Apostle of the Sleeping Gods

by Dan Sugralinov

  This NPC, though not a human, was given an AI that worked the same way.

  “More ale!” Sagda shouted, slamming the empty glass on the table. He frowned even harder when he saw that I was still standing there. “Are you dumb, boy?”

  “You’re so unpositive, Master Sagda. For the first time in a long while, you have your first real student and you’re overlooking him to drain mug after mug of cheap swill in a tavern. Is this where you belong? Do you really enjoy judging sham fights for public amusement?”

  Sagda hit me with a gaze as cold as Bose-Einstein condensate. I felt beside myself and looked down at my bare feet, feeling a lump of unfounded fear rise in my throat. There was no reason to fear a master, right? But for some reason, I really wanted to take my words back.

  A moment later, the floor went out from under me and the back of my head slammed into it. An arm’s length from my face, his lips curled, the master hissed:

  “You kobold-donkey hybrid. You must have completely lost your mind if you think you can talk to me like that!”

  Then he belched out a curse, spattering saliva, but I smiled. He could say whatever he liked. My reputation with the master had just gone up by five, sending me a clear message that I had gotten through to him. Tashot ran up to the commotion:

  “Is this kid bothering you, master?” the tavern owner asked.

  “No, everything is fine,” Sagda answered after a moment’s consideration. “I just had to give a small demonstration of force to this unbelieving youngster, Mr. Tashot.”

  With a chuckle, the fat man quickly moved away. The master helped me up, extending a hand and returned to the table. I gathered some courage and sat next to him.

  “What?” He raised a glass of ale to his mouth but didn’t drink, peering at me through the head of foam.

  “Teach me to fight, master!”

  “I do not train bowmanship, archer!” the last part he spat out with such spite and lashing hate that I got the impression an archer had stolen his wife.

  “My unarmed combat skill is much more impressive than my shooting. With all your experience, haven’t you learned that you cannot judge a book by its cover?”

  “The gods are never wrong, and their information tells me that you are an archer,” the master grumbled, now calmer and returning to his mug. He downed half and set it back on the table. “But even if you are not who you claim to be, I got out of that game. Find yourself another trainer.”

  He told me to get lost with a gesture, losing all interest in our conversation and starting to sing along with the song being played on stage. The female bard group was performing a well-worn hit of this world about gankers lurking around the corner.

  “Look at the stars, look at the sky...” Sagda said, drawing out his words in a piercing, horrifying voice.

  Nether! If I was having such a hard time with my sky-high charisma and persuasion skill, what chance did anyone else have? Or had this mob actually changed profession and now the AI simply was thinking up excuses to brush me off? The label under his name spoke to that pretty clearly. Unlike Hunter Conrad, who had trained me to shoot, Sagda was not identified as an “Unarmed Combat Trainer.”

  “One hundred gold,” I said, trotting out my final argument. That was more than I gave the hunter by exactly one hundred times. “Teach me some special moves, please.”

  Sagda gave an extended retch, held his eyes closed firmly, laughed and looked at me with unhidden approval.

  “You remind me of a burr I picked up on the steppes of Kharestan, archer. It took a chunk of my flesh with it, then I spent the whole rest of the day digging out spines. What would you like me to teach you? How to punch?” He extended a hand. “I’ll give you a free lesson, appreciate it! Here: ball your fingers into a fist, swing sharply while exhaling and extend your arm, aiming with these two knuckles. Now pony up. One hundred gold!”

  “I’m serious, master.”

  “Then I am serious as well. Prove to me that you are worthy. You still have time to register for the tournament and, based on your generous promises, you’ve got the money. We just so happen to need an eighth fighter. The battles are by elimination. Win at least one.”

  “Then you’ll teach me?”

  “Everything you can be taught at your level. And my instincts are telling me you’re capable of a lot, so the whole shebang is gonna run you five hundred. And if you’ve got a problem with that...”

  “Nope, that’ll be just fine. Shake on it?” I extended a hand.

  My reputation with him jumped up another ten points. Still he was ambivalent, but the boost was significant. He squeezed my hand aggressively and so hard that tears welled up in my eyes.

  “Go get yourself registered,” he snorted in surprise, having realized I was not going to howl in pain. “Let’s see what you’ve really got... archer. And I don’t want to see any bow-and-arrow in the arena. At the very least not as a primary weapon. As I already said, I don’t train bowmanship.”

  * * *

  I was slightly worried whether someone from Axiom would be watching the battles, but their table was empty. This was below their level, seemingly.

  The tournament was set to begin in ten minutes. I studied the list of participants up on the wall. On a blackboard, there was a bracket drawn in chalk with eight participants from levels thirteen to fifteen. One of the quarter finals had me pitted against a level-fourteen air shaman named Jasper.

  “Take down his totems,” Master Sagda came from behind me. “If he gets three up, you might as well surrender. He’ll be three times faster, surrounded by an air shield and have an elemental, which will both slow you down and hammer away from afar with Air Cleaver...”

  I looked around and saw Sagda whistling away, already talking with Tashot. The tavern owner was delighted to have found an eighth fighter, and said I would get a ten percent discount for the whole next week. Considering my class penalty, it seemed just about worthless, but I didn’t forget to thank him. Whether for that or my mere participation, my reputation with him jumped up five points.

  Some other things were weighing on my mind more than the tournament, though.

  First of all, I had to make sure I didn’t reveal myself. Of course, I could not use curse of the undead, but I also wanted to keep my maximum-level Resilience a secret. That meant I couldn’t afford to let the battles drag. The shorter the battle, the less damage I would take, and the less logs would be out there. But I couldn’t one-shot either. Basically, I’d try to weaponize the same tactic I’d used against Crag in the Arena.

  Second, money. I had enough to pay for Sagda’s training but, after that, I’d be empty-handed. One hundred for participation, five hundred to the master and that would be it. I’d be poor again. Poor... Damn, and I was in basic beginner gear!

  I headed across the whole room to Overweight’s table. Goosebumps saw me and gave a goofy smile.

  “Hi, Alex!” she exclaimed. “Finally you’re joining us!”

  Rita shook her head.

  “Goose, you make it too obvious when you like something! Behave yourself,” she whispered to her friend and turned her gaze to me. “Alex, are you coming to join us? Please?”

  “Not yet, Rita. I registered for the tournament. Listen, we need to talk. Alone. Can we go somewhere else?” While I waited for an answer, I nodded at Overweight’s pretty friend: “Sorry Goosebumps.”

  “I see how it is!” she said, her eyes open wide in astonishment. “Rita, did you have your eye on him too? It’s always the quiet ones...”

  There were another two girls sitting at the table, who snickered at the comment:

  “So the famously unavailable Rita Wood is putting herself out there?”

  “You’re spouting nonsense!” Overweight flared up as she stood. “My relationship with Scyth is strictly business!”

  “So that’s what you’re calling it now,” one of the girls said, pointer finger raised. “Business!!”

  I did nothing to dispel their suspicions. I reall
y did like Rita, which had me in a bit of a flurry because I was in love with Tissa. And recognizing that made me feel uncomfortable. Then, all tied in a knot, I got embarrassed and my face blushed deep red.

  “See you,” I said, grabbing Rita by the hand.

  We walked over to one of the columns in the middle of the room. I didn’t know why we couldn’t just talk there. What was so secret? But nothing had changed, I still turned into an idiot around girls.

  “Is Undy with you?” I asked.

  Ideally, I wanted to be able to pick through both traders’ wares.

  “Chris? He’s grounded, doing homework. He fell way behind in school, the teacher sent out a strike to our folks, his second of the year, and now they’re mad. They wanted to ground me too, but my grades are fine. Just a minute...” She looked up, reading the text over my head. “Did you join a clan? The Awoken? I haven’t heard of them...”

  “It’s a fun clan.”

  “Ah, I see. Who’s leader?”

  “Uh... Me.”

  “You made your own clan?” she froze, her mouth open. “Aw nether! Pretty good going from a noob on a bench to running your very own clan! Where’d you get that idea? And why?”

  “Uh, well...”

  “Does it have anything to do with Axiom? I’ve seen you with them You looked like you were getting along so well...” She suddenly cut herself off. “Okay, you don’t have to answer. I respect a trade secret! So tell me what you’ve got. Because you’re gonna be late...” she said, nodding at the stage where Tashot had started announcing the beginning of the tournament.

  “I need to get some gear right now. Anything. All that matters is I fill all the slots. Do you have your stuff?”

  “Ah! Looking at you, I had no idea how you were gonna fight in that. I’ve got some stuff on me, some in my chest, I’ll run up. Any special requests?”

  “No, I trust your experience. Most important, make it fast. I don’t need any weapons unless you’ve got some with bonuses. I’m gonna fight unarmed. It’s gonna be a proper backyard brawl...”

  “Sure thing. I’ll pick out some stuff you can keep using after. I’ll bring it to the arena in ten minutes.”

  I liked how calmly she reacted to the odd situation.

  “Is that all?”

  “No. There’s something else. It isn’t urgent, but I need money. Do you think you could...?”

  “How much?” Rita asked, interrupting. “I have almost fifteen hundred...”

  “No, no,” I said, embarrassed again. “You aren’t understanding. Basically, don’t ask why, but I have crazy penalties on trade. I’ve got a few pieces of gear to sell, could you maybe throw them up on auc for me?”

  Comprehension dawned on her face and businesslike intonations peeked through in her voice:

  “Of course, Scyth! I have a seventy-five percent discount on auction commissions! And my items start higher up the list! What do you think I leveled the skill for? Me and Undy take five percent of the sale price for consignment services but, for you, I won’t charge. What do you have specifically?”

  “Listen, I’ll just message you a list of everything I’ve got, okay? And feel free to deduct commission, because this isn’t just a one-time deal, Rita. I’m gonna sell all my stuff through you from now on. Thanks!”

  “Then don’t even worry about paying for the gear today. No sense in trading the same money back and forth...”

  I wasn’t expecting it from myself, but I kissed her on the velvety cheek, which I had to get up my tiptoes to reach. Then I ran into the backyard. My battle was the last in this round, but I wanted to watch my potential opponents in actions.

  * * *

  Part of the backyard, especially trampled and enclosed by a flickering magical dome, served as a makeshift arena. The audience of several dozen, clinging to their cream beers and dark ales, surrounded the arena and were stormily voicing predictions.

  The first fighters were already in their corners of the improvised arena, checking their weapons and renewing their buffs. They were both melee characters but only one was a warrior, while the other was an assassin. The first, Terry, was stuffed into a suit of plate armor, standing behind a body-length shield he held in one hand and squeezing a short sword in the other. Mongoose the assassin meanwhile was flaunting a suit of leather armor and wielding unusual weapons, a small axe with a curved handle and a dagger that emanated black soot. Both of their equipment was studded with greens and blues. As far as I could tell there was only one epic, the warrior’s pride and joy, his shield.

  Tashot came into the middle of the platform, immeasurably delighted. There were rumors that he used to fight as well, both in official Commonwealth tournaments and plain old military campaigns. After taking a pension, he opened the tavern and fattened up, but he had never lost his old love of a good fight. Among other things, these tournaments allowed visitors to blow off steam and settle festering issues without tearing his bar down.

  “My dear residents and visitors of Tristad!” Tashot began, smiling ear to ear. “Welcome to the weekly tournament of the Bubbling Flagon! The first of four first-round matches will begin shortly, but first let me remind you of the rules! The tournament will follow a standard playoff bracket! We allow all kinds of buffs, elixirs, potions and scrolls, just as we allow fighters of all levels to take part! Fights are limited to five minutes! If a winner has not been determined before then, a Sudden Death curse will be triggered, lowering health by one percent per second! Basically, it’s all standard, like any arena in the Commonwealth! Today’s participants are all equally experienced and hardened by tournaments and matches, except for one beginner. You’ll be seeing him in the final round of battle. We’ve got a hot one for you tonight, folks!”

  “The tournament of the Bubbling Flagon! Round one!” Master Sagda’s magically amplified voice rang out. “First quarter final! Two-time champion of the Bubbling Flagon tournament, level-fourteen warrior Terry versus three-time finalist, level-thirteen assassin Mongoose! Fighters, make your final preparations! Three! Two! One!”

  “Fight!” the crowd wailed along with the commentator.

  Right away, the assassin went blurry and instantly materialized behind the warrior, having made some fantastic jump over ten feet into the air, and swooping down right on his opponent’s head. The warrior darted away and swung his sword but missed. Mongoose then slowly, stomping grandly, turned around, circled Terry and attacked again with a swing of his axe.

  The warrior waited with his sword extended toward the attacker. And at the very last moment, he jumped: not out of the line of attack but at Mongoose, swinging down with such force that the air howled. But he missed again. And that must have come to a surprise to him, because it broke his rhythm and his subsequent attempt to dodge came a second too late. And that was all the assassin needed. Appearing at Terry’s unprotected side, he stunned the warrior and, caught off guard, the warrior began to teeter. Mongoose gave two shouts and his silhouette flickered yellow, then flashed red, surrounding himself in an aura of orange that surged with veins of fire.

  “Well, well, well! As expected, Mongoose has chained together Can Opener and Bloodlust! Armor is completely ignored and damage is doubled!” Sagda exclaimed, commentating. “But might it be too early? This is a critical moment!”

  The assassin then sunk his teeth into his opponent, starting with a special and immediately chopping into the warrior’s neck with his axe, going through his armor. Then his dagger worked its magic, also ignoring the warrior’s armor and mincing the poor bastard’s innards like a butcher. With a groan, he shoved the agile bloodthirsty assassin away, turned in place, put all his weight onto his right foot, gave a sharp swing... and again didn’t hit his unbelievably nimble enemy.

  The opening phase of the battle had lasted just twenty seconds, but the warrior’s life was already down by two thirds. The assassin decided not to build on his advantage, though, and jumped back to a safe distance. His volcanic aura faded.

  Bearing his
teeth, Mongoose shouted an insult, but his opponent made no reaction. Instead, he bit the cork of a Great Health Potion, popped it open and drained the flask in one gulp. That was all, he couldn’t heal that way twice in one battle.

  “It looks like Mongoose the assassin is on his last legs,” I heard Tashot’s voice next to me.