by Pavel Kornev
The Count rolled his eyes and slumped back in his chair. “Who have I got myself involved with!”
Isabella decided not to vent her fury. Instead, she drew a square with her finger on the dusty table and divided it into smaller cells like the grid for tic-tac-toe. “If the outside attack is too strong, the energy gets redistributed to reinforce the relevant sector. Because attacking from several directions at once is only viable during a full-blown siege. In an emergency, the source of power switches off all the lower-priority inner fields and sends the released energy to the dome.”
“What type of energy source is it?” a voice sounded from the front door.
I turned round and saw Mr. Lloyd who’d joined our discussion.
“It’s not a dome, it’s a sphere,” the Count replied with a sigh. “You can’t dig under it.”
“What type is it?” the shopkeeper repeated.
“A Fiery Diamond.”
The alchemist pushed his green glasses onto his forehead, hooking them over his little horns. For a while, he appeared to be deep in thought. Then he shook his head. “You can’t break into it. Only if you ask the Goddess directly...”
“I’m not a High Priestess yet!” Isabella snapped, giving me the evil eye as if I was entirely responsible for her stalled career.
Having said that... she was probably right.
I walked over to the table and drew a circle inside one of the little squares. ‘Does that mean that any external attack will cause the fortress’ internal defenses to be switched off?” I asked, drawing a cross in the cell next to it.
“It might, if the attack is strong enough,” the alchemist agreed. “But in any case, as long as the defense is active, we can’t get inside. Portals won’t work.”
“Does that mean that the external defense doesn’t let anything through at all?”
“The shield burns all living things. Same goes for the undead,” Isabella cast me a meaningful look. “It destroys all organic matter and disables all active spells.”
I chuckled. Organic matter, she said? How interesting. “How about arrows and stone projectiles?”
“They might penetrate it if they’re not magic,” Lloyd said. “If you’re thinking about depleting the energy by showering the fortress with arrows, it’s not gonna work.”
“How about the treasury? It’s the most sacred place in any fortress. Would it be possible to strike so hard that its defenses would switch off?”
“What difference does that make?” the vampire groaned. “We still can’t penetrate the outer shield!”
I waved a dismissive hand. “Let’s presume I can get inside. But I won’t be able to disable the treasury’s defense. Would it switch off during the storming or not?”
“If the alarm doesn’t go off before that, it would,” Lloyd reached for a pencil and a notepad. “The question is, how much energy it might take,” he added, engrossed in some complex calculations.
The Count gave me an interested look. “Johnny, do you really think you can get inside or are you talking out of your ass?”
Isabella sniffed. “He can slip in anywhere,” she said, apparently latching on to my idea.
“I can slip in,” I said, “but I can’t break into the treasury. I’m just not up to it.”
“You don’t have to,” the alchemist announced. “You have a good chance of diverting all of the fortress’ energy to the outer shield. Once that done, all you need do is blow the doors. It might take some preparation but it’s quite doable.”
“That’s bullshit!” the Count shouted, jumping to his feet. “We’re talking three Elemental mages! Levels 90-plus! The moment the alarm goes off, they’ll log in and drown us in our own blood!”
“And what if they don’t log in?” Isabella’s voice rang with a sinister promise. “Would you agree then? Having said that, we don’t really need you...”
The vampire gave her a studying look. “Can you guarantee the mages won’t be there?” he said, visibly doubtful.
“This I can promise,” she gave him an innocent little smile.
The Count turned to me. “Can you guarantee you can get inside?”
“Easy.”
He winced. “Very well,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “Count us in.”
“Don’t be so quick, my friends,” Mr. Lloyd unhooked his glasses from his little horns and returned them to his eyes. “In order to overload the dome, you’ll need some quality tools. Which don’t come cheap.”
“Like what?”
“Like class-9 power pins. You’ll need at least twenty of those.”
Isabella cussed in disappointment. “At today’s exchange rate, each pin will cost us at least ten grand! That’s virtually impossible!”
The Count nodded, frowning.
Still, dear old Mr. Lloyd didn’t seem to think so. “There’s nothing virtually impossible in virtual reality,” he offered a clumsy pun. “The prices of power pins have been artificially hiked because someone was buying them in bulk. And just by accident, I happen to know where one of their shipments is.”
Isabella squinted at him. “What is it you want? A cut?”
“Not at all,” the old man said with a soft smile. “The shipment is stored in a warehouse which also contains some chemicals used in alchemy. You get them for me, and we’ll call it quits.”
The priestess bit her lip, mulling over his proposition. The Count’s train of thought, however, seemed to be going in a different direction.
“A shipment of twenty pins? Can’t we just sell them? That’s one hell of a lot of money!”
“Not so easy,” Mr. Lloyd said. “They’ll only give you a quarter of their real price because they’re hot,” he waved a warning finger. “And sooner or later the current pins’ owners will find out — and then they’ll make an example of the thieves to teach everybody a lesson. So we need to do it without violence and we need to make sure we don’t leave any calling cards. No one should see you. And I mean no one!”
The Count grinned. “Don’t teach your granny to suck eggs. Who do we need to upset?”
The alchemist pulled the corner of his lip down with his finger, exposing his pearly-white teeth. “I’m talking about our toothy friends. The orcs.”
2
WE SPENT a few more hours discussing all the details. Once the alchemist gave us the warehouse’s coordinates, we had to pore over the maps, working out a detailed plan of operation based on less than sketchy information about the place’s security.
“We should send Goar to investigate,” Isabella finally suggested. “This way we might lose a day but at least it’ll be done nicely. Am I right, Kitten?”
I nodded. “You are going to do it nicely. Without me.”
“Why, what is it?” the Count tensed up. “What’s up? Are you gonna pull out?”
“Without me,” I repeated calmly. “I can’t show up near the border. There’ll be problems.”
Apparently, the orcs had been planning a raid against the Lights which was why they’d set up a secret warehouse in the disputed area just next to the border. And what if that white bitch showed up there looking for me? It wouldn’t be funny!
Isabella paused, then said emotionlessly, “We can do it without you, Kitten. You’d better have some rest and conserve your energy. And put your eye back in, please.”
The Count laughed. I had difficulty not to whack him across the head with something sufficiently heavy.
“Well, seeing as we’re done,” the alchemist rose from the armchair and motioned me to follow him, “John, let’s go and see about your bone hook.”
We bade farewell to the other two and returned to his workshop. Almost immediately we smelled smoke.
“What’s that?” the old man ran to the door, pushed it open and cussed, “You bastard!”
The room was filled with billowing smoke but we couldn’t’ see any fire. The tabletop was smoldering. My Soul Killer was still in the vice, oozing black demonic flames which poured down its hilt and dripped onto the t
able, leaving ugly burn marks on the stained wood surface. The once-white blade was now black; the only thing that remained unchanged was its predatory crescent shape.
What could have happened here? How could it have changed so radically?
The old man reached for the restored weapon but promptly jerked his hand back. “Take it!” he demanded.
I stepped toward the table, doubtful. The memory of my flesh being burnt by the Nest Hunter’s black flame was still fresh.
“Hurry!” the alchemist screamed as he began to unscrew the vice. “Grab it, quick!”
I took a deep breath and lay my hand on the hilt.
It didn’t burn my fingers; in fact, it was only slightly warmer than usual. The black flames quivered and withdrew back into the bone blade. But the clots of darkness didn’t go anywhere; they leaked onto my arm, licking it with the poisoned infernal fire.
The Cursed Hook: Black Soul Killer (The Deadman’s Set: 9 our of 13)
Damage: 5 to 9
Properties: the widening of a wound increases damage exponentially and is considered equal to soul magic or infernal fire damage.
Curse: poisons its owner with Darkness.
What a toy! Thank you, Mr. Lloyd! It was better than it used to be! I was immune to both poisons and curses, wasn’t I?
When the smoke began to gradually dissipate, Isabella peeked into the wide open door. She sniffed the air and cringed, “You all right, boys?”
“Can’t you see?” Mr. Lloyd grumbled. “Everything’s just fine!”
“Kitten, tonight you’re staying with this old misery guts,” she said. “You room’s on the second floor. I must be off, then. See ya!”
She left. I slung the cursed hook behind my belt, “What’s with the mask?”
The alchemist stopped wiping the charred tabletop and growled, “Get lost!”
His eyes behind the green glasses burned with an angry fire. I stepped back to the door just in case but lingered, unwilling to flee his shop like a coward. “Can you give me a more positive answer?”
He heaved a sigh and flung the cloth on the table. “Okay, okay! I’ll see what I can do! Don’t worry! But first I need to give it a good think. You don’t want to get another cursed item, do you?”
“Would you like me to take it back for the time being?”
He shook his head. “Not worth it. And please do me a favor and get lost! I still need to choose the right chemicals.”
Unwilling to try his patience any further, I left and went upstairs to my room. I leaned the flamberge against the wall and slumped onto the couch.
I wasn’t tired at all. The dead don’t get tired. Still, my heart was weighed down by some inexplicable apathy and yearning. My left temple began to ache; my left eye socket throbbed. It was as if the Darkness was trying to make its home in my head.
I really didn’t like it.
Another thing I didn’t like was insecurity. Would I manage to fool fate or would I end up kicking myself? Would I ever get into the Kingdom of the Dead or had all this been for nothing?
And most importantly, how was I supposed to get the Scroll of Rebirth, dammit?
I didn’t even want to think what would happen if it didn’t work. I’d have loved to get some sleep but a deadman’s brain doesn’t need it, so I was obliged to lie on my back staring at the ceiling.
The door slammed. Neo walked into the room. “Good evening, Uncle John!”
“Have you already eaten?”
“Yes, they fed me,” the kid faltered, insecure. “I’m gonna sleep in the attic. Can I take Scarecrow with me? It’s not nice there alone.”
“Sure,” I said. “Or you can take the bed here if you want. I’m not going to sleep, anyway.”
“Oh no! It’s really nice in the attic!” Neo said happily. Behind the window, the dead phoenix crowed his approval.
The boy swung the door open. But before he could dash out of the room, I sat up on the couch and called him, “Neo, wait!”
“Yes, Uncle John?”
“Do you remember anything that happened after the fiery tornado?”
He shook his head. “No, Uncle John. I can’t remember anything. When I came round, I was already in the destroyed temple. Thanks a lot for not abandoning me!”
I chuckled. “Don’t mention it.”
My empty eye socket began to throb again. What a shame I’d allowed the alchemist to talk me into leaving the mask behind. That way at least no one would have seen me grimace.
Neo tapped his forehead. “I completely forgot! Here, take it,” he handed me the tarnished silver chalice which had turned black in places.
The Moon Grail
Properties: permanent residual traces of holiness
I took the chalice from him and weighed it in my hand. Should I sell it for scrap? Or might I still need it? These “permanent residual traces of holiness”, what the hell was that? Did it make it some kind of holy relic? Like the bones of saints? A holy relic — and a Light one, at that.
Strangely enough, the silver felt pleasantly cool to the touch. It didn’t burn my fingers at all. The sparks which occasionally jumped between the Grail and myself tickled my skin.
“Uncle John!” Neo called. “Do you remember the Order’s Grand Master? Does he come to see you?”
I forced my gaze away from the chalice. “The ghost, you mean?”
He nodded.
“He came once to tell me how to rescue you. Why?”
Neo sighed. “He comes to me often and tells me lots of things. He tells me about the Order’s glory. He talks about how we’ll bring it back. He says it’s the load I have to carry but adds that he’ll always be with me,” he sniffed. “He’s angry with Scarecrow too. He calls him a carrion crow and the spawn of the Infernal abyss...”
I suppressed a bout of laughter. “Just forget it. The guy’s stuck in the past, that’s all. But he’s sort of right about Scarecrow: he is indeed a bit of an undead and a bit of a demon to boot. You can’t be angry with those who tell you the truth.”
“But the ghost tells me to get rid of Scarecrow!” Neo announced. “He threatens to scorch him once he’s back in power!”
I shrugged. “Then let him get back in power first. You think he won’t have more important things to worry about rather than hunt our Scarecrow? Don’t let it worry you. That canny bastard can take care of himself!”
With a flapping of wings, the dead phoenix landed on the windowsill and began boring a hole in me with his deathly stare, his white unseeing eyes glowing a barely noticeable red.
“You see,” I smiled. “You shouldn’t worry about him too much!”
Neo wiped his tearful face with the back of his hand and stretched his arm out toward the bird. Scarecrow sprang onto his forearm. The boy didn’t even twitch.
Of course. He was now a Knight of the Order, wasn’t he?
When the two friends had disappeared behind the door, I picked up the Grail again. It seemed to draw me to itself. Was it the residual holiness? Or could it be some Moon effect, maybe?
A strange serenity was coming over me. I overcame it and took the chalice down to the shop’s first floor. Mr. Lloyd had already logged out but Ulrich agreed to take a look at the artifact.
“A holy blessing,” he promptly pronounced his verdict, set the chalice aside and began wiping his fingers with a handkerchief. “Although it’s very weak, there’s no doubt it’s holy. You can use it as a shield against dark ghosts.”
“And against demons?”
“Nah. It wouldn’t even scratch a demon. But actually, the chalice can in fact break a warlock’s spell. On two conditions: one is immateriality and the other is the presence of Darkness. Remember that.”
I shrugged. I would rather have preferred a weapon against material beings of Light.
Then an idea struck me. I asked him if they had a length of thin steel chain a dozen feet long. The thing was, I’d just remembered the efficiency with which Barth had brandished his chain mace. Maybe it woul
d suit me too?
He actually found a length of chain just like I wanted and didn’t even charge me for it. I went back upstairs to my room, tied the Grail to the chain and began practicing. My very first swing broke the mirror and the second smashed the wardrobe door.
Never mind. You have to start somewhere! I kept practicing. In any case, it was Isabella who’d have to pay for the trashed room. I didn’t have a damn.
3
THE RAID ON the orc’s warehouse went like clockwork. No idea how the conniving alchemist had found out about the secret stash but its owners must have been absolutely sure their hidey hole was safe. At least the security there was a joke — apparently because the orcs didn’t want to arouse the Lighties’ curiosity.
In total, we’d procured twenty-five power pins one of which we’d used to break into the treasury. And still the Count remained grim and miserable.
“Why did they have to mark us as the enemies of the Swords of Chaos?” he fumed. “Just like that!” he cast a suspicious look at me. “Is that why you didn’t come with us? You knew already, didn’t you?”
“Relax,” I grinned. “I’ve been on their black list for ages and I’m still in one piece.”
“What difference does it make to you? You’re a Lich, aren’t you?” he cringed. “Never mind. When are we going to get down to business?”
“Tomorrow evening,” Isabella said. “We still need to get everything ready for it.”
“You sure the Three Wizzies won’t be there?”
“They won’t.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said menacingly. Then he left.
“I hope you’re right!” Isabella mocked and headed for the back yard. There, she began building a portal to a secluded place in the vicinity of the three mages’ fortress, using the coordinates procured by the vampires.
Talking about the mages...
“How are you going to rid of the fortress’ unfriendly owners?” I asked her. “Just don’t tell me you were bluffing!”
“I wasn’t,” she assured me, drawing a complex figure on the rocks. “I’m gonna play on their vanity.”