by Terry Schott
“That’s exciting.” Lelthaes grinned as he sorted his cards.
Shale searched her memory of the game and her avatar. Up until now, every aspect of this virtual reality had been true to her extensive knowledge gained from years playing the PC version. Spells, effects, the ranger class and abilities, she had been playing Blades since it had begun online—over ten years—but couldn’t remember hearing about anything called a Scout. She considered asking, but didn’t want to appear foolish or tip herself off as a stranger. She sighed and picked a card from her hand, laying it on the table.
Guess I’ll find out what a Scout is soon enough.
28
After learning that he might be a Scout, Aleron’s parents had quickly planned a celebration and invited everyone to attend.
That night there was a large dinner party in the village square. The meal was extravagant; wine and spirits flowed. Aleron spent the night shaking hands and receiving hugs, his parents standing close as everyone congratulated him on his good fortune. He smiled when those who had muttered negative comments the day before stepped forward to congratulate him, genuine excitement and approval in their body language and expressions.
The party went on for hours, not ending until early into the dark hours of morning.
Hoping that he’d hid it well, Aleron spent the entire evening without a clue as to what the big deal was.
Later the next morning, Master Keaedan came by to collect him. Aleron hugged his parents, smiling as they congratulated him again, and the two men set out. They walked until late afternoon, travelling in relative silence except for the occasional small talk.
They made camp and Aleron gathered dead wood to make a fire before setting out to hunt. Every elf was competent with a bow, and Aleron knew from his avatar’s memory that he was above average. The skills that his computer host had spent practising were still available to him. Less than half an hour later, he returned to the fire with a rabbit.
Darkness had settled over them by the time their meal was ready to eat. The two enjoyed the food, still speaking very little.
Their plates had been cleaned and returned to their packs. Each leaned against a tree with a mug of herbal tea in hand and feet near the fire.
“Are you excited to reach our destination, Aleron?”
“More like nervous.”
“Worried?”
Aleron frowned. “Should I be?”
The druid master tugged at the fur blanket draped over his legs. “I don’t imagine so, no.”
They sipped tea, watching tongues of fire crackle and snap at the dry wood.
Master Keaedan drained his mug, then set it onto the ground and withdrew a pipe and bag of tobacco from the folds of his robe. “You’ve done very well, up until this point, at least.”
“What do you mean?” Aleron took a sip of tea.
Keaedan turned the pipe bowl upside down and tapped it against his palm. Burnt bits of black tobacco fell from the pipe’s interior and sprinkled the ground. “Days have passed since I made the announcement. You haven’t asked once what a Scout is or does.”
Aleron’s breath skipped a beat. “Why would I?”
“You’ve been surrounded by many people talking about the Scouts.” The old druid’s expression conveyed amusement. “But you have no clue what anyone has been talking about.”
Aleron opened his mouth to deny it. His cheeks grew warm.
The druid smiled.
“Was it that obvious?”
Master Keaedan laughed and opened the tobacco pouch. “Only to me, I think.” He reached into the bag and withdrew a pinch of dark, shredded leaves. “Looks as if you’ve managed to fool the rest. Even your parents.”
“Fool?”
“Mmhmm.” He inserted the tobacco in the empty pipe bowl. There was the hint of playfulness in his voice. “I’m the only one that knows about you.” He looked up and his eyes met Aleron’s. “That you’re a Deceiver.”
“A what?”
“Not from this land.”
Aleron’s mouth felt suddenly dry as the old man’s eyes narrowed, his expression serious. “I don’t know what you’re talking abou—”
“Don’t insult me, boy.” The druid’s smile returned and he looked back at his pipe. “Now is not the time for lies.” He finished pushing strands of tobacco into the pipe and placed it in the corner of his mouth, resting the stem between his teeth, making a light clicking sounded as he bit down. He withdrew a long match from a side pocket of the tobacco pouch. With a flick of his thumbnail, the match flared to life, bright orange fire hissing as it illuminated the old man’s bearded face. “I would know what you are up to, boy, and I’m done playing nice. Ready or not, I’m going to ask questions. You’re going to answer them, every last one, and truthfully.”
Aleron winced.
“Lie to me even once, and I will have to kill you.”
Aleron stared with wide eyes as Master Keaedan touched the match to the tobacco and puffed rhythmically to set a proper burn. When he was satisfied, he withdrew the match and shook it. The flame went out and white smoke curled from the half-burned stick. Keaedan dropped it on the ground beside him and sniffed. “Do you understand my directions, Deceiver?”
Aleron nodded.
“Good.” He drew on the pipe stem and puffed out a mouthful of smoke. “Let’s start with your real name, and where, specifically, that you come from.”
“Where I come from?”
He raised one eyebrow and took a draw from his pipe. He opened his mouth and the smoke poured out like fog on highland morning. “I believe you call it ‘Earth’.”
29
Xander huddled in the darkness against a tree, arms crossed against his chest while the cold rain pattered against the canopy of the forest above and made its way to land on him. He shivered, wishing for a fire, even though he knew it would be a bad idea. The paladin was definitely still pursuing him.
Three days earlier, Xander had entered another town to ask for directions. Something told him not to, but he was still lost and his only recourse was to hope for directions from a stranger.
Unfortunately, the settlement housed a chapel of the Light. When the screaming started—he couldn’t seem to avoid having a woman scream in terror from seeing him—the front door of the chapel slammed open and a holy paladin had emerged. The knight had drawn his sword and strode toward him.
Xander had fled the town. Just before he’d ducked into the woods, he’d thrown a glance over his shoulder. The paladin’s silhouette was still visible on the horizon.
Xander had entered the forest and hadn’t stopped moving until darkness fell. The rain had begun not long after.
His cold, wet clothes stuck to his skin as he shivered. “The paladin is not following me.” His teeth chattered as he tried to reassure himself. “He must have more important things to do than chase me day and night.”
Xander wiped water from his eyes. The thought that his pursuer had turned back flashed through his mind. He tried to stand but flopped back onto the ground. His joints were stiff. He laughed, a harsh sound. I’m not cold and wet. This is a stupid computer game. These sensations are nothing more than signals being sent to my brain as I lie on a table somewhere.
There was a thud to his left. Xander turned and squinted. Even with his night vision, all he could see were shades of blue, yellow and green. The coldness caused by the rain blanketed all the heat in the nocturnal world. If anything living was close, he could not tell.
For the second time, Xander wondered what would happen when his avatar died. In the PC version of Blades, when your character died, it was simple. Your monitor went dark for thirty seconds and your character re-spawned in the nearest graveyard. Then you’d run as fast as possible to where your character had died to grab the items you’d been carrying. If something were chasing you, then it was a race to put on your gear before getting attacked and possibly dying again.
He guessed it was different here but couldn’t be certain. Xan
der had been assured his guide would cover those details. The guide who had never appeared.
He struggled upward, leaning against the tree trunk. “Isaac screwed me. Maybe I should give up. Die and exit the simulation, get more information before I come back in instead of floundering around without a clue how to play this damned game.”
With my luck they won’t let me come back in.
He tugged his sopping cloak up over his shoulders.
Xander lowered himself back to the ground and closed his eyes. Despite the miserable conditions, he was so tired that it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.
***
Pain in his shoulder woke him. He sat up with a groan, rotating his arm to check for injury.
A voice spoke from nearby. “I’m surprised you can sit up at all after sleeping in such a twisted position.”
Xander turned and saw the paladin. Six-foot tall, shoulder-length straight blond hair shining in the morning light, the warrior was armed in a shirt of silver chain mail and dark brown leather leggings. The thumb of one hand was hooked into his leather belt and in the other he held a dried strip of jerky. A war maul rested on the ground beside him. The rectangular head was silver grey stone, flat on one end with a burnished orange colour while the opposite end had a jagged shape coloured mottled grey. Xander thought it looked like molten fire with the flames cooling to stone. Gold and silver wire was twined around the head and attached to a two-foot long, leather-wrapped handle. Pulsing runes of gold sparkled and moved along the hammer head’s surface as if fire lived in the weapon.
The paladin tore a piece of jerky from the strip and chewed, grinning at Xander.
“Why didn’t you kill me in my sleep?”
The paladin’s broad shoulders shook as he laughed. “There’s no fun in that.”
“There won’t be any fun in killing me while I’m awake either. I could barely stand my ground against a corpse rat. I’m guessing you’re a tougher opponent.”
The paladin was clearly amused. “Don’t sell yourself short, boy. Corpse rats put up a good fight. Nasty bites, too.” The paladin sat on a fallen log and rested his elbows on his knees. “I did not think the followers of darkness had any settlements close by. You surprised me when I saw you in the town. I wanted to have a chat with you.”
Xander noticed that his bag and swords were still beside him. He stood and stretched his arms above his head, then bent at the waist and touched his toes, groaning. He considered reaching for the swords.
“Don’t.”
He straightened and put his arms behind his back. “Don’t what?”
The paladin took another bite of jerky. “Best to leave your swords where they are.”
“You want me to die unarmed?”
He popped the last piece of jerky into his mouth and stood, brushing his hands together. “I’m not going to kill you.”
Xander frowned.
“That surprise you?”
“Yeah. It does.” Xander sniffed and then took a step forward, hand extended. “I’m Xander.”
The paladin considered him for a second, then stood and grasped Xander’s hand. “I’m called Helias.”
“Thank you for not killing me, Helias.”
The paladin bowed. “Are there more of your order about, little Death Stryker?”
Xander shook his head. He could feel his cheeks and neck get warm.
Helias laughed. “Are you lost, then?”
He nodded. “And embarrassed.”
“I can imagine. How long have you been wandering about?”
“A few days.”
“You don’t sound certain.”
“I was unconscious. Off and on.”
The paladin laughed again. “Which direction are you coming from?”
“That way.” Xander jabbed his thumb to point behind him.
“If you’re from where I think, then you are very far from home.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Hold on.” His eyes drifted to the bag in Xander’s hand. “You mentioned corpse rats. Are you on your spirit quest?”
“Yes.”
Helias drew a deep breath and then exhaled, drawing the words out as he spoke. “That might change things.”
“Why?”
“It is a very fortunate thing for a Death Stryker to encounter a paladin of the Light during one’s spirit quest. But it’s only good fortune if you kill the paladin. If you let them live, then you will be cursed by the Darkness.”
Xander felt a lump form in his throat. “Damn.”
The paladin reached down, hefting the war maul as if it weighed nothing. “Looks like we will have to fight after all.”
“But I can’t beat you.”
“Not with that attitude.” He jutted his chin toward the swords. “Grab your blades and let’s get on with it.”
Xander laughed.
“Go ahead. I won’t attack until you’re ready.”
Xander held up a hand. “Give me a second to think.”
Helias let the hammer rest on his shoulder. “What’s to think about?”
“You said it’s bad luck if I let you live?”
“That’s right.”
“But if I fight you I will certainly lose.”
“There’s always a chance you could get lucky.”
Xander crossed his arms. “I won’t fight you.”
Helias scowled. “You don’t want to be cursed. Better to stand and die than live and be haunted.”
Xander shook his head. “I won’t be cursed.”
Helias cocked his head. “How do you figure that?”
“If I was trained, knew how to do more than slash at corpse rats—which got the better of me by the way—then I would be letting you live by not fighting.” He spread his hands, palms up. “But, since I possess no skill, there is no dishonour in refusing to duel. That means no curse.”
“Huh.” Helias nodded. “You might be right. Are you willing to bet your life on it?”
Xander thought about it for a second. “Yes. I think I am.”
***
Mercy watched the paladin turn and disappear into the forest. A few minutes later, Xander slung his pack over one shoulder and started walking. Mercy waited until he was gone and then made her way into the clearing. She held one hand in front of her, palm facing skyward and spoke a word. Tendrils of black smoke formed and began to stream toward her palm. The dark mist thickened, spinning and gathering until a jagged humanoid shape with smooth, oily wings took shape. The mist faded, leaving the form of a shadow standing on Mercy’s palm. The shadow imp knelt, leaning forward until the tiny horns of its bald head touched her skin. With a grunt, the ugly creature bucked against her skin, pricking the flesh before leaning back on its knees and smiling as two drops of blood formed in the puncture marks. When the blood began to dribble along the creases of Mercy’s palm, the demon lurched forward and lapped at it.
When the blood was licked away, Mercy spoke. “Well?”
The imp licked its lips and looked up at her. “The disgusting paladin offered to kill him, but the boy declined.”
“The Darkness will curse him for it.”
The imp’s giggle sounded like dry grass crunching against glass. “No it won’t.”
Mercy scoffed. “Stupid demon. He let the paladin live during his spirit quest. Suffering will envelop him for such a slight.”
Another giggle. “He didn’t let the paladin live.”
Mercy narrowed her eyes.
“Without the skill to defeat his opponent, the concept of choice or decision is not a consideration.”
“An excuse.”
“A loophole.” The imp stroked her palm as if it were a beloved pet. “But a valid one. Sound judgement which will bring no harm to the whelp.”
“Clever.”
“Indeed. Intelligence from the same bag of flesh that is unable to find its way home.”
“The paladin gave him directions?”
“Oh yes.”
>
Mercy laughed. “Good. I am tired of following him.”
“You are a patient woman, a generous mistress.”
She smiled. The shadow imp cackled and attempted to bury its horns into her flesh to draw more blood.
“No.” Her hand closed into a tight fist. There was a muffled cry, followed by black smoke trailing between her fingers. She squeezed harder but the smoke escaped her grasp and the imp re-formed on the back of her hand, laughing. Mercy shook her head. “Follow Xander. Make certain he is safe until I catch up.”
The shadow imp bowed and dove from her hand. It unfurled its wings and they caught the air with a tiny snapping sound. With a giggle and a snarl, the creature flapped off in the direction that Xander had last been seen.
30
Aleron waited quietly while Master Keaedan stared, puffing on his pipe. He knew that the old man could kill him, but he wasn’t afraid. Dying was part of playing the game. He would either re-spawn, or wake up in his real body. A part of him hoped that he would die. That would allow him to exit this avatar and enter one with the ability to become a druid.
He was curious about this new possibility, though. He had no idea what a Scout was, but everyone around him appeared to be in awe of the class. If it was a class.
He nodded. Okay ya old fart, let’s get down to business. “What did you mean when you said ‘Deceivers’? Do you mean Travellers?”
The corner of the master druid’s mouth curved upward. He did not remove the pipe as he spoke. “It’s good that you’re not trying to deny what you are.”
“You said you wanted the truth.”
“Indeed.”
“Then that’s what you’ll get.” Aleron pursed his lips and smiled. “Just remember, you asked for it.”
“Those words can cut both ways, lad.” He frowned. “You are young where you come from?”
“Yeah. Same age as this body.”
Master Keaedan nodded. “Everyone does refer to your kind as Travellers, but in my experience, I’ve found that to be an inaccurate term. Your people are Deceivers, plain and simple.”
This is beta testing, Aleron thought. How can he know about us since we are the first group here? Unless— “When did you meet another Traveller?”