Kingdom of the Dead

by Pavel Kornev

  I waved him off. I was sick of it all as it was.

  Indeed, our victory seemed hollow. We may have won this round but Garth was bound to be back. And the next time no amount of vampires would save me. I had nothing to show for this: no loot, no XP, only injuries. And now I also had to flee the comfort of this place which I almost considered home.

  3

  ISABELLA OPENED a portal to the Marble Fortress the same afternoon. That gave me enough time to sneak into the city before dark, do a bit of recon and show up at the Temple of the Sun under the cover of darkness.

  “Stupid idea,” the priestess murmured under her breath as she chalked the complex portal scheme on the cobblestones of a small backyard and sprinkled the drawing with colored chemicals. “They’ll make quick work of you, remember my words!”

  I just smiled. “You’re forgetting the Incognito. They won’t even realize I’m dead.”

  She raised her head from her drawing. “The mercs heard our conversation. They know about the Marble Fortress.”

  Admittedly, this fact made me quite nervous too. I shuddered, shaking off any bad premonitions. “They’re Dark too, just like Garth himself,” I pointed out. “They won’t last five minutes!”

  Isabella winced but chose not to argue. I looked up at a patch of blue sky overhead. “Why do you need to bother? Couldn’t you just buy an ordinary teleportation scroll? Would have been cheaper, too.”

  She laughed. “Kitten, you’re not going on a picnic. Those are contested lands! You’re going right into the Lighties’ den. An ordinary scroll would port you to some farmer’s field. Or even worse, it can be set up at some portal point watched by the frontier guards. In this scenario, your survival chances are dangerously close to zero.”

  “And where are you going to set up your portal?” I asked.

  “Have you made up your mind, then?”

  “I have.”

  Her angry stare almost bored a hole in me. Then she shrugged. “Lloyd sent me the coordinates of one of the abandoned places of power. According to him, it’s still safe.”

  “Well, if he says so...”

  “If you get ambushed, we’ll demand our money back,” Isabella didn’t even try to conceal her sarcasm.

  “That’s a relief, then,” I replied in the same vein.

  “You can still reconsider!”

  “Come on, let’s get this show on the road.”

  She hissed a string of curses and slashed her own wrist with the ritual knife. Blood dripped on the cobblestones, spreading a soft glow over them. The lines of the magic drawing started to blaze.

  “You didn’t forget the return portal activation phrase, did you?” she asked me.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Off you go, then!”

  I stepped into the portal and sank to my knees in molten rock. Or so it felt. Then I sensed being drawn down, deep underground, possibly straight to hell.

  I must have screamed. I’m sure I did. I just don’t remember doing so.

  I MATERIALIZED in the air under the vaulted roof of a dark cave. I hovered there for another split second, then collapsed to the ground from a height of seven feet. My armor clattered. I heard something snap. The floor under me quivered — but luckily, it didn’t cause any rockfalls.

  Cussing with relief, I gingerly got up and discovered I was standing on a slab of granite covered in fancy carvings. It looked rather like a tombstone. The carvings must have been gilded once but now all that remained were grains of gold at the bottom of deep scratches in the stone. Apparently, someone had been zealous enough to remove most of the precious metal from the granite.

  The symbols looked eerily familiar. I’d definitely seen something like them before. In any case, it was irrelevant at the moment.

  I turned round looking for an exit and froze, pinned to the spot by the contemptuous glare of an Angel of Darkness. A stone angel, I mean, who looked much the worse for wear. His black wings lay on the floor in a heap of rubble; his powerful chest was covered in deep scars. The statue’s chiseled face had once been deformed by the blows of a heavy hammer: someone had taken the trouble of breaking off his lips, ears, and the tip of his nose.

  I looked down at my feet and snapped my fingers. Of course! No wonder the pattern had seemed familiar! Exactly such a motif had decorated the residence of the Spawn of Darkness clan.

  What a crazy coincidence.

  I stepped off the unstable slab, climbed up one of the fragments of the wing and patted the statue on the cheek. Cheer up, Angel!

  If the mythical patron of the Spawn of Darkness had been offended by such familiarity, he hadn’t shown it. No wonder: I couldn’t sense any presence of magic whatsoever in this dungeon. This was a statue. Just a statue.

  Then I noticed the soft glow of sunrays permeating the far corner of the cave. I drew the flamberge from behind my back and headed to the exit. I managed to scramble over the heaped remains of vandalized wall carvings, then lay on my stomach and crawled toward a hole overgrown with tree roots and wilted grass.

  The setting sun was shining straight into my eyes. For that reason, it took me some time to gingerly climb out of the abandoned sanctuary. I sheathed the flamberge and cut through the roots with the bone hook. I’d almost completely climbed out into the light of day when a giant shadow flashed behind the trees. Fire flared up. I heard a thudding noise and the howling of combat spells.

  Oh, great. Here we go again. I clung to the ground, happy I hadn’t yet left the hole.

  The exit from the dungeon was located on a hill slope. The tall lithe pine trees which grew below didn’t hinder the view at all.

  Now I could clearly see three giant dragons circling high above. From time to time, one of them would dive and shower one of the many oak groves with fire. Their opponent on the ground replied with blinding flashes of combat spells — but the trees were going up like matchsticks while a thick cordon of Light frontier guards cut the daring players off from any escape routes.

  I cussed. How’s that for bad timing?

  The frontier guards decided to advance only when night had almost fallen and most of the trespassers had already perished in the dragons’ fire. The ensuing massacre didn’t take long. Finally, the flying monsters sped off, followed by the knights and footmen.

  I prepared to leave my shelter but reconsidered and stayed put instead.

  If I climbed out now, what would I do? It wouldn’t be a problem to get to the city under the cover of darkness but what was I supposed to do there? The city gates would already be closed and even if they weren’t, a lone night traveler might attract the guards’ most scrupulous attention. Should I hover in the vicinity of the Marble Fortress at the risk of running into a particularly zealous patrol? I don’t think so.

  So I stayed where I was.

  It felt like such a terrible shame to waste precious time — but very soon I realized I’d made the right decision. As soon as the sun had set, the valley below turned into a scene of short-lived but desperate skirmishes. Flashes of light and the strobing of combat spells illuminated the night. Dragons were soaring; the frontier cavalry was pursuing trespassers while groups of Light players laid in wait to ambush more intruders.

  That didn’t seem to baffle the Darks in the slightest. Some of them were trying to penetrate the inhabited lands while the others sought to cross swords with the frontier guards, retreating to their own territory whenever the resistance proved too stubborn. It was neither an invasion nor the players’ attempts to reclaim the lands they’d already lost. They were driven by the desire to pillage, plunder and murder, all the while leveling up and improving their reputation and social status. Just like it was in real life, the only difference being that here your death in battle meant only loss of XP, nothing more.

  AFTER SOME TIME, I’d even begun to regret ever getting involved in this escapade. Still, by sunrise the skirmishes had died down, replaced by a brief lull. I waited for another half-hour just in case, then crawled out of my hole
and ran down the slope, threading my way amid the pine trees. The morning mist concealed me better than any Stealth ever could.

  I wasn’t at all afraid of being discovered — and because of that, I’d brought a heap of trouble upon myself. After some time, I heard dogs barking behind my back. I tried to change direction but the pack stayed on my trail, howling their excitement. Shit!

  Scarecrow let out a hoarse squawk overhead. I mentally reached out to him and studied the valley from a bird’s view. Things weren't looking rosy but by the same token, this wasn't a catastrophe yet: the dogs were still a good two or three hundred yards behind. Their handlers weren’t in a hurry to unleash them, allowing the riders who were chasing me in an extended line to outflank me.

  As if! I swung round and darted toward the ravine, rolling down its slope, then ran knee-deep in the cold water downstream until I came to a quiet little river, its banks overgrown with bulrushes. That’s where I took cover.

  The dogs lost my scent by the stream. My pursuers split up: the dog handlers headed for the river while the riders crossed to the other side and began searching the mist-covered field.

  I spent the next quarter of an hour sitting up to my neck in water, using Scarecrow to watch my puzzled pursuers. Then I continued along the bank deep inside the frontier lands.

  It got light and warmed up quickly; when the mist had finally dispersed, I had to take cover in the roadside bushes, waiting for my clothes to dry out.

  Then I was plain lucky. I was already considering trotting off down the road toward the city when I saw a procession of pilgrims. My smock didn’t differ than much from the cloaks of sun worshippers, so I followed closely behind, getting as close to the monks as possible whenever we came across a frontier patrol.

  Thus we kept moseying on down for another hour. By the time we started coming across farms and fortified settlements, my dusty clothes had taken on the same inconspicuous gray hue as the monks’ habits.

  The city wasn’t that big but the bridge across the stream which followed its walls was packed with noisy crowds which jostled, elbowing their way through. I alone wasn’t in a hurry to join them, using my chance to enter the city together with the monks.

  The rest was a piece of cake. My Incognito hadn’t let me down. Neither the city guards nor the townspeople paid any attention to me. Their gazes seemed to glance off me, diverted. As long as I didn’t force my way through or step on anybody’s toes, I was safe.

  I had already cleared the gates and entered the city when I finally sensed a gaze so intent that it made the top of my head hurt. I stole an inconspicuous look around but couldn’t work out who it was that would be so interested in a humble pilgrim. None of the players nearby seemed to be staring at me.

  The guards’ corporal stood in the doorway of the guardhouse. A sneaky-looking Elf crouched in the shadows of the city wall. A Disciple of the Temple of the Sun hovered nearby. A Paladin in reddish orange armor sat astride a most amazing eight-legged horse.

  The guard was probably a local warrior put on punishment duty . The thieving Elf must have been on the lookout for the thickest money bag. The young Disciple was there to meet the pilgrims while the Paladin looked as if he was about to join a raid on the frontier territories. His level 99 was almost unthinkable for this backwater, but then again, some of the Dark players were similarly tough cookies.

  In any case, players of this caliber never acted alone. They were always surrounded by a numerous entourage so I didn’t think that Barth Firefist had arrived here looking for little old me.

  But the thief... It looked like his choice had alighted on my money bag.

  I was right. The Elf slid after the pilgrims like an eel. I laid my hand on the bag slung across my shoulder. In my gamer’s mind, the bag was firmly associated with my inventory. The thief was smart enough not to get involved with another player, so he promptly emptied the pockets of a few gullible bystanders and sneaked into a dark alley before they could discover the loss of their money and start a hullabaloo.

  The Disciple led the pilgrims along the narrow streets of the Marble Fortress. I kept up with them, moving in their rear. I didn’t see any more of the Elf; other players hadn’t followed us, either, which was good news.

  The road kept moving uphill. We took a shortcut toward the Temple of the Sun which towered on top of the hill. Its snow-white building was the highest in the city, surpassing even the Gothic residence of the Order of the Fiery Hand.

  It was unfenced. Anyone could enter. I chuckled but stayed close to the pilgrims. You never know: what if I managed to get some living water just like that, without having to kill anyone or break any locks? Crazy, I know. But what if it worked?

  It was almost midday — the time of day sacred for all Sun worshippers. Townsfolk began pouring toward the temple. All of them gave way to the Disciple accompanying us, regardless of their ranks or titles. Unhindered, we crossed a square tiled with a mosaic of the large sphere of the Sun, then walked through some impossibly high gates.

  It was very light inside despite a complete absence of windows. A sole opening in the ceiling let in a focused ray of sunshine which fell on a fountain bubbling in a stone font. Refracted, the sunrays cascaded in all directions in a flurry of colorful spots, reflecting off all the gilded surfaces inside and hurting the eyes, driving you mad with their unbearable glare.

  An ordinary human being could have easily survive the Solar blessing. For the undead, however, it was plain lethal. I’d realized it the moment I’d stepped inside.

  I felt like I was being roasted from inside like a piece of meat in a microwave. My health plummeted. I smelled something bitter and burning.

  I would have caught fire and burned away like a matchstick had it not been for an unnatural cold that began to spread over my body. It hadn’t brought any relief; if anything, it had made matters worse. Now I felt as if I were being spit-roasted, first brought close to the fire and then dunked into liquid nitrogen.

  Dammit!

  I swung round and walked past the townsfolk standing behind me, then darted out of the temple, catching quite a few surprised stares. I decided against fleeing this place for fear of attracting any more unwanted attention. Unhurriedly I walked over to the wall of a nearby building and stood there in the shadow of a fabric awning.

  What the hell was going on? Being burned by the holiness of the Sun I could understand, but the cold?

  In search for the source of the anomaly I looked inside my bag. The silver chalice I’d received from the ghost was crusted with ice. So!

  The Moon Grail

  Property: absorbs holiness

  I let go of the chalice and loosened my numb fingers, brushing off a layer of frost rapidly spreading over my leather glove.

  What an interesting artifact. I wish I could keep it, then I could ignore the biggest part of divine magic. Yeah right. There’s no harm in dreaming...

  A heavy sigh escaped my chest. I winced and looked around. Everywhere I turned, taverns and street vendors began setting up their tables. The air smelled of cooking. More townspeople kept approaching the temple.

  Now I noticed that all men were armed with short swords and daggers. Doubtful they’d be of much help if the city’s old masters would try to reclaim it, but the weapons added a lot to the uneasy atmosphere of the frontier lands.

  As if completing the picture of a besieged outpost, the local militia of armored footmen came up the hill, followed by a Fiery Hand patrol. None of them had paid any attention to me so I stayed put, waiting for the temple service to end. I just pulled my dusty hood over my face.

  Very soon the sun would travel further and stop penetrating the temple. Then my time would come. In the half-darkness of the stone walls nothing would prevent me from filling my flask with the living water I so badly needed. Easy peasy.

  Indeed, very soon the townspeople began leaving the temple, heading for the local taverns. But the moment I headed for the main entrance, the temple acolytes locked the gates wi
th tall steel bars as thick as my wrist. I could see the fountain and hear its bubbling but there was no way I could get to it. Even Stealth wouldn’t have helped.

  A wave of fury surged over me. Still, I got a grip, swung round and walked away. Never mind. I’d pay this place another visit at night and it would go very differently then.

  I came across another Fiery Hand patrol, on foot this time, so I turned off into a nearby street. Their Paladin gave me a long look but didn’t stop me. Immediately the sleepy atmosphere of a small border town felt intense, foreboding even.

  A lull before the storm? Maybe. Or it could have been my nerves playing up. In any case, it wasn’t a good idea to constantly be in full view of the local guards.

  I went down the hill and set off in search of an inn, walking past the stone tower of an abandoned arsenal. After a couple more turns, I found myself by the city wall, right opposite the Midday Light Inn.

  I heard the clatter of hooves behind me. Without waiting for more riders to arrive, I walked around the tethering pole and sneaked into the inn. As I entered, I looked around the dining hall and breathed a sigh of relief: the only patrons in the room were locals plus a handful of traveling salesmen and pilgrims, all of them NPCs. Not a player in sight. Great timing.

  The innkeeper, a short overweight middle-aged man was vegetating behind the bar, occasionally sipping his red wine. I decided not to upset them with the sight of my mithril mask and took it off, using my Almost Alive skill instead. It worked like a dream, so after a bit of haggling I managed to rent an attic room for silly money by capital city standards.

  Having gone upstairs to my room, I locked the door and hurried to draw the curtains. From a deadman’s point of view, the Marble Fortress was way too sunny and hot. I might wait until the heat had died down a bit, and then...

  And then a bell began to toll right behind the window, And another one. And yet another. Was it some kind of ritual? Year right. Stupid question. A peal of bells in a border town could only mean one thing: an alarm.