The Road East (Epic LitRPG Adventure - Book 2) (Fayroll)
Page 28
“Oh, come on, look at me. What war could I want? Where’s your new spot, by the way?”
Gedron looked at me, obviously trying to decide if he should tell me. He made up his mind. “In the North, not far from Kaiger, a city close to the Great Ice Wall.”
“Very helpful,” I said, chuckling. “I haven’t been to the North yet, though I’m thinking about going.”
“You should, there’s plenty to do there. And it’s cooler there than here.”
It certainly was toasty in the dukhan.
“So why are you asking me about my clan?”
“Before I tell you that, let me ask you one more question.” I squinted at him.
Gedron huffed his frustration, though he nodded.
“How’s recruitment going?”
“Not great.” He even pounded the table with his fist. “Terrible, even. The defeat has definitely played a role, but still. Things are bad.”
“And what if your clan, or, at least, what’s left of it, did something that got all of Rattermark talking about you, would that help the situation?”
“Obviously.” Gedron looked closely at me. “Advertisement drives business, but what are we supposed to do? A flash mob? A wet t-shirt contest?”
“Your clan is going to kill Mandiblefighter,” I informed him calmly.
Gedron sat there quietly for a second before reaching out and feeling my forehead. He poured some wine, downed it, and responded just as calmly. “Even if our clan were able to kill him—something I personally doubt—the whole thing is impossible. Mandiblefighter’s been gone for two years now. Nobody’s seen him or heard anything from him.”
“Let’s just say that I know where he is and how to get him to come out,” I said quietly. “Yes, I do, and I also know that beating him would triple your ranks at the very least. And, one more thing: if you fight him, I’ll call us even. It’s a win-win for you. Even if you lose, you don’t lose anything, since the people you have with you are obviously the faithful core. One more defeat won’t scare them away. I’ll give you your ring back, too, so you benefit however things turn out.”
“You know, if there’s anything you’re not, it’s altruistic,” said Gedron harshly. “What do you get out of this? And, that’s just the first question I have. Why aren’t you asking your clan or the Gray Witch’s clan for help? You’re friends with them, no? And how did you find Mandiblefighter? Why do you need to kill him? I get nervous when I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Got him. The negotiations had started, which meant that all I had to worry about was cutting the best deal possible. Although to be fair, I only needed two things.
“Good questions.” I settled back into my chair. “Smart questions. But, let’s do this: you don’t ask me any questions, and I’ll pretend that you were the one who led your clan to victory. You found a long-lost elite monster and beat it, proving that the Wild Hearts are still a clan for warriors and heroes.”
“Do I look like an idiot?” Gedron stared at me with carefully studied indignation painted over his face. “I don’t think so. You’re the one who needs people to stay in the dark, and especially about you taking us to Mandiblefighter. Your, oh, what’s her name…”
I realized who he was talking about. “Elina. Elina the Wise.”
“Right, ‘the Wise,’” said Gedron with a laugh. “Look who she let into her clan. Anyway, she’ll tear you a new one. The Witch will probably help.”
“Let’s not beat around the bush. Are you interested in my offer? If you are, let’s figure out the details; if not, I never saw you.”
Gedron looked at me, thinking. A real leader, I realized with respect. His clan was in ruins, and he was still holding on to the brand.
“Okay, we’re in,” he said finally. “But, there are a few things we need to figure out.”
“Of course.” I mentally rubbed my hands together. “Not just a few things; we also have to decide what we’re going to say to the game community and your clan.”
“Not to mention yours,” he teased.
“Agreed, though that’s more my problem.”
Having made up his mind, Gedron immediately jumped into the nuts and bolts. “Also, how are we going to divide the loot?”
“That’s an important issue,” I answered. “Quite. What do you usually get from elite monsters? I haven’t found anything on the forums.”
“Of course, nobody writes anything,” grunted Gedron. “That’s classified information. I’m not sure what we’ll get from the spider—I’ve never killed him. The only epic monster I’ve ever killed is Ruh, the bird.”
“Where was that?”
“In the South. He was brutal, and he had a nasty beak. There were 500 of us, and we got a set item, three elite items, two flasks full of scarce blood our craftsmen were beside themselves to see, gold, and a quest scroll.”
“A scroll?” I perked up.
“Yup. Sometimes you get a quest scroll from epic monsters. How do you think you unlock new questlines? That’s the best-known way. Plus, the player who had the actual quest got an additional bonus. A chef’s surprise, so to speak.”
“I didn’t know that. Interesting!”
“That makes sense. You could count all the quest scrolls that have been found in Fayroll on two hands. We got one when we killed Ruh.”
“Who got it?”
“Nobody in particular, the clan got it. We gave it to an assassin, since it was class-specific. Then he turned the reward back in to the clan.”
“We need to split the reward, so it’s fair.”
Gedron looked at me attentively.
“I get anything for my class, no questions asked. If it isn’t for my class, I don’t get it. Everything else… You and I flip a coin for each item. Let luck decide it—I think that’s fair.”
“‘Fair’!” cried Gedron sarcastically. “My clan kills an elite monster, which is far from a given by the way, and then we have a fifty-fifty chance of getting anything for it.”
“Oh, please,” I said, scrunching up my face. “You know as well as I do that the loot is secondary.”
“Loot is never secondary, even if you’re talking about some measly goblin,” Gedron said with conviction.
“Okay, what’s your counter offer? I’m all ears.”
“You get everything for your class, and my clan gets the rest.”
“Oh, aren’t you the generous one?” I threw my hands in the air. “I don’t have to share anything with you. I have my one wish, in case you’ve forgotten, but I’m an honorable person, so I’m willing to give you part of the loot. For example, all the items we get for crafting.”
“And any scrolls,” he added.
“Not a chance! We’ll flip for the scrolls, as well as for any jewelry since it’s not class-specific.”
“Let’s at least give my clan two-thirds!”
“Nope, we each get half,” I said firmly. “Also, nobody can know about our agreement. We’ll take care of the coin flip before we leave the location.”
Gedron smiled crookedly. “Aren’t you nervous about me flipping? I’ll be the one with the trophies.”
“Nope,” I answered. “You’re not that kind of person. If you were a rat, I wouldn’t have given you a second thought back there in the dungeon.”
“So, nobody can know anything? What about your clan? We’re going to record everything and publish it later, so people are going to find out.”
“I’ll tell my clan that you invited me as thanks for what I did for you in the dungeon. You know… You found out about Mandiblefighter somehow, though you didn’t tell me how. And, you’ll back me up on that. You can introduce me to your clan as an old friend—from an enemy clan, of course, but, hey, stranger things have happened.”
“Your clan hasn’t found out about our deal?” asked Gedron with surprise.
“Of course, they have. I told them right away.” I grinned.
“You sly dog; that wasn’t our deal.” Gedron grunted.
“Let’s go over this one more time,” Gedron said. “You’ll take us to where Mandiblefighter is, we kill him, and then we split up the loot: you get everything for warriors, and we get everything for other classes, we get everything for crafting, and we flip for scrolls, jewelry, and anything else there is. Our debt to you is paid in full, and you return my ring. Correct?”
“Exactly. You just forgot one thing: you never, under any circumstances, tell anyone that I was the one who took you and your clan to Mandiblefighter. You found him yourself.”
“But if Mandiblefighter takes us out, our debt is still paid. Right?”
“Right. Shake on it?”
“Deal.”
We shook hands.
“Are you going to call your friend to enforce the deal?” asked Gedron with a smile.
“No, no point in that,” I said, shaking my head. “Neither of us gets anything out of betraying the other.”
“You’re a slippery character, but my offer for you to join our clan is still there,” said my new brother-in-arms. “Think about it.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. Maybe I’ll take you up on it at some point. Anyway, let’s figure out the time and place.”
“For the time, let’s go tomorrow. It’s Sunday, so everyone will be in the game. We can move out around 3 p.m. There’s probably no point in waiting a week or a month to see if we can pick up some new recruits, so let’s just get it over with. As far as tactics go, I’ll talk with the clan masters and hash out a plan. You’re the one who knows the place.”
“Have you heard of Makh-Talag?”
“It isn’t far from here, out in the desert,” said Gedron, scratching his head. “An abandoned city.”
“There. Just stop by here for me first—ten of three here at the dukhan—or you can send someone.”
“Why here?” asked Gedron, taken aback.
“Well, first, I can’t imagine that Makh-Talag is that small, so it’ll take us a while to find each other. Second, I haven’t been there, so how am I supposed to get there tomorrow?”
Gedron roared with laughter. “I won’t come myself; no sense giving people a reason to gossip. Do you remember my treasurer, Mato?”
“The halfling? Sure.”
“I’ll send him. Okay, see you, Thunderbird. We’re going to have an interesting day tomorrow. Maybe we’ll even go down in history, and they’ll put our picture in the papers. Do you read the Fayroll Times?”
“Of course,” I answered. “It’s great.”
“Seriously. I started buying a newspaper for the first time in ten years. They do a really good job. Okay, I’m off, see you tomorrow.”
Gedron left. I sat there a little while longer, paid the check, and headed toward the caravanserai. I’d need a good night’s sleep before our adventure.
Chapter Twenty-Two
In which our hero sits back and watches.
This may sound strange, but I was nervous. It was something like the feeling I used to get before exams, first dates, and major KVN competitions. I would describe it as a mixture of fear that you’ll look bad, anticipation, and anxiety—something I hadn’t experienced in quite a while. As the years go by, that type of worry is generally replaced with more well-founded and judicious fears: the thought that you might lose your job and have no money to live on, or that someone might key your car in the night. Welcome to the bourgeois, everyday life. Maybe the change happens as you grow older because you stop believing in miracles? You no longer believe there’s a chance you could pass your exam without knowing something, that the girl you’re going to see could be pleasant and easy-going, or that you could win the semifinal in your KVN’s top league with terrible material. Or maybe it’s that we have too much fat clogging our brains? I’m not sure.
Whatever the case may be, that Sunday morning, I woke up with the same mix of elation and trepidation I used to feel when I was younger. Vika realized something was going on. “Is everything okay? You’re kind of jumpy today.”
I assured her that everything was fine and that I was just feeling upbeat because my apartment finally had a woman living in it. Vika perked up and dashed off to do something—drink coffee or clean the bathroom maybe.
Incidentally, I wasn’t lying. It was the first time in a long while that my apartment was clean, I wasn’t hungry, my clothes were ironed, and nobody was yelling at me. I found the icing on the cake when I opened my wardrobe, and nothing fell out of it. My clothes were lying on the shelves or hanging in a row on hangers that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. It was impressive, and I was starting to wonder if things were perhaps too perfect.
I paced from corner to corner, watched some TV, smoked half a pack of cigarettes, and finally checked the clock to see that it was half past two and time to jump into Fayroll. Sure, I could have logged in sooner, but what was there to do? There wasn’t any point going out to farm, so the choice was between pacing around in the game or out of it.
A few minutes later, I was standing near the dukhan waiting for the halfling. Ibrahim walked out and was overjoyed to see me.
“Well, hello! Ah, you’ve been coming to my dukhan every day now. You’re like a brother to me! Come on in, have a bite to eat, relax. We have an ashik coming who sings like you wouldn’t believe. About life, about fate—you should listen!”
Rolling his eyes back, Ibrahim started singing with what I could only describe as a terrible voice.
Tie my pauldrons on tighter
Look back on my past with wonder
Pick up an arrow
Send it soaring toward an orc
Send it soaring toward an orc
He looked at me when he finished. “Genius, no?”
“Definitely,” I answered. “True art!”
“Oh, Fatima’s coming. I have to go.” Ibrahim suddenly was in a hurry. “If you want, come on in. We’ll relax, sing something, have something to eat. I’m saying this to a brother, not a customer.”
He dove into the dukhan, closing the door behind him. At the same time, a woman walked over. Her name was Fatima, I surmised, and she was wearing a paranja.[15]
“Hello, warrior,” she said in a melodious voice. She sounded fairly young.
“Good afternoon,” I answered. “Why is he so scared of you?”
“Once, people called me Fatima, Fatima the daughter of Ali-Mameda,” I heard from under the paranja. “Now, they call me the Messenger of Sorrow. I see what has not yet come to pass, what will be, and what may be. I see and pass that on to people. Nobody remembers the good news, and they think I bring sorrow because all they remember is the bad. But that isn’t true—life is painted in more colors than just white.”
“Agreed,” I said, “but people don’t like when you foretell trouble. Everyone hopes that it’s their neighbors who will have problems and not them.”
“Well said,” agreed Fatima. “And, what about you? Are you prepared to hear the truth about yourself?”
“I’m not sure,” I said frankly. “Probably. Though, maybe not.”
“Give me your right hand,” said Fatima. “I want to look at your palm.”
“Here you go.” I held out my hand.
Fatima spent a good three minutes gazing at my palm before letting it go and looking up at me. “Well?” I asked. “I hope I won’t be dying a terrible death soon?”
“There is death,” answered Fatima, “but not yours; there is the death of another person. But, as soon as that person dies, death will remain always near at hand.”
“Oh, wow,” I said in surprise. “That does make sense—we’re all mortal.”
“No,” Fatima answered with a shake of her head. “Death did not come looking. You called, and it came at your invitation. It came, but not for you. While it will protect you, don’t believe it, as that is but for a little while.”
“Okay. What else do you see?”
“Battles and long roads, cold winds, and icy caves, sun, and waves, power and fear, friendship with the dead and enmity with the living. But, that’s not what’s most important.”
“What is?”
“Most important is that you must one day choose the right path.” The voice in the paranja was deadly serious. “There will be a moment—perhaps today, perhaps a decade from now—when you will find yourself at a fork in the road. At that moment, you will have to make a fateful decision from which you cannot return. One path will be wide and easy; the other will be difficult and dirty. Along one, you will walk with a friend; along the other, you will be accompanied by an enemy. At the end of one, will be a life worse than death; at the end of the other, will be a death better than life. Find your way, and you will not face the shame of the past. Goodbye.”
Fatima finished talking, spun around, and quickly walked away from the dukhan.
“Wait, I…” I started to call after her, but she had already disappeared around a corner.
I stood there, thought back on what she’d said, and realized that I had no idea what any of it meant. Paths? Friends? Fortunetellers, apparently, are the same everywhere—the only way you can understand their riddles is if you’re already drunk. And, even that doesn’t always help.
“Hi. They sent me to come get you, right?”
Still pondering Fatima’s words, I looked around to see a halfling with a head of curly hair and a frown on his face. “Hey, Mato. It’s been a while,” I said amiably.
“Not long enough.” He wasn’t exactly hostile, but his tone was chill.
“Why? I didn’t think we were enemies?” I asked in surprise.
“No, except for the fact that you leveled our citadel and left us practically without a clan,” muttered Mato, looking around. “Other than that, everything’s great.”
“Okay, time out,” I said. “Otherwise, I’ll remind you how the whole thing started, you’ll yell at me that it wasn’t like that at all, and we’ll start fighting right here on the street. I couldn’t care less about that, so let’s just head to the abandoned city, okay?”