by Galen Wolf
‘Close the book, Gerald.’
‘Done,’ the NPC says.
‘Okay, it’s safe to open your eyes,’ Cuthbert says. The enemy rogue is shaking. He says, ‘Don’t do that again.’
‘Or you’ll what?’
‘You can’t do that. It’s griefing.’
‘And what you do to our side all the time isn’t?’ Fitheach says.
The rogue glances at him for the first time. ‘I’m still not telling you anything.’
Cuthbert looks at the monk. ‘Gerald, open the book.’ He snaps his eyes shut but the rogue shouts, ‘Okay, stop! I’ll tell you what you want.’
Cuthbert snarls. ‘You better had. Start with your name.’
‘I’m Deathknife.’
‘Stupid name. And you’re an enemy spy that somehow snuck onto my island.’ Cuthbert’s glaring at him. ‘How did you get through the forcefield?’
‘Rogue skills. You don’t need to know.’
Cuthbert snorts. ‘Actually I’m less interested in how you got here than why.’
‘Ask them, ask the fancy Green Knight and the bedraggled saint.’
Fitheach says, ‘I’m not bedraggled.’ He examines his robe, it’s pretty stained now. He says, ‘I guess it could do with being ironed.’
Cuthbert glances at us, then kicks the rogue in the belly. ‘Don’t piss about. Tell me straight.’
The rogue spits blood again. ‘We tracked them from New World Order. The boss wants to know what they’ve come here for.’
‘And what is that?’ I ask.
‘I’m not telling you,’ the rogue sneers.
‘Book, Gerald,’ Cuthbert says.
‘Okay, okay. Not the book, please.’
‘So answer the Green Knight’s question.’
I don’t know if the rogue doesn’t really know who I am.
The rogue shakes his head. ‘We don’t know why they’re here.’
I scrutinise the guy to see whether I think he’s telling the truth. He seems to be.
Then he starts to snigger. ‘Soon you are going to regret torturing me.’
‘Torturing?’ Cuthbert says, amazed. ‘I’m a saint, I don’t torture people. It was just a chat, a chat under pressure, I admit, but not torture, oh no.’
‘It kind of was,’ I mutter. Cuthbert ignores me. With a sweet smile, he asks the rogue, ‘And why will I regret it anyway?’
The rogue looks Cuthbert straight in the eye. ‘Because we’ve got a big force coming here now. We figure this is where they were headed for and we’ve got nothing more to learn, so it goes from a reconnaissance mission to interdiction. We’re going to level your chapel and then the whole coast will be ours. We’ve tolerated you for too long, you old fool.’
Cuthbert turns to Gerald. ‘I don’t like his tone. Show him the book. Three or four times.’ Then he looks at me. ‘Let’s go.’
I hear the screams from outside the chapel where we stand in the cold breeze. The Jabberwock is overjoyed to see Cuthbert and runs up like an oversized scaly rabbit. While he’s stroking it, Cuthbert says in an icy voice. ‘It seems you’ve brought the enemy to my door, Gorrow.’ Then he turns to stroke his pet. It seems we’re dismissed.
Defending Lindisfarne
As I walk away with Fitheach, I’m still astounded by Cuthbert’s treatment of the spy. ‘Is it really okay for saints to torture prisoners? If we do that kind of thing, what difference is there between us and the enemy?’
He waves away my concern. ‘They deserve it. Anyway, what are we going to do about killing the Jabberwock. He won’t let us do it, you know.’
I scratch my cheek. ‘I’m just wondering if there’s another way. I’ve also been pondering how on earth we’re going to get back to Silver Drift across the wall. I can’t see us getting through New World Order again.’
‘Fly?’ Fitheach says.
‘You’re really suggesting that?’
‘You know that high level wizards ride owls and rangers ride eagles and bards ride pegasuses.’
‘Pegasi.’
‘Okay, pegasi.’
‘We’re none of those things. What do saints ride?’
‘Horses.’
‘Pity. I thought you were going to say angels. So, no flying for us.’
‘We could take the railway?’ He’s got a grin on his face.
‘You’re being silly now.’ We’re walking down the pebble strewn path that leads from the small settlement on Lindisfarne and ahead, I can see the bleached grass at the beach top bending in the constant wind from the sea. There appears to be a small harbour there. As we get closer I see three ships bobbing at anchor. Two are definitely fishing boats, the third with a square-ish stern looks more like a coastal cargo ship. NPCs are stationed there dressed like sailors. As we get close, they greet us.
‘Hello,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know you had a harbour on Lindisfarne.’
‘On the seaward side, yes. We fish to feed the NPCs on the island.’
I point to the boat with the square stern. ‘That’s a cargo boat isn’t it?’
The sailor nods. ‘In the good old days, when this coast belonged to King Arthur, we would trade with Tantallon to the north and Jarrow to the south and all points in between. Not now though. We don’t get out at all now the coast’s in enemy hands.’
‘But the ship’s still seaworthy?’
‘Of course,’ he says it like I’ve hurt his pride.
I step onto the wet sand so I’m closer to the cargo boat. I turn to Fitheach. ‘That’s how we can get off the island. We could get them to land us on the coast south of the wall so we don’t have to cross it again.’
Fitheach nods but says, ‘We still need the Jabberwock blood. Or our quest is a failure.’
On hearing this, the sailor’s face hardens. ‘What’s that? You won’t be killing our Jabberwock! He’s the island’s mascot.’
I put up my hand for peace. ‘Don’t worry. We won’t kill the Jabberwock.’
Now it’s Fitheach who turns on me. ‘We won’t kill the Jabberwock?’ he hisses. ‘How else are we going to get its blood?’
‘I don’t know. But there must be a way we can get a bit of blood.’
‘Like we could give it a paper cut?’ His gaze is fierce under his shaggy grey eyebrows.
I shake my head. ‘I’m really getting a different impression of saints these days, what with you and Cuthbert. I thought saints were mild-mannered men of God.’
He snorts. The sailors are still looking daggers at us but I wave and walk down the pebble path towards the church and stone buildings that make up the settlement.
‘At least we’ve found some means of getting off the island and getting south of the wall. I’ll ask Cuthbert if he minds if his sailors give us a lift.’
We get back to the church and Cuthbert is harvesting carrots. The Jabberwock stands behind him, mewing mildly. Every third one he gives to the Jabberwock and piles the rest in a wheelbarrow. ‘They’re for the NPCs, he says.’
I point at the Jabberwock who looks up at me and makes a different mewling noise halfway between a cat and a sheep. He’s looking at me with his amber and black eyes. Cuthbert says, ‘He likes you, Gorrow.’
That’s a pity, I think. It’ll make it harder to kill him.
‘But,’ Cuthbert continues. ‘To answer your question of a while back, he is a vegetarian. All Jabberwocks are.’
‘Then why do they need those huge claws and teeth?’ Fitheach asks.
‘To defend themselves of course.’ Cuthbert shakes his head. ‘My, Fitheach, you’re still as dim as you ever were.’
Fitheach rolls his eyes but doesn’t respond.
I ask, ‘Any more news about this supposed attack?’
Cuthbert snorts. ‘No, but I don’t doubt that it’s coming.’ Then he gives me a long look. ‘Sorry, what I said about you bringing the enemy to my door, Gorrow. It was just a matter of time. They’ve left me alone for a while, but they know I’m loyal to Arthur, so it was bound to come.’<
br />
I say, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve made it come sooner than it would otherwise have done.’
I glance at the Jabberwock who’s almost grinning at me. On impulse, I reach up to stroke his scaly muzzle, being careful to avoid the fangs. He leans down to make it easier for me and closes his eyes as I rub his nose. He makes that mewling noise again, which I take to be a sign that he’s happy.
‘See, I told you he liked you.’
Fitheach says, ‘There’s a third member of our party. She’s stuck on the far shore. I’m just worried she’ll come to harm if the enemy attack, what with her being on her own and all.’
Cuthbert smiles. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile with anything like warmth. ‘Oh, just tell her to come over. Is it the tide that’s keeping her out?’
Fitheach grimaces. He’s the one who trusts Elizabeth most so I’m going to let him explain this to Cuthbert. He says, ‘I mean, yes, it is the tide. But it’s not just the tide…’
The other saint looks puzzled. ‘Oh? What else could be keeping her out? Is it my guards?’
Fitheach shakes his head. ‘No, it’s not the guards.’
‘Then you’d better tell me what it is and I’ll try to help.’
‘It’s her alignment.’
The old saint is sharp. He’s probably suspected this before but was wanting to put Fitheach through the mangle. He sucks his teeth. ‘This person is evil then?’
Fitheach blusters, ‘Evil alignment. Historically, but getting better. In her heart she wants to be good.’
Cuthbert grins. ‘Interesting. Can’t say I’ve come across many like this. But I won’t have evil characters on my island. Sorry. Tell her to try again when her alignment improves.’
‘But Cuthbert…’ Fitheach’s eyes are almost popping out from under his eyebrows. ‘She’ll be killed. And worse. To them she’s a traitor.’
Cuthbert smiles and says, ‘Not my problem.’ The he reaches down and grabs a carrot by its furry green leaves and yanks it out of the earth and offers it to the Jabberwock who munches it hungrily.
‘By the way, Cuthbert,’ I ask. ‘What happened to the spy?’
With a smile he says, ‘I killed him. It seemed kinder that way.’
Hours go past. I log off and do some real life stuff, then I come back to the game. We’ve been given one of the houses on the island. Spirit is tethered outside, but he’s got a nosebag of oats. Fitheach’s horse stands next to Spirit, similarly foddered. The mules are in a field also provisioned with oats, I hope, or I won’t hear the end of it from Henry.
Fitheach smiles when he sees me log on. ‘We have a dilemma,’ he says.
‘At least one, I think. Maybe more.’
‘First, what are we going to do about Elizabeth? She’s still out there, probably still AFK. I sent her a dove, but she hasn’t replied yet.’
‘She’ll have to take her chances,’ I say. ‘Our mission is to get the Jabberwock’s blood, not to save her.’
‘But, Gorrow, she’s proved her loyalty…’
I frown. ‘Has she? I mean, I really want her to. My idea of her being a spy seems blown now because they know she was with us. She didn’t really help us get through New World Order, and then she tagged along and killed some evil mobs.’
‘It was your idea to give her a chance, back in the dungeon.’
‘It was worth a try. It might still work out. Maybe she will come over to our side properly. We’ll see when the enemy attacks Lindisfarne. We’ll see who’s side she’s on. If she fights for us, I’ll request that Cuthbert allows her through his force-field. How about that?’
He’s not totally happy. He’d rather we let her through now but the truth is, I don’t really know where Elizabeth’s loyalties lie. But seeing who she fights for when push comes to shove will help me decide. I sit on a wooden chair. ‘The other dilemma is the Jabberwock.’
‘He won’t let you kill it, you know.’
I sigh. ‘I don’t know if I could kill it in cold blood. It’s such a big soft thing. It’s a vegetarian for heaven’s sake.’
‘Actually a vegan.’
‘Whatever.’ I pause. ‘But we’ve got the bottles for its blood still.’ I glance up at him. ‘I was kind of hoping it might get fatally injured in the enemy attack, and we could get its blood then, without actually killing it.’
‘Murdering it.’
‘Fitheach, stop with the commentary. You’re not making it easier.’
‘Sorry.’
I stand again and gaze out of the window that looks towards the land. ‘Any sign of the enemy?’
‘No, nothing. Do you believe that spy, or do you think he was only saying it to make us uneasy?’
‘No, I believe him.’
Then I catch dark specks in the sky far to the west over the land. ‘Pterosaurs,’ I say. ‘They’re coming.’
Saving Elizabeth Bathory
Fitheach and I rush out of our stone house and bump into Cuthbert who’s going to the chapel to pray. ‘Enemy on the horizon.’ I take off Spirit’s nosebag and unhitch him from the rail outside the house, then I mount up. Fitheach does the same.
Cuthbert nods coolly and follows us as we clip-clop round the chapel so we can see the broad path that leads down to the causeway. Luckily the tide is in. Elizabeth sits forlorn on her horse on the far shore. I send her a dove.
She replies instantly.
Elizabeth: Hey, any news on getting me on the island?
Gorrow: Check behind you.
Elizabeth: Oh my Lord.
Gorrow: Your former friends.
Elizabeth: Definitely not friends now. Can you get me on the island?
Gorrow: I’ll try. I’ll send you a party invite.
I do the same to Fitheach and soon we’re grouped up. It’s easier to communicate in party voice chat than by writing personal messages back and forward.
Elizabeth: You need to get me inside that force-field, or I’m toast. And I’m bound at Carrionburg so when I resurrect there, they will slaughter me time and again. I might as well quit the game in that case.
Fitheach: We’ll try Elizabeth. Don’t worry.
We’re already turning back to the church. Cuthbert stands outside with white energy spraying up from his hands to reinforce the force-field that protects the island from evil. His face is contorted with effort. Then with a grunt he says, ‘Yes, that should do it,’ and the energy flow cuts out as he drops his hands to his sides, leaving the dome glowing white overhead.
Fitheach points over the choppy sea to where Elizabeth stands on the far beach. ‘Can we let her in?’
Cuthbert’s already shaking his head as he says, ‘She’s evil, you said?’ but without waiting for an answer to his question, he shrugs. ‘The forcefield will fry her. I’ve just reinforced it.’
Fitheach’s face goes sad. ‘So she’ll die out there? She’s bound among our enemies, they will just kill her every time she resurrects…’
‘Not my problem,’ Cuthbert says. ‘That, however is.’
I follow his gaze and see the cloud of pterosaurs and other evil flying creatures, giant bats among them and undead ravens. They are the vanguard of the evil army that is now appearing on the far ridges as lines of black figures marching and hauling gear.
‘So you won’t help her?’ Fitheach says.
Cuthbert huffs. ‘You go help her. She’s your friend.’
‘Right, I will.’
Fitheach turns on his horse and gallops off down the pebbly path to where the sea is receding over the causeway. If the evil host moves fast, they will be here before the next turn of the tide blocks their progress to the island.
I look at Cuthbert. He says, ‘Can I count on your help to defend the island, Sir Gorrow?’
I nod. ‘Of course.’
‘Thank you.’
But for now I click my tongue and Spirit turns and moves off to where Fitheach sits on horseback impatiently waiting for the tid
e to ebb so he can go help Elizabeth.
Elizabeth: I saw you talking to the saint guy. What did he say?
Fitheach: Not good. I’m afraid. The forcefield will kill you because of your alignment.
Gorrow: If you kill a crap ton of bad guys, then your alignment will change and you can get through. Just saying.
Elizabeth: Helpful Gorrow. I might just die before then, then my goose is cooked.
The white of the forcefield buzzes around us. I can smell the crisp odour of ozone coming off it. It does us no harm as we pass through. My alignment is still Pure, and I guess Fitheach’s is too. The tide is going out and more and more of the causeway is now visible, though puddles of seawater filled with tiny crabs and sea anemones still remain. Fitheach pushes his mare forward so its hooves splash through the pools and he drives it forward until he’s fetlock high in the blue-grey water. I’m behind him as the first pterosaurs hit the forcefield. Flashes and a fizzling sound crackle through the air as they fall, burning and dead, thumping the ground around us. They’re dumb animals because even though their comrades are clearly being cooked by the forcefield they still try to push their way through it. The pterosaurs were in the lead but the giant bats do the same. It’s only the undead ravens that float around, cawing out, but not touching the translucent white dome above the island.
The water’s still deep here so I wait on Spirit at the edge, even though Fitheach’s gone ahead. The far shore of course has the black and red haze of enemy control hanging over it. Elizabeth’s still there. The enemy ground soldiers are about a half mile away now behind her. We wait another five minutes for the water and they’re getting closer, but the tide’s going down too. Seeing his chance, Fitheach urges the mare forward until it’s wading neck high through the current, having to hold its head up out of the water and snorting. Fitheach is wet to his knees but he doesn’t seem to mind — he’s focused on getting to Elizabeth.
Spirit stomps his feet unhappily on the damp sand of the causeway beneath us. I can’t tell if he wants to follow Fitheach’s horse, or is unhappy being on the causeway at all.