Dagger of Doom: A LitRPG Adventure (Beta Tester Book 5)

by Rachel Ford

He didn’t doubt that William hated Avery. Avery’s recklessness had condemned him to a digital quasi-existence. If that didn’t justify hating a person, what did?

  But what other angles might William be working? The more he thought about it, the more a single question stood out to his mind: did hating Avery Callaghan align with helping Jack Owens for William Xi?

  His kneejerk reaction was yes, of course it helped. William wanted to see someone take Avery down. Who better to do that than someone who knew all his secrets, who had been imprisoned in his VR contraptions – and who got out to tell the tale?

  But then he recalled Jordan’s question about why he hadn’t contacted anyone himself, and the answer she’d got: they shut the studio down, well, they shut me down.

  And that put an entirely different spin on things for Jack. Hating Avery might not align with helping him after all.

  Not if it imperiled William’s life. His hatred for Callaghan didn’t extend to self-destruction. He’d acknowledged that already to Jordan, hadn’t he? Otherwise, he would have sent the emails. And he hadn’t.

  Jack rose and started to pace. He walked quietly, avoiding the larger puddles of water and mud. But he couldn’t stay still. He felt far too anxious for that. He turned the problem over and over in his mind.

  The new question was simple, and terrifying: If William believed Jack’s escape put him in danger, would he be willing to kill to stop him from getting out of the game?

  He didn’t know. The truth was, he didn’t know much about William Xi beyond the biographical facts Jordan had dug up. He knew he’d been one of the early developers of the VR system. He knew he’d been stuck in the studio’s network for years. And he knew he’d intervened to help him more than once.

  Why do that, if he meant to kill me?

  He had no answer, not at once. But then he reconsidered one of the premises of his earlier question. Maybe this wasn’t about killing him. That might be a bridge William wouldn’t or couldn’t bring himself to cross.

  So maybe this was about something else – something like stopping Jack from escaping, rather than killing him. Trapping him in the system would protect William at least as well as murder – and probably more.

  If Jordan knew he was stuck in the machine, she wouldn’t do anything to risk his life, or whatever was left of it…even if that meant Marshfield Studio got away with their crimes. He knew that on an instinctual level. And as for Richard? Well, he guessed it wouldn’t take much to persuade the intern to keep his mouth shut. Saving Jack’s life – and his own career – would be an easy sell.

  He was still pacing when he heard a hiss from one of the goblins, very near. The noise startled him, and for half a second he feared the worst. For half a second, he expected to look up to find a dagger coming for him.

  But he didn’t. Grimlik was there, his hand extended. In his great, leathery palm sat a massive beetle.

  Jack blinked. “Um…what’s that?”

  “Has problems, does Jack. Yes?”

  He nodded. “You could say that.”

  “Sad he is, yes?”

  Again, he nodded.

  “Eat he must.”

  Jack glanced suspiciously at the goblin. “Why?”

  “Beetle make happy.”

  He started to say that he was pretty sure eating a beetle would not make him feel happy. But Grimlik took hold of his hand and dropped the smooth carapace into it. “Beetle make happy. Trust Grimlik.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jack didn’t trust Grimlik. There was no way in hell he was going to pop a beetle into his mouth, much less one given to him by a shifty goblin with a penchant for eyeballs. Still, he managed passable thanks.

  The goblin nodded. “Good. Eat now, make no more noise. Grimlik sleep.” Which Grimlik did – retreating to his puddle and dropping almost immediately into a deep sleep complete with snorts and snores.

  Jack, realizing that his pacing must have been the reason the little creature had woken, sighed and returned to his own soggy bedroll on the cold earth. He was still holding the beetle. He didn’t dare throw it away. He figured the goblins would find it if he did that, and he didn’t know what kind of affront tossing a happy beetle might be. But, of course, he wasn’t going to eat it.

  So he sat there, staring at it in the dim light – at the little legs, all curled up under its dead body; at the black eyes, and the shiny carapace.

  He was still staring at it a few minutes later when Arath woke. The ranger yawned and stretched and threw a poisonous glance around the camp. When his eyes landed on Jack, though, his expression changed. A questioning look passed over his face, then a surprised one; and finally, an eager one. He smiled and stood and scurried over.

  All of which gave Jack major heebie-jeebies. He’d sooner eat a beetle proffered by a goblin than trust Arath’s smiles.

  “Friend Jack,” the other man said.

  Jack raised a finger to his lips. “The goblins are still sleeping.”

  Arath nodded obligingly – another warning sign if ever he saw one. “Of course, of course.” He threw another glance around the camp, then licked his lips. But when he spoke, his tone conveyed a casual nonchalance. “Well, that was quite the storm, wasn’t it?”

  “I guess.”

  Arath laughed, at what Jack wasn’t sure. “Right? Crazy.”

  Silence settled on them, and it stretched for five seconds, and then ten. The ranger went on standing there, and Jack went on sitting – growing increasingly more uncomfortable with every passing moment. “So…uh…what’s up, Arath?”

  “Me? Oh, nothing. But…hey, what’s that you got?”

  Jack tried not to roll his eyes. Was that what this was all about – a beetle? He decided to preemptively strike. “I’m not going to eat it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Surprisingly – disgustingly – Arath licked his lips. “Oh. You’re not, eh? Well…uh…how’d you get that?”

  “Grimlik gave it to me. He said it’s…I don’t know…a ‘happy beetle’ or something.”

  Arath’s eyes danced, but his tone remained neutral. “So…what are you going to do with it?”

  Jack considered. He had no idea what Arath was up to, but no more did he know how to get rid of this thing without offending his guide. He couldn’t eat it; he couldn’t bury it; and he sure as hell didn’t want to stuff a dead bug into his inventory. “I don’t know.”

  Arath nodded in a slow, measured way. “Well, I could always take it off your hands.”

  He frowned at the ranger suspiciously. “Why? What would you do with it?” In his mind’s eye, he saw him playing a prank on Karag, and getting himself killed. And he was already down too many people to lose a warm body – even as useless a one as Arath’s – over something so trivial.

  “Eat it, obviously.”

  “Eat it?” Jack repeated, incredulously. “A dead bug?”

  Arath shook his head and laughed at the same time. “Friend Jack, surely you recognize that?”

  “It’s a beetle, right?”

  The other man snorted. “A beetle? That’s not just a beetle. That’s the beetle deorum: the gods’ beetle.”

  This clarified exactly nothing to Jack, and he told the other man so. Arath stared at him for a few moments like he had two heads. “How can you be so ignorant, Jack? It’s been used in traditional medicine and religion for thousands of years. Tens of thousands. The beetle – it produces a substance in its carapace, a truly divine substance. People have reported communing with the gods when they eat it. Seeing worlds unlike our own. Traveling to different eras – all without leaving the spot.”

  Here, Jack finally examined the properties of the item.

  Restores 1 hit point

  + unknown hallucinogenic properties

  He rolled his eyes. “I should have known it was some kind of drug. Why else would you be interested?”

  Arath ignored the question. “I’ve never had any of those experiences. But…” He shrugged. “It sure d
oes make you happy.”

  Jack took the other man’s hand, the way Grimlik had taken his, and dumped the beetle into his palm. “Well there you go, Arath. Enjoy.”

  The ranger grinned at him. “I owe you one, Friend Jack.”

  He snorted as he watched the other man retreat, muttering under his breath, “You owe me a lot more than one. Thief.”

  Still, the ranger had solved his bug problem. He was already popping it into his mouth, which meant it would be long gone by time Grimlik woke. No offense would be given, and none taken in that quarter. And it had all been done with no difficulty to him. Heck, he might have even placated Arath for a bit.

  So all in all, Jack felt alright about the whole business as he closed his eyes and tried to settle into some kind of sleep.

  Time ticked by slowly. He didn’t get much rest, but at least the rest of the party woke up shortly thereafter. The goblins scouted the area for beetles. Jack nodded as Grimlik passed, which earned him a toothy grin in response.

  Karag gnawed at some jerky, and Jack ate nothing. He didn’t feel like eating. Arath lay staring at the sky and smiling to himself, so he too skipped breakfast.

  And then they were on their way. The sun had already started to dry the mountainside. Some of the larger puddles lingered, but he figured they wouldn’t survive long. Which was a good thing. The going was rough, and the path steep. He didn’t want to risk a broken neck on wet stone.

  Grem’tha resumed her singing as they went. Her voice was terrible, and the song, as near as Jack could tell, was worse – some kind of a ballad about a goblin warrior who went off to battle and slew a thousand dwarves with a mythical weapon called Dwarves’ Bane. But to his surprise, Arath started to sing too. Soon, the two of them had a chorus going, singing about gold and robberies at knife point and throat cuttings.

  Karag shot Jack a glance, and he shrugged. He had no idea what brought this on.

  The goblin woman seemed delighted. Her brother, though, scowled and glared daggers at Arath. Jack couldn’t fault him for that. He didn’t have a sister, but he figured no guy – human or goblin, or anything else – would want to see a sister of theirs end up with someone like the ranger. And so anything that encouraged Grem’tha’s infatuation would be most unwelcome.

  This went on for half an hour or so, until Grimlik hissed, “Hush, hush, sister. This place, you know it.”

  Grem’tha glanced around and went suddenly very pale. She nodded and touched a finger to her lips, apparently as a signal to herself. “Bad things. Evil things.”

  Karag frowned. “What bad things?”

  “Hush, hush. Must hush, tall one. Kills us, they will, the yokai. Kill us, they will. Evil, wicked.”

  “The yokai?” Jack repeated. “What are the yokai?”

  Arath laughed out loud. “The yokai? Oh, Jack. Fairy stories: that’s all. Just fairy stories, made up to frighten children.” He shook his head, still laughing. “You don’t believe in the yokai, do you?”

  Jack tried to say that he didn’t know – he didn’t even know what the yokai were. But Arath laughed even louder, and the two goblins began to panic and shriek out commands for them to be silent. Only from Karag could he get anything sensible. “They’re monsters – some kind of evil spirit or being that lives in forests and mountains. At least, that is what the lore of my people says.”

  It took a good five minutes to get Arath to shut up, and then another few to calm the goblins down and pry them out of hiding. But in the end, Jack and Karag managed both feats. The ranger had fallen to giggling to himself in some kind of happy stupor, and the siblings skulked out.

  Their progress after this was slow, mostly because the goblins spent as much time behind cover as moving. Morning turned into afternoon. The barren rocks of the mountainside made way for thick forest.

  The goblins started to relax, as there was more cover here. Arath seemed to come out of his stupor, because he took up singing again – but softly, and mostly to himself. Mercifully.

  Jack regretted his solution to the beetle problem. It had clearly impaired the other man. Of course, it was too late to change anything now. But he did take it as a lesson learned. Never trust anything to Arath. Anything at all.

  He was lost in these thoughts when Karag caught his eye. The giant had touched a finger to his lips and gestured toward a far point.

  Jack was suddenly aware of the faint throb of a low, menacing bass. It wasn’t coming from any of the NPC’s. It just floated in over the treetops, between the trees, like a gentle, sinister breeze.

  Ah shit: a fight.

  He glanced around, looking for the goblins. They were scurrying from point to point, following patches of cover along the road. They seemed oblivious to whatever danger lay ahead. “Grimlik,” he hissed, his tone barely a whisper. “Grem’tha.”

  They kept going, and he tried again, a little louder this time. The brother’s ear twitched, and he turned. Jack raised a finger to his lips to hush him. “Problems ahead.”

  The goblin gasped, a shrill sound. “Yokai?”

  “Uh…probably.” He didn’t know for sure, but it seemed to follow. The game had just foreshadowed the yokai, after all; and here they were, about to face some mystery enemy.

  “Yokai?” Arath repeated, letting loose a peel of laughter. It echoed off the trees, rising heavenward and carrying up the mountainside. “Fairy stories: I told you. Nothing but stuff and nonsense.”

  “Silence,” Karag said.

  At the same time, Jack hissed, “Shut up.”

  And Grem’tha and Grimlik squealed. She said, “Shh, shh, good Arath. Silent, it must be. Or eat us, the hags will.”

  He said, “Chews on its eyes, I will, if it doesn’t shut its stupid mouth.”

  But the ranger went on laughing, and the music went on thrumming, and the goblins went on shrieking. Karag ducked out of sight, behind a thicket of low bushes and brambles. Jack took his lead from the assassin, and dove behind a great boulder.

  So he missed what caused Arath to switch from laughter to shrieks of pain. For a terrible half a moment, he feared Grimlik might have made good on his threat, and unleashed his full, wicked fury on the ranger. But, poking his head over the top of the rock, he quickly saw that he had nothing to fear on that score. The goblin was scuttling along the path in blind terror, shrieking as he went.

  As for Arath, the source of his misery was no mystery either. Two great thin shafts stuck out of his chest, each tipped with brambles. Blood ran from the impact sites. The ranger stared stupidly at his wounds, dipping his fingertips into his own blood as if the sight mystified him – and howling all the while.

  Grem’tha had ran off the path, but now she paused and turned. Her face contorted with competing terrors as she glanced back at Arath, and for a moment she stayed in place at the edge of the road, watching him.

  Then a third projectile hissed out of the far foliage, planting itself in the ranger’s side. Fresh blood – and screams – issued forth from the man. And Grem’tha seemed to make up her mind. She scurried back in a half-crawling run, using her big hands as much as her feet to navigate her path.

  She reached Arath just as he staggered backward and collapsed under a fourth shot.

  Jack cursed under his breath. He didn’t want the yokai – or whatever lurked in the trees – to turn Arath into a pin cushion, of course. But, well, he’d kind of brought it on himself. Poor, sorry Grem’tha hadn’t, though. She’d warned them and tried to quiet the ranger. She shouldn’t die because of his recklessness.

  Jack started to round the boulder. At the same time, Grimlik seemed to sense his sister had disappeared, because he threw a glance over his shoulder. Then, he screeched piteously, and spun around.

  Grem’tha, meanwhile, had made no headway at all. Arath was about twice her height, and probably three or four times her weight. So her efforts to drag him to safety had met and would continue to meet with abject failure. Still, she pawed at the ranger, squealing with fright as she tried to
drag him toward cover.

  Jack reached her a few seconds later, and Grimlik joined them directly thereafter. He seized his sister’s arm, pulling her toward the bushes in one direction. She went on tugging on Arath’s shoulder, trying to pull him in another. And Jack pulled in yet another, trying to drag the ranger to the same boulder he’d been sheltering behind.

  They got nowhere fast, until the fifth member of their party joined them. Karag barreled out of cover. Projectiles were raining down all around them, and the giant’s bulky form soaked up one or two hits before he reached them. But he kept going, until he joined the quartet. Scooping Jack up in one arm and Arath in the other, he didn’t even slow. He just kept going.

  As for the goblins, Grem’tha never let go of the ranger; and Grimlik didn’t let go of his sister. So they – all five of them – crashed into the bushes on the opposite side of the road: Karag running; Jack, flailing and protesting against being tossed around like a sack of potatoes; Arath, slumped and bleeding; and the goblins, dangling from him and squealing in terror.

  Karag dumped them all in an unceremonious heap. “Keep your head down, for Odin’s sake.”

  The projectiles, meanwhile, followed them into the trees – an unpleasant reality that impressed itself most brutally on Jack’s awareness when one of the barbs buried itself in the back of his thigh. A spike of agony shot through him, and a stream of nonsense swears followed directly. He felt his health meter dip twenty points.

  But the damage wasn’t the problem, so much as the pain. He tried to run for cover, to find his way back to the boulder. He stumbled instead. His leg couldn’t support his weight. Not with a dart stuck in his muscle.

  So Jack crawled forward, as quickly as he could, dragging his injured leg as he went. He heard the goblins screeching behind him, but he didn’t dare pause to figure out what was going on. He had to get to cover.

  Then, as soon as he reached it, he turned his attention to the dart. It had a thin shaft of some kind of dry, tubular vegetation – and for its tip, it had a death bramble thorn. The thorn had buried itself almost entirely in his flesh.