back and forth between them until the guy in front of me drank himself into a coma.

“Let’s go, my friend,” I said to Flosy, who was sitting on his cot thinking God only knows what.

“Where?” he asked with trepidation.

His question surprised me. “To see the könig, where else?”

“But I already told you everything!” he whined drearily.

“No, my friend, you just started talking, and I have no desire to pull every other word out of you like this. You’ll tell me the whole story in front of the könig,” I informed him confidently.

“I can tell you the whole story here,” Flosy said, continuing to moan.

“Okay, don’t make me call the guards. The way you smell, they’ll probably drag you away so quickly you’ll hurt yourself.” I was turning up the fire under him.

“Professions all have their smell. I smell like what I work with,” he replied, his feathers slightly ruffled, though he got up off the cot.

I should take someone like him along with me when I ride the metro, I thought as we walked back to the palace. The toilet cleaner would have scared everyone out of the corridors and train, and I’d have been fine—I was somehow starting to get used to the smell. Sure, I could have talked some street beggar into doing the job, but that wouldn't have been quite so exotic.

There was a duet coming from the hall where I’d left von Richter with the könig. They were singing loudly, and with all the heart and soul they could muster.

Host of valkyries, why do you fly

Above my he-e-ead so hi-i-igh?

I will never be-e-e your prey,

Host of valkyries, fly away!

We walked into the hall to see an entirely predictable picture: a buzzed könig sitting next to a completely wasted von Richter. I realized that, no matter what the toilet worker said, our next trip would be postponed. Gunther was an NPC, not a player, and so he wouldn’t be sobering up until the next morning. And spending that night out in the North with a boozy knight… Well, that may be some girl’s fantasy, but I didn’t need that kind of adventure.

“Hagen, are you out of your mind?” the könig asked indignantly. “Who did you bring into my chambers? Are you going to drag in the pigs and cows next?”

“König, he saw who kidnapped your daughter,” I responded, ignoring what Harald had said.

You completed a quest: Eyewitnesses

Reward:

700 experience

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

The next quest in the series

“Well done,” the könig said as he got up from the table. “Very well done. I didn’t believe this tin warrior over here, but he was right on the money.”

Gunther was about to object but didn’t, instead shaking an angry finger at Harald’s back.

The könig walked unsteadily over to the wall and pulled an ax down from it. He then slung it over his shoulder and turned toward me.

“Here,” he said, holding it out before I had a chance to feel nervous. “This ax belonged to my great-grandfather Sven, a great warrior. It’s yours; you deserve it.”

He pounded my shoulder, returned to the table, and plopped down on his bench.

“So tell us, who did this clown see?”

You have a new quest offer: The Kidnapping

This is the third in the Missing Daughter series of quests.

Task: Find out the details of how the könig’s daughter was kidnapped.

Reward:

600 experience

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

The next quest in the series

Warning: If you fail this quest, you will fail the entire quest series, and your reputation among the peoples of the North will suffer.

Accept?

Ah-ha, so I have to keep Flosy going until the quest is complete. Sorry, my friend, but you’re getting the executioner if it comes to that.

“He still hasn’t really told me anything. All he said was something about an old woman named Gedran.” I gave them all the information I had and was shocked to see how it affected the inebriated pair.

The könig coiled into a ball of muscle and started feeling around his waist for his sword, while Gunther about sobered up, his clouded eyes almost completely clear.

I guess that Gedran isn’t just some old lady.

“Talk!” ordered the könig, looking at Flosy, who frowned.

“Talk, my good man,” I advised him paternally. “It’ll only be worse if you don’t. Didn’t we already figure this out?”

“What’s there to say?” Flosy started gloomily. “I really didn’t see much.”

The story finally eased its way out of him, though not without plenty of grunts, vagueries, and interjections.

Three days before, Flosy had met the sunset as he usually did: wasted out of his mind and slowly heading in the direction of his shack. But that night, he was apparently the victim of a cosmic joke, as his weakened legs gave out on him a good two dozen strides from home.

As a result, he fell asleep in the thick grass under an apple tree. But the North is certainly not the South, and up there it never gets that warm, even in the summer. The nights are flat-out cold, which was why he came to earlier than usual. He pried his eyelids open and started thinking about a trip to the well.

Ten minutes later, he mustered the strength to pull himself up into a more or less stable position, and that’s when he saw the old woman with the cane standing next to a chariot that was hitched to two long-horned goats. There were also a bunch of skeletons carrying a large bundle to the chariot and a tall, bony monster with a horned helmet and gleaming red eyes.

The skeletons loaded their bundle into the chariot, saluted the old woman with their swords, and dove head-first into the ground. The red-eyed giant continued talking with the woman, though Flosy was only able to catch a few of the details. Red-eyes (that had to be the Lord of the Burial Mounds) was asking the woman for his share, and he wanted a little blood in addition to what he’d been promised. The old woman refused and said the bracelet was more than enough. The blood was needed elsewhere, she said. The skeleton mumbled something else before taking something from her that glistened in the moonlight, telling her what an ugly woman she was, and also disappearing into the ground.

The old woman climbed into the chariot with a second’s hesitation and spat out some kind of spell. The whole contraption took off into the night air.

“She flew away?” asked the könig in surprise.

“Well, yes, it’s Gedran. Flying is nothing to her!” Flosy flapped his arms. “The chariot lurched a few steps forward and then those goats just launched straight up into the air. I was terrified!”

That was pretty much it. Flosy laid there a little while longer before he realized that he didn’t actually want any water and went to sleep. A couple hours later, he woke up again and crawled to his shack, where he spent two days demolishing the untouched supply of spirits he’d saved for just such an occasion when he was too scared to walk out his front door. He was nervous about telling anyone what he’d seen since he figured people wouldn’t believe him and would think he was just sick in the head. Right then, was the first he’d heard of the könig’s daughter going missing. If he’d known sooner, he would have come and told the whole story himself—that’s how much he respected the könig.

“Okay, I didn’t understand any of that,” I admitted when he finished.

“What do you mean?” The könig glanced over at me grimly. “That old scum Gedran stole my Ulfrida and gave her bracelet to some undead. It’s simple.”

You completed a quest: The Kidnapping

Reward:

600 experience

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

The next quest in the series

“Who is Gedran?” I practically screamed. “Could someone please tell me?”

Everyone in the hall stared at me in surprise.

“Laird Hagen, I realize that you’re not from around here, but even I’ve heard of the evil witch of the North,” Gunther said. “And she doesn’t just stay up here; believe me. If blood is spilled and black magic is afoot, you can bet it was Gedran’s handiwork. Sure, she isn’t the greatest evil in the universe; she’s just a very malicious, infamous person. She may not even be a person, actually.”

“And she’s immortal, too,” said Flosy with a shiver. “My grandmother told me about this one time she saw her. Gedran was an old witch back then, and my grandmother hadn’t even met my grandfather yet.”

“I wonder who the one with the red eyes was,” the könig said thoughtfully. “And where can we find him?”

“Maybe it would be a better idea to forget the red-eyed skeleton and focus on Ulfrida,” Gunther responded gently. “What does he matter to us?”

“We can’t find one without the other,” muttered Harald. “Gedran gave Ulfrida’s bracelet to him.”

“Then forget the bracelet,” von Richter replied, slapping his legs.

“It’s not just a bracelet; it’s a magic item I gave her when she was born. You can always use it to tell if she’s alive and where she is. So before we go looking for her, we need to find her bracelet,” explained the könig.

And that’s where I come in. Only I realized that I had to be careful in order to avoid missing a quest. There was one more left before the quest I already had for the bracelet.

“That was the Lord of the Burial Mounds,” I announced. “I’m sure of it. He’s a big guy, looks like a skeleton, and his eyes are bright red. That’s how someone described him to me, at least.”

“Interesting!” The könig grabbed his beard. “The description fits.”

Gunther looked over at him. “Who is that?”

“The Lord of the Burial Mounds, they say, has an enormous army of skeletons, and all I have here in the capital is fifty soldiers and thirty mercenaries. And where are my troops?”

“Where?” Gunther and I asked in unison.

“Out drilling in field camps. Ingvar convinced me to send them out. I didn’t want to do it; I could sense something was up. So, who are we supposed to take to the burial mounds now? It’s just you and me.” The könig stroked his beard and looked at me. Apparently, I was definitely going.

You have a new quest offer: Allies

This is the fourth in the Missing Daughter series of quests.

Task: Find allies who will help you storm the burial mounds to capture the bracelet belonging to the könig’s daughter.

Reward:

800 experience

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

The next quest in the series

Accept?

I looked at Gunther. “You don’t think I’m coming?” the knight’s cheeks turned bright pink. “You, König Harald, and you, Laird Hagen? How could you? Of course, I and all the warriors of the Tearful Goddess Order are at your disposal. That’s at least fifty elite knights and three dozen archers.”

“Nice!” I exclaimed suddenly. My army is growing.

“I told you, Holmstag is home to one of the biggest missions in Fayroll,” von Richter said proudly.

You completed a quest: Allies

Reward:

800 experience

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

The next quest in the series

If only all quests were this easy. You get them and… Bang! Here’s your reward. No need to go running off who knows where…

“So what are we waiting for?” roared the könig. “Muster your troops. My little girl is in trouble, and she’s being held by an evil witch!”

“Patience, könig.” I held up my hands. “And quiet, please. Nobody’s going anywhere.”

“And why is that?” Harald was so surprised that he actually did calm down.

“There are two reasons,” I explained easily. “The first is that it’s getting dark, and we won’t get very far at night. Plus, a tired soldier is a weak soldier.”

“Agreed,” said Gunther, who was starting to get his feet back under him. “We’ll leave in the morning when it’s still cold out. The evening shift is already done, so half of my brothers are sleeping, and the other half aren’t on duty. A few are standing guard.”

“Exactly!” I raised a finger. “And the second reason is that we don’t have anywhere to go. I told you I came with news of your daughter, and that’s not all I came with.”

I pulled out the bracelet and proudly showed it off.

“What?” bellowed the könig.

“Laird Hagen, you sure know how to keep people on their toes,” von Richter said, whistling.

“You’re kidding me!” Flosy chimed in. “That’s the bracelet!”

You completed a quest: Favorite Piece of Jewelry

Reward:

1000 experience

1500 gold

+5 respect among the peoples of the North

The könig bounded over with the grace of a wild beast, showing me that there really was a powerful warrior and professional fighter under his girth. To be fair, though, wild people are the only ones who survive up North.

“That’s it! By Gullinkambi’s talons, that’s it! My baby’s bracelet!” The könig grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me like a rag doll. Then he went back to the table, sat down, and bellowed to summon someone.

“Aivar! Aivar! Where is that dirty pup?”

A short young man I thought I remembered to be the keeper of the keys to the könig’s treasury walked into the room. Ingvar, who I still hadn’t met, handled receipts and the distribution of the könig’s funds, while the guy in front of us just took care of the door.

“Go to the treasury and look for a big painted chest up against the northern wall. There’s a dagger in it that you can’t miss; it’s the only one in there. Bring it here immediately. Go, you lazy bum!”

Aivar ran out, leaving the könig to turn toward me.

“And now it’s your turn to talk. How did you find the bracelet?”

I gave him a touching and entertaining story about how I’d wandered the Northern reaches with a group of friends until we reached the burial mounds. We killed everyone there, and I was the lucky one who got to keep the bracelet. When my friends kept going, I decided to go to Holmstag in order to figure out whose bracelet it was, since it was obviously old and valuable. Then Gunther told me about the könig’s problem, and the rest is history.

The story was only so-so, of course, and it never would have flown with other players. But I was talking to NPCs, who were only too happy to look at me admiringly and clap me on the shoulder. Even Flosy smelled a little better over in his corner.

“König, is this the dagger you wanted?” an unflappable Aivar ambled over to Harald.

“Yes, that’s the one. Here, take it, Hagen. It’s an illustrious weapon my father got in Endinard, in the South, when he was down there chasing the black people through the forests. An Endinardian trophy is a serious gift, and I want you to have it.”

I didn’t know what Endinard was or where in the South it was, but I took the dagger. While I didn’t need it, I didn’t want to offend the könig. I can just sell it later.

“That’s all well and good, but what do we do now?” That was the question that was bothering me most of all. The distant future and the goals I had there were much clearer for me than the near future and its complete lack of goals. I got the bracelet, now what? It’s not a compass, there’s no arrow on it…

“What now?” the könig mumbled. “Now, we have to go see Rina the vala.”

Flosy was gurgling in the corner. He’d apparently found a pitcher of ale somewhere and was going to town on it. Suddenly, the gurgling stopped, and a voice called out. “But she’s a witch, too!”

“Watch your mouth. And what are you even doing here?” the könig asked indignantly.

“Drinking” came the imperturbable reply.

“Fine, drink away,” the könig replied before turning back to us. “Whatever he is, he’s a good man. Let him drink. But anyway, Rina isn’t a witch; she’s a vala. Here in the North, most races are dark, so it’s hard to tell white from black.”

“What’s the difference?” I asked.

“There’s a huge difference.” Harald took a pull from his mug. “A vala is a soothsayer, a healer, a keeper of knowledge. They cast their fair share of spells, of course, but that comes with the territory. She doesn’t harm anyone; the things she does are always aimed at helping.”

“How’s she going to help us?” Getting information from the könig was like pulling teeth.

“How are you planning on using the bracelet to find out where my daughter is? Just gallop the plains and wait to see when it warms in your hands? You’ll drive yourself crazy with all the space we have up here.”

“So, she’ll just tell us exactly where to go?” I asked a little sarcastically, knowing what the answer would be.

“Just like that. She’s the one who placed the spell on the bracelet, after all.” The könig bit into a chunk of meat he never would have touched if he hadn’t been so excited.

“Well, that sounds good enough,” I agreed. “In that case, where are we supposed to go?”

The könig narrowed his eyes as he looked at me. “So, you’ll do it?”

You have a new quest offer: Conversations with a Vala

This is the sixth in the Missing Daughter series of quests.

Task: Find Rina the vala and listen to her story.

Reward:

800 experience

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

Eivaz Rune

The next quest in the series

Accept?

“What choice do I have?” It wasn’t even funny anymore. “After a night like this, I feel like we’re already family. So is this vala far?”

“She’s certainly not close.” Harald scratched his neck. “In Tirskhov, the sacred grove close to Holfstrig. That’s a five-day ride.”

He wasn’t lying about the space in the North, I’ll say that much. Five days! How long will it take Gunther and me to go around to all the burgs?

“Wow,” I said with a whistle. “That’s quite a ways. Five days there, five days back…”

“Don’t worry about it,” laughed Harald. “I know it’s long, so I’ll just give you a couple portal scrolls from our treasury. Mages in the West invented them, and we buy them from merchants. They come in handy every once in a while.”

“Yes,” I answered unhappily, “though I can’t get anywhere I haven’t already been. Gunther, have you been there?”

“No,” he answered sleepily. “And I don’t plan on it.”

“What do you mean?” I was taken aback.

“As a Knight of the Tearful Goddess Order, I am not permitted to talk with sorceresses, even white ones. My obligation is to eradicate sorcery and witchcraft in all its forms and manifestations.”

He hiccupped.

As if, we needed one more thing to deal with. Our knight is an idealist.

“I can’t agree with you there, Gunther,” I responded quickly. “If you don’t want to talk to her, you don’t have to—I can do that. While we’re talking, you can just stand somewhere nearby. But you have to come.”

“Why?” Gunther’s eyes widened.

“First, because it’s close to one of the burgs you and I are supposed to visit. Second, what if someone attacks me? Who will have my back?”

“Yes?” Gunther paused to think. “Then fine, but I’m not going into her house.”

“Done. But that still doesn’t solve the problem of how to get there.”

“It’s simple,” the könig answered. “I’ll send one of the Sea Kings, Sven the Herring, with you. He’s definitely been there, and having an extra sword around won’t hurt. When do you want to leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” I replied after thinking it over. “No sense putting it off.”

“Then let’s head back to the mission,” Gunther said as he started to get up. “We’ll spend the night at home.”

The könig stopped him. “Sit back down. You’ll spend the night here. What’s the point in running back and forth? There’s plenty of space here; you can each have a room. Lots of people used to live here, not like now…”

I figured he was right and left the drowsy knight and again depressed könig to drink away their sorrows in the hall.

There was no point in looking for a room, so I found a dark corner and logged out of the game.

There was a surprise waiting for me at home—Vika was flustered and nervous.

“Damn, you took forever in there!” she exclaimed indignantly.

“And?” I had no idea why she was so anxious. “The apartment isn’t on fire, you’re alive and well… What’s wrong?”

“Zimin called your cell three times and the landline once. He even knows my name… Wow!”

“Why wouldn’t he after everything I’ve told him about you?” I shrugged. “You know we’ve discussed you. Did he say what he wanted?”

“No. He just said for you to call him as soon as you log out. Here.” Vika thrust my phone into my hands.

I dialed the number.

“Hi, Maxim, it’s Kif. Sorry for calling so late…”

“Oh, is it late? I’m still up,” Zimin replied easily. “I’m not even at home.”

“I heard you were trying to get in touch with me.”

“Yep. You were going to stop by next week, right?”

“I was,” I replied cautiously. “On Tuesday or Wednesday.”

“No point in waiting,” he continued softly, if adamantly. “I have a friend at Dalmore who brought me a shipment of whiskey. It isn’t 1978, of course, but it’s still good stuff. There’s a lot of it, and it needs drinking, so I decided to invite the people closest to me over for a small party. No reason, just to have a little fun at my dacha.”

“Thanks!” I was surprised at the suddenness of it all.

“Excellent,” Zimin said, his voice warming to a degree I had a hard time believing. “Bring your girl, too. Or would you rather come alone?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure,” I answered.

“Then bring her along, and you’ll see if you like having her there at the same time. It’s at noon on Saturday, so I’ll send a car for you both around 10 a.m.”

“Thanks, I was just about to ask where to go,” I replied, taking a deep breath.

“No problem. See you Saturday.”

He hung up.

I stood there for a second lost in thought until I noticed Vika staring at me.

“So what got you so worked up?” I asked her.

“What did he want?”

“Nothing, really. He was just inviting us to a party on Saturday at his dacha,” I responded, pretending it was no big deal.

“Me, too?” Vika pointed at herself.

“Yes. Is that okay?”

“I’m not even sure,” she answered, perplexed and a little scared.

I sighed and hugged her. “Hey, sweetie. A long time ago, a very smart person and excellent poet said, ‘Of all the woes, may God deliver us from both, from their love and their wrath.’ And who knows which of the two is worse…”

Vika nodded under my arm.

Chapter Fourteen

In which the hero dives deeper into the web of intrigue wrapping itself around the North.

I can’t say I was terribly excited about Zimin’s party, though it promised to be an excellent opportunity to climb a few rungs on the career ladder. What was that he said? “The people closest to me.” That meant that either I had found my way into the inner circle of a high-level manager in an incredibly successful company, or I was being given the chance to create that illusion for myself. In either case, it was a way to chat with the company’s upper echelon, prove myself, make a few useful friends, kiss my master’s ring, and think of some new lines to use at the office.

Sure, but when Zimin and I were having drinks at his dacha…

But regardless of all those plusses (not to mention that Dalmore), I had no desire to go. That type of event just wasn’t my thing, what with all the fake smiles, the equally fake laughs, the relentless pressure to say the right thing with the right intonation (and perhaps be recorded if you didn’t), the blended stink of expensive cigars and equally expensive cologne, and, worst of all, the fact that you have to play into the whole charade right along with everyone else.

Throwing back some cheap cognac with my team sounded like a much better idea; they were at least fun to drink with. I wasn’t sure why I preferred one over the other. Maybe it was because I was plebeian—as El, who had disappeared completely over the horizon, had assured me on many an occasion—or maybe it was just because I was fed up with the whole thing. One way or another, I’ve always been just an average guy who wouldn’t trade a few hot dogs for dinner in a fancy restaurant.

Ah, whatever, that’s all tomorrow, and today I have the whole day to visit the old vala and maybe even some burgs. The distances did cloud the prospects of that latter plan, though Gunther had already been to them, and I didn’t mind shelling out for the portal scrolls. Who needs money anyway?

We were also going to be accompanied by…What’s his name? Sven the Herring. What’s with these Northern names? “The Herring?” Anyway, he’d probably made his way around the block a few times. It was a shame to spend that much money, seeing as how it didn’t exactly grow on trees, but to be fair, I hadn’t really had much use for it to that point. A quest series and an action, on the other hand, were always nice. I’ll probably end up paying about 12,000 gold by the time everything’s said and done. What can you do?

Vika headed to the office, but before she left, she told me not to expect her home early. She needed to stop by the beauty salon and somewhere else. I did get an explanation about whatever that second place was, but it was mostly a bunch of words only women understand—and probably not even all of them. Who knows why a young woman with a beautiful face, great body, and all the rest would need something like “bioluminescence”? And who knows what that even is? When I asked her if she needed money, she blushed sweetly and said that she’d be fine, adding that she’d let me know if she needed anything. I offered, at least. Most likely, she was still a bit shy, since—though she’d, of course, had other lovers—she, perhaps, hadn’t lived so long with one man. She was still feeling the whole thing out. But that was a matter of time, and I was very aware of how much less of that time it took women to get their feet under them than it took men. Soon, I knew, we’d have a little box somewhere with a stack of money in it.

We’ll put our money here, she’d say, and whoever needs some can just grab whatever.

That would be fine, but it wouldn’t end there.

Just don’t be buying ridiculous stuff, or at least let’s let each other know before we buy things.

And that right there would be the kill shot.

Then I’d hear all about how “bio revitalization” and “contouring” are important, because, well… You care how your girlfriend looks, right? You like when I attract attention? And so, that’s important. What’s not important, for example, is a cool remote-controlled tank that doesn’t have any real purpose and just drives you crazy with the constant noise. (Okay, so maybe it doesn’t have a purpose, but it’s still cool!) That 20-book Walter Scott series published in 1961 with the pink covers may be a fascinating find and smell like wonderful old paper, making it’s anything but cheap, and it, too, is pointless. You could just download it online and read it on your phone, so why spend money? Just one more thing gathering dust.

But they don’t just say no.

Sure, if you want it, go ahead. Though buy it tomorrow, okay? Sleep on it, and tomorrow you’ll know for sure if you need it.

Of course, the next day, you won’t buy a thing, having spent the night convincing yourself that you shouldn’t. Your life loses yet another small piece of happiness, and one day you realize you’ve spent your life paying women in happiness just to be with you.

Those thoughts in my head, I climbed into the capsule to transport myself into a world where women, both real and virtual, couldn’t care less what their nails looked like. Some were too busy fighting to worry about them, while others were too busy around the house—and fighting.

Nothing had changed in the palace. It was still gloomy; it still smelled vaguely of mold; and I could hear the clatter of heels on the stone as one of the servant girls walked off somewhere. I sat down on the floor to check out the weapons the könig had given me the day before.

They were both useless junk. While I thought I could get at least a little something for the Endinard trophy, as a thieving halfling might find a use for it, the two-handed ax was far from rare. In fact, it was about as common a weapon as you could find with exactly the type of attributes you might expect. I wasn’t sure if I was more annoyed at the könig or the developers.

Next, I pulled up my experience scale. I’d been reeling it in hand over fist, but I hadn’t leveled up in a while. It turned out that I was a stone’s throw away from Level 50 and figured I’d get there that day.

Getting up off the ground, I stretched. It would have been nice to work on knocking out all the different quests I’d accumulated in the West and then in the East as well, though I just didn’t have the time for it.

Everything was laid back and relaxed in the hall. The könig was already awake blissfully slurping ale from a mug that didn’t appear ever to leave his side—not even when he slept. Next to him, with his head on the table, snoozed the representative of the chapter, Knight of the Temple, and so on and so forth. Judging by the smell and snores wafting in my direction from the far corner, the keeper of the toilets and cesspools was still there as well.

“Oh, Hagen,” said the könig when he noticed me, waving the mug clutched in his hand. “How’d you sleep? It’s a shame you took off last night. We sang for a while, and then Flosy even danced. He’s a good dancer, but damn, does he smell…”

“It’s the job,” came a sleepy voice from the corner. “You shouldn’t make such a mess.”

“What did you just say?” asked the könig, bellowing toward the corner, “I’m thinking of making that one a jester. Here I am with my whole court, and I don’t have a jester. If things are ever boring, I can just have him tell me a joke.”

“Exactly right.” Gunther picked his head up. “My father had jesters at our castle, too. I remember how his many friends used to come by, eat, drink, and then start to get sad. It got quiet—dead quiet. And then they’d call the jester to come and crack jokes about the king!”

“And?” the könig asked.

“And that was all,” Gunther replied, laying his head back down on his hands. “Everyone would laugh, and then they’d toss the jester’s body in the moat behind the castle.”

“I’m no jester. You all can screw yourselves,” said the corner.

“Do you hear how the people talk around here?” the könig said thoughtfully. “I really need to have a few executions to put them back in their place. Otherwise, you know how it goes—first insubordination, then freedom of speech, and then what?”

“Democracy,” I replied darkly. “Gunther, are we going? It’s already morning. The sun is up, the leaves are rustling… We’re wasting time.”

“Yes, of course, Laird, we’re going.” Gunther jumped up quickly and wobbled slightly.

“Easy there, Knight,” the könig said. “Hangovers are tricky. You have to get used to them.”

“König, you were saying something about giving us portal scrolls and another body,” I said to jog his memory.

“I did?” He was surprised. “Really?”

“Sure did,” the corner piped up. “I heard you myself.”

“He’s getting bolder by the minute.” The könig frowned. “Gentlemen, I’ll give you the scrolls, and you’re welcome to Sven the Herring, but you have to take this one with you, too.”

“What?” I said, dumbfounded. “What do we need him for?”

“You think I need him?” roared Harald. “You brought him in here, so you’ll take him out!”

“If that’s the way it’s going to be, I’ll just take him back to his shack.” My hands were on my hips.

“We did that twice yesterday,” replied the könig, his voice gathering decibels, “and he just crawled right back! So take him. You can leave him somewhere over there where you’re going.”

“Fine!” I waved my hands in surrender.

We had quite the team for our travels: an idealist knight, a Sea King mercenary that could just as accurately have been called a pirate, and an alcoholic, truth-seeking toilet-cleaner. What did I get myself into?

The könig did us the honor of getting up and walking us out, shouting the names of people he wanted to “see immediately” as he did.

I went over to Gunther. “Hey, are you okay?” I asked sympathetically. We were walking into nobody knew what, and I needed him in tip-top shape.

“Yes, I’m feeling fine,” answered von Richter. “That mercenary will be right here, so we can talk with him before I head back to the mission.”

“Why?” I asked, surprised. “Did you forget something there?”

“My horse. You thought I’d be going without him?”

“You’re serious? What do you need him for?” As if our merry band wasn’t enough, we were going to be adding a horse.

“I’m a knight. I have to have my horse. And Duke will miss me if I don’t take him,” Gunther answered shortly before hiccupping.

“Speaking of horses,” I replied, broaching a topic that was bothering me, “how are we going to travel between the burgs? They’re really far from each other, right? We’ll be out there wandering the plains for a month!”

Gunther squirmed. “Well, I have some portal scrolls, too,” he said finally.

“Excellent. How many burgs have you been to?”

“Five, but that’s not the problem.” Something was obviously making Gunther uncomfortable.

“Come on, Gunther, out with it!” I had no idea what was going on.

“It’s just that the scrolls, they’re…” The knight scrunched up his nose. “They’re inventoried.”

“And?”

“I’ll have to report to Brother Yur if I use them,” sighed von Richter. “He keeps an exact record of everything we have in the order, the accounting books and everything else. You have no idea how much parchment I’ll have to fill out for every scroll. I’ll have to explain why we used the scrolls, that it was appropriate to use them, and even have paperwork proving the whole thing. It’s exhausting.”

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. One thing was for sure—I felt bad for the good knight caught in the clutches of a hellish accounting department. Screw the gold; I can earn more.

“My dear von Richter, believe me, I know what you’re talking about, and I have an offer. I have some money, so why don’t I give it to you so you can just buy us some scrolls on your way to get your horse?”

“No, that’s unacceptable,” replied von Richter. “And unfair. You’re providing a service to both me and the order and not the other way around.”

“You know what, just forget it,” I said, waving at him. “How many scrolls do you have?”

“Six.”

“We need to get to seven burgs and back, so just buy eight scrolls, and we’ll call it a day. Here’s the money, let’s go talk to that mercenary.”

The Sea King mercenary walked into the hall. He was just as powerfully built, hairy, and tattooed as the rest of them. His tattoo was especially noteworthy, as it depicted a mermaid holding the end of an anchor chain that dipped below his belt. Above her was a caption that read, “Heave ho.”

“Okay, Herring, you’ll be going with these two.” The könig’s mug waved in our general direction. Sven looked us over and nodded.

“Make sure they get to wherever they need to go,” the könig said.

“These three,” muttered the corner.

“Ah, right, there are three of them,” the könig said, correcting himself.

“Just get them there or what?” The warrior looked at the könig questioningly.

“If anything happens, keep them safe. Just keep an eye on the situation, and you’ll be fine.” Harald waved his fingers around in the air.

“Am I in charge?” Sven asked.

“No, he is.” The mug waved at me, which surprised me. I thought Gunther would be running point.

“Got it,” Sven said, nodding. “Consider it done.”

“König, just remember that we don’t know where we’ll be going after we see the vala. We may head off to find Ulfrida; we may come back here; or we may just do some burg-visiting,” I noted. Gunther had already left to get Duke.

“That’s fine; he’ll go with you,” Harald assured me. “Plus, he’s been to all the burgs.”

“Are we going to Striklerd, too?” Sven asked, perking up.

“Is that a burg?”

“Yup.”

“Then, yes, we are.”

“Excellent!” The mercenary licked his lips. “They have great ale there, maybe the best in the North.”

“Ale?” It was Flosy’s turn to perk up. “Sounds good to me!”

He started peeling himself up off the floor, where he’d been laying like a pile of dirty rags.

“Flosy, how are you feeling?” I asked diplomatically, hoping for a not that great in reply.

“My head’s still buzzing a bit, but that should go away soon,” he answered, standing up and wobbling like a sapling in the breeze. “Where are those rats who took the könig’s daughter? I’ll be damned if I don’t kill them all—on my own even.”

The könig looked at Flosy with barely concealed pride that his people were so devoted. He may stink, but at least he’s courageous, I could see him thinking as Sven smirked next to me. Once again, I felt like I was part of some avant-garde performance. Thank God, the könig ordered us to march out into the courtyard.

By the time we got there, Gunther had appeared on horseback, and I had realized that I was in for an interesting time of it. Flosy had reeled off a few dances; he and Sven had scuffled, with the könig hooting at them from the sidelines; and then they’d all had a competition to see who could spit the farthest (the könig won). In a word, we’d spent the time well and profitably. It was just a good thing von Richter didn’t take too long, or the group would have gone completely crazy.

“Well,” the könig said, brushing off his palm and waving it at us. “Have a good trip. This is a sacred deed you’re doing, rescuing my daughter and punishing evil, and I…Well, I think I’m going to go take a nap. Here.”

He gave me two scrolls and the bracelet before turning on his heel and walking back into the palace.

“Give me a scroll.” Sven held out his hand. “Where are we going?”

“To Tirskhov Grove where Rina the vala lives,” I told him. “That’s who we need to talk to.”

“I visited her once, so I know the place,” Sven replied with a nod. The scroll flashed, and I could see it wasn’t his first time handling one.

We stepped out of the portal next to an oak grove—if one could call that many oak trees a grove—and saw a squat house a few steps away from it. A small fence topped with horse skulls surrounded the house. Thick smoke billowed out of the chimney.

“Well, this house obviously belongs to a nice old lady,” I pointed out sarcastically.

“I told you she’s a witch,” responded Flosy, following his observation with a hiccup.

“All girls are witches,” said Sven knowledgeably. “This one isn’t any better or worse than all the rest.”

“Please be more respectful when discussing ladies,” von Richter said loftily.

The drama was starting to get to me, so I put a stop to it. “Enough! We’ll go talk to the old lady and see for ourselves who and what she is.”

“I’m not going; I’ll just walk around here a little,” Gunther answered quickly, getting down off his horse.

“I’m not going either, but that’s because I’m afraid,” Flosy said, laying down in the grass and falling asleep immediately.

“A pair of old maids and their little pony.” I spat and went off toward the house with Sven, who didn’t appear to have ever been afraid of anything in his life.

“He’s a stallion!” yelled von Richter as we went. “And I’m not an old maid!”

I ignored him, though I quickened my pace just in case.

The house was very old, although, like my family’s dacha, good workmanship and building materials meant it was in no hurry to collapse.

I knocked on the door and heard a deep womanly voice call out in response. “Come in, whoever you are.”

As we walked in, I bumped my head on the doorframe and stopped to rub my forehead.

The room was fairly large and featured a roaring fire in the hearth. In the middle, stood a small, gray-haired old lady wearing a robe with wide sleeves. I looked around for a second woman, not thinking that the voice we’d heard could belong to the one in front of us.

“Did you lose someone, warrior?” So I guess that was her.

“No, just looking around. You don’t happen to be Rina the vala, do you?”

“I am; I won’t hide that. What brought you here? Man problems? Unlucky in love?” Rina asked with a compassionate warmth in her voice.

It struck me that the adorable woman knew exactly why we were there and was just having some fun laughing at me. “No, everything works down there, and I’m fine on the love front, too. We have something else we need to talk about.”

If the old lady wants to have her fun, who am I to stand in the way? It’s no skin off my back.

“My name is Hagen, this is Sven, and we were sent by König Harald.”

“I know this one,” she said, nodding at Sven, “but I’ve never seen you before. But, given that Harald, himself, sent you, and you aren’t lying about that, have a seat there on the bench and let’s talk.”

We sat down across from her, and I looked up to see her staring in my direction.

“Here’s the thing,” I started. “The könig’s daughter, a beauty by the name of Ulfrida, was kidnapped.”

I told her the whole story. She listened carefully, nodding at certain points, and showing sympathy for the könig and his family.

“So you’re our last hope, Rina. Can you use the bracelet to tell us where the könig’s daughter is? We need to help her before something really bad happens.”

The vala got up, meandered around the room with her hands behind her back, and only then came over and gestured for me to give her the bracelet. I handed it to her. Eyes closed, she tightened her grip on it.

“Ah, she’s seeing the past…and the future!” whispered Sven, who sat next to me. “I love watching her do this.”

“Sh-h-h.” I jabbed him with my elbow. “Don’t distract her.”

The vala stood there for a good five minutes before turning pale, unclasping her hands, and opening her eyes.

“Here’s what I can tell you, hirdmen,” she said, sitting on a very low bench across from us. “I saw who took Ulfrida and where they took her. By the way, why did you say that she’s a beauty?”

Rina looked at me. Sven roared with laughter.

“Oh, I don’t know, she’s the könig’s daughter and a young woman,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders. “If the gods had a shred of conscience, all young women would be beautiful.”

“Ah, warrior, there is much you haven’t seen in this life. Anyway, you will, if fate allows it. Sven, would you do something for me?” The old lady’s voice took on an incredibly snide tone.

“Whatever you wish, wise one.” Sven was gallant and respectful. He obviously knew something I didn’t.

“When you find Ulfrida, tell her what this jarl said.”

“Jarl?” Sven looked at me in surprise, though he caught himself quickly and continued. “As you wish, wise one.”

I was taken aback as well. When did I become a jarl? Maybe it’s just a way of expressing respect, something like laird.

“So, what about the könig’s daughter? Where is she?” I asked, trying to get back on track.

“Gedran took her to the coast and gave her to some mercenaries. Like him,” the vala said, pointing at Sven.

“She gave her to some of ours?” the Sea King exclaimed in surprised. “That’s strange. Who would get involved with something like that?”

“I don’t know the person’s name,” Rina said with a shrug, “but his ship has an unusual decoration on the front. It isn’t the head of a dragon or a serpent; it’s the head of a horse.”

“Torsfel the Crooked,” Sven said confidently. “That old rat! Striped sails, blue and green?”

“Yes,” replied Rina.

“You know him?” I asked Sven quickly.

“Of course. That troll cub owes me a life,” answered Sven angrily. “The Crooked crucified my brother on the nose of his ship; he died of cold there. And I’m not the only one who feels that way—quite a few Sea Kings would like to cut out his liver.”

“He left the coast,” continued the vala. “Now, he’s on an island not far away with cliffs that look like needles.”

“Forswick, an island fifteen miles or so away from the mainland.” Sven ground his teeth together. “I heard he moved his base there.”

“He’ll be there another two days, today and tomorrow, and then he’s taking Ulfrida with him on his drakkar to the Ice Wall.”

“Wait a second,” I broke in. “Why the Ice Wall? He’s taking her to Fomor?”

“Yes,” the witch nodded. “The mercenary serves him now, and not for money; he fears him or maybe respects him. He named Fomor his master.”

“What’s the world coming to?” Sven clutched his head. “A Sea King, a free warrior, and he called someone his master!”

“Things aren’t how they used to be,” I agreed. “Rina, did Fomor give the order to kidnap the könig’s daughter?”

“Oh, look at you,” she replied, wagging her finger at me. “That he did. Though he wasn’t the one who hatched the plan, he immediately agreed when the idea was presented to him. He needs the könig in his pocket, and holding his daughter as a permanent guarantee of his cooperation will get him exactly that.”

She dipped her fist demonstratively in her pocket.

“Agreed,” I said. “Sounds like the idea was Gedran’s, the old witch. But what I can’t figure out is how she kidnapped Ulfrida without anyone noticing. How did she get herself and her skeletons into the palace?”

“Think,” the vala responded, squinting one eye at me. “Maybe she didn’t get inside, hmm?”

“Great, now you’re talking in riddles.” I sighed.

“What riddles?” she asked with a smile. “Okay, warriors, time for you to go. You don’t have much time—none at all, really. I told you where to look for the girl, so the rest is up to you.”

“Well, yes,” I said sadly, “but what is there to do?”

“You can think of that for yourself, Jarl. I told you everything I know. Although…okay, here’s one piece of advice for you: don’t refuse help, and don’t accept just any help, either.”

Fortunetellers are all the same. They leave you in a fog so thick you can’t even see your own hand.

Rina didn’t tell us anything else, instead practically shoving us out the door.

You completed a quest: Conversations with a Vala

To get your reward, talk to König Harald.

Reward:

800 experience

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

Eivaz Rune

The next quest in the series

I scratched my head and looked at Sven.

“So, you said half the North hates that Torsfel?”

Chapter Fifteen

In which the hero starts pulling strings.

“Oh, everyone has their list of livers they’d like to cut out,” shrugged Sven. “You can always find a reason. But the Crooked is a little different in the sheer number of people who’d like to get at his throat. There aren’t many he hasn’t gotten on the wrong side of.”

“That bad a person, huh?” I replied.

“A walking piece of filth,” Sven said, confirming my assumption. “And has been for a while.”

“So if the jarls who like him least find out where he is and how they can nail him to the wall, they’d do the job for free? Or would they still want money for it?”

“Ha!” Sven grinned. “They may be willing to do it for free, but then I couldn’t promise you that Ulfrida would find her way back to the embrace of her loving father. At least, not right away.”

“Well, yes, I guess there’s no point giving something away for free when you can sell it…” I saw his point.

“And why save someone in the first place?”

“So how much will it cost old Harald to save his daughter?” She was an unmarried girl from a royal family, so I was curious to hear how much she was worth.

Sven scratched the back of his head. “Oh, I don’t know…Torsfel has three ships: the Orca, which he captains, and two smaller drakkars. He has quite a few people, and they’re all veteran warriors. I’d say we’d need at least three jarls on three ships—all drakkars ready for battle—to make sure we could take him out. As far as the money goes, Gunna Olavsson would probably do it for free, and he wouldn’t try anything with the girl. Torsfel drowned his wife and kids.”

“How did he do that?” My eyes widened.

“Simple,” Sven replied, laughing without a hint of mirth. “Gunnar sent them to stay with his father-in-law on his knarr—a merchant ship—when the troubles started. The Crooked happened to be sailing by and sank the knarr along with everyone onboard. Gunnar’s had his sights on him ever since, so he’ll join us, even if we just tell him where the Crooked is. The only problem is that he only has one ship, even if his crew is excellent.”

“So, what are you thinking?” I was happy we were starting to come up with a concrete plan.

“I think Froky the Hammer and Hrolf Short-legged are on the coast now, and we could get them to join the hunt. They’d want 10,000 gold each. That’s a bargain, believe me, since they have their own accounts to reckon with Torsfel. Obviously, they’d get a share of the loot, too.”

“Can you have them ready to go the day after tomorrow?”

Sven smirked. “Of course. It’ll be easy as long as they aren’t at sea. Just one question—will the money definitely be there? Old Snorrison is as stingy as it gets.”

“He wouldn’t skimp on getting his daughter back, would he?”

“Who, König Harald?” Sven guffawed. “Of course! He’s a miser’s miser, that one.”

I had to think that Sven was right, especially bearing in mind the trash I’d gotten for the quests and how unwilling he’d been to give us those portal scrolls. The great König of the North did appear to be a first-rate cheapskate.

“Don’t worry about the money,” I assured Sven. “If I have to, I’ll pay you myself. We have to do something for that poor girl.”

I wouldn’t have minded except for the fact that I didn’t actually have that much. On the other hand, I did have some things I could sell for quite a bit of cash if I needed to raise some quickly. For example, the White Prince Crown. It would be a shame to lose it, but… We’ll see. There was also an idea I was playing around with in my head.

“One problem is that we don’t know when the Crooked will set sail exactly,” noted Sven.

“Set sail?” I looked at him in surprise. “We aren’t going to just take them out on the island?”

“Impossible.” Sven waved me off. “You have no idea what you’re talking about! Forswick is practically impregnable, with a narrow channel leading into the bay, and Torsfel may be a bastard, but he’s a smart, experienced warrior. He probably has catapults set up around the cliffs already aimed down at the channel, so he’d shred us before we got anywhere near the beach. No, we have to take him at sea. If only we knew what time… He’ll see us if we hang around too long, and that’ll give him the chance to make it to open water without us noticing him.”

“So, what’s the problem?” I shrugged, walked over to the house, and pounded on the door with my fists.

Sven saw what I was doing, and I watched terror flit over his face before he dove behind the fence and disappeared.

“Who’s there?” called Rina.

“It’s just me, Hagen.”

The door creaked open a smidgeon, and the old lady’s nose poked out. “What do you want now?” she asked irritably.

“What time will Torsfel be leaving the day after tomorrow?”

“Do I have to tell you everything?” She was indignant.

“Oh, come on,” I snorted. “It’s not like I asked how many men you’ve slept with, just that… A piece of meaningful information, that’s all.”

The old woman giggled. “Fine. Listen. I won’t tell you exactly when, though I can say that he wants to get to Fomor’s dock by nightfall. Now, it’s your turn; how long will it take him to get there?”

The nose disappeared behind the door, which slammed shut, and I heard the bolt slide into place. My source of information was gone, apparently forever. Fine.

Sven’s head popped up from behind the fence. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw me in one piece. “I’d rather spend the whole day fighting than spend five minutes with old Rina,” he said quietly. “Witches all scare me. But what did she say?”

“Nothing much,” I answered as I walked out of the yard. “Just that the Crooked wants to get to the Ice Wall by nightfall. You tell me how long it’ll take him to get from Forswick to Fomor’s palace.”

Sven thought to himself, nodding off the time as he ran through his calculations. “I’d say he’ll leave the island around 10 a.m.,” he finally said, just as we got over to where the rest of our little posse was waiting.

“The morning is great,” I pointed out. “Everyone will be wide awake.”

“Great, yes, as long as there aren’t any storms.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said with a dismissive wave. “If there’s a storm, he won’t venture away from the island. We’ll jump in when the weather gets better, too.”

***

Our friends were relaxing body and mind. Flosy was still asleep, while von Richter was peacefully weaving a garland using some flowers that looked like daisies. The scene, in a word, was idyllic. As soon as von Richter saw us coming over, he hid the garland behind his back and assumed a serious expression.

“So, what did you find out?” He was all business.

“It’s bad, my friend,” I replied, shaking my head. “She wants the impossible in exchange for what she knows!”

“What exactly does she want?” The knight’s whole body tensed up.

Sven realized that I was trying to pull one over on the knight, and he joined me with a gloomy look on his face.

“Well, my friend,” I said, taking the knight by the shoulders, “she asked for just one small favor from a Knight Templar.”

“What favor?” he stuttered.

“You know,” explained Sven smoothly. “She’s a woman! A bit long in the tooth, but still…”

“That’s impossible!” Gunther threw his hands in the air. “I have a vow! I already have a woman of my heart!”

“And so the girl the pirates have—” I saw Sven frown out of the corner of my eye. “The ones disguising themselves as good pirates—we can leave her with them?”

The good and honorable von Richter’s face expressed a slew of varying emotions, one after another.

“Oh, come on, Knight,” Flosy chimed in. “Are you going to believe your friend, who obviously has a bit of experience playing tricks like that, or Sven, who the entire North calls the chatterbox, and not just the Herring?”

Sven and I finally gave in to the laughter we’d been hiding. Three colors chased each other across von Richter’s face: first the usual; then a pale, surprised color; and finally an angry red.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” The knight spat in our direction and sat down in the grass, his back to us.

“Come on, don’t be like that.” I playfully shoved him. “Okay, so let’s go back. What do we have so far?”

Gunther’s ears pricked up, Sven looked at me attentively, and even Flosy got up on his elbows.

“Ulfrida was kidnapped by one Torsfel the Crooked, a pirate even among pirates. She’s currently being held on an island in the sea, though the island is impervious to assault. In two days, however, Torsfel ships will set sail in the morning and leave for the Ice Wall.”

Gunther turned around.

I continued. “So, we can overtake him at sea and free the girl. We have ships and people, though the issue is that it’s going to cost 20,000 gold. Here’s our plan: Sven is leaving for the coast to hire the ships and men, and I’m heading back to the könig to ask for the money.”

“You’ll just waste your time,” said Flosy, who was completely sober. “He won’t give you a single copper coin.”

“Why not?” I asked in surprise. “He’s her father, isn’t he?”

“So what? It would be one thing if she were his son, but his daughter… He may give you 1,000, but no more,” replied Flosy confidently. Sven winked as if to say, Told you so.

“We have to save the girl,” Gunther said. “If worse comes to worst, I can get the money from the order mission.”

“I’m off then,” nodded Sven. “Give me a scroll. Let’s meet at 7 a.m. two days from now on the Falderhall pier.”

I handed him a scroll and looked around at the other two to see if they knew where that was. Flosy understood and nodded.

“Yep, I’ve been there. My brother lives nearby.”

“See you soon,” Sven said with a wave before stepping into the portal.

“And where are we going?” Flosy asked. “I could use some hair of the dog.”

“Us?” I looked around. “Probably that way.”

I pointed toward a blob on the horizon that was likely the walls of Holfstrig.

“That’s a ways off,” Flosy replied, scratching under his beard. “Too far for me.”

“What choice do you have?” I grunted. “Although… Well, you could stay here. The old lady will come out for vegetables and water at some point, and you can talk to her then.”

Flosy jumped up and started walking quickly in the direction of the burg. We started along behind him, with von Richter leading his horse.

“Laird, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t joke around like that anymore,” he muttered, obviously having taken offense.

“Okay, Gunther,” I replied, very well aware that I’d be doing the exact same thing the next time I was given the opportunity. I might have tried again right then if I hadn’t been busy brewing a plan.

The walls of the burg were just a stone’s throw away when an arrow shot from some small bushes thudded into me.

The arrowhead was treated with a fast-acting poison! You will take 0.8 damage per second for the next minute and a half.

“Damn it!” I bellowed, pulling out my sword and taking another arrow in the leg.

The arrowhead was treated with a fast-acting poison! You will take 0.8 damage per second for the next minute and a half.

Because you have already been poisoned, the two poisons will both be active. You will take 1.5 damage per second for the next minute and a half.

Five bandits tore out of the bushes. Why bandits? Because that’s what it said over their heads. They were all at Level 56.

Another sat back in the bushes and pulled back on his bow, aiming at Gunther.

“Flosy, take the one in the bushes. Don’t let him shoot! Here!” I shouted, throwing him the ax that once belonged to König Harald’s ancestor. It’ll work for an NPC.

“I haven’t fought in ages!” Flosy yelled back. “I’m a toilet worker!”

Still, he dashed over to the bushes, crouching as he went and keeping a close eye on the archer. The guy obviously had some experience under his belt.

The bandits got to us, and I parried a blow from one of them, though a different blade scraped along my armor and clipped my side. My health dropped.

“Wolf Soul!” I roared, starting to worry that I might die there in the bushes. My gray friend appeared for me to send after one of the three bandits attacking Gunther. He was doing an excellent job fighting them off with his longsword, but I noticed he hadn’t had time to pull his shield off his horse.

I was more or less successful handling the two bandits in front of me, and I was even able to slice into the arm of one of them. Sadly, that was all I could do. A few seconds later, I missed a strike that took off a huge chunk of health, leaving me balancing right on the edge of the red zone.

“Ah!” Flosy shouted, and I saw the health of one of my opponents drop precipitously. The toilet worker seemed to be an expert at stabbing people in the back, though, to be fair, he must have been pretty good at stabbing them in the front, too—he’d apparently taken out the archer in single combat.

That got me going, and I went to work on the other bandit. I was even able to land a few shots that had him at death’s door.

“A-ha!” I heard Gunther shout triumphantly, and I glanced over to see what had happened.

It turned out that my brave tin soldier friend had polished off the last of his bandits and was bending over him. I noticed that he had bite marks from my wolf all over him.

But the distraction caught me, and my opponent quickly jumped in to swing his sword one more time. While I was able to block it, the thin blade of the dagger he held in his other hand slid softly into my throat. I didn’t wear a hauberk, and on that occasion it cost me.

Gunther took out the dexterous bandit and jumped toward me. If it weren’t for those damn arrows… I would have been able to heal myself with the ability I’d learned a while back, but with the poison, it was too late.

All I could get out were four words. “I’ll be back soon.”

***

Suddenly, I was standing in my underwear, and not even in the city; I’d stupidly forgotten to save there and flew all the way back to Hexburg. Maybe that’s better. I won’t scare the locals by running around naked asking them where the hotel is.

Because you died, you lost some of the experience you’d gained.

That didn’t surprise me, but it was still a shame. Most important, however, was to make sure I didn’t lose any of my items. I knew that they’d be picked up in no time if my knight friend left, given how close the city was.

I dug into my bag to find that everything I couldn’t lose, the Gray Witch’s ring and all the rest, was still there.

The concierge shark looked away when my snow-white rear end and I bounced by and grabbed the key, before dashing by in the other direction a minute later holding a scroll.

“You broke the peace!” I heard, at the same time feeling a heavy hand come down on my shoulder.

I turned to find a guard looking at me reproachfully. He had seen me run into the hotel undressed.

“I’m sorry, it’s not on purpose—I was just leaving,” I assured him, though I still had to spend five precious minutes listening to him pontificate on about how worthy warriors don’t run around cities in their underwear. As soon as the pesky guard let me go, I activated my portal.

***

“These are not your things. They belong to my fallen friend.” Gunther’s words were the first thing I heard when I jumped out onto the scene of my idiotic demise. I even ported right to the bushes where the archer had been hiding.

“NPC, are you crazy? Get out of here,” I heard a vaguely familiar voice say. I looked over and saw Mirro for the second time in just a few days. Damian was even standing right beside him, with von Richter giving them a dressing-down.

“I’m warning you that I will protect these things to my last breath,” von Richter stated proudly as he drew his sword. His shield was already on his other arm—this time he was ready.

I realized that I needed to defuse the conflict, especially given how close it was to the burg walls.

“Gentlemen, I see we still haven’t learned not to touch what belongs to other people,” I noted sarcastically, climbing out of the bushes.

The marauders’ faces blanched as if someone had just given them something bitter.

“You again?” Mirro’s face twisted into an awkward smile.

“Can you imagine? What a small world up here in the North. You can’t spit without hitting someone you know.” My smile, unlike his, spread from ear to ear. I stepped over and picked up my things. “So are we going to continue this little tiff or go our separate ways?”

“What tiff? Everything’s fine!” Damian assured me quickly. The grilling they must have received back in their clan fortress was obviously on his mind, and it didn’t look like it was a very fond memory. “We were just walking along when we saw some things, but we obviously didn’t know they were yours—your name isn’t on them, after all. There was an NPC hanging around, but what were we supposed to do? Just forget it?”

I could have explained to them what it meant to be a rat, but there wasn’t much sense in that. They were already too far gone. “Okay, fine,” I said once I was dressed and feeling much better. “We’ll say our disagreement has been resolved.”

“I can’t agree with you there,” said von Richter from behind me. “And what’s an ‘NPC’?”

“Gunther, everyone makes mistakes,” I replied gently. “These young people understand the mistake they made, and I think we can finish the conversation there. A bad peace is better than a good war. Oh, and ‘NPC’ means ‘knight.’ It’s a different language: Albanian.”

Gunther relaxed his grip on his sword, though it was obvious that he much preferred a good war to a bad peace.

“If that’s it, then great.” Flosy jumped out of the bushes, the ax on his shoulder. He’d apparently been waiting to see how things turned out, and it occurred to me that the pair of marauders would have had a tricky time of it if they’d tried to take on the pair of NPCs.

“We don’t need to talk to Glen, right?” Mirro asked with a frown.

“Of course not,” I confirmed. We nodded and parted ways.

“Hagen,” broke in Gunther, who was obviously perturbed by something. “Isn’t it witchcraft that you were able to die and then reappear?”

“Not at all,” I assured him. “It’s just that I’m like a cat; I have nine lives.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and was silent for a while before giving his verdict. “That’s good.”

Holfstrig was practically identical to Hexburg. Really, the two burgs could have been twins. Our little group walked in, and all went our separate ways. Gunther headed toward the local mission to see what was up; Flosy asked me for a piece of gold and ran off in the direction of the tavern; and I went over to the mailbox. There was a lot of mail waiting for me.

The first thing I noticed were the three letters I’d received from my clan leader. The tone of the first was friendly, but by the third, she was promising to kill me if I didn’t get back to her immediately. Obviously, I wrote back, especially since I really needed her for the next stage of the plan I’d hatched.

Oddly enough, she replied almost instantaneously and just as concisely. Where are you? That was it. When I told her I was in the lovely city of Holfstrig, she sent me a similarly terse letter.

Wait there. Don’t you dare go anywhere!

I barely had time to think about what might happen if I did go somewhere, before the author of the letter stepped out of a portal that flashed right next to me.

“You know, Hagen,” she started off—at the end of her rope, from the looks of it. “I’ve had all kinds of different people in the clan. I’ve had reckless people; an absolute idiot somehow made it in once; and we even had a few schoolchildren for a little while. But there’s never been anyone like you.”

What was I supposed to answer?

“You’ve never had anyone as wonderful as me?”

She blew up right in front of me. “No! We’ve never had anyone so dirty, so unpredictable, and so disorganized! Why did we ever take you into the clan in the first place?”

“You’re asking me?” I responded. “You were the ones who found me under the bench, and you made the offer. I didn’t even ask for it!”

“You could respect the clan just a little. Try participating in clan life! And don’t you think you have a few too many secrets the clan should know about?”

“Me?” I jabbed a finger at myself. “What are you talking about? Look at my level!”

Our bickering was beginning to attract attention, with a pair of players and some local gossips gathering. They immediately started trying to figure out if Elina was my wife and had just caught me with a lover or if it was the other way around, and she was a lover I didn’t want to leave my wife for.

That infuriated Elina to the point where I saw the tip of her nose turn white.

“Can I offer you a glass of wine?” I asked calmly.

“What wine? This is the North!” Elina took a breath to settle herself. “The only way you can find wine is to buy some from the Sea Kings. Let’s go to the tavern—they sell ale there.”

“It’s really sour,” I replied with a grimace.

“Whatever, nobody’s going to be drinking it.”

Elina took me by the hand, and we walked over to the tavern. It was quiet, with a few drunks lying around on the tables.

Flosy had already had time to down three large mugs of ale, the empty proof sitting next to him. Noticing me, he yelled over. “Jarl, nice whore you found yourself. Well done!”

“Who is that?” hissed Elina.

“A friend,” I answered truthfully. “A good guy, though he tends to smell a bit.”

Flosy had run over by the time we finished that exchange. While I’d had a chance to get used to his stench, poor Elina found herself nearly knocked silly…and that was even after he’d lain in the grass and taken the edge off it.

“Hey, cutie, you don’t happen to have a nice friend for a dashing warrior like myself, do you?” he yelled directly into Elina’s face. “The jarl’s feeling generous today, so he’d be happy to buy some loving with a few nice gifts.”

“‘Jarl’?” Elina’s eyebrows shot up, and she looked at me.

“A way of showing respect,” I replied with a shrug. “Like ‘doctor’ or ‘master.’”

“Ah, right,” Elina agreed before answering Flosy. “Of course, handsome. If you want, I can go find Bernie. She lost her nose and has some kind of disease, but if you absolutely need—”

Flosy choked on his ale and interrupted her. “No, no, no, I’ll be fine. I changed my mind. Just not in the mood, and I guess I never was, come to think of it. Jarl, can I have a little more money?”

I gave him another gold coin and watched him run back to his table.

“So you’re already a jarl.” Elina sat down and placed her hands on the table.

“Just a misunderstanding,” I replied with a smile. “He’s a drunk with an exotic job. What do you expect from him?”

“Then why do you take him around with you? Traveling with NPCs is unusual as it is, except when it’s for a quest, but this character? He stinks, too.”

“I got him in a gift pack.” What mattered more to me was getting to work on my plan. “So, about why I called you—”

“I’m not sure exactly why you called me, but I’m quite sure that it’s because you need something from me. Anyway, better answer my questions.”

“Which?” I had no idea what she was talking about.

“What I just mentioned. Why all the secrets? What’s going on between you and the Hounds? Why are you wearing Glen’s cloak? And why have you still not told me that you were invited to the Hounds’ party?”

“Is that all?” I asked hesitantly. “Or is there more?”

“That’s enough for now,” Elina responded a bit angrily. “There are plenty more where they came from though.”

“Fine.” I clapped my hands.

That was a mistake, as the clap attracted Flosy’s attention.

“Innkeeper! You devil’s spawn! Why is my jarl sitting with your whore—who’s slender as an oar and scary as my life, I might add—and still sober? Do I need to slice open your intestines, or are you going to fix your mistake?”

Elina was about to explode again, and I was starting to worry for Flosy, when the tavern owner walked over. He looked her over and replied to Flosy. “She isn’t my whore. He must have picked her up somewhere in the city, so, shut up! What would you like to drink, hofðing?”

“Two ales,” I said shortly. Elina was silent, the result, I thought, of falling into a light stupor.

“Anyway,” I started off when the innkeeper walked away, “about those secrets—I don’t know what you’re talking about. My secrets are the clan’s secrets I learned accidentally. The only thing between me and the Hounds is a friendship that was your doing. Glen’s cloak? That was a present he gave me after a few of his warriors had a lapse in judgment. If you need any details about that, just ask Fitz or Miurat. And as far as the invitation is concerned, I haven’t gotten one. Strange, incidentally.”

“Really? You haven’t?” Elina looked at me closely.

“I swear on my mother,” I replied with authority. “If you have some with you, sprinkle a little of that truth powder on me.”

“That’s funny; I didn’t get one either,” Elina said. “Okay, we’ll see what happens. If they send you an invitation, let me know.”

“All right.” I nodded. “By the way, what you said about participating in the life of the clan? Let’s do it. I’d like to offer the clan a chance to participate in a sea battle with the Sea Kings, complete with a boarding and the daring rescue of a young girl.”

“What girl?” Elina asked, staring at me. “Are you out of your mind? Who are you boarding?”

“A perfectly fine girl, the daughter of old Harald, the local könig. The day after tomorrow, there will be a battle to recapture her. Would the clan like to join us? I can’t invite everyone, but you can bring a good fifteen people with you. You won’t get a quest or experience either; it’ll just be a chance to see what happens and join the fight. It’s going to be fun!”

“Oh, right, saving the könig’s daughter, I remember that…” Elina said slowly. “But why is everything happening at sea? Isn’t she supposed to be in a cave? Is the quest a raid?”

“Supposed to be, yes, but that’s not how it turned out.” I was just as surprised as she was, but I made sure not to give that away. “There’s a sea battle this time, a quest variation. But no, it’s definitely not a raid. I’ll be going with or without you. I just thought it might be fun for you guys; it isn’t every day you get to board a ship.”

“I guess they added a patch that changed the quest,” nodded Elina. “Okay, where should we go and when should we be there?”

“Well, there’s just one thing.” I frowned slightly and waited for Elina’s inquiring glance before explaining. “It costs 20,000 gold.”

Chapter Sixteen

In which the hero wraps up a few loose ends.

Poor Elina looked strained to the breaking point. She took a few deep breaths to calm the fury building inside her and even closed her eyes in an attempt to keep the fire in them from singeing me. Sadly, it was all to no effect.

“Twenty thousand?” she asked, hissing rather than yelling. That hiss, however, had so much emotional power behind it that I suddenly had the urge to pull out my sword. “I guess that’s what you’re charging for the show? Does that include popcorn and drinks?”

“What are you talking about, boss?” I didn’t even have to fake my fright, although I wasn’t backing down on my idea. “Are you kidding? When have I ever charged my people for anything?”

“Then what’s the 20,000 gold for?” There was enough poison in Elina’s voice to kill a herd of elephants.

“It’s an entry fee, basically. The free tramps don’t want to chase down the girl’s kidnappers on open water for free.”

“Could we skip all your little allegories?” Elina frowned.

“Okay,” I agreed. “The sea jarls are prepared to help intercept the kidnappers of the könig’s daughter, but only for a fee: 20,000 gold. I don’t have that kind of money, and who should I come to if not my own clan? Other clans? The könig’s a miser who definitely won’t pony up.”

“And so you called up your clan. I was right all along—why would Hagen just do something for us out of the goodness of his heart? No, it’s the usual story; you just ran out of money.”

“Why do you have to look at it like that?” I added a little resentment for good measure. “I could easily find the money without our clan—you know that. There are plenty of players out there who wouldn’t mind helping, not to mention other clans.”

“For example, Milly Re?” Elina asked with exaggerated agreement in her voice. “You asked her to go with you to Sviss’s cave, not us. Because, really, why would your clan possibly want to go through an epic dungeon? There are other clans out there, right?” Her sarcasm was reaching the point that I thought she would explode.

I had nothing to say there. The truth would have meant prolonging the argument and losing 20,000 gold that I needed and had already pocketed mentally. I mean, not their money exactly, but still. But what if I lie? The crazier it is, as they say…

“Yes, I asked her to go with me,” I responded brazenly. “It’s not like real life, where you give girls flowers. In here, you can give them a dungeon. I really like her, and I needed a way to make an impression, so I gave her a trip through Sviss’s caves. I like her, okay? As a woman.”

Elina gurgled, and it struck me that she looked like a crab with Graves’ disease. She was pale, her eyes were popping out, and it didn’t look like she was breathing.

Flosy happened to glance over in time to see her face, hiccupped, looked down at the row of empty mugs in front of him, and mumbled something like, “I need to stop drinking so much.”

The show was interrupted by von Richter’s appearance in the tavern. “Laird Hagen, we’re all good with money,” he announced, sitting down. “To be honest with you, I was almost sure Brother Yur wouldn’t give it to us, but we got really lucky. It happened that van Aikhenwald, himself, was there and personally ordered Brother Yur to pay for such a good deed. Even our accountants are afraid of him.”

Gunther smiled complacently before noticing the still-silent Elina. “And who is the lady? You poor thing, are you feeling sick? It’s probably just your thyroid acting up. Laird, I’ve always known you had a big heart, but taking this unlucky woman off the street and feeding her? We should give her a little money so she can visit a healer. I think I have some on me.”

Elina went from white to red, though she still refused to say anything.

Gunther smiled and continued. “My name is Gunther von Richter, a Knight Templar of the Tearful Goddess Order. What’s your name, you poor child?”

I choked on my laughter, Elina on her rage. We were both quiet, and simple-hearted Gunther misinterpreted our silence.

“Ah, you poor dear, you’re mute, too. Or,” he continued, leaning over and loudly whispering in my ear, “is she, alas, not well in the head?”

Thank God, that pushed Elina to the point where she opened her mouth. “Hagen, …who…is…this?” she asked, emphasizing every word.

“Allow me to introduce you,” I replied quietly, doing my best to maintain control of my voice and avoid ruining the Homeric scene. “Elina the Wise, head of the Thunderbirds clan, to which I have the honor of belonging…”

Elina bowed her head, hiding for a second the fire in her eyes.

“Gunter von Richter, Knight of the Temple, Chapter Member of the Tearful Goddess Order.”

The knight got up and bowed deeply, obviously feeling uncomfortable and trying to quickly make up for his misstep. Sadly, he just made things worse for me.

“My apologies, fair lady. Your unpretentious attire prompted me to think that you were a tramp my friend decided to feed out of the goodness of his heart. Again, I am sorry.”

“No. I’m not a tramp,” croaked Elina. I saw her about ready to give a finger on each hand and realized she was barely maintaining control over herself, looking, in fact, like she just might attack an NPC.

“Excellent, so that’s settled,” I jumped in hurriedly. “How about some ale?”

Our table shuddered just then as Flosy plopped down next to us with a message for Gunther. “Hey, my friend, stay away from this one. She’s cute, but I’m starting to wonder if she’s got the same disease all her friends have. Mark my words!”

“Flosy, she’s a lady!” the knight answered reproachfully. “What disease are you talking about?”

“Oh, I know what kind of lady she is. Today she’s a lady; tomorrow she’ll be anything but,” Flosy said in an accusatory tone. Shaking his head, he turned around and headed back to the other side of the room. I had no idea if I should keep him and his flapping tongue off by himself until Elina left or hold my head in my hands at the absurdity of the whole thing.

Whatever the case, Lady Elina looked so pitiful that I decided to sweeten my offer. “See, Elina, the financial side is taken care of, though that certainly doesn’t mean you and the clan can’t come along and join the sea battle. Gunther, you wouldn’t mind if a dozen or so veteran warriors from my clan helped us out, would you? There may even be more of them. It’s just that, from what she said, it sounds like the clan is going through some hard times, so—”

“Of course,” von Richter interrupted. “The more, the merrier, whether you’re feasting or battling.”

Elina cleared her throat and looked us over. “Thank you, von Richter, for your concern for my health and social standing, as well as for the financial state of my clan. I think our coffers are sufficiently full to pay the necessary sum without resorting to the assistance of the Tearful Goddess Order. And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with my friend alone.”

“Lady Elina, I will, of course, fulfill your wishes, though I would like to note that the sum in question is not too large for the order,” the knight answered helpfully. “I greatly appreciate your pride, so if things aren’t as good as you’re saying…”

Elina tightened her jaw to the point that her cheekbones turned white. She then smiled and softly replied to Gunther. “I can assure you that everything is fine with the clan and that the amount is not significant. It is entirely insignificant, in fact. It was very nice meeting you.”

Gunther understood her hint correctly, pushed back his chair, and stood up. “Always at your service.” He bowed to Elina and went over to the bar.

Flosy walked by right then, muttering to himself. “What a mess. They haven’t cleaned the toilet in weeks. It’s a disaster in there!”

Judging by the fact that his aroma had gained a few new notes, it appeared that conclusion was based on more than observation.

“I’m not sure what to say,” Elina told me, her voice completely calm. “You can believe me when I tell you that I can’t remember the last time I was laughed at like that. You’ll get your money by mail, and you can reply to let me know when and where our soldiers should be. As far as the loot, we’ll discuss that later. Do you have anything else to say?”

“Yes, of course,” I quickly replied. “The loot doesn’t matter too much to me, with the exception of the könig’s daughter, of course. I should just let you know that the Sea King jarls will be taking a share as well, so we’ll only be getting part of it. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t walk away empty-handed.”

Elina nodded.

I continued. “For the time and place, I can tell you right now. Make sure you’re on the Falderhall wharf two days from now at 7 a.m. And don’t be late, because we won’t wait for you. But most importantly, what are you mad at me about? Okay, so a couple NPCs went a bit too far. So what? One’s a Don Quixote as pious as Mother Theresa, complete with an angelic look on his face, and the other is a toilet-cleaner. Are they really worth getting that worked up over?”

“You’re a jackass. An idiot,” Elina said sadly. “And apparently you’re a jerk, too. See you in a couple days.”

She stood up to walk out.

“Hold on,” I said, getting up myself. “You were the one who wanted to meet with me to begin with. What did you need?”

“What did I need?” She smiled unhappily. “That’s not important anymore. I don’t need anything, and especially not from you.”

Elina spun on her heel and left the tavern.

“She didn’t give it up?” Flosy’s stench was nastier than his question.

“Nope.” I sighed.

“Forget her. You’re better off without her. Here, have some ale. Oh, and can I have some more money?”

I gave it to him, asked Gunther to make sure nothing happened to him and not let him clean the bathroom if he suddenly got the urge, promised to be right back, and cut him off when he said he had something to tell me. Then I walked out of the tavern, opened a portal to the könig’s palace, and stepped through it, hoping the 1,500 gold I spent on it wouldn’t be in vain.

Everything was the same at the entrance: the tattooed, bearded mercenaries kept watch, though they let me in without a word that time. I guess I belong now.

The könig wasn’t in the hall where we’d been sitting the last time, so I walked down the corridor hoping to come across a servant who could tell me where he was.

It was like the palace had gone extinct, as it took me quite a few trips through different passages and up staircases until I finally met Magny, just as unhurried and sleepy as ever.

“Hey, Magny,” I called to him, “where’s the könig? I’ve already worn my shoes out looking for him.”

“Who knows?” he answered evenly. “But if I had to guess, I’d say he’s probably in the women’s quarters. I saw him going there an hour and a half ago.”

Having said that, Magny was about to amble off when I grabbed him by the sleeve.

“Excellent, and so could you let me know where the women’s quarters are? And how to get there?”

Magny lazily tried to pull away but realized that wasn’t happening. I could tell he was trying to figure out if it would be easier to take me there or explain how to get there myself.

“Let’s go; I’ll show you.”

Ten minutes later, he stopped by a door, behind which we could hear women yelping and the könig happily growling. I banged on the door with my foot.

“König, it’s me, from the West. The one who took Flosy off your hands.”

“I’m busy with affairs of the state and the defense of the North,” I heard Harald’s bass voice say.

“And working on its demographics, yes, I’m aware,” I couldn’t help but add. All the tough negotiations and conversations I’d been having were taking their toll on my patience. “I found something out about your daughter.”

“Just a second!” he called, clearly not happy, and five minutes later, the door opened to show him standing there with a disheveled beard and an annoyed look on his face.

“Magny, bring some beer to the hall. You, come with me.” Having given both of us our marching orders, he set off down the passage.

He didn’t sit down at the table in the hall, instead choosing a throne on a small pedestal I hadn’t noticed earlier. The back of the throne was remarkable for the large animal skull with hefty jaws and antlers that sat atop it. The sides were decorated in a military style with a variety of sword hilts.

The könig settled down and got comfortable before smoothing down his chin and giving me my next order. “Speak.”

I told him everything I’d learned with the exception of who had given the order to kidnap Ulfrida, figuring that there was a time and place for everything. I also decided against giving him the exact time the operation would be starting, for fear of him heading north and taking command. The whole time I was talking, I did my best not to look above his head. The antlers looked hilariously like they were coming out of his ears.

“So that’s how we’re going to get Ulfrida back with the help of the Sea Kings.”

You completed a quest: Conversations with a Vala

800 experience

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

Eivaz Rune

If it hadn’t been for those idiot bandits, I would have leveled-up right there.

You unlocked Runes of the North.

To get it, collect a complete set of runes (25), which, according to legend, the gods themselves created.

Reward:

Title: Rune Expert

+2 to wisdom

Opportunity to get a quest: Rune Stone

To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

Interesting. I decided I’d have to check out that rune later.

“Well done. Bravo. You’re dismissed. I have some state matters I need to finish up.” The könig finished his short speech and accepted the mug of ale Magny proffered, having just walked in.

“There’s one more thing, könig. The Sea Kings aren’t in any hurry to help for free, and so they’re asking for a small fee.”

The könig was already slurping away noisily at his drink. He pulled himself away, wiped his mouth, and as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d just said, barked another order at me. “Why are you still here? Go free my daughter!”

“Of course, your highness!” I stood to attention. “Just as soon as you take care of the financing.”

“What financing? What does that word even mean?” the könig asked, playing with his beard. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but, if you’re referring to money, I’ll tell you this much—the opportunity to save the daughter of your sovereign is no small reward. You really should be paying me! In the West, there aren’t even enough girls for the princes to save, so they go off wandering through the forests and mountains looking for someone to save. For free, mind you.”

“They’re willing to give you half their kingdom, complete with those forests and mountains, if you’ll save their women,” I replied, not backing down an inch. “So why not give it a try? Your daughter doesn’t come with anything—the best-case scenario is that you’ll give me Flosy, and that will only be because you want to get rid of him.”

The könig’s brows creased as he thought to himself.

“How much are they asking?” he said finally.

“Twenty thousand, and that’s with a discount I managed to get out of them,” I replied. He didn’t need it, and, as far as I was concerned, I’d earned it.

“Are you kidding me?” The könig’s hands flew up in the air. “You can’t put a price on saving someone!”

“Well, we’re not saving some nun or shepherdess; she’s the könig’s daughter. That’s not to mention the fact that we’ll be going up against three shiploads of bad guys!”

“Fine. I’ll give you 3,000; that’s all I have in the treasury.”

The könig smoothed his beard down again, figuring that the conversation was over. Yeah, right. We’re just getting started.

We haggled for a good half hour. I waxed rhetorical; the könig was furious. He jumped down from his throne to wave an ax around, promising to slice me to pieces where I stood, he tried to shame me into settling for less, he promised to have me executed, he swore to let me marry Ulfrida—later, if it came to that. Then he promised to make me rix of one of the burgs and throw in Flosy, seeing as how I liked him so much. He even appealed to the ghosts of his ancestors, who he said would visit him in the night to ask why he’d been so frivolous with the family treasury. I’d never seen anyone as spendthrift as him.

As a result, we agreed on 10,000 gold, and, instead of taking him up on his offer to have me pay my people out of my pocket before getting the money from him later, I insisted on payment up front. He also insisted on giving me Flosy—there was no getting around that. What am I supposed to do with him?

“You sure strike a hard bargain,” said the könig with a tone of respect. He’d sat down on his throne and picked his mug back up. “And about Ulfrida, really, give that some thought. She’s an acquired taste, but she’ll at least be faithful. And I wouldn’t mind having a son-in-law as good with money as you are.”

“I’ll think about it,” I replied with a nod. “So where’s the gold?”

I hadn’t gotten a quest for it, so I figured I wasn’t destined to become Prince of the North. It was a shame, really, because I would have enjoyed that.

“Ah, yes,” the könig said sadly. “The money. Ingvar!”

A door creaked, and someone walked into the hall.

“Ingvar just got back today, so he’ll give you the money,” explained the könig.

Ingvar came over to the throne. He was a middle-aged man with fine facial features, a rarity in the North. A despairing or snide grimace—I couldn’t tell which—was frozen on his beardless face. We’d definitely never met, but I could have sworn I saw a shadow of recognition flash in his eyes when he looked at me.

“I’ll tell you what, Ingvar, heroes these days are greedier than ever. They won’t lift a finger to save someone in need unless you pay them to do it.” The könig’s voice was dejected. “Things just aren’t like they used to be. Give this young man 8,000 coins.”

“Ten,” I interjected meekly.

“That’s what I said, ten,” the könig responded with an air of confusion.

“All right,” Ingvar replied with a nod. “Follow me.”

“Go ahead, hero, and make sure my daughter gets back safe and sound,” demanded Harald. “Or else…”

You have a new quest offer: Liberate the König’s Daughter

This quest is the seventh in the Missing Daughter series of quests.

Task: Free Ulfrida, the könig’s daughter, from captivity.

Reward:

1500 experience

+10 respect among the peoples of the North

Gebo Rune

The next quest in the series

Accept?

“If you gave me 20,000, she’d definitely be safe and sound. With ten, I can only guarantee that she’ll be safe.” I couldn’t help firing one last snide comment at the könig, as I could tell that the frown on his face had nothing to do with the role he was trying to play.

“Watch your mouth!” he shot back, and I could hear an impending threat in his voice. That was a mistake; I still needed him.

“My apologies, könig, I got carried away.” I bowed as sincerely as I could manage.

“Forgiven,” the könig replied with a wave. “But don’t let it happen again! Okay, good luck to you on your holy mission saving my daughter from evil. I’m off to handle my affairs of state.”

Ingvar and I left the hall and headed down the corridor. I walked behind him, and I couldn’t help but notice how out of place he looked in the North: his shoulders were narrow, and he had neither a sword nor a knife in his belt. Of course, he’s the money guy, so that’s probably normal. Even strongman warriors have to have someone keeping an eye on the finances.

“Please wait here.” We had stopped by a wrought-iron door that had locks on our side and deadbolts, clearly, on the other.

“No worries,” I answered quickly. “You go dive into the coffers; I’ll be here when you come back.”

Ingvar shrugged as if to wonder where else I’d be, before disappearing into the treasury.

As I waited, I decided to check out the rune I’d gotten.

Eivaz Rune

One of a set of runes the gods are said to have created in ancient times.

As long as the rune is in the player’s inventory, the player is 7% less likely to be robbed.

Check the appropriate table to see the bonuses this rune gives when combined with other runes.

Class limitation: none

Minimum level for use: 45

Impressed, I made a mental note to see what the other runes were like. That one, at least, was no joke.

The door slid open to show Ingvar easily carrying a heavy sack full of my (yes, my) gold.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to me. “I hope you’ll have Ulfrida back to us soon.”

“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “Our adventurer friends don’t throw their word around lightly.”

“How soon will it happen?” he asked, as if in passing.

My response was nonchalant. “I’m not sure, probably five or so days from now. We have to think up a plan and get ready; it’s not going to be easy. You can’t take the mountains lightly.”

All I needed was one more person talking about our plans. Plus, I didn’t know Ingvar, so a little disinformation could go a long way. I could keep the operation quiet forever. The Sea Kings gathering for war wasn’t anything noteworthy, and everyone else would keep their mouths shut.

“Excellent,” Ingvar replied agreeably. “Can I walk you to the exit?”

I was soon out of the palace and off looking for the hotel. Carrying a sack full of gold around wasn’t the best of ideas.

My conscience didn’t bother me in the least. I’d been the one dealing with all the headaches, and so I had every right to walk away with a small percentage of the earnings. Even my clan membership had, so far, brought more problems than benefits. The only thing they’d given me was those first few levels, and I could have gotten them myself. Everything else we’d done had been mutually beneficial. So, what was the problem with getting a little something for the services I was providing?

I wouldn’t have taken any money from Gunther, and not just because he was such an honorable person himself. That simply could have had an effect on my reputation. Profiting off the simple-heartedness of others is a sin, if we’re being honest with ourselves.

After leaving the hotel, I checked my mailbox to find that Elina had sent the money. There was no message attached, which told me that she was really mad at me. Then screw her. Maybe she’ll kick me out? Make my day…

That might have been the best option, I mused. It would have left me free to join the Hounds…or even the Wild Hearts. I had connections high up in the clan, and I could deal with nosy halflings. Of course, I’d have to talk with the Gray Witch beforehand if I decided to head over there. Speaking of the Gray Witch, why didn’t I get an invitation to the party? On the other hand, who am I to think she’d invite me? Another option was talking to Glen about joining the Sons of Taranis; I didn’t think he’d turn me down. But the first step is getting kicked out… I wasn’t about to leave on my own; I didn’t need old Rina to tell me how quickly Elina would blacklist me.

Nothing had changed in the tavern with the exception that Flosy had slipped off his chair and was snoring under the table. The owner was standing nearby and obviously trying to figure out if he should leave him there or move him somewhere else. On the one hand, Flosy was unpleasant and stank; on the other, just touching him was enough to make your skin crawl. He had no interest in risking asking Gunther to move Flosy.

“Drank himself to sleep?” I gestured toward Flosy, who was smacking his lips in his slumber.

“Yep,” nodded Gunther, taking a sip of ale. “But that’s just the half of it. Before he went night-night, he was up and about singing his songs—something about goblins. ‘Green beast up, waving an ax, swing it up and down it hacks.’ Alcoholics are crazy—green beast crazy.”

“Yes, green goblins is pretty far gone. We need to get him to stop drinking before he terrifies the entire burg. What did you want to tell me, by the way?”

Gunther put his mug down and smiled placidly. “Oh, nothing, really. The local rix was torn to pieces right outside the walls of the burg last night, so there’s just one left. Actually, it wasn’t even at night; just early evening.”

“Huh,” I responded, my brow creasing. “What was he doing outside the walls?”

“I’m not sure. I decided to wait for you before trying to find out. Maybe we should see what’s going on?”

I checked the game clock to see that it was only 5 p.m. We still have time.

“Why not? Let’s go question some witnesses. It’s about time we figure out what’s going on in the burgs.”

We let the tavern keeper know that Flosy could be wild when he had a hangover, recommending that the man avoid waking the little guy up and giving him anything else to drink. Then we left.

Chapter Seventeen

In which the hero and his friend try to get to the bottom of things.

There wasn’t much left of the rix and the three large men he’d had with him. Just some bloody rags, a mess of body parts, and some weapons they hadn’t even had time to pull out. Someone had taken care of them quickly, effortlessly, and mercilessly, and then the bodies had been eaten afterward. The people who’d gathered around the cart that carried in the remains were arguing about who that might have been.

“It was wolves. There are so many of them out there these days!” A tubby craftsman stuck a finger in the air knowingly.

“What wolves? They don’t have teeth like that. No, this is the work of werewolves,” a city guard, with just as considerable a belly, shot back insistently.

“Oh, preserve us! The plague has come to punish us for our many sins!” wailed a portly woman. “We turned away from the true gods, and now look what’s become of us!”

Quite a few alternative theories were raised, though nobody had any idea which of them was the truth. What the woman said about the gods, however, stuck with me.

“What’s our plan?” Gunther asked, looking at me.

“Question the witnesses,” I replied. “What else? We just have to figure out which of them actually saw what happened. Otherwise, we’ll never be able to hash out what’s true and what isn’t. Who’s the head of the guard?”

“Over there.” Gunther nodded in the direction of a warrior wearing a cap. “He’s the one who told me about the rix.”

“Okay, then bring him over here so we can have a chat off to the side.”

The head guard was a wiry older man without a beard, surprisingly, but he had a long, drooping mustache that nearly reached his chest. His name was Atly Gunnarson. He wasn’t terribly interested in talking to us, but a disk Gunther pulled out from under his armor and showed the man loosened his tongue.

“So, my dear Atly, has anything like this ever happened before?” I asked, jumping right in.

“Murder?” Gunnarson clarified gravely. “Or something else? And if you’re talking about murder, do you mean murder in general or the murder of a rix?”

“I’m sure you’ve had murders before,” I responded. “I mean, have you ever had it where a few bones are all that’s left of the victim?”

“No,” Atly said confidently. “I’ve never seen that.”

“A new precedent,” I noted sadly.

“What?” Atly’s brows wrinkled. “Is that some scientific term? Or a curse?”

“It just means that was the first time it happened,” I explained. “At least, the first time anyone’s come across it.

“Why do you say it’s the first time?” Atly was taken aback. “We’ve never had it here, no, but it happened in the neighboring burg, too. It happened to their rix, as well. He and his family were killed. Trody, my nephew, told me when he came by for a visit.”

“Really? The exact same thing?”

“I’m not sure if it was exactly the same thing. Trody told me their rix left out of the blue, taking his whole family with him and rushing off. Two days later, some beekeepers found his bones. They recognized him by a medal he wore around his neck.”

“Who do you think could have done something like this? It doesn’t look like a wild animal, does it?” von Richter asked, joining the conversation.

“I have no idea,” Atly said, fiddling with his mustache. “I just know that this definitely wasn’t wolves or bears. Wolves don’t gnaw on the bones like that, and bears would stash the bodies under some roots and wait until they’d started to rot. Bears prefer their meat a bit old. Plus, it isn’t winter, so the bears and wolves have plenty to eat.”

“So, who could have done it then?” I asked.

Atly hemmed and hawed, obviously too embarrassed to say something that was on his mind.

I did my best to win him over. “My good man, if you know something, out with it. It can only help…everyone!”

“Okay, don’t think that I’m crazy or anything,” the warrior stuttered. “It’s just that my grandmother, rest her soul, told me once about an old lady in the Iron Forest. If she didn’t like someone, she’d send her spawn—once people, but now with black souls—after them.”

“What are you talking about?” Gunther shook his head.

So there was an old lady in the Iron Forest. Could that be our new friend?

“Does the old lady have a name?” I asked, looking Atly in the eye.

His reply came unwillingly. “Yes—Gedran.”

Gunther shuddered, but I wasn’t that surprised. The infamous old lady had made a name for herself and clearly played the long game.

“What did you say about her spawn?” I needed to get as much information out of him as I could before he’d had enough.

“Well, she often comes up to lowlifes, liars, and people who are unclean and offers to grant them one wish. In exchange, once ten years is up, they have to visit her in the Iron Forest and serve her faithfully for another ten years,” Atly blurted out, looking around quickly. “She makes them into real monsters, with fangs and everything, though they stay human. They eat flesh and blood, preferably human.”

Gunther’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Does anyone ever agree to her offer?”

“Just look at the cart. You tell me.”

I believed Atly completely and unreservedly. That had to have been what happened. But where was the rix going in such a hurry that night? Why? We clearly had more questions than answers.

“Atly, tell me this.” I decided to come at the problem from another angle. “Have you had many strangers visiting the burg lately?”

“I’d say you’re the first,” Atly answered quickly. “Although, a group of warriors did travel through the burg on their way to catch some monster in the mountains… We were surprised they stopped by since nobody ever comes, but they just visited Gromly’s stall and left. And that’s been all the new faces we’ve had in the last week.”

That’s strange. What, do players not come here at all? My doubt must have been written all over my face, as Gunnarson kept going. “It’s not a surprise, really. Our burg is off by itself in the mountains, and who needs to climb them besides that one group? And we’re surrounded by the forest. Warriors don’t have anything to do here—there aren’t any exploits or fame to be found. Traders come once a month to buy the skins our hunters sell them, but that’s all.”

“And the Iron Forest is too close,” a burly guard who’d just walked up added.

“Exactly right,” agreed Atly. “It scares people away.”

“And that evil Gedran lives in the Iron Forest.” I thoughtfully finished their argument for them. “What does she have in the forest? A house, land?”

“Who knows?” Atly smiled sadly. “We don’t go there, and whoever does go in, stays there. People give the forest a mile’s clearance when they go around it, and nobody would ever dream of venturing inside.”

“So, in all this time, nobody’s ever gone in?” I was having a hard time believing him.

“Of course they have,” the guard said, his paunch shaking. “Warriors have tried it plenty of times. A pair of them went in just a month and a half ago. One was hairy, the other was wearing a pendant around his neck, and they said it had something to do with a family matter. They had a gorgeous black thoroughbred with them, too. Anyway, they went in, but they didn’t come out. Nobody comes out.”

“I’ve heard that Gedran can get from the Iron Forest to any other forest in Fayroll, too,” added Atly.

Damn, there are so many bad spots around here. And with my luck, I’ll stumble across all of them…

“Okay, screw that Gedran. So, you haven’t had any strangers?” I repeated my question just in case, but all I got in reply was Atly and the nameless guard shaking their heads. I turned to Gunther. “This isn’t good. All we know is that we don’t know anything.”

The knight sighed. We were about to part ways with the guards and head toward the tavern to grab Flosy when a simple thought occurred to me.

“Atly, what about this?” I called to the guard, who was walking toward the group of wives crying over the remains in the cart. “You haven’t had any strangers stopping by, but what about people you know? Has anyone visited in the last few days?”

“Of course,” Atly quickly replied. “Ingvar, the könig’s confidant, came by for a visit. He got here last night, spoke with the rix about something, and then got his things together and left. The rix followed him out the gate soon after.”

“Huh, Ingvar!” I snapped my fingers. “That’s important. Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

Atly stared at me. “But he’s Ingvar, close to the könig, his right hand. What did you want me to say about him?”

“You’re not wrong that he’s close to the könig, but it’s still strange. He comes, has a chat with the rix, and then the latter up and runs off before being found in little pieces the next day.”

“Just a coincidence,” Atly replied assuredly. “Ingvar wouldn’t betray the könig. He’s saved the könig’s life on several occasions, and he’d slit your throat for looking sideways at the könig. Everyone knows that.”

He turned and walked off in the direction of the cart.

I watched him go before looking at Gunther. “It’s great that he’s that confident, but we still need to check things out. Let’s go find Flosy and head for the next burg. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Gunther was silent, either trusting my opinion or keeping his own to himself.

Flosy was still asleep in the same position under the same table.

“Laird, maybe we could, you know, just leave him here?” Gunther was not in a hurry to pick Flosy up and carry him through the portal.

I didn’t disagree with him. “I wish, but the problem is that he’s our ticket to the wharf. We won’t be getting there without him. And what happens if he wakes up and takes off somewhere? Where will we look for him then?”

“Where would he go?” The knight wasn’t letting the idea go that easily. “He’ll just lie there sleeping, and we can come back for him when we’re done with everything we have to do.”

“No, no, no!” The tavern owner joined the conversation. “You’ll get him out of here right now! I have enough of my own good-for-nothings without your dung beetle. He stank up the whole tavern already.”

As if to back him up, Flosy muttered something in his sleep, loudly cut loose a foul-smelling cloud of gas, and smiled placidly.

“Yeah…” I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of dragging him out and, in the process, getting his stink on me either. “Innkeeper, bring me a couple pitchers of cold water and a mug of ale. Also, let me know how much we owe you.”

“What do you need the ale for?” Gunther asked. “He’s already had plenty.”

“You’ll see.”

The pitchers of water dumped over Flosy’s head weren’t enough to sober him up completely, of course, though they did at least wake him up. The innkeeper shrieked about how we were getting the whole place wet after already stinking it up, and in the meantime, Flosy sat up, glared at the source of all the noise and then at us, and belted out a few lines to a song. We drunkards get up, up, and go to Gudrun…

“Give me some ale!”

I held out the mug with its foam head.

“Here it is. Take it!”

Flosy got up on shaky legs and shuffled toward me. I quickly barked an order for Gunther.

“Out into the courtyard, grab your horse and open the portal!”

***

We found ourselves in the next burg. Flosy stayed in the shadow of the well clutching the mug, even though we told him he wasn’t getting any more money until the end of the trip. We did, however, give in and promise him a five-liter cask if he behaved well. He calmed down and drank his ale before looking around at the girls walking past the well. We left to go talk to the head of the guard.

In that burg, in the next, and in all the rest, the picture was the same. Ingvar visited each of the rixes right before they set off for a better world, and the only difference was the way they all died. One was eaten, another was poisoned, one more left and never came back. One way or another, seven of the eight burgs were at that moment bereft of their rix. Their heirs, if they had any, were gone as well. We weren’t sure about Ingvar and Hexburg, of course, though the rix was a goner.

The last burg on our list was Foyrin, where the rix had been reported alive the previous morning. I didn’t have any confidence that that was still the case.

You finished Cities of the North.

Reward:

Title: Connoisseur of the North

+5% protection from cold

+1 respect among the peoples of the North

To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

That was my second action complete, and it felt great.

“Gunther, where’s the local government?” I looked around the empty square where we stood. It was completely dark since we’d burned through the evening and it was already the middle of the night. The moon and stars were even hidden. Gunther put his hand on his sword as Flosy shivered in the cold night air. He was sleepy and completely sober.

“We should drop him off at the local tavern,” I told Gunther. “We’ll be spending the night here regardless.”

“And we promised him a cask,” von Richter noted fairly.

“That you did,” confirmed Flosy.

“We promised, so we’ll buy one for you,” I assured him. “First, though, we have to find the tavern itself. And how are we going to do that when it’s this dark out?”

“It’s right there.” Flosy pointed toward one of the buildings. “What’s there to look for?”

“How do you know?” asked Gunther in surprise. “Have you been here?”

Flosy grunted, annoyed that Gunther doubted his ability to find somewhere they serve alcohol wherever he went.

“Well done,” I said, impressed.

We set off in the direction of the tavern, but we didn’t get there. The nighttime silence was broken by screams and cries for help coming from one of the largest buildings in the burg. Even in the darkness, we could tell that it was larger than the rest and stood off by itself.

“What do you want to bet that that’s where the rix lives?” I yelled at Gunther as we took off running.

“Why would I want to bet? It’s obvious,” he replied with a grin. His sword rang as he unsheathed it.

We got to the building before anyone else, but we were still too late. The ragged body of a man dressed in a bloody nightdress flew out of a window on the third floor. That has to be the rix. At least, it was him.

But whoever killed him was still in the building, and I very much wanted to have a chat with him, so long as he (or it) was capable of having a chat.

The square quickly filled with half-dressed people holding torches in one hand and weapons in the other. I liked that about the North—leaving the house without pants on was one thing, but nobody dreamed of venturing out into the night without their sword or ax. They were tough people ready for anything.

“And who might you be?” asked a bearded tough guy wearing a horned helmet. His legs were bare of everything but underwear, but he held a double-bladed ax in his hands.

Gunther quietly pulled out the disk I’d forgotten to check with him about and asked the man, who’d gone quiet, about the body. “The rix?”

“Yes,” he replied with a sigh. “He was a coward’s coward, but it’s still a shame. Who could have done that to him?”

“Whoever it was is still in there,” I answered. “Who lived with the rix?”

“Nobody; he lived alone,” said someone in the crowd. “He was a loner.”

“That’s a shame for him, but it works well for us.” I glanced at the crowd before bellowing toward the building at the top of my lungs. “Hey, you in the building, come on out! You have nowhere to go, and we’ll all come in there and get you! If you talk, you may still have a chance of making it out alive!”

The roar that echoed back told me that whoever was in there had heard me and decided not to take me up on my offer.

“Okay, so let’s get in there,” the bearded man said, settling his helmet on his head and readying for battle. “What are we waiting for?”

“No, we’re going to stay out here,” I replied. “That beast in there wants us to go in because it has the advantage in those dark hallways. We’ll kill it, sure, but it’ll take more than a few of us down with it. I have a better idea. There aren’t any other buildings nearby, are there?”

“Nope.” He shook his head.

“Great. In that case, grab some of that hay next to the well, wet it a little, and throw it up by the window. When I give you the signal, light it on fire.”

“Got it,” grinned the pant-less warrior, who motioned to a few similarly dressed friends and headed over to the pile of hay.

Five minutes later, everything was ready. The hay was under the windows, people stood ready with torches, and I motioned to Gunther to be ready for battle before shouting out once more, “Hey, you animal! If you don’t come out right now, we’ll set fire to the house and burn you like a candle!”

I didn’t even get a roar in reply that time, and so, offended by the lack of attention, I waved. “Light them up!”

None of the torchbearers even had time to light their stack of hay before a dark shadow flew out of a second-floor window and landed ten steps away from me. It looked nasty and incredibly dangerous. Almost two meters tall and covered in gray hair, fangs jutted out of its mouth, and muscles rippled on its legs and arms. It stood on two legs, rocking slowly back and forth as if trying to decide who it would go after first.

“Powerful,” I heard someone in the crowd say, but there wasn’t an ounce of fear in his voice.

“Sure is,” I replied, unslinging my shield. “Powerful and terrifying.”

The creature looked upward and let out a howl or a yell, I wasn’t sure which.

“That has to be one of Gedran’s beasts,” Gunther noted evenly. He was also ready to fight.

“Yeah, that goes without saying. It’s just a shame it can’t talk. Anyway, do we have any archers?”

Nobody answered, but I heard the sound of arrows being strung and pulled back.

“What are you waiting for? Shoot!” I ordered just as the beast leaped toward us.

The salvo met it in the air, and, even though not all the arrows found their target, five or so thudded into the shaggy killer. It fell just short of Gunther and me, rolling across the paving stones. A few more arrows flew true until it jerked once and gave up the ghost.

“Huh,” I said. “It dies like a human. I thought it was going to take forever to kill it…”

Flosy spat. “Spawn of magic. I need something to drink.”

The crowd agreed with him and piled into the tavern. The only people left in the square with Gunther and me were our bearded friend, who was pulling on pants he’d gotten from who knows where, and a couple other muscled gentlemen.

“You should burn that thing,” I told them. “I wouldn’t bury it if I were you.”

“Of course,” nodded our friend. “My name’s Snorry. I’m the head of security.”

“Yes, we figured that much out.” I nodded. “Has Ingvar, the könig’s advisor, been here in the past few days?”

“As it happens, he’s been here twice this week. Once, at the beginning, and then just two days ago. He stayed here for a day and then left.”

“He stayed?”

“Yes, he has a house here that he got from his grandmother. Every once in a while, he drops by and spends some time here.”

Snorry walked away, ordering his guards to bring firewood and fuel oil. I looked at Gunther. “You get it, right?”

“Of course,” he said with a wry smile. “He brought that beast here, let it stay at his home, and then sent it after the rix because he didn’t want to leave the burg. He only spent the night here to—”

“Get the monster in under cover of darkness,” I said, continuing his thought.

“Unthinkable,” von Richter said sadly. “I know him, he’s a good man. Why would he do this?”

You completed a quest: Disturbing News in the Burgs

Reward:

800 experience

Tearful Goddess Order Medallion

+5 respect among the peoples of the North

The next quest in the series

“Why? If I knew…”

“Here, Hagen, take this.” Gunther handed me a medallion on a chain. “That’s just in case I’m not around.”

Tearful Goddess Order Medallion

The Tearful Goddess Order enjoys immense respect in the North.

The holder of this medallion has the right to ask any question and get truthful answers from Northerners.

Requires a friendly relationship with the Tearful Goddess Order

Class limitation: none

Minimum level for use: none

“And here I was trying to figure out what you kept showing everyone,” I exclaimed happily.

“Only Knights of the Temple get to have these medallions; they aren’t given to regular warrior brothers,” explained Gunther.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” I said with complete sincerity. “Anyway, today definitely hasn’t been a waste.”

“Certainly. We know who the traitor is,” von Richter replied darkly.

You have a new quest offer: Speaking Truth to Power

This is the third in the Secrets of the North series of quests.

Task: Unmask the traitor in the eyes of König Harald.

Reward:

1200 experience

+7 respect among the peoples of the North

Reward from the order: variable

Reward from the könig: variable

The next quest in the series

“We’ll tell the könig everything, just not tomorrow,” I said.

“Why not?” erupted von Richter. “We need to tell him right away!”

There was no way I could explain to him that I’d be spending the next day with his creator eating shashlik[5] and drinking whiskey.

“Gunther, you’re getting ahead of yourself. And what does haste make?”

“What?” Gunther, who apparently had never heard of Ben Franklin, stared at me.

“It makes waste. Here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to go somewhere quickly to answer a question I have while you do something else.”

Gunther listened attentively.

“First, I want you to ransack Ingvar’s house from top to bottom tomorrow. Papers, whatever else you find—look through it all. Just take some guards with you in case he has another one of those creatures in there.”

“All right. Anything else?”

“Keep an eye on Flosy. We need him ready in the morning two days from now, or even tomorrow, to take us to Falderhall. We’ll free the könig’s daughter and then report to him and talk with Ingvar. Expect me here on the square at 6:30 a.m. two days from now.”

“Yes, it’ll be an interesting day.” Gunther laughed.

I clapped him on the shoulder and logged out of the game.

***

Vika was sitting on the couch looking at me when I climbed out of the capsule. Something about the look on her face put me on guard.

“How could you?” she finally asked me.

“How could I what?”

“Tomorrow…well, today we have an incredibly important event that our future depends on, and here you are playing your game.”

Vika threw her hands in the air, her face showing how sincere her incomprehension was.

“Just like this,” I answered. “My future doesn’t depend on how well I dance or how much shashlik I can eat; it depends on this.”

I tapped my forehead with my finger.

“You’re wrong,” announced Vika firmly. “It’s the court that makes the king. Zimin and Valyaev may appreciate you for that—I’m sure they do, in fact. But don’t forget that they’re right under the owners—and, really, they’re owners themselves—which means that they handle the big picture. Staffing and technical issues don’t even make it to them. No, all the usual, everyday questions are handled by top management, and they’re the ones who make company policy. They have no reason to like you.”

“Or you,” I said, continuing her thought.

“Quite. I have my eye set on a serious career, in case you haven’t noticed, and I need to know—can I count on you tomorrow?” she asked angrily.

“I hear what you’re saying, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I’m not a team player.” I did my best to sound as serious as possible. “So, you can count on me tomorrow, but not too much. I’ll do whatever I can, but I won’t do any of that stupid corporate stuff like three-legged races or teambuilding exercises. If you need it, I’ll be happy to sock someone in the nose for you.”

Vika pursed her lips. I yawned and headed for bed to prepare for the next day, which promised to be tricky. Ah, make that today.

Chapter Eighteen

In which the hero gets a little fresh air.

“Come on, Vika, we’re just going to be drinking some whiskey and eating some shashlik. Why would you wear an evening gown?”

For the umpteenth time, I was trying to explain to my stubborn girlfriend that there was no point wearing what I was happy to admit were stunningly beautiful clothes on our trip outside the city. The previous day, while I’d been jumping around between burgs, Vika had visited a bunch of different places, gotten herself nice and prettied up, and brought a load of all her girly things home. She was trying to convince me that she needed to wear one of the outfits she’d brought.

I knew very well how ridiculous she would look in the dress she was wearing. Thanks to my job, I’d been to plenty of similar events, and I was familiar with how little people who wore jeans and blazers to official events (Okay, so their jeans may have cost as much as all the apartments on my floor put together, but still…) cared about what they wore on trips to the countryside.

My little lady, however, had seen too many TV shows where all the women wear their evening best even out in nature. And if that doesn’t work, she said, I’ll just wear this little black dress. It was apparently good no matter the occasion.

I didn’t really care how ridiculous she’d look, and I didn’t care about how ridiculous I’d look next to her, either. She would spend weeks kicking herself afterward, however, and I felt bad about that. Not to mention the fact that my life would be miserable, too. Those strange creatures people call “women” like to think up problems and then start to actually believe in them, after which they get themselves worked up and upset. The more emotional among them even blame any men who happen to be nearby.

No, I had to nip the problem in the bud, and I did that as effectively and simply as I knew how.

“Maxim, good morning, it’s Kif. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“Oh, hey, Kif. I hope you’re not about to disappoint me by saying you’re not coming.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied, feigning indignation. “When have I ever declined some Dalmore? No, I have a different problem.”

“What’s up? Can I help?” Zimin’s voice sounded unusually sympathetic.

“You’re the only one who can. The problem’s name is Vika, and she’s about to visit your picnic wearing an evening gown.”

Vika’s eyes popped out of her skull, and a crazed look came over her face. Once she regained control of herself, she circled a finger around her temple at me and began miming what she was going to do to me.

Zimin laughed so hard Vika heard him, sat down, and covered her cheeks with her hands.

“Kif, put me on speakerphone,” Zimin said when he calmed down.

I followed the order willingly.

“Vika, good morning, this is Max Zimin. I can assure you that today’s party will be free of ties, suits, and evening gowns, even if those evening gowns were sewn by Coco herself. Just wear some jeans, a sweater, and sneakers. The weather looks great, so maybe we’ll even go mushroom-picking.”

“Okay,” Vika squeaked.

“Thanks so much. I was going crazy over here,” I said to Zimin after I took him off speakerphone.

“Not at all. Women are always like that,” he answered complacently. “Okay, see you soon.”

I hung up the phone and turned to Vika. “Shall we try on some jeans?”

She silently collected her dresses and carried them out into the hallway, where she started stuffing them back into her bag. I stood there trying to figure out what the problem was. A few minutes later, I figured it out.

I’d just robbed her of her dream. Well, maybe not her dream, but at least something she’d been thinking about for a long time. She was an ambitious girl from a small town who had always been number one. And here she’d gotten a ticket to a party attended by some powerful people, and the way she got it didn’t really matter. What mattered was her grand entrance with bare shoulders and a sparkling smile. She may have been walking in wearing a dress made in China rather than something made to order in Italy or France, and that may have drawn the derision of the wives accompanying Raidion’s top management, but that was fine, too.

She needed that moment. And I’d taken it away from her. I can’t stand all that talking about feelings, the young, and the restless, but I did hurt her. Everything was simpler with Elvira, as much as it pains me to say that. At least, I didn’t have to explain basic truths of life to her.

I pulled on pants and walked into the hallway. Vika was there sitting on the bench, her lower lip quivering as she smashed her dresses into a bag. A tear glistened on her nose.

“Ah, kids these days. Anything happens, and you start to cry.” I dug around in my coat pocket to find a cigarette before crouching down next to her and leaning up against the wall. “Vika, you’re a smart girl, don’t ruin what I think of you.”

She forced the bag closed, wiped the tear away, and looked at me.

“Here’s the thing,” I continued as I lit up. “You’ve never been to these things, and I have. Believe me, most of the women there will loath you from the minute you walk in the door.”

Vika’s eyebrows shot up inquiringly. She glanced down at the cigarette in my hand in annoyance, crinkled a piece of paper into something I could knock the ashes into, and handed it to me.

“Thanks,” I told her before continuing. “It’s simple. The chances are they’re rich, powerful women, probably company employees or married to top managers. Either way, they’re 35 or 40, and they all look great, but…”

I paused and noted Vika listening with interest.

“There’s one small difference between you and them. They know very well how much their beauty costs, and they also know what they’d be if they hadn’t spent that money on themselves. Sure, life is just beginning at 45—nobody disagrees with that. But at that age, you have cellulite, stretch marks, and all the rest.

“But you’re just you—a dab of makeup, a natural blush, a firm chest, and you’re already in the game. You aren’t a doll someone paid for or a pair of boobs on heels; you’re someone they know is competing with them. So, why should they like you? And here you’re about to go and hand them a trump card by letting them laugh at your outfit. ‘That naïve little fool comes out to the dacha wearing a dress—welcome to the big city, sweetheart.’ Do you want that?”

My impression of high society women must have been on the money because Vika laughed.

“You don’t need that. I know it’s not what you expected, but these are the rules of the game. You’ll get your moment in the sun—my gut tells me it’s coming. Don’t you think they’re going to invite us to the Raidion New Year’s Eve party? They will; believe me. And you’ll be a star.”

“You’re probably just lying,” she replied sadly. “You’ll have broken up with me 100 times over by that point.”

That took me by surprise. “Why would you say that? New Year’s isn’t even that far away.”

Vika smiled. “I know, you’re right. Still, I really wanted that…”

“There’s a time and place for everything. A few of the top guys there will even come with hired girls. You’ll see what happens.”

“With who?”

“There are these agencies that offer escort services,” I explained. “You can order yourself a gentleman or lady for an event, you know, if you don’t have a boyfriend at the moment but still want to show up your friends. You look through the catalog, hand over the money, and he’s the picture of passion for you the whole evening. He won’t pay your friends a lick of attention no matter what hints they’re sending his way.”

“Hey, I’m not a complete simpleton,” snorted Vika. “I have a few friends who worked for an agency like that. It wasn’t for long—the clients all thought they were just prostitutes, and one time, Sveta just barely got away. Horrible.”

It didn’t matter if what I’d told her was true or not. The important thing was that she’d calmed down, thank God. Actually believing my story was only secondary. And who cared? Whatever she didn’t believe, she could fill in for herself, since women are good at finding multiple meanings in just a few simple words. Plus, we really had to go.

***

Zimin’s dacha was simpler than I’d expected. It was a sturdy, three-story house that was obviously well built, and it had all the communications one might need running through a vane on the roof that had been made to look like a black cat. The property, which was the size of a football field, was surrounded by a forest, with similar houses visible through the birches and pines. It was the simple tastes of the bourgeoisie—not pretentious, but definitely something to look at.

And here I was expecting a castle or something of that nature.

Vika was suitably impressed, and, more importantly, she was reassured by the women walking around wearing sweaters and jeans just like she was. She even had to chuckle when she saw a few wearing UGGs—they looked oddly out of place among the yellowing trees and dirt paths that had apparently been made by someone on weed. She had sneakers on her feet. There were a dozen men, also wearing relaxed gear, standing near the entrance and talking.

“Ah-ha, and here’s my friend Kif!” Zimin walked over, gave me a friendly hug, and kissed Vika on the cheek. “Young lady, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. Kif has told me all kinds of things about you—all very impressive. I’m Maxim Zimin; this is my house.”

Vika blushed. Zimin turned to face the group by the door, took us by the shoulders, and asked for attention. The men looked in our direction.

“Friends, let me introduce you to our newest guests. This is the head editor of the Fayroll Times, which you all read every Thursday, a consummate professional, and my friend, Harriton Nikiforov—or just Kif. And this is his companion and assistant Vika. Please make them feel at home, as Kit and I are very happy to have such excellent people working in the company. I think it’s safe to say that Kif and Vika have a very bright future ahead of them.”

Welcome to the snake pit, I thought to myself. Zimin had made it clear how highly he thought of me, and I could see some looking at me inquisitively to see exactly how close I was to the boss. Others just started looking for a way to take out the new favorite who had appeared out of nowhere.

And I didn’t appreciate in the least all the smarmy glances Vika was getting. One already-drunk gentleman, who looked to be about fifty, was eyeing her up and down in particular, and I realized I’d have to keep an eye on him. He practically licked his lips as he stared at her, rolled up his sleeves, and wiped away a bit of drool.

That’s when the office intrigue started. My new colleagues tried to figure out who I was and where I was from, while at the same time measuring my usefulness. I lazily laughed it off, realizing that the whole charade was part of the event—something like the lollipops in a kid’s New Year’s present. Nobody eats them, but they’re always there.

The boredom was broken up by the cask of whiskey. Valyaev popped out of the house with it and happily greeted me, scoring me a few more points with everyone who heard him. Shashlik made an appearance next. It was prepared by a long-nosed and mustachioed gentleman from the Caucasus who was clearly a master of his craft. I’ve had my share of shashlik in lots of different places, but it’s never been anything like what he could do.

Several large helpings of juicy meat and a few glasses of whiskey later, I had finally relaxed and headed over toward some wicker chairs I’d had my eye on for a while. The group had broken down into smaller clusters to chat about God knows what, and a few of the younger people there, Vika included, started to dance. I was quite happy to sit off by myself and enjoy the peace and quiet that came from being alone. It let me ponder a question I couldn’t get off my mind—why had Ingvar decided to betray the könig?

The thing was that in real life, everything would have made sense. People are fickle and emotional, and sometimes they betray each other without there being much in it for them—they just feel the urge or give in to a momentary impulse. Say something that strikes someone the wrong way, and they’ll turn on you for it. But this wasn’t a person; it was a program. He didn’t have impulses. In fact, he had everything but impulses. He couldn’t do things just because he felt an urge; there had to be a clear reason built into his code, and I was having a hard time seeing it. There had to be an algorithm.

Ingvar had everything he could dream of: status, friendship with the könig, access to money, unlimited power. There was no reason for him to betray the könig. He couldn’t take the ruler’s place, if only for the fact that he was from the wrong class—he wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t a priest, so carried no favor with the church, and the fact that he’d never proven himself on the battlefield meant that the army wouldn’t back him. The army in the North had to decide everything—it just had to. Even marrying Ulfrida wouldn’t help.

He wouldn’t have sold himself to Fomor, either. Even if Fomor had promised to make him könig… No, Fomor wouldn’t have had any reason to make him könig, so he wouldn’t have promised that. It was the kind of spot, where you could only try to wrest control yourself or install your puppet. Fomor knew that, and so did Ingvar. Ingvar certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be rix of one of the burgs, especially since he could have just gotten that from the könig. And finally, there was no sense buying him, because he had access to the treasury and was in charge of collecting taxes. If he needed money…

I just couldn’t see the logic. The clues all pointed straight at Ingvar; it was true. Although, why did the witch’s monsters listen to him? Were they all acting together?

There wasn’t anything to be found on the forums. Elina had been right about the quest being easier in the past—Ulfrida had been stashed in a cave; the kidnapping had been done for ransom; and a single player at a reasonable level could take care of the whole thing on his own. It had been changed, though the developers had threatened anyone who talked about it with serious penalties—up to and including deleting their account. All I could find about Gunther’s quest from the Tearful Goddess Order was that it existed. Either nobody had ever gone through it, or something fishy was going on…

“What’s on your mind?” Zimin came over, having put on a jacket to stay warm. The wind was picking up, dusk was starting to stretch shadows across the ground, and the first few stars had appeared in the sky.

“Nothing much… Just musing about contradictions in the game,” I replied.

“Oh, geez, what contradictions are those?”

“I’m trying to figure out what reason one NPC would have for betraying another.” I scratched my head.

Zimin’s forehead wrinkled. “Who exactly are you talking about?”

“Ingvar, the könig’s advisor.”

“Ah, that quest. Yes, it’s a doozy.” Zimin wiggled his fingers.

“Sure is,” I muttered gloomily. “I don’t like it when there’s something I don’t understand. It was definitely Ingvar, but what was the motive? There isn’t any.”

“What are you two gossiping about?” Valyaev came over, just as cheerful as ever, and plopped down into the chair next to mine.

“Kif is trying to figure out Ingvar’s motive,” Zimin replied with a subtle smile.

“Ah, I remember that one. Good luck, my friend,” said Valyaev, making a face. “The mo-o-otive…”

“Well, thanks for laughing at me!” I was actually a bit offended. Not only had I been forced to join their whole circus, but they were even mocking me while I was there.

“Never,” Zimin responded, patting my shoulder. “We can’t tell you what to do, but I think we can give you a tiny little hint. Here’s mine: everything’s simpler than it seems.”

What a huge help you were! Now the whole thing makes sense.

“And I’ll say this: you’re in a world of swords and magic!” Valyaev stuck his tongue out at me.

Oh, really? That I definitely didn’t know!

“That’s it.” Zimin held up his hands. “We can’t do anything else for you.”

“Well, thanks for that,” I replied with a sigh. “Tomorrow, I’m going to free the daughter, so maybe I’ll find something out then. It’s going to be a massacre, I can feel it.”

“Yes, with the Sea Kings—you figured that out beautifully. There was another option, a bit simpler, but you picked the more entertaining one,” noted Valyaev.

Huh. What other option did I miss?

“Anyway, here we are like Canadian lumberjacks: talking about the woods when we’re with the ladies, talking about the ladies when we’re in the woods.” Valyaev went off somewhere and was back almost instantaneously with a decanter of whiskey, a small plate with lemon slices, and three tall shot glasses.

“I know, you’re not supposed to drink whiskey from a container like this, and you’re not supposed to follow it with lemons, but that’s all we have,” he joked, pouring the amber liquid.

“Kif, to you.” Zimin saluted me with his glass.

Valyaev followed suit. “Welcome to the family.”

“It’s an honor.” I stood up, and we threw back the shots.

“Hey, Kif, you aren’t bored with the paper, are you?” asked Valyaev as he chewed on a lemon slice. “It has to be awful.”

“No, not really,” I said truthfully. “I don’t have time to get bored; three days at work, four in the game. It’s not long enough to get on your nerves.”

“Agreed,” Zimin said, nodding. “But what plans do you have for later? Everything in this life comes to an end sooner or later.”

“I haven’t made any. You can call me imprudent if you want.” I hung my head contritely.

“Why would we do that?” Valyaev shrugged. “You’re on the right track. Sure, I mean, everyone should have a plan, but it needs to be realistic and have a set timeline. Everything’s up in the air for you right now.”

“Wait, what are we talking about?” Zimin raised a finger. “Just remember that Raidion has your back and won’t let you down. Kit, did you hear that he got beaten up recently? And robbed for good measure.”

“Really?” Valyaev stepped back in surprise as he ate another lemon slice. “Who would dare do that?”

“Some nobody. It’s just a good thing I found out about it—accidentally, in fact. All thanks to the cutie who was over there dancing a little while back, his assistant.”

“Kif, you need to stop your lone wolf business,” Valyaev said reproachfully. “You’re a part of the whole now, so you don’t have to do anything on your own. You can relax and let other people handle things. Unless, of course, that contradicts the interests of the corporation.”

“Oh, I’m not stupid enough to bite the hand that feeds me,” I replied, looking him in the eye.

“Crude,” noted Zimin, “but clear, wouldn’t you say, Kit?”

“And highly reasonable,” agreed Valyaev. “It’s always nice doing business with you, Kif. Like Max said, I think you really do have a bright future in Raidion.”

“Ki-i-if!” Vika’s voice rang out above the music.

Valyaev turned his head. “What was that?”

I jumped up and scanned the area.

“It came from the house, didn’t it?” Zimin looked at Valyaev in bewilderment.

Valyaev looked around, but couldn’t find the reason for the scream. “Where’s Filin?” he asked Zimin quickly.

I didn’t hear the answer since I was busy sprinting toward the house. I’d realized who Valyaev was looking for—the fat-lipped lard with the wandering eye.

It sure hadn’t looked like the house was that big, but it still took me several minutes to search it. I even scared a couple holed up in one of the rooms.

On the third floor, I found a scene straight out of an adult movie: an older, half-naked man with a drooping belly and large, bare butt had one hand over the mouth of a young woman desperately struggling to get loose. His other hand was trying to unbutton her jeans. The man was the very same Filin, and the girl was my Vika.

He was trying to reassure her. “What are you wiggling like that for? This is going to be great. It’ll feel good, and you’ll get a benefactor in the corporation to boot. I’ll give you money, make sure you go places.”

I’m not sure why, but it was his cooing that enraged me more than anything. Without stopping to think, I immediately landed a hard punch to his left cheekbone. I could have gone for the temple, but with his weight… I was afraid that might kill him. It wasn’t that I felt bad for the asshole; I just had no desire to do time for him.

He collapsed back against the wall, saw me, and, to my surprise, started yelling at me. “How dare you, you animal! I’ll bury you for that, street trash! You’ll be eating your own insides!”

Vika jumped up, straightened her sweater, and hid behind me.

The pig pulled himself up off the couch and came over toward me yelling about how he was going to give me the same treatment when he finished with Vika. I couldn’t let that happen, so I took steps to neutralize the threat. Put more simply, I slammed my foot into his balls.

He certainly wasn’t expecting that. The yelling stopped, and he crashed down onto his knee, clutching his injured manhood.

I heard clapping behind me and turned around to see who was there. Zimin and Valyaev were looking at me approvingly. “That wasn’t quite enough,” noted Zimin. “Kif, my friend, give him a kick in the face, would you?”

“Right in his nasty, insolent face,” added Valyaev. “You’d be doing us a favor—you have no idea how tired we are of him.”

Our attacker muttered something, fearfully looking back and forth between my two masters and even at me.

I realized that they were probably trying to provoke me, but I caught Vika’s eye and immediately sent my sneaker thudding into his jaw as hard as I could. Something crunched, and a rank smell filled the air. Either from pain or from fear, the fat fool, it appeared, had gone from lording it over us to shitting himself.

“Sic transit gloria mundi,” Valyaev said philosophically. “Valera? Vale-e-era!”

A man wearing a trim suit and holding a walkie-talkie in his hand appeared out of nowhere.

“First things first, what are you doing?” Valyaev asked him sharply. “Our friend’s girl was just about raped right here.”

“She went up on her own, I saw them myself. And then she was with…with him,” Valera answered impassively.

“He told me you had original Dutch paintings up here, and I’d never seen them…” squeaked Vika.

The three men and I all sighed.

“Vika, you’re just making it worse,” Zimin replied. “It’s going to take a while to redeem yourself with Kif for this one. Just stop digging.”

“Back to the matter at hand,” Valyaev said. “Take this piece of trash outside and toss it over the fence—just like that—but wait until I tell you to do it.”

Valera murmured something into the walkie-talkie and looked at Valyaev, waiting for his next order.

“And ask Vezhleva to come up here—she was next in line.”

Valera left, and Valyaev glanced at Zimin.

“No argument here. Been a long time coming.”

Valyaev crouched down next to the fat, continuously groaning blob on the floor. It had one hand over its mouth and the other over its balls.

“Well, aren’t you the vulture?” Valyaev said softly. “You wanted something sweet, huh? Did you get a bite? Last time, wasn’t enough, I take it. All the girls coming in from the regions aren’t enough for you? You forgot what we dragged you out of last time and what you promised us. You forgo-o-ot. And what did I tell you after that? Or did you think I was just joking?”

“We should’ve…” Zimin trailed off, glancing back at Vika, who was clutching my sleeve, and me.

I understood his look at once.

“Come on, babe, let’s go. Gentlemen, do you mind if I head home?”

“Of course not.” Zimin waved. “Go ahead. Take your girl home. Security will get you taken care of.”

“See you, Kif,” called Valyaev without getting up from his position. “I’m sorry it turned out like this—you can see what this one can be like.”

Zimin closed the door behind me, but not before I heard what he said. “You forgot who you work for.”

As we walked down the stairs, we met a woman around the age of forty who matched the description I’d given Vika at home perfectly. We were almost past her when she stopped me.

“You’re Kif?”

I nodded.

“My name is Vezhleva, Marina Vezhleva. You did me a favor today, and a big one—the boys already told me. I know you weren’t thinking about me—that would have been strange since we don’t know each other—but it’s true. I owe you one.”

“I’ll remember that,” I answered quickly. Having a favor in the bank is always nice.

“Call me if you need anything.” She handed me a business card. “It looks like I’m going to be our new director of regional communications.”

“I’m sure of it,” I replied with a grin. “Let me be the first to congratulate you.”

“I think we might even celebrate the occasion.” She gave me a smile that didn’t even have a pretense of ambiguity.

“He’s taken,” I heard from behind me.

Marina smiled again and had a piece of advice for Vika. “Sweetie, remember this—men are only taken by one woman to the degree that other women aren’t stubborn or clever enough to upstage them. See you later.”

She kept going up the stairs toward her new seat of power in the corporation.

“Bitch,” Vika more spat than said as she grabbed my sleeve.

Yeah.” I glanced back at the smart, beautiful woman and turned to head back downstairs. The evening was heavy, and it was time to go home.

Vika sniffled into my sleeve as we drove home.

“See what would’ve happened if you’d been wearing that dress?”

She burst out laughing.

***

It was a while before she calmed down. Once she did, however, she fell fast asleep, and I had to carry her into the apartment.

I’m a real hero these days. Today, I saved one girl, tomorrow I’m going to save another, and I cleared the path to a bright future for a third. And so far only one of them appreciates it.

Chapter Nineteen

In which the motley band finally makes it to the sea.

The alarm clock jerked me awake. I’d forgotten what it was like to have the metallic ringing in my ear, but I didn’t have much of a choice that day. Our little sea voyage and the meeting of everyone involved had been set for early in the morning, and I certainly couldn’t be the last one there.

I got up quietly to avoid waking Vika, as I’d found she was immune to any alarm she hadn’t set herself, and headed toward the bathroom.

“I’m awake,” I heard from behind me. Vika was sitting on the couch, her arms around her knees and a blanket covering her, looking as sad as a lost puppy. Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine, her hair was a mess, and her body language told me all I needed to know.

“Well, that’s a waste. If I had my druthers, I wouldn’t be up for another three hours,” I responded with a tinge of envy. “You want to be up this early?”

“I’ve already been awake for three hours,” she mumbled.

“Okay, Vika, let’s say that whatever happened yesterday is in the past and leave it there. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong; believe me. You just misread the situation, and that’s all.”

She hung her head. Two glistening streaks ran down her cheeks from slightly puffy eyes. “I really didn’t think he was… It just seemed like he was fun, he was joking around, and we had fun dancing. And he…”

“What did you expect?” I asked fairly but a bit harshly. “You tell me. Some fat old guy throws back half a liter or more of whiskey and takes a liking to a girl like you. The sparkle in your eye got him thinking that your young body just can’t wait for his hairy hands to have their way with it, and then you ran off with him of your own free will.”

“I wasn’t thinking that at all—it didn’t even occur to me!” shrieked Vika. “I don’t want a career like that, at least not with someone as nasty as him,” she added, before realizing what she’d said, freezing, and staring at me.

I shook my head, wondering if she really was as smart as I thought she was.

“What’s wrong with me?” she gasped, clutching her face with her hands. “That’s not what I meant! Not at all!”

And then she went with a tried and true strategy: quietly and pitifully crying. All I could do was sigh deeply. Sleep with a kid, and you have to deal with all their baggage.

“Are you going to be crying for a while?” I asked straightforwardly.

Vika looked at me, wiping away her tears and sniffling.

“I just mean that if you’re going to be a few minutes, I’ll go have a smoke. We can finish the conversation when I get back.”

“What’s to finish?” Vika muttered. “I’m just going to pack and take a taxi.”

“Where?” I really didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Home, to my sister.”

“Why?”

It was her turn to look at me, confused. Neither of us said anything. I was busy realizing what she’d been thinking about the whole three hours, and she was figuring out that I wasn’t really all that mad about what had happened the previous day.

“Vika, I said everything I wanted to,” I told her wearily. “Agreed, you screwed up yesterday, but there’s nothing wrong with that. If I’d found him on top of you and you’d been there happily cheering him on, then yes, we’d probably have had to go our separate ways. Well, we definitely would have. But we’re not married, we haven’t given each other any kind of fidelity oath, and so what do I have to be upset about? I’m a grown man, too old to play all those games. I tell you what I think.”

Vika paused, sniffed, and in one fluid motion launched herself up and landed around my neck, her legs wrapped around my waist and tears wetting my cheek.

“Well, hello,” I squeezed out. “So that happened.”

“You’re an incredible jackass, but for some reason I love you,” she whispered in my ear.

I needed to say something, knew what I was supposed to say, and probably would have said it, even though lying was against my rules, but I was saved by my phone ringing. Reminding myself of Pierre Richard, I walked over to where my pants were with her still hanging on my neck.

“Can you get my phone?”

She shook her head and tightened her grip. With a deep breath, I bent over and managed to dig it out. Zimin was calling.

“Let go a little, please, the boss is calling,” I begged her.

Her arms crept a little wider, but they didn’t let me go. I plopped into a chair and answered the phone.

“Hey, Kif. I know you were already up, so I won’t apologize for calling you this early.”

Did he have cameras put in?

“You know, sometimes you think so loud I can hear you,” he laughed. “Don’t worry, your apartment isn’t bugged, and there aren’t any cameras. I just know what you have planned for the game today. Well, not just me. Everyone knows, and they all came in early with beer and chips—and on a weekend, too. They’re all betting on whether you’ll be able to free the könig’s daughter.”

“Wait, what?” I asked in surprise. “Is there another way this could end? I mean, is it possible that we won’t free her?”

“Of course,” Zimin said reassuringly. “I told you; there were two ways to do this. One was simple and direct, but you didn’t go for it. The other is harder, and it comes with a chance of failure. So nobody knows if you’ll be successful. Some of them are betting on you, others against.”

“What are the odds?” I asked with interest.

“Oh, no odds; this isn’t football. Some are for you, some against, and the winners will share the pool.”

“Are more people betting on me winning or losing?”

“Right, like I would just up and tell you. At least I know who likes you and who doesn’t now. On that note, you have some pretty serious backers in the regional office. The new boss put big money on you. ‘My Kif won’t let me down,’ she said.”

Vika clearly heard some of that, as her sniffling took on a threatening tone.

“Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. About yesterday, I hope that didn’t ruin the whole evening for you?”

“There’s an idiot born every day,” I responded shortly.

“That’s for sure. Kit and I screwed up, too. We should have gotten rid of that waste of space a long time ago. But that’s what you get for believing in people. Good job by you, though. You think on your feet and act quickly. I hope everything’s okay with the girl? Have you talked it out yet?”

“More or less.” I wiped the wetness off my ear. “Things happen.”

“You’re telling me. Sometimes, people just won’t listen to each other. She’s fine, though—still young, and can’t always tell the difference between what’s important and what isn’t. Still, she learns quickly, and I think she’s going to tell me no right now. If she does, you’re a lucky bastard, and she’s not the fool she looked like yesterday. If she says yes…well, then it’s up to you to decide. Hand her the phone.”

“It’s for you.” I gave Vika the phone.

She took one arm off my neck to take it, looked at me nervously, and spoke into the microphone. “Hello?”

Then she sat there quietly for a couple minutes.

“I really appreciate that, but no. I’m fine.” She gave the phone back to me and settled into her previous position.

“Excellent,” Zimin said contentedly. “Everything’s settled then. Okay, Kif, the sun’s up, time for you to go. Oh, and, by the way, you’re not the type to get scared easily, but Vika might get herself worked up over nothing. Don’t worry about Filin; he won’t be bothering you ever again.”

He hung up.

Seriously? And now I’m just supposed to guess why he won’t be bothering us. I just hope they didn’t take him behind the barn and shoot him—there are a dozen witnesses out there who know he and I fought.

The phone rang again. “Kif, I just realized that my last phrase sounded a bit dark. He’s alive, and even mostly well, it’s just that he preferred the Ajarian climate to what we have here in Russia. Or maybe it was the Dagestani climate. It’s gorgeous down there in the fall. Anyway, good luck. Kit and I bet on you, so don’t let us down! There might even be a bonus in it for you.”

I heard a few voices in the background, so there must have been a big screen set up for everyone to watch. A party.

***

“What did you say no to?” I asked Vika, who’d gone completely quiet.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied with a sigh.

“Yes, it does.”

“He asked if I want a job as assistant to the head of the press center in the regional communications department.” She rolled her eyes.

“Why’d you turn him down?” I asked in surprise. “That’s a chance in a million. You’re barely more than a student, and… What an offer!”

Vika looked at me like a child who had just said something stupid. “You really are an asshole.”

She got down off my lap.

“Go ahead, I know you’re off in search of adventure. I just hope it’s something you can be proud of?”

“What else would it be?” I stood up and stretched. “There’s a group of us heading off to save a girl from a bad guy.”

“You won’t have to marry her, will you? I’m kind of gunning for that spot myself.” Her tone was playful, but her eyes were serious.

“No, she’s out of luck there. I’m already taken in the game.”

“In that case, I’ll be expecting you back with your shield. And the great savior of beautiful dames and unbelievable idiots will have borscht, dumplings, and a big pie waiting for him here. An apple pie.”

“What if I come back on my shield?” I asked anxiously. You don’t joke around when borscht is on the table.

“In that case, you’ll have some home-cooked pelmeni[6] when you get back,” Vika laughed.

“Can’t I have both?” That wasn’t a joke either.

She kissed my cheek before diving back under the covers. “Okay, get out of here so I can go to sleep. Or jump in with me, and we’ll have some fun.”

I would have preferred the latter option, but there were too many people waiting for me on the Falderhall wharf. Plus, I had no idea what condition Flosy was in.

***

Surprisingly, Flosy was cheerful and upbeat. He and von Richter were patiently waiting for me when I arrived at the central square. Gunther was frowning, wearing his usual armor, and missing his horse. I was happy to see he’d left it back at the mission. Flosy’s usual aroma filled the air, and I could see that he had a bit of a hangover. In short, everything was right in Fayroll.

“Finally, Laird Hagen, we were getting worried,” von Richter said, shaking his head reproachfully. “As far as I remember, there are people waiting for us. We really ought to be punctual.”

Flosy waved a greeting to me. “Maybe a quick mug for the road? What do you say, Jarl?”

“If everything goes according to plan and we walk away victors, you’ll be drinking wine. I give you my word,” I promised him. He licked his lips.

“Ooh, I love being drunk on wine,” Flosy said. “It’s a favorite drink of mine!”

“They’re all your favorite drinks,” snapped von Richter. “Here’s a scroll; get us to Falderhall.”

“I don’t know how.” He shrugged. “What do you do?”

Gunther gurgled in frustration, so I quickly stepped in.

“It’s easy, Flosy. Just imagine where you want to go and say ‘portal’ out loud or to yourself.”

Flosy coughed to show his contempt for all of that magicky stuff, but he followed my instructions.

***

A cold sea breeze smacked us in the face, and soon the lead-gray sea with its white-capped waves came into view. It was a majestic picture.

There were bearded and mustachioed men in glistening chainmail and horned helmets meandering to and fro on a huge wharf, around which were a dozen drakkars with colorful sails lowered. I’d always figured that the carved stems weren’t all that big, but I was very wrong. They loomed high overhead to create an imposing view.

It was noisy, but I heard Sven’s familiar voice over the hubbub. “Ah, you’re here. Very good. The jarls were starting to think you’d chickened out or were pulling their leg.”

The warrior was decked out for battle in chainmail, and he came over to hug me. I was happy to see him.

“Hi, Sven. I always keep my word, and besides, I need this more than they do.”

“I don’t know about that.” Sven tugged on his beard. “Olavsson was excited when he heard about your plan. I think he was probably ready to put a price on Torsfel’s head as it was, and then this came up. Oh, there he is now.”

A tall, middle-aged man walked over, and I couldn’t help but notice the contrast between his powerfully built body and pale face.

“Are you Jarl Hagen?”

“I am. You’re Gunnar Olavsson?”

He nodded.

“We need to figure out the trophy order. I do have one thing—”

I stopped him there.

“That’s something we should talk about with everyone involved. It’ll be fairer that way.”

I could tell from Gunnar’s nod and Sven’s approving look that I’d started off on the right foot. It looked like I was going to have to stay on my toes with the Sea Kings.

“Hagen. Ha-a-agen!” I heard from the wharf.

I looked around to see Elina waving to me next to a cluster of our clan mates. There wasn’t anybody I recognized…although…No, that can’t be…

“Are those your friends?” asked Gunnar.

“No, more companions,” I said with a dismissive wave. “‘Friends’ is a word you shouldn’t throw around too lightly. But you can’t have too many blades in a battle, right?”

“Sure,” Olavsson nodded. “Let’s head over. Ah, there’s Froky and Short-legged, too.”

The two made for an odd-looking pair on the wharf. One was incredibly fat, his impressive girth held up by two stumpy legs that looked more like pedestals. The second looked incredibly tall and slender standing across from him. I wonder why they call him the Hammer. Obviously, he had to be Froky the Hammer.

“Just a second,” I responded. “Where’s the mailbox around here? Gunther, Flosy, follow me.”

Elina walked up just as I collected the gold she’d sent.

“I told you everything would be all right,” I announced, gesturing toward the local scenery. “There’s the sea, there are the Sea Kings…”

“Good morning, for starters,” she replied with a cold edge to her voice.

“Good morning! Although, given our plans for it, it’ll be good for some and the last for others,” I said as I checked her and her group out.

Not clan elite, but at least they’re all better than Level 80. Ha! I was right.

“Oygolinn, you son of a gun, is that you?” I asked with sincere surprise.

My old friend, one I’d fought my first battles against the undead with, had climbed all the way to Level 77. Compared to Level 49, which I couldn’t seem to get past, he was a beast.

“Yup.” He walked over and shook my hand. “It doesn’t look like you’ve been in much of a hurry.”

“Well, we live forever, so there’s plenty of time.” I nodded to the rest of the group. “Hi, everyone. I hope none of you get seasick?”

“You just think about yourself,” a knight named Lotar responded sourly. He was covered in armor, had an ax resting on his shoulder, and cemented my impression of him by addressing the rest of the group as if I weren’t even there. “Kids these days have no respect.”

Just then, Gunther and a yawning Flosy walked over. The latter, it seemed, couldn’t stay awake when he was sober, and he noticed Elina between yawns.

“Oh, it’s that slut again!” he cried loudly, pointing at her. “Jarl, why is she always following you around?”

“Why is it here?” Elina exclaimed in exasperation.

“They’re with me—my friends. You’ll have to forgive him, he doesn’t mean it,” I replied apologetically.

Gunther nodded to everyone in the group as they tried to figure out what was going on, seeing as how the situation couldn’t have been more unusual. An NPC smelling like a cesspool had just walked up and called their clan leader a slut. And she apparently even knew him.

“Good morning to all of you,” Gunther said pleasantly. “It’s always nice to meet future brothers in arms.”

Nobody responded.

“Laird, this group isn’t nearly as well-behaved as the comrades you had last time,” von Richter whispered to me as loudly as ever.

Lotar had finally had enough. He assumed a heroic pose, one that told us all we needed to know about his feelings for himself, and brandished his battleax. “I hope you’re planning to explain to all of us what’s going on,” he demanded pompously. “I might add that you look like every inch the stupid cow your NPCs are. And if you aren’t, then I’m coming for you.”

“You’re coming for me?” I replied casually. “What does that mean? You’re going to PK me? Go ahead, take your best shot, and we’ll see how that turns out for you. Also, let me remind you all, just in case any of you agree with him, that these aren’t just NPCs. As I mentioned, they’re my friends.”

“Don’t think he’s alone,” a mage chimed in as she readied her staff for action. Everyone else tensed and reached for their weapons. Even Oygolinn joined them with a fluid and practiced motion.

Gunther’s sword rang as it flew out of his sheath and he took up a position to my left. Flosy, muttering something about half-crazed whores and just as half-crazed canned idiots, pulled out his ax and covered my right flank. My hand made its way to my pocket, where it fingered the horn. Screw them. The clan has been getting on nerves for a long time. I’ll be blacklisted, but whatever. I’ve only come across someone from the clan accidentally once, so I think I’ll live. And those two were good guys, it so happens…

“Well, hello!” I heard Sven the Herring say. “Olavsson, they're supposed to be leading us, and here they can’t keep their swords off each other.”

Elina finally shook herself out of her stupor. “Are you crazy?” she asked her clan mates, keeping a wary eye on the Sea Kings as they ambled closer to us. “Sheath your swords!”

The group obeyed.

“We have to teach that kid a lesson,” the knight grumbled obstinately. “He went too far.”

Ah, you shouldn’t have said that, my friend. I’ve never been one to let that kind of thing go.

“You’re telling me, bro. The game isn’t what it used to be,” I responded, going over and putting an arm around his tin shoulders. He winced. “You can’t just go traipsing around locations like in the old days. I mean, look at you; you’re dressed the way you should be, and we veterans get that. But all it takes is one noob calling you an ‘iron doofus,’ and from that moment on it’s all anyone ever calls you. You could change your character, but even that wouldn’t give you a second chance.”

The knight froze, Elina’s eyebrows shot up in yet more exasperation, and someone laughed. Whoever it was had something to add. “You know, it’s true! I’ve always said that. Remember how he wrote that slogan on his shield with pink paint? Not the brightest of bulbs.”

Lotar threw my hand off his shoulder and looked about ready to actually start a fight.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” Steel rang out in Elina’s voice.

The knight reluctantly put his ax back on his shoulder.

“Gunther, Flosy, it’s okay,” I quietly told them. “We’ll take care of this Buratinator[7] later.”

“Who?” von Richter, ever curious, quickly asked.

“This wooden clown in the tin suit,” I replied, nodding toward the knight. His teeth were grinding so hard, we all heard them. “Okay, comrades, let’s go talk to the jarls.”

I could tell that I’d already burned any bridges I might have had left in the clan. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure why I’d gone off on Lotar the way I did. I could have just nipped the whole thing in the bud.

I might have jumped him because the whole thing was playing out live for an audience; it might have been the fact that I was tired; or it could have even been the relationship I’d built with Gunther and Flosy. We’d already been through a lot together. One way or another, that’s how it went down, and I didn’t feel the slightest twinge of regret.

Everyone set to be involved in the day’s sea battle finally got together on the wharf near a wooden post. Elina was the only one who joined us from the clan, although the jarls didn’t pay her much attention. Who takes a female negotiator seriously? Everyone introduced themselves (I’d guessed the jarls’ names correctly), and we got down to business. The conversation started with a topic that interested the jarls more than it did us.

“Where’s the money?” Hrolf asked with a cough.

I handed him the sack of gold. “There’s twenty grand there, you can split it yourselves. Are we good?”

“Yes, everything’s paid; we’re happy,” confirmed Hrolf. He glanced into the bag and tested a few coins against his teeth. The Hammer nodded.

“Heard,” said Sven.

“Seconded,” nodded Gunnar. “Shall we discuss the loot?”

“A third for each of us,” Froky said quickly.

“And what about us?” I asked.

“You’re just passengers, so you’re not included,” explained Froky.

“Not so fast,” I protested. “The trip and the girl are separate. Let’s just make it easy; we’re all involved, and we all get an equal share since you wouldn’t be going anywhere if it weren’t for us. Everyone gets a fourth.”

The jarls looked like they were about to disagree, but Gunnar beat them to the punch. “I don’t need a share,” he announced.

We stared at him, waiting for commentary on his decision.

“But Torsfel the Crooked is mine. If you see him, don’t kill him.” His tone ruled out discussion.

“If I understand you correctly,” I responded, “you don’t want any of the loot; you just want their leader. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And what if that spawn of Grímnismál jumps on my ax by himself?” asked Froky. “What then?”

“Then you’ll be my sworn enemy,” Gunnar said with a shrug.

Froky nodded and turned to Hrolf. “We’ll have to tell our men not to take him out in the middle of everything.”

“And how are we going to split everything into thirds?” Elina asked, though the jarls didn’t pay her any more heed than they would a buzzing fly.

“Miss,” whispered Sven, “don’t mind them. The jarls don’t really ever listen to women. Well, except their mothers.”

Elina sighed, clearly frustrated with having to deal with gender discrimination in the game as well.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Hrolf said, pulling a map out of the bag on his waist and spreading it out. We gathered round. “Here’s Forswick. Torsfel will be setting sail around 10 a.m. If Sven’s intel was right, he’ll have two ships.”

“Why two?” asked Sven in surprise. “What happened to the third?”

“He tangled with Frigg Tornear recently near Skag Fjord,” Froky told him, scratching his side. “The Crooked sank one of Frigg’s ships, but the second one, which had Frigg at the helm, did such a number on one of Crooked’s ships that it barely made it back to Forswick. The steering oar is broken along with some other issues. It was an old ship; you know how it is… So, anyway, he’ll have two ships, but they’ll have big hirds, probably 250 swords total.”

“Wow,” replied Sven. “How many do we have?”

“I have 100,” said Froky.

“Eighty,” Hrolf chimed in, tugging on his beard.

“Fifty. I lost half my hird in the last battle, haven’t had time to bring in new recruits,” Gunnar answered darkly.

“I have sixteen warriors,” Elina added. “Four of them are mages.”

The jarls deigned to hear her and indulgently nodded.

“And there are four of us,” I concluded. “So basically it’s one on one.”

“Right. Though we have the advantage of surprise and the extra ship,” said Elina. “It would just help if we could find—”

“We’ll wait here in this throughway,” Froky interrupted, jabbing a finger at the map and cutting Elina off in the process. “He’ll pass it on the port side, and there’s no other way around—the shoals on the sea side are nasty. We’ll crowd in on him there like a girl in a hallway—Gunnar from the back and the two of us from the front. He’ll have nowhere to go.”

I could see from the map that the piece of land Froky was talking about lay between two cliffs jutting out of the sea. It was the perfect spot for an ambush. The only problem was that our forces were even, and the Crooked had hardened warriors under his command…

“Done. Okay, let’s load up.” Hrolf slapped his belly.

“Wait a second,” said Gunnar. “He won’t see your ships since you’ll be hiding behind the island, but what about mine?”

“There’s a small inlet that opens into a cave in the cliff. You can slip in there and wait for him,” answered Froky. “I’ve done it myself.”

“Torsfel doesn’t know about the cave?” asked Sven.

“You wouldn’t know about it if it weren’t for me,” Froky shot back. “I can’t wait to see how Gunnar straightens his ribs. Olavsson, can I come watch?”

“Sure,” Gunnar told him evenly. “You’re all invited. I’ll even have ale and salted nuts for you.”

“Hey, cutie,” Froky said to Elina. “You bring your troops and go with Gunnar since he has more room.”

“I’ll go with you then,” I quickly said to Hrolf.

I had no desire to be stuck making small talk with my clan mates. They were driving me crazy.

“Why’s that?” Elina asked with a smile.

“I’m responsible for this monster,” I replied, nodding toward a snoozing Flosy. “And you can’t stand the sight of him. What’s the point of getting on your nerves?”

Her response surprised me. “I apologize for Lotar. He crossed the line.”

“Oh, whatever, it’s no big deal,” I said with a laugh. “We’ll meet again. I doubt he’s even 18 yet, and probably much younger. Kids that age are all screwed up going through puberty.”

“That’s for sure…” Elina sighed, her thoughts clearly somewhere else.

“Don’t worry about it. He’ll leave me alone once I kill him a few times,” I consoled her.

She laughed. “He’s thirty levels higher than you!”

“Yes, but I’m not alone.” I pointed a finger behind me at von Richter and Flosy.

“Do whatever you want,” Elina said finally, motioning her Thunderbirds toward Gunnar’s drakkar.

“You still haven’t gotten an invitation from the Hounds?” Elina turned back as she walked behind her troops.

“Nope. And whatever, I don’t have time anyway,” I answered.

“It’s just strange. We’re allies, and they haven’t invited us. I don’t get it…”

“Oygolinn,” I said, calling after my former comrade. “Would you have really shot at an old friend?”

“The interests of the clan come first,” the elf replied with an impassive shrug of his shoulders. “What does friendship have to do with it?”

“Fair enough.” I deleted him from my friend list.

Oygolinn read the message, smiled indifferently, and hurried after the rest of the group.

The three of us walked off toward Hrolf’s ship, and ten minutes later, we set sail.

I watched the bank fade into the distance, felt the swell of the drakkar deck beneath my feet, and had to chuckle at the motley crew that was going after the könig’s daughter: pirates, a Knight of the Temple, a mercenary hired by the developers, a few high-level players from one of the game’s top clans, and a toilet cleaner. A veritable Noah’s Ark…

Chapter Twenty

In which the hero does his small part to assure victory.

We’d already put quite a distance between us and the shore when Hrolf smacked himself in the forehead. “Einar!” he bellowed, turning to his gray-mustachioed helmsman, “bear toward Gunnar. I forgot to warn that girl about something.”

The helmsman nodded gravely and swung the wheel in that direction.

“Remind me what her name is?” Hrolf asked me.

“Elina.” I was intrigued. What did he forget to tell her?

“Elina!” the jarl’s bass rang out across the water. “You remember, and also tell your troops, to go easy with the fire. I know you mages. The sea is calm, so you’ll burn us all to a crisp. And you mages will float, but the rest of us won’t.”

“…kay…” echoed back from Elina.

“Did she definitely understand?” Hrolf looked at me anxiously.

“Yes, she’s smart. She got it,” I assured him. “Everything will be fine.”

“I sure hope so.” Hrolf sighed.

The drakkars slipped quickly through the water, the oars rhythmically slapping the waves on either side. They were mesmerizing. Gunther stared thoughtfully at the water as he dragged a whetstone along the slender blade of his misericord[8]; Flosy hummed a slow tune. The whole scene was enough for me to slowly drift off to sleep…

“Jarl Hagen, we’re here,” Flosy said, shaking me by the shoulder.

He could have spared himself the effort—his stink worked just as well as any smelling salts I’ve ever come across. Sweet mother! He and I had spent almost a week together, and I couldn’t figure out why the smell wasn’t fading.

I pulled myself up off the deck, shook the cobwebs out of my head, and looked around. We’d sailed into a small…bay? It was separated from the sea by a rocky ridge, behind which was a looming cliff. There was another cliff in front of us. It was an enormous pool, in other words. The Sea Kings were right; this is the perfect spot for an ambush.

“Hold it up!” came the command from Hrolf.

The oars flashed in the water, and the drakkar eased to a halt.

“Gunnar!” bellowed Hrolf. “See that rock that looks like a troll head? There’s a small cove right behind it! Wait there for that bastard the Crooked!”

Gunnar, who was standing amidships on his Orca, nodded and barked some orders. The drakkar began to drift backward.

“Froky,” Short-legged continued, “head over there behind the ridge. We’ll be hidden there.”

The tall jarl didn’t even nod in response; all he did was gesture toward his helmsman.

“Okay, what else?” Hrolf patted his stomach. “Ah. One-eyed, Bear Cub, get over here!”

Two warriors matching their names to the letter—one large and clumsy, the other with a patch over his left eye—walked over to the jarl.

Hrolf glared at them. “Okay, listen up. Pull all that metal off you and swim over to that cliff. I want you to sit there and wait until you see Torsfel’s sails.”

The pair nodded.

“As soon as you see them, wave at us or something. Just make sure they don’t notice you. Okay?”

They nodded again and jumped to work.

“Excellent,” the jarl exhaled happily.

“You have a sense of humor, Hrolf,” I said, walking over to him. “Sending a one-eyed man as a lookout.”

“His one eye is worth any five pairs of good eyes, and he’s sharp, too,” Hrolf responded. The pride he had in his hird shone in his voice.

“You’re the jarl; you know better,” I agreed.

“By the way, Jarl,” asked Gunther, who was staring thoughtfully at the nearby shoreline. “Where can you get to by land from here?”

“You can get wherever you want to by land or sea,” Hrolf answered philosophically. “Which do you prefer?”

“I just think that Torsfel might see that we have the upper hand and try to make a run for it on land.”

“A Sea King, even a pig like Torsfel, running on land?” The jarl was dubious. “Although…a pig like him might just try that. He knows very well what’s waiting for him if we catch him alive.”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. So, where does the road from the shore lead?”

I peered at the coast. Nothing special. There was a narrow sandy spit, boulders, a small forest behind them, and then a mountain peak jutting upward in the background. And who knows what’s behind the mountain…

“To the mountain,” Hrolf responded predictably. “And, to answer your next question, it’s easy to get past the mountain. You can climb it or take the path through it—up to you.”

I shivered when he mentioned going through the mountain. Here I was just starting to forget…

“Maybe we shouldn’t risk it. You won’t get much use from me in a sea battle,” Gunther noted, “but I could head to shore and make sure he doesn’t get away there. And if you send a dozen warriors with me…”

“I can’t give you a dozen,” the jarl cut back sharply. “We need every sword we can get. I’ll give you five.”

“I’m with you,” I quickly said. “Flosy, too.”

“Do you have some kind of boat? I’m not a big fan of the water.” Flosy had no qualms about my decision and instead jumped straight into the details of the plan.

“What boats would there be on a drakkar?” Hrolf asked, spreading his arms. “We’ll get a little closer to shore, and you can jump in, but that’s it. We’ll figure out how to pick you up after the battle. Well, if you’re there to pick up and we’re here to pick you up.”

“My armor,” groaned Gunther.

“What did you think?” I asked mercilessly. “That’s what you get for taking the initiative.”

The Sea Kings obviously didn’t give their plans a second thought. No sooner was the phrase spoken than Hrolf gave the command to the helmsman to bank toward the coast. Five warriors were quickly chosen to accompany us, although, to my eye, they looked to be the runts of the litter.

“On land, you’ll be following Jarl Hagen’s orders. His word there is as good as mine here,” he added at the end of his instructions. The fighters nodded.

Look at that—I’m well on my way to being a great warlord. Seven men under my command already.

Before we dove into the water, I took one look at Flosy’s pained expression and quietly asked Gunther a question. “Are you really that excited about the mission, or are you just trying to get Flosy washed off a little?”

“The mission is an important one as well,” he responded tactfully.

There was no telling what he really thought since Gunther von Richter was as polite as they come.

When Flosy hit the water, von Richter and I, without having discussed it beforehand, both jumped in behind him and did our best to douse him with as much water as we could. And he needed it. The relentless heat from the sun was at least broken by a breeze on board the ship, but the air was still and quiet on land. The waves I’d seen that morning had been left behind in Falderhall. The surf was feeble and weak where we were.

Hrolf’s helmsman was a master of his craft, and he’d been able to pull the drakkar very close to shore. The water, it turned out, only rose to our waists. I’d been afraid Flosy’s splash would be followed by the rest of us gurgling down to the bottom, and I didn’t think he would have saved us. He had annoyance written all over his face as he pulled himself onto the shore.

“Don’t make any tracks in the sand,” Gunther quickly said. “It’s bright, so anyone will be able to see for miles that someone walked here.”

We ran to the boulders protruding in front of the forest and hid behind them, doing our best to follow in each other’s footprints.

I looked back at the drakkar to see that it was quickly sweeping away in the direction of the far cliff. Then I glanced down at the shore and shook my head.

“Flosy, tear off a couple of those burdock branches and go brush out our tracks,” I ordered.

His eyebrows lowered, but he obeyed without question.

Suddenly, I heard a rattling and clapping accompanied by suppressed guffaws. I turned and saw what really was a funny picture. Gunther was jumping around trying to get the water out of his steel shoes. I wasn’t sure what else to call them. It looked like he was in the middle of a rousing Caucasian dance and was just about to shout out the finale.

The hirdmen, who had already taken off their leather boots, found the whole thing incredibly funny, as they rolled on the grass in laughter. They apparently had the same idea I did, as one of them started clapping out a rhythm. The fiery glances Gunther threw their way didn’t bother them in the least.

A little while later, Flosy came back muttering to himself, lay down on the grass, placed his ax next to him, and fell instantly asleep. Even Gunther gave up on the discomfort and sat down next to me.

“Hey,” I said to him, “you never told me if you found anything interesting in Ingvar’s house. Did you go?”

“Yes,” von Richter answered melancholically. “There wasn’t anything interesting there to find. It was like nobody had even been there.”

“But you could tell that he’d spent the night, right?” I asked.

“Yes, but he must have spent it sitting in a chair. He didn’t drink tea, didn’t eat anything. He didn’t even go to the bathroom—our friend told me that, and he’s the expert.”

I couldn’t fault Flosy’s qualifications on that point either. To be fair, I wasn’t very surprised by Gunther’s verdict, as I was starting to realize what was going on. The riddle was starting to fall into place. I just need to have a chat with Ulfrida… The hints Zimin and Valyaev had given me, strange as they were, really had nudged me in the right direction.

“Jarl, someone’s coming,” one of the hirdmen whispered.

Swords slowly slid out of their sheaths. Flosy lazily opened an eye and groped for his ax.

“It’s Gunnar’s people,” someone said, this time louder. “I know that one, it’s Hegny the Cod; we were on Henderson’s drakkar together. Hey, Hegny, over here.”

Three warriors and, to our surprise, a mage named Sufor from my clan walked over.

“What are you doing here?” I asked them. Who else was going to ask?

“Gunnar mentioned how unpredictable Torsfel is,” explained one of the newcomers, apparently the very same Hegny. “So, he sent us here to keep an eye on things. The cute one gave us a mage since he won’t be much use on the ship and he can send a signal to the jarl from here if anything happens.”

Sufor frowned, apparently frustrated with the role he’d been assigned.

“Come on now,” I said, giving him a friendly shove in the shoulder. “It’s true—you see how calm everything is. One spark, and we’d all go up in flames.”

“I guess old Hrolf sent you here,” Hegny continued.

“Yep,” confirmed one of the hirdmen. “That one in the iron said the same thing, so Hrolf sent us to help the jarl.”

“Jarl,” Hegny said, coming over to me. “You’ll tell us what to do, right?”

I nodded, struck once more by how strict the hierarchy in the North was. They said I was a jarl, so a jarl I must be. End of story.

Sufor took up a position next to me, and, I thought, gave me some apprehensive sideways glances.

“Oh, stop it,” I said to him. “I won’t eat you.”

“Laird, I’m going to grab a few winks.” Gunther plopped down on my other side, his armor clanging on the rocks. “Wake me up when the enemy gets here.”

“Of course. I’ll give you a kick.” I turned back to Sufor.

“Are you really friends with him?” he asked in surprise.

“I really am.” I smiled. “And with that one, too. Although to be honest, he’s more my servant.”

Flosy was sleeping again, his clothes giving off a light steam.

“You know; it happens. Just believe me, and don’t give me any of that crap,” I said, cutting off the inevitable but they’re NPCs I knew was coming. “I have a better question; why didn’t any of the clan elite come? Where are Lis, Krolina, Romuil, and the rest?”

Sufor hemmed and hawed, smiled crookedly, and wiggled where he was sitting.

“You look like a cat after it goes to the bathroom, all that fidgeting,” I said, pushing him to give me the truth. “Out with it.”

“They left,” he said finally. “Almost all the clan veterans are gone.”

“Wait, really?” To say I was surprised would have been an understatement. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ve heard they don’t really like the direction the clan is going. They said we didn’t just lay down in front of the Hounds; we spread our legs for them, too. At least, that’s what someone told me.”

“Don’t worry about it; it all makes sense.” I patted his shoulder. “They said their piece, Elina yelled at them that they were welcome to leave, Gerv had her back, and they up and left.”

Sufor shrugged evasively, leaving me to believe whatever I wanted.

“Got it.” I laughed. “So, now you’re the new clan elite?”

“Pretty much.”

“Yeah, with that Iron Doofus at its head, the clan won’t be going far.” I sincerely felt bad for the Thunderbirds.

“He really is an unbelievable jerk,” Sufor agreed. “But there are good people, too.”

“Of course. You don’t happen to know where the veterans went, do you?” That was what interested me the most. I could have asked them myself, of course, but inside info is always nice to have.

“People are saying different things.” Sufor leaned toward me. “But I heard from a very good source that most of them joined the Wild Hearts.”

“Well, that’s interesting.”

One of my troops came up to us. “Jarl, there are sails on the horizon. It’s definitely them; they have Torsfel’s green stripes.”

I nudged Gunther, who had just fallen asleep. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead!”

“Oh, come on,” he muttered. “Are they here already?”

“Yep.”

I peeked above a boulder and saw two sails making their way toward the lagoon. That’s probably the best name for it, actually, but it’s an odd one for a wild Northern spot like this.

A white rag waved from up where our spies were perched, and I could see them getting ready to slide back down so they wouldn’t be seen. I imagined the chests of weapons being opened onboard the drakkars, the hirdmen putting on their armor. The battle was about to begin.

“Okay, listen, men,” I said. “Someone kick that one!”

Flosy woke up, and everyone looked at me expectantly.

“Here’s how it’s going to go down,” I said, sniffing sternly. “We aren’t here. And we won’t be here until someone tries to come ashore. Until then, we sit, wait, and watch.”

“And if they try?” asked Sufor. “I mean, what do we do if someone tries to land?”

“If that happens, our job is to make sure they don’t make it to the forest.” I jabbed a finger in the direction of the trees. “If they get that far, they’re gone, since we don’t have the numbers to go looking for them. Plus, Torsfel will get away by the time backup gets here.”

“Agreed,” nodded Gunther. “Also, we need to have several lines of defense here on the shore. That’s the only way it will work.”

“Understood. You four,” I said, pointing at the largest Northerners, “will be in the front line. You two, Flosy and I will be in the second, and Sufor, Gunther, and the rest will be up against the boulders.”

The hirdmen nodded, and Sufor followed suit, but Gunther shook his head. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be in the first line. I need space to work.”

“That’s fine,” I responded. “But let me remind everyone that we need Torsfel alive. If we kill him, Gunnar will skin us all. He can be hurt, but not too badly. Also, there will be a girl with him, and she can’t be harmed. I don’t care if you all die—she has to live. Sufor, you can only send fireballs along the coast. I don’t want you accidentally shooting something out over the waves and sinking one of our ships. If we pull everything off, I’ll buy you all a cask of ale.”

The hirdmen grinned and murmured to each other.

“Shut up! The jarl is talking!” Flosy snapped at them. “The first mention of ale and you have to make some noise.”

The hubbub died away. I focused on the scene unfolding in front of us. When the ships slipped into the lagoon, I could feel all the eyes watching them—the group at the Raidion office, the pair up across from us in the rocks, the jarls, and all the hirdmen on the three ships.

The drakkars were right in front of our boulders when we saw them break out in a scurry of movement. I glanced to the right and saw Gunnar’s ship easing out from behind the cliff.

“Hey, Torsfel! I’ve been looking to have a chat with you for a while!” we heard Gunnar’s voice boom out across the water.

“Well, you found me! What now? What did you want to talk about? Or did you think your little tub and a few cripples would scare me?” That must have been Torsfel.

“Well, I did ask a few friends to join us! But look at you, bravely standing… Wait, why aren’t you on your drakkar’s deck?” Gunnar retorted mockingly.

A horn blared out across the lagoon, and those on the two drakkars with blue and green sails noticed their two other opponents.

“You little cowards!” roared Torsfel, still hidden from sight. “Just three ships? Or did you think that would be enough to send me to the underworld?”

“For you, it’ll work!” called back Hrolf.

The drakkars quickly narrowed the distance between them. Torsfel’s best option, of course, would have been to turn around and try to get past or even sink Gunnar’s lone drakkar, but moving the rowers and changing the helm would have taken precious time. Old Hrolf had set things up perfectly. There was no room to maneuver in the lagoon, with the bank on the starboard side and the cliff to port. Torsfel’s only choice was to keep sailing forward toward the two ships waiting for him.

What happened when the ships got alongside each other was like nothing I’d ever seen in the movies. Gangways were instantly thrown over the sides, with warriors leaping up, rushing at each other, and getting pushed into the water. Given the chainmail they were all wearing, their chances of avoiding death by drowning were slim to none. Nobody wanted to fight on their own deck, and so they all did their best to push onto the opposing deck. Grappling lines were flung into the rigging to let them swing across the gap between ships. The clash of steel on steel rang out. Voices yelled and swore, the sounds of battle and death echoing across the waves. Second by second, more of them dropped into the water, some with a cry and others silently. Nobody resurfaced.

The two sides looked evenly matched. Neither gave ground to the other, with both masses pushing into the other, and it was just then that Gunnar’s drakkar caught up to Torsfel’s 32-oar monster.

Gunnar led his men over the sided of the ship, joining the battle and tilting the scale in our favor. The attackers began to push forward relentlessly.

“Jarl, look!” Hegny poked me.

A medium-sized boat had been shoved away from Torsfel’s second ship, which took us by surprise. The Sea Kings, as I’d just learned, don’t take boats on board with them. I guess that’s Torsfel’s insurance policy. Gunnar hadn’t seen him on the deck because he’d been below deck on his second ship getting ready to make a run for it. He could tell the battle was ours.

“Well, boys, shall we paint the sand red with their blood?” I asked the hirdmen, waving my sword.

“Jarl, don’t you get too involved in the fight,” an older warrior from Hrolf’s ship said in a fatherly tone. “Otherwise, we won’t have anyone to get us that ale.”

The boat, which was packed by a good twenty warriors, neared the shore. Among them, I finally saw Torsfel—he was a hulking mass covered in wild, bushy hair.

Our first wave jumped out from behind the boulders the instant the boat hit the sand.

Gunther was in front and landed the first blow. Steel clanged, and a warrior collapsed.

“Kill them!” shouted the giant as he grabbed a bundled from the bottom of the boat and headed toward the forest with ten of his men. We met him halfway there.

“Don’t let Torsfel go!” I roared, fending off one strike by a warrior in glistening chainmail and ducking to avoid another from a second.

Torsfel’s warriors weren’t just aggressive NPCs; they were worthy adversaries that, happily, were right around my level. That was the only explanation for the fact that I held my own.

“Wolf Soul,” I cried. My gray helper jumped out and latched his teeth into one of my attackers, buying me a few seconds.

I dove to avoid the other’s blade and used an ability to slam my sword deep into his stomach and take off half his health. That oath in the temple has really come in handy.

The temptation was to handle the problem with one blow of the horn in my bag, but I knew I couldn’t give in.

A fireball hissed off into the sky.

“A-a-ah,” I heard Sufor call, just as I brought my sword crashing down on my opponent’s head, ending his time on earth.

You unlocked Level 50!

Points ready to be distributed: 5

Finally!

The pitiful whine that came from my gray brother in arms told me that he’d gone off to visit the great wolf heaven in the sky.

I managed to turn toward the boulders and saw Sufor lying on the ground. He was still alive, but he wasn’t going to be doing any more fighting that day. Another hirdman was lying prone, and I noticed Torsfel making a run for the forest. The rest of my troops were fighting the remains of the hairy jarl’s entourage.

“Damn it, he’s getting away!” I shouted, just barely getting away from a swipe by the opponent my wolf hadn’t been able to gnaw to death.

“A-a-ah,” I heard next to me, and I saw him collapse onto the sand.

It turned out that Flosy had slashed him in the back of the legs with his ax. He immediately followed that up by hurling the ax at Torsfel…and somehow connected.

The ax smacked into the running jarl right below the knees, and so he hit the ground hard, rolled forward, and, I swear, shuddered. Flosy dashed off after his ax, burying a knife in the back of one of Torsfel’s last people and yelling back at us on the way. “I can’t take him by myself!”

All that was left of the first line was Gunther and a wounded Hegny, and they had their hands full with three of our ten adversaries.

One of the hirdmen and I were the remains of the second line, and he has gamely trying to fight off a large swordsman. I jumped in to help him, so I didn’t know what was going on closer to the forest.

It took us about forty seconds to finish him off—a shot to the back is always excellent medicine.

A boom rang out from the line near the water’s edge. I turned to see two of Gunther’s opponents slump onto the sand, revealing a wet Bear Cub behind them. The lookouts had apparently noticed our skirmish and jumped in to help us.

“Ja-a-arl!” Flosy’s shrill cry reminded me of our primary objective. As I sprinted toward the forest, I saw that Torsfel had regained his composure after the hit from the ax, had finished off the last hirdman, and was closing in on my toilet cleaner. Flosy was standing next to the bundle the jarl had dropped. I could guess what—or rather who—was in it.

“Rally to me!” I bellowed back at everyone still alive. “Wolf Soul! Get the hairy one!”

The wolf shot off like a streak of gray lightning, the rest of us hard on his heels.

“There you are, you jackals,” muttered Torsfel as he looked us over. “You’re a jarl? We haven’t met, have we?”

“No, I’m not one of the locals,” I replied modestly, signaling to Flosy to drag the bundle as far away as he could. “But I have friends here, and I’m helping them.”

“Well, they’ll remember you when I spill your guts with my ax like I did for that wolf,” Torsfel said. “Hey, you there, those are my things.”

He jumped toward Flosy, who had grabbed the bundle and was trying to drag it away. I jumped at the enormous man’s legs, knocking him down once again. When he tried to get up, he found two blades at his throat, Gunther’s and Bear Cub’s.

The hirdman helped me up. Hegny, despite his wound, helped Flosy, who was bowed under the weight of Ulfrida. (I didn’t doubt that it was her wrapped up in the rags.)

“You know, we could help each other. I have enough for you to go live the good life,” Torsfel said in an attempt to get us to change our minds. “Even better, you can come over to my side, and I’ll make sure your swords are trimmed with gold.”

“Sorry, old man.” I straightened up and felt my back crack. “We don’t play both sides of the fence.”

“Well said, Jarl Hagen,” someone behind me said.

I turned to see Gunnar making his way toward us. “So, Torsfel, we finally come face to face. If only you knew how long I’ve waited for this moment.”

“I hadn’t given it much thought, actually,” replied Torsfel with a shrug. “You’re nothing to me.”

“We’ll wait for the rest. They’ll be here soon.” Gunnar sat down on a boulder.

His and Elina’s people made their way across the water.

“And what happens when they get here?” Gunther asked the Northerner.

“Then we’ll have a holmgang,” was the quiet response.

Chapter Twenty-One

In which everyone gets a little something.

“You’d give me a holmgang?” Torsfel asked, pursing his lips in surprise.

“Of course,” Gunnar responded calmly. “I don’t want you to die in the knowledge that you were unbeaten. You’re a strong warrior, and you won’t make a sound if they straighten your ribs. I want you to die knowing full well that you weren’t able to save your own life. I want to look you in the eye when my ax buries itself in your guts. And I won’t settle for less.”

Gunnar gave his spiel in an even, measured voice, each word nailed home one after another.

Torsfel chuckled.

“Olavsson, are you sure that’s how it’ll go? Are you sure it’ll be your ax in my guts and not the other way around?”

“If that happens, it just means that you’re luckier than me. I’ll at least die knowing that I did everything I could.”

“Except you wouldn’t get your revenge.” Torsfel laughed. “What a lousy death!”

“Jarl Gunnar,” Gunther chimed in, “would you mind if I stood in as your executor? Gunther von Richter, Knight of the Tearful Goddess Temple, at your service.”

Gunnar looked at von Richter in surprise. The knight misunderstood his expression and tried to continue his explanation. “My family is an old and noble one, with twelve generations of warriors. I don’t think you need to worry about the purity of my intentions or whether I have the right to ask for the honor.”

“I wasn’t worried; just surprised,” replied the jarl. “What did that son of a troll do to you?”

“Nothing at all. Today is the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on him. Although to be fair, he has killed women and kidnapped girls, so there’s no love lost between us. It’s just that revenge, and especially revenge for loved ones, is too serious a matter to be left to simple chance. You should have someone who can finish the job if your opponent proves stronger than you.”

Gunnar looked at the knight, a strange smile straying over his face. “Well, then, Gunther von Richter, Knight… I’m sorry, I don’t remember the rest. My family is gone, I have no relatives, and my home has long been the deck of my drakkar. If truth fails me and this poor excuse for a human defeats me today, I bequeath my vengeance to you.”

“Heard,” said Hegny as he wrapped his wound.

“Seconded,” I said to my own surprise.

“Ah, my ax will enjoy a feast of blood today, and the crows will eat their fill,” snarled the Crooked.

Gunnar paid him no attention, instead wrapping his cloak around himself and throwing himself down on a rock to prepare for the holmgang. From what I could tell, it was, in other words, a duel.

Sufor, who I’d already forgotten in the excitement, walked over to me and groaned. “That bastard is a beast!” he said, looking at Torsfel with hostility in his eyes.

“Is he the one who took you out?” I asked.

“Who else? No sooner did I sent that fireball up than that animal came running by with that sack under his arm. I didn’t even have time to react before he slammed his ax into me, apparently with a critical hit, and threw me into some rocks. All I had was 15% of my health left—there was barely enough of me to patch back up! It was just a good thing I brought a health potion with me…”

Sufor wrinkled his nose in frustration, either disappointed that he’d had to use the potion or annoyed that he’d missed most of the battle.

“Oh, the sack,” I said suddenly, slapping my forehead. “Damn it!”

I looked around and picked a younger warrior from Gunnar’s hird, shouting over to him, “Hey, warrior!”

“Yes, Jarl?”

“This isn’t an order, just a friendly request. Flosy ran off in that direction. Could you find him and tell him it’s safe to come back?”

The warrior looked quickly at Gunnar—who opened one eye and nodded—before running off into the forest.

“Gunnar, you don’t mind me giving your people orders, do you?” I decided to make sure there weren’t any hard feelings.

“Hirdmen should always be either busy or drunk. Otherwise, they have too much time to get in real trouble,” Gunnar responded before going back to sleep.

“How did I know you’d be here?” I heard Elina’s voice ask. “Hagen, how do you always manage to get everywhere first?”

“Karma, I guess,” I answered, turning to see her walking toward me. “You snooze, you lose, and I don’t like losing.”

“Agreed.” She looked around and noticed the trampled sand strewn with weapons, the broken branches, and Torsfel, who was staring darkly at a point right in front of him. “What happened here?”

“Oh, not too much.” I shrugged and nodded toward the hairy marauder. “That pleasant fellow stopped by, and we had a little fun.”

Elina went over to Torsfel and looked him over. “Pleasant, indeed. A brutal nomad is more like it.”

“It’s just a shame that my friends are here, sweetie!” Torsfel roared. “We could have played some hide-and-seek!”

“Oh, so scary.” Elina laughed, then her face twisted into a sudden grimace. “Oh, God, him again?”

Flosy appeared out of the forest, sweating under the weight of the bundle he was carrying. The young warrior tried to help him, but Flosy motioned away with his head as if shooing away a fly.

“Don’t worry; he’s sober,” I said to Elina before calling Gunther and heading to meet Flosy.

The toilet worker finally plopped the bundle down on the ground and sat down next to it, breathing hard. Sweat poured down his bearded face.

“Phew, Jarl,” he said. “The könig sure feeds his daughter well. I barely got her over here.”

“Why didn’t you unwrap her over there?” I asked in surprise.

“You never know with girls. She might have run off, and then we’d have been stuck searching for her until the end of time,” Flosy explained reasonably.

I bent over the bundle and saw that it was tied up with a ship cable.

“I hear you,” I replied to Flosy. “Gunther, could you cut the cord? I saw that you have a dagger.”

“My misericord?” Gunther’s eyes widened. “That’s not what it’s for.”

“Come on, Gunther, give it a rest,” I said with a frown. “Just cut it before she gives up the ghost in there.”

He sighed, but went ahead and pulled out his dagger. The bundle unraveled, and we were soon looking at a hefty girl with a dirty face, disheveled hair, and a ragged dress that looked to have been a beautiful one at some point. Her facial features left no doubt in my mind that she was the könig’s daughter—all she was missing was a beard.

She stared at us before imperiously asking, “And who are you?”

“We freed you,” I replied. “We’re fearless rescuers in search of injustice and people going through hard times.”

That put the finishing touches on her confusion, and I realized it wasn’t the time for jokes.

“Your father asked us—well, me and my friend, valiant Knight of the Temple von Richter—to free you from the clutches of Torsfel the Crooked, which is what we just finished doing. You’re Ulfrida, daughter of König Harald, yes?”

“Phew,” she exhaled in relief. “Here I was afraid that I’d gotten away from that troll spawn Torsfel only to fall into the hands of a band of halfwits.”

Gunther pursed his lips but said nothing.

“Of course, I’m Ulfrida. You can’t see that?” She got up. “So my father was worried about me? Marvelous.”

You completed a quest: Liberate the König’s Daughter

You freed Ulfrida, the könig’s daughter, from captivity.

To get your reward, talk to König Harald.

“What’s so marvelous about that?” I asked. “You’re his daughter, aren’t you?”

Ulfrida brushed off my question with a wave of her hand, letting me know what she really thought of her father’s warm affections.

“Are you all right, Lady Ulfrida?” Gunther asked the prinzessin, in keeping with etiquette.

“What the jotunns are you talking about?” Ulfrida responded. “First that Ingvar and his quirks, then that hairy oaf the Crooked with his stupid jokes, and then I got dragged and tossed around in those rags. My legs are all bruised and my ribs hurt.”

“I mean, is there any irreparable damage?” Gunther blushed a little.

“What? Oh, that’s what you’re talking about.” Ulfrida laughed with the air of someone who had already been through and seen it all. “No, he didn’t touch me; somebody apparently told him not to. Oh, hey, I know you, little guy. You clean the outhouses at the palace.”

Ulfrida jabbed a finger in Flosy’s direction.

“True,” Flosy replied, rubbing his nose. “I did.”

“And what are you doing here with these two?”

“The könig gave me to Jarl Hagen, so I serve him now,” Flosy said proudly, while also clearly letting Ulfrida know that he was no longer hers to command. He had his own jarl.

“Ah, so you’re a jarl.” Ulfrida stared at me with newfound interest. “That changes things. I thought you were just a mercenary. Please accept my most sincere thanks, Jarl, for saving me. How many drakkars do you have?”

The prinzessin’s eyes were alight, and I wasn’t a fan. She was apparently looking actively for her own little bit of happiness, I didn’t need that.

“I don’t have drakkars,” I said quickly. “Not even a hird. Just Flosy.”

Somewhere in Ulfrida’s brain, I was stamped incompatible, so her dark eyes turned toward Gunther and his glistening, newly washed armor.

“And I’m just a knight,” he said just as quickly, having also seen which way the wind was blowing. “I just go here and there running errands mostly.”

The grimace on the prinzessin’s face told us that she’d moved on, and Flosy had never been potential prey to her as it was.

“So did you catch that parasite the Crooked?” she asked. “Or did the troll spawn get away?”

“He’s right there.” I pointed at Torsfel, who was still sitting on the ground.

“Excellent!” Ulfrida exclaimed happily. “Are you going to straighten his ribs yourself or have my father do it?”

“No, he’s got a holmgang coming,” Flosy chimed in.

“Who gave that bastard a holmgang?” asked Ulfrida, who appeared shocked by the news.

“Olavsson. The one over there.” Flosy nodded toward Gunnar. “He has more accounts to settle with Torsfel than you do.”

Ulfrida peered at the jarl, and I had to imagine that was the only reason she missed the liberty Flosy had taken.

“Prinzessin,” I said, deciding to pull her away and get some answers to my questions. “You said that Ingvar was quirky. What did you mean?”

“What?” Ulfrida looked back at me. “Ingvar? Oh, he’s always been strict, focused on his work, and he never paid attention to me. Then, in the last month, he started pushing me to go for walks in the evening.”

“What’s strange about that? It happens with men.” I was having a hard time seeing what was out of the ordinary.

“With men, sure, especially when they want something with women.” Ulfrida shook her head. “But not with Ingvar. He’s always been about his work—it’s his wife and girlfriend both.”

“So, he took an interest in you?”

“Yep. He even gave me an amulet, which had never happened before.”

“What kind of amulet?” I asked, my suspicions aroused.

“Round, forged with engraved runes.” Ulfrida gestured with her hands. “One evening, he came over and said he had a present for me. It was passed down to him from his deceased mother, he said, and he wanted me to wear it. Of course, I wasn’t sure how his mother could have had anything that valuable—I’d heard stories about her…”

“And?” She was in far less of a hurry than I was.

“And that’s all, damn him. I put the amulet on, and suddenly it was like I was falling into some kind of pit. I could still hear voices, first Ingvar’s and then some old lady’s. The next thing I knew, that shaggy beast had me. Speaking of pits, maybe we can just forget about that whole holmgang? We could just dig a deep pit, and throw the piece of trash in there without his pants. It would be funny, it would feel good, and your nice friend would stay alive.”

“No, it’s a matter of principle,” I responded. “Otherwise, that would be an excellent idea.”

“My father is always telling me that I have a head for government.” Ulfrida threw her arms out proudly.

With an heir like this character, I hope the könig doesn’t die anytime soon.

“So you put the medallion on, and that was it? Everything cut off there?” I asked.

“Well, yes.” The prinzessin was frustrated with how long it was taking me to grasp what happened. “I was like a log lying there. I’m not even sure who took me where, or when Ingvar left. The amulet vanished, by the way. It was gone when I woke up on the island.”

Everything made sense. It looked like I’d be wrapping up two side quests that day, not to mention getting myself one big step closer to figuring out my main quest. If I’m lucky.

“Well, sunshine, looks like they caught up to you,” I heard Hrolf say in a voice that was terrifyingly sweet.

The jarl and his taciturn friend were standing next to Torsfel and looking down at him patronizingly. Even the Crooked, brave warrior that he was—and he was that—blanched under Hrolf’s gaze.

“What are you shivering for? Is it cold out?” Hrolf asked just as piercingly.

“He’s mine; we agreed on that,” Gunnar said softly. “Fate will judge us in the fire circle, and it has to be fair.”

Hrolf turned to Gunnar. “Oh, I don’t mind, even though I think you’re crazy. Our ancestors thought up plenty of games to make sure we have some fun and pass the time well, but this is your business. I’d just like to know where this puppy hid his gold. We got quite a haul from his ships, and we’re lugging it over to be divvied up, but there should be a lot more.”

Froky nodded in agreement.

“We’ll just ask him a few quick questions,” Hrolf continued. “And then he’s all yours. If you want to meet him in the fire circle, go for it.”

Torsfel laughed.

“Get your giggles in now,” Hrolf said to him. “You think you’re the bravest person on the seas? Think you can last the longest? Froky, remind me, how long did that treasurer from the great city of Rinda hold out?”

“That’s the one on the western coast?” the jarl answered gravely. “I remember that. Couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.”

“We have time,” Hrolf assured Torsfel. “Skald, sing a song, just make sure it’s loud. We have women here, and they shouldn’t have to hear his screams and cursing. Okay, where’s the fire? We need to heat up our knives—it’ll be easier to slice into him when they’re hot. Easier for us, more painful for him.”

“Screw you, old wolf. The only problem is that you’ll have a hard time getting to my gold,” snarled the Crooked.

“That’s fine,” the Sea King replied. “I’m a patient guy; I’ll get there. So where is it?”

“On Forswick, in my basement, buried under the left wall,” Torsfel muttered reluctantly. “There’s a sheet of iron on top of it, too.”

“Do you think he’s lying?” Hrolf asked his friend.

“Nope,” Froky replied. “He doesn’t want to ruin his chances in the holmgang.”

That makes sense. It’s hard to fight when you have a dagger buried between your legs.

“Excellent.” Short-legged rubbed his hands. “Well, my dear jarls Froky and Hagen, shall we go count the gold and silver so we can split the loot?”

“Hagen won’t be participating in that process. I’ll come with you,” Elina said, jumping into the conversation.

Hrolf spread his arms as if to absolve himself of figuring out who would get what, and headed for the loot they’d piled on a piece of sail from Torsfel’s old drakkar.

“What’s that about?” I asked my clan leader quietly.

“Everything’s fair and square,” she replied with a smile. “We paid to play, and so we’ll take the loot. You got your quest, so you’ll get a reward you wouldn’t have been able to get without us. Plus, clan policy is that everything you get on raids goes to the clan storehouse. If the council decides to reward players who distinguished themselves, they give them a special premium.”

And so, I got two lessons for the price of one. First, I’d been penny wise and pound foolish, selling my hefty share of the loot for a measly 10,000 gold. Second, don’t have anything to do with your clan if you don’t want them to cut you out of the loop.

“I imagine I won’t be getting anything like that since you didn’t see what I did?” I did my best to minimize the sarcasm showing through in my voice.

“Well, to be honest, you’re right. And even if something did happen here, I doubt it compares with what we had to deal with.” Elina nodded seriously.

“What can I say?” I raised my arms. “Seeing as how the clan is practically destitute, chipping in is the least I can do.”

I made a point of ignoring Elina’s pursed lips as well as the spiteful smile on the Iron Doofus’ face.

Dividing the loot was easy. The pile of gold, assorted items, weapons, and other bits and pieces was split into three equal portions, and Ulfrida, as an impartial third party (albeit with greed glistening in her eyes), turned her back and was twice asked who would get a particular portion.

Then the hirdmen set off into the woods to find brushwood.

“It’s a shame it’s still light out,” I heard Flosy say. He was lying in the shadow of a boulder and chewing on a piece of grass. “This type of thing always looks better at night.”

“By the way, there’s two things I’m wondering,” I asked, sitting down next to him. “First, what’s about to happen here? I get that it’s a duel, but explain the details. And, second, how did you get to be so good with an ax?”

“My father was a well-known hirdman. He sailed with Rorick, himself,” Flosy explained lazily. “So, he taught me and my brothers everything he knew about weapons. I sailed for three years myself, and when you’re out there, you either die or walk away with some gold.”

“What happened?” I motioned with my hands, as if to move him along. Why aren’t you at sea? Why toilets?

“Why did I switch over to latrines?” Flosy figured out what I meant. “Ah, I was too lazy for all that. You’re always wet, everything’s always moving… Then a witch told me that I’d die a savage and cruel death if I didn’t put my warring ways behind me. I want to live, so I made the change—you can’t die in the outhouse. Although, now I’m deathly afraid of witches.”

“But why did you come with me if you knew what was coming?” I was puzzled again.

“The könig gave me the order,” Flosy explained innocently. “He said that you’re my jarl now, and so that’s the way it is. What’s there to think about?”

These people are crazy!

“And what about the holmgang?”

“It’s simple. They’ll bring the firewood here, douse it with oil, and lay it out in a circle. Then Gunnar and Torsfel will jump in, but only one will walk out alive. Easy as that.”

It really was simple and straightforward.

“And if Torsfel is the one who walks out alive?” I looked over at the future duelists dubiously.

“Usually, he’d be free to go, and no one would dare to stop him,” Flosy said idly. “But now, as far as I know, our Gunther is supposed to fight him. The Crooked didn’t contest that when the oath was made, so now he can’t refuse. But if he kills Gunther, too, then he’ll definitely be free to go.”

“Jarl,” someone said. I felt a hand laid lightly on my shoulder and turned to see Gunnar standing there. He motioned with his head for me to step off to the side.

“I overheard your conversation with the woman who took your share of the loot, and I didn’t like what happened. I don’t know what happened between you, and I’m certainly no expert when it comes to women, but I do know one thing—she may not be your enemy, but she’s certainly not your friend. You did something she feels like she has to get back at you for. Women and their revenge are all I’m afraid of in this life, so watch your back, Jarl, watch your back.”

I sighed. He didn’t need to tell me that.

“And one more thing,” he continued. “I don’t think it would be right or fair for you to go without anything to remember today and today’s battle by. Please take this gift from me. I’d like you to have it. I’m not sure why, but I think it’ll come in handy.”

He took my hand and placed a small square in it, gave me a light punch in the chest, and turned to walk back to the circle the hirdmen were dousing with wineskins full of oil.

“Gunnar, wait!” I called after him. “Please accept a gift from me, as well. I think you’ll find more use for this dagger than I will.”

I handed him the “Endinardian trophy” I’d had lying around in my pack. That was all I could think of to give him.

“This is good steel.” The jarl pulled the dagger out of its sheath and dragged a fingernail along its blade. “Thank you.”

“Good luck,” I replied from the bottom of my heart.

“And good luck to you.”

I checked to see what the brave and quiet warrior had given me.

Jera Rune

One of a set of runes the gods are said to have created in ancient times.

As long as the rune is in the player’s inventory, the player is 6% more likely to successfully complete what they start and enjoy +4 luck in everything they do.

Check the appropriate table to see the bonuses this rune gives when combined with other runes.

Class limitation: none

Minimum level for use: 45

The day was coming to a close, but the sun gamely held its ground. Still, I could tell that the trees would soon be sprouting long shadows.

“Well, Gunnar, is it about time for me to send you off to see your little woman? She’s spent enough time waiting for you.”

Torsfel, the Crooked, naked to the waist, was showing off a body crisscrossed with scars and bulging with muscles. The enormous ax he held was tossed lightly from hand to hand, and he grinned unpleasantly as Gunnar stepped into the circle.

“I think she’ll be happy to learn that my weapon sent you to the underworld,” Gunnar replied as quietly as ever.

He was naked above the belt as well and looked like a wimpy nerd next to the class bully as he stood across from the hairy giant.

But, he really wasn’t that wimpy; his graceful movements betrayed a skilled and experienced warrior, and steel muscles rippled under his skin. The ax he held wasn’t much smaller than Torsfel’s, and it didn’t look to be heavy for him at all.

“Oh, God, what a man! He could give me twins, and I’d be happy,” Ulfrida gasped.

I looked over to see her bountiful chest shaking under her dress. Her pupils were dilated, her nostrils were flared, and I could see how much she was enjoying the show. Valkyrie, what can you do? How does old Harald possibly manage her?

The brushwood flared, and the warriors began to circle, watching each other warily. Torsfel was the first to break. He rushed at Gunnar with a wild shout, trying to sink the spike on the tip of his formidable weapon into his opponent. The jarl didn’t have much trouble dodging the attempt before a sweep of his ax missed his attacker, as well.

It was clear the battle would last only until the first successful strike. Those were no simple swords in there, and landing a hit with one of their ax blades would mean severing a body part.

The two warriors sized each other up. They bobbed, weaved, tried to counterattack, and didn’t give each other the slightest opening. Gunnar lopped off part of Torsfel’s beard, and it was only Gunnar’s agility that saved his leg from Torsfel’s ax.

“Whoever tires first is going to lose,” Flosy noted calmly from where he was standing next to me.

He’s probably right, although neither of them is showing any signs of—

Iron scraped on bone as Torsfel found himself split in two. One part, which included a section of his chest, his stomach, and a leg went on standing in the middle of the fire circle, while the other collapsed on the earth.

“Tiura!” Gunnar shouted, raising his ax to the sky. “I fulfilled my oath! I fulfilled it!”

A din broke out so loudly that I instinctively grabbed my sword. Looking around, I saw that the hirdmen had pulled out their weapons and were beating their hilts against their shields.

“Vapnatak,” Flosy explained. I nodded. The word wasn’t one I was familiar with, but I understood what was going on.

Elina was the first to leave, having nodded to me from the other side of the circle without suggesting that I come back to the clan fortress. She apparently figured that I was too busy finishing up my quests. And she has another think coming if she thinks I’ll ever…

Hrolf and Froky sailed off next, after promising me a discount if I were ever to need their services again.

Gunnar sat on the ground wrapped in his cloak. He looked at Ulfrida in surprise as she tried to get him to visit the könig’s palace.

“Plus, you killed Torsfel. It doesn’t matter that those ones over there saved me; you stood up for my honor! My father would be happy to receive you, and he’ll have a reward for such a brave hero.”

Gunnar listened to Ulfrida and nodded as she talked, but his thoughts were obviously somewhere far away. Up there in the clouds, I assumed, next to his wife and children.

I decided to save the jarl. “Ulfrida, we have to go. The könig’s waiting. We’ve been here too long as it is.”

“Absolutely right,” confirmed Sven, who was happily dropping gold into his pocket. The jarls had given him a nice finder’s fee for bringing them to me.

Ulfrida pursed her lips and glared at us angrily, but she didn’t put up a fight.

I held out my hand to Gunnar. “Goodbye, jarl. It was a good battle.”

Gunnar got up and shook my hand before pulling me in for a hug. “We’ll see each other again.”

Then he said something to Gunther I didn’t understand at all.

“I think if we have the chance, we need to shake hands under the strip of earth.”

***

Nothing had changed in the palace. The same Northerners were standing guard, and the corridors were just as quiet and empty.

As we walked toward the throne room, I heard Gunther ask Flosy, “Hey, what did Gunnar mean?”

“He wants you to become brothers,” Flosy replied with respect. “We do that by standing above the strip of earth next to the sea, cutting open our palms, and mixing our blood. But you only do it with someone you trust no less than you trust yourself.”

Gunther lost himself in thought and didn’t have anything else to say.

We got to the door leading to the throne room, where I stopped our group.

“Flosy, sneak a peek and see if Ingvar is in there.”

Flosy eased the door open a crack and glanced in. “He’s there. The könig is signing some papers.”

“Perfect.” I pulled out the Wild Hunt horn.

Chapter Twenty-Two

In which quite a few things fall into place.

Ulfrida threw up her arms. “So are we going in? My father’s probably tired of waiting, and we need to see if Ingvar can explain what’s going on.”

“That’s exactly why we’re going to hang on just a couple minutes,” I explained. “We’re going to surprise him within an inch of his life.”

I glanced back at everyone else and had a warning for them. “Don’t be scared of what’s about to happen, okay? Gunther, that goes especially for you—this isn’t black magic. Everything’s okay, all within the rules.”

“What are you talking about, Laird Hagen?” the knight asked, puzzled.

“You’re about to see.”

I held the horn to my lips and blew into it, although I made sure not to be loud enough to attract the guards.

“I don’t need all of you,” I announced to no one in particular. “Just Skeggy, an archer, and a swordsman. Oh, and without your horses—there isn’t much room here.”

Not far from where we were standing, a small mound of snow appeared on the ground. It was soon followed by a second and then a third. The mounds grew until half a minute later, they’d taken on human form. The snow covering fell away to reveal Skald Skeggy, wordless Gudrun with her bow on her shoulder, and another einherjar named Orm.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” Skeggy exclaimed amiably, waving to us as he did. The other two nodded silently.

My companions were also silent. Gunther was obviously trying to figure out whether what had happened really was dark magic; Ulfrida was licking her lips as she fixed her gaze on Orm; Flosy was just blinking; and Sven… Well, Sven, like the true Sea King he was, couldn’t care less about anything that didn’t involve money or beer.

“Hi, Skeggy,” I said, stepping toward the skald. “There isn’t any sun here, so I assume you can stay longer than ten minutes.”

“Of course,” the einherjar responded. “Are these your friends?”

I introduced everyone standing next to me.

“You forgot to mention that one. And why isn’t he visible?” Skeggy jabbed a finger at an empty area next to the stairwell. “Ha, looks like he’s about to take off.”

“Flosy!” I shouted quietly just as the toilet worker swept his ax along the floor. Someone tripped over it and went crashing down the stairs.

A scout! It had to be, and I was pretty sure who’d sent him. He must have been pretty good, too, to spend so much time stealthily following us.

“Gunther, Orm, grab him,” I snapped. “Skeggy, tell them where to go!”

Skeggy’s help turned out not to be needed, as the fall down the stairs cut the stealth ability short. In front of us stood a Level 97 scout named Hopkins. Just as I thought; a Thunderbird.

Gunther and Orm brought him over to me.

“Didn’t work,” Hopkins said with a smile. “Nice friend you have there, sees through everything.”

“My friends are all special,” I answered, matching his tone. “Something unique about all of them. What are you doing here, though? You decided to see what’s going on in the könig’s palace?”

“Yup.” The smile spread even wider, engulfing his face. “I’ve been trying to come for a while now, and I just haven’t had the time. But what a small world! No sooner did I get here than I saw you. Great, no?”

“You’re telling me!” I exclaimed happily. “I’m just not sure if you’re aware that strangers aren’t allowed in here.”

“Oh, come on, we’re clan mates,” Hopkins replied, acting ashamed. “I got in by accident…”

Skeggy laughed.

“What’s he going on about?” asked Hopkins.

“Oh, he’s just surprised how you can pull off a string of lies like that without a single word of truth,” I explained.

Hopkins realized that his ploy hadn’t worked, so he changed tack. “Okay, fine, you got me. What now? We’re clan mates, so you can’t touch me.”

“I can’t,” I agreed. “And I definitely won’t touch you. Has Elina told you anything about me?”

“No,” he responded darkly.

“That’s a shame. If she had, she could have mentioned what a nasty temperament I have. Sven, call the guards.”

“You’re going to turn me over to the guards?” Hopkins’ eyes bugged out of his head. “Ha, you scared me for a second!”

“Brave little guy you are,” I responded with a laugh. “Okay, just remember what I want you to tell Elina, ‘Well-played, and now it’s my move.’”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his facial expression absent even the pretense of confusion.

“You don’t have to. You’re going to have other problems, anyway. Ah, there they are.”

Sven walked up with two brutish-looking Sea Kings.

“Gentlemen, here’s the spy we caught.” I pushed Hopkins toward them. “He may be a thief, too, but you can figure that out yourselves.”

Hopkins' face paled as the guards’ hands gripped his elbows.

“Thanks!” barked one of them. “We’ll be off to see what’s what then. There’s a nice little tool we have to make people like you talk.”

“Hagen, are you kidding me?” squealed Hopkins. “What are you trying to do?”

“Stay on the right side of the law, that’s all,” I replied with a shrug. “What else can I do?”

“Let that thief have it!” Ulfrida said, snapping out of her trance. “How dare he come trying to steal from us!”

“Hagen, you bitch!” I heard from the stairs. “I won’t forget this!”

“To each his own!” I yelled back.

That taken care of, I glanced over our little group and barked out a few orders, “Sven, Gunther, you make sure the könig is safe. Orm, if anything happens, keep an eye on our Ulfrida here. Gudrun, your job is to do whatever the situation requires. Flosy, cover my back. Nobody talks besides me. Everything make sense?”

“What are we supposed to keep the könig safe from?” asked Gunther.

“You’ll see. If I’m right, we’re about to have a problem on our hands,” I replied, squinting my left eye. “Any other questions? No? All right, then let’s go in.”

Lucky the doors were thicker than I first imagined, I breathed a sigh of relief when they creaked open, and Ulfrida burst into the room with a happy shriek. She may not have had any easy life, but he was still her father, and he seemed to have heard nothing of what happened moments before.

Sentimental Gunther nearly broke down in tears as he watched the pair embrace, while I kept a close eye on Ingvar. He stood near the throne, and I didn’t see a single emotion cross his face.

“My baby girl! You’re alive!” the könig choked out, his arms around Ulfrida. “And here I thought you were gone forever.”

“Yeah, right, father.” Ulfrida laughed. “You can’t get rid of me that easily!”

“Beautiful,” Gunther whispered to me. “What a beautiful relationship.”

“Yup,” I responded with a smile. “So, könig, is my service complete?”

He pulled himself away from his daughter and came over to me.

“Indeed, it is.”

You completed a quest: Liberate the König’s Daughter

Reward:

1500 experience

+10 respect among the peoples of the North

Gebo Rune

“And now it’s time for your just desserts,” the könig announced ceremoniously.

Reward for completing the Missing Daughter series of quests:

5000 experience

3000 gold

+30 respect among the peoples of the North

Two random items from the König of the North’s personal armory matching your class

Title: Friend of the König

“Let’s go,” the könig beckoned.

“Go where?”

“Where we’re supposed to go. You’re going to argue with me?” The könig tugged on his beard.

“Gunther, remember, Ingvar can’t leave the room,” I quickly whispered to my friend. He immediately went over to the door.

The könig took me out of the hall through a side exit and led me down one winding corridor after another until we got to a small room with an iron door.

“My personal armory,” he explained. “I don’t let anyone in here, and I don’t give anyone anything from here. You won’t be coming in either, no offense, but I will give you something. You’re quite the guy!”

The könig sniffed, fiddled with the locks, went in, and closed the door behind him.

While I had some time, I decided to see if my calculations were correct. Did I have the reputation I needed for my plan to work? Unfortunately, it wasn’t as high as I would have liked. Sure, 130 points in a couple weeks wasn’t bad at all, and the bonus I got from the order would help, but… Gunther’s credibility will help, and the situation should play out without my help. If I have everything right, of course.

“Here, take these.” The könig popped out of the armory covered in dust. “I want you to have them. They’re the stuff dreams are made of!”

I found myself holding a shield prominently featuring a spider web and some dirty boots. It certainly looked like the könig had just gone digging in a back corner until he found whatever he didn’t think he needed. Nicely played, my friend.

We headed back toward the main hall.

“Ah, now we can have a drink,” the könig said happily, rubbing his hands together. “And then we can—”

“Hold on a second,” I cut in. “You still haven’t heard who gave the order to kidnap your daughter.”

“Who was it?” the könig muttered in frustration. “Enemies, of course!”

“Agreed,” I replied. “And that’s just the half of it.”

The könig fell silent and appeared to be thinking about something.

We walked into the hall to see Ingvar standing by the window. Flosy had joined Gunther by the door.

“Did Ingvar try to leave, by any chance?” I asked innocently.

Gunther confirmed my suspicions. “Yes, he wanted to. He said he had things to do that couldn’t wait.”

“You’re leaving already, Ingvar?” I asked the könig’s confidant reproachfully. “We still have more questions to ask, and I want to start with the most important one. König, would you mind if I asked your assistant just a few tiny things?”

“I wouldn’t think Ingvar could help you with everything that’s going on.” Harald stroked his beard. “He’s been gone.”

“Maybe there will be something.” I pointed at my troops, letting them know that it was time to assume their positions. Gunther moved toward the könig, while Orm covered a seated Ulfrida with his body.

“Let’s begin with something simple. Where’s Ingvar’s body?” I asked softly, looking at the person standing by the window. “Buried in the basement of his house or somewhere in the Iron Forest?”

“What’s going on, Harald?” Ingvar said indignantly. “This is a disgrace!”

The könig looked at me in confusion, but just then, Skeggy grinned and joined the conversation.

“Oh, come on, witch. You know who I am, so what’s the point?”

“Why couldn’t all you henchmen of the god have left with him? Things would be so much easier.” Ingvar’s voice took on the querulous tone of an old woman. In other words, it wasn’t Ingvar.

In front of us stood an old crone dressed in some rags.

“Gedran!” screeched Ulfrida, who Orm quickly shielded again.

The könig spun to one side, grabbing an ax of the wall (he was fast—I didn’t even notice the movement) and brandishing it in front of him. Sven and Gunther, swords at the ready, stood on either side of him. Flosy took a step toward the door, pulled out his ax, and looked at me.

Only the einherjar and the valkyrie remained unfazed by the witch.

I couldn’t help but note that I felt more surprise than fear—I recognized the old woman. She’d first crossed paths with me back when I was walking along the yellow-brick road in the direction of Fladridge. Her name then was Gerda, and she asked me to carry her bundle of sticks. Ah-ha! Gerda, Gedran. I wonder what they call her in the East. Gulchatai?

“Well, warrior, didn’t I tell you that we’d meet again?” Gedran was obviously enjoying the situation.

“Here we are. What now?” I grunted. “I’m still not carrying your firewood for you.”

“Who cares about that anymore? You have a lot more to answer for. You killed my sister, didn’t you? You even had that iron fool with you. Don’t worry, I’ll get to you,” she continued, pointing at Gunther. “And you killed the Landlord, too. Do you have any idea how long it took me to summon him from the land of shadows? And here, you ruined everything for me. You’re going to die a slow, painful death, warrior…”

“Oh, come on, old lady, you can’t scare me with all that,” I replied calmly. “You have enough to worry about just getting out of here in one piece.”

“Who’s going to stop me?” The witch chortled. “You?”

“Why not?” I got up, figuring there was no avoiding a fight. “My steel is as good as anyone’s, no?”

“I don’t have time to prove how wrong you are there. Too busy. But I think you’ll see for yourself soon, here in this hall.” She started toward the window. “Only then, I’ll be sitting on that throne, and you’ll be on your knees in front of me. In chains!”

“Where’s Ingvar, you old witch?” roared the könig. He was clearly afraid of her, but he still wanted to know what happened to his advisor.

“Oh, the beasts in my forest have long since shredded your Ingvar’s bones.” The witch laughed.

“As I thought,” I said to the könig. “She killed him.”

He frowned, the light of anger and battle kindling in his eyes.

It was time for the finishing stroke.

“Gedran, what makes you think the Great Fomor will just give you the Holfstrig throne? Why wouldn’t he just take it himself?”

“Why?” the old hag hissed. “Because we signed an agreement even an ancient evil like him wouldn’t break! I know what to write in those things, so there’s no getting out of it. Oh, you’re going to answer for all this!”

“My throne!” Harald roared like a wounded bear. “I’m going to—”

“And I’ll have you castrated, you animal,” Gedran responded, pointing at the könig. Then she pulled a broomstick out of a hiding place under the windowsill. She had apparently made it for just such an occasion. She whistled shrilly and took off out the window.

“She’s getting away!” I bellowed, hurling myself at the window.

A second later, she’d picked up speed and was already crossing the city walls, soon to be just a small dot on the horizon.

A bowstring twanged next to my ear. Gudrun implacably relaxed her grip on her bow.

The broomstick-riding old woman dipped suddenly before spiraling down to the ground.

“Yes!” I yelled happily. “A hit!”

“You can’t kill her,” Gudrun said evenly. “I just took out her broomstick.”

It was true. No sooner had she hit the ground than a chariot hitched to nearly indistinguishable goats took off in the distance. Old Gedran shook her fist at us as she shot off.

“The old witch got away, like always,” Skeggy said. “Well, Jarl, will you be needing us anymore?”

“No, that’s it. Thank you.” I shook his hand. “We would have been in trouble if it weren’t for you. I don’t think we would have made it.”

“Then see you later, everyone.” Skeggy waved, and three mounds of snow melted into the floor.

“You have quite the interesting friends, Hagen,” Gunther said, shaking his head and sheathing his sword. “That crook was right.”

“For sure,” I agreed. “A knight, a toilet worker, a pirate, a könig, einherjar, and valkyrie. Plus, a vila fiancée.”

“Wait, really?” Sven made a face. “Of your own free will?”

“Yep.” I smiled crookedly.

“Well, you’re an idiot!”

Yes, I’m aware of that, thank you very much.

The könig went back to the table and attached himself to the mug sitting on it. A quiet Ulfrida watched her father’s Adam’s apple rise and fall with a scared look on her face.

“What was that she said about the throne?” barked the könig, wiping his mouth.

“Just that.” My key moment had arrived. “She’s going to send you to see your ancestors, seize your throne, sit down under the horns, and be done with it. That’s her deal with Fomor.”

“What does Fomor have to do with anything?” The könig scratched his chin. “He’s way off there in his ice. What does he need here?”

“He was sitting in his ice, yes,” I replied. “But now his plan is to gain control of the entire North. Everything that’s been happening in your lands the past few months, könig, has been part of one long chain. It’s a plot to take power.”

“You wrapped that up nicely, Jarl!” Flosy clucked approvingly. “Do you mind if I run off for a minute?”

I waved, and he disappeared.

“What long chain? What’s he talking about?” The könig looked toward Gunther, Sven, and Ulfrida in the hope that I was off my rocker, though from their faces he could tell they agreed with me.

“Talk.” He sighed heavily and plopped down on the bench.

“What’s there to say?” I shrugged. “It’s all pretty simple. Fomor and Gedran made a deal, probably a long time ago, built on their mutual distaste for humans. With the deal in place, they’ve each been working on their side of things—Fomor is building an army, Gedran handles the espionage and diversionary tactics.”

“Okay, stop with all your…diservonary… I can’t tell if you’re cursing them or me,” the könig said.

“Fine. They killed Ingvar, and then used his identity to take out all the rixes to make sure there wouldn’t be anyone to lead a militia. The rixes may not have liked you, but they always fulfilled their vassal oaths. And then, just to make sure, they took your daughter. She’s your flesh and blood, and you’d have thought twice before going to war.”

“What would they have done to stop me?” the könig asked gloomily.

“They’d have sent you one of her fingers, maybe an ear,” replied Sven. “The usual. And if that didn’t help, you’d have gotten her head in the mail.”

“That does it. As soon as all this is cleared up, you’re getting married. Let someone else worry about you,” the könig informed his daughter in a voice that didn’t brook disagreement. “What then?”

“Next?” I sat down on the windowsill. “That probably would have been it. Maybe there would have been some other tricks, something like sending your troops out for field training or releasing rats to eat the city’s supply of grain. But that’s the gist of it.”

The könig sat for a while, lost in thought, before starting and looking at us. “So what now?”

“What now?” I replied casually. “See what other machinations they have in store for you. They won’t give up that easy. They need your throne. Maybe poison, a hired assassin, a sudden fire…there are plenty of options.”

“Great.” The könig glared at me. “So, I’m supposed to sit here and wait to die.”

He dropped his head into his hands.

“Ingvar, Ingvar. How could this happen?”

You completed a quest: Speaking Truth to Power

Reward:

1200 experience

+7 respect among the peoples of the North

The next quest in the series

Gunther stepped forward. “König, may I say something?”

“Please do,” muttered the könig.

“I’m just a simple knight, a soldier, and I don’t know much about all these plots and intrigues, but I do know one thing—if there’s a danger lurking out there, it’s better to meet it head on than sit at home waiting for it to come to you. It might be a good idea to summon the militia, wave your purse around, and hire the Sea Kings. I’ve seen what they can do. Our order will also give you men, I can tell you that right now. In other words, I think we should gather our forces and drive that ulcer out of the Ice Wall.”

The könig grunted. “You think I have a choice? Hagen is right. Next time, I’m going to get a dagger in a back corridor at night, or maybe they’ll cut off my toilet seat, and I’ll drown in crap. Here, Laird, by the way… I don’t know what’s gotten into me today, but I’ve given you more than I give some girls.”

The könig tossed me a ring, apparently the variable reward for the quest. Why hasn’t Gunther given me anything, the stingy bastard?

“No, könig, you don’t have to worry about your toilet; everything’s working fine there.” A pair walked into the hall: Flosy and his newfound aroma. Oh, God, where’s the drakkar?

“So, we’re going after Fomor?” I clarified, wanting to make sure my plan had worked.

“Yes. Are you coming with us?” The könig looked at me.

“Where else would I go?”

“Excellent!” Gunther exclaimed happily. “Our adventures continue!”

You have a new quest offer: A Free North

This is the fourth in the Secrets of the North series of quests.

Task: Defeat an ancient evil of the North.

Additional task: The Great Fomor has to die.

Reward:

2000 experience

+20 respect among the peoples of the North

Reward from the order: random elite item

Reward from the könig: random ability

Well, aren’t we lucky?

“Okay, so what other forces can we gather?” I asked the könig.

“There’s no one to gather; they’re all out in the field. I’ll send a messenger.” The könig looked darker than a storm cloud. “And you’re looking at our war council.”

“I’m coming, too, right?” Flosy’s voice coming from the corner was already a bit slurred, and it was interrupted by a gurgling liquid. He’d apparently found his way to the könig’s wine cellars.

“You mean nobody’s killed him yet?” The könig looked at me reproachfully.

I shrugged, unwilling to grace that with a reply.

“Okay, so what are our numbers like?” The könig scratched the back of his head.

“The order can contribute fifty knights and maybe three dozen archers. I’ll be coming, too, of course,” Gunther added quickly.

“There’s me and Flosy.” I waved.

“It’s just a question of the price,” Sven said, his biceps flexing. “But there’s no getting around this—you have to take Fomor’s ships out, or you’ll get hit in the flank sooner or later. I think you can hire 400 or 500 of us without a problem. You’ll even get a wholesale discount. I’ll answer for that.”

“Discounts are good,” the könig replied, pondering something. “So, we have 800, with the same amount in the burgs. They’re hunters, the militia, and everyone else, and I can find another 200 here in the city. But I’ll need two or three days. In total, we have a bit more than 2,000 men.”

“Fomor has about the same,” noted Sven.

“How close is ‘about’?” Harald squinted.

“A couple thousand around the fortress, 100 guards inside, and five ships,” I replied, showing off what I knew.

“Don’t forget old Gedran, damn her,” the corner added.

“So, we have a small advantage,” summed up the könig. “So long as we get everyone off the Sea Kings’ ships onto the shore fast enough. You can hire seven jarls, Sven?”

“Easily. We Sea Kings have been dreaming of taking Fomor out—he doesn’t let us get close to the other side of the bay.” Sven’s face twisted into a nasty smile. “There’s nobody there to rob, of course, but it’s a matter of principle.”

“Understood. Just say how much it will cost, and the treasurer will take care of you,” the könig replied busily, before turning to me. “Hagen, I saw who you came with—servants of one of the Departed Gods, part of the Wild Hunt. I won’t ask how you met them, but I do need to know one thing—are they with us? Each of them is worth twenty warriors, and maybe even more.”

“They’re with us,” I nodded. “But only after we get inside the fortress, since they don’t fight in the sun. And there’s no point in us heading up there at night.”

“Maybe you can bring your other friends?” asked Gunther. “The ones who helped us free the prinzessin?”

“No,” I said sharply. “They’re too much of a hassle, and they’ll only be there to take care of themselves. König, unless you’re looking for chaos, keep the outsiders to a minimum.”

All I needed was a bunch of players ready to write about everything on the forums. Sure, word would leak eventually, and I still hadn’t gotten a chance to lead an army, but it wasn’t worth it. I knew what I was doing.

The könig nodded. “Good. So, it’ll take us a day to walk from Kayger, the closest point to the Ice Wall. Let’s gather the militia and march with the whole army from there. Sven, have the jarls meet us there in their ships. I think everyone will be there in four days, and we can set off then.”

So the grand marshaling will be on Thursday, and the battle will be on Friday. Excellent.

“That’s it then. If everything’s clear, let’s get to work.” The könig clapped. “Send me the couriers!”

Ulfrida jumped up and dashed into the corridor. Democracy in action.

“König, I’ll meet you in Kayger,” I said to Harald, who answered with a curt nod.

The bustle I’d set in motion was taking over the palace, and I had no interest in the rest of the process.

***

Back at the hotel, I decided to see what the könig had given me. In keeping with tradition, they were rare and pointless items, and even just for Level 40. The ring, on the other hand, was much better.

Frost Ring

+14 to strength

+12 to agility

+7% protection from cold

+5% chance of doing cold damage

+10% chance of stealing 200 health from attackers

Durability: 230/250

Minimum level for use: 50

I just happened to have a free finger, so I slipped the ring onto it, distributed my attribute points, and checked out the rune that had suddenly appeared in my bag when I completed the quest.

Gebo Rune

One of a set of runes the gods are said to have created in ancient times.

As long as the rune is in the player’s inventory, the player gets +7% physical protection when playing alone and another +3 to luck when playing in a group.

Check the appropriate table to see the bonuses this rune gives when combined with other runes.

Class limitation: none

Minimum level for use: 45

That made three runes I had. Things were moving along slowly, but the day had turned out pretty well. All right, some of us have forces to gather; others have a pie waiting for them. And pelmeni. And, if I’m lucky, I’ll even get some compote. Everyone knows the key to a happy life is plenty of compote.

Chapter Twenty-Three

In which events tend to resemble more of a kaleidoscope.

That morning, I surprised Vika by jumping up and heading out for a smoke on the balcony, rather than my usual mumbled have a good day and rolling over to go back to sleep. She looked at me askance, wondering what it was that had me more productive than usual.

“Why are you up?” she asked, her voice betraying a note of apprehensive uncertainty, as she poked her head out onto the balcony.

“Oh, I’m coming with you to the office today,” I announced, tickled pink to watch a calloused plastic hand scoop my cigarette butt into the waiting toilet. Such a cool ashtray. What will they come up with next? I’d completely given up tossing the butts over the balcony railing, something the gentleman who always sat outside reading a paper could only have been happy about.

“But it’s Monday…?” I got a kick out of her question, as if going to work on a Monday made me some kind of bizarre phenomenon.

“Yes, it is. Everyone else is going to work, and I’m joining them. I’m part of society, aren’t I?”

Vika got back to doing everything a young woman getting ready for work has to do. She put her makeup on, got dressed and undressed a few times, told me “just a second,” looked for and pulled something out of her purse, put something in her purse, slapped her forehead with an “a-a-ah, of course!” and just did her best to get everything done at once—including, I had to imagine, achieving world peace.

In the meantime, I did what a man heading to work with his woman is supposed to do. I signed an agreement to be patient and keep my mouth shut, after which I sat back and silently watched the goings-on.

After the third “one more minute,” we walked out and headed for the parking garage.

***

There was something about all the movement we spotted before we even got close that unsettled me. I’m not sure why, but police cars never give me a good feeling. Doing my best to rid myself of my foreboding, I hurried onward.

“There he is! That’s the owner!” yelled one of the guards to a young police sergeant. The former jabbed a finger at me as soon as we got close to the parking garage.

“He’s lying!” I quickly shot back. “I don’t own even a part of the garage.”

“Who said anything about the garage? Sergeant Bobkov, sixth platoon, traffic police,” the officer said wearily. “A Chevrolet Impala, license plate number—”

“Stolen…” I sighed, my fears realized. “Right?”

The stubborn sergeant finished reading off the license plate number before nodding.

“Damn it, what’s with me and American cars?” I pounded my legs with my fists.

“What, you’ve had which other cars stolen?” the sergeant asked reasonably, if less than coherently.

“This is the first one I’ve had stolen; the car I had before the Army just died,” I explained.

The sergeant relaxed after hearing that I’d served and went back to telling me what happened. It turned out that a gang had tied up all three guards, opened the gate, and driven off in my car, obviously in a planned and ordered heist. There were no leads on who they might have been.

“Of course there aren’t. Nobody has anything today. You have no leads, I have no car. And things are going to be great for the garage when I destroy you idiots,” I said, starting to yell at one of the guards. “Do you have any idea how much that thing cost?”

“They just about killed us over your car!” he screamed back. “You had to go and buy yourself a rare car like that. Where do you people even get the money?”

I spat, asked for the garage owner’s number, promised the sergeant I’d be available if he needed me, gave him my number, asked him to give it to the investigator in charge of the case, and turned to Vika.

“All right, let’s go, sweetie. It’s the wonderful world of public transportation for us today.”

Vika perked up when I called her “sweetie,” and spent the whole trip trying to convince me not to be upset. What’s gone is gone, and we can save up for a new car. We make good money now, right? That “we” told me that she was getting her feet under her, had drawn some serious conclusions for herself, and figured I was family-making material. All I had to decide was if I wanted that… I didn’t have to worry about her cheating on me for a year or two, she was a good cook, and she had a head on her shoulders. That last thing, I couldn’t help but note, could have been considered both an active and a passive ability. Just like youth, which, as we all know, fades with time.

Losing the car obviously sank me into a foul mood, and the nervous glances of my team, busy thinking up a thousand reasons why I might have shown up at work, didn’t help. Everything from mass layoffs to figuring out who spilled coffee on the common table ran through their minds—that much I could tell.

Vika shushed them and told them not to bother me, at which point the boys all got to work at their desks. I was about to head for my office when my phone rang.

“Morning, Kif. You were incredible yesterday!” Zimin was bright, chipper, and overflowing with optimism.

“Morning. I did my best,” I replied, though Zimin saw through my futile efforts to match his enthusiasm.

“What happened this time?” he asked quickly.

“My car was stolen, the one you gave me. Right from the parking garage.”

“Okay,” he said, drawing out the word. “Where are you now? At home or at the police station?”

“At the office,” I said with restrained pride. It’s been a tough day, and I’m still here bearing my cross.

“On a Monday?” Zimin asked, surprised. “Although, yeah, there isn’t much for you to do in the game. I’m going to hang up, but I’ll call back soon.”

I felt a little better. Maybe they’ll be able to do something…

“Okay, you rug rats, what’s it so quiet in here for?” I glanced around the office. “Tell the old man what you have for this week’s issue.”

My phone rang again ten minutes later, after I’d had the chance to hear the latest news. We had already found some volunteer reporters among the players, and they were sending their thoughts on the game to the paper’s email address. One of them, a player named Old Dervish, had a particular knack for the job, and his story about a brig called the Nostodomus had us all in tears.

“Hi, Harriton. This is the head of security at Raidion. My name is Ilya Azov.” The voice on the other end of the line was business-like and likable. “We haven’t met yet, though you do know some of my men. And it’s a shame we have to meet like this—there was too much to do at Maxim’s dacha for me to introduce myself.”

“Yes, good afternoon. Well, sort of. This morning—”

“I’m aware,” Azov cut in. “Do you know who’s in charge of the case?”

“How would I?” I chuckled mirthlessly. “Some Sergeant Bobkov took my statement, from the sixth traffic police platoon.”

“Got it.” Something rustled, and I assumed Azov was writing down the sergeant’s name. “Also, give me the address of the parking garage. You don’t have the owner’s phone number, do you? Ah, that’s great. Don’t worry, we’ll find your car.”

“As long as they didn’t already drive it off to some country with long toasts and tangerines,” I replied, sharing my dour misgivings.

“They can take it off somewhere they make their own cigars and drink daiquiris for all I care; we’ll still find it. Anyway, I’ll keep you in the loop. Write down my phone number, and don’t be afraid to call me if anything happens.”

I actually believed him. I’m not sure why, but I felt better immediately. Zimin could tell when he called me.

“I see the blues are in the rearview mirror?”

“Something like that,” I agreed. “If anyone can find the car, I’ll bet it’s that Azov.”

“Yes, that’s the kind of guy he is. Just don’t ask him where he worked before he came here,” Zimin said half ominously and half-jokingly.

“What if I do?” I replied, playing along.

“Then he’ll have to kill you!” Zimin laughed. “Although to be fair, he may have to do that regardless.”

I laughed to fit in, but that was an odd joke…

“All right,” Zimin continued when he calmed down. “Yesterday was incredible. We even brought on dusk a little earlier than usual—it’s just a shame we couldn’t make it completely dark. Still, that holmgang was something! We didn’t even know it was in the code—Kit spent half the night afterward digging around.”

“You were just watching; I was there when Gunnar split the Crooked in two. It looked incredibly natural. I hope Marina wasn’t too scared?”

Vika was eavesdropping not far away, and she scowled when she heard Vezhleva’s name. What did you think? While you sleep, the enemy is working.

“Marina? It wouldn’t scare her if an atom bomb went off in the next building. She likes you, by the way—I’m telling you that man to man.”

“I like her, too.” I winked at Vika.

“Oh, and one more thing; a guy is going to be stopping by today with your money.”

“What money?”

“Paper money, what other kind is there?” Zimin snorted. “If we were in Australia, we’d put it on your card, but this is the best we can do here.”

“Um-m-m…” I still had no idea what money we were talking about.

“Your share,” he explained with a sigh. “We were all betting on you yesterday, some for, some against. Kit, Marina, Bob—you don’t know him—Danilov—the one you saw at my dacha—and I won. Azov bet on you, too, didn’t even give it a second thought. Nine other people didn’t think you could do it, so they bet against you.”

“Their loss,” I replied, throwing in my two cents.

“Agreed. So, we earned a little money, and decided it would be fair to give you 25% of the proceeds.”

“Perfect timing,” I replied, seeing no reason to be coy. “I’ll go buy some kind of car, really anything I can drive.”

“What are you talking about?” Zimin shot back with surprise. “Why would you buy something when we have a whole fleet of cars? Just call and ask for one, and it’ll pick you up and drop you off wherever you want. You can even use them to send your girlfriend wherever she wants—to the mall, the spa…”

“No, I don’t like that kind of thing. And by the time she gets back… But, more importantly, it’s official, and you know how that goes… It’s not mine.”

“Got it,” Zimin said sympathetically. “Hey, you won’t let all your principles get in the way, will you?”

“What do you mean?” I really had no idea what he was talking about.

“Let me buy you an everyday car, something more modest, and you can be done with it. We can put your Impala in our garage when Azov finds it, that way you can pick it up whenever you want to show it off. Nobody will steal it there—I can guarantee that.”

“No, no principles there,” I said happily. “That would be great.”

“Excellent. Then I’ll send the same guy over as last time, and he’ll get you a car.”

“A—” I was about to say something when Zimin interrupted me.

“No, no, this is from me. I like giving my friends presents. Oh, by the way, if the police call about your car, refer them to Azov. He gave you his number, right?”

“Yep.”

“Then we have a plan.” He hung up.

“What was that about?” Vika asked, walking over. “What’s up?”

“Oh, everything’s fine,” I replied with a smile. “The boss said they’re going to find my old car and even buy me a new one today. This time, something that I can drive around in.”

Vika frowned slightly. Buying something together would have brought us closer, while manna from heaven like that was more likely to drive us apart. I had to put an end to her line of thinking—thoughts like that have to be nipped in the bud. Who knows what she’ll dream up this time?

“Vika, come on.” I took her by the hand. “If we didn’t break up after the other day, I don’t think we’re going to be breaking up. Well, not unless you find someone younger and richer.”

“You idiot!” She playfully punched me in the stomach. “I want to marry you, and that’s not a joke. I’m done joking.”

Her eyes were dead serious as she expectantly waited for my response. I had to be equally serious, seeing as how it couldn’t have been easy for her to say that. By all rights, I was supposed to be the one saying it. The wrong answer could ruin things for us.

“We can think about that—I don’t see why not. Let me just take care of a few things, and we’ll come back to this later, okay? And one other thing, don’t call me an idiot again. I prefer ‘fool.’”

I couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t ask about Vezhleva. Still, her proposal was worth thinking about. It wasn’t the time right then, of course, but closer to the next summer was a possibility. I also needed to meet her sister, since it wasn’t great that she still hadn’t met the person Vika was living with. We can invite her over for lunch or dinner and talk everything over. She played the game, too, and I figured it would be fun to see if we knew any of the same players.

Just like the boss promised, the guy stopped by after lunch in a smart-looking and everyday, if older, BMW 7-series. The paint job was black ruby, and I liked it even more than my Chevy for some reason. Maybe because I’d spent the whole time just wondering when it would get stolen.

He also handed me an envelope from Zimin. I opened it and was happily surprised to see how well-off the Raidion staff really was. At least, that was the conclusion I drew, based on the size of the bets they made…

All the paperwork done once again, I picked Vika up and watched her reaction. Is this faux leather? Real leather? So many buttons! O-o-oh! Off we went.

“Hey, why don’t we invite your sister over?” I asked once we were just about to the garage.

“Why would we do that?” Her eyebrows creased.

“What do you mean, why? I can’t meet your parents—there’s no time right now—though, of course, we can go see them and mine, too, for New Year’s. But I should meet your sister. She probably thinks she’s responsible for you, so I’m sure she’s worried.”

Vika quietly twirled a lock of hair before replying. “First, we don’t need to wait until New Year’s to go visit your parents. Mine are the ones who don’t live in Moscow, and yours are right here. So, we’ll do that soon. And about Elmira? Fine. I just don’t think she’s very worried about me—she doesn’t spend enough time in the real world to even notice I’m gone…”

“We should still play by the rules. It’s just the polite, respectful thing to do. If she comes or not, well, that’s up to her. Our job is to invite her.”

“Okay, I’ll call her tomorrow,” Vika promised. “Are you coming with me or sleeping in tomorrow?”

“We’ll have to see,” I grunted.

The security guards at the parking garage looked at us in surprise when we drove in. Where do people get that kind of money? They just stole his car this morning… I didn’t care.

The next day I went to the office as well, wrote my editorial, looked through the material my team had gathered, and called over to Vika at around two. “Hey! I’m headed out.”

“Sounds good,” she responded automatically without looking up. “I’ll be home around eight. There’s food in the refrigerator, so just heat it up. Don’t eat it cold.”

“Okay, then I’ll send a Raidion car for you at seven since it’s getting dark earlier.”

“No, don’t worry about it.” Vika waved dismissively in my direction. “I’ll be fine.”

“Up to you. And don’t forget to call your sister.”

I gave instructions to the boys, looked back in surprise at how bluish Yushkov’s face was, and left for home.

***

The weather was unusually dark in the North. Low storm clouds loomed over Holfstrig, and I couldn’t even tell if they portended rain or snow. I shivered and thought for a second about what to do. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t have anywhere to hurry off to. I could just stand there or even go have a beer in the tavern.

The city was enveloped in an eerie silence. The könig and his troops were already on their way to Kayger, so there weren’t many NPCs around. From what I could tell, the only people left were quest-related, meaning that they couldn’t have gone running around the burgs even if they wanted to.

There weren’t even that many players. I hope they didn’t all go with the könig? If they did, I’m in trouble.

It was a dreary picture, to say the least.

I looked around one more time and walked toward the nearest tavern, where I could sit with a mug of beer and decide what to do with my poor self.

One pull of the bitter drink in, I slapped myself on the forehead. I had quests sitting around waiting for me.

It may not have been total chaos in my quest list, but it was at least close to it. I deleted a bunch of them that had been sitting there since I was out leveling up in the dunes down in the East. Somehow, I even found a quest for left boar forelegs, one I thought I’d already deleted. I’d come a long way.

I’d finished old Serhio’s quest, the one for parchment, a long time before then. If it had been real parchment, in fact, it would have been ground to dust already in my bag. Should I go wrap that up? Spending the 1,500 gold was a shame, of course, but I did have an ability coming. He might even give me something good if I bring him the parchment. It’ll be nice to see my old stomping grounds, too.

I walked to the hotel and got some money from my chest. Then I thought a little longer before pulling the Fire and Ice scroll and one other small thing out. Maybe I’ll drop by the auction, put something up for sale, see what’s available.

Fladridge was just as I’d left it. Peaceful and quiet, the sun on my face felt good after the lead-gray skies of the North, and players with intensely focused looks on their faces ran by from time to time. Someone was collecting a party to go kill some fierce monster with the nasty-sounding name of Gomulungus—a bear or armored beast, from what I could tell.

I walked into Serhio’s courtyard and saw the instructor sitting on a stool sunning himself.

“Good afternoon, sir,” I said with a bow.

“And a good afternoon to you, too, warrior. Do we know each other?”

“Yes, we’ve met, though it was a while ago. You told me how you ran out of parchment for your kites, and you asked me to bring you some from the East. Here you go.”

You completed a quest: Acquire Parchment

Reward:

1000 experience

Your choice of active ability

“Thank you for that,” the instructor replied, throwing his arms up happily. “That’s great news! How can I repay you?”

“I don’t really need anything. What could be more valuable than the knowledge you gave me?” I asked carefully.

“No, I know what I’m talking about. Pick an ability, just be smart about it. One of them will let you create the illusion for your opponent that you are actually somewhere else besides where you are. The other lets you use your shield for a powerful blow that does major damage to your opponent.”

I had to think about that one. The second ability was clear—using your shield to do damage was great, but you don’t always have the opportunity. I’d been using my sword more and more, too. But that first one… Camouflage was great to have, although I wasn’t sure how long it lasted.

“I’ll go with the first one,” I said, making up my mind.

You learned a new active ability: Phantom, Level 1

Disorients your opponent by creating an exact copy of you wherever you want for 15 seconds.

Activation cost: 240 mana

Recharge time: 5 minutes

It wasn’t anything game-changing, but I knew it might come in handy at some point.

“Instructor,” I said to Serhio. “I can learn another ability, I’m pretty sure.”

He cast an experienced look at me and nodded. “You can learn the other active ability, the one for your shield, or you can learn a passive ability: Lord of the Snakes.”

“What’s Lord of the Snakes?”

“There’s a much lower chance that you’ll be bitten by snakes,” explained Serhio. “Also, if they do bite you, they’ll do less damage.”

I didn’t really need another active skill; I had them coming out my ears as it was. But even a little protection from snakes… I’d be heading south soon, after all.

You learned a new passive ability: Lord of the Snakes, Level 1

Snakes are 18% less aggressive toward you.

The poison from snake bites does 10% less damage.

Now that’s more like it!

“Thanks, instructor.” I bowed one more time.

“Good luck, son,” he responded with a wave.

I hadn’t even left his gate when I got a notification from the internal messaging system. It was Milly Re. What could she want? She’d always used the mailboxes from what I could remember.

Where are you now? Why am I always looking for you?

Do you need something? I answered apprehensively. It sounded like the kind of search that would end with me running for my life.

Have you been to our citadel? Can your port here, or should I come get you?

I’ve been there. Do I have to come though? I have a lot going on.

Are you kidding me?

I didn’t have a good answer, so I decided there was nothing for it but to go. It was just a shame I had to spend good money on the scroll.

Do you have a portal scroll? I can send you one if you want.

I was too proud to give in to my stinginess and decided not to be like a certain other person I knew.

Be right there.

Noise and hubbub echoed around the courtyard of the Hounds’ fortress. It was odd to see the drab building decorated with some kind of Chinese lanterns, garlands, and other holiday crap, not to mention an orchestra playing an upbeat dance. The naughtier of the girls, young scouts, and mages, had small bells in their hands and were already up dancing on tables set up in a large square.

In the center of the courtyard was a fountain spraying a maroon liquid that appeared to be wine. If Flosy were here, he’d probably never leave.

At one end of the courtyard, was a small dais, and on it, was a long table seating around thirty people. Directly in the center, the Gray Witch was listening to a warrior in sparkling chainmail.

“What is this?” I looked at Milly Re in shock.

“You really are an idiot.” She circled a finger around her temple. “It’s the Witch’s birthday!”

“How was I supposed to know that?” I nearly yelled at Milly. “There’s nothing in the papers, nothing on the radio. And I didn’t get an invitation.”

“I didn’t get one either,” snapped Milly. “But I still knew. And they did write in the papers, actually. It’s all in black and white in the Fayroll Times, everything about the party the Hounds of Death is throwing. You need to read more!”

“Well, yes,” I agreed. “I do. But there wasn’t anything in there about a birthday. And the fact that you didn’t get an invitation doesn’t mean anything since you’re in the clan.”

“Oh, she’s just stubborn. The people who should know about it do, and they should remember. Whoever remembers, shows up,” complained Milly. “And then, she’ll get herself all worked up again.”

“Ah, so that’s what the deal is,” I replied with a laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“My clan leader has been worried sick about how she didn’t get an invitation, and everyone’s going to be here. Crying into her pillow at night, the works. And it turns out you just walk in the front door.”

“She needs to know,” Milly said, calming down. “I’ll write her.”

“Hagen, my friend, is that you?” I heard the Gray Witch call.

“Go,” Milly said with a shove. “Wish her a happy birthday.”

Easier said than done when you don’t have a gift. Everyone pretends it’s no big deal, but nobody likes showing up empty handed. Ah, why does it have to be the scroll?

“Good afternoon, mistress.” I walked slowly over to the table and gave her a half-bow. “I am happy to wish you yet another happy eighteenth birthday on behalf of the Thunderbirds and myself personally. The lands and skies of Fayroll have never seen a worthier leader, player, or simply a more beautiful woman.”

“All lies, of course, but that’s very nice of you,” the Gray Witch smiled back.

“The Thunderbirds have a new leader?” the warrior sitting next to her asked in surprise. “What happened to Elina? Although, she has been kind of going crazy recently…”

“No, Hagen is simply a member of the clan.” The Witch wasn’t about to dive into the details, but even that explanation was enough for the warrior. He nodded and bit into an apple.

“Let me continue. If only you knew how much trouble we went through for your party.” Everyone at the table stared at me in surprise. The Witch squinted, light gleaming in her eyes. How can she always read me like a book? She already knows what I’m going to say. Certainly, there was nothing unusual about it, but still. “It was incredibly difficult trying to figure out what we’d get you for your birthday. We even thought about having a competition for the best idea, but the problem solved itself in the end. You’re a true woman, and true women are contradictions between heat and cold; night and day; fire and ice. So we decided to give you that fire and ice.”

I took a few steps forward, got down on one knee, lowered my head, and held the scroll out to the Gray Witch with both hands.

Judging by the steps I heard, she walked around the table and came over to me.

“Let me thank my friends the Thunderbirds for not forgetting my little party, and for honoring it with their presence,” she proclaimed loudly. The orchestra stopped playing. “I’m happy to see our clans slowly growing closer, to the point that, in the eyes of the gaming community, they are very nearly one and the same. The hour is coming when the wind will fill the sails of ships sending the emissaries of our clans to do battle for new lands, and in that battle, we will stand shoulder to shoulder.”

Applause broke out and quickly died down. My head remained bowed.

“I am also glad that my party was visited by a player I met not that long ago, and for whom I have the warmest of feelings. Of course, I am referring to Hagen, who you see in front of you. In just the short while he has been playing—short, at least, by our standards—I have gotten to know him and can even say that I have grown attached to him. I can proudly call him my friend, and know that I can depend on him if ever I am in need. And if anything were to happen to him, I would consider it a personal affront to me.”

The scroll left my hands, and I realized it was time to rise. Everyone in the entire courtyard was staring at me. There were appraising glances from the people seated at the table, curious looks from the players torn away from their fun, some interest from a few of the ladies present, a dashing laugh from Milly Re, and pure, unadulterated hatred on the face of Elina, who was standing at the gate I’d walked through just a few minutes before.

Chapter Twenty-Four

In which everyone converges.

“And there’s Elina the Wise, head of the Thunderbirds clan,” said the Gray Witch, following my glance. “It’s great to see you. Your clan mate got here first, which is something he has a knack for doing, but there’s nothing we can do about that. There are worse faults, no?”

“Of course.” Elina sighed. “Everyone’s always hurrying off somewhere. I just wanted to say—”

“Everything’s been said, gifts have been given, and I insist that you come sit with me. Why did the orchestra stop playing? Let’s hear some music!” The Gray Witch shook a fist at the ensemble.

Music rang out, and I was only too happy to leave the center of attention for a far corner of the courtyard, where I tried to figure out the best, fastest, and, most importantly, most inconspicuous way to get out of there.

“Hey, Hagen.” Someone shoved me in the shoulder, and I turned to see an old friend, Romuil.

“Well, hello. Did you just get here?” I was overjoyed to have at least one person I knew there.

“Yeah, right,” Romuil snorted. “I’ve been here since everything got started.”

“But Elina just…” That’s when I realized that Romuil must have made tracks out of the Thunderbirds. And he probably joined the—

“Don’t hurt yourself.” My face was apparently betraying my thought process. “I’m here with the Hounds now. Have you heard about the split in the clan yet?”

“Just rumors a little while ago, but I don’t know the details. Really, a split?”

“What details?” Romuil grunted. “Elina finally went crazy trying to make the clan better than everyone else. We weren’t playing anymore, weren’t going on raids, we even stopped training the kiddies. There weren’t any to train in the first place. Have you noticed that you aren’t getting as much money with your loot?”

“No,” I said with a shrug. “I haven’t really been checking though.”

“Go check. That sweet little thing used to just take 5%, but recently she bumped it up to ten. Everything’s about saving up and building the ships. People want to go hunt monsters, and she makes everyone just train our pros. The veterans told her it’s time to stop with the circle-jerk, and she blew up. Obviously, we didn’t take that sitting down, and so a good fifty people got up and walked out right then and there. I came here. They accepted me right away, I might add.”

“How could we not accept a fine specimen like yourself?” Miurat walked over. “Hey there, Hagen, my friend. Well said up there! What a speech.”

“Hi, Miurat.” I fidgeted with my foot. “I couldn’t believe Milly just yanked me over here without saying why. It was just a good thing I happened to have something to give the Witch as a present.”

“You know, Romuil, you and I must be in the wrong line of work if a Level 50 player has an ability scroll just lying there in his bag,” Miurat said. “Here we are with raid after raid, and barely anything to show for it. Watch and learn!”

Ah, Miurat, you dog. I set myself up for that one.

“Yeah, I just happened to get it.”

“Sure, sure,” Miurat replied with a smile. “Hey, you came here from the North, right?”

“Not exactly,” I answered evasively. “But yeah, sort of.”

“What’s going on up there? They say there’s a horde of NPCs being gathered by the koning—”

“König,” I corrected him automatically.

“Right, the könig is marshaling everyone and heading off for the Ice Wall. Is that true?”

“Who knows? I’ve just been bouncing around the burgs earning my reputation.” It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him; just…caution is the better part of valor.

“Strange. I heard people say you visited the könig’s palace a few times. You even saved his daughter, and you went with the sea battle instead of how everyone else does it?”

“Yeah, I did.” I allowed a little pride to creep into my voice. “But I finished that quest three days ago, and I haven’t been to the palace since. Plus, the quest is standard, and I had a bunch of our clan members with me.”

Miurat and Romuil glanced at each other. I didn’t like the look of that, and so I plastered a naïve smile on my face. “But hey, if there’s something going on in the North, I should get involved—maybe I can earn a reputation bump. You were right, Miurat, about how important your reputation is up there.”

“If you find anything out, give me a yell. Maybe we’ll come up and join you.” Miurat smiled even wider.

“Of course, buddy!” My grin spread from ear to ear, and I clapped him on the shoulder. “That goes without saying.”

Romuil nodded, and the pair headed off.

When they were already a few strides away, Miurat turned and looked at me thoughtfully. “Interesting how that happens. Just a couple weeks ago I told you about reputations in the North and how hard they are to earn, and now you’re traipsing in and out of the könig’s palace as if you own the place. Interesting…”

And away he went, the bastard, leaving me to grind my teeth. What really got under my skin was that I’d freely admitted how friendly I was with the könig.

They were a tricky pair; that was for sure. And it was a shame how fast the news about the North got out. Or maybe that’s a blessing in disguise? Is it better to hide in the shadows or in plain sight? In plain sight. Okay, wait a minute…

“We need to talk,” a very familiar voice said as someone laid a soft hand on my shoulder. Could everyone just leave my shoulders alone?

“Who needs to?” I asked Elina wearily. “You need to? I definitely don’t need anything. Wouldn’t you say that all we’ve been doing lately is sorting out our relationship? Soon, every time I come across you in the game, it’ll be a new episode in some soap opera, something like the Loved and the Loving.”

“What love? Have you completely lost it this time?” Elina’s eyes flashed.

“What else could it be? Why else would you be all over me like this constantly?” I looked at her innocently. “If you like me, just come out and say it.”

Elina quietly breathed through her nose and cracked her knuckles.

“I just need you, I’ve needed you for a while, and I don’t even know what you look like in real life,” she muttered. “Why did you lie to me?”

“Me? What did I lie about?” I really did need clarification because I’d lied to her about multiple things—but not everything. And not all the time.

“You said you didn’t get an invitation.”

“Milly, my dear, can you come here for a minute?” I waved to Milly Re, who was shouting about something as she danced in the middle of the courtyard with a mage dressed in incredibly gaudy clothes.

“Hagen, come on, let’s dance,” she said as she ran over, her eyes gleaming.

“Milly, guys don’t dance.” I shook my head reproachfully. “Would you do me a favor? Tell Elina why I’m here.”

Milly cheerfully ran through the whole story, not forgetting to mention that I’d immediately brought up my dear clan leader. She stuck a rosy tongue out at me and dashed off.

“Does that answer your question?” I looked at Elina.

She nodded. “Completely.”

“Then let’s talk about us.”

“About us?” Elina stared at me in surprise.

“Yes. Put it this way, I can’t think of a single time we’ve met recently where nothing happened. If we were media personalities, we’d be enough to keep half a dozen reporters employed. Know what I mean?”

“It’s not my fault that you’re constantly making me put you in your place,” Elina said, jumping straight into one of her rabbit holes. “Did someone force you to wish the Witch a happy birthday in the name of the clan? That should have been me up there.”

“The situation forced my hand.” The truth was on my side this time. “Do I have to find someone else to prove that to you or are you just going to believe me this time? The Witch saw me and announced that I was from our clan. What was I supposed to do? Say that I’ll wait until you show up before wishing her a happy birthday? The clan would have looked great then. Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re right,” Elina replied unwillingly. “What did you give her? What kind of scroll was it?”

“An archer ability, Level 120+,” I said with a sigh. “I could’ve gotten so much for that thing…”

Something gurgled in Elina’s throat, and she took a deep breath. “Why wasn’t it in the clan storehouse? Think carefully before you answer, and this might be a good time to lie.”

“What’s there to lie about?” I replied, confused. “And why should it have been in the clan storehouse? I got it fair and square, it was a reward for a quest.”

“Things like that are always turned over to the clan storehouse.” Elina’s voice was beginning to ring again. “They’re property of the clan, not the player. And what was the quest?”

“Why?” I answered calmly. “I didn’t get the scroll in a clan raid or a new dungeon; I got it playing solo. Why should I give it to someone else? I mean, if you’re trying to say the clan would have bought it off me, okay. But just handing over something you won in battle? Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

“This won’t mean anything to you, but the clan is gathering strength for a leap forward, and we have a shot at the top of the leaderboard—”

“No, you don’t,” I replied, looking at Elina pityingly. “Clans are people, first and foremost. What strength are you going to gather? That Iron Doofus? You pushed out all the best warriors in your pursuit of glory, and you’ve changed, too. You didn’t use to be in hysterics like this all the time. Everyone’s laughing at you.”

“Let them laugh.” Her jaw clenched. “You know who laughs loudest, don’t you? And the ones who left were weak. Just weak.”

“Elina, you forgot that we’re all here to have fun—there’s really no other way to play. But you’re playing the game for the sake of the game now. And even that would be fine, if it weren’t going to become your life soon enough. Is your life worth playing away?”

“This is everything I have,” she said quietly. “And listen carefully; don’t get in my way. If you don’t want to turn something over to the treasury, fine—don’t. If you want to live however you want and ignore the clan rules, go for it. Just don’t ruin what I’m building, please.”

“No offense, but I feel sorry for you. If you could just hear yourself,” I said, taking her by the shoulder. “You need to spend some time in the real world, find yourself a good guy, and let him clear your head of all this. Go to the movies, or maybe the planetarium. Or even a museum—go see what a mammoth tusk looks like.”

“Okay, invite me to go to the planetarium. I was just there recently, but I’d go again. The movies would be even better though since I haven’t gone out to see anything in forever.” Elina looked me in the eye. “What do you say?”

I let her go and spread my arms.

“I can’t. I said you need to find a nice guy, but I didn’t mean me. I already have a girlfriend, and she’s great, if a bit young and sometimes naïve.”

“See? You don’t need me either. Nobody needs me. So, I’ll keep working here, and I’ll walk over or kill anyone I have to. Again, don’t get in my way.”

“Elina, I’ve never once tried to keep you from anything. Never. Sometimes, it just happened that way, and you made the rest up yourself. Put it this way, why would I get in your way? What’s in it for me? I even let your guy Hopkins go. Nicely.”

“Yeah, right, you let him go.” Elina giggled unexpectedly. “He was cursing up a storm so bad that he had me scared. Your ruffians spent the whole way deciding how they were going to take him, either from the back or the front, and they were so serious about it that he believed them. And then, when he thought they were about to kill him, they just gave him a kick in the ass as hard as they could.”

“But he’s okay? They didn’t take him after all?” I asked, surprised. “So what’s the problem?”

“It was humiliating! That’s just the kind of person he is. And watch your back—he’s vindictive, too.”

I nodded. We looked at each other, and then Elina headed toward the fun and wine. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

“Elina!” I called after her. “Hold on a second.”

She stopped and turned around.

“You want to just finish this once and for all? Kick me out and be done with it. Hell, you can kick me out dishonorably if you want. You’ll remember, I never really wanted to be in, you’re really the only one who knows me, and everyone I’ve spent time with already left. Just put a nail in it, and we’ll call it a day. That way, nobody will get in anyone’s way.”

“No,” Elina answered sharply. “We still need you.”

“The clan does, or you do?”

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other. Anyway, I said everything I wanted to say, so we’re done here.”

She spun around and walked quickly away.

Milly came over.

“What was that about? She looked as pale as a ghost.”

“Ah, she’s just mad that I wished your clan leader a happy birthday without her.”

“Does she have nothing better to do?” Milly winked at me. “So, what about that dance?”

“Why not?” I held a hand out to her. “Let’s raise the roof.”

An hour later, I left the party and ported to Kayger, opting not to wait for the fireworks and pet competition. Obviously, I said goodbye to the Gray Witch before I did. There was one thing I needed to take care of, and time was running out.

***

Vika was already at home, judging by the sound of the dishes and the singing in the kitchen. The whole thing was soothing, and I was struck yet again by a nagging thought, Why not?

Zimin answered the phone after the third ring.

“Kif, is this important?”

“Well, sort of. Depends on what you compare it to.”

“Go ahead.”

“Here’s the thing, everyone’s going up North. I think by this time on Thursday, we’ll have quite the crowd of players up there, and everyone’s going to want to get involved.”

“No news there,” Zimin replied quickly. “And?”

“That’s a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I’d rather not have witnesses; on the other, nobody will notice me with that many players around. But I won’t be able to finish the quest either way since Fomor has to die. If someone else kills him, the whole thing will be for nothing…”

“Not at all. As soon as he dies, the location will be available for looting. Anyone can loot it, so, you won’t be able to just jump in and get what you need.”

“That’s different then,” I said, crestfallen. “That changes things. My plan won’t work now.”

“You have a plan?” I heard irony in Zimin’s voice.

“Of course,” came my laughing reply.

“Tell me about it. Kit is right here, so I’m going to put you on speakerphone.”

“Hey, Kif,” Valyaev said, as upbeat as ever.

“Hi. Okay, so if you can’t stop something, what’s the best thing to do?”

“Let me think,” responded Zimin. “Take charge, I guess. How original of you—you want to take command? I doubt you’ll be able to do that.”

“Not take command, just guide things along. From the outside, preferably; I mean, you probably have people you pay on the forums to guide things along. They post what you want people to hear and all that, right?”

“That wasn’t very tactful of you,” Zimin scolded me.

“Oh, come on, he wasn’t born yesterday. Yes, of course, we do,” Valyaev jumped in.

“I thought so. Okay, so I need them to get the community thinking about two things in the next couple days. First, that it’s going to be a ton of fun, really incredible—rumor has it there’s an event going on, but it’s just for NPCs. A test for a new mega-quest. Second, that everything worth seeing will be happening around the Ice Wall, but not inside it. Inside, there will be a bunch of NPCs, and if anyone dies inside, they bite the dust right there and lose everything they have with them forever. And there’s no loot there. Nothing at all. Then Fomor’s guard needs to all be made NPCs relevant to this. There’ll be some idiots out there who can’t read or don’t believe what they read, and they need to be taken out the second they kill any of the guardsmen.”

“And you…”

“I’ll go inside with all the NPCs, and nothing will happen to me.”

“Some people will break in just to see what’s going on,” said Valyaev. “Lots of curious players out there…”

“Okay, then can we make a solo location for me and the NPCs?”

“That will raise questions, and someone will definitely notice,” Zimin replied. “We need to stay out of this—you’re the one who doesn’t want to get burnt.”

“Hmm. Oh, there’s an idea!” I could hear Valyaev snap his fingers. “There’s an NPC magician I stuck in one of the burgs for a quest we were looking at. I’ll send him to the könig and have him seal the entrance to the palace, I don’t know…maybe with Impenetrable Curtain. That should take care of it. Whoever goes in with the könig will be fine, and everyone else will be stuck outside. If a few players make it in, you can just have the NPCs take them out.”

“The program won’t think we’re assisting him?” Zimin asked dubiously.

“What do you mean? He’s voluntarily declining help from the rest of the players. That’s it.”

“The game doesn’t happen to give you a bonus for that, does it?” I asked.

“You get a certificate and a trip to Siberia. A bonus…” muttered Zimin. “Do you like the car?”

“Oh, right, thanks so much.” I suddenly felt self-conscious about the fact that I’d forgotten to say anything. “It’s exactly what the doctor ordered.”

“Excellent.” I could feel Zimin smiling.

We said goodbye, and I rubbed my hands in satisfaction. The area in front of the palace would be free of players, that much I was sure of. The main part was making sure nobody snuck into the cave ahead of time. But what’s the point if there’s no loot and no fun to be had?

I spent the next two days at work, figuring that there wasn’t anything for me to do in the game and logging in would have just been inviting another of those “adventures” down on my head.

Yet another Fayroll Times was released to fanfare and trumpets. From what we were seeing on the forums, we’d finally narrowed things down to the columns people wanted to read by getting rid of the least popular of them. In a word, we’d found our reader.

***

But all good things must come to an end, and that Friday morning, I was standing in the main Kayger square looking wonderingly at everything that was going on. It was impressive. There was a crowd of players—at least 3,000 of them, I estimated, and their number was growing. Portals flashed everywhere, releasing new waves of adventurers into the burg. The NPCs looked around warily and jacked up the prices of the goods they were selling.

It wouldn’t have been easy to find someone in the crowd, so I headed toward the rix’s house. If König Harald was anywhere in Kayger, I assumed, he’d be there.

The house was fenced in and also surrounded by a crowd of players demanding that they be allowed to see the könig. Their reasoning didn’t tend to go much farther than, “These NPCs are crazy…are you kidding me?” The crowd was held back by some hefty Sea Kings, each lazily promising the various people in the crowd how they’d polish their faces if they kept talking like that.

“Hagen!” I heard Gunther’s voice call. “Ha-a-agen!”

Looking around, I saw my friend, although I only recognized him by his armor—his visor, for some reason, was lowered. He was standing on a small stone ledge not far from the fence around the könig’s temporary residence.

Thank God, one person I know, at least, I said to myself as I walked over. “Did something happen to your face? Why are you shutting the world out like that?”

Gunther quietly stepped to the side, and I saw Flosy lying on a stone a few yards behind him next to some kind of creature wearing a brown cloak. It had red hair growing from every body part I could see, and its beard made me think it was male.

“Jarl!” bellowed Flosy, wasted out of his mind. “Our jarl is back! Now, we’ll show them! Alex, get up, let’s go see the jarl.”

The thing got up on his stumpy legs and clumped over in my direction. The wave of stink that hit me more than just stunned me; it ravaged everyone within several steps of where we were standing. Flosy, by comparison, smelled like a bed of roses.

“What is that?” I jumped away. “Or who?”

“This is who the könig found to replace Flosy in his palace,” came Gunther's muffled reply from inside his helmet. “And Flosy decided to bring him along so he could share some of his experience with him. Also because he wanted a drinking buddy.”

“Flosy, what are you doing?” I roared. “We’d barely gotten used to you, and now we have to deal with this?”

“Jarl,” the creature lisped, quickly pulling a few strands of his beard out of his mouth. Unfortunately, that didn’t make his speech any more intelligible. “Jarl…mph…dran…geni…life to…ugh.”

“Flosy!” I barked.

“He says he would be happy to serve under such a renowned and genius jarl,” mumbled Flosy.

Alex finished his speech, or, rather, was unable to do so due to the fact that his beard was covering his mouth completely, and came over to give me a hug.

I screeched wildly and made a desperate leap for the stone. That red-haired beast and his ungodly fecal reek coming toward me with arms spread wide was one of the scariest sights I’ve ever seen.

“Gunther, do you have a portal scroll with you?” I yelled at the knight.

He nodded, the blue portal swooshed open, and I kicked the muttering Alex into it, spitting in disgust.

“Let’s send this one in, too.” Gunther’s iron-clad hand pointed at Flosy.

“Ah, he can stay.” The portal closed.

I spent the next few minutes giving Flosy an earful, and he heard me out stoically with just a groan or scratch here or there to interrupt me.

“Where’s the könig?” Having let off steam, I got down to business.

“In the house with his war council,” Gunther answered. “They didn’t wait for us.”

“Why would they? We don’t really matter,” I replied in surprise. “I’m just happy they’re letting us sit in on the war council.”

Gunther clearly disagreed with me, but he decided the point wasn’t worth arguing. “Okay, we found each other, but we can’t get through the main entrance. There is a side gate, however, that nobody knows about.”

It was true; not far away was a small door that let us into the garden and the rix’s back door.

“That path takes you down to the sea,” explained Flosy, pointing to a narrow trail.

“Okay. Wait here and don’t let anyone in,” I ordered him as Gunther and I walked in.

The war council was in the house’s largest room. It was made up of the könig; Hrolf Short-legged, apparently representing all the Sea Kings; Sven, though I wasn’t sure how he got in; der Bottom, who grimaced when he saw me; a gray-bearded old man who I assumed was the mage Valyaev had mentioned; and a few other Northerners. Probably the könig’s commanders.

In front of them, was a skillfully drawn map, and the könig was pushing an apple around it to show the disposition of his forces.

“And then we’ll throw in the reserves. And where will I be?” he asked one of the Northerners threateningly.

“On the front lines?” the latter replied.

“Never!” The könig looked at him mockingly. “You think I’m going to stick my head out there in front of an ax? No, that’s where you’ll be.”

“So, where will you be?” asked der Bottom.

“I’ll sail with Hrolf. My job is to lop off Fomor’s head, so you’ll deal with everyone else. You certainly have enough loafers hanging around,” the könig said before looking in my direction. “Ah, Jarl, there you are. Where the jotunns have you been?”

“I’ve had things to do. So, you decided to sail straight to the Ice Wall?”

“That’s the plan. My best warriors will be on two ships, and they’ll have the kings there with them as well. We’ll land near the palace and head it.”

“An assault team,” I said thoughtfully.

“I like that.” The könig nodded. “Exactly.”

“I think I’ll go with you,” I continued, glancing at the könig. “Okay?”

“Me, too,” Gunther chimed in, “der Bottom is a much better commander than I am.”

“We just have to make sure that we get there before you land,” noted der Bottom. “Otherwise, you won’t make it halfway to the palace.”

“Aidus, send up a fireball when you get there,” the könig said to the gray-bearded old man. Yup, that’s the mage, all right.

“And one more thing, Aidus. Once we get inside, you’ll need to cast Impassable Threshold on the entrance,” I told him seriously.

“Why is that?” the könig asked dubiously.

“To make sure Fomor doesn’t escape,” I quickly lied. “He’s the kind of guy who might make a run for it.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“If that’s everything, let’s get this show on the road.” I clapped. “Where are the drakkars?”

“That way, down the path behind the house. It leads to a passage between the cliffs, and there’s a pier at the end of the passage. That’s where my drakkar is.” Hrolf pointed, still looking at the map.

We left the house to see a shocked Flosy looking upward and waving his arms.

“This isn’t good,” I said to Gunther. “I think it’s starting.”

“What?” Gunther wasn’t familiar with the hallucinations people sometimes get when they drink too much.

“That. Flosy, what are you looking at?”

“I was just sitting here thinking about life, and suddenly something flew out of that pipe and took off in that direction.” Flosy acted out what he’d seen.

“With horns?” I asked.

“No, it was fat and had wings. It was even wearing colorful pants.”

That’s not good. It’s definitely time to start worrying about your health when you see things like that.

“Were the wings small and transparent?” Gunther asked. “And did it have a nasty-looking face?”

“Yes,” Flosy replied with a nod.

“He’s fine,” Gunther said to me. “But what was a pixie doing here?”

From the fifth edition of the Fayroll Times:

From the editor.

…our publication has already become a trusted guide to all the adventures you can have in the beautiful, mysterious land of Fayroll.

Advanced Magic.

The Funibund clan recently found a rare scroll in a dungeon that suddenly opened in the Eastern lands. The scroll features Reflection of Glory, a spell that summons up to 15 NPC warriors around Levels 80-85. The clan plans to hold an auction open to anyone who would like to purchase the scroll. A starting price has not been named.

Excerpts from the Fayroll Chronicle.

The Eyes of the Beast clan set out for Ouk Cave in one more attempt to kill Klatornakh, the same epic monster they’ve taken on a number of times now. The entire clan entered the cave, but, yet again, none of them made it out alive. Stubbornness or stupidity?

Daughters of Twilight, a clan only for women, declared war on the Daggers of Light. Nobody knows the reasons behind the conflict.

The White Hats will be throwing their yearly pie-eating contest in Minkos, a city in the West. As always, they will offer prizes to see who can eat pies the fastest, who can eat the most pies, and so on. Gourmets, this one’s for you. This paper has even prepared a prize for the best cook: a white chef’s hat with rare attributes created by Raidion just for this competition.

The game admin announced that Holmstag, the capital of the North, will see an Ice Age Park opened the night of October 31 near the south gate. The developers claim the exact digital copies of prehistoric plants and animals to be featured in Fayroll will be nothing but friendly. You can visit the park to ride sleighs drawn by three enormous northern reindeer, compete to see if you can toss rings on the horn of a giant furry rhinoceros, have your picture taken with a cave lion near the entrance to where he lives, get a friendly cartoon drawn by a mammoth especially for you, and much more. Discounts are being offered for parties of ten players or more, as well as clan trips.

A report from the Rattermark shipyards.

Who will rule the seas?

Chapter Twenty-Five

In which battle is joined.

“What’s a pixie?” Flosy asked a question I thought a bit strange.

“Well, pixies,” I said, taken aback, “are little bastards with wings. You’ve never seen one?”

“Of course he hasn’t.” Gunther laughed. “You can’t find them up here in the North. Pixies say they can’t live where it’s this cold, but I suspect there’s a different reason; the city guard and judges don’t rule on who’s right and wrong up here. Instead, they bash your head in first and ask questions later. The pixies may just not be fans of that system, which is why I was surprised to hear of one in this area.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Flosy exhaled. “I thought I was going crazy.”

“You still may be,” I replied sternly. “You’d have to be off your rocker to bring along someone like that bearded devil.”

“Leave him alone,” Gunther said amiably. “He gets the picture. Let’s head down the pier. The könig will be coming along soon. Wait, do you hear that?”

There was a noise of trampling, running feet, as the city apparently broke into motion. We walked out into the house’s courtyard to see the NPCs forming up into columns, with the colorful assortment of players chaotically falling over themselves to sprint off in the direction of the Ice Wall. Crowned with a light haze, it was visible off in the distance even from where we were. I wonder what it looks like up close. It was a good four hours away by foot, so by midnight, I figured the battle would start. Soon, I’d know if I got lucky or… Or I don’t know what, since I won’t be able to get the könig to do all this again, that’s for sure.

“Let’s go,” Gunther said to me. “We don’t want the drakkar to leave without us.”

“It won’t, not before the könig gives his speech in the courtyard,” I countered. “Although, we can make sure we get the best spot on board.”

“We won’t be able to keep it,” Flosy said, jumping in. “The könig will show up and just kick us out if he likes our spot.”

None of us had any more contradictions for another, and so we ambled down the path leading to the pier.

The path took us between some small cliffs that let out to reveal a small bay, a tidy pier, and a drakkar with its bored crew tied up to the latter.

“Hagen!” I heard a familiar voice call. “Hi, I need to talk to you!”

I sighed deeply, remembering the beautiful days when nobody knew me, nobody had anything to talk to me about, and the only person who recognized me was Euiikh, someone I’d realized by that point was more or less harmless. I could deal with him once a week. But now, if it’s not one person, it’s another…Wanderer.

“Hey.” I nodded.

Wanderer was lounging on a rock, dressed as always in a hooded cloak pulled down over his forehead. Next to him, sat two NPCs with serious expressions on their faces. One’s name was Gorrdy, the other’s Grim Gram, and they were both fairly high-level warriors. They also had unusual weapons. Gorrdy had an ornately carved crossbow slung over his shoulder; Grim Gram held a metal-tipped battle fork with runes flickering lightly on the handle.

“Can we talk?” Wanderer’s hood lifted slightly.

“Why not? Here, or should we step aside?”

“Yes, let’s go over there.” Wanderer got up, and we walked away from our respective companions, leaving them to look each other over. Gunther, in particular, was intrigued by Grim Gram’s battle fork. The knight completely and openly ignored Wanderer save for one quick glance at the cloaked figure. I couldn’t help but notice that he’d also jumped when he heard Wanderer’s voice.

“You’re on your way to the Ice Wall, to see Fomor, right?” Wanderer got right to the point.

“You know, I’m getting the feeling that you’re Big Brother in the flesh,” I replied with a note of annoyance.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re always keeping track of me. Wherever I’m going, you always seem to know ahead of time!”

Wanderer laughed. “Oh, come on, it’s just a coincidence. A coincidence, I said,” he added with more force when he saw the skeptical look on my face.

“Coincidences happen once, maybe twice. But how did you know about Fomor, and that I’d be taking a ship? Why are you waiting for me here? Everyone’s walking there, so why didn’t you think I was going with them?”

“Why would you be going with them when you’re standing right here?” Wanderer was obviously having fun toying with me.

“Okay, whatever, I have a long day ahead of me. Either you tell me what’s going on, or we’ll just go our separate ways. I’ll take the ship, and you’ll…go wherever you’re going.”

“No,” Wanderer replied, his voice turning serious. “I need to get on the ship with you.”

“There aren’t any tickets; it’s not like a bus.”

“I know,” Wanderer said peacefully. “But you can bring an old friend on board with you.”

I shook my head. “What old friend? I helped you once; you helped me once. We’re even, no?”

Wanderer went quiet for a second before responding. “Okay, we got off on the wrong foot. And we’re continuing on the wrong foot, too. There’s nothing between us here.”

“That’s debatable,” I said stubbornly. “Just be honest with me. Why do you need to get to the Ice Wall? What’s over there for you?”

“I need Gedran, and, from what I’ve heard, she’s with Fomor,” Wanderer said smoothly. “I don’t care about Fomor; I just need her.”

That surprised me. To be honest, I was less worried about the ice lord than I was about my upcoming date with that dastardly old hag.

“Christ’s blood, what do you want with her? Believe me, she’s a nasty beast.”

Wanderer grinned under his hood. “If you knew her a third as well as I do, you’d have picked a different word there. And about why, well, I want to kill her. To be more precise, I can’t kill her for good, which is a shame, but I need to buy myself the time killing her will give me.”

I thought to myself. On the one hand, I didn’t trust him; on the other, I could use the help of a good player, and he was at least much better than I was. Plus, I’d get those two with him in the bargain…

“Who are they?” I nodded toward his companions, who were chatting about something with Gunther.

“Hired swords. There are NPCs out there you can hire long-term.” Wanderer patted his pocket, and I heard something clink. “It’s expensive, but it works. They don’t talk, they don’t stick their nose in where it doesn’t belong, and we’ve been around the block together a few times, so you can trust them.”

Sure, you trust them, I trust you, we’re all a happy family.

“Okay, let’s say I have them take you on board. What’s in it for me?”

“You need more? We’re going to keep the witch away from the rest of you—or did you think she’d just stand there watching while you take out Fomor? Maybe clap for you when you’re done?”

“We’ll have a few more than the three of us there, to be fair.”

“I’m aware, but how many of you will make it to the throne room? The ice guard, you may know, is a powerful force.”

“Have you even seen them?” I asked, letting frustration creep into my voice.

“I have.” The way he answered left no doubt in my mind.

“Okay,” I said, making up my mind. “Let’s do it. But I have two conditions.”

Wanderer’s hood cocked to the left, apparently letting me know that he was all ears.

“First, Fomor is mine. Well, more, he’s theirs,” I corrected myself, pointing to the NPCs. “And tell your guys not to lay a finger on him without me asking them to.”

Wanderer nodded.

“Second, how did you find out that I would be here? I’m not going to let that go.”

“What are you badgering him for?” a squeaky voice overhead asked. It was followed by a shout from Flosy.

“It’s him! There he is! Praise Hravan, I’m not going nuts. I can keep drinking!”

“A pixie!” I snarled. “Here boy, come on over here, you dirty little trickster.”

“Hey, what’s that about?” The fat pixie with his mocking face and colorful pants didn’t like the way I was looking at him. “I didn’t do anything to you!”

“You didn’t have to. All it took was one of you for me to hate your kind.”

“Who was that?” he asked, flying a bit higher just in case. “I’m just interested.”

“His name was Locket. Heard of him?”

“No,” the pixie replied. “But he must have been good if you’re that mad at him.”

“I certainly am. He almost had me thrown in jail.”

Wanderer laughed. “They can do that, the little buggers. But this one’s more or less okay—I know him. His name is Tristan.”

“And hey, beanpole, if you ask me where my Isolde[9] is, I’ll spit on you,” the pixie warned me.

“You’re a strange guy,” I said to Wanderer. “And you keep strange company.”

“No stranger than yours,” he retorted. “You tell me; my pixie and two mercenaries against your temple knight with his head knocked a kilter and the one who smells. What even is that stink?”

“It’s a social protest,” I responded, not wishing to get into the details.

I couldn’t help but wonder how he knew about the knight.

A group of warriors walked past on their way to the ship, and the könig was right behind them. It looked like it was time to go.

“König,” I called. “I have three warriors who want to join us. They’re good people, I know them. Mind if they come?”

The könig stopped. He looked over the three, stopped when he got to Grim Gram’s fork, nodded, and kept walking.

“Okay, let’s load up. Except for that one,” I said, jabbing a finger at the pixie. “We’re not taking him. I don’t trust him.”

“I won’t be flying along with you either,” he replied, thumbing his nose at me. “I’d like to live a little longer.”

The drakkar, loaded to the straps with people, sat lower in the water and moved slower than the last time. Some of the könig’s people who were supposed to come with us to Fomor’s palace didn’t fit, and the rest of the assault group piled into a second drakkar.

“And you said it’s not like a bus,” grunted Wanderer. “Doesn’t look much different to me.”

We made ourselves comfortable in the stern, not far from the steering oar. Gunther took a spot a little farther away and looked to fall asleep.

“Hrolf!” I called over to the jarl as he walked past. “Where are the rest of the ships?”

“Not far from the wall. Their job is to lure Fomor’s fleet away, so we’re clear to land.”

“Are you coming with us?”

“Nope.” The jarl stroked his beard. “I’ll drop you off and go help the rest.”

“That’s a shame. You’re a good warrior,” I said with sincere regret.

“My place is the deck of my ship, not the dry land.” Hrolf walked off in the direction of the helmsman.

“It really is a shame,” I said to Wanderer. “I wish we had him, not to mention Gunnar. He’s a good jarl, too.”

“At least they’ll live longer,” I heard him say from under the hood.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t read the forums?”

To my shame, I hadn’t. I’d logged in the day after Zimin and I had had our chat to make sure everything was in place, but I’d gotten as far as a few players giving up on the whole thing and felt better.

“What’s up?”

“The game admin announced that the area around the palace and the palace itself is testing ground for a new event. You can kill and be killed around it, and the normal rules apply, but death is final inside.”

I shook my head. “What do you mean, ‘final’?”

“If anyone gets taken out in the courtyard or by the entrance, they die, and their things stay there. You respawn and can come back to pick them up so long as nobody beats you do it. NPCs will respawn healthy and happy somewhere else, too, just with their memory erased. But if you die in the palace, you can forget about your things.”

“And NPCs?” I asked.

“NPCs are dematerialized. They get a one-way ticket to permanent storage in the archive, all except for Gedran, and maybe Fomor. There are lots of quests with the old hag, and Fomor’s got enough of them, too. Plus, it isn’t just an event—there’s something up,” explained Wanderer. “Even the könig can die, I imagine. They can say there’s a change in power up in the North, and then design an event around that.”

Okay, they took that a little far. I get the players, but what’s the point of killing off NPCs? It was my idea, but it didn’t have to be quite so radical.

“They probably did that to make sure the players wouldn’t go whine about discrimination in the game,” Wanderer said thoughtfully, as if reading my thoughts. “By the way, we’re the only ones going into the rocks. Most of the players are high-level, and they’re not going to risk what they have. There isn’t much to do there, either, since Fomor is an NPC and you can’t kill him. I doubt anyone will get in our way.”

I was starting to feel bad. They may have been chunks of code, but it was still a shame. What are Valyaev and Zimin, some kind of NPC-phobes?

The ship sailed on, the waves singing a sad, ponderous sound as they slapped against the hull. Wanderer slept, Gunther swept a whetstone along his blade as usual, and above it all, hung the light, elusive specter of impending battle.

A couple hours later, we heard a cry. “Up oars!” The drakkar slid to a stop.

Wanderer started. “Are we here?”

“Waiting for a signal,” I replied. “Hear that?”

The shore we could see was empty, and we even had a glimpse of the other side—a slender strip of land overhung by a cliff nearly reaching the sky. From the other side of that cliff, came the indistinct sound of what was obviously combat raging. Our pincers were closing in on each other.

“We made it in time,” the könig nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent. Put on your armor if you took it off. I can just smell the rivers of blood we’re about to let loose.”

Hrolf scanned the horizon, confidently pointing at a few dark specks in the distance.

“Way to go, Gunnar—what a commander. He teased Fomor’s ships into chasing him, so they won’t be bothering us.”

“Is that the fine fellow my daughter’s been talking my ear off about?” the könig asked sharply.

“How should I know whose praises she’s singing?” Hrolf scratched his beard. “Might be, might not be.”

“Yes, that’s him,” I said, butting in. “Gunnar’s a fine warrior.”

“What kind of person is he?” the könig asked, as if in passing. “Does he have anything to his name?”

“A ship, a crew…” Hrolf blew his nose off the side of the ship. “And a nice odal on one of the fjords.”

The könig went silent, clearly noting to himself that Gunnar was no beggar. Excellent. I wouldn’t mind having a friend in the könig’s family. And, given Ulfrida’s disposition, I assumed he had a good chance of becoming könig himself soon.

Ten minutes later, a ball of fire shot into the air, showering sparks behind it.

“Up, you lazy bones!” roared Hrolf. “It’s time!”

“Gorrdy, Grim, stay close to me,” ordered Wanderer. “We won’t get involved in the battle until we find the old woman.”

The hired swords nodded in unison.

Gunther and Flosy took up positions behind my shoulders and watched the approaching wharf, the large area behind it already filling with fighting. The truly titanic proportions of the Ice Wall loomed in the distance.

“Flosy, maybe you should stay here on the drakkar with Hrolf. What good will you be there?” I asked. “We’ll probably have to walk back anyway.”

“How could you, Jarl?” Flosy added the smell of anger to his usual aroma. “No, I’m coming with you and Gunther. I can’t stay here.”

I did what I could. There was no use trying to convince Gunther to do anything but surge ahead.

“Okay, warriors!” we heard the könig bellow. “We’ll land, wait for the second drakkar, join forces with the troops there, and head directly to the palace. Don’t get distracted by the fighting on the way there—that’s not what we’re here for. Our target is behind the Ice Wall.”

The shore came closer and closer, until the gangways bumped against the wharf.

“Disembark!”

We jumped up and ran down onto the shore.

The warriors tramping across the enormous blocks of ice paving the area formed into a wedge bristling with swords. As soon as the könig came down from the drakkar, the wedge closed in behind us, leaving me feeling relatively safe next to him.

Just like with the assault of the Wild Heart citadel, there was no overall strategy involved in the battle we saw going on; it was just an enormous compilation of many small clashes. Occasionally, an adversary would come running at us, but loners like that, no matter how brave, stood little chance against the swords brandished by the hardened warriors of the North.

The din grew nearly unbearable, and we occasionally heard barked orders, cursing, and even a foreign language, something that surprised me.

Just then, the second ship sailed up to reinforce our ranks with the rest of the assault group, and we swept toward the palace, mowing down everyone in our path. The könig had a double guard around him, and I sincerely hoped I wasn’t too visible behind their tall figures—that was one thing I, at least, didn’t need. Wanderer’s problems were his own.

The ice palace drew closer and closer.

You saw the Ice Palace.

To complete Great Wonders of Fayroll, see the other five wonders of the Fayroll world.

“Where are they going?”

“That’s for the event. Screw that, I’m not going.”

“Who even knows if there’s anything over there?”

“Screw you, that’s what’s over there. If you leave your things in there, don’t come to the clan storehouse begging for more.”

That was about the size of the commentary we could hear accompanying us on our way to the palace gates. The players followed us with their eyes, but none of them made a move to follow. Thank God.

There was a welcoming committee by the gate. Fomor’s ice guards were impressive, hulking, with their faces and bodies cut from a single chunk of ice and their ice armor and two-handed swords glistening in the sunlight. They stood quietly and confidently, well apart from the battle raging in front of them. It was clear what their orders were, nobody gets in.

As soon as they saw the wedge moving toward them and realized that our bearded warriors intended to force their way in, six guardsmen readied their swords. They didn’t last all that long, but next to their shattered bodies also lay the remnants of eight of our warriors. Wanderer was right. If we keep trading bodies for bodies, there won’t be anyone left to fight Fomor. The könig had about 100 of his own swords to go along with fifty of the best Sea Kings and, of course, us. There was the mage, too, who ran up to the könig at the last moment, just as we entered the palace. He was breathing hard.

“Where have you been?” barked the könig.

“Over there.” The mage sucked air in with a whistle as he shook his head.

“Hurry up!” Harald said, his gentler side showing through, as he plunged through the large gate.

I could feel someone’s eyes on my back, and I turned to see Romuil looking at me from the middle of the courtyard. Our eyes met, he raised his sword, and I saw him jump back into a fight with some shaggy creature.”

“That’s not good,” I muttered to myself.

When the last of the warriors walked across the threshold, the mage waved his staff and muttered some gibberish I didn’t understand. A dull, shimmering film fell over the entrance.

“Now, we can get out, but nobody can get in,” he explained.

“What are we waiting for?” The könig was scowling and focused. “Your swords will rust if you go too long without using them, and it’s bitterly cold in here. Let’s kill Fomor and go home. If anyone’s left alive, drinks are on me.”

The trip through the palace turned into a series of endless skirmishes and duels. The ice guards fought valiantly for each meter, and the palace was enormous. Our group thinned, but we killed ninety of Fomor’s best warriors (I counted). Still, we only had sixty of our own left when we got to the throne room. The mage had done an excellent job leading us through the web of corridors.

“We’re here.” He jabbed his staff at a pair of large doors covered in a frosty pattern. “Fomor’s in there.”

“Well?” The könig looked at him and turned to us. “Let’s go kill him!”

The warriors pounded their swords on their shields and advanced.

The hall the doors opened to reveal was enough to impress even the most experienced of travelers. It wasn’t just gorgeous; it was grandiose. The sunlight reflected off the polished, transparent—in stark contrast to the colorless boulders—blocks of ice that made up the floor, lighting the hall and creating a stunning play of light and shadow. At the other end, a good fifty steps from the entrance, was the Great Fomor sitting atop a dais on his ice throne.

I don’t know about everyone else, but I suddenly had a timid feeling wash over me in the presence of such splendor. My insignificance and irrelevance to the world I was in hit me as I looked around.

“He’s playing mind games, the bastard,” hissed Wanderer, and I shook my head in an attempt to clear it. The mage got busy as well; he waved his staff, a shower of sparks shot out, he barked something inarticulate, and I saw the bloodthirsty fire come back into the deadened eyes of our warriors.

“What brought you to my palace? I don’t recall declaring war, könig.” The deep, powerful voice of Fomor boomed through the hall.

But when I took a second to actually look at Fomor, I was disappointed. I’d assumed he would be something other-worldly, Sauron-esque. I thought he’d be huge, terrible, pulsing with evil. No such luck. Sure, his height was about what I’d expected. It was the rest of him that didn’t impress me. He was wearing the same ice armor as his guards, he had an ice crown, presumably the exact one I needed, on his head, and his completely white face was expressionless.

“You don’t need to declare war in order to do damage. You’ve wreaked more havoc in my lands than a war would have, in fact. I’m here to make you pay for what you’ve done,” the könig announced imperiously.

“I don’t quite understand you, könig. Your speech is dim and stupid, like that of other men. You want gold? Please, I’ll give you as much as you want, and you can leave my palace.”

If that greedy könig even thinks—

“You want to pay in gold for the lives of my people? That’s hardly a fair exchange.”

“Why not?” asked Fomor implacably.

“Your head is the only fair price for the death of my people,” Harald said, without any fake drama whatsoever. “That’s what I’m here for, and I’ll take your gold along with it when I’m done.”

A dozen guards—all that were left alive—tramped out from behind Fomor’s throne, followed by Gedran. She supported herself with a cane, an unusually nasty look on her face.

“It’s like we never even parted ways,” she said to us before stopping when she saw Wanderer. “And you’re here, too! It’s so nice to have you all here in one place.”

“König, the old hag is ours,” Wanderer said quietly.

“All you’ll get from me on that point is a thank you,” muttered Harald, waving his ax and flexing his muscles.

Fomor stepped down from the throne, a large mace in his hand. “Well, lord of the North, you’ve made your choice. If you want to die, so be it. I would have offered you your life and a job ladling crap in your outhouses once the North is under my rule, but since you’d rather die…”

“Hey, you!” Flosy’s indignant voice piped up. “That job is already held by Alex, a friend of mine. What kind of monster are you?”

Fomor signaled to his guardsmen, who rushed forward. He charged down the steps of the dais behind them. Swords clashed, the familiar din of battle erupted, and the constant sound of blows being delivered was interrupted only by the moans of the dying.

The remaining guardsmen were obviously bigger and stronger than the ones we’d already killed in the corridors—the elite of the elite. I had not the least desire to cross swords with any of them, preferring to stay in the rearguard with Wanderer. He and his friends had somehow managed to corner Gedran against a wall.

She swore, ducked nimbly under a few bolts shot at her by Gorrdy, and swung an innocent-looking cane that must have been made from a metal tree, judging by the sound it made against Wanderer’s saber. There was no getting away from them, but they were having a hard time finishing her off, nonetheless.

“Cut her off!” Wanderer yelled at Grim.

“I’m trying, I can’t catch her!” he answered.

“I’ll kill you all!” squealed Gedran, dodging the blur of swinging blades coming at her from all sides. “And then I’m going to eat you!”

“Don’t stop! She can’t have time to focus!” roared Gorrdy. “We’re goners if she starts conjuring her magic up!”

I was about to jump in and help them take out the dexterous witch when something flew over my head, crashed into the wall and landed right beside me.

“Hey! That could have been my leg,” I yelled indignantly as I looked down.

On the floor lay Gunther von Richter, a valiant knight, the glory and pride of the Tearful Goddess Order. His visor was badly dented from the force of the blow, and his armor wasn’t exactly pristine either. Not surprising after hitting the wall that hard.

I’m ashamed to say that I was afraid. Had my friend reached the end of his line, his helmet bent inward as it was? Wait! His legs and arms twitched, and it looked like he was alive. Sorry, buddy, no time to take care of you now. I have to call in the cavalry.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The last one, in which we leave the hero lost in thought.

I underestimated Fomor. He was a nasty bugger, it turned out. We were able to take out his guards, or, at least, two Sea Kings were chopping up the last of them not far from the throne. But the price we paid was heavy. Many of our men had left splotches of blood on the floor, fifteen or so corpses mingling with the ice carcasses.

And, Fomor wasn’t about to give in. His mace oozed power, and each swing sent one or another of our warriors flying off to the side. They lay there, limbs twitching if they were lucky, motionless if they weren’t. He maliciously laughed as he promised everyone in the room a foul death.

It really was time to call the cavalry—it might have been too late if I’d waited any longer. I pulled out my horn, blew into it, and bellowed out instructions.

“I need everyone, but no horses. They’ll be useless here.”

Mounds appeared on the ice slabs, soon becoming familiar figures.

“This looks fun!” Skeggy cried cheerfully.

Swords slid out of sheaths, and bows creaked under the weight of drawn arrows.

“Ah, an old friend,” Ragnar smiled, his lips parting in a bloodthirsty snarl. He nodded to me and glanced back at Fomor.

“Can you handle him?” I asked.

“Well, of course! A worthy foe, and a worthy time for a battle. It’s just a shame there isn’t much of that time—the sun’s too bright.”

It was true. Morning was long since gone, and the rays of the afternoon sun lit up the hall brightly. We had ten minutes.

The first arrows whistled through the air and thudded into Fomor’s icy flesh. He looked down at them in surprise, noticing the new arrivals when he glanced around the room.

“Ah, the dead servants of a dead god. I can’t think of a quarrel we might have had, so there isn’t anything between us. If you leave right now so I can fight these mortals, I won’t take revenge on you.”

“Our father thought little of you as a warrior, and spared you no honor as an opponent,” Ragnar answered, tightening with his teeth a strap tied around his sword’s guard to make sure it didn’t slip out of his hand in the heat of the battle. “We can but follow his example.”

Fomor’s only answer was to leap forward.

“I’ve got her, but I won’t be able to hold her for long!” I heard Grim shout suddenly.

He’d been able to pin the witch to the wall with his fork around her neck, but she was twisting and squirming with all her might. Crooked fingers caught hold of his shoulder and sank in, tearing away at his flesh. The NPC’s health dropped quickly.

“Do something!” he roared.

There wasn’t much I could do, but I did summon my wolf. “Bite the old lady!”

Wanderer, whose hood had been swept off in the swirl of battle, threw himself at the witch, flattening her against the wall and sticking her in the side with a dagger he held in his left hand. Its black blade, I noticed, gleamed with engraved runes. Each jab sank the witch’s head a little lower, and her body sprayed a black liquid that didn’t look anything like normal blood.

“Move over!” yelled Gorrdy, and Wanderer jumped to his right.

The hired sword aimed his crossbow at Gedran and sent a bolt deep into her chest. And, it wasn’t just a simple bolt, judging by the sizzle I heard. Steel and flesh had apparently combined to trigger a chemical reaction.

The witch howled.

“What happened?” I heard Gunther say, his voice weak.

“Fomor took a swing at you,” I answered, my eyes darting back and forth between the witch, who was starting to give off some kind of steam as Wanderer plunged his dagger into her over and over again, and the chaos that ruled where Fomor stood.

“Where is the bastard?” muttered Gunther as he tried to pull himself up.

“Over there waving that mace around.” I couldn’t pull my gaze away from everything that was happening. All I could do was watch anyway; there was no way I could help kill Fomor, and I had no desire to go anywhere near the Witch. It would have been just my luck for her to somehow break free and wind up staring me down. Anyway, Wanderer had said he wanted to kill her, and that was fine with me. You want to be the hero? Be my guest.

Fomor was starting to fade. Well-studded with arrows, he was trying to fight off the combined forces of the North, absent his earlier aplomb, and it wasn’t going well. Skeggy dodged a swing of his mace before smashing his sword against Fomor’s left leg. Shards of ice flew in all directions, and Fomor pitched toward that side with a creak.

“Move!” Gorrdy had reloaded, and his next bolt pierced the witch’s throat.

“That’s just about it!” wheezed Wanderer. I turned to see him pull a small vial full of some kind of liquid out of his bag and splash it over Gedran’s face. Her shrieks faded in favor of regular convulsions.

“Finish him!” Harald yelled, and I heard a sound similar to workers knocking ice off the tops of buildings and dropping it onto the street.

“Damn you all,” Fomor mumbled.

“A-a-ah!” Gedran and Fomor cried simultaneously. I didn’t know where to look. I saw the witch’s rags flutter to the floor bereft of her body. A whirlwind whipped up by the ceiling, spinning its way into one of the ice slabs and leaving a black mark.

“Phew,” Grim Gram exhaled. “I thought that damn creature was going to tear my arm off.”

“I got it, this is my battle and my country!” the könig boomed, and I heard a hollow blow being struck.

The hall shook, everyone left alive in it yelling and screaming in unison.

The Great Fomor was dead.

I, of course, was thrilled by how things had turned out, but it was absolutely critical that I got my hands on the crown.

“A-a-ah!” I joined the chorus and dashed toward the scene of the crime.

All that was left of Fomor were some chunks of ice lying on the ground. The head, which the könig’s ax had severed from the body, had flown off toward the foot of the throne. König Harald picked it up and was about to take the crown off—my crown!

“König, what are you doing?” I yelled.

“What are you talking about?” he answered with a sniff. “I’m removing his crown. I killed him, so it’s mine.”

“You’re going to take Fomor’s crown? Take it back to your palace? Do you have a death wish?” I pasted a look of holy terror on my face. “You really are crazy!”

The warriors murmured to each other, Ragnar just smiled, and the könig froze.

“Aidus, where’s that old beard of yours?” he barked.

“They got him right at the beginning,” a warrior responded as he bandaged his hand. “Three of them jumped him and took him out. We tried to help, but there was nothing we could do…”

“Look at you,” grumbled the könig, “leaving a mage defenseless. Ah, what the jotunns do I need the crown for—no reason to go asking for problems. My lands can do without that trash.”

He gave Fomor’s head a toss, leaving it to roll until it stopped right at my feet.

“König, you don’t mind if I take it, do you? The curse doesn’t work on me, and we already killed the old hag,” I asked offhandedly. “Maybe I’ll sell it to someone.”

“Just not to anyone in my burgs,” the könig replied quickly. “And I get ten…no, twenty percent of the proceeds.”

“Of course.” I nodded and picked up the head. The crown slipped easily into my palm.

You completed a hidden quest: Crown of the North.

Return the ice crown belonging to Hilda the North that was stolen in ancient times by the servants of the Great Fomor.

Note: When the occasion arises, don’t forget to bring Harald his portion of the reward you get from Hilda the North. If you don’t do that, he may be offended. On the other hand, he may not, especially if he needs something from you.

That’s perfect. I didn’t have to worry about the könig’s percentage either since it would be taken out automatically. You can’t fool the game.

I finally had time to see how Gunther was doing. And, wait a second, where’s Flosy?

They turned out to be sitting together by the wall. Flosy hadn’t gotten through the fight unscathed either, as the collar of his already less-than-sterile shirt was covered in red blotches. He looked shaken up in general, as well. Gunther had completely lost consciousness.

“How are you?” I asked the toilet worker. “Alive?”

“Not completely,” he answered fully. “One of them got me pretty good, and I was just lucky it was a glancing blow. But what about our knight? I thought he was a goner when he smashed into the wall like that.”

“He took a hard knock, but he’ll make it,” I replied confidently.

“He has to—plenty of very good people asked higher powers to help him,” Flosy said, taking me aback. What good people? And what higher powers?

“Well, Jarl,” Ragnar butted in as he walked over. “We have to go—our time is up.”

“Thank you,” I responded with a bow. “We wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”

“Eh, you underestimate the strength humans have inside them,” he said.

“Did all of you make it through in one piece?” I thought the Wild Hunt was a man short—it didn’t seem like there were as many of them as there were at the beginning.

“Rangvald left this world.” Ragnar shrugged. “It was a glorious battle, he died a glorious death. What more can you ask for? See you.”

I sighed. I may not have known Rangvald, but I still felt bad for him.

“Thanks!” I barely had time to call after the warriors as their mounds melted into the floor.

Bending over Gunther, I saw that he was pale and breathing raggedly.

“Looks like they got his liver,” Flosy said knowingly as he wiped Gunther’s face with his sleeve.

That turned out to be an incredibly healing gesture, as Gunther breathed in deeply, thrashed like a fish out of water, scraped his legs along the ice slabs, and opened his eyes wide.

“Flosy,” I said in awe, “your sleeve works better than ammonia!”

“You got that right,” he replied proudly. “But what’s ammonia?”

Gunther rolled from side to side, his eyes popping out and his hands clutching his throat.

Wanderer came over. “We’re leaving. There isn’t much time—the old woman won’t be coming near the North anytime soon, but we have to hurry and beat her back to the Iron Forest. Only the gods are strong enough to deal with her there.”

“See you later.” I nodded. He still hadn’t put his hood back up, and I got a good look at his simple, unremarkable face. It could have belonged to any other of the thousands of players who looked just like him. He had short hair, light stubble, a thick nose, and small, deep-set eyes. The kind of person you don’t think twice about.

“That we will—you and I are like needle and thread now. Don’t take too long in here, by the way. It’s all going to collapse soon. Believe me—I know a thing or two about stuff like that.” Wanderer winked and opened a portal.

It was unusual. Instead of the usual bluish tones, it was crimson. Interesting.

Gorrdy and Grim Gram waved before walking in after Wanderer.

I looked up to see that he was right. Small cracks were beginning to meander across the ceiling. Damn it, damn it, damn it…

“König, we have to get out of here!” I ran over to Harald. “This whole place is about to come down!”

“Go where?” the könig yelled back. “His gold is here somewhere—didn’t you hear him?”

“What gold? Look up there!”

The könig glanced upward and started.

I tried opening a portal but to no avail. It didn’t work at our location. Where do you get the kind of portal scrolls Wanderer had?

“Flosy, grab Gunther and let’s get out of here!”

We picked up the knight and dragged him across the hall, following close behind the könig as he disappeared through the doors.

Gunther spent the whole trip moaning about how we should leave him there, how he was wrong to put us in danger, and other nonsense like that.

He only calmed down when we finally made it through the gate leading to the Great Fomor’s palace. A few minutes later the whole structure collapsed in a blizzard-like cloud of ice.

Right then, I realized that the whole thing was over.

We stood there by the entrance in a small cluster, all the players and NPCs in the courtyard staring at us.

“Victory!” roared the könig, brandishing his ax high in the air. “We killed that ice animal!”

“Y-e-eah!” the crowd shouted back.

The whole thing was great, of course, except for the fact that I could feel lots of different looks being sent my way. There were plenty of people there to notice that a player had left with the NPCs. I’d better get out of here—this is the kind of popularity I can do without. My job meant I had to fly under the radar.

“Flosy,” I said to my squire quietly, “take Gunther with you to the könig’s palace. I doubt highly he’ll walk the whole way; more likely, he’ll jump into a portal, since he’s probably in a hurry to start drinking. I’ll find you there.”

“Where are you going, Jarl?” Flosy asked worriedly. “Do you need help?”

“The only help I need is for you to get Gunther there. Oh, and give me some cover here.”

Flosy got the picture and did his best to stay in front of me as he carried Gunther away. I opened a portal and whisked myself into it.

***

Everything was just as quiet in the little bay as before the holmgang. The sand was light, the waves washed gently ashore, and the trees waved softly in the wind. Thank the gods. I froze on the edge of the water, looking around to see if anyone was leaving footprints in the sand. I’d had my fill of curious, nimble scouts, and I didn’t know when I’d be meeting my next one.

There was nobody around that time. At least, the water sprayed the way I expected it to, with nobody getting in the way of the flying drops, and there were no tracks in the sand. I calmed down and opened a second portal to go find the dryad. I can’t buy these things fast enough.

The dryad must have sensed something because she came rushing out from under her tree when I appeared in her copse. “Well? What happened? Did you get it? Is it okay? Did you get it?” She ran over, just about knocking me off my feet.

“Wow, get a grip,” I swore mildly as I pulled the crown out of my bag. “I believe you were looking for this?”

“A-a-ah,” the dryad exhaled, taking the crown with both hands and setting it on her shaggy head.

The whole spinning and dancing routine had gotten old by the third time, and my feelings were nothing like the shock I’d felt at first.

When Hilda came back down to earth next to me, I looked at her inquiringly.

You completed a hidden quest: Crown of the North.

Reward:

12000 experience

+50 respect among the peoples of the North

+10 respect in each of the Northern burgs

Set item matching your class: random

Elite quest-starter item: random

+10% life energy or mana: random

+20% chance that the Fayroll animal world will come to your assistance in your time of trouble

Your life energy has received a permanent 10% boost.

You’re out of luck, könig. I didn’t get any money, so there’s nothing to share with you.

“You’ve done a great deed, hero.” Hilda’s new look was more than attractive; she was the dream of any pimply teenager—blonde, strong, and wearing armor that more accented than hid her body’s incredible curves.

“Something like that,” I replied, not eager to disagree.

“So, you’ll help my sister, the dryad of the South?”

Her intonation left me no room to decline her request.

“What choice do I have?” I said, giving in to the inevitable. “Of course.”

You unlocked Find Idrissa the South.

This is the fifth in the Children of the Goddess series of hidden quests.

Task: Find the keeper of the southern reaches.

Reward:

8500 experience

Your choice of elite items

Single-use spell scroll: random

Accept?

So there’s a selection, with items waiting for me. Obviously, I accepted.

“Hurry, hero. My heart tells me that my sister is in grave danger,” Hilda said, her face stern.

“None of you have exactly had a walk in the park,” I noted fairly.

She frowned, but didn’t say anything.

“Okay, I’m off.” There wasn’t anything more for me to do there. “Chin up, see you around.”

***

I walked out of my portal next to the könig’s palace and decided to see what I’d gotten.

Luck was finally on my side. For the first time, the little green creatures had given me something I could really use.

Wilfred’s Helmet

Belonged to a famous knight known for his honesty and integrity. Even though he knew his king had been betrayed by his allies and would lose a decisive battle, he still sallied out into the field of battle to fall defending his suzerain to the last.

From the Knightly Collection set

Set includes:

Wilfred’s Helmet

Sir Nigel’s Pauldrons

Sir Adrian’s Gauntlets

Molton’s Cuirass

Black Rose Belt

Mihal’s Greaves

+38 to strength

+29 to agility

+14 to stamina

+26% chance of doing bleeding damage

+9% to weapon durability

+15% chance of seeing through lies

+4% chance of getting rare items from opponents

Durability: 2500/2500

Minimum level for use: 92

Class limitation: warrior

Cannot be stolen, lost, broken, or gifted.

Does not disappear from the holder’s inventory after dying when coupled with at least two other items from the set.

The following bonuses are unlocked by using the complete set:

Three random active class abilities

Two random passive class abilities

+3 to one random attribute

+15% to your chances of getting items from dead enemies

+13% life energy

Now that is really cool. Since I already had the cuirass and the gauntlets, the helmet gave me three items from the set. All I had left to do was get to Level 92. Still, I would have been willing to bet that not many clans had as many as three items from a six-item set.

There was one more thing I got from the dryad, and it was a quest-starter.

Princess Anna’s Signet Ring

A family heirloom lost and long looked for by one of the most well-known families in the West.

Quest item

If you don’t have the quest this item is for, you can accept it right now.

Would you like to accept it?

I decided to hold off for the time being, seeing as how I had no plans to visit the West in the near future and didn’t have much else pulling me in that direction. The ring could wait a little while longer. Whatever the quest was about, I couldn’t imagine it being more important than my main mission, and I had no desire to pull myself in too many directions at once.

There was a party raging in the palace. The throne room was occupied by two dozen Northerners, a pale and gloomy Gunther, and the könig, who was sharing his throne with his enormous mug and bellowing out some kind of melody.

“Oh, Jarl Hagen! Come on in,” he said, interrupting his song and waving to me.

I waved back and sat down next to Gunther.

“What’s wrong with you? Head hurting?” I asked him.

“That, and one more thing…der Bottom is dead. They made mincemeat of him. Our brigade dispersed, and he took two knights with him to take on fifteen dog-heads. All they found was his medallion buried in a pile of his dead enemies.”

I thought back to the fat, arrogant character I’d met and had a hard time reconciling the person I knew with the story Gunther told me. A rat in life, he’d died well.

“That’s a shame. But the whole thing is done, at least.”

You completed a quest: A Free North

Reward:

2000 experience

+20 respect among the peoples of the North

Reward from the order: random elite item

Reward from the könig: random ability

But there was something else.

Reward for completing the entire series:

7000 experience

5000 gold

An elite item from the order storehouse matching your class

A random ability matching your class

Title: Knight of the North

+20 respect among the peoples of the North

+10 respect in each of the Northern burgs

I thought that would be all, but there was more.

You unlocked Level 51!

Points ready to be distributed: 5

Completing the quests given to you by the order as part of the series, you lose the attributes given to you.

-80 respect among the peoples of the North

-40 respect in each of the Northern burgs

Well, it can’t all be good news. My reputation got a little here, and lost a little there, but I didn’t much care anymore. The new level was good news, however.

The items and gold clinked their way into my bag. But what about that ability?

“Hey, Jarl!” the könig called me over. “You’re a good man, but you can’t fight for beans. Come on over here so I can teach you a thing or two.”

I went over, noticing as I did how drunk he really was. He stared at me, his eyes wobbling.

“Ah, what the jotunns? If I teach you something like that, I’ll only have myself to blame later. No, I’m going to teach you how to stay warm! Some wild people from the Eternal Ice showed me this dance.”

The könig spun off a few odd-looking moves.

You learned a new passive ability: Dancing with Cold, Level 1

+20% protection from cold

The old bastard was as stingy as ever. I thanked him, and in response, he graciously waved a hand before diving back toward his mug.

“Where’s Flosy?” I asked Gunther.

“He and Alex went somewhere. Apparently, they had a job to do,” the knight answered stolidly. “Laird Hagen, I brought you something from the order. I think you’ll find a use for it.”

He handed me a scroll. Oh, wow. I’d thought he’d just give me some old skill, but that one was much better. Really nice, even. If I ever made it to Level 100, I knew I’d find a use for it all right.

“That’s a very rare scroll, one of the order’s secret abilities, and only its followers—and only highly dedicated followers, even—can know about it. I am quite sure that in your hands, it will do evil to no one.”

“Thank you, Gunther. Thanks, my friend.”

“It’s a shame we have to part ways, Laird. I know your path lies further on, but I, sadly, can’t go with you. With der Bottom is dead, there is so much to do here. I took control of the local mission, so—”

“Gunther, the world isn’t nearly as big as it seems, so I know we’ll meet again. I do have a request for you; keep an eye on Flosy. I don’t want him to become a complete drunk, you know? I won’t say goodbye to him, just to make sure he doesn’t come running after me like he does when he’s been drinking.”

The knight nodded sadly.

“Okay, I’m off, my friend. Goodbyes should be short and sweet.” I clapped him on the shoulder and got up from the bench.

“Laird Hagen!” Gunther called after me. “What do you think about doing that ceremony, the one with the strip of earth, the next time we see each other?”

Oh, come on…brotherhood with an NPC? Still, strange as it may seem, I was fine with the idea.

“Certainly, Gunther. It would be my honor.”

“Oh, and one more thing… That person, Wanderer,” von Richter continued, his voice faltering.

“Yes, I could tell you knew each other. I didn’t ask, though, since I figured you’d tell me if there was anything I should know.”

“He’s a fearsome person.” Gunther didn’t look me in the eye. “Really, I’m not sure he’s a person in the first place. I have him to thank for saving my life once in Leeb, the order chapter, though I think my debt to him is paid. Hagen, just make sure you never owe him anything—the interest is far too high a price to pay.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Gunther, but I promise I’ll keep my contact with him to a minimum. Does that make you feel better?”

The knight exhaled, got up, and hugged me. “Take care of yourself, brother,” he said to me quietly.

I winked, pulling his forehead to mine. Then I left the hall with a wave to the könig.

***

Back at the hotel, I looked over the two items I’d gotten. They turned out to be a nice pair of greaves and yet another helmet with nothing special about it. The scroll, however, was in another league altogether, and I took incredible care to place it in my chest. Everything’s fun and games until you’re holding an atom bomb in your hands.

By the time I left the hotel, my bag was practically empty save for 200 gold, a portal scroll, and a random piece of game trash written in a language nobody knew. I needed to pack light for the road ahead of me. I walked up to a small building I’d noticed a while before that, and stared at it for a while, trying to figure out if I should go in or save it for my next visit to the Fayroll world. There was a sign over the door.

The Free Companies: Wild Brigade Recruitment Center

End of book three

Fayroll 4:

Fayroll 4 will be released on 15 August, but you can read 20% of the manuscript today if you visit www.litworld.info/fayroll/4. Thanks for sticking with Fayroll, enjoy the adventure.

South is on the horizon! With abandoned temples and outlandish inhabitants; will this prove the end of the road for ‘Hagen the Warrior’? Book 4, the adventure is waiting for you.

Book recommendations:

Thank you for reading Fayroll! The saga is far from over, but there are other great stories I wanted to tell you about!  Do yourself a favor and check out The Trapped Mind Project by Michael Chatfield. Click here to check it out on Amazon

I also want to recommend Realm of Arkon, a great series written by a friend of mine: G. Akella (Georgy Smorodinsky). He is one of the most popular and best-selling LitRPG authors in Russia. Book one is currently available for free on Amazon.

What do a famous Swedish gamer, a half-woman half-dragon, a Japanese youth with ties to the Yakuza and a despicable goblin have in common? Find out in this new LitRPG fantasy series!

I would also like to recommend D.Rus who is another of the best-selling LitRPG Fantasy authors in Russia. His work is fantastic and very well received in Russia. You can find his link to Amazon here.

Also don’t forget to look at my publisher’s website Litworld.info for all the latest information and to find other great authors I work with.

And if you can’t get enough of Fayroll then why not join our Facebook Page. We post all the latest information about Fayroll, artwork and pictures and even the odd competition or two.

[1] The Russian agency responsible for documenting the main events that happen over the course of one’s life: birth, marriage, and death.

[2] A national Russian soup made from cabbage and beets.

[3] A physician and philosopher from a story by Mikhail Bulgakov, a famous Russian author.

[4] An ancient Russian name for chess.

[5] Skewered meat roasted traditionally out in nature and over an open fire.

[6] Dough pockets stuffed with meat, a traditional Russian food.

[7] A play on words mixing Buratino, the Russian name for Pinocchio, and the Terminator.

[8] A “mercy knife” used by knights in the Middle Ages to kill mortally wounded friends in order to end their suffering.

[9] Tristan and Isolde, young, star-crossed lovers in legends from the Middle Ages.