“Thank you,” I replied. “Are you positive it’s the key in the crown? Maybe it just looks like it?”
“No, that’s the one—the traveler described it in detail,” the old man said, radiating confidence. “The bow is round with a design cut out of it shaped like an eye. You can’t mistake something like that.”
“Who was the traveler?” I asked as if in passing.
“Just someone walking by,” he said evasively. “You get all sorts.”
Yeah, right, you have a regular highway out here, I thought, though what I said was different.
“Understood. Okay, so which direction are the Borderlands in? It’s time for me to get going.”
Come on, old man, you definitely have something I can use to get there, or at least some advice.
“Ah, funny,” he said with a laugh. “You’ll be walking for quite a while, and you might not even get there, though the Sumaki Mountains have roads leading everywhere. The mountains have been here since the beginning of time, back when Rattermark emerged out of the depths of the Great Ocean.”
“Pops,” I said, frowning, “that all sounds great, and I’m sure you know everything there is to know about this area, but you’re not being much help. If I can’t walk there, what should I do?”
“Well, aren’t you clever,” he giggled. “All you’re getting from me is exactly what you need to get me what I want. Here.”
He tossed me a rolled-up parchment he pulled out of his pants pocket.
“You’ll give that back to me as soon as you’re done—I know you mortals. You’d filch anything that isn’t nailed down. Ah, things aren’t the way they used to be…”
Path to Ort Ashen
Unique item
Takes you from wherever you are in Fayroll to Ort Ashen’s cave.
Limitations
Can only be used once a day.
You must have a specific and valid reason for seeing Ort Ashen. If you do not, you may be assessed for a penalty.
Can only be used by you, as Ort Ashen gave it to you.
Cannot be stolen, lost, broken, sold, or gifted.
Does not disappear from the holder’s inventory after dying.
“Oh, wow,” I said, surprised. “That’s pretty cool.”
Progress made completing Connoisseur of Rarities
You need to collect another three of the ten unique items in Fayroll.
“Wait a second, though—that’s from there to here, right?” I rubbed my nose. “But what about from here to there?”
Ort barked a short spell, and a small portal opened right there on the floor. It had greenish shades flickering through it—interesting. Ours was blue, Wanderer’s was red, and that one was green. Shouldn’t there be an action for portals?
“Go ahead, get in there,” Ort said. “I’m not keeping it open forever!”
“Wait!” I yelped. “I still have a ton more questions from you!”
“And you can ask them when you’re done,” Ort cut back with a voice that didn’t brook dissent. “Come back with the first part of the key, and I’ll answer all your questions. Well, almost all of them… Okay, get in there—what are you waiting for?”
“There’s a knight sitting up there waiting for me.” I realized the old man had outsmarted me, and I was peeved. “Tell him to go back to the city without me.”
“Get out of here,” the old man said shortly, tugging on his beard. “Come on, get going!”
I sighed and stepped into the portal. Where is it taking me?
It turned out that my question wasn’t the right one: it wasn’t taking me “where,” it was taking me “at someone.”
As I hurtled out of the portal (Ort’s portal didn’t work like the rest of them I’d used, as it had me really booking it), I smacked right into a large, red-headed man wearing a kilt. There was a claymore strapped to his back. We rolled along the cobblestones, me cursing and him quietly rattling his sword.
I sat up, shook my head, which was spinning after the flight, and opened my map. We were in the center of the Borderlands, in a city called Agberdeen that was part of the Mormaer of Moray. Huh. That old devil, I said, cursing Ort to myself. He hadn’t given me a chance to go visit my hometown…
“You good, my friend?” I heard a voice ask from behind me. “By Toutatis, I’m on my way to a feast, and I don’t have time to wait for you to get up.”
“And why do you have to wait for me?” I asked, confused. “I’m sorry I knocked you down. It was an accident, that damn old man–”
“Apologies are just words,” the red-haired gentleman cut in amiably. “Real men don’t need them. You have your sword, I have mine—what’s there to wait for?”
I got up, realizing that I wasn’t going to get out of the game that day. There was just too much going on all the time.
“Are you sure we have to do this?” I asked, just in case. “Maybe we can just go our separate ways?”
“If I’d been in my normal clothes, you’d be fine—you could run into me all day,” he said, shaking his head. “But you can see, I’m wearing my holiday clothes, and, most importantly, our clan colors. Thanks to you, they were dragged through the dirt. That’s an insult to our clan, so I have to kill you now. Sorry! The elders wouldn’t understand it if I didn’t.”
I pulled my sword out of its sheath and unslung my shield.
“I’m so tired,” I complained to the highlander. “Today has been crazy—I’m not sure I could deal with another one like it.”
“It happens,” he replied with a sympathetic nod. “On the other hand, it’ll be better for you this way. If you’re tired, you’ll miss a strike and die quickly without suffering too long.”
“That’s less than comforting,” I said, wrinkling my brow as I blocked his first shot with my shield, knocked his sword to the side, and thrust forward in an effort to pierce his ribcage.
The highlander eluded me, whirled his claymore around his head, and swung it from my right. I saw it coming, and steel clashed against steel–
“Lennox MacSummers, what are you doing?” boomed someone’s voice. My opponent instantly lowered his sword and took a couple steps backward. “What did this foreigner do to you?”
The red-haired highlander dropped his gaze and didn’t have anything to say, preferring not to look at the two-meter tall giant who was chewing him out. They were wearing matching clothes.
“I ran into him by accident,” I said, trying to make MacSummers look a little better. His face, already red, was flushing as his tall friend lectured him. “He fell, your clan colors got dirty, and he didn’t like that. Your traditions probably don’t let things like that slide, and so we–”
“Is that what he told you?” asked a short old man, also wearing what looked to be customary clothing for the Borderlands. “Lennox, did you tell him that nonsense?”
“What do you mean, nonsense?” muttered MacSummers. “I wasn’t going to kill him…”
“It didn’t look to me like this young man was going to let you kill him—he’s pretty good with a sword,” the large man said to Lennox. “By Cernus, if he’d cut off your head, I wouldn’t even have asked for satisfaction on behalf of the clan. I’d have bought him a drink.”
Well, that’s not what I expected.
“Sounds good to me,” I said, spinning my sword. “Let me just finish him off, and you can go get me that drink. I’m dog-tired today, so I wouldn’t turn down a glass or two of something nice. Maybe something salty to eat? As long as you’re paying, of course.”
He guffawed.
“You’re a funny guy—I like your kind. I’m Rinald MacSummers, this numbskull’s uncle.” The giant pointed at the crestfallen red-head before clapping his hand to the right side of his chest. “And who are you?”
“I’m Hagen of Tronje, Thane of the Western Reaches. Traveling on my own business.”
I repeated his gesture, clapping my own chest. I was surprised to see how Lennox’s face elongated and Rinald’s expression chang
ed.
“Thane?” The gray-haired old man looked at me attentively. “That’s a high title, the kind that should be backed up with a letter of credence or the word of someone respected who can vouch for you.”
There you go. Everyone else just took me at my word.
“Why?” I asked. “I know that it’s true, and you can decide for yourself if you want to believe me. Incidentally, I don’t envy anyone who calls me a liar.”
“Words worthy of a warrior and a man,” the old man nodded. “But still?”
“I don’t have any papers,” I said with a shrug. “As far as getting someone to vouch for me, this is my first time in your lands. I don’t really know anyone here.”
“‘I don’t really know anyone’ means that there is someone.” He wasn’t going to let anything go.
“I’ve met Bran, your ambassador to Aegan, and Sventonidius, a warrior of his. And I know a guy named Lane, though I’m not sure which clan any of them are from—they didn’t say,” I replied, listing everyone I knew from the Borderlands.
“Bran is probably one of the MacMortises from Irt-Irgis, the son of old Gregor MacMortis,” Rinald said with a quick glance at the old man. “He was headed west in search of military support—they’re looking at some big problems over there by the lakes. I know Sventonidius, too. He’s a good warrior, even if he isn’t one of us. But Lane… Hagen, what were his clan colors?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, shrugging again. “He wore chainmail and armor, but they were both just steel-colored. He’s a mercenary, and they all dress alike.”
“A gelt working as a mercenary?” the old man asked in surprise. “That’s impossible. Maybe he wasn’t from the Borderlands?”
“Maybe not,” I replied, “though he said he was. It didn’t really matter to me—he was a good guy and a great fighter, which is all I cared about.”
“What mercenaries are those? For some baron or something else?” he asked shortly. “And how did you, Thane, get in with the mercenaries?”
“I wasn’t a thane back then.” There was nothing to hide or be embarrassed about. “We fought with the Free Companies.”
Rinald coughed and stared at the old man. He smoothed down his kilt and slowly asked another question.
“Did your friend wear a ring on his ring finger?”
I tried to think back and realized that he did. I’d noticed it when I’d been dragging Lane out of the Temple of Hannuman.
“Yes,” I responded. “It looked like oak leaves, I think in silver.”
“Okay, okay, okay…” the old man said, thinking to himself.
“Let’s go somewhere already. I need to drop by the hotel if you don’t have any other questions.” I didn’t want to waste any more time. “Or do I need to kill someone for that?”
“Well said,” the tall gentleman said as he clapped my shoulder. “Here we are just standing here. Let’s go get a mug or two of ale.”
“What about tomorrow?” I asked gingerly. “I’m exhausted today—it’s been brutal.”
“If you’ve had a hard day, some good ale is exactly what you need,” Rinald replied insistently. “I’m telling you, let’s go. Our clan is having a feast today, and you can be a guest.”
“What about me?” my red-haired assailant asked quietly. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“You’re coming with us,” Rinald said with a sigh. “Unless you decide to try to kill someone else or get yourself killed.”
The tavern we walked into was packed with beanpoles like Rinald, all of them drinking, singing, and shouting. It felt like I’d been transported back to one of the parties we had when I was a student.
“Greetings, brave warriors of the MacSummers clan,” roared Rinald as we walked in. “Death to the rotten MacLynns and the stinking Stebbinses! Kill them all!”
“Kill them all!” the group of men wearing kilts and holding mugs shouted back. “To the sword with all of them!”
“The MacLynns?” I looked at Rinald, who had gotten a large mug from somewhere and was sucking down ale. “What did they do to you?”
“They go after everyone,” the highlander said, pulling himself away from his drink. “It’s hard to find a gelt in this city who doesn’t want their blood. Death to the MacLynns of Morrigot!”
“Ah-h!” came the uniform, harmonious shout.
“Ha!” Rinald said, making a face and taking another pull from his mug.
“What’s a gelt?” I asked him. Rinald waved a finger at me, telling me to wait until he finished drinking.
“We call ourselves gelts,” I heard an old man say. “Gelts are people who live in the Borderlands—warriors and men.”
“Bayron Fergus MacSummers,” Rinald bellowed, pulling the mug away from his mouth. “Take a knee, gelts.”
The voices cut out, almost as if someone had waved a magic wand, and the group of large men fell onto one knee in front of the short, brittle old man.
“Oh, come on,” he said amiably, “I’m just one of you, here to drink some ale in honor of the feast. Don’t mind me.”
Either that was taken as an order, or life there was childlike in its simplicity. Either way, half a minute later the tavern was as noisy as ever.
“Well, Hagen of Tronje, can you confirm your title of thane?” The old man sat down and fixed his penetratingly blue eyes on me. It felt more like an X-ray than any normal gaze.
“I still don’t understand why I have to prove anything.”
“You see–” Just then a good-looking girl with curly hair came over with a foam-topped mug on a tray. He took it, poured some down his throat, and smiled. “Thanks Heather, my girl. You see, in these parts, when someone says something about themselves, they either prove it or we label them a liar. You don’t want that, do you?”
“Nope.” That was the last thing I needed.
“Then you have until tomorrow night to prove you really are a thane. And if you don’t…”
“Then what?” I asked sharply.
“Then all the clans in the Borderlands will know that you’re a liar. I think you’ll find it awfully difficult to leave the hills of our beautiful country.”
You unlocked Proving the Obvious.
Task: Prove to Bayron Fergus MacSummers, head of the MacSummers clan, that you really are a thane of the Western Reaches.
Reward:
1000 experience
+7 to your reputation among the MacSummers clan
Accept?
That surprised me. Whatever, if you need proof, then proof you shall have. I can take care of that. It also surprised me that “bayron” was a title. I would’ve thought that was his name…
“Okay, Bayron,” I replied. “Whatever you say. But if you don’t mind, I’m going to head off. I need some sleep—it’s been a long, tough day.”
“Of course,” the old man nodded. “But I’ll be waiting for you here tomorrow evening, and we’ll have something to talk about if you can prove you are who you say you are. Heather, sweetie, take our guest to Kenneth at the hotel so he doesn’t get lost.”
The cute waitress led me straight to the hotel, which turned out to be nearby the bar. I walked into my room and ecstatically pressed the button to log out.
Vika was lying on the bed giggling quietly to herself as she read. Yes, my lovely better half loved reading, and especially paper books—and I had plenty of those. It’s much harder to find them these days, now that everyone just reads on the screens of their newfangled gadgets, and books with their covers and pages have gone the way of collectors and exclusive gifts. It’s a shame. There’s something about flipping pages, hearing them rustle, and smelling the paper that’s absolutely magical. Ah, the incomparable fragrance of old books…
And so Vika, when she found my fairly large library, part of which I’d gotten from my grandfather, with the other part from my parents’ apartment, dug in happily. Right then, she was reading a Lunna novel about princes, unicorns, fairies, and a rebellious student who’d been whisked o
ff somehow to a magical world. Once there, she got everyone in line with a snap of her fingers. How did that masterpiece end up on my shelves? I figured an old girlfriend must have left it there.
“Ooph,” I exhaled as I pulled myself out of the capsule. “Honestly, I should’ve gone to work.”
“Worn out after a hard day?” Vika asked mischievously, looking at me from above the cover. It featured a pale prince kissing the hefty, rose-cheeked student.
“Don’t even ask,” I replied. “How’d everything end yesterday? Are the misanthropes all still alive?”
“Are you talking about our people or the stubbly guys at the club?”
“Oh, I couldn’t care less about those guys—whoever’s in charge of them, they’re his problem. I’m worried about the morons at the office.”
“Then don’t worry, they’re fine. There was a fight, sure, but, from what I heard, Zhilin took care of it like he said he would. He smashed someone into a pulp, broke someone else’s ribs, and got everyone out of the club. Then he sent Marietta home in a taxi and promised Shelestova that she’d have hell to pay if she tried to pull a trick like that again. He really shook her, apparently.”
“Wait, what did he threaten her with?” I asked with interest. It must have been something if he’d been able to scare someone as obstinate, smart, and beautiful (yes, she was beautiful, there was no denying that) as her.
“He promised to sell her to some Arabs, to a brothel they run. Sergey always means what he says, so she believed him and went home scared to think it over. Anyway, everything’s fine, and everyone’s good, well, everyone but Yushkov—he’s still hung over. You go eat, take a shower, and let’s go to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day: you’ll be spending it trying on new clothes, and I know how much you guys enjoy that. And I’ll tell you right now, I’m not buying any of your ‘it’s fine, it’ll stretch out’ or ‘it’s fine, it’s fine, it fits me.’ You’re going to keep trying things on until I see something I like.”
Sicilian Defense Page 27