Infinite Assassins: Daggerland Online Novel 2 A LITRPG Adventure

by Peter Meredith

  Roan’s teeth clamped down in pain. The acid only added to his fury and his hate. When he riposted, he did so savagely, looking to gut Corvo, looking to pull out his intestines and grind them beneath his feet until they were a paste.

  The first slash opened up the man’s belly, the second and third did indeed tear out the grey guts. Roan was just about to hack a fourth time when he realized that Corvo was no longer fighting back. He was staring straight ahead, his arms at odd angles.

  He had not made his saving throw this time and was paralyzed.

  Quickly, Roan dropped down next to him, scooped a handful of blood and intestines from his gaping wound and glopped it on his face. There had been a few people who had witnessed the quick fight and Roan didn’t need anyone questioning who was who.

  Next, Roan disarmed the man, taking away his sword and dagger, his potions and rings; basically anything that Roan thought was magical. He then flipped him over and sat on his back, and not a moment too soon.

  “You are going to pay for this,” Corvo said, as the magic in the Basilisk Blade wore off. Without moving anything except his head, he craned around to stare coldly at Roan. “We own you or have you forgotten your girlfriend? What? Have you moved on so quickly?”

  Roan had the Basilisk Blade pointed at his eye in a flash. “Speak only when spoken to and I’ll let you walk to Tarranon’s hideout. Your other option is to be gagged, trussed up and dragged there.” Corvo glared fiercely, but shut his mouth. With Roan in such a dominant position, Corvo couldn’t do anything as his hands were tied behind his back and his feet bound with a length of rope so he could only move at shuffle.

  He also decided to gag the rogue and cut a square from Corvo’s cloak, balled it up and shoved it into his mouth. Strapping it in place with a short lank of rope completed the gag.

  Then it was just a matter of dragging him to his feet and walking him back to the mill. No one stopped him, and no one gave him a second look until he made it to the Mill. As the workers scurried away, a dozen security guards came out of nowhere before he was ten steps inside the building.

  “I need to talk to Tarranon,” Roan told them, taking off the shawl. “He has a spy working for him.”

  “The witch of his will know if you’re lying,” one of the guards said, as he took Roan’s weapons. This was what Roan was counting on. He knew that torturing Corvo for information would be a waste of time. The man would just clock out. It would be the end of his character, but he wouldn’t divulge a thing. But maybe the witch could get into his head.

  They were led to the elevator, Corvo still tied and gagged, something the guards didn’t bat an eye at. Four of the armored men pushed in with the pair until there was almost no room in the box as it dropped not just below ground but between worlds.

  Tarranon and his drow witch were waiting for them. The mob boss wore a sideways grin. “Did you two have a spat?”

  “No. He knew my name, my real name. And he gave me an email address, one that was supposedly yours.”

  “That is an issue.” Tarranon glanced at his witch, saying, “Take him downstairs and find out what he knows. Use torture, if you need to.” Just as Roan began to manhandle Corvo towards one of the doors, Tarranon stopped him. “Just her. No one enters my space without my permission.”

  Roan yanked Corvo back by the hair. “Then give your permission. I am a practiced interrogator. I’ll know when he’s lying.”

  “And she won’t?” He meant the drow who could read minds.

  Something odd struck Roan. If she could read minds, then why use torture? And if she could read minds, how had someone working with the assassins got as close to Tarranon as Corvo had? Was the witch working for the assassins as well? If so, how come she hadn’t been able to discern Tarranon’s true identity? And why had the assassins bothered trying to use Roan to get to Tarranon when she could have poisoned him at any time.

  “I’ve been a fool,” Roan whispered, realizing the truth. “You’re working with the assassins, too, aren’t you, Tarranon?”

  His eyes glittered in mirth, which was answer enough for Roan.

  Chapter 38

  The Mill, Oberast

  Tarranon, the witch and Corvo were utterly silent and unmoving.

  “You’re one of the assassins,” Roan said, answering his own question. Before they could fire off a spell that might trap him, he brought up his exit menu in his mind. He could clock out at the least flinch.

  Tarranon lifting an eyebrow was the only move anyone made. “Very good, Agent Roan. Once more you are a surprise. When we missed you at your apartment, I knew you would come here to Daggerland, but I really thought that I would have snapped you up before now. Really, you have been amazingly slippery for an FBI agent, escaping from trap after trap. It makes me wonder if you’ve had help.”

  “I didn’t need help. You’re not as clever as you like to think,” Roansaid dismissively. “And your traps: the email Corvo gave me, the phone number and all the rest were ridiculously obvious. They show that you’re getting desperate. Perhaps you can still save yourself. Tell me where Amanda is and I’ll ask the judge for leniency.”

  Tarranon shrugged. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t. I see you’re confused, which is understandable if you think of the Infinite Assassins as one undivided group with a singular goal in mind. In truth, there are factions among us, each quite ready to kill the other to gain favor with the Infinite One.”

  Roan spat, “Favor with him? You know he’s just a man, right? You act like he’s some sort of god, but I’ve seen him up close. I’ve had him in my power. I could have killed him with my own hands.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tarranon seethed. “You think you have power and authority. You think that a badge actually means something. You couldn’t be more wrong. Arching is in prison because he hasn’t decided to leave it, yet. He could have assassin after assassin assaulting those prison walls. He could kill the warden in a blink. He could kill the governor with a snap of his fingers. He could hold all of America hostage if he wished.”

  “But he can’t seem to find little ol’ me,” Roan said, dismissively. “And neither could you. Well, if you don’t have Amanda, I’m wasting my time talking to you. I might as well clock out before you try anything…unless you happen to know who has her? All I need is a name.”

  “And what would you do with a name?” Tarranon asked, sounding intrigued.

  Roan was thinking on the fly. “You said there were factions and I know one of your assassin friends tried to get me to take you out. Me and you don’t have to be complete enemies. Maybe we can both benefit in some way.”

  Tarranon shook his head. “Oh, I know who has her. I would even give you a name if I thought it would do you any good. But the man who has her knows the law. You might arrest him or make threats of prosecution, but he’ll sit on the information until either Amanda dies or you cave and do his bidding. Either way, you’re screwed.”

  “There’s a third option you haven’t mentioned,” Roan said. “I can carve the information out of him.”

  Corvo looked back at him with wide eyes, while Tarranon and the witch shared a look. “I don’t know,” Tarranon said after a pause. “The person in question is exceedingly tough and exceedingly loyal. In fact, I would call him fanatical in the truest sense of the word. He would die before he did anything to endanger Arching or jeopardize his release.”

  “Trust me, he’ll talk. When there’s no escaping torture, when there’s no ‘clocking out’ he’ll tell me everything I want to know.”

  “Not with him. And he would definitely not tell you anything in particular. You are hated in our world. It’s difficult for me not tear you apart right now.” The witch nodded along at this sentiment.

  Roan did not react at all. He filed it away as useful information. And it was useful. He had been in Tarranon’s power on a number of occasions and yet the assassin hadn’t tried to put him in the same sort of never ending magical sleep t
hat Amanda was in. It suggested that Tarranon couldn’t do it and neither could his witch. It was a tiny bit of a relief. “He would never talk to me, but he might talk to one of your men. He can’t know all of them, right?”

  “Hmmm, interesting,” Tarranon said, tapping his chin.

  Somewhat unexpectedly, the witch spoke up, “You can’t side with the FBI! It’ll be an escalation. It’ll mean war, maybe against the entire group.”

  “So what?” Tarranon snapped. “Arching will be out of prison by this time on Monday, and if we are the ones who guarantee his freedom, all will be forgiven.” Tarranon’s evil grin came back as he turned back to Roan. “The man’s name is Chandler Burt. Find him and do what you have to in order to find out where he’s hiding the girl in Daggerland. Then kill him. If you can do these things, maybe we can work a deal.”

  Roan was sure this new deal would be exactly the same as the old deal: he would be forced to trade his life for Amanda’s. Regardless, he stuck out a hand to Tarranon striking a bargain with the devil. He still had outs. Covington could get lucky and stumble on some overlooked lead, or maybe Chandler would give up Tarranon when he found out he’d been double-crossed. If so, the Infinite Assassin house of cards would come tumbling down.

  Tarranon gave Roan’s hand a quick squeeze and let it go, saying, “I don’t know a lot about Chandler. He’s from New London originally, but he might be in Hoboken, now. He kept complaining about some fleabag hotel, so don’t go looking in the Ritz.” Roan reacted to the name and Tarranon scoffed. “Really, don’t waste your time, or should I say don’t waste Amanda’s time?” Tarranon tried to give him one of his warmer smiles only it was the fake smile executioners used on death row.

  “I won’t, don’t worry. When I come back, I’ll meet you at Rinely’s Cafe and don’t bother bringing the witch. You won’t tap into my head so easily.”

  At this Tarranon feigned shock. “You act like you don’t trust me.”

  Roan didn’t. He began to back out of the room as Tarranon added, “Don’t stray and don’t go chasing ghosts. Stay focused, assassin.”

  2—

  Assassin…the word made Roan pause, which had Tarranon’s smile widening. He even waved to Roan as he stepped onto the elevator where the same old man waited to bring him back to the mill.

  It took only seconds to get back to the Mill and the moment he stepped foot onto the concrete floor, he had to fight the urge to clock out right there. It would be a mistake if he did, because when he clocked back he would be clocking back into the worst of Ghak territory where Tarranon was strongest. With a force of will he left the mill and wound through the crowded streets, doubling back randomly and changing appearances frequently until he felt he had thrown off all pursuit.

  Only when he was sure he hadn’t been followed did he clock back to the real world. He jumped out of the bed immediately and although his bladder was close to bursting, he grabbed his things and ran from the room, heading for an alley in the back of the building. On the way, he pulled out his phone, thinking he would call Covington.

  Chandler Burt was a complete mystery to him and likely very dangerous. Roan didn’t have an address or even have a face to go with the name and he wouldn’t put it past Tarranon to sick him on someone else entirely, perhaps as a way of running him ragged, perhaps as a way of setting him up to be killed.

  He desperately needed as much information on Chandler as he could get however he hesitated the moment the battery clicked into place. He was about to commit multiple felonies and he couldn’t have anything point to him. It would be a tremendous red flag for Roan to ask about a suspect an hour before someone finds his body mutilated almost beyond recognition.

  And yes, he feared it would go that far. He was almost without options left to save Amanda and he would trade any number of these assassins for her. He would even trade the possibility of life behind bars for her. It’s why, after hesitating for over a minute, he finally called Agent Covington.

  “I need something,” he said as soon as she picked up.

  She laughed. “What else is new? Oh, hey, I have that information on the email you sent us. The dark one is located in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. The IP address tracked to a salon that closed down two weeks ago. Unfortunately, we don’t have a field office in Lancaster and since you never know what you’re going to get with the local law, I called the state police. They’re going to dispatch a cruiser and swing by. I told them to be careful.”

  A salon was a strange place to use as an assassin’s lair. “I’m going out on a limb here; I don’t think we are dealing with killer hairdressers.”

  “Really? You big city agents sure are smart,” Lorrie joked. “I put Wendell on this. Chances are we’re looking for the son or sons of the owners or customers. When I have something, I’ll email you.” She paused and when Roan didn’t immediately say anything, she asked, “What did you need? You called me, remember?”

  “I need an address and then I need you to forget I asked and that you answered. Do you understand?”

  Now it was her turn to hesitate. “Roan, I don’t know if I can be a part of anything illegal.”

  “I’m asking you to help save a fellow agent.”

  “We’ll find Amanda. We have half the agents in California on this. They are going to every motel in the state knocking on doors. We’ll find her, trust me.”

  With so little time left, he couldn’t afford to trust her. “I’m not asking you to save Amanda. I’m asking you to save me.” Lorrie started to argue, saying there was still time, but Roan cut her off. “I have no idea how long she’s been under. If we don’t have anything substantial, I’m going to make the trade, my life for hers.”

  “No,” she stated, flatly. “You know that’s not how we handle hostage situations. They’ll end up just killing both of you.”

  “This is different since they really don’t have her either. They only have the ghost of her. Lorrie, I’m doing this, one way or another. And who knows, if I die, maybe they’ll postpone the appeal. It’ll give you more time to nail these guys.” He could hear her grinding her teeth and was sure she would say no, however she relented and he gave her all the information he had on Chandler Burt.

  “When I call you back, it’ll be from a different number,” she said, like a two-bit spy. While he waited for her to call him back, he went about changing his look. If he was going to torture someone it would be best to look like someone else. His first instinct was to reach for the collar of his shirt; then he remembered that he didn’t have a Shawl of Disguise on this side of the veil. Luckily, he still had a ghost of his Daggerland skills floating in his head. Dropping down to the alley floor, he dirtied his unshaven face and his clothes. Next, he tore the collar of his shirt, the sleeve of his jacket and the knees of his pants. He scuffed his shoes. Finding a puddle, he used its brackish water to give himself a short faux-hawk.

  Going around to the main street, he checked his new look in the window of an electronics shop. He looked like a man who had either been robbed or someone whose life was spiraling down to rock bottom. What he didn’t look like was Special Agent Daniel Roan.

  It was a good disguise, so good that it made finding a cab more difficult than normal. Four drove right past him despite his frantic arm in the air. When a fifth one passed, he waylaid it at the next intersection, opening the front door and climbing in while the cabbie only sputtered. It was all he did; Roan’s new look was even more intimidating than his old one.

  “Port Authority,” he told the man.

  Thirty minutes later, when they had just crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge, Agent Covington called back. “I have an address. It’s the City View Motel in Hoboken, off of Bloomfield Avenue. Remember, you didn’t ask, and I didn’t answer.” She hung up without another word, which Roan appreciated.

  His mind was a whirl as he desperately tried to piece together every little fact, conversation and observation he had made in the last few days, hoping to see some pattern or recall somethin
g forgotten that would lead him either to Amanda or to the assassins. He hated the idea of torturing Chandler. It wasn’t really because of the pain Chandler would suffer, he deserved it in Roan’s opinion, but because Roan was afraid of what the act of torture would do to him.

  Just as he still had some of assassin knowledge lingering in him, Roan could feel the taint of evil from his Daggerland character. A part of him wanted to take a hammer to Chandler’s toes and pull out his fingernails. It was a disgusting sensation that, try as he might, he couldn’t ignore. He had to wonder if this was how George Shepp, the serial killer had felt when he was on the prowl for his next victim. It made Roan feel disgusting.

  His surroundings didn’t help, either. Port Authority, smelling like urine and filled with homeless people, grated on him, as did the faceless uncaring crowd of New Yorkers. No one smiled. No one looked anyone in the eye. In some ways it was worse than Oberast, city of assassins and thieves.

  He hurried through it as quickly as he could, but was forced to wait an hour for the next bus. When it came, its diesel exhaust overpowered any other smell and at the same time gave Roan a headache that only grew worse as the overcrowded bus moved sluggishly to Hoboken. As the bus inched its way west, Roan kept his head down and his face turned to the window. The ride dragged out and each wasted minute brought Amanda closer to death. It was four in the afternoon before Roan stepped off the bus in an extremely volatile mood.

  With his hands stuffed down in his pockets, he made his way to the hotel. It was an ugly building. In the few places where the walls were free of graffiti, Roan saw that the brick was dark maroon, evidence of fifty years of endless pollution. That same pollution seemed to have made the inhabitants of the city old before their time. It made them surly as well.