by Edwin McRae
Karina had ignored the plums entirely. Her point of focus was a far greater prize, a long branch reaching a window with a faulty catch. The bedroom beyond had once belonged to the commander’s son, but the boy had never returned from the Karajan conquest. It hadn’t been touched in years. It was a mausoleum for all intents and purposes, and Karina had to be careful not to disturb the dust as she crept through it. She would sneak down the stairs, testing every step as she went in case it creaked and gave her intrusion away. Upon reaching the commander’s library, she would pore over book after book, delighting in the few pictures she found, puzzling over the tightly packed symbols that no-one had taught her how to decipher.
Those symbols had remained a mystery to her until the day she was caught, until that fateful moment the commander offered her a deal. He would teach her to read, and in return, he would be allowed to take certain liberties with her young body. Karina had accepted the trade without hesitation. Here was a chance to feed her starving mind, to prove that she was more than a child playing in the mud and gorging herself sick on plums. Besides, the commander was gentle and impeccably clean. It could’ve been worse.
She learned and she read until one day it did become worse. Until the day that he hurt her and she was forced to hurt him in return with the carving knife she stole from his kitchen. After that, she ran - straight to the Hall of Inquisition in Credence. The commander possessed a full set of the Inquisitional Histories. By volume two Karina knew what she wanted to be. By volume seven she knew, without a doubt, that she could become it. She knocked on their door, passed their tests, and became an apprentice inquisitor by the end of the week. No-one connected the murder of a smalltown commander to this bright, young runaway who had mysteriously learned to read and write like an accomplished scholar.
Of course her mentors knew.
They were inquisitors after all.
But she’d proven her value.
She was one of them.
“Madam Inquisitor?” prompted the captain.
“A book,” answered Karina. “A tome with clear instructions for the ritual of the Breaking Dawn. Although Ishka the Devout frequented all three temples in her role as high priestess, Solmora was her favorite.”
“The goddess of despair? Ishka must’ve been a barrel of laughs.”
“Not really the done thing to crack jokes during a human sacrifice, so no, I don’t think Ishka had comedic leanings.”
“This book, it was definitely here?”
“This is where Ishka came to contemplate and write. It’s the most likely place.”
“Well, considering that charred mess outside is probably the work of the warlock and the demon, they might’ve picked up the book while looting this place,” concluded Maribella. “One of the scouts found a secret chamber out back. Whoever was here cleared the place of anything valuable.”
A cold fury gripped Karina’s throat. “When I get my hands on those two, I’m going to use them to spearhead an entirely new torture practice. Something involving generous amounts of acid.”
Maribella’s expression was implacable. “Will you be able to perform the ritual without the book, madam?”
“Yes, but it’ll take longer to prepare. I’m going to have to piece it together from the various historical accounts I have.”
By now the Altar of Solmora had been lifted onto a sturdy trolley and was being rolled across the makeshift bridge. Unfortunately, the engineers hadn’t properly accounted for the combined weight of the altar and the trolley. About halfway across there was a sharp crack as ropes broke and the bridge collapsed, spilling the altar, trolley and a half dozen soldiers onto the tiles below. As luck would have it, the altar landed on top of the safe tiles.
The soldiers weren’t so lucky, plunging through the thin veneer of stone. Four of them died on impact, impaled through the vitals by the steel spikes below. The other two wailed for mercy.
Karina sighed. “Captain, please throw one of the engineers into the pit. Choose the most inebriated one as I suspect ‘drinking on the job’ is the primary culprit here. Then tell the others to construct a winch and pulley system so we can salvage the altar.”
“And the soldiers, madam?”
“Leave the dead. See what can be done for the other two. If they can be saved, do so. If not, order the archers to put them out of their misery.”
“Yes, madam.”
The captain turned to go but Karina wasn’t quite done. “One last thing. When we return to camp, I want you to inform Sergeant Gunder that he is to retain day-to-day command of the troop.”
“While I protect the altars?”
Karina smiled, pleased that the captain was such a quick learner. “I want you to handpick the guards. Six shifts per day of four hours a shift. I want you to personally patrol the perimeter at night, in wardog form. You’ll find your night vision more than adequate. Just don’t spoil it by looking directly at any of the lanterns.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed a little. “Won’t the soldiers find it strange that there’s a lycanthrope prowling around the camp?”
“What lycanthrope?” asked Karina with a shrug of feigned innocence. “How can they know of such a beast if they never clap eyes on one? You should transform some distance from the camp, and gag yourself for good measure.”
The wardog’s lips curled back from her teeth but there was no hint of a snarl. “Yes, madam. Of course.”
Karina studied Maribella for a moment as she tried and failed to decipher her expression. It unnerved her a little, to find her own creation so unreadable. Perhaps the transformation had done more than twist Maribella’s body. She would have loved to cage the lycanthrope, study her at leisure, but right now she had larger concerns at hand.
“I need to focus on reconstructing the ritual. You will buy the time. See this through, captain, and your future will be secure as a loyal and much rewarded servant of the Inquisition.”
Maribella licked her chops, her wolven blue eyes bright with barely-tamed ferocity. “Glory to the Great,” she growled.
“Glory to the Great,” Karina returned, a little uneasily.
21
[Mark]
Mark made his way back from the reiver camp, his Tier 2 Shroud of Shadow in effect so he could take stock of the opposition without being noticed.
As he approached their vantage point, he scuffed his boots and kicked a couple of stones. He didn’t fancy getting decapitated by a spooked executioner, but knew he needn’t have worried as he heard the harsh whisper from above.
“Heard you the whole time, dipshit. Fox Ears ability, remember? Stop making so much fucking noise.”
Mark shook his head. Arix had been on edge since they left the waypoint. Perhaps the stakes of this operation were getting to him. If they didn’t capture Karina, or if she was accidentally killed, Arix’s immediate way home was gone. They would have to travel into Garland and persuade the druids to send him back. Even then, there was a chance that the druids simply couldn’t reverse the summoning. Yes, he could understand why Arix might be feeling a bit stressed out. He did his best to be quiet as he climbed into the sundered turret Citadel had chosen for them to hide within.
Arix shot him a suspicious glance as the warlock hunkered down beside him.
“What?” wondered Mark.
“How did you level that Shroud of Shadow up so fucking fast? It weren’t nearly as good back at the waypoint. Now it’s looking quite slick. Couldn’t even pick you out with my Buzzard Eyes ability.”
“You heard me though.”
“Yeah, well lucky reivers don’t got my sorta senses.”
Arix fixed Mark with a steady, questioning gaze. Mark sighed. Looked like he wasn’t going to be able to wriggle out of an explanation. Although he was prepared to work with Arix, for now, he didn’t want to reveal every trick he had up his sleeve.
“I drank Vari’s plus-one mind potion before scouting out the camp. Tasted like fermented apple juice and wild black currants. Pret
ty good for a first try.”
“What’s a Mind potion got to do with the price of eggs?”
“I’m getting to that. So I needed to boost my Mind score to 16 so I could use my Transference ability.”
“Transference? What’s that?”
“Picked it up at Level Eight. I can transfer a tier from one spell to another.”
“Diamond! Wish I had that.”
“Consumes a spell slot every time I use it though. Good for specialization, not so great if you want a flexible character build.”
“So what was the tier trade you made?”
“Doppelganger. Make an illusion of myself. Tier One. Bit bloody pointless so figured I’d use it to give Shroud of Shadow a boost.”
Arix elbowed Mark gently. “About time Reign of Blood added some features like that. Nice change from them fucking multichoice tests in the old version. My executioner class gives me new skills and spells on an odd level and allows me to instantly upgrade a skill on an even level.”
“Cool. By the way, I was thinking about making another trade as well.”
“Oh yeah? What?”
Mark smiled. Despite the fact that they were hiding out in an old turret overlooking a reiver encampment, and that Arix wasn’t exactly his first choice in co-op buddies, Mark found himself enjoying this conversation. When not actually in FIVR, Mark liked to jump onto the forums to discuss and debate character builds. With the notable exception of Reign of Blood, he often had more fun chewing the fat over games than he did actually playing them.
“I’m sorely tempted to cannibalize both tiers of Avalar’s Leech. It’s life drain is pretty pitiful compared to Vari’s Mend Flesh spell. I was thinking of putting them both into Ethereal Flesh to take it to Tier Five.”
“What would that give you?”
Mark pulled up the spell description and read it to Arix.
Ethereal Flesh
Tier 5: Can move as a cloud at a Level 1 human running speed for up to 20 minutes. Mist becomes extremely caustic to organic material and corrosive to non-organic material.
The executioner’s face puckered like he’d just bitten a lemon.
“What?” asked Mark, a little surprised by the reaction.
“Think about it. There would literally be a reiver inside you, screaming and dissolving.”
Mark had to agree. It sounded quite gross when explained out loud. “Actually, if they’re higher than Level One, they might escape and outrun me. That would leave the poor bastards horribly maimed until they either die or receive healing.”
Arix shrugged. “It’s not like these mobs feel pain, Mark. They might sound like they do, but it’s just audio files of real voice actors screaming their guts out.”
Mark felt the muscles tighten at the back of his jaw. Why did Arix have to go and spoil a perfectly nice conversation.
“Let’s agree to disagree on that point, eh?”
“Whatever.” Arix pointed at the reiver camp. “How’s it look down there now?”
Earlier in the day, he and Arix had taken up this position and watched the goings on from a distance. Karina had ordered the altars to be arranged so they formed the three sides of an equilateral triangle. Torches had been placed and lit in the corners of the triangle. Beyond the torches, pairs of heavily armored reiver soldiers settled in to play cards or dice, each pair assigned to a specific altar. Six soldiers in all. The rest of the camp was quiet now, most of the troops having retired to their tents after a fairly raucous drinking session. The party had started up in one of the larger tents near the altars, going on for a few hours until a stout sergeant arrived to bellow at them like a panicked cow. The revelers dutifully slunk off to their beds after a brief chorus of, “Fuck you, Gunder”. To his credit, Gunder wasn’t having any of that, and gave several butts some resounding smacks with the flat of his sword. This produced yelps of pain from the victims and guffaws of laughter from the onlookers.
“Two-person patrols working the perimeter,” replied Mark. “Quite a few, actually, so they can remain in sight of each other as they do their rounds.”
“Bollocks. Any places we can take them without being seen?”
“Sid might know.” Mark tapped the amulet lightly with his fingertip. “Anyone in there?”
“Yes, hello!” answered Citadel, a tad too emphatically. He sounded a bit caught out. “Sorry, dozed off for a bit there. What’s the question?”
“Are there any places on the perimeter where we can off them patrols without getting caught with our knickers around our ankles?” reiterated Arix.
“If I catch your meaning correctly, Arix,” answered Citadel, “then indeed there is. Over to your right, do you see a jumble of walls and rubble where a domed theater has collapsed?”
“How do you know it was a theater?” asked Mark.
“By the terraced stone seating. There’s a partially intact proscenium arch as well. The patrols must skirt the edge of the theater and that puts them out of sight for several seconds.”
“But if we kill one patrol behind the theater, the following patrol will notice when they don’t reappear,” complained Arix.
“Yes, but a few seconds is all I need if you can cover me with your crossbow,” Mark assured him. “There’s a large supply tent just inside the perimeter. I’m going to set fire to it.”
Arix quirked an eyebrow. “You got some plan for getting out again without leaving a trail? Shroud of Shadow won’t work. You’ll still make tracks.” He pointed at the camp. “You only got away with it the first time because they weren’t looking for nothing.”
Mark gave him a wicked grin. “Where there’s smoke there’s mist.”
“Eh?”
“I’m going to use Ethereal Flesh, turn myself into mist, and use the smoke as cover to drift away.”
“Now that’s a nifty trick,” said Citadel. “Very clever indeed.”
“Thank you, Sid.”
“Where to after that then?” asked Arix. “Do some hit and run attacks around the perimeter while most of them reivers are dealing with the fire? Bit risky, if you ask me. Would only take one wrong move from us and we’d be cornered by a whole marching band of the fuckers. Yeah, we’ve hidden our resurrection points, but it’s going to be an uphill battle what with all our gear gone.”
“Let Arix know what else we found, Sid.”
“There’s a river some one hundred meters from the theater. I felt footsteps on the closest bank, no doubt soldiers gathering water for the night.”
Arix’s face lit up with understanding. “When Sergeant Gunder sends some soldiers to get water to put out the fire, we’ll ambush them.”
Mark smiled. “I’ve seen it once before. The reivers will form a bucket team, single file, and they won’t have their weapons drawn. They’ll need their hands free for passing the buckets. We charge that line and kill as many as we can before they regroup. Then we fade into the ruins. We can keep rolling with that general technique, if it works, drawing reivers into the ruins, hitting and running until they’re too scared to set foot outside their camp.”
“A night of hide and wreak-fucking-havoc, eh?” asked Arix. He waggled his eyebrows like an evil clown.
“Pretty much.”
“In that case,” said Arix with a wink. ”Care to make a small wager?”
Mark felt a prickle of anxiety down his back. He could hear the competitive edge in Arix’s voice.
“What sort of wager?”
“If I kill more reivers than you, we get Karina to send you home as well. If you kill more reivers than me, I shut the fuck up and leave you to it.”
The executioner just couldn’t understand that this wasn’t a game to Mark. Not anymore. He wasn’t doing this for the XP or the bragging rights. These reivers weren’t just mobs made for slaughter. If Vari was a living, thinking, feeling entity in her own right then so were all those reivers down there. Each one had been born screaming. Each one had suckled at the breast of their mother and skinned their knees while p
laying tag. They’d fought with sticks and pot lids until they were old enough to enlist. They had hopes and doubts, pride and fear, just like he and Arix. They could feel love, just like Vari.
Mark shook his head. “They’re not just numbers on a fucking scoreboard, Arix. Those are people down there. Yes, they want to raise up all hell with those altars and then turn Garland into a slave state, but they’re still sentient beings.” He brushed his fingertips across the amulet. “Just like Sid here.”
“Well said, Mark,” agreed Citadel.
“And as for going home,” continued Mark, “it’s not happening. I’m a warlock, and like all the warlocks before me, I’m sworn to protect Garland, no matter what.”
Arix sneered with frustration. “Are you listening to yourself right now? Do you have any idea how insane that sounds? This isn’t the real fucking world, Mark! This is just some gamer’s wet dream that you don’t want to wake up from!”
“I’d love to stay and hear this riveting discourse,” interrupted Citadel, his tone now subdued and tense, “but I think now would be a good time to return to my meditations. All this sensing of foreign terrain, it’s all rather taxing, you know? Best I rest now so I’m up to the task later on.”
“That’s fine, Sid,” Mark assured him, happy to give the poor guy the excuse to escape. “This is going to be a circular and rather pointless discussion anyway.”
Citadel didn’t respond. The ruby dulled and Mark could feel the amulet grow a shade cooler against his skin.
“Is that what you think of the real world, Mark? Circular and pointless?” growled Arix.
“Pretty much sums up my life. Yes.”
“Fuck, that’s depressing.”