by Char Cam
"This thing has a owners manual?" Bliztarf scoffed in question.
"I’ll get right on that. Reading it, I mean. When I have the time. In about three weeks," Alvaro assured Bliztarf. "In the meantime, I think a trip to Kilantrovar is in order, heh? Being as I’m its Kadan, me and my adjutant should look over it and see what mischief is about."
"Adjutant?"
"Course! You just signed up to be my right hand man...er dwarf."
"Of course I did. Shood uv saw that comin’ miles away."
"Yes you certainly should have. And prolly did, you sneaky bastard."
"Can’t pull anythin’ over you, Great One."
"Don’t push it. Come on. There’s got to be a travel agency somewhere."
As they tromped around the city, Alvaro contemplated the unusually fast friendship he’d found with the dwarf beside him. Last night they’d both been in another group of winners embarking on the "Great Adventure" that was this park. They’d been seated beside each other during orientation and Alvaro suspected Bliz had felt just as isolated as he did since the other six members had been several winners from the same real life guild--and one that was elitist at that. Alvaro and Bliz had been looked at like they were about to steal some religious relic and sell it on the black market. Alvaro chuckled with remembered and delighted glee as both he and Bliz, the only gold ticket holders in the group, had also won Grand Prizes and the disgruntlement of the elites had been very satisfying; especially when Allon had asked if he and Bliz could be patient with their prize awards and would they like to join a group in the morning that consisted of all gold ticket holders?
Bliz had snorted a laugh. "Mind? Why we wouldn’t mind at all. It will be nice to be among our own kind," he’d said answering for both of them while looking down his nose at the guild group. Alvaro had simply nodded at Allon and left it at that while grinning broadly.
He and Bliz had spent the evening exploring the city and finding every bar to be found and having a drink or two in each. Bliz had discretely informed Alvaro that he was a military dwarf and knowing the location of every pub was part of his survivalist training. Alvaro suspected that in real life, Bliz had had a hard and interesting life, but somehow he’d kept his humor, dark though it was at times. They had become firm friends by the end of the night. Which meant this "adventure" was going to be more of an amazing experience with a friend along to share it. Speaking of adventures, ahead was a building that might be what they were looking for; an ‘A’ frame building, multi-tiered, heavy duty ledges protruding from several stories at which a variety of flying mounts landed and were dismissed, flying mounts being summoned and taking off, people greeting each other asking how others trips had been, people saying good-bye hoping trips went well. A big sign saying, ‘Welcome to Bingtross Portal Center’.
The graphics were awesome. The mounts looked so real! Flying dragons, Pegasus’s. Floating steamships. There! A Perryton! Birds of every color and description. A gryphon. Hippogryph. What the heck did you call a flying lion?!
“It’s worth coming here just for that,” Bliztarf said out of character.
After a few minutes, they decided it was time to move on.
“Y-you want to go where, my lord?” asked the nervous transporter.
“I believe you heard His Eminence very clearly,” Bliztarf said, annoyed. It didn’t help that they’d had to search every inch of the building before they found the ‘portal’ for Kilantrovar; deep in the sub basement. Apparently the country was overrun by bandits, thieves, robbers, and all around bad guys. If it weren’t for Alvaro taking out his Card and trying to ask it directions--which it gave--they never would have found it. Now they were trying to find an ‘operator’ to transport them.
“Of course I did you--”
“Benzin! You forget yourself. Apologies, Your Greatness,” an obvious supervisor bowed respectfully as he came to join them.
“Fine, then,” Benzin grumped. “Just slide your ca--UMPH!”
“Right this way. There is, of course,” the supervisor growled at his employee, “no charge for leaders of our neighboring countries and especially for one traveling about the Imperator’s business.”
“Where would you like to arrive, Sir?”
Alvaro sighed. “I suppose the palace.”
“Very good. Step on the platform. I’ll set the coordinates personally. Coordinates can be set for the palace courtyard, throne room, and transportation wing. Which do you prefer?" asked the beaming supervisor.
"Um...courtyard, I guess," Alvaro shrugged.
“Why the courtyard?” Bliztarf asked quietly.
“Well, we aren’t giving ‘em any warning that we’re coming, but they get some warning when we drive up so they can start getting things ready if they’ve slacked off.”
“Sneaky. Very sneaky.”
Then clear glass doors swished shut, leaving them enclosed in what they thought was an elevator--which, as it happened, was nothing of the kind. A moment later, the transport cubicle blinked them into...
Chaos.
High Lord Fergus Talltop of the Boro Sept Dwarven Clan Altos, turned to his daughter, Her Serene Greatness, Electoress Iwanea and grinned. “As usual, you were right on target, Daughter. Very well done!”
Iwanea smiled grimly. Yes her vision had brought them this far on this day, but they still had hard work ahead--and she hadn’t told her father everything. Like the fact that her future husband was about to arrive. Well, vision or no vision, that worthy male was going to earn her whether he liked it or not!
The royal dwarven delegation had traveled five hard weeks to get to the Seat of the Elves in the Duchy of Kilantrovar. They’d entered the courtyard in time with the gonging of the transporter announcing the imminent arrival of the newly elevated elvin Kadan of the duchy. And what a bit of entertainment it was!
The village market had been moved into the courtyard to suit the greed of the chamberlain of the Seat, and only the elite of the elite was allowed to sell here. For the privilege of doing so, one had to pay the chamberlain a bribe and he got the best of your goods, or at least what he wanted of them, free of charge. Try to hide your best? He took the whole lot and you were gone. A whole new business in the black market enterprises had sprung up to keep the best hidden out of the chamberlains sight until such time as it could be sold instead of taken by him. Her clan had made a tidy profit running that bit of industry.
Now the whole marketing enterprise was about to come tumbling down, but that was fine. It had been allowed for and no dwarf was here to be found today. Which was a great thing as absolute panic ran amok among the stalls and kiosks built about the green. Villager and courtier alike scrambled about trying to remove goods and persons out of the way of the arriving Kadan. They weren’t going to make it.
His Eminence had already arrived.
Alvaro hardly looked upon the scattering masses as he tried desperately to absorb the shock of his reality. He thought he’d been stepping into an elevator that would take him up to a helicopter or down to a subway train. Instead.... He had no explanation for what had happened. Beside him, Bliztarf seemed to be having his own dilemma as he sat down abruptly.
“Hologram? Yeah, gotta be a hologram,” he said shaking his head.
“Bliz...I’d really like to believe that. I really really would,” Alvaro said shakily. Because it was absolutely impossible to travel instantly from one place to another.
Suddenly Bliztarf lurched to his feet. He jerked a nearby flag pole from its base. Raised it vertically. Muttered a word, then with both hands, he slammed the ground in front of him with the butt end of the pole, once.
It was incredible. Alvaro could see the rippling waves flowing outward from the strike. When they touched someone, that person immediately stilled in place. Everyone except the dwarves on the green; they had a purple dome enclosing them and moved about quite freely within it.
“Al? Al, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Bliztarf sai
d softly with wonder.
“Greetings, Kilantrovar! Well met,” a dwarf stepped forward to say. As the purple dome was allowed to fade, Alvaro could see clearly that the speaker was somewhere in his mid-forties--which meant in game lore that he was a couple hundred years old. Dark gold hair was braided intricately down his back and his longish beard had a mixture of beads and feathers twisted into the braids hanging there. Bright emerald eyes filled with amusement sparkled from above a nose straight as a razor and cheekbones as broad as a skateboard. Upon his head was an intricate crown of beaten gold. “Boro clan Atlas,” the dwarf introduced his entourage and himself. “High Lord Fergus Talltop.”
Alvaro smiled and waved. He knew he looked like a brain dead teen-aged nerd who’d just been told the girl of his dreams was waiting for him naked in the next room, but it was the best he could do. “Just a second, excuse me a moment.” He leaned down and pulled Bliztarf around to face him. “What the heck, Bliz! This isn’t possible. How can they pull this crap off? If this is holographic, how do we know what’s real and what aint? It all feels real and that stunt you just pulled sure looked real. And if this is all real, that’s a real king over there! Or at least an actor playing a king. I just thought, you know, I’d lollygag around and have servants wait on me. I didn’t think I’d actually have to be a king--which I know nothing about being, I’ll tell you right now for free. I’m just a nobody fireman from Puhrump Nevada.”
“Not here, you aint. I don’t know how they’re doing it. Maybe we’re on some really happy drugs. Allon said treat everything as if it was real. He said if our character was supposed to be able to do a magic, then we are to do the magic ‘cause it’s all real! So play the game that way. Treat it all like it’s real. Total immersion. Whatever is going on, you better get your head in the game cause the natives are getting restless.”
Alvaro straightened and faced the dwarf king, quelling his unbelief and thinking fast. It’s a game, a game. He was good at this. Boro clan Atlas. What did he know? For one thing, these clan reps were a loooong way from home. That couldn’t be good cause by the looks of things, they weren’t here for a celebration. His humor flipped its switch to ‘on’ and head-butted him. On the other hand, there might be lots of game points if he played this right. Time to be the king.
“Greetings!” he hailed. “Please call me Alvaro. I’m afraid my hospitality might be a bit poor, but what there is of it, you’re welcome to it. Allow me to introduce my friend, Ambassador Bliztarf Glamin. Bliztarf, I present to you the Head of Clan Altos, Boro Sept, High Lord Talltop.”
Bliztarf stood absolutely still beside him. Alvaro looked at him in some concern, then noticed where his dazed expression was focused. Alvaro had to admit she was a beauty. Her golden hair was brighter than the kings, but the weaving was just as convoluted. Creamy pale skin highlighted eyes of grass green and a face molded by a classic sculptor in his prime. Her rosebud lips were curled in a slight smile of satisfaction, but a delicate blush belied her composure. She glanced shyly at the ground.
Alvaro rolled his eyes. “I’m afraid the ambassador isn’t quite himself just now. Please do not be offended, but the beauty of your companion has somewhat stunted his intelligence. I’m afraid we won’t be hearing anything coherent from him for awhile.”
Bliztarf kicked his ankle.
“Um, Bliz, she’s more than likely a princess,” Alvaro whispered obliquely.
“Stuffed gremlins,” Bliztarf groused. “She’ll never look at me then.”
“Don’t worry my friend. Your rank of Votrynor puts you at the level of about an archduke back home. You’ve got rank enough. No, I simply caution you that a quick romp in the hay, so to speak, might not be in the near future with her.”
The dwarven king nodded sagely with a smirk. “Many a male has been brought low by a beauteous maiden. This one, however, has a brain...” the king glanced at his companion, then amended his statement, “usually.” The maiden elbowed the kings ribs. “My daughter, the Serene Iwanea.”
Alvaro chuckled. “Let us retire inside. I’m sure there must be something I can offer as refreshment.”
“That would be welcome. Its been an exhausting journey.”
“Ah. Well then, let’s take a moment to relax before we discuss the importance of your visit.”
“Indeed. That can wait for the non.”
Alvaro led Talltop, his daughter, plus their chosen delegates, across the courtyard and ushered them up the dozen or so building length steps into the entry of the palace.
It was garish. Alvaro blinked his eyes at the clashing clutter of klutsy chaos between suits of armor and delicate filigree art mixed with sturdy oak chests opened and overflowing with sword and goblet alike.
“Note to self,” Alvaro said grimacing, “hire a new palace decorator.”
“This?” asked the blonde beauty. “This is just the Chamberlains latest thefts and swindles. The rest of the Palace isn’t so badly furnished.”
Alvaro looked at her consideringly.
Bliztarf walked to a human with a rather narrow face and neatly cropped dark hair dressed in butler type attire and touched him lightly on his arm. The man blinked then glanced warily at the surrounding entourage and brought himself to attention.
“You in charge round here?” Bliztarf asked gruffly.
“No, my lord. That would be Chamberlain Gosgow.”
Bliztarf snorted. “Any mansion I been too, it aint tha one what owns it thas in charge. Who’s the head employee round here?”
“Ah. That would indeed be me. I am Henrow, major domo of Palace of the Flowing Spring. How may I assist you?”
Alvaro found amidst the untidiness of the foyer a nicely coiled length of rope and inspiration struck. “Which one is Gosgow, Henrow?” he asked as he expertly began making a noose.
Henrow glanced around. “That would be the gentleman on the stairs with the feathered hat, Sir.”
Across the expansive foyer, an elegantly appointed gracefully curved stairway led grandly up to the second floor by about fifty steps. Alvaro saw his quarry easily. “Thanks. Carry on.” Alvaro saw that the man in the feathered hat was an ancient elf, meaning he’d lost the look of youth and settled into a look of maturity. Long gleaming onyx hair was at the moment in disarray due to his hurry in running. Gosgow was about midway to the top.
“Right then,” Bliztarf continued. “Show us ta uh comfortable room fer talkin’ and have tha kitchen send us some decent snacks. Fin’ tha head housekeeper and ask her to come see us.”
“Very good, Sir.” With a slight bow, Henrow moved to a slender young human woman with pleasant features and wheat-colored hair wearing a very starched apron overlaying a very well made woolen dress of pale green. After a slight hesitation, he touched her arm. She then began to move. He spoke softly and startled, she glanced toward them. She nodded her head at Henrow and walked with a firm step to Bliztarf.
“I am Sheva, the Chartain of the Palace of the Flowing Spring. You wished to speak with me?” She asked respectfully.
Bliztarf grunted. “We need rooms fit for heads of state. About thirty should do it. And a light dinner. Nothin’ fancy tonight. Our guests will prolly be too tired to appreciate it.”
“At once. I will assign servers to attend to your immediate refreshment.”
Henrow was coming back when Alvaro moved toward the staircase. Expertly, he whirled the lasso above his head, then let it fly. It settled over the head of Gosgow easily. Alvaro tugged it tighter so that it was snug around his neck. The magic worked here the way it did in the game; physically touching him would break the spell, freeing him from the paralysis. The rope should would be a nice medium to take and keep him prisoner until Alvaro thought a bit about what he wanted to do with the elf.
“Beggin’ yer pardin‘, Alvaro, but if you drag him by the neck like that, you could break him,” Bliztarf cautioned.
“That would be such a pity seeing as I have so much I want to talk to him
about.” Alvaro yanked hard, toppling the chamberlain. He thudded down the many stairs with a satisfactory thump on each. Alvaro hefted the rope over his right shoulder and began dragging Gosgow, face down. “I believe you were going to show us to a place where we could carry on a conversation, Henrow.”
True to his training and that of all excellent butlers everywhere, Henrow didn‘t display any reaction to his employer‘s behavior. “This way, Sir.” Henrow led them down a short hallway and the door at its end. “The library, Sir. I believe it will suit your needs admirably.”
The room was a huge open rectangular space with a glass arched arbor at one narrow end where small trees, shrubs, and flowers hid secreted alcoves of lounges and deep seated arm chairs. The rest of the walls, from their twenty-five foot height down, were shelves and shelves of books. Several mobile ladders on rails helped the inquisitive reach to a little above six feet. Above that, four floating walkways ringed the room with more sets of railed ladders on each level so that any book could be reached with little effort. The stairs to each level were near the entrance so that no excess space took away room for books. The middle of the room sported a squarely sunken lounge with overstuffed couches and armchairs backed against its deep-set walls and a fireplace depressed within its middle complete with a hovering flume stretching up through the ceiling. Six crystal chandeliers lit the whole expanse, and no shadow blocked the view of any title.