I suppressed a bitter chuckle. I’d done so much in order to get here; I’d traveled so far — and finally I’d arrived.
“What now?” I shouted at the empty, wintry sky.
Silence. As if! Even Boris had ignored my outburst of frustration.
Then again, who said it was going to be easy?
I spent some more time walking about the ruins. This place seemed perfect for our little gang.
How ironic. This part of the city used to be the grandest. This is where their elite used to live. Or even their kings. And here we were, barging in like some barbarian tribe into Rome, settling down here with all our caboodle. The only thing that excused our presence was the fact that unlike the Vandals and such, we hadn’t come here to destroy.
I gave the gloomy ruins one last look. They seemed okay. There were only a few minor points left to check out. Once that done, I could go back and report.
I told Boris to take off. “Let’s circle the mountain one last time, then we can go back to the camp.”
Silently he obeyed.
* * *
My recon flight lasted until midday. We could have stayed longer had it not been for the snowstorm. Still, what I’d already seen was plenty. Time to return to base.
As we flew over the mountain summit, I noticed a rather wide rocky ledge. I could almost bet that it hadn’t been there when I’d first passed. Someone must have taken great care to keep this part of the cliff as inconspicuous as possible. You could only see it from the air, and even then only at a certain angle. Even so I had a funny feeling that discovering it must have had something to do with my Survival Instinct.
Boris banked into a smooth turn and landed on a flat rectangular surface at least fifty paces wide. Its outer part was completely snowed in. Closer to the wall was a black rocky platform. Someone must have invested a lot of TLC into this hideout.
“So that’s what it is, then,” I whispered, staring at an enormous door hiding under a rocky outcrop. “Not all is ruined, apparently.”
Calling it a door was actually an understatement. A gate, rather, big enough for a smallish truck to drive through.
Slowly I looked around me. To my left was a descending staircase cut into the rock, wide enough for two people to pass each other. Three even, if they’re someone my size.
Okay. Now, the door. Without leaving the saddle, I told Boris to get closer.
He’d barely took two paces when a new system message popped up,
The gate to the West Grotto
Would you like to enter?
Yes/No
My body erupted in a cold sweat. So this place wasn’t all ruins and desolation?
My heart missed a beat as I pressed Yes.
Warning! In order to open the gate, you will need the key.
I reached into my bag and began rummaging inside with a shaking hand as my gaze searched for a keyhole.
A bunch of keys appeared with a sonorous clink. One key was highlighted blue: a heavy rectangular lump of steel two inches wide and at least two hands long. Its sides were machined with a jagged pattern of square teeth.
I sprang softly down onto the stone tiles. The keyhole was now level with my chest. No wonder: this place had been built by and for fellow Ennans!
The key struggled a little, squeaking its way into the lock. Now I had to press it. My shoulder muscles tensed.
The lock clicked, triggering some invisible process. The door’s recesses began to clank and rattle. Then the key sprang slightly backwards as if letting me know it had completed its job.
I pulled it out with ease. That must have been the signal for a transformation. The heavy slab of rock shuddered with a crunching sound. Emitting little clouds of stone dust, the door began to slide upward, showering the tiles below with sand and small pebbles. The gaping dark entryway behind it oozed cold and damp.
Finally, the stone door disappeared into the cliff’s innards.
Congratulations! You’ve unlocked the gate to the West Grotto!
Boris and I looked at each other. His eyes glittered with enthusiastic curiosity. So did mine, I suppose.
I leaped back into the saddle. Better that way. “So, kiddo? How about we take a look at this grotto of theirs?”
Boris flowed gracefully in. A new warning appeared before my eyes,
Warning! The West Grotto had remained unclaimed for many a century. Finally, it became home to a colony of Thorn Rats.
Warning! This location can be too dangerous for players under level 290. Please turn back.
Aha! I mentally rubbed my hands as I stepped back. There it is, the first instance we’d found in the Forbidden City! Excellent. I needed to wait for Laosh and the others. We needed to discuss this properly.
Thorn Rats, oh well. As I had no access to the bestiary, I couldn’t look them up. I inserted the key in the lock and closed the door. Better safe than sorry. I didn’t want those beasties to escape and prowl the area. We had enough on our plate as it was.
When I was already up in the air circling the cliff one last time, a new thought struck me. A West Grotto. Did that mean there might be an East one somewhere? Or, who knows, one more in the South and another one in the North? That would make sense, wouldn’t it?
I spent another hour circling the mountain slopes but to no avail. I hadn’t noticed anything. I got the funny feeling that the 55 pt. of Survival Instinct I’d received with the Fort Guardian Kit wasn’t enough to detect any other grottos. It was already a good thing that it had allowed me to discover the West one.
“Never mind,” I told Boris. “Let’s go back to the camp.”
* * *
The results of my little recon sortie produced quite a stir in the camp. Everybody grew restless. I too felt pretty much on edge. Apparently, not all had been lost. There were still some places left in this ancient Ennan city which didn’t resemble the ruins of a Roman circus.
The only person who’d kept his head about him was Droy. Had it not been for him, we’d have already been on our way to the grotto to genocide the Thorn Rats. I wouldn’t say he was less excited than the others but he kept his cool as a commander should, insisting we waited for Laosh to arrive.
So we had lunch instead. The hot meal and the warmth of the fire seemed to have had a soothing effect on our nerves. We began to wind down.
Indeed, what was the point in going there now? There were only four of us. This was the worst moment to die a stupid death. Me, I could always resurrect but my friends couldn’t. So we decided to wait for Laosh, call up a raid and purge the instance properly.
Even though their first bout of enthusiasm had already expired, the warriors hurried to finish their meal and immediately began preparing their weapons.
As I watched their practiced actions, a new idea struck me. Why not? I could try, couldn’t I?
What a shame I didn’t have anything on me I could experiment on. Never mind.
I heaved a theatrical sigh and reached into my bag. The Noctean stone axe felt as heavy as a ton of bricks. I tried to take a swing with it but failed miserably, receiving a shower of penalty messages which brought each and every one of my characteristics deep into negative numbers.
I closed the messages, then studied the primitive weapon, pointedly ignoring everyone around.
Oh. It wasn’t even an axe really but more of a club. I even got some idea of how it had been fashioned out of a young tree: someone had bashed a flat stone into its roots and cut the trunk to about five foot long. Nothing was strapped down. I could even see the bits of earth still stuck to the roots. This was stone age in all its prehistoric glory.
The axe’s stats, however, came as a surprise. This was one hell of a lethal weapon. Its damage was impressive. Its durability, however, left a lot to be desired.
The Calteans had ceased talking and were now watching me, disgust and animosity in their glares.
Sorry, guys. It’s either this or the slingshot. I had nothing else to use for my experiment.
Crym spoke first. “Just get rid of it, Olgerd,” he said, frowning. “Filthy thing.”
Well, he’d have to grin and bear it, wouldn’t he? I didn’t say so in his face, though.
“In a moment,” I replied. “I just want to have a look at it.”
“There’s nothing to look at,” he insisted. “Useless stick.”
“That’s what you think,” I said. “Even a stick like this can tell a lot about its owner.”
“I can tell you all you need to know about its owner,” Droy said calmly.
“Which is what?”
Droy grinned. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
The others guffawed. Orman slapped their leader on the shoulder.
I wasn’t going to give up so easily. “Anything else?” I asked once they stopped laughing. I sat down next to Droy and offered him the axe.
He looked at it with disgust and shook his head.
“And you, what can you see?” Orman asked with a cunning smile on his bearded face.
I pursed my lips and turned the axe in my hands, doing my best Sherlock Holmes impersonation. “Firstly, our enemies don’t know tanning yet. The stone isn’t strapped up,” I ignored their sarcastic smiles and continued, “Secondly, it is an axe, not a club. The stone is covered in tree sap which means they used it to cut down trees. And thirdly, the axe’s owner was quite intelligent for a Noctean.”
“What makes you think so?” Orman asked.
Droy replied, joining in my little Baker Street game, “Think for yourself. He had enough brains to break down a tree and stick a stone between its roots. And not just any stone but a flat one to make it easier to cut things down with.”
The others stared at me, waiting for more. I didn’t play hard to get. “The type of stone and the kind of tree can tell us where they came from. The fact that the earth still sticks to the roots means it was made recently. There’s little blood on the blade which also means its owner didn’t use it in combat a lot.”
The Calteans fell silent, staring pensively at the item.
I continued, “The handle is covered in dark red spots. Its owner must have rubbed his hands raw which means he’s not used to handling this sort of tool. It looks like this was his first weapon — and probably also his last.”
“Anything else?” Droy asked. His eyes glowed with respect.
“Actually, yes,” I said. “He was left-handed.”
Seeing the amazement on their faces, I explained, “Look at the handle. You can still see the handprint. It’s a left hand, isn’t it?
Now the moment of truth. I offered the weapon to Droy. Would he accept it? Fingers crossed.
After a moment’s hesitation, Droy took the axe from me and began studying the handle.
Yes! He did it!
Shaking with triumph, I hurried to open Droy’s stats.
Oh wow. He’d received more or less the same penalties as I had. But that was irrelevant. I’ve just managed to prove that the Calteans weren’t tied to their own weapon types!
How cool was that? It opened up some truly promising horizons!
The axe was already changing hands. The Calteans were busy discussing it as they studied it closely, looking for some signs known only to them.
I leaned back, staring at the fire and trying to calculate how much my future re-armament race might ultimately cost me.
Chapter Three
EARLY NEXT MORNING we grabbed a quick bite to eat and set off for the Upper City as I’d christened it. We’d broken camp, planning to set it up anew on the mountain top — the tribe’s future home.
To show some team spirit, I chose to walk on my own two feet, especially seeing as the two wounded raid members couldn’t walk at all. They were dragged along in makeshift sledges that Crym had fashioned the night before. I was helping Orman to drag Horm while Droy and Crym took turns pulling Seet along. Judging by their stats, the wounded guys were about to come round. With all its fabled authenticity, Mirror World was still a computer game.
The sledges slid effortlessly over the snow, allowing us to reach the summit before midday. We had to thread our way around many a collapsed building which was actually for the better: this didn’t make it any easier for any potential enemy.
Actually, I needed to check the hunters’ stats to see whether they could make traps and snares. If they could, then this trek was begging to be turned into a deadly gauntlet for any trespassers.
The Calteans loved the spot. They even began discussing how they were going to set up tents and things. Yeah, dream on, guys. I had my own ideas regarding our future camp’s planning. Some of them might not like it but one thing was for sure: I wasn’t going to tolerate the chaotic mess that passed for a Caltean camp.
Orman started the fire. We were already making ourselves comfortable around it, about to discuss everything we’d seen, when a strange noise alerted us.
The Calteans froze momentarily, then leapt to their feet and ran toward the wall which offered a good view of the valley.
While I was getting my act together, the sound repeated, again and again, louder and stronger every time, until finally I realized what it was I was hearing.
It was a Caltean bugle.
The snowstorm had stopped already an hour ago. The valley lay before us in a dull cloudy half-light, revealing the black dots of our fellow tribesmen on the white snow below.
Something wasn’t right there, definitely.
But of course. How stupid of me. This was the rest of the tribe approaching. And if they signaled with their bugle, it meant they were in trouble. Our clan was under attack!
I had to act fast, before my team awoke from their stupor and did something they would later regret.
“Droy,” I said, investing as much authority in my voice as I could muster.
The Caltean leader startled and looked at me.
“Wait for me here,” I said. “Do you hear me? You can’t do anything there. At least the enemy can’t get here. The ancient magic of this place won’t let them in.”
After last night’s battle, I’d already explained to them this place was actually a mixed blessing.
“Make sure the guys keep their emotions in check. They’re not in a position to help the tribe. If they try, they’ll only get themselves killed. I’m going to fly there. My little mechanical friends will be of more use there. You know that yourself.”
Droy’s gaze cleared. He must have remembered my scarabs and their defeat of the Nocteans. “Go,” he wheezed.
Good. Droy seemed to take it seriously. Now I could leave them. I could only imagine what it was going to cost him. His own son was with the tribe, as well as the other guys’ families.
The moment Boris appeared, I sprang into the saddle. With a sharp jolt, we were already airborne.
The air screamed in my ears. My eyes were running. Sensing my state of mind, Boris was doing his best.
We crossed the valley as if it wasn’t even there. As we approached, I could see the tribesmen waving their hands to me. The carts and sledges, the animal noises, the shouting of the children and women...
The bugle sang its melody again. What a powerful instrument.
I was already flying above the traveling group when I finally understood the reason for their anxiety. They were surrounded by Nocteans on three sides who drove them like a herd of bison from a safe distance of about two hundred paces. They probably didn’t dare come any closer for fear of Caltean arrows.
How many of them were there? At least three hundred. They walked unhurriedly; their ugly faces betrayed no sign of fatigue.
The Calteans, however, looked exhausted. Their numbers seemed to have gone down.
I ran a quick check. I was right, dammit! The system showered me with warnings and alerts.
The Calteans were at the end of their tether. Most of their stats had dropped at least 40%. We were 260 now: minus 26 clan members. Damn those Nocteans!
Why weren’t they attacking? I double-checked their positioning. Aha.
From what I could see, the Nocteans seemed to be thinking they were herding their quarry to the slaughter. They were sure that the Calteans wouldn’t dare enter the Forbidden City, so they’d be forced to stop and fight.
The cannibals’ ugly mugs betrayed their impatience. This group didn’t seem to have anything in common with the Nocteans killed by the city’s ancient guards.
One of them stood out even among his hairy tribesmen. He towered at least two heads above the rest, his body covered in shaggy dark fur which looked almost black. Definitely the leader of the pack, judging by how the others were running around him.
A werewolf, for sure.
A group of about fifty more Nocteans armed with stone axes surrounded him as some prehistoric analog of bodyguards.
I flew up closer. Shaggy had noticed me a long time ago and was looking at me with curiosity now.
Our eyes met. So! This one seemed to be marginally smarter than the rest. His black eyes glinted with all the superiority of a wild beast — and maybe just a tad of discomfort. Normal, really. A midget flying a magic animal can discomfort anyone.
Boris banked into a steep turn, heading back toward the Caltean group. I made out Laosh’ gaunt frame at the center of their ranks. He was looking up, waving his hand to me.
Soon I was already standing before him. The old man was in a bad way, his eyes red from lack of sleep. Apparently, the Nocteans prevented their prisoners from stopping for the night.
The Calteans’ rough voices cheered my arrival. Laosh gave me an unembarrassed hug. Hands kept slapping my back and shoulders.
“You’ve made it,” I said when they finally left me alone.
“Not all of us, unfortunately,” the shaman replied. “Still, we’re here. And you?”
“We’re fine,” I reassured him. “The city belongs to us. What about those?” I nodded at the Nocteans.
“They attacked us in the dead of night,” Laosh replied curtly. “We lost almost thirty warriors in that battle. It’s been three days they’ve been following us.”
The Twilight Obelisk (Mirror World Book #4) LitRPG series Page 3