What was that?
“Hagen, behind you!” I heard Lane call.
I spun around to see Falk baring his teeth in a malicious snarl as he held a scimitar in his hand. The blade shone with a sickly green color.
“Well, who’s cracking jokes now? Shall we see who has balls?”
“You rotten bastard!” I was furious.
Unbelievable!
Falk deftly whirled the scimitar, which was longer than he was, and would have slashed into my legs if I hadn’t just barely jumped away in time.
“Wolf Soul,” I barked, pointing the animal in the direction of the goblin. “Bite him!”
Another hit took off 20% of my health. Spinning, I buried my sword in the skeleton that had come up behind me and dipped to my left, anticipating the moment when Falk would finish off my wolf and turn his attention back to me.
Two things happened almost at once: the skeleton collapsed in a pile of bones, and Falk sent my gray friend off to a better world. However, I finished ten seconds sooner than he did. Falk didn’t see the skeleton crawling up behind him, either—its legs had already been lopped off, though that hadn’t seemed to do much to his will to live.
One huge leap left me next to the goblin, and I slammed my sword into him. Falk did his best to avoid the blow, but it ended up taking off a good chunk of his health. The skeleton made good use of the time as well: he pulled a nasty-looking dagger with an undulating blade out of what looked like one of his ribs and buried it in the goblin’s lower back. The latter’s short stature made his back the best target.
Falk howled and instinctively tried to turn around, though that just left his neck open for my sword.
“Hagen, don’t be an idiot!” yelled Fattah.
An idiot, not an idiot—what does it matter? If that big-eared bastard doesn’t die, he’ll kill me. That much was already clear.
Falk collapsed to the ground, his health dangerously low. The skeleton, eyes gleaming, crawled over to his throat.
“Kill him,” muttered Falk. “Kill him! I won’t forg–”
The skeleton buried his teeth in Falk’s throat.
“—et,” I replied, finishing his phrase with a smile. “Okay, then don’t forget it.”
His groan turned into a gurgle, and there was one more corpse by the gates.
“I’ll avenge you, at least,” I said to the dead goblin, slicing through the skeleton’s skull and finishing off any carnivorous intentions he might have had for me.
“Is he dead?” Fattah asked as he ran over, followed by the rest of the squad. Weren’t they supposed to be helping push through to the palace? There weren’t any more skeletons left to leap over the cliffs, and things were looking up for us.
“What do you think?” I replied lightly, not a bit of sarcasm in my voice. “I didn’t have a choice. That was the only thing I could do.”
“I know,” the archer said with a frown. “Though you’re in trouble now—Grokkh is going to kill you. Well, we can hope nobody saw anything.”
“Lane saw. I mean, he saw how that animal stabbed me in the back. He even poisoned me, the bastard. As far as Grokkh is concerned, he may die here, too. Maybe he already has.”
“He poisoned you?” Fattah shook his head. “Open your exchange.”
I didn’t know what he wanted, though I did what he asked me to do. A small beaker full of a dark green liquid fell into my bag.
“Wow,” I said in surprise. “You don’t mind?”
“You can return the favor later,” Fattah responded. “Drink it—you’ll get some health, too.”
I followed his advice and downed the contents of the beaker.
You drank Herbal Mix from the Sumaki Foothills.
You are no longer taking poison damage, and your health has been restored to 75%.
“We’ll push farther now,” noted Fattah. “Though the Ninth Company is our last reserve.”
“The Ninth?” I asked in surprise. “But didn’t they pay for all of them? Or no?”
“The Tenth Company is always held back. If the other companies suffer heavy losses, it’s used to fill them. The Ninth Company is the last one to land on this side of the river.”
The Ninth Company whooped and shouted as it threw itself into the final skeleton resistance, knocking them back behind the ruins of the towers. I looked back at the road leading to the Crisna. It was far from empty: there was a large contingent of Fortune’s Favorites standing there. They watched as mercenaries, NPCs and players alike, fought and died in their service, and they had every right to enjoy the show. They’d paid for our deaths, after all. Mine included.
The Ninth Company got the job done, driving all that was left of the Free Companies up onto the hill.
“Form up,” I heard Captain Singkh order. So he’s still alive. “Keep moving.”
Fattah and I ran over to the gates and lined up on the right flank of the formation. I looked over and saw Lane, Ping, and Pong.
“Where are the rest?” I asked Lane.
“I watched Torn die, Garrak is gone, too. I’m not sure where Ur and Mikos are—they may be alive.”
“Ur is,” said Ping, who was dragging his right leg. “I saw him.”
“Me, too,” confirmed a pale Pong. “He was definitely alive.”
“At least there’s some good news,” I replied.
“I wouldn’t be expecting anything good, not unless nobody saw you kill Falk,” Lane said, coming over and whispering in my ear. “If it helps, I saw him attack you first, though I don’t think that will count for me.”
“I didn’t kill him; a skeleton did,” I responded, looking back at him. “I even avenged him.”
“If you survive, that’s what you should say,” advised Fattah, who was listening in on our conversation.
We soon arrived at the large, closed gate leading to Skull Palace. It was part of the construction’s jaw, and it was guarded by two giants wearing leather trappings. They were a good seven or eight times as tall as I was, much wider, needless to say, and they held enormous hammers in their hands. The rings in their noses highlighted the nasty expressions on their faces.
“Halt! Where are you going?” the one on the right bellowed.
“We’re here to kill the Skeleton Emperor,” Singkh called back.
“That is not permitted. The Emperor’s person cannot be harmed,” the one on the left boomed, his echo resounding around us.
What is this, negotiations? Gunboat diplomacy? I had to wonder what would have happened if we’d said that we just wanted to talk with the Emperor. Would they have let us in?
“Unacceptable,” Singkh said easily. “Kill them.”
They should have let me talk to them.
The giants picked up their hammers and prepared to repulse our attack.
“Form circles around them, and go for their legs—we’ll kill them once they’re on the ground. And stay away from their hammers!” The remaining lieutenants barked out their orders, and among them, I heard Grokkh’s voice. So he’s alive. That’s a shame…
That was my last complete thought on that side of the Crisna. My legs took me forward to obey the command and encircle the giant on the right along with the right wing of our formation, and it was just then that my body was met by his giant hammer. The hammer made it through the encounter unscathed. I did not.
Back in Mettan, I looked down to see the headstone I knew so well. I wasn’t ticketed for the digital heavens with most of the company troops, and there was no reason for me to re-cross the river to rejoin what was left of them. No, I was back where I last saved—and that was something I was awfully happy about.
“Oh, you died, too?” I heard a sad voice say before I noticed its owner. Not far from the headstone sat Joker, dressed in just his underwear, and with a sad, dejected look on his face.
“Yup,” I replied. “Works for me, though—I didn’t like it over there. The food was terrible, and the fun was only so-so. Why are you dressed like that?”
“No money. Payment for the hotel is due, and everything I own is there. This has been the worst week!” Joker sniffed.
“Come on, don’t worry about it. Wait here a minute.”
I walked over to the hotel, casting a glance around the now-empty square. Oh, wait a second. There were a few people hanging around by the gate. A closer look revealed, to my surprise, that they were Hounds. That Fredegar’s on the ball, I guess, though sticking a few people out in clear sight like that seems clumsy. I wondered if I’d overestimated them—perhaps they were a strong clan, but not a very smart one. Anyway, it was none of my business.
Pushing open the door of the hotel, I went in.
Chapter Eight
In which things start to happen that don’t make sense at first glance.
Back in my normal outfit, I felt much better about life. We’re all slaves of habit, after all, and it’s only when we’re in a familiar environment wearing familiar clothes and surrounded by familiar trappings that we feel ourselves.
Joker was sitting on the hotel porch staring at the other side of the Crisna. The battle was still ongoing, though I had to imagine the Free Companies were no longer part of it. Most likely, they were all dead, and I had no idea where I’d be going the next day—the companies were gone. There were probably some other players besides Fattah and me, though I didn’t think we’d make up much more than a few squads. The companies weren’t hugely popular among the gaming community.
“Open your exchange,” I said, sitting down next to Joker.
The money clinked over, and Joker banged a fist into my shoulder before going into the hotel.
I looked around the square. It was still just as empty, still with a few of the Hounds loitering around. Sure, every once in a while, someone would come flying back to the headstone—from the companies, I guessed. They all glanced around the square and headed toward the hotel. Some left it in the direction of the gate; others stayed inside.
There was something that had me on edge, a smell in the air. It was the type of feeling you get when you’re sure something bad is brewing, though you have no idea why. Everything looks normal, at least. But somewhere down below the belt and above the knees you start to get a nervous tic that sends unpleasant shivers up your spine. Your insides all tense up, and your body feels like a spring ready to retaliate or launch a preemptive strike at the first sign of danger.
That’s how I felt. It could have been left over from my trip to Mirastia, and it could have been everything I’d been going through catching up to me. I’d spent the weeks after my long-since-forgotten vacation in Spain working through one in-game problem after another. Not to mention everything I’ve had to deal with in real life…
“The calm before the storm,” Joker said from behind me as he walked out of the hotel.
“What do you mean?” I asked without turning around.
“I always have this feeling right before thunderstorms. Something’s up, and it smells like crap,” he explained. “I don’t see a storm coming, though the feeling’s there.”
Great minds think alike.
“It’s weird that it’s this empty,” I said, expressing my surprise. “I would think the Favorites would be coming back here—a few of them had to have died already.”
Joker grunted. “Not necessarily. They probably linked to their clan fortress, or to wherever they were before they gathered here. There’s nothing for them here except a wasted portal scroll. What’s the point?”
I thought about it and couldn’t help but agree with his logic.
“Hey,” Joker said, plopping down on his spot on the porch, “we still haven’t really met, although we’ve already been through two fights together. Not very nice of us.”
“What did you expect?” I looked at him. “It’s a game, not a dating club, and not everything makes sense all the time. For example, why did I go to bat for you in Maykong? You don’t know, I don’t know, nobody knows. It was just a reflex. Anyway, what would you like me to tell you about myself, my inquisitive friend?”
Joker thought for a second, stopped himself twice, and then suddenly laughed.
“You know, I have no idea,” he admitted. “All the important stuff is right there above your head, so there isn’t much to ask. The only thing that interests me is why you joined the mercenaries, but that’s probably personal—an intimate detail, I’d say.”
“Exactly right,” I replied. “Personal, indeed. And you’re, I take it, on the run?”
“That I am,” the scout replied with a sigh. “I’m actually not a bad guy at all, though for some reason everyone likes to call me a crook. But I’m not; I’m just here to play a role.”
“Screwed up?” I grunted.
“I’m on wanted lists in the East and the North,” Joker sheepishly responded.
“You’re wanted in the North?” That didn’t sound right to me. “Forbidden from showing your face on pain of death—that I could believe. But not a wanted list.”
“They don’t need to forbid it; they’ll just lop your head off and be done with it,” admitted Joker. “In the East, they strangle you with a silk cord. People are so sensitive nowadays—it’s ridiculous.”
“You’re right, I don’t know why people wouldn’t like getting robbed.” I nodded. “Animals.”
“It’s not funny,” Joker replied with a frown.
“I’m not sure I can agree with you there, but we can forget about it. Why haven’t you joined a clan yet?”
“Why should I?” Joker shrugged. “The way I see it, clans are overvalued. You always owe them something, and nobody owes you anything in exchange. What’s the point of that?”
“Not exactly. Clans can do a lot for you in some situations, and in others, they’re absolutely essential.”
“You mean raids, leveling up, stuff like that?” Joker said knowingly. “Sure, you’re right, but that’s only if you’re looking for that type of thing. I couldn’t care less about raids, for example—that’s not why I play the game. I’m a free agent.”
“What’s that?” I was intrigued.
Joker looked around before continuing quietly.
“I buy and sell things, in any currency. You know what I mean.”
Interesting. So, Joker was a bug. I’d read on a forum back when I was first exploring Fayroll that there were players who buy and sell valuable equipment, scrolls, rare reagents, and the like, and that they were called bugs. They were even willing to trade in real money, charging a hefty fee to transfer payment to real-life bank accounts.
“Well, look at you,” I said with a smile. “So you’ll buy anything?”
“I don’t need ten raccoon pelts or dead goblin ears,” he replied, smiling back at me, “though I take pretty much anything elite and higher—I’ll even give you my friends-and-family discount. You won’t get as much as you would at the auction, of course, though you’ll get the money immediately. At least, almost immediately.”
“Almost?” My right eyebrow shot up.
“If I don’t have enough on me right then, you get the rest mailed to you. Almost immediately.”
“Who mails it?” I asked innocently.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Joker guffawed at my childish trap, screwing up his face and continuing in a whisper. “Santa Claus.”
Then, back in his normal tone, he continued.
“All joking aside, if you need to buy or sell something, I’d be happy to help. Like I said, I’ll give you a good deal either way.”
“Isn’t it a bit premature to offer that to someone you barely know?” That intrigued me most of all. “What if I work for the admin? Or rat you out to them?”
“So what? There’s no official ban on trading, and they wouldn’t be able to do anything anyway. They could do some things to make life miserable for me, but that would just be for a little while. It would be nice to get away from the game and relax a little. Plus, you don’t work for the admin—I can tell you’re a good guy.”
He was the kin
d of person it’s good to know. After all, sooner or later, my job in the game would be done, and I’d need to get rid of everything I’d accumulated. Certainly won’t be giving it to the clan, that’s for sure! That’s when I’d need Joker. Still, he was a strange little boy. It was big business, but his hotel room wasn’t paid for? Although…things happen in life.
“You’re a tricky guy,” I said to Joker approvingly. “Tricky, indeed.”
“What isn’t tricky in Firewall?” Joker shot back. “Life stops being straightforward when you leave Noobland. Wait, what’s that?”
He stood halfway up and squinted toward the river. I joined him, noticing one of the rafts sailing back from the other side.
“What’s that?” repeated Joker, pursing his lips. “I’ve never seen wounded players taken back over the river. Ridiculous…”
I don’t know about that. It makes for good PR—it’s barely even a stretch. If they were working with a delegate in the State Duma getting him ready for the election, they’d already have a slogan ready. Let’s see… For example, “Fortune’s Favorites: Everyone Gets Back Alive.” Or “You’re never alone when you’re with Fortune’s Favorites.” On the other hand, it really was the dumbest thing I’d seen in the game. Even if healers couldn’t do anything on the other side of the river, there was nothing wrong with throwing back a few potions. In a word, ridiculous…
“Seriously,” was all I said out loud. Joker may have trusted me, but that certainly didn’t mean I trusted him.
A couple minutes later the raft got to the wharf, dumping its load of three dozen wounded warriors on the bank. They were all mid-level, and they were wearing an assortment of armor—your average contingent of players, the same thing you’d get with any major clan. Some would move up the ranks, others would stay right where they were. It was all up to them.
“How’s it going over there?” Joker asked them. “Did they take the fortress?”
The group straggled over toward the hotel, and I got the distinct impression that they weren’t even sure why they’d been given a return ticket. One of them stopped to reply to the scout.
Fayroll [04] Gong and Chalice Page 10