The Mists of Erantia (Realm of Arkon Book 7)

by G. Akella

  "Yo, peepz!"

  A tall disheveled level 35 warrior appeared in the doorway of the tavern. Looking around the hall, he stuck his thumb toward the door, and shouted excitedly:

  "There's a huge ass horse back there! It broke the hitching post, and now it's splashing around in mud like a pig!"

  "Hart help me..." I covered my face with my hands, sighing.

  "It's all good, brother!" Bonbon shouted back just as excitedly. "It's mating season for the Craedian war horse! And before they go and do that thing," the warrior made the appropriate hand gesture to indicate the "thing" that the "horse" was preparing to do, "they always cover their muzzles in mud, like Schwarzenegger in Commando! And it appears that he took a liking to you if he went straight for the mud when he saw you!"

  The entire tavern went up in roaring laughter.

  "But he's not only doing the muzzle," the kid shrugged, looking around helplessly. "He's getting mud everywhere..."

  "Then he must really like you. Be happy!"

  With a shake of the head, I got up and started toward the exit before my "Craedian war horse" got inspired and actually tried to do "that thing" to someone. Passing by the bar, I laid down a gold coin, and kept going toward the open doors.

  "For the hitching post," I said over my shoulder.

  "Thank you, earl..." the innkeeper smiled in my back knowingly.

  The fence was covered with every filth imaginable in numerous tongues unknown to the local populace. Perhaps the innkeeper thought them magic symbols? Or did he know exactly what the words meant and simply didn't give a damn? Considering that, with all the players coming and going every day, he'd need to repaint the fence every other day, and where would one find the time and the paint? Besides, those comedians were harmless, anyway.

  Situated about half a mile from Vaedarr, the small village was called Azore Tower, and was visible from the city gates. Now, what possessed someone to stick a thirty-five-foot-tall tower smack in the middle of the city gardens and surround it by a dozen peasant houses, I could only guess. Was there some sacral or strategic purpose to it? A resort of sorts for the soldiers who had distinguished themselves in combat? Judging by the soldiers' satisfied faces, it could very well be.

  A trio caught my eye, a girl and two boys. Egging each other on using some of the language inscribed on the fence, they were installing a crooked and ragged scarecrow amid the apple trees. Another thirty people or so were digging ditches around fruit-bearing trees. Sure, there's a ton of people around, and nobody eats for free. It was springtime, and apple trees bloomed at the end of May—at least they did back on Earth. The local climate was different, however. We were in early April, and the city outskirts were already adorned with the pinkish shrouds of blossoming gardens. Pungent smells were coming from every direction. It was all very romantic, if only I had time for romance... Come to think of it, it had been a week since my wife last spoke to me...

  Getting here had taken us half an hour. Teetotaler and the others had gone to the southern gates, while Donut and I had turned onto a narrow dirt road roughly half a mile out of Shanama. We moved on foot, as I wasn't about to mount that mud-covered perplexity. Unperturbed, Gloom trotted behind us, sniffing the ground and generally seeming like a rather satisfied war horse. Almost like Maximus from that cartoon about Rapunzel—if you painted him black and had him roll around in mud for a day or two, that is. But since it was I who had cast the illusion on him, despite my ninety five percent mental magic resistance, I was looking at exactly that—a horse. This made sense—I needed to be able to control my own spells, lest they wear off at the worst possible moment for one reason or another. And I wasn't releasing him because if Donut were to fail to come to an arrangement with the owner of this here fence, we would move on with plan B, which meant getting to the other side of Vaedarr. And since the Erantian capital was the largest city on the mainland, that meant schlepping for another eight-ten miles or so.

  For that reason, I was betting on the rogue's charisma to make plan A happen.

  Slipping a pipe between my teeth, I lit up, leaned back against the fence, and set to studying the local laws from a brochure I'd picked up from some kid hawking his wares outside the inn. In this realm, much like in the last one, ignorance of the law didn't excuse you for violating it, so I'd sooner learn said laws now than risk getting into trouble with the authorities. In large part, everything was like in Nittal, though with a few material differences. Using magic or brandishing weapons within the city limits wasn't allowed without a special permit or being revered with the human race. The one exception were nobles, who could do so without being revered.

  Generally speaking, nobles were subject to an altogether different set of laws, though nothing like back on Earth in the Middle Ages. You couldn't force peasant women to warm your bed at night or anything like that. Then again, recalling Rynec's experiences, maybe laws were one thing on the books, and quite another in reality... Anyway, let the king worry about all that—I had enough nobles back in Craedia to worry about when the time came.

  On the other hand, in exchange for more rights, the knights carried a much greater burden of responsibilities. In the event of a siege or even when witnessing someone committing a crime, it was the knight's obligation to intervene. In return for being able to brandish a weapon... Yeah, great trade!

  "Hey, friend! Did you happen to see a pig pass by here?"

  Putting away the brochure, I gave a mocking look at the tall freckled youth in front of me. Wielding a simple staff, the kid wore a short light-colored mantle and an expression of boredom that rivaled the deepest chasms of the universe.

  "A pig? Only that one right there," I motioned toward the boar, sprawled out on the grass.

  "No... I need a real one," the priest shook his head, vexed. "Stupid old woman is always losing her pigs. And they're always running off in different directions! It's a daily quest and an admonition against sclerosis. If I wasn't getting that mana regeneration elixir... Wait, what's wrong with him?"

  The kid finally realized that he was looking at at mud-covered horse lounging on the grass.

  "He's just messing around," I gave a wave of the hand.

  "Oh, all right. Anyway, I'm off. Later!"

  I watched him go with a chuckle, and was about to return to my reading when Donut peeked out from behind the gate.

  "Come, Roman," he waved at me, then nodded at Gloom and added. "Just don't forget to release your Bucephalus—it'll be hard for you to squeeze through that hole, never mind him."

  Passing through a small well-tended garden, we turned behind a single-story wooden home, and approached a square-shaped farmhouse.

  "In we go," Donut said, opening the iron-wrought door. "The owner is in the house, and he never saw us. Wink, wink."

  Inside the barn, just behind a massive workbench, a rectangular hole gaped darkly. Leaning on the wall next to it was a wooden board sporting protruding triple-edge nails.

  "You go first," the rogue nodded. "It's about a hundred feet of a narrow stone well, and then another ten feet down. I'll help push if you get stuck."

  Contrary to his fears, the hole ended up being wide enough, and five minutes later I was knee-deep in the most foul-smelling water that filled the corridor submerged in darkness. There was a splash nearby, and a few sprays of the stinking slush got on my face. Having jumped down from above, the rogue looked around and inquired:

  "Got any Cat's Eye potions on you?"

  "I see just fine in the dark..."

  "And I'm actually a cat," the assassin grinned. "Perfectly normal humans out for a walk. Nothing to see here."

  He waved forward.

  "We're headed that way, about half a mile in this slop. We can expect to see rats and small water-dwelling critters, but you won't even need to bare your blade for them. A single punch should suffice. Not at all like it was during my last visit here..."

  "It really doesn't look like a sewer," I observed, studying the cracked stone walls.

>   "Oh, who knows what it really is," the rogue gave a shrug, sticking a finger at the ceiling. "Arkym was digging a well and discovered this passageway, and when his son was being harassed by One-Ear Anug and his gang, I lent a hand. A unique level 31 quest."

  "Are you saying you're such a lucky SOB that only you know about this hole?"

  "You do realize that there are at most a thousand others like me in all of Arkon?" the rogue smiled. "The conditions to trigger the quest were level 31 and a Master Assassin achievement. And seeing as the quest is unique, yeah, I'd say I'm the only one. Well, my sisters know about it, too, but I doubt that Arkym would let anyone in here without me. The other option is killing him, but what would be the point? I'm sure that plenty of folks have been down in these bowels, but I doubt that anyone has spotted the hole in the ceiling. And even if someone did, getting up there isn't exactly easy without wings. And the payoff hardly seems worth it."

  "All right, let's just go to the city, master rogue," I sniffed, skirting Donut and started in the indicated direction.

  "Master assassin," Donut corrected me, a note of sadness in his voice. "Here's the thing, Roman... I don't exactly know how to get to Myrt's temple from here."

  "But you said that—"

  "My buddy Khung has a full map of the catacombs and the sewers. I'm 'friendly' with him, so I think he'll agree to join the party and build a portal for us in exchange for a few coins. He's got a small gambling den about a quarter mile from the exit."

  "Very well, let's go pay this Khung a visit," I shrugged. "I don't care if Hart himself builds that portal for us."

  "I never did see Bel firsthand..." the rogue drew a sigh, then started after me.

  Chapter 10

  I never saw the rats that scared Donut, but the five-foot long newts or tadpoles or whatever they were came at us five minutes later. I threw up Aura of Horror, driving the vermin away. Once the fear effect wore off, they did not attack again—just slipped by and headed back to their nests. Sadly, the pack of unlucky spelunkers behind us was at their intended destination. Screams of terror and curses followed, and then the splashing of the scattered amphibians once more. The players who had gotten hit by fear were neither about to attempt charging past nor engage in battle. I removed Aura, changed forms, and reactivated my disguise.

  "Cat's Eye works up to about thirty feet away at its lower levels, but your Aura nabbed those guys at nearly two hundred feet," Donut explained, barely holding back laughter. "Maybe it's for the best. A six-foot-tall demon with eyes burning like the undead's really isn't the healthiest site for young eyes. Without your aura they still would have soiled their pants, but now rumors will fly about the terrible invisible monster of the catacombs."

  "A monster of the catacombs, indeed," I nodded, watching the amphibious beings slither around in terror. "All you comedians are too smart for your own good."

  We pressed forward another few hundred feet, took a left, and spent ten minutes carefully descending a sloping wall. At last, we passed through a long cleft in the rock, jumped down ten feet onto a wide ledge, and found a place lit by magic.

  I shook my head in astonishment at what we saw.

  It was a gigantic dungeon that looked like a repair hangar out of some interstellar battleship. Row after row of white lamps hanging from above illuminated the place with a cold fluorescent light. Steel beams ran along the walls, and stairs and stone geometrical scaffolding of some kind ran every which way. Calling this place the catacombs is like calling a polar bear a white platypus. They were both swimming mammals, sure, but different as night and day.

  Vaedarr's catacombs looked more like one of the mountain people's Great Halls. The artists probably just reused resources from the dwarven architecture, adding a few distinctive details here and there. But, to be honest, I was being overly harsh. I doubted any language of this world had epithets suiting my reaction to the majesty of the place.

  The artist's incomprehensible vision for the place included hundreds of houses made of some sandstone-like material, a mashup of an African village, Indian slums, and Native Amerikan pueblo. Sporting flat roofs, no windows, and magic lights, they stuck out from the most unexpected places. Some of the fences in these villages seemed to be guarding nothing but themselves. Their creator had definitely been smoking something. And drinking something. And shooting something up.

  Despite the time of day, there were few people out and about. A dozen merchants and fifty townspeople, half of whom were players.

  The rogue grinned. "Impressive, isn't it?"

  "Indeed."

  "There's much less light down further," he explained. "This slum runs on and on for a few miles both ways, surrounded by a twelve-foot fence. There are two checkpoints where you can get in, but that's not an option for us, as you know. There are 'wild' settlements now and then, and your necromancer probably lives in one of them. In some places, the ceiling is barely six feet above the floor—and that's where the developers hid the exits up to the surface."

  "What's the point of this place? The chronicles say it was found more than three thousand years ago, but that's not what I mean. What need did the devs have for hiding it?"

  I turned to Donut, bolstering my verbal question with a matching expression.

  "It's like Diablo and games like that. Infinite grinding. Come down here and earn some XP, then leave and use some of the shinies to grab a bit and a drink and a screw, and then do it all over again."

  "Shinies?"

  "Oh, right. At least you know what a screw is, I guess. A shiny is just a piece of loot," Donut chuckled. "Comes from the old tabletop RPG lingo. Even heard my dad use it now and then. Anyway, the mobs behind that fence range from level 100 to level 300. How do you think that Chinese chick from the Azure Dragons pumped her stats so fast? Vaedarr is always full of all kinds of high-level players, but where can a high-level go when they're short on time and gold? Well, there are over fifteen square miles of wild land around the place. There are a full seven dungeons alone in the area, and that's not including the one we're about to check out. So, all of them are prime turf for grinders."

  "And where have they all gone?"

  "Bunch of named monster mobs there right now. Risk going up against them and you might as well be throwing levels away. Grinding is much better in the Borderlands. No, it's something else that worries me—the locals used to be all over this place. Where have they all gone?"

  "Come on, let's go," I waved the concern away, heading down the awkward steps. "The guys are waiting, and we lost an hour in that sewer system already. I hope this bookmaker of yours hasn't decided to call it quits yet."

  Below, along the edge of the village, I saw a bindstone standing just behind a low fence, which we passed without a second thought. We could not create a portal to Vaedarr from the outside, and I really did not want to have to travel all that way again, but if we died, that journey would be the least of the evils we'd have to deal with. We skirted around the pile of trash embracing the houses at the edge and sheltering immense lazy yellow beetles, then proceeded into a narrow alley and moved deeper, past the cockeyed one-story huts. They looked even worse from close up than they had from afar. Cracked walls, doorways without doors—no matter what Donut said, these houses had been abandoned for a long time, if the total absence of any trace of human activity was anything to go by.

  We stepped over a wide crack which sliced both through the road and through two huts standing to either side of us, then took a right turn.

  "Damn it!" Donut touched my arm to stop me, and pointed at the player walking towards us. "Is this some kind of trick?" He turned to address him. "Hello, friend. What brings you here?"

  When the dwarf heard us, he started and placed his hand on the hilt of the ax hanging from his belt, then measured us up and down with his eyes.

  "The balls on you, calling me a friend," he stated matter-of-factly. "What is it you need?"

  His name was Legolas, believe it or not, though he stood a little under
five feet tall, with broad shoulders, clean-shaven cheeks, a short and neatly-trimmed beard, and a stout, short neck. His proportions were healthy, but owing to his short height he looked rather like my bodybuilder friend from the old world, a man who had compensated for his diminutive stature by increasing the circumference of his pectorals and biceps. At level 185, the dwarf displayed blond hair, crafty green eyes, plate and chainmail armor, and a tipsy gait.

  "I asked what brought you here!" Donut repeated. "Weren't you surrounded by demons and undead?"

  "Oh, that." The dwarf gave a dismissive wave. "It's been a whole month since we built our hospital. You both been hiding under a rock or something?"

  "We're here from the Borderlands, yes," the rogue offered. "We headed there as soon as we heard, and only just came back today."

  "I see." Legolas pulled a fat bottle from his bag and offered us some. We refused, but he still took a few sips before replacing the drink.

  "Three hundred of us marched out of Stoneforge, all over level 200. By Bear Ridge, in the North of the mountains, we successfully blew up a great rock. With magic, of course, not with TNT, but we did have demolition experts involved. The underground river changed course at that and washed away a few thousand undead. We all leveled to 215, then went down an old streambed. It was dried up, thankfully, but I'll still never forget that race. Half a mile on slippery rocks. We made it to the surface, though, and climbed the rocks like mountain goats. What saved us is that many places in the mountains are unsuitable for portals. But then, in the valley, we walked the fifteen miles of death. Of the three hundred of us, only five made it to the Mountain Castle. The King personally honored those who survived, proclaiming each of them centurions. A great honor, of course. But those who did not make it were honored as well. They made me a captain, and a junior master to boot."