Demonborn's Fjord

by Dante Sakurai

  Skylar’s face was whiter than the pieces of her skull. He said in monotone, “Lord LeMort, I—”

  “Tell me when those Trolls are all dead,” Rowan growled. “Get to the embrasures.” He peeked over the railings. The Trolls were now at the forest’s edge. Embers and dying flames did not slow them. Their knights were charging, their armor shining, their shields impervious against the weaker arrow fire from classless Elves. Not good.

  Rowan hit the ground running toward the secret side gate. His heart was a frantic drum as he raced under branches, a hundred yards disappearing under his sandals. He positioned behind his favorite spiky rock. He was ready.

  But the Trolls were not ready.

  There, by a dozen boulders, in the cover of ash and remaining patches of tall grass, tightly-sealed jars of spider venom were ready and waiting, nicely heated—if not already boiling—and building pressure. The Knights ran past without taking notice. Their back-liners were not close enough.

  Wood splintered and metal clash against metal. Trolls and Elves bellowed warcries. Well, Luthias bellowed. Faenin was also in there somewhere.

  Hurry up, Rowan thought impatiently. March faster. March. March!

  The Myrmidon’s robes whipped in in a gust from the mountains. His hood flapped upward for a moment.

  That was no Troll.

  A slave brand glowed bright red on the forehead of a Sun Elf male.

  ? : Sun Elf Slave (Level 32)

  Class: Myrmidon

  Health: 100%

  Hesitation seized Rowan’s body in a vice grip as their Archers positioned among the jars. What to do? What to do? That one was valuable. Yet this had to be done. There was no other choice.

  But a Myrmidon slave! Such a waste.

  Rowan’s hand shook with indecision.

  That Troll Archer in fancier scaled black leather drew back his recurve bow decorated with gold trimmings. Leafy green mana flared up the limbs and down the string, the nocked arrow glowing white. The same ridiculous sonic arrow released with a visible shockwave vibrating in the smoke.

  One slave thread disappeared from Rowan’s mind. Faenin’s.

  Shit!

  Liluth’s wailing shriek was like knives to the gut.

  Both Troll Mages came with thirty and fifty yards of range of the acid traps. A lightning bolt from the closer ruby-tipped staff tore into the palisade. The noise was skull-crushing.

  Liluth’s thread vanished.

  Gritting teeth, Rowan poured every last percentage of mana into normal fire. Three full mana bars worth of magic compressed into a spinning bomb of sun-hot plasma, and he didn’t stop there. Rock blackened and crumbled at the spiked tops, the soil beneath his feet baking, but his magic protected his flesh and his linen garb.

  Someone yelled. Another thread disappeared. Luthias.

  Four dead.

  Rowan kept pouring magic into the bomb. Eddies of yellow and red swirled on the surface. Tongues of flame trying to escape were hungry for death. It was ready, but the Trolls were not.

  Come on. Come on!

  The chatbox beeped.

  Gabby LeMort (Party Chat): WHAT ARE YA WAITING FOR??? MY BABIES ARE DYING!!!

  Rowan LeMort: They’re not close enough.

  Gabby LeMort: OMG just do it!

  Rowan LeMort: Five seconds.

  In slow motion, they advanced a few strides Those thin-tusked Troll Mages were still a dozen from the closest jars. They shot twin bolts, eviscerated a whole section of palisade. Pieces of superheated wood landed on Rowan. He swatted them away before his hair caught fire.

  Gabby LeMort: Do it! Do it! Dew eet!

  Close enough!

  Rowan stepped out of cover and threw with all his might.

  Their reaction was slow. One of the Mages began channeling a skill, its staff held high—too little too late.

  The fire bomb was flying. And the moment it passed the controlling range of his palms, fire devoured every last pine stump in an inferno worthy of a screenshot. He took one. Click. A sepia-tone photo went into his Plopbox. Beautiful—a flame mushroom for his desktop wallpaper.

  Cracks of failing glass were followed by glorious sizzling chemistry. Their screams were pleasure to his ears, but their agony and chemical fun was short-lived. Dead. All dead.

  Except for both Troll Mages, writhing in the ground. They crawled over blackened, partially-dissolved corpses. Two arrows finished them off, along with one last Toll Knight that Gabrielle stabbed. Through gaps in the ruined palisade, he saw her tearful eyes. Her distress broke his resolve.

  He’d let her down. Why? All because he hesitated over that Myrmidon.

  Four out of six Sun Elves were dead. His eyes also moistened, his entire body suddenly numb. He couldn’t deny it: this was a total unmitigated disaster. All his fault. Two of his best Elves were never going to come home. All his blood and sweat spent winning over their trust was for naught.

  Rowan’s approach was a walk of shame. He couldn’t meet Gabrielle’s eyes while he breathed putrid smoke.

  Make that three not coming home. Luthias’ head was not attached to his body.

  By Liluth’s scorched body and Faenin’s headless corpse, Skylar was slumped against the workshop’s wall. He was bleeding from a deep gash on his chest. He was somehow smiling. “I was going to say Viola and I are actually adventurers. We got The Elf Slave legendary fate. She’s going to respawn at that Troll town in an hour and a bit. Her corpse is gone, if you don’t believe me. We’re from Europe.”

  Bones in Rowan’s jaw clicked. A groan nearly sent him to his knees. It was so obvious! No wonder they seemed to know nothing of this world. No wonder they had the same class, the same professions and levels. No wonder they knew what a bikini was!

  Above all, Viola was alive.

  Gabrielle matched Skylar’s smile. She wiped away tears. “Dummy.” She tittered a few breaths. “And I knew it.”

  Skylar gave a thumbs-up. “The jig’s up.”

  Rowan spat, “You two goddamn trolls.”

  “I was wondering when you would figure out,” Zaine said. He stood by an corpse dissolved and burned beyond recognition.

  Sun Elf Remains

  Mystery Myrmidon was gone forever—three Elves killed by these savages.

  Rowan said, “Alright, the dedication isn’t complete. Get up. Get up.”

  Gabrielle whined incoherently over Faenin’s body.

  “You could be next if we don’t hurry.” He pinged her.

  “Hmm? What did ya say?”

  “There might be more Trolls coming. Come on. Get up. Let’s use the Soul Crystals. Do Liluth last.”

  “Kay.” Her quirky personality was somewhat dampened but not killed. She was going to bounce back. She always would, and already was. She sighed away her grief. “Well… five out of six alive isn’t bad, Row.”

  He did a double-take, his attention snapping to Luthias’ corpse. “We can revive from just the head?”

  “Yup. A guy on the forums revived someone from just a frozen head.”

  Two Elves forever lost. Just two.

  One too many.

  And only one level gained from all that.

  Feelings of chill returned to Rowan’s fingers. He breathed deep through his nose, a lung full, and instantly regretted doing so. He swallowed a splash of vomit. The scent of burned Troll corpses was branded into his mind for years to come.

  Skylar asked, “Where’s that thread?”

  Gabrielle said over her shoulder, “General section, meteor event, page two-thirty-three.” She skipped toward the storeroom.

  Irritation pinched Rowan’s eye. “So you had forum access the whole time and still acted dumb.”

  “Ahhh. It hurts. Lord LeMort, I’m bleeding out.” Elven eyes lazily closed, playing dead, Skylar’s slave thread was there alright.

  There was not question that the cousins were Humans from the real world. Only adventurers could put on such fearless playful attitudes, uncaring of all the death and anguish and u
ncertainty. This was just a game to them, but not to Rowan anymore no matter how much wanted to deny it. These Elves and Trolls and Orcs were more than lifeless bits of data. They were his friends… and enemies.

  39

  The Misty Highlands were not as misty as Tasha had visualized.

  In the midst of stony pinnacles, arches, plateaus, and deep gorges, not a single cloud of mist wafted over sparse gangly trees and mottled soil. A lone river cutting through the landscape was bordering shades of brown, a gross smell lazing about in the air. Viscous, sticky ambient magic crawled all over.

  Tasha asked no one in particular, “What do you think’s causing all the pollution?”

  Munching on a nutty chocolate bar, Ayla said, “Who cares. We’ve got what we wanted. Is their town hall built yet?”

  “Like thirty more minutes.” And Gabrielle wasn’t responding again, meaning something big had happened. More Elf deaths?

  “Swore it was thirty more minutes thirty minutes ago.” Ayla swallowed the last bite and let the wrapper fall down into the gorge.

  Tasha watched the balled paper float. “Don’t do that once you’re in their base.”

  “Do what?”

  “Litter. Gab is pretty big on environmentalism.”

  “Oh.” An uncaring expression slowly changed into a considerate one. “But I guess I wouldn’t want to live in filth—or waste Sanitation Enchantments.”

  “Ya. How much did all that runestone cost?”

  “Not much.” Her tone was sly.

  Tasha did best to not sigh. “Let me guess. You boinked another— Actually, I don’t want to know.”

  Ayla shrugged. Her eyes flicked toward the park bench across the field. “So who are we waiting for? What’s with the precaution?”

  It occurred to Tasha that she hadn’t shared the plans of the cult. “Oh, we need an NPC replacement, so I started a cult… in the name of Draesear. Call it the Primrose Order.”

  And impressively, Ayla did not show an ounce of shock. She was absolutely cool with it. “Nice. Cults are good for organizing people. Just don’t promise anything too unbelievable.”

  A gentle frown pushed down Tasha’s brows. “Have you worked with cults?”

  “Like as an attorney? No. But I’ve studied them.”

  Having a lawyer as a buddy was nice, Tasha mused. “Any tips?”

  “It’s surprisingly easy. Just pander to the needs and wants of people, and soon you’ll have to turn people away.” A certain edge flashed on her face. “Don’t let it get too big.”

  “That’s kind of obvious, but they want a, and I quote, a great kingdom in the north.”

  For once, Ayla showed surprise. Her large green eyes were stunning, envy souring Tasha’s mouth. “Then you’ll need a religion. It’s good that the gods actually can help. You mentioned Draesear?”

  “Demon god, and what’s the difference between—”

  “I don’t want to get into it, but basically one is a lot less controlling than the other.” Ayla scratched her cheekbone. “I think I heard somewhere that each faction in this game has a religion or something along the lines of one. When you join, you basically pledge yourself to their chosen god.”

  That was news to Tasha. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Somewhere on the forums.”

  Tasha deadpanned. “That’s reading. You don’t hear with your eyes.”

  A ruddy eyebrow lifted. “Is it your time of the month?”

  Tasha was about to retort as a figure walked into her field of view. Through the twisted trees, a young Lunar Elf approached the empty bench with short strides. Stained, baggy rags covered his upper body and thighs.

  Queasy unease churned in Tasha’s chest. It had to be a child. Even if he was an NPC, doing this couldn’t be right. How did he even read the poster? She had glued it pretty high up.

  But Ayla clearly wasn’t of similar mind, walking through the trees with a bitchy strut. Her tight leather outfit clung to her curves without a single wrinkle. If only real clothing were as magical.

  Tasha jogged to catch up, careful to not trip on any roots or slip on grime, and asked for a description window of the boy.

  ? : Lunar Elf (Level 10)

  Health: 100%

  A level ten child. That was… Tasha was not sure if that was rare.

  Noticing their approach, the boy stood, his hand going for a strapped knife at his ankle.

  “Easy there,” Ayla said. “We’re not going to hurt you. Where are your parents?”

  The boy did not answer.

  Tasha helped herself to a steadying breath. No going back at this point. She silently promised herself to not let anyone hurt this little guy. “We’re with the Primrose Order. Are you a mortal in dire need?”

  The boy relaxed by a touch. The bluish fair skin on his forehead flattened, his sharp deep-set eyes blinking twice. “Yes, I am an orphan.” His voice was somewhat meek—and accented.

  Ayla crouched in front of him. “What’s your name?”

  “Jassin.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jassin.” Ayla smiled. “You’re lucky we found you before someone else did. Who takes care of you?”

  “My big sister. She is coming.”

  Tasha took a seat next to him, catching a whiff of stench not too noticeable. She looked around through the park trees, not seeing anyone else. “Are you sure?”

  “She is sick. I ran ahead.”

  “She’s sick, and you left her alone?” Tasha scolded. She couldn’t help herself.

  Silver eyes dipped in remorse. “Sorry. I was excited. She needs medicine, and I am hungry.”

  “We can help with that.” Ayla reached into her pouch, pulled out a chocolate bar. “Eat up.”

  Jassin snatched, zero hesitation. He ripped its paper wrapping and shoved the whole candy into his mouth.

  Ayla chuckled. “Let’s look for your sister. Which way?”

  Jassin pointed at the direction he had come, and Tasha followed his finger, squinting. True to his word, in the distance, a figure dressed in gray attire was stepping over the mess of roots and stones.

  Suddenly, within a wink of reddish-white mana, Jassin’s sister appeared in front of him, a crooked staff in her grasp. A cloudy white gem the size of a grape was dimming above a thick scarf covering a frail neck and the bottom half of a round face. She wore a jubilant straw hat, and her orange Mage robes were relatively clean though torn at places on the sleeves. She was quite diminutive, around Tasha’s height.

  And she was a Sun Elf—an adoptive sister. Light auburn hair framed unreasonably beautiful features, a shade tanner than most Sun Elves.

  ? : Sun Elf (Level 19)

  Class: Mage

  Health: 23%

  She hacked a pained cough. “I am—” Another cough, worse. “I am Saeya Shatumal.” Her free hand was holding the poster. She presented it outward as if it were a voucher. “Please, help me. I have the Arctic Plague.”

  Tasha accepted; this poster could be reused. “What do you need for that?”

  “You—” Cough, cough. “You do not know?”

  “We’re adventurers, just arrived in this world.”

  Apprehension narrowed those amber eyes. Saeya stepped back and reached for Jassin’s hand. “I have read of your kind. Is this a trap?”

  Not the reaction I was expecting.

  Ayla said in a cultist’s voice, “This is a test of faith. Come with us, and you shall be healed. You shall be saved. Leave behind your life of poverty. Leave behind your old gods. A new age is upon us.”

  Wow! That was direct. Tasha kept her face warm and composed. “We speak only truth.”

  Saeya took another step backward, but Jassin pulled her forward. “No, stay!” he pleaded. “She is not like them. She gave me food.” The scrunched wrapper was in his fist.

  Saeya hissed, “Did you poison him?”

  “No, my status bar is empty,” Jassin said.

  Saeya ignored him. “Have you cursed his mind?”

&
nbsp; “We didn’t,” Tasha tried. “We really are trying to help. The Primrose Order is going to bring justice to the crimes of the Trolls and—”

  The chatbox trilled a beep.

  Gabby LeMort (To Tasha Namuso): Town hall’s built! Come quick! ^_^ Secret words are ‘rotten apples and beat meat’

  Great news!

  Tasha NaMuso: OK! Give me ten mins.

  An incredible change of mood had whipped across Seaya’s eyes. She whispered, “Justice to—” Cough, cough, cough. “To Trollheim? My people will be avenged?” Cough.

  Ayla smiled kindly. “Yes, the time for vengeance has come. We have been sent for this purpose. You only have to pledge yourself to your new god.”

  “Which god?”

  “Is it Sangia?” Jassin asked. “Only he can be so merciful.”

  Seeing they were on the hook, Tasha said, “If you want to know more, follow us to the portal building.” She walked three steps, and looked over shoulder. “So?” She offered a palm.

  With boyish glee, Jassin broke free of Saeya’s grip and snatched Tasha’s palm in a crushing hold.

  “Wait,” Saeya coughed. “Where are you taking us?”

  “You will see,” Ayla said.

  “Where?”

  “A place in the Arctic,” Tasha said, seeing no reason to lie. “You will help in our mission against the Trolls.”

  “Very well.” She stepped in line.

  Mission successful. The Primrose Order was already growing. Tasha couldn’t stop a maniacal laugh from echoing in her head.

  And besides, helping these two orphans wasn’t an evil act—far from it.

  40

  Overhead, an arrow plucked an enraged gull out of the air. It crashed onto a Troll corpse.

  Then a flash of blue light washed through embrasures in the palisade. Liluth yelled from within the town hall, “Faenin! No!” Her cries were that of a banshee.

  Jeez. Why didn’t they just hide? Rowan thought. It’s not like I made them fight.

  Such heartlessness was needed to persevere in this violent world.