Infinite Assassins: Daggerland Online Novel 2 A LITRPG Adventure

by Peter Meredith

  The phone number was as venomous as the bite of a rattlesnake. It wasn’t going to lead him to the killers, the number was going to lead them to him. He would call and they would trace the number right back to his hotel room. Or, if he was on the move, they would set up a place to meet, where he would invariably wind up with a bullet in his head.

  Still standing in the middle of the street, Roan clocked back to the real world. Once again, he sat up with his gun in his hand. Nothing about his room had changed.

  Putting the gun in his lap, he picked up his phone and slid the battery pack back where it belonged. When it was in place, he saw he had a single message, this one from Wendell: “Hi Roan. I just wanted to say hi and tell you that we’re all rooting for…”

  Roan hung up. He dialed Lorrie’s number next. “I need you to look into a phone number,” he said instead of a normal greeting. “I got it from one of the Infinite Assassins.”

  Lorrie grunted and he could hear the keys to a keyboard clacking away in the background. “I take it they’re Arching’s hitmen.”

  “Yes. There’s no question in my mind. I’m trying to infiltrate them, but this phone number isn’t talking to me like it should. I think they are onto me and are using it to flush me out into the open.”

  The typing stopped and Roan heard a rumble of anger from her. “Isn’t that what you were supposed to be doing in Daggerland?”

  “Yes, but you forget, they hold all the cards, here and there. There’s only one way to get in with them and that’s to kill one of the mob bosses. Only I have to do it for real.”

  He explained what he’d been doing and she only answered, “You were too obvious.” It was his turn to rumble in anger. “Stow it,” she snipped. “We don’t have time. I’ll check out the phone number. Who knows, they might have finally slipped up. In the meantime…I don’t know, keep digging. Find out how people contact these assassins. Maybe you can spring a trap of your own.”

  It sounded like a good plan, only he lacked the resources. “Or do I?” He had picked up many magical items in the last few days. He tried to “think” his character sheet into being in front of his eyes, but nothing happened. For a moment he stared at a dusty picture of a lighthouse that hadn’t been touched or cleaned in twenty years.

  “Oh, right. I’m here, not there.”

  Before he clocked back, he tried Amanda one more time, leaving the cryptic message: “I might be onto something. Wish me luck.”

  Popping back to Daggerland was becoming second nature. He was visible now and so ducked into a shoe and boot store to give his character sheet a once over.

  Before he could, he was accosted by a square-ish fellow with hair so slick with oil he was dripping onto the orange pantsuit he wore. Roan found himself staring. “Oh, my,” the man said, looking at the disreputable state of Roan’s black boots. “When you kill people, do you do a little dance through their intestines?”

  “I dance on them before I kill them,” Roan growled. “Would you like me to show you?”

  The man sniffed. “I am protected by the Ghak! If you touch me, you’ll find things very hot for you my friend. Very hot indeed.”

  “The Ghak?” Roan looked out the window. “You aren’t in Ghak territory. This is still K Street Killer territory.”

  “Ha!” the man scoffed. “Have you been living under a rock for the past few days or has one knocked you on the head. The Killers are on the wane and the Ghak is on the rise. You’d be smart to know your place.”

  Roan’s hand came down to the hilt of his Doom blade, before he caught himself. He didn’t want to offend Tarranon when there was a chance that he still needed him. “Why don’t you find me some replacement boots. I’d like to see at least seven styles.” The man started to make a very unwise remark that might have gotten him killed, but Roan stopped him by holding up one of the gold wheels.

  “Of course, milord!” he cried and hurried away to gather boots from all over the store. While he was busy picking out boots that Roan had no intention of buying whatsoever, Roan took a long look at his character:

  Character Name: Ratchet

  Class & Level: Rogue - Level 8

  Race: Human

  Alignment: Neutral Evil

  Experience Points: 24835 XP To Next Level: 28000

  Strength – Dexterity – Constitution

  S: 16(+3) D: 19*(+4*) C: 17(+3)

  Intelligence – Wisdom – Charisma

  I: 16(+3) W: 16(+3) C: 16(+3)

  _______________________

  Armor: 17(21) Hit Points: 52/63

  Initiative: +4*Speed: 14

  SAVING THROWS: Will: 5 Fortitude: 5 Reflex: 8

  _______________________

  GOLD: 8034.4

  _______________________

  -EQUIPMENT-

  Weapons

  Doom Sword +3

  Dagger +1

  Heavy Crossbow

  Armor

  Studded Leather

  Magic

  Potions of the Owl x2 * Potion of Invisibility x2

  Water Breathing x1 * Potions of Remove Poison x2

  Potions of the Cricket x1 Potions of the Ogre x2

  Potion of Remove Curse * Potion of Remove Disease

  +3 Extra-Planar Doom Sword * Dagger +1 x2

  Ring of Shielding * Illusion Scrolls x2,

  Shawl of Disguise * Blizzard Wand

  Dimension Bag * Demon Gem

  4 Potions Unknown * Gloves of the Cat +2 * +2 Short Sword

  Asari Ring of Defense +4 * Dagger Unknown

  Misc

  Quiver * Bolts x14

  Backpack * Cloak

  Matches * Waterskin

  Pouches x3 Thieves Tools

  Diamonds x10 * Rubies x10

  _______________________

  † Spells Known †

  Cantrips:

  Tier 1 Spells:

  Tier 2 Spells:

  † Spells Prepared †

  Cantrips:

  Tier 1 Spells:

  Tier 2 Spells:

  _______________________

  Attacks

  Name - Bonus – Damage

  Doom Sword +12, +7 1-8 +6

  Dagger +10, +5 1-6 +4

  Heavy Crossbow +8 1-10

  Abilities

  Locate Traps

  Lucky Roll +2

  Sneak Attack X4 Damage

  Trap Awareness

  Spirit Dodge

  Improved Spirit Dodge

  Skills

  Skills: Balancing +7, Bluff +7, Climb Walls +11, Enable/Disable Traps +11, Disguise Self +11, Hide in Shadow +11, Jump +11, Move Silently +11, Pick Lock +11, Search +11, Sleight of Hand +5, Spot +9, Use Magic Item +10

  He certainly wasn’t an expert on what things were valued in Daggerland, but with the diamonds, rubies, magic weapons and all those potions, he figured he had to be worth upwards of twenty thousand in gold. It certainly seemed like a princely sum. Now, he just needed someone who knew about the assassins.

  The face of a rotund gnome popped into his mind. “The seer!”

  As he headed for the door, the man in the orange pantsuit stopped him. “What about your boots?”

  “I guess I’ve changed my mind,” Roan said and strode out into the evening. Stepping out onto the cobblestone street, he adjusted the shawl around his shoulders, changing his look so that he appeared exactly like one of the beggars whose hair crawled with lice and whose skin had the dry, cracked appearance of a desert floor. He shambled along and was nearly as invisible as when he had the potion running through his veins.

  He had to work to be noticed. Most people treated him like a walking pile of excrement that was to be avoided at all costs. Still, he couldn’t just walk along as if he had places to go and people to see. To stay in character, he stopped every five minutes to hold out a hand to people passing by.

  By the time he reached the seer’s shop, he had stopped three times and had made four coppers, which was enough to get him a light meal or half a mug of warm beer.
He felt as disgusting as he looked. The idea of taking charity in certain situations was one thing, while the idea of begging when he was still strong enough to walk was another.

  As he came up to the seer’s shop, he had the coins in his hand and was looking for a real person in need, but stopped at the corner of street, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. The seer’s shop wasn’t just closed, it was closed forever.

  The shop had been put to the torch and was still venting black smoke, while, from an upper story window, its corpulent owner was a gruesome corpse, swinging gently back and forth. He had been strung up by the neck before being set on fire and now he was charred black and basically featureless, his face having been burned off.

  A handwritten sign leaned against the shop. It was simple cardboard with the words: The Infinite One Knows all! written in the gnome’s blood.

  Roan turned away, teetering a little on the cobblestones. It wasn’t wholly an act either. That the assassins had tracked him to the seer was one thing, but to kill him in such a public and horrific manner, for the minor offense of just talking to him, was another. It could only mean that the assassins were preparing the way for Arching’s return.

  It also meant that the assassins had been tracking him for a lot longer than he thought. Roan wobbled again, this time lurching in a drunken manner in a complete circle, looking through hooded eyes at everyone around him. One of the assassins was nearby, he could feel it.

  And yet, he could do nothing about it whatsoever. If the assassin wanted him dead, he didn’t stand a chance. Roan wanted to whip out his sword and scream a challenge, only he couldn’t. All it would do was ruin the game they were playing. The game he was losing.

  Chapter 32

  Ghak Territory, Oberast

  Roan felt as though the game of cat and mouse was starting to get away from him. He had hoped to come to Daggerland and turn the tables on the assassins, but it turned out that he was the mouse in both worlds, always being hunted.

  Instinctively, Roan wanted to act the part of the mouse and hide. He wanted to find Amanda and slip away into the real world, perhaps to Rio or Paris. Unfortunately, neither was a valid option for a man on the run; the more exotic the locale the more he would stand out.

  The best choice for him was somewhere like Nebraska, only the thought of being a ranch hand or farmer or a tomato picker was depressing. For some reason having blood under his fingernails didn’t bother him, while having dirt beneath them grated on his soul.

  Really, the entire idea of hiding in general was grating. “And I’m not at that point, yet.” He still had options, he still had ways to win and one of those ways was through the telephone number. There was a chance it was connected to one of the assassins.

  He decided that he would give Lorrie another hour to run down the number before he went back and pestered her. It took him that long to make his way back towards the mill where Tarranon had his headquarters. His beggar disguise limited his speed to a crawl, though he did make another nine coppers by the time he got there.

  As Roan came up, he saw Corvo leaning against one of the folding bay doors smoking a cigarette and flipping a dagger into the air and deftly catching it. He didn’t see Roan coming and fairly jumped when Roan asked: “You got a coppa to spare?”

  “Get your ass out of here!” the thief demanded, catching the knife, this time by the hilt and shoving it at Roan’s throat.

  “Relax, Corvo. It’s me.” Roan undid the clasp to the shawl for the briefest of moments, allowing his true face to show. He then became the beggar once again and held a withered hand out, asking for alms.

  “Roan, okay, good,” Corvo said, sounding relieved. He stared at Roan, trying to see past his faux appearance. “How did you do that? An illusion spell? I guess I should be asking why you are looking like that? You’re in Ghak territory, now. No one will touch you here.”

  A sardonic grin cracked the filthy face of the beggar. “I’ve pissed a lot of people off in the last few days. I don’t think I’m all that safe anywhere. Where’s Tarranon? I have to talk to him.”

  “He won’t be in until morning,” Corvo answered, tossing the knife into the air again where the last of the day’s sunlight glinted off of it. “He’s clocked out and I’m going to join him. We have a big day tomorrow. We’re expanding west once again. We’re taking a mile of C Street.” He slipped the knife into his sleeve and then yawned widely, stretching. There was a clunking sound as he did, and it seemed to remind him of something.

  Reaching into an inner fold of his cloak, he pulled out a heavy pouch. “The boss wants you to deliver the payment to the temple a day early. Here, count it.”

  “I trust him,” Roan answered.

  Corvo snorted, still holding the pouch out. “Haven’t you heard the saying, there’s no honor among thieves? Well, it’s doubly true among mob bosses.”

  Roan took the pouch and glanced in and, as expected, he saw the golden wheels which made up the “protection” money he paid the Infinite One. He started counting and as he did, he saw a scratch on the top of one. It had been made with a knife, was a quarter of an inch long and had been done on purpose very recently.

  “Okay, thanks, Corvo, it’s all here.” He hid the pouch away in his Dimension Bag. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The lieutenant tipped him a wink and then clocked back to the real world. The moment he did, Roan unclasped the shawl and then reclasped it, transforming his appearance from a beggar and into Corvo. Adopting the thief’s swagger, he strolled up one of the streets, nodding to the shop keepers and the hookers and the other Ghak thugs with their green armbands.

  In minutes he found himself at Rinely’s cafe. Ducking inside, he went to the table he had first sat down at, the one he had been sitting at when he had first met Cricket. It was a dark spot with a great view of the street.

  One of the serving girls hurried over. “The good wine with the…” he started to say to her, only she already had a mug ready for him. It was presumably Corvo’s favorite and as it would look odd for him to refuse it, Roan pointed at the table and said, “Thank you.”

  “Thank you?” the girl asked in surprise. “Are you playing the gentlemen this fine evening? Does that mean I get to be the lady?”

  Roan had no idea what she was talking about. “No, I…just give me a few minutes, will you?” Pouting, she walked away. When he was alone, he pulled the pouch of gold from the Dimension bag and set it on his lap where it wouldn’t be obvious. He then took one of the wheels from the bag and inspected it.

  Someone had scratched KK in tiny letters on the inside of the wheel. Replacing the wheel, he took another and found the letters A and I. Roan went through them all and found: KK, AI, MD, AR, ON, EG, L. The letters spelled something, that was clear enough, but what, he couldn’t figure out while sitting in a dark cafe without a paper and pen.

  He clocked back to his motel room and wrote down the letters and then rewrote them in different configurations, again and again until he was about to throw the pen at the wall.

  “MARK LAKE DOING?” he said, lines wrinkling his forehead. “LAME KORK GINAD? Hmmm, what about MAKING something? MAKING OK…DEAR?”

  This time he really did throw the pen at the wall and then stood brooding over the many permutations of the letters. “Alright, the message was for me, maybe one of the words is Roan? Wait, he doesn’t know my real name.” He rubbed his head in growing frustration, thinking that if Tarranon had just given him an email address this would be so much easier.

  Although Roan loved unraveling a case, he hated doing puzzles just for fun, but he knew someone who did: Amanda. “She’s a nerd,” he said, picking up his phone and setting the batteries in it. “She loves puzzles and all that crap.” Once again, she didn’t pick up and he assumed that she was still escorting Cricket and her mother to the Pelinores.

  “Hi there,” he said when he could leave a message. “I have an anagram that I need solved. Its case related so please get back to
me quickly. Thanks love.” He spelled out the letters and then hung up. Had this been any other case, he would have called Wendell next and had him work on the anagram.

  “I’ll just have to forge ahead on my own. What do I know about Tarranon? He’s a thief, a rogue, a mob boss, but none of those work. He’s secretive, paranoid and suave. A strange combination and that doesn’t fit either. He’s dark…that works a little.”

  He wrote out DARK and then squinted at the remaining letters. “DARK LAKE MOING,” he mumbled. The “dark” part felt right, however there weren’t any dark lakes in or around Oberast that he knew of…except the one beneath the Temple of the Infinite One.

  “But what is ON GIM? or GON MI?” Since the last few letters didn’t make sense, he chucked out the rest of it and tried different combinations. Like a dog with a bone, he couldn’t get over the fact that if he had been given an email address he wouldn’t be sweating over a bunch of a letters.

  Then he saw the word EMAIL plain as day. Quickly, he started arranging letters around it DARK EMAIL KONG. “No but it’s close. DARK KONG EMAIL.” His eyes were bright and feverish as he saw GE-MAIL. “He’s given me a gmail address! Something @gmail.com. DARK KONE? No DARKK ONE! It’s darkkone@gmail.com.”

  2—

  Roan jumped up, pumping his fist in the air. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he said as he grabbed his phone. In a second, he had Lorrie Covington’s number front and center and he was about to hit the dial button when his finger seemed to pause on its own as a wave of paranoia smote him.

  Something wasn’t right. The day before Tarranon had been adamant against giving out his email address, but now he just hands it over, no questions asked? It was a little too obvious. Was he being set up and was Tarranon in on it?

  Nervous, he got up and went to the window. Pulling back the curtain, he peeked out at the night. Save for a few cars, the parking lot was empty and nothing moved. It was likely that he was safe, but that fact didn’t stop him from gathering up his few things. Once he was packed, Roan punched the button and listened to the phone ring in his ear. On the fifth ring, just when Roan’s paranoia was hitting a new high and he was beginning to think a trace was being set up, Covington answered.