by Garry Ocean
The game had its own special feature. It was impossible to immediately get to the highest level and give the final battle to the Xerxes army among one of the 300 Spartans of King Leonidas. At first, you needed to master certain skills. After you gained a certain number of points, the simulator would let you go to the next level. By the end of the second month Nick, Paul, Pavel, and Anton from another class were already battling with the light-armored warriors of the allied Helot and Thespian armies. Then they were standing in the phalanx of the Hellenic hoplites holding back the frontal attack of the Immortals, who had been led to the rear of the Greeks by a traitor named Ephialtes. And only by the end of the third month they were finally enlisted into the Leonidas’s personal guard.
By that time, all the team members already knew each other in the zero-network very well. The best of the best players earned the right to be in the last battle. The prize scores at the last level were composed of the three assignments: to kill or fatally wound as many warriors of the enemy as possible, to hold back as long as possible in time, and to protect Leonidas for as long as possible.
By the way, for a long time they could not decide who would be playing as Leonidas. The problem is that in the last battle, he did not have to command the troops. Only to fight and fight to death with the enemy that was superseding the Greeks in numbers. Everyone had to protect their king at any cost, even their own death. This is why no one wanted to be Leonidas, spending the largest time of the battle not even taking the sword out of the scabbard, hiding behind the backs of his loyal comrades. At the same time, the computer was programmed for the fastest elimination of the king. In the end, it was decided to appoint Mike from the Epsilon Eridan colony as Leonidas. He had the highest rating in defense, but his attack skills were below average.
After a long discussion, they finally set the date and time for the game according to the Earth calendar. The difficulty was that the players were located in all corners of the inhabited Space. Nick remembered very well how nervous he was on that day when he got inside the simulator and placed the sensors on his body one by one.
The Persians started to attack right away. The sky was darkened for a moment by a fall of arrows. Covering himself with a big shield, Nick noticed how quickly the enemy started to attack. At some point, the arrow humming became unbearable, then Nick heard a loud crunch and it seemed like a huge tree fell right on him. All three hundred men breathed out at the same time, taking in the many-tons piercing blow with their shields. It seemed the computer wanted to finish them off in one attempt. To his sides, Nick heard loud moaning suggesting that some of the arrows found the cracks and openings between the shields held closely together. And then everything was mixed up. Much later, watching the game recording as an outsider, Nick saw the Persians coming in waves at their tortoise that bristled with the spears on all sides and rolled back time after time, leaving behind hundreds of the killed warriors.
For some time, the Spartans even managed to attack the enemy. They formed a short phalanx and stormed the Persians. The first three rows would strike with their spears, and then, covering themselves with the shields, pressed the enemy as hard as possible. The back rows then would push into the backs of their compatriots, thus creating an effect of a many-ton press. And when “the Immortals” started to run away in panic, the Spartans would throw into their backs short but heavy javelins.
Nick was killed at the thirty-second minute. His spear broke at the very beginning. He had to fight with a short sword, and after an arrow from the back rows of the Persians hit his left shoulder he also had to give up the shield. Understanding that his end is near, he threw himself into the dense rows of the enemy, managed to fatally wound three of them and fell, stricken by a spear in his back.
Paul lasted to the forty-seventh minute. He was the last surviving warrior protecting Leonidas. Even fatally wounded, he continued to spin his sword wildly, protecting Mike with his body from the Persian arrows.
And then something unbelievable happened. Mike quickly realized that the only chance for him to hide from the arrows would be in the enemy’s files. He darted toward them and within two and a half minutes, just like a berserker, poured on the Persians all his might and anger held back until that moment. Before the crowd of the Immortals swallowed him, he managed to send nineteen warriors to their forefathers. The game result was: 2,927 killed enemies, total time of the battle – 49 minutes and 31 seconds, and correspondingly the time Leonidas stayed alive – 49 minutes and 31 seconds.
When completely exhausted Nick rolled out of the simulator, he was nonetheless smiling. This was a victory! And it did not matter that for a whole week after his entire body was aching with bruises and grazes. The most important thing was that they took the first place!
Their result in the “Battle of Thermopylae” held for 56 days, which was a very impressive achievement for the zero-network games.
And now, eight years later and thousands of light years away from the Earth, Nick saw what he could swear were carbon copies of the Spartan hoplites. Not the virtual ones, but of real flesh and blood. Their similarity was so striking that for a second Nick thought he was in the game again.
A long horn took him out of his freeze. He looked around. Seemed like no one noticed his temporary stupor. All the eyes were set on the central pew. There, five men in the same clothing turned up one by one. Had they not been different in height, from afar they could be taken for quintuplets. They were wearing snow-white tunics embroidered with golden ornaments. On top of them, they had loose smocks of deep green color, fastened on the chest with gold buckles framed with precious stones. The rows breathed out, “the Guardians!” A little later, the entire Arena was filled with applause.
The horns blew loudly again, and a woman came into the pew. Nick tensed his eyes and the picture cleared up so that he could see her better. It was a young woman. She had a beautiful face attracting people’s attention. Correct facial features, high forehead framed by tar-black hair. A small, slightly upturned nose enforced the expression of daring courage and the large slightly slanting eyes were looking ahead with charming childlike honesty. Her forehead was adorned with a diadem of precious stones and the hair was loosely flowing down her shoulders.
It seemed to Nick that she was looking straight at him, and he literally started to drown in her eyes. Everyone who was still sitting in their seats jumped up and, stretching their necks to see their favorite girl better, started to chant, “Cleo! Cleo! Cleo!”
“Ugh, what’s wrong with me?” Nick slapped himself on the forehead. “I am falling apart.”
“Pull yourself together!” he gave an order to himself. “You need to do what you came here to do!”
While they were walking the honor circle around the Arena, Nick noticed that in its middle there were some structures looking like targets, in the form of dummies of animals unknown to Nick. He could not tell from the distance if they were real or just good replicas. Meanwhile, the contest guards came up to the participants and started to sort them into four more or less equal groups, about 50 people in each.
At times, Nick could hear the voices of disagreement. He guessed that perhaps some people wanted to be in one group but not the other for some reason. But the guards quickly suppressed potential conflicts. Nick ended up in the third group. He did not feel one way or another about it; he just wanted everything to be over soon. He was searching for Whisperer with his eyes, but the spectators’ rows were in such a constant colorful move that Nick gave up on the idea. After all, the old man told him not to worry. He assured Nick he’d be there for him whenever Nick needs him.
A long and loud horn howled, and the shooting contest started, accompanied by a growing roar of the spectators’ voices. Nick was looking at everything attentively, trying to miss no detail. He was not very well aware of the contest rules and was afraid of doing something wrong. Good thing his turn was toward the end. He noticed that most of the contest participants used their own weaponry in shooting and ja
velin throwing. When they came up to the line, an assistant or a coach ran to them and gave them a bow with arrows and, separately, javelins. Nick smirked at himself: The word “coach” that came to him first, was completely out of place here. He dug into his memory. What was their name in the ancient times? Ah, yeah, armourers. But no, more like armor-bearers. Then he frowned, “Where would have I gotten a bow and javelins? The decision to participate in the Ritual was made last minute, we hardly made it on time with enlisting.”
After Nick noticed that he wasn’t the only one like that, he calmed down. The guards were giving the armor to those who did not secure their own for some reason. To be honest, there were very few of them, which was understandable as using your own weapon that you know best and practiced with gives more chances to succeed.
Nick estimated the distance to the targets. It was not less than a hundred meters. The fact that he used to shoot from a sports bow with a laser aim from the distance of up to five hundred meters meant nothing now. Nick understood perfectly well that along with the marksman’s skills a lot depends on the technical capacities of the bow, as well as the arrows, feathers, and so on and so forth. This “so forth” was bothering him a lot now. As he could see, everyone was given only five shots. If the target was hit three times, the contestant moved on to the next stage, and if not… “No ifs,” Nick interrupted himself. “You are not at the Boy Scouts camp. And the prize here is not another badge or trophy that would collect dust on your achievements shelf, but, perhaps, your friends’ lives.”
When his turn came, Nick was already calm and collected. He took a bow from the guard’s hands, checked how tight the string was. There were five arrows with white feathers on a crude table next to him. He took the first one, turned it in his hands trying to determine its center of gravity. Then he put it on the string carefully. He was doing everything just like his instructor of sports marksmanship was teaching him a long time ago. Then he looked at the target again. Now he could see that it was a dummy of some fanged beast of a human size. It reminded Nick of a giant groundhog standing on his back legs. Had it not been for a wild grin with numerous crooked and sharp teeth, you could even say it was cute.
“It’s clear that I need to aim for its chest,” Nick decided and started to slowly pull the string. Suddenly he heard a muffled crackle, and the bow broke right in the middle. Nick was perplexedly staring at the two halves of the bow in his hands.
“Oho,” one of the guards said with poorly concealed joy in his voice and said to the other one, “Looks like this one is done. Common, Zhikh, cross him out!”
“What is the matter?” Nick didn’t understand at first what was going on.
“The matter?” the first one smirked, avoiding looking Nick in the eye. And then he mumbled again to his partner, as if Nick was not there, “Look at this type! Never held a bow in his hands, but still wants to become famous. What’s taking so long? Just cross him out, that’s it!”
Nick was trying to come up with various scenarios in his head, at the same time suppressing his righteous anger. This was plain unfair. It was clear that the bow was defective. Nick did not manage to pull the string even half-way when it broke like a thin reed. Meanwhile, Zhikh has dug out from the pile of papers Nick’s application to participate in the Ritual. Having dipped a long feather pen into the inkwell, he was clearly ready to put a thick cross over both Nick’s further participation in the contest and his friends’ future. The pen’s tip was about to touch the paper when something suddenly stopped it. Zhikh moved the feather from one side to the other, as if having forgotten what he was going to do a second ago. Then he gave an unsure look to his partner.
Right at that moment, a warrior in a short red tunic made his way between the guards, slightly but surely pushing Zhikh with his shoulder. Nick realized that he indeed was a warrior immediately. Not just by the bronze breastplate that was peeking through the tunic and the shin guards with hidden knives, but also by the obvious stature that is characteristics of all warriors in all times and, apparently, in all worlds. He looked Nick straight in the eye and said, not paying the least attention to the guards, “I see that you have a little misfortune here. But what did you expect? They gave you a bow that may only serve as a log for a camp fire.”
He then waved his arm, and a boy came out behind his back with a big bow made of dark wood. “Here, take this one, it’s a real combat bow,” Nich felt warm notes in the warrior’s voice, “Made of ebony. It will hit a target from three hundred steps away, and in the experienced hands – even five hundred!”
“Thank you, warrior,” Nick said, still not believing his luck. He quickly looked at the guards. They were standing there trying to seem indifferent, with stupid smiles on their faces.
“When you are done, just give the bow back to my armor-bearer,” the warrior nodded at Nick, turned around sharply and marched toward the contestants who were already done with shooting, standing at the side.
Nick gratefully took the bow from the boy’s hands. In the center, it was polished by frequent use. The armor-bearer gave him a quiver of arrows and said, “Take any five you like, the tips are made of specially clad iron. They fly exactly where you aim them.”
Nick took five arrows randomly and laid them out on the table, throwing the old ones to the ground with no regrets. Yes, this bow could not be even compared to the first one. It was heavy, and Nick felt its power and reliability.
“I am starting!” he said loudly, not even concerned if the guards hear him or not.
The first arrow pierced the ground, several meters short of the target. The bow’s spring painfully whipped Nick’s left wrist. Nick bit his lip, then breathed in and out several times, and pulled the string as far back as he could, forgetting about everything else. The arrow flew right into the center of the target. The other three went exactly into the groundhog’s open mouth one after anothere.
“That’s better, deary, much better,” the guard murmured. “Now off to throwing javelins…”
********
Whisperer furtively wiped away little droplet of sweat from his forehead. Years ago he had a suspicion that the contest was rigged. However, he was not interested in that earlier. But now it was a different matter. “I need to remind Nick again not to stand out among the contestants,” he thought. “But it is indeed surprising that they started to get rid of those they didn’t want in the contest already in the first round.”
Everything happened so quickly and unexpectedly that Whisperer had to act swiftly and crudely. The guards, most probably, did not even understand where they were and what was going on. Later when they come to, they would have an unpleasant feeling of feculence. “Let’s just hope that they will not exchange their stories about their short-term clouding of mind. Perhaps, they will write it off to being tired,” Whisperer thought. “And I got very lucky that an alvar was not too far away. These mountain people who handle the arms since they were toddlers have the code of honest battle running in their veins. It’s in their blood.”
Whisperer looked around the Arena. He felt that somewhere there, among the spectators, there were the Special ones, possessing the same Gift as he had. They always were silent and invisible participants of every Ritual. But, as one could guess, they played an important role in it. And the battles invisible for ordinary people at times were just as fierce as the ones in the Arena. At least that was the case when he was young and still considered himself a true citizen of the City. It could not have changed much since then. There were always people who had a vested interest in the victory of one warrior or another.
Such people with special abilities always existed. It was believed that the Dominia, the planet lighting the land with its soft emerald rays every night bestowed these abilities upon the selected ones. People were saying, “This person has been blessed with the Dominia’s Gift.” However most laymen believed it to be just a curse.
Whisperer, of course, knew that the Emerald Eye had nothing to do with this. The Gift was inh
erited. When he was in the Master program, there were rumors among students that some closed labs were conducting various experiments to study this phenomenon. However, if there were any results of such experiments, no one has ever heard anything about them.
One thing was clear: the Gift was passed on through the family line. For example, from mother to son. Sometimes it could manifest itself five or more generations later. It was impossible to establish the patterns here. However, the gifted children were born with equal chance into any kin, noble or not. They were among alvars, steppe dwellers, and of course the residents of near-forest as well.
In all times, those who possessed the Gift were persecuted and prosecuted by the authorities. Before Archy the Wise, they were publicly burnt at the Central Square on holidays. There was even a holiday with a telling name: Day of Cleansing. In fact, only someone who possessed the Gift himself could tell for sure if others had the real Gift. This is why quite often tens and hundreds of ordinary people were burned at the stakes only because they were slightly different from others. For example, children who were born with even the slightest physical deformities were put to death the same day without thinking about it twice.
And of course, delations, denunciation, and perjury were ruling the world. Thousands of talented people were killed off because of false accusations. The healers and doctors got the worst end of the deal, so much so that there were practically no good ones left. To this day, the City feels the shortage of good healers, with one real healer matched by at least five charlatans.