Void Legion

by Terry C. Simpson

  “I still think you shoulda went with the Coalition standard-issue,” Meritus said when they stood outside the armorer’s metal and brick facade. “Or at least kept the cloak. Those colors can make people with bad intentions think twice.”

  “True. But I doubt it works in my favor if it’s all I have when I head to the island. Most likely the inhabitants won’t care what I’m wearing. The ones that do won’t be praising the Coalition. We both know how the Coalition goes about their expeditions.”

  “Soldiers on the ground. Blood, fire, and magic negotiations,” Meritus said. “The Coalition way or the grave.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, good luck, homie.” Meritus reached out and they gave each other a dap, ending by tapping palms over their hearts.

  “Thanks again, dawg,” Frost said.

  “It’s all good.” Meritus smiled. “If you need anything else while you’re here or run into trouble, I’m staying at the Cobalt Talisman. Third floor, middle room to the rear. And, Frost?”

  “Shaddup,” they said as one and burst into laughter.

  After a few moments, Meritus turned and strode back toward the Auction Market. Frost watched his friend until Meritus stepped through the Market’s doors. Then, with Tia beside him, and his two bodyguards following, he headed in the opposite direction.

  “Dante,” he said, “I dislike this as much as you, but if we’re gonna make this work, we gotta let bygones be bygones.”

  “I can do that,” Dante said, his shrill voice out of place coming from an eight-foot gurash who weighed a good four hundred pounds. “But when we’re all max, we’ll settle up.”

  “No prob,” Frost agreed. “As for you, Ryne Waldron.”

  “I’m here to serve you, my good man.” Dante had the voice Frost would have expected from Blackblade. Deep. From the chest. “Any enemy of yours is an enemy of mine. And unlike Big Foot,” Ryne jutted a tiny thumb in Dante’s direction, “if you say jump, I’ll ask how high.”

  “Just remember, the gnome can only jump but so high,” Dante quipped.

  “Gnome.” Ryne grimaced, took a long slow breath, and shook his head. “Always the disrespect in every aspect. At least I can jump, fat man.”

  “I. Am. Not. Fat.” Dante glared at the goblin.

  “Of course not, you’re big-boned.”

  “At least I can reach around to scratch my back.” Dante snorted. “Arms like a baby raptor.” He imitated his statement.

  Frost chuckled. “Alright, alright, you two, cut it out. Ryne, what class are you?”

  “Shadowmancer.”

  “Ah.” Frost nodded.

  The class explained the goblin’s cockiness. Shadowmancers were as difficult to play well as they were potent.

  Frost recalled the many times he’d fought one. Each had been challenging. And annoying. Necrosis was one of their favored spells, dealing increasing Damage over Time before a final explosive burst. If that DoT wasn’t bad enough, they had other direct damage spells, summonses, Haunt, and the ability to go into Ethereal Form, which reduced all incoming damage while increasing their output. And Phase. How could he forget Phase? It made them invulnerable for a short time, although they couldn’t attack in its duration. The downside was their low vitality and the huge consumption of aether.

  Frost stopped and frowned. He glanced down at Ryne. “A shadowmancer with an ice spell. Interesting. Mind if I ask how you picked it up?”

  Ryne smiled, rolled his right hand, and dipped his head as if he just completed a performance and was recognizing the crowd’s adulation. “A wizard never gives up his secrets.”

  Frost shook his head. “Whatever.”

  “The gnome has always been cocky,” Dante said. “Swears he’s a poet, too. Don’t let him get to you.”

  “My name is Ryne, Big Foot. Ryne. Say it more than one time.” The goblin glared at Dante and added something else unintelligible that sounded very much like a string of curses.

  “I see,” Frost said to Dante, then continued down the Via. “What level are you, Dante?”

  “Fifteen.”

  Ryne snickered.

  Frost scowled. I coulda sworn I told Meritus—he dismissed the thought. Giving him Dante meant Meritus believed the gurash was more than up to the task. Especially with a level thirty-one shadowmancer, Gilda, and himself. Not even counting Saba. I hope your faith isn’t misplaced, homie.

  Soon enough, they reached the intersection of the Via Iridius and the Via Libris. Gilda and Saba were already there. They both smirked at him. Saba reached up to her neck to a chain and flipped open a timeorb. She shook her head for good measure.

  Gilda was wearing a black studded jacket that ended mid-thigh. Underneath was a white cotton shirt. She had replaced her star-shaped chakrams with circular ones done in gold and silver. Her loose-fitting pants matched the jacket. Her cerulean skin absolutely glowed.

  Frost found himself drawn to her horns again. Gilda’s dagger appeared in her hand. She twirled it. He shook off the thought.

  Saba had shed the gambeson for a coat of plates, its deep brown leather accentuating her bronze skin. Her flanchard, peytral, and crupper were all the same type of leather material and color. Her short hair was slicked back. She had a new bow made of some dark wood.

  “What’s up,” Frost said cheerily. All he got in return was a roll of Saba’s eyes and a shake of Gilda’s head while she twirled her dagger then put it away.

  “And men like to say we take long getting ready,” Saba said under her breath.

  “I heard that,” Frost shot back.

  “You were supposed to.” Saba pranced impatiently. “Can we get a move on?”

  “Let me introduce our escorts first,” Frost said.

  “Escorts?” Saba repeated. “There’s just the big fellow.”

  “The disrespect,” Ryne huffed from down below. “Always disrespect in all aspects for the Little People.”

  “Oh, damn. I’m sorry.” Saba cupped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t–”

  “See me,” Ryne finished. “I know. People always overlook me or see me last. Until my foot is in their ass. I’m Ryne Waldron and am only too happy to be escorting you five ladies.”

  The girls outright laughed or giggled. Frost and Dante scowled at the shadowmancer. Ryne shrugged.

  “I’ll show you lady when I get to your level,” Dante said.

  Frost gestured to the marauder. “This is–”

  “Dante Blackblade,” Gilda finished. “We crossed paths.”

  While Dante was glaring at Gilda with clear bad intentions, she seemed unimpressed. Frost hoped Dante wouldn’t try to call her out right there and then.

  “Like I told your boyfriend, here,” Dante said, nodding to Frost, “we’re all good until we’re max. Then all bets are off.”

  “No doubt. But he’s not my boyfriend.” Gilda’s dagger appeared again. She made a show of cleaning her nails. She blew on them. “I heard the idea of men… I mean, boys, getting mad because they got beat by a girl was so 2010.”

  Frost fought down a smile. “Alright, alright. Enough pleasantries. We got some place to be.”

  Following his lead, they crossed the intersection where the Via Iridius became the Via Arcadius and the start of the Gregis District, buildings casting long shadows in the evening sun. Frost tensed, knowing a crucial part of their journey had begun. He sensed the same from Gilda and Saba. Even Tia had gotten closer to him.

  “We’re being followed,” Ryne Waldron said. “At first I thought it was coincidence. But through my concealed defiler, I confirmed their lack of innocence. Two Azureguards on a parallel street. Two on this one. Alternating in an attempt to remain inconspicuous.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “Let’s go over there and kick their asses,”
Dante said as they strode down one side of the Via Arcadius.

  “The idea is not to draw attention to ourselves,” Frost said. “Meritus told you what the issue is, the position we’re in. Making a scene in the heart of the Coalition would be pretty dumb.”

  “You’re the boss,” Dante grumbled.

  “I have to agree with our patron,” Ryne said in that disconcertingly deep voice of his. “Kalarch Voculo passed a new law against fighting in Kituan. Get caught starting a fracas and you’ll face a trial no defendant has ever won.

  “Punishment is a year spent mining korbitanium, which most don’t return from. Death from the fumes in the mines or the spriggans that live there is often the outcome.

  “Unless you’re a lucky one. Lucky ones get to toil in the Kelsial vineyards. Of course,the guilty can always choose the Fighting Pits of Bastards.”

  “I enjoyed my time in the Bastards,” Gilda said.

  “A woman after my heart.” Ryne chortled. “I could marry you.”

  In a flash, Gilda’s dagger appeared. She regarded Ryne, expression flat. “I’ve killed for less.”

  The goblin smiled his yellow-toothed smile. He took out his haladie and imitated Gilda.

  Frost grinned. He could picture it now. Seven-foot Gilda with a goblin barely three feet tall, the goblin muttering bad poetry into her ear. He shook his head ruefully.

  “Let me handle our followers.” Ryne’s gaze was still on Gilda.

  “Not gonna happen,” Frost said.

  “You hired the world’s best goblin. Now, you refuse him?” Ryne pouted and put away his haladie.

  Frost smirked at the goblin. “You just said–”

  “I know what I said. Did you listen?”

  Frost narrowed his eyes in contemplation. He considered everything Ryne had mentioned about the new law. He snatched a look at Ryne as he understood the suggestion. The goblin wore a small smile.

  “Now, that’s what I’m talking about!” Grinning, Dante clapped a hand to his thigh like an overly excited schoolboy. “I’m all about that action. Pew! Pew!”

  “No. No. No fucking way.” Frost shook his head vigorously.

  “I agree with Frost this time,” Saba said. “That’s a bad idea.”

  “Only if we get caught,” Dante said with a sly smile.

  “The goblin has a point,” Gilda chimed in. “What’s the plan otherwise? Let them follow us all the way?”

  “We can’t do that either.” Frost tried to think. “There’s gotta be another way to get them off our tail.”

  Ryne cleared his throat. “I keep hearing ‘we’. Who is this ‘we’?” He peered all around, even up into the sky.

  Frost stopped at a stall where a vendor was selling roasted beardbeak. Fifty credits got enough of the meat for everyone. Stomach grumbling as he took his, he used the time to shoot a quick glance to their left.

  A male Azureguard across the street was paying way too much attention to some female gargant’s underthings at a linen seller. The Azureguard held up the underpants, arms spread wide to accommodate their size.

  The group set off again. Chewing the succulent meat, Frost crossed the next intersection. Sure enough, the same Azureguard crossed the other side a moment later. Frost also picked out one more trailing the first, mingling with the crowds.

  “Alright, Ryne,” Frost said. “Take care of them. We’re gonna pop into that apothecary over there.” Frost nodded to the establishment in question.

  “No fair,” Dante whined. “I’m an escort also.”

  “And you’re escorting,” Frost said. “Ryne’s level thirty-one and something tells me he knows exactly what he’s about.”

  Dante grumbled something unintelligible as they headed toward the apothecary. Frost ignored him. When they reached the shop, Ryne was still with them. Frost, Tia, Saba, and Gilda entered the apothecary. Ryne stood with Dante outside, on the opposite side of the door.

  “Gnome, weren’t you supposed to be taking care of the problem?” Dante asked aloud.

  Frost stopped just inside the door where the Azureguards would not be able to see him when he spoke to Ryne. “Wanna explain why you’re still here?”

  Ryne offered no response. Not even a smart remark at Dante’s quip. He just stared off at the crowded street.

  Frost frowned. He made to speak again when he noted the unnatural stillness of a few stray strands of Ryne’s hair. Ryne’s wispy beard was the same. As were his robes. This, despite a breeze that swirled dust out in the street, ruffled cloaks, loose clothing, and rattled the store’s sign.

  “A Mimic,” Gilda said from behind Frost. She rested a hand on Frost’s waist.

  “A good one, too,” Saba added.

  Frost smiled. The goblin might be worth his weight in whatever price Meritus had paid. “Nothing to do now but wait.” Frost turned to the shop’s interior and offered a warm smile to Gilda. “See if there’s anything you’d like to pick up from here for any of your concoctions.”

  The next fifteen minutes passed with Gilda and Saba haggling with the merchant about his prices for simple herbs. They finally settled on a few.

  Frost kept an eye on the Mimic while also perusing the apothecary’s goods. He paid three hundred IDC for an entire batch of vials and potions, including health, rejuvenation, and sanctification. Before he stashed them in his inventory, he checked to make sure their effects were the same as the old version of the game.

  Health Potion

  Regain 500 health instantly

  Reuse: 2 minutes

  Rejuvenation Potion

  Regain 1000 health over 30 seconds

  Reuse: 2 minutes

  Purification Potion

  Cleanse one adverse effect

  Reuse: 2 minutes

  The vials were on three-minute reuse timers.

  Aether Power

  25 to Aether effects

  Protection

  500 armor

  Agility

  10 Agility

  Colossus

  10 Strength

  Elements

  25 to Elemental Power

  Aether Resist

  25 resistance to Aether effects

  Elemental Resistance

  25 resistance to all elements

  Fortification

  50 Health

  Aether Protection

  Absorb 1000 to 2000 Aether Damage

  Elemental Protection

  Absorb 1000 to 2000 Elemental Damage

  Satisfied, he nodded to himself.

  “That went rather well.” Ryne’s voice originated from the Mimic, which meant it was the goblin himself. There was a distinct difference now, a more lifelike skin texture and natural movements of clothing and hair.

  “How’d you get rid of them?” Frost asked as he, Saba, Gilda, and Tia stepped outside.

  “A Mirage of us to convince them we’d gone down the alley to the canal that runs behind the building.”

  Frost gaped. “You did it behind the apothecary?”

  The goblin pointed down with his index finger. “Below it, technically. Stairs lead down into the canal’s artery.”

  “You couldn’t pick some place farther away?” Saba scowled.

  The goblin let out an annoyed breath. “The nature of a Mirage means I have to remain close to those it imitates. Or else it dissipates.” He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. “Perhaps, I should become a bard. Anyway, no one saw me.”

  “But someone’s likely to spot the bodies,” Frost said under his breath.

  “What bodies?” The goblin shrugged and spoke in a deep sing-song lilt. “This canal is a deep one. Its waters are stygian. Fun fact: Azureguards wear heavy armor. Armor like an anchor.

 
; “Gave my defiler a hard time to drag. Had to summon a second one to get the job done. Now… I’m pooped.” Ryne let out a whoosh, emphasizing his exhaustion.

  “Seems Gnome is about that action,” Dante said, nodding his approval.

  “He certainly is,” Frost agreed. “Well done.” He dipped his head to Ryne.

  “Thank you.” The goblin rolled his hand and bowed from the waist.

  With a shake of his head at Ryne, Frost set off toward the Wyvern’s Eye. They discerned no other followers the rest of the way. They entered a large, crowded square where Ryne pointed toward a four-storied building. A sign depicted a black wyvern with a red eye. Hanging from chains connected to that sign was another with the establishment’s name.

  When they entered the tavern’s smoky interior, Frost couldn’t help his sense of relief. Finally, he would complete the quest given to him by his mother.

  A chubby serving girl in a cut-off shirt met them. She directed them to a long table with a bench on either side near a wall. Glasses and silverware clinked. The murmur of conversation drifted on the air along with the coiled smoke and potpourri of pipes, cigars, and incense.

  Bloomglobes hung along walls and from the ceiling, most of them white or a pale yellow, illuminating patrons from all across Mikander. There was even a brown-furred gargant from the Ostenia dominion in the Korbash continent, so massive he was seated on the floor and still towered over everyone. The gargant was picking bugs from his fur and popping them into his mouth while he waited to be served.

  “Order some food.” Frost stood. “I’m going to see the barkeep.”

  On his way over to the bar, which was neatly positioned on one side of the room close to a doorway and a set of stairs, Frost removed the chain from his neck. The barkeeper was a human with black hair and a thick mustache. His corded arms and boulder shoulders said there was more muscle than fat beneath his apron and shirt than his wide form suggested. He was cleaning a glass with a cloth and eying Frost.

  “Good afternoon,” Frost said.

  “Afternoon to you, too, friend.” The barkeep dipped his head as he spoke in a silvery voice. “New around here, I see. What can I get you?”