“Yep,” Dorn replied with a nod. “There’s no wind under the mountains, so the dwarves rigged up a steam engine. They won’t sell anyone the secret though. Which makes sense: this is a sword and magic game, not some steampunk nonsense.”
“Crazy.”
“Pretty much,” Dorn responded.
“But the steamboat costs money, and you need a good reputation to get on board, right?” I was starting to feel some déjà vu. That was a road I’d been down before.
“No, it’s just a steamboat. There’s even a quest for it if you make it to the Sumaki Mountains. It’s tough, though, something about protecting the passengers and cargo from underground bandits.”
Well, Mr. Hagen, there’s your path to the Sumaki Mountains. One of them, at least. What’s your problem?
“Why the long face?” Dorn asked the same question my subconscious was wondering about. “Is something wrong?”
“Ah, you know, I just don’t like those deep, underground spots after the Rina Mountains.”
“Wait, you went into the mines there?” Dorn asked, eyes wide. “Even Gorotul was in no hurry to go down there, and he’s loopy—I think they forgot to give him a sense of self-preservation when he was born.”
“Well, I went in.” I rolled my eyes. “Just thinking back to it…”
“I’ve heard what it’s like,” Dorn replied with a frown. “But it’s nothing like that here. Sure, it’s dangerous, nobody would tell you otherwise, but it’s just the same danger you have anywhere else. Orcs in the old works; the underground flora and fauna, all ravenous, blood-sucking, and flesh-eating; cave trolls; maybe some dark dwarves. You know, the drogters.”
“Dark dwarves?” I asked, alarmed. “They had those in the Rina Mountains.”
“No, these are smaller and still alive,” Dorn reassured me. “They all served the Dark Lord once upon a time, and nobody’s seen any of them for quite a while, actually. But just a month or two ago the drogters popped up out of nowhere—that was a nasty surprise. After that there was a big uproar on the forum about how someone had found the dragon quest, and then some idiot threw out something about the Departed Gods. Oh, how everyone yelled and howled! You probably remember that, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied, not about to argue that point. How could I not remember? The whole thing had been my creation.
“Right. Everything quieted down, though the drogters didn’t go anywhere. People even say there are quite a few of them. But that’s just around the edges of the mines—nobody knows what’s down in the depths.”
“Hold on a second,” I cut in. “What’s the tavern in Trottir called?”
“The Hanged Man’s Shelter,” he replied quickly. “Why?”
“Nothing, just wait a minute.” I went over to the mailbox, rewrote my letter, changed the address and name of the tavern as well as the date and time, and added one more line.
If you want to meet today, send me an answer within half an hour.
“Okay, Dorn, it’s like this,” I said, walking over to the dwarf. “There’s a guy I know who’s a bit complicated. We don’t really trust each other, though he needs something from me and will therefore do his best to stay on my good side. We can use that to get your things, though you need to understand that he’s dangerous, and just not a particularly great person.”
“What’s his name? There are plenty of bastards out playing this game, though you can always tell who they are,” Dorn replied calmly.
“Miurat. He used to be with the Gray Witch in the Hounds, now he’s with the Double Shields.”
“I’ve heard of him. And yes, people told me the same things you’re saying, though I heard he’s also an excellent warrior.” Dorn rubbed his hands together. “And who cares what kind of person he is? All that matters to me is whose side he’s on. Down in the mines it’s fine, since there’s no sense betraying anyone. And can I ask what you’re getting out of this?”
And who said dwarves were stupid? Dorn had picked up on the situation completely, and he’d asked a direct question—well done by him.
“I can’t tell you, though I do have a favor to ask.”
“Go for it,” Dorn replied, all ears. “I’ll do what I can.”
“If anyone from our old clan asks if we hang out, tell them we do, either that I was with you or that I went into the mines by myself. Just say that we see each other all the time.”
“What, you didn’t part on the best of terms?” Dorn laughed.
“That’s not the half of it,” I replied, also laughing. “Blacklisted, cursed, the works.”
“You’re kidding,” Dorn said, throwing up is arms. “What did you do?”
“Oh, just a quest, but then I wouldn’t turn over anything I’d gotten to Elina. There were some other little things, too. At the end she went crazy, kicked me out in disgrace, and blacklisted me.”
“Screw her. I’ve never seen any of ours down in the mines, and nobody gets involved in that crap down there. You only go if you’re serious about it.”
Ding! There was my reply.
No problem, the time and place work for me. I’m on my way to Trottir. See you at the tavern. Miurat.
“Excellent, he confirmed the meeting,” I said, looking over at Dorn. “Don’t worry, my friend, we’ll get this taken care of. Maybe.”
“We’ll see.” The dwarf was in much better spirits already, his eyes having lost the look of a puppy kicked out onto the street. Even strong warriors break when partners who have been with them through thick and thin, who are more than brothers, suddenly up and leave them just so the game gets a little easier—especially when they don’t care what that does to you. That would knock anyone for a loop. And the guy in front of me, to add insult to injury, had then gotten himself killed in the mines. The world had dragged him down. But there was something else that had caught my attention.
“Hey, how is it,” I asked, “that you’ve been playing so long, and your level isn’t much higher? How’d that happen?”
The dwarf had picked up a couple dozen levels since our last meeting, though that still left him short of Level 90.
“Rone and I had to start over with new profiles after an incident,” he said, his glance falling. “Things happen.”
I nodded. Things certainly did happen, and I wasn’t going to pry. Dorn could tell me if he wanted to.
“Here’s a scroll.” I held out the parchment, and a second later we were stepping into the familiar blue film.
Trottir was reminiscent of old Dutch or German cities. It was the European Middle Ages, only without the witch-burning and a drunk Peter the Great with a planer strapped to his back. Wait a second, about those witches…what’s that pile of ash in the main square? Something had been burned just recently. Or someone?
“Probably a witch,” Dorn cut in, noticing what had caught my eye. “There are plenty of them here—old Gretken, that demon, is good at what she does. You can find them in the mines, too, burning cats and conducting their rituals.”
“Gretken?” I had a suspicion about what was going on. “Who’s Gretken?”
“I don’t really know that much about her,” Dorn said, spreading his arms. “Just that she’s in charge of all the local witches, and that she’s as old as the mammoths. Maybe older, in fact. Oh, and I heard that she rides an enormous wolf. They say NPCs and players alike should stay away from her. She’d shred you like a dog with a toy. There are plenty of quests tied to her, though they’re long and incredibly difficult. I don’t plan on ever touching them.”
Well, that had to be old Gedran, just known in that area as Gretken. That was odd, though. There’s just one West, but she has two pseudonyms here?
“Ah, there’s the tavern,” Dorn said, licking his lips. “Want to go grab a beer? It’s really good here, and I’m buying.”
“Hagen,” I heard a painfully familiar voice say. “You made it. I didn’t think you were going to show up!”
“Why wouldn’t I?” came my sur
prised reply. “There are plenty of people here, it’s the city—nothing for me to be afraid of. Anyway, allow me to introduce you.”
“Dorn,” the dwarf said, extending a shovel-like hand.
The Double Shield shook it. “Miurat. Let’s head over to the tavern.”
Dorn sat with us for five minutes, after which he realized we needed to talk, and left with very undwarf-like tact.
Miurat sat back in his oak chair (the furniture in the tavern was enormous and well-made—I would’ve happily taken a chair like that home with me), took a pull of his beer, and gave me his trademark smile, almost as if we were old friends.
“So, you have business?” I decided not to drag things out.
“What business could a couple of old brothers-in-arms have?” Miurat replied, still playing the role he loved. “I just wanted to sit down with you, throw back a few, and listen to the singers. They should be coming out to reel off some ballads soon.”
“The arts are always a pleasure, but I have things to do. My friend over there left his things underground in the Neilozh Mines, and he’s upset about that.”
“Maybe I can help?” Miurat’s eyes narrowed. “You know, just because we’re friends?”
“I never turn down the help of a good person,” I replied with a nod. “Especially when it’s offered with no strings attached. ‘Just because we’re friends’ means you wouldn’t be looking for anything in return, right?”
“Of course. We’ll go, find his things, take care of his quest, everything the way it should be,” Miurat said, nodded in turn. “Just tell me, since we’re friends, obviously, what kind of quest did you have that sent that pillar of light shooting into the sky? Tell me about it, and we’ll head into the mines.”
“That’s it?” I smiled. “You don’t need anything else from me? It’ll be just because we’re friends?”
“Well, you were the one who asked. I’d like to see you join our clan, too, but that’s a conversation for a different time. It won’t be one you’ll have with me, either. You should drop by for some tea at our citadel—our leader would very much like to meet you. What about tomorrow?”
Ah-ha, so their leader is curious to see what I’m about. That’s interesting.
“Why not? I’d be happy to stop by. Not tomorrow, of course, but I think I could make that happen next week. Just make sure you let me know how to get there.”
“But why not tomorrow?” Miurat asked, slightly crestfallen. “Why put it off?”
“Dorn and I will be busy tomorrow, the next day, and really through the end of the week in the mines—I already told him I could, and I don’t like going back on my word. I’ll probably spend a good bit of time down there.”
“Next week then?” Miurat had been smiling so long that I wondered why his lip wasn’t quivering from exhaustion.
“Great,” I nodded. “And now the mines?”
“Wait a second,” Miurat replied, the smile fading. “What about the column of light? What was the quest?”
“It was a hidden quest about the Departed Gods,” I muttered unhappily. “I was supposed to look for some of their heritage and get it back. Have you heard of the vilas?”
“Who hasn’t?” Miurat snorted. “They’re out there just trying to catch any passer-by they can and make a family. Wings, good looks, cursed.”
“Right. And did you know that they were created by the Departed Gods? Created as a result of their nice little divine activity?” I was getting carried away, but it sounded believable. It wasn’t a total lie, anyway. “Well, I got engaged to one of them. Everybody laughed at me and called me an idiot, but in the end I got a hidden quest that I don’t think anyone had ever gotten before. At least, I didn’t see anything about it on the forums. I found the goddess’s signet ring and gave it back to them, they put on a fire show for me, and then they gave me a rare ability, a pet scroll, and some other little stuff. Oh, and they called off my engagement.”
“Yes, that was a bit of an oversight.” Miurat stroked his chin. “Who would have thought it? Everyone was convinced it was a trap, and it turns out it was just the trigger for a quest. Can you show me the scroll?”
“Sure, if you wait five minutes. It’s in my chest.”
“Go for it, I’ll wait here.” Miurat nodded, already without a smile on his face.
The fun times were over; we’d gotten down to business.
“In the meantime, find us a few warriors, at least two or three. Oh, and not Ronin, please—I don’t like him.”
Miurat grinned.
“Does Fattah work?”
“Why not? He’s a smart guy,” I replied.
I really didn’t have anything against Fattah. He’d done his job, and there wasn’t any point holding a grudge against him. He hadn’t betrayed me—there hadn’t been any promise to break. Plus, he was a good soldier, and I knew I could trust him with my back.
“Okay, wait here, I’ll be right back,” I said to Miurat with a nod and left the tavern.
Chapter Six
In which everyone gets a little something for themselves.
“What, you couldn’t iron anything out?” Dorn stopped me by the door, a mug of beer in his hand and the telltale foam in his beard. “No good?”
“No, no, it’s fine. I just have to go get something from my room.”
“So? Is that jerk up for it or not?” Dorn took a swig of beer.
“Looks like it,” I replied, thoughtfully chewing on my lip. “Put it this way: he thinks he can get something out of it.”
“You know,” Dorn said seriously, “just so we don’t have any surprises, I’d like to know why you’re going out of your way for me. What’s in it for you?”
“Why did you two go out of your way for me way back when on that road?” I answered his question with a question. “We didn’t know each other, after all.”
“Oh, we didn’t just get rid of those three parasites for your sake. We don’t like PKers…well, we didn’t like them. Also, they were bad-mouthing our old clan, and we weren’t risking anything by shutting them up. This is different: the mines aren’t one of the game’s easier spots to visit, we’re getting in bed with some questionable characters… They’re two different things—you know what I mean.”
“Sure, I get it,” I agreed. “I’m just funny like that. By the way, do you want me to put in a good word for you with a solid clan I know? They’re not bad, I can answer for that. Obviously, I can’t promise they’ll take you…”
“Is your last name Florizel[4] or something?” Dorn squinted at me and took another pull of his beer. “Here you are running around sticking your neck out, just doing good deeds right and left. I don’t buy it.”
“No, I’m no Prince Florizel, and I’m not even Harun al-Rashid[5],” I assured him. “So what, do you want into the clan? The mailbox is close, I can shoot off a message to their leader.”
“You know what? I’ve been around the block, and I don’t believe in human kindness.” Dorn looked at me darkly from under his shaggy brows. “I don’t believe in selflessness, either.”
“What selflessness?” I replied honestly. “If I need something, I know that I can always remind you of the time I helped you out, and you won’t turn me down. As far as the clan goes, that’s even simpler: I’m not sure where I’m going to go from here, and I might need a clan roof over my head. It would be easier to join a clan where there’s a person I already know, someone who can tell me how things really are. I mean, a dwarf.”
“Ah, so you’re sending me in to scout things out. That works.” Dorn obviously felt better. “Though I’ll tell you right now, I won’t be leaking you anything about internal clan business. I’ve never been a rat, and I’m not starting now.”
“Oh, please,” I said, my head practically spinning from surprise. “That’s the last thing I need.”
I’d been just about honest with everyone all day—surprisingly so, even. Miurat had gotten half the truth, and the bearded warrior in front of me had
gotten a good 80%. Sure, I couldn’t tell him how I needed him, first and foremost, to get me as close to the Sumaki Mountains as possible. But I didn’t mind having someone like him owing me a favor, either. I didn’t have any really good friends in the game, the kind of true friends you can count on implicitly when you need something. Gunther was the closest I got, and I had no way of finding him if I needed something. But Dorn…well, he was better than nothing.
I did need to work on a fix for that problem. Something told me I wouldn’t be left to play the game on my own that much longer: the action was starting to pick up, and I needed people on my side. Maybe I should just go the easy route and get the Legion going? I was sure I’d pick up quite a few nice goodies, and it was a warrior clan the likes of which the game had never seen. Roleplayers would love it… The only problem was that I had to engineer it so that I wasn’t in charge, though I still always had the deciding vote—that would take some doing. There was the heritage of the gods, too, and it wouldn’t stay secret forever. I decided to give that some thought, as well, once I had some free time. Could be interesting.
“Hey, wake up!” Something hit me in the shoulder.
Dorn was standing across from me, an annoyed expression on his face.
“No, not sleeping; just thinking.” I really had drifted away for a minute.
“My, you’re quite the philosopher!” Dorn polished off his mug and splashed the remainder on the ground. “He was just thinking… So what clan were you talking about?”
“The Wild Hearts,” I replied, rubbing my face with a hand. “They used to be a strong, powerful clan, and they’re a bit down on their luck now, but still…”
“The clan we went to war with?”
“What do you mean, ‘we’?” I looked at Dorn sharply. “The Thunderbirds went to war with them, but what does that have to do with us? ‘We’ aren’t ‘them.’ And from what I’ve heard, quite a few of ours are over there now: Reineke, Krolina, and Amadze, too, I think. I don’t know that last one, but I’ve heard of him.”
Sicilian Defense Page 7