Infinite Assassins: Daggerland Online Novel 2 A LITRPG Adventure

by Peter Meredith

  When Roan was defenseless, Corvo escorted him to the elevator and they sunk down beneath the mill. Nothing had changed in the previous twenty-three hours: the bodyguards, the incredible view, the lady drow were all the same.

  The only thing different was Tarranon’s smile, which stretched from ear to ear. “Hail, the conquering hero! Where are my thumbs?” Roan tossed the bag onto the expensive coffee table; it made a sickly wet sound as it landed. Tarranon didn’t seem to mind. “I would count them except I can tell by Corvo’s less than enthusiastic smile that they are all there. No?”

  Corvo nodded and Tarranon clapped his hands in Roan’s direction. “Bravo, Ratchet. That was quite the opening scene you gave us. What was the final count?”

  The drow witch spoke without notes. “Forty-one of their soldiers killed, sixteen buildings burned and a total of approximately three hundred and fifty thousand in gold worth of goods destroyed.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” Tarranon yelled, his blue eyes wide and bright. He hopped up and gripped Roan’s shoulder. “You see what happens when a man is properly motivated?”

  Roan didn’t like the words that came from his mouth, the look in his eyes, or the touch of his hand. Something wasn’t right. “Where’s Cricket?”

  “Cricket? Oh, right, the girl.” A troubled look crossed over Tarranon’s handsome features. “About her; there are some complications concerning her release.” The room grew tense as Roan’s hands began to ball into fists. Tarranon only rolled his eyes and went to sit back down on his brilliant white couch. “Don’t blame me, Ratchet. You are the one who lied to me, first. No one attacked the temple of The Infinite One last night. You said they would and, like a fool, I had men sitting around until after midnight.”

  “Perhaps they rescheduled. You act like this is a new concept to you.”

  Tarranon leaned back, putting his boots on the coffee table next to the bag of thumbs as if they weren’t there. “Here is a concept that isn’t new: keeping one’s word. You told me that the crew who attacked the temple would attack it again last night and they didn’t. I told you that I would release the child, and I’m not going to. You see what happens when one does not keep their word?”

  Roan’s face went red as a brick as he fought to keep from going berserk. Had he been a higher level he might have given in to his anger, but at fifth level he would’ve been shredded in no time. The four bodyguards looked to be at least eighth level and there was no telling what sort of power the drow possessed.

  When Roan finally got his volcanic anger clamped down and under control, he answered Tarranon through gritted teeth, “And you have seen what happens when people piss me off. I could very easily do to you what I did last night.”

  Instead of growing angry at the threat, the smile slipped back onto Tarranon’s handsome face. “Very easily? Excellent! It’s that sort of attitude that you just don’t see anymore. So many young guns come around bragging about this or that battle they’ve been in but that’s all they are, talk. But you are different, Ratchet. You are driven, and I’d like to know what’s pushing you.”

  “And I’d like Cricket released,” Roan replied.

  Tarranon shook his head. “I guess that we can’t always get what we want. If I release her, what sort of hold do I have over you? Not much of one, I’d guess. But hey, here’s what I can do for you. I’ll let you see her.” He snapped his fingers and right away a door opened.

  Like a stall-born colt being brought from the barn for the first time, Cricket stepped tentatively into the room, her sea-grey eyes darting all around. She seemed unhurt. When she saw Roan, she crossed to him. He dropped to one knee and she clung to him, her skinny body shivering. While she held onto him, he actually had a sensation that was akin to love. It was somewhat like caring but tinged with evil. “Did they hurt you?” he asked in a whisper.

  “No…but I want to go back to the cafe. Rinely was mean and nasty, but he’s better than these people. And that lady? She ain’t even a people. She’s a drow.” The fear in Cricket’s voice made it clear that the drow were terrifying creatures.

  “I’ll get you out of here,” he told her. “Until then, you’ll be fine. No one will hurt you or they’ll have to deal with me. Trust me. I’ll get you out of here and we’ll go far away, okay? Somewhere nice. Have you ever heard of the Pelinors?”

  She nodded. “They have halfings there. They’re even smaller than me, right?”

  “Smaller, but not cuter.” He gave her a smile and then stood. As he did, the smile faded and he fixed Tarranon with a harsh glare. “I don’t want your word that she’ll be safe, but I’m giving you mine. Hurt her and you’ll regret it, deeply.”

  Chapter 20

  The Mill, Ghak Territory

  Roan walked out of the mill in a far different mood than he had the day before. He should have been feeling twice as nervous since he had backed himself into a corner by saying he could “very easily” do the same thing as he had the night before.

  Now he was expected to kill forty-two of the thugs. When Tarranon had proclaimed that was the number that was needed to free Cricket, Roan hadn’t even blinked. “Fine,” he had said, “but no thumbs this time. Use your witch or your spies to verify the number. Carrying around thumbs is annoying.”

  Forty-two was a ridiculous number of people to kill in one night, especially since the K Street Killers would be thoroughly roused, and yet if he could pull it off, he would be a huge step closer to making a name for himself among the seedier elements in a city that had been built on evil.

  Just thinking about the elemental evil oozing from the cobblestones reminded him of George Shepp the serial killer. Stopping in the middle of the road, he clocked back to real world. As he raced to the bathroom to relieve himself, he stuck the battery back in his phone and called Wendell.

  “Where are we on Shepp?”

  “It must be nice to have friends in high places,” Wendell replied. “A.D. Henderson himself called in favors to get a warrant to search the man’s property. They’ve found the remains of six people so far and Shepp is behind bars.”

  “Yes! Oh, that is great.”

  “Where are you? It sounds echoey.”

  Roan decided to wait to flush the toilet. “Never mind where I am. Tell me what you have on the Arching case.”

  “The Arching case?” Wendell asked, sounding confused. “Sorry, I’m not on that case. If you want, I can ask around if…”

  Too late Roan remembered the spy in the Bureau. “No, don’t. Covington’s being a hard ass about it and I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Roan made an excuse and quickly hung up. Remembering to check his messages, he found he had four from Covington, but all he needed to hear was the first:

  “I heard from Shelby this morning and she told me…”

  Roan jabbed the button to end the recording and quickly dialed Agent Covington’s number. The first thing she said was, “Have you checked your e-mail?” He hadn’t.

  Opening up his laptop, he went online—after so much time in Daggerland, it felt strangely archaic to go online in this manner. The first email on his list was titled: Do you know who these people are? Opening it, he scrolled through what at first looked like six murders.

  “No, they’re assassinations,” Roan murmured, studying each, but not seeing anything in the faces of the corpses that struck a chord. Two had been shot, execution style in the back of the head; two had been garroted, their faces twisted and purple; and the last two had poisoned. “I don’t know any of them,” he told Covington. “Where’d you get these?”

  “They were posted on a Daggerland forum,” she explained. “The subject read: This is what happens to the enemies of The Infinite One. The first thing I thought when I saw the pics is that those people have to be connected to you in some fashion. I have a couple of agents going through police reports in the tri-state area looking for murders that match these. So far I got nada-tostada.”

  Roan scrolled through each again, sq
uinting at the faces. When he reached the first person who’d been garroted, he almost zipped past when he caught sight of the shirt the man was wearing. It was a football jersey with a star on the arm and the number 33 stitched on the shoulder. The name on the back wasn’t visible but Roan didn’t need to see it to know what it would say.

  He was not a Cowboys fan, still he knew that number 33 belonged to their famous running back Tony Dorsett.

  The dead man wasn’t him of course. Millions of Tony Dorsett jerseys had been sold over the years and yet…“I knew him on the other side,” Roan told Covington. “His real name is Charlie Martin. Damn. He didn’t deserve this. None of them did.” The harsh and hot glow of evil that was always simmering deep in his heart when he was in Daggerland began to make itself felt in the filthy motel room, just as Amanda had said it would.

  Thinking of her brought on a sudden fear—if the assassins would go after nobodies like Charlie Martin and his geeky friends, they certainly would go after Amanda.

  “Start your search in Dallas and expand from there,” he said, quickly, sounding like he was ordering around his superior. “Track down the others through him. Find out where they’ve been on line. Message boards, forums, all of that. I wish I could help, but I have to go.” The urgency in him was too strong to worry about politeness and he hung up. A second later, he was jabbing numbers with his thick, callused finger and in his fear for Amanda he misdialed three times, each time hitting A.D Hernandez’s number.

  When he finally got the right number, he listened in growing fear as the phone rang and rang.

  Throwing down the phone, he shoved the coupler onto his head and clocked back into the crap-hole that was the foul city of Oberast. It was just past six and the streets were as crowded as ever. An assassin could be anywhere among the throng; Roan almost didn’t care. He had one thing on his mind: saving Amanda.

  There was no way to know if she were really in danger or not, still his nerves zinged with anxiety. He threw prudence out the window and pulled one of the potions of flying from his belt. Roan had hoped to use it in a “fun” manner, perhaps imitating something out of a Disney movie.

  He drank it, hoping that it would allow him to meteor out of there like a rocket. Instead, with just a thought, he launched himself into the air and headed west without deviation or enjoyment at a speed that topped out at a respectable forty miles an hour. Since magic and not aerodynamics was the basis of the flight, he could have dipped and banked and barrel-rolled to his heart’s content, limited in what he could do only by his imagination.

  But his heart was too troubled for fun.

  At a height of about a hundred feet, he flew over the border between the two territories and headed straight for Apollo’s temple. When he landed beyond the gates, he was immediately surrounded by young men in white robes. Their bald heads glinted with sweat while their shining spears glinted with the last of the sunlight.

  “Put those away before I kill the lot of you,” he growled. He didn’t have time for this foolishness.

  “You are not welcome here, thief,” one of them said. “You are denied access to the grounds and the temple under penalty of death. Leave now or we’ll be forced to…”

  Roan was done listening. The potion was still working its magic in his veins and with a thought he leapt fifty feet over their heads, landing just in front of the temple doors. Stepping in, he barred the heavy doors behind him before turning to face the interior. A ritual or service of sorts was going on. He didn’t care.

  “Amanda!” he bellowed, his voice ringing from one end of the temple to the other. Twenty heads turned to glare at him. Amanda was among the parishioners, she was the only one not glaring. She knew him and heard the stress in his voice. She started over at a run only to be grabbed by the archbishop; she shook off his hand.

  Roan met her halfway, hissing, “You have to clock back now and move your body.”

  She started to protest, but stopped when he explained what had happened. As he spoke she went utterly still and silent. Roan grabbed her hands, saying, “They’re killing everyone who they think poses even the slightest threat to Arching. Those guys were just players in a game, and yet they were butchered.”

  The archbishop had heard everything and was just as stunned as she was. Roan smirked at his wide eyes and the way his mouth hung open. “I like how you were so much more brave when it was only law enforcement on the other side, being killed.”

  His eyes fluttered in fearful confusion. “But…but are you sure?” he whispered. “Are you sure those people were killed because of what they did here? In Daggerland? Maybe it was drugs or something.”

  Roan shrugged. “Maybe it was. You can take your chances, but I want Amanda out of here. Please, for my sake, move your body.”

  “Only if you promise to as well,” she replied. “I think it would be smart to change locations at least daily.” He agreed and, after a last kiss, she clocked out.

  This left Roan alone with the archbishop. “What are you waiting for? Clock your people out!” Roan snapped. “You might not have given the order for the strike on the temple, but do they know that? Clock out and don’t get back online.”

  “Until when?” he asked.

  Roan wished he could give him a better answer. “I don’t know. If we can’t catch who’s behind this, it may never be safe.”

  2—

  Half the people in the temple were players and once they were gone, the NPCs seemed to take on a bland expression. “You are not supposed to be here,” they told Roan. “When the Archbishop gets back he will certainly be in a stew.”

  He unbarred the doors and flew past the young men with their spears. One threw his at Roan and missed. Roan was tempted to fly back down and shove the spear down in his throat. He couldn’t, however. He didn’t have the time. His to do list was booked: kill forty-two of the K Street Killers—find out who really gave the order to attack the temple—save him or her—find, infiltrate and kill the assassins—move his body—pick up clothes from the dry cleaners.

  It was a depressingly long list.

  “Where to start?” As he was standing four blocks from K Street, wiping out the thugs seemed like the best place to start. After all, he still had the potion in him and flying would help with both the killing and the escape. “And maybe something will come to me.”

  As he flew, looking for thugs who were alone or in pairs, he wondered about the attack on the temple of The Infinite One. What purpose had been served in attacking it? “Maybe someone was hoping to start a war between factions. If so, who benefits in such a case?” The city was broken into five sections, each run by a separate thieves’ guild. It would seem that one of the other guilds would benefit from the strife. “But other than me, there hasn’t been much strife. It’s been tit for tat. It’d been low key and…”

  Below him, right out on the street where everyone could see, were five thugs roughing up what looked like a child. Nothing bothered Roan more than seeing a child hurt. Even as an evil being, it grated on his soul and had him seething. Before he could stop himself, he flew down, whisper quiet, and came up from behind.

  He picked out the biggest of the thugs and stuck the Doom blade right through him, doing triple damage with his enhanced sneak attack. The thug had to have been midlevel because when he died, taking twenty-four points of damage, Roan saw (XP +450) spring into his vision.

  The other thugs were so shocked that Roan could have stabbed another of them. That would have led to a general melee right there on the street and although he probably could have beaten the remaining low level thugs, they wouldn’t have died quietly and who knew how many more would have come running.

  Instead, Roan sprinted away, his feet barely touching the ground, heading to the closest building which just happened to be painted an ugly yellow. He knew that building. Stopping in his tracks, he looked back to see that it wasn’t a child who had been beaten, it was the scuzzy halfling, Rollup. The stunted pimp was the last person he would
have saved.

  “You owe me!” Roan yelled before rushing up the stairs and into the yellow building. Rollup knew where Cricket’s mom worked and as soon as Roan took care of the thugs he was going to go down and get the information out of him, even if he had to beat it out of him.

  There was a new girl sitting provocatively on the couch across from Rollup’s cage. Shockingly, she was quite pregnant. Roan made a face as he raced down the hall to the stairs that led up to the higher floors. He literally flew up the stairs, stopping at the top. It was four against one, but as the stairs were cramped, they could only attack one at a time.

  The first died with one stroke of Roan’s Doom blade. With his strength, level and magical bonuses, he attacked at a +8 to hit and a +6 to damage. Low level thugs were lucky to have seven hit points and two more died before the last wavered. He tried to run away but his feet were too slow compared to Roan’s flight and the thug died right in front of the pregnant whore(XP +100).

  “Get some damned clothes on,” Roan snarled to her as he went through the dead thug’s pouches and pockets.

  “Who asked you?” she shot back.

  His hand was on his sword before he could stop it. Thankfully, he reined in his anger enough not to take her head off. He stormed to the door, thinking that he would have a word with Rollup, only the halfling was surrounded by a dozen more thugs. Roan could just make out his little arm pointing at him. Right away the thugs turned and came at him at a run.

  “Crap!” Roan hissed, rushing back inside.

  “Hope they cut your nuts off,” the woman said in an offhand manner as he raced past.

  She didn’t want to know all the evil things he wanted to say just then. Some of them even surprised him. On the second floor, he pushed her pout out of his mind and took off, flying up the stairs. To make sure they heard him going up, he let the flat of his sword bang the walls as he went higher and higher. Once on the roof, he flew to the edge and shot down at Rollup, who was busy stuffing a bag with what he could pilfer from the body of the thief that Roan had killed.