I just loved her pro-newb enthusiasm. Then again, I wasn’t the clueless klutz that had first entered the Glasshouse trying to walk to the nearest town on a few Energy points.
In a brief postscript, she praised my video, promising to upload it to her channel later that same night.
Whatever. As long as it kept her happy.
Chapter Eight
“WE’VE GOT VISITORS,” Droy announced the moment I touched the ground.
I could see he was struggling to suppress his agitation. Orman and Crym stood next to him, both equally on edge. What visitors were they talking about?
The sun was about to set. I hadn’t headed home straight away as I’d decided to check out the nearby locations. To tell you the truth, I hadn’t liked what I saw there at all. Now I was really hacked off. The last thing I needed were mysterious guests whose arrival had already made the usually impassive Droy nervous.
“Who do you mean?” I asked, jumping off Boris’ back.
“The wolves,” the three men replied in unison.
I frowned. “Which wolves? Animals, you mean?”
“You could say that,” Orman replied grimly.
The others nodded. Jesus. What was that now?
“The Northern Wolves,” Droy explained. “A Caltean clan.”
“Wolves? They’re coyotes!” Crym growled his indignation.
The others nodded.
“You’re right.”
“They are.”
“Traitors!”
“It was them who warned us about the Noctean hordes arriving to claim Silver Mountain Valley,” Droy explained. “But when they attacked, the Wolves chose to leave for the Ryan Steppe. They refused to fight.”
“They fled the battlefield with their tails between their legs,” Orman butted in. “They’re horse dealers, what do you want? Cowards.”
“They’re nomads,” Crym agreed. “They roam from place to place without settling down. How can you trust them?”
“Are they friends or foes?” I asked.
“Neither,” Droy replied, scratching his beard. “We don’t consider them our brothers. They’re Calteans, yes, but still they’re different. We were never enemies but we were never friends, either.”
I nodded. “Very well. That much is clear. But how did they find us?”
“We told them,” Droy replied calmly.
I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. It’s one thing to be accidentally discovered by another clan’s scouts who’d just happened to wander too far off to the North, chancing on the Forbidden City. But to basically invite them here was something totally different.
Also, how had they communicated? It’s not as if the Calteans had their own postal system in place.
“How did you do that?” I asked.
“They followed my magic marks,” Laosh said behind my back.
I turned around.
“I can see it in your eyes that you’re worried,” the old man walked over to us. “You don’t need to be. Only Caltean shamans know how to read their secret signs. The Wolves’ scouts had Amai with them. He’s their young shaman and the clan leader. He may be a bit hotheaded but he’s not as headstrong as their previous chief.”
“Do you mean to say,” I began, “that you kept leaving magic messages marking your journey?”
He nodded. “I did.”
“What did you say in those messages?”
“The Forbidden City belongs to the Red Owls.”
He had a freakin’ cheek! Did that mean he’d left those messages behind even before we’d claimed the city? How were you even supposed to keep these guys in control?
“Are you sure that no one else can read those signs?” I asked, struggling to sound calm.
The old man smiled. “Absolutely.”
I heaved a sigh, trying to take in the news philosophically. Before, I might have freaked out but by now I’d already gotten used to my new friends’ antics. Still, there was no guarantee that some player might not be able to decipher those signs.
Then again, why should I worry myself sick about it? So they’d decipher the signs, big deal. They still wouldn’t be able to use the information. The Calteans were the only ones who knew about the Forbidden City. Nobody else had any idea about its existence, let alone its whereabouts.
I had to get a grip. The men stood there waiting for my decision. “Very well. Take me to these Wolves of yours.”
The Wolves’ scouts had set up camp in the towering ruins of the collapsed city gate. They didn’t start a fire for fear of attracting unwanted attention.
As we walked downhill, they were already expecting us. Their sentries knew what they were doing. But still I noticed them before they noticed me. I had this little trick up my sleeve... literally.
The Bracelet of Thai Kho — the thin strip of gold studded with tiny emeralds which was currently hugging my wrist — gave +30 pt. to Observation Skills. Rrhorgus had sent it to me together with two rings fashioned from Drukharm bone, whatever that was supposed to mean, which gave me another +25 pt. And finally, the Tamyan Necklace — an unpretentious chain with added +55 pt. to Gut Feeling. I could see all those stats as separate lines in my character’s chart even though they performed the same functions as my Survival Instinct. If you summed them all up, they trebled my power of observation.
Which was why I immediately noticed the Wolves’ sentries lurking behind the giant slabs of collapsed masonry.
Judging by Laosh’ untroubled face, he too knew about them. How interesting. I really needed to give his stats a closer look. I’d never had the chance to do that.
I could see the scouts now, even though they were still too far away to make out their faces. They were the same height as the Red Owls. Their brown horses were rather bulky but short with large round bellies.
“Actually,” I turned to Droy, “you don’t have many horses, do you?”
“We used to,” Orman grumbled.
“Before the epidemic claimed them,” Droy added. “And when the Nocteans came-”
“We never had too many,” Seet butted in. “They’re too fragile. Buffaloes are much better. They’re hardy and strong. Easy to control, too. They can last a long time without food or water.”
“They’re not afraid of the cold,” Laosh added.
Judging by their enthusiasm, the Red Owls seemed to like their pets a lot.
“How about my buffalo coat? I’m so happy I have it!” I joined in, earning myself a few nods of approval.
Talking in quiet voices, we finally approached our “visitors”. They really looked a lot like the Red Owls, stocky and slant-eyed. Their hair and beards were black but their skin seemed slightly lighter than that of the Owls’.
They were armed with composite bows and scimitars dangling from their belts. Spears were strapped to their saddles. All of their weapons were “gray”: I hadn’t noticed a single “green” item.
The warriors stood with their arms spread wide palms up. Uneasy smiles froze on their tired faces.
“What does that mean?” I whispered to Laosh.
“Look at their hands,” he hurried to explain in a low voice. “Can you see the green ribbons tied around their wrists? This means they’ve come in peace.”
Orman grinned. “Or that they’re surrendering.”
We stopped within a few yards of the newcomers. They stood without lowering their arms, their stares prickly.
The biggest and shaggiest one glared at me, his disheveled mane and beard peppered with gray. His furrowed face appeared mature but not old. There was something of the wild animal about him. His name was Pike, level 270. He had a massive bow behind his back as well as a quiver packed solid with fat arrows. Two scimitars graced his belt.
He looked over my gear, then cast a quick glance at Boris behind me and squinted, apparently impressed.
A young Caltean stood at the center of the group. He was just as stocky as the rest of them but his beard was somewhat thinner. This was Amai, the shaman and
leader of the Northern Wolves. Despite his young age, he already boasted the highest level in the group: 293. This was one hell of a strong and dangerous NPC.
Unlike his clanmates, Amai looked relaxed, his eyes kind, his smile sincere.
Okay, time to break the uneasy silence.
“I am Olgerd, the Keeper of Twilight Castle,” I said with calm dignity. “What has brought you to the land of my ancestors?”
Their faces betrayed surprise. Apparently, it wasn’t me they’d expected to see as the city keeper.
The young shaman quickly recovered from his shock. “I am Amai, the leader of the Northern Wolves. When I saw the message left by honorable Laosh, I decided to summon my finest warriors and go visit our best friends.”
Judging by my men’s grim faces, they didn’t share these professions of friendship. In any case, seeing as we weren’t at war with each other, we were obliged to let them in. They were bound to have some news for us. We might even learn something useful, you never know. And in any case, we couldn’t stand there all day, not with Noctean scouts prowling around.
“Very well,” I said without a smile. “Old friends are always welcome.”
My invitation received a mixed reaction. The Red Owls growled their discontent while Amai and his Wolves grinned triumphantly.
You can grin all you want, buddy.
The system wanted my confirmation to let in a group of ten riders. I pressed Yes.
Amai nodded to his men. They hurried to cross to the safe side, leading their horses by their reins. They must have had their fair share of unpleasant encounters along their journey.
With every step they took, their grins faded. These steppe nomads looked around themselves open-mouthed. No wonder! This place was the stuff of their childhood nightmares since time immemorial.
You’d think that the Red Owls were already used to it but they too cast wary glances around, peering into the gloom of the ancient ruins.
* * *
As Orman and Crym were trying to find accommodation for the Wolves warriors, Laosh, Droy, Amai and myself retired to Laosh’ tent for the bread-sharing ritual. For the Calteans, eating bread together was a sign of friendship, so now our guests had no reason to worry for their lives.
Once we’d finished with all the formalities, Laosh got down to business, “So what has brought our valiant steppe brothers to our lands?”
Laosh was on a roll tonight. He managed to imbue the word “valiant” with a hefty dose of sarcasm — and the way he’d pronounced “our lands”, you might think this place had belonged to the Red Owls since time immemorial.
If Amai had been hurt, he didn’t show it. He might have even chosen to ignore the shaman’s petty sarcasms. Why would a Wolves leader react to them, really? Unlike all the other Caltean clan leaders who’d wasted their precious time quarrelling, he’d left their council and saved his clan by retreating into the steppes. According to Crym, the Wolves still had almost four hundred warriors.
Despite all his experience, Laosh seemed to be naively thinking that this young leader who was wise beyond his years might take offence at his childish jabs. Why would he? Who was Laosh, anyway? A stubborn old fool who’d very nearly led his clan to its death? Not very likely!
I wasn’t going to interfere quite yet. I wanted to keep a low profile for a while, keeping an eye on young Amai and his burly friend Pike who followed him everywhere like a bad smell. Now he too was sitting at a respectful distance from us, concealing a cunning smile within his shaggy beard, apparently amused at our old man’s pompous antics.
“We followed your signs, O wise shaman,” Amai replied calmly. “Please don’t misinterpret our intentions. It’s not every day we get word that one of the, ahem, Caltean clans is lording it up in the Forbidden City. I wanted to see it with my own eyes.”
His “ahem” was pregnant with meaning, as if he’d been about to say something rather unflattering.
Laosh swallowed the hint, ignoring it entirely, then resumed his attack, “So how did you like our land?”
“If the truth were known, I expected more from it,” Amai replied with a crooked smile.
This time he’d overdone it. His reply sounded like a childish quip in a grownups’ argument. Even Pike cringed. The Forbidden City was the Caltean version of Eldorado. Whoever said he wasn’t duly impressed by it was either a pompous idiot or a liar.
Laosh suppressed a smile, apparently pleased with the result.
Amai’s face didn’t twitch. Still, his eyes betrayed his annoyance at losing the first round to a more experienced schemer. He squinted. “I can sense some powerful protection magic here.”
“This is true,” Laosh stuck out a proud chin. “The city’s protected by great wizards.”
“Aha,” Amai pensively rubbed his scraggly beard. “My mentor always told me that magic is like a fire. If you want it to burn long and strong, you shouldn’t throw all your firewood in it at once. You should add wood to it bit by bit.”
“Your mentor must have been wise amongst Calteans,” Laosh replied ceremoniously. “Still, there’s no need to shiver next to a weak flame when you have plenty of firewood. It’d be much better to get warm by a powerful fire, wouldn’t it?”
Oh. The old man was bluffing so masterfully you really couldn’t feel a thing! He had to. No one else should know about the magic sphere’s two-week deadline. Even though the Wolves weren’t exactly enemies, we shouldn’t drive them to temptation.
“Well, if that’s the case, then you don’t need to worry,” Amai smiled. “The ancient magic will protect you.”
“Protect us?” I asked. “Against what? I know of course that these lands are fraught with danger. I just wondered if you might know something definite.”
“How is it possible?” Amai exclaimed theatrically. “Don’t you know yet?”
Laosh, Droy and I exchanged glances. My back erupted in a cold sweat. “Know what?”
Now it was Amai’s turn to exchange glances with Pike. They seemed to be sincerely surprised.
“The Horde is coming.”
* * *
That’s what it was! This was the bugbear that hadn’t left me alone all this time. All my recon sorties had finally pieced together into a finished picture. And not a very good one, either.
All this time I’d been watching small groups of Noctean scouts sneak about nearby locations. I thought it was the standard scenario because I’d seen similar things in Blackwood and other places. I thought it was normal for NPC mobs to stay in one place, respawning as they got smoked.
That was my mistake.
After some time in No-Man’s Lands you can fall into the trap of thinking you’re already a local. You think you know everything — until you receive a flick on the nose like a naughty puppy. It’s a bit like seeing all the signs of the looming raincloud and still leaving the umbrella behind.
Did I tell you about Pyotr Alexandrovich, our sociology professor? We’d nicknamed him the Colonel. At fifty-six, he still preserved his ramrod-straight military bearing. He was always clean-shaven and well-dressed. His suits weren’t expensive but they hung perfectly. This was a case of a man doing justice to his clothes and not the other way round.
My classmate Sergei used to live on the same block as him. He told us stories about the Colonel’s morning jogs and exhausting athletic workouts.
The Colonel didn’t smoke or drink nor did he eat fast food. As we later found out, he’d even written a few healthy lifestyle books. He was one of those health aficionados whose sole goal in life is to “die healthy”, as we say in Russia.
I still remember the day when they told us that he’d actually died. It was a wet Tuesday in October. Sociology was our first class. We’d sensed something was wrong: the Colonel was a whopping five minutes late. Nothing like that had ever happened before — not in our year, at least. His punctuality was legendary: you could literally set your watch by the guy.
Five minutes’ late! We were rubbing our hands in anticipatio
n, thinking of all the jokes we could make. He had a good sense of humor, in fact. His frequent sarcasms were always funny and to the point.
Then the door opened and the principal walked in, looking grim. He told us that the Colonel had been knocked down by a car as he was crossing the street heading for the university.
The media picked up on the story. Very soon after, that particular pedestrian crossing was fitted with a speed bump — something that the Colonel had been campaigning for for several years prior to his death.
We all came and held a memorial service next to it. The promptly-built bump on the tarmac was covered in flowers. It made it look like a grave.
Oh. Now why would I be thinking about that? Probably because you can never be fully prepared. The man had led a healthy lifestyle, battling old age as best he could. But death has its own dirty tricks. It doesn’t care about your best-laid plans.
I used to fear the upcoming war with the united powers of Light and Dark... but now it looks like that was the least of my problems.
* * *
“Are you sure they’re heading this way?” Droy the Fang asked grimly.
“Unfortunately,” Amai replied.
“How far are they?”
“They’ll be here before the new Moon,” Amai concluded.
That’s three weeks from now. I had three weeks to find that wretched Twilight Obelisk, damn it.
And then what? Even if I managed to activate it, how would that save the Calteans? I might fulfil my obligations to the bank but what was going to happen to my clan?
What a predicament. I absolutely had to find the Obelisk but failing that, I might need to take my clan to a safer place.
But where?
My head buzzed with all the thoughts like an upturned beehive. In fact, I’d never stopped thinking about it in all the time I’d been here. Now my head was about to explode.
I shook off my thoughts and looked up with a startle. Amai was saying something, staring directly at me.
“... if the Keeper agrees with my suggestion...” I heard his last words.
The Twilight Obelisk Page 9