“How did you get here?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“I was looking for you. All of you. I have a message from Bors — Mr. Borisov.”
“You? No way! Do you know him?”
“Yes. He once helped me with a rather sensitive problem. A couple of weeks ago he found me and asked me to return the favor. He wanted me to give you this scroll as soon as the Agrion cluster was unblocked. Here, take it.”
She handed me a rolled-up sheet of parchment, sealed and tied with a length of string.
“What is it?” I asked. “A letter? A spell?”
“I’ve no idea. In any case, whatever you decide to do, you’d better do it quick. The Reapers will be here in a moment.”
“I’m not leaving the others behind!”
“Fair enough. I think I’m gonna stay too. You can use my help. Do you mind?”
“Your help will be most appreciated.”
“You think you can repeat your Dark Regeneration trick?”
“Unfortunately, no. It has a two-hour cooldown.”
“My combat avatar is out of the question, then. Never mind. I’ve used up all my abilities on that Ancient Wyvern, anyway. I’ll stay as I am now. That way at least I can be healed.”
I cast another glance over the scorched island. Allan had stopped halfway to the tents and was crouching on the shoreline staring into the dark water, trying to digest everything that had just happened.
His warriors and wizards didn’t look much better. We would have to send them to the castle. They wouldn’t survive a second combat.
“Enea, I’d like you to cast a Magic Eye and keep the area under its surveillance,” I put Christa’s scroll away into my bag and contacted the castle. “Lethmiel? I want you to cast a cargo portal to the Ravens’ camp. Archie, sound the call to action stations!”
The cargo portal burst forth in bright circles of fiery magic symbols, blowing away the ash.
Archie, Arwan and White were the first to arrive. Enea’s father took in the blackened panorama and looked around, searching for his daughter. Having seen her, he strode toward us. “What the hell happened here?”
“Reapers,” I said. “On wyverns’ backs.”
“Any get away?”
“No. But another group on horseback has been sighted approaching the moors.”
“Who saw them?”
“This is Christa,” I said. “She can tell you about it.”
I turned to the other two, “Arch, I need you to take care of the perimeter. Post your warriors so that all the duckboards are covered. Arwan, get your hunters to skin all the dead hydras. There’re at least thirty of them lying on the beach.”
Another portal flashed open in surges of golden light. This time it was Platinus, followed by a group of peasants with large wicker baskets on their backs.
Ignoring the blood-curdling scene, Platinus beelined for the Ancient Wyvern, fully intending to check it for any rare ingredients.
Having finished dishing out the most pressing orders, I walked over to the surviving Ravens.
“You put up an excellent fight,” I told them. “It’s enough for today. I want you to port out to Rion. A Blood Elf will receive you and issue you some tents. His name is Lethmiel. He’ll show you where to set up camp.”
“How about the others?”
“I’m taking care of them.”
“No, you aren’t. You’re collecting our loot.”
I gave the warrior a long look. “Each hydra skin we’re farming now might save someone’s life tomorrow. Take my advice and go to Rion. Get some rest. If someone’s worried about their share of the loot, we can always discuss it when I’m back.”
“Are we your prisoners?”
“Please. What’s wrong with you, guys? We’ve got another group of defective mobs coming this way. Anyone willing to stay and help us defend the island?”
The Ravens grew quiet. They’d have enough traumatic experiences for one day.
“Very well,” they mumbled. “We’re leaving.”
Their disorderly ranks shuffled toward the portal.
White was busy discussing something with Christa. Enea was helping Iskandar. Our warriors had split into groups guarding parts of the shore where the duckboards were relatively intact.
Allan was sitting apathetically on the hillock. He hadn’t put his armor back on.
I walked over to him. “Any ideas how we might lure the others out of the tents?”
A player’s personal tent is their safe zone which guarantees their immunity for twenty-four hours. The Reapers were bound to know this, so they would simply stay put and wait till it expired. Which meant we would have to defend the island all along. And we couldn’t afford to keep fighting for twenty-four hours.
“Allan? Wake up!” I gave him a light shake. “You think you can close the camp via the clan interface?”
“Probably. I’ve never done it before.”
“Well, do it, then! Get everybody out of the tents! Tell them to pick up the respawned players’ stuff and port to Rion. The rest we can discuss later once the danger’s gone.”
Chapter Three
The Crystal Sphere
Rion Castle
AFTER THE TURBULENT EVENTS of the last few days, we’d entered a period of relative quiet.
Even the goblins had decided to give it a break. Once we’d moved the local villagers to the castle, the cheeky little mobs had nobody to pester anymore. Before, they used to rip the peasants’ fishing nets and steal the fish or bring a train of hydras to a village — but now the moors around Rion were completely deserted apart from an occasional Elven hunters’ raid — and goblins knew better than to mess with them.
The Battle of Chaffinch Creek had quickly become a breeding ground of the most incredible rumors. Already the following day, local taverns had filled with stories of my supposed duel with Allan, followed by the Ravens’ defeat and the invasion of wyvern-riding demons who were then completely eradicated by a small group of Rion warriors.
Dimian puffed his chest out with pride. He was now the most desired guest in the whole of the city, enjoying dinner invitations from high-standing NPCs who couldn’t wait to hear every detail of the recent events.
I read him the riot act, telling him to keep his lips sealed. As if! He stood his ground, referring to all the good deals he’d struck with Agrion’s officials thanks to a few largely exaggerated tales of Enea’s and my adventures. Indeed, our warehouses were rapidly filling with everything we might need for a siege.
Finally, I gave up. Let them gossip. Especially because some devil-may-care players had found their way to Chaffinch Creek and uploaded a video of the incinerated island complete with vultures feasting on the wyverns’ rotting carcasses.
Our clan’s ranking had grown a bit. New applicants had begun to trickle in again, thoroughly vetted by Archie, Iskandar and Rodrigo.
Today, our main cadre had sworn the Blood Oath.
Enea and I had meticulously reconstructed every detail of this ancient ritual. The pressing threat of the Reapers’ advance had accelerated our research. As a result, we’d lost 6% of our clan members who’d openly chickened out, unwilling to take the oath even though it didn’t bind anyone to Rion in the slightest. No one was obliged to live here or restrict his or her travels.
Still, the prospects of lifelong debuffs in case of treason had resulted in this unavoidable 6% dropout rate. Which, if the truth were known, did us a lot of good.
The Raven clan had 153 survivors. We’d buried the avatars of the 24 dead players on a small island not far from the castle.
The next morning after the battle, Allan wanted to talk to me.
“I think we’re deep in it,” he said. “You know anyone we can turn to?”
“What do you mean?”
“I sent a message to the admins. No one replied. We want to quit the experiment, all of us. I know you have friends among Infosystems workers. I’d like you to help us cancel our contracts.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
He cast me a frowned look. “Are you with them?”
“No, I’m not. My Logout button is blocked, too. There’s no special treatment for me, if that’s what you mean. That’s not the problem. I think the corporation has lost control over the Crystal Sphere. We’re on our own now.”
“Impossible!” he said. “That’s not what we were told! They said that the real world was becoming unfit for human habitation. They were moving us here while they were demolishing the old cities and building new ones!”
“Nonsense. Ask White if you don’t believe me. Or find someone with a working Logout button. No one’s building new cities, let alone demolishing the old ones. They’re falling into decay even as we speak.”
He stared blankly at me. “What’s the point?”
How could I explain? I had no real evidence. And I couldn’t very well show my mind expander video footage to all and sundry, either. I’d seen the truth twice in its most painful and agonizing form — plus I knew the bits of intel that White had shared with me — and still I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it.
All I knew was that something disastrous had happened on planet Earth. But still I had no idea what that had got to do with luring the entire population into the mushrooming in-mode centers.
I offered Allan a rolled-up sheet of parchment.
“What’s that?”
“This is a mass teleport scroll with Rion’s coordinates already entered. A guest portal, naturally. It’s set up on the small island by the barbican.”
“Why are you giving me this?”
“Just in case. You never know.”
“Bullshit. Two clans sharing one castle? Don’t be ridiculous.”
That morning, neither of us had understood the other.
I couldn’t blame Allan, really. His neuroimplant had drastically changed his outlook.
“The offer still stands,” I said. “Whenever you change your minds, there’s plenty of space in Rion. Are were friends now?” I proffered my hand.
He returned my handshake. “Sure. Thanks for coming to our rescue,” he turned round and headed for the Ravens’ tents.
A new system message appeared in my interface,
Quest alert: The Enemy of my Enemy. Quest modified!
Quest type: Normal, Diplomatic
Don’t engage in any hostile acts against the clan of Ravens.
Reward: a potential ally who might still take your side in need and battle the Reapers with you.
Deadline: none
* * *
I found Enea poring over ancient manuscripts.
“I woke up but you weren’t there,” she said.
“I spoke to Allan.”
“And?”
“He plays his cards close, that one. He wants to get rid of the implant and go back to the real world. He didn’t even listen to me. When I offered them to stay in Rion as an independent clan, he refused point blank. They’re breaking camp now.”
“Shame,” Enea sighed. “Still, we can’t force them to stay. Don’t worry about them. They can get back home safely and quickly by using stationary portals. In any case, the feud between our two clans is over, and that’s already a lot. Would you like some breakfast? Did you get the chance to take a look at Christa’s scroll?”
“Not yet. We can do it together now.”
“You’re not even asking me about her.”
“If she wants to stay in Rion, I don’t mind. But that’s her decision. A demon of her caliber is a great addition to our garrison.”
“Alex, please. She’s not a demon anymore, can’t you see? She may have kept her combat avatar, but that’s the extent of it. She’s changed a lot.”
I sat down at the table. “How do you know?”
She smiled. “We spent some time in chat this morning. Come on now, show me the scroll,” she hurried to change the subject.
Admittedly, my heart missed a beat when I broke the seal.
The dry sealing wax snapped, crumbling in my fingers. No magic visual effects followed. I unfolded the scroll.
Enea leaned over my shoulder. A loose lock of her hair tickled my cheek.
“That’s weird,” she sounded disappointed.
Indeed, Borisov’s last message hadn’t lived up to our expectations. The parchment was filled with hurriedly scribbled, uneven columns of numbers which appeared to be some kind of coordinates, followed by a long list of codes and the hasty postscript below,
Alex,
You can only use this in the direst emergency. Hold on. I’m trying to fix things.
I opened my map-making app and entered the coordinates.
My mind expander zoned out, going through its map database of the Crystal Sphere, then reported the search result,
No matches found
The coordinates you provided do not exist
I sighed. “This makes no sense.”
“I don’t think he would’ve sent you something if it made no sense,” Enea said. “Mind if I make a copy? I’ll think about it when I have a moment. You don’t think it could be some new location which isn’t marked on the maps yet?”
“Even so, the marker itself should show on the map, even if it’s covered in the ‘mist of war’. But it says that the coordinates themselves don’t exist!”
“Could it be a typo? What if Borisov misspelled the numbers?”
“I’ll try,” I started a partial match search. Its progress bar didn’t even budge although I could sense the growing pressure on my mind from the map-making app processing data.
Someone delicately knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Enea switched off the shield.
“A very good morning to you,” Dimian faltered in the doorway, realizing we were having breakfast.
“Come and sit down with us,” I said. “Would you like some coffee?”
“I’d rather have some water,” Dimian replied cautiously. He wasn’t really used to all these new exotic drinks from overseas. He probably wondered how we managed to get them by bypassing the trade agency.
“So, what brings you here?” I asked, pouring some water for him. I wasn’t in the mood to explain that it was Platinus who’d developed the coffee formula. That would scare the hell out of him. Dimian never trusted alchemy, only using a few tried and tested old elixirs.
“The shops are running out of stock,” he complained. “New people keep arriving, and it takes ages for supply caravans to get here.”
“So how can we help you?” Enea asked. “The nearest sea port is five days away. We can’t change that.”
“Oh yes we can!”
I already knew what he was driving at. “Come on, spit it out. Just don’t expect us to use teleport scrolls. They’re only for emergencies. It’s up to you to handle regular deliveries.”
“I understand that. They probably cost a fortune. I have another idea. There’s an old road, the Ogres Road. It’s two days shorter. It fell out of use, though.”
“Why?”
“Because of the ogres. It was a long time ago. My grandfather was still young. They killed travelers and robbed caravans. Nobody could do anything about it. That area is very rocky with plenty of cliffs and caves.”
“Has anything changed now?” Enea asked.
“My father used to tell me that all the monsters were dead. Some wizard had sent a plague upon them. I was still a little boy when it happened. But the road fell out of use.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think? It’s scary!” he fumbled with his beard. “Some are afraid of the ogres, others of the plague. Still, those who occasionally use it come back in one piece. So I thought, what if we check it out?”
“Good idea. Now tell me, what’s the catch? Couldn’t you just ask the travelers themselves?”
“I did. They say the ogres are gone. Some old bones lying around, that’s all. There’s another problem. The road goes past Warblerford. There used to be a bridge there, but not an
ymore. It was swept away during the last spring flood. Whenever the villagers need to cross to the other side, they use the ford but it’s too narrow and the current is strong. A loaded cart won’t get across there. And if we cross by boat, we’ll lose a whole day just by loading and unloading. We need to restore the bridge.”
“And what do the Agrion authorities think about it?” I asked.
“They don’t care, do they? If the road is restored, they’ll have to ensure the caravans’ safety. Too much extra work for the city.”
I glanced at the map. A chain of relatively safe low-level locations lay between the Toxic Moors and Warblerford. There was indeed an old road there which went past the moors and led directly to Agrion.
“You can restore it, I know!” Dimian continued, hinting heavily at my uncategorized magic. “It’ll only take you an hour. And it would mean the world to us. All the profits we lose!”
“He’s right,” Enea agreed. “The two days saved on each trip would pay for the works. If Agrion’s not interested, it’s their problem. We, however, could gain a lot.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “Let’s go there and see for ourselves. The Warbler is a wide river, as far as I remember. We could check out the work and see if we’re up to it.”
* * *
The stationary teleport brought us to the outskirts of Warblerford, not far from the ford itself. This was near the local inn where I’d met up with Enea once.
That’s right. Here was the small impromptu market — and next to it, a guards’ post alongside some stacks of logs. It looked like they were indeed going to build a bridge here.
“It’s so quiet,” Dimian looked anxiously around.
“Where is everybody?” Enea echoed.
The market was deserted, and so was the river bank. No guards had been posted. The place looked dead.
Our bank of the River Warbler was high and steep; the opposite, flat, with forest encroaching on the waterline. I could make out a few logged clearings in the distance.
The Reapers (The Neuro 3) Page 8