by Rachel Ford
The old man didn’t argue, and Jack ran off while he could. Migli followed, singing a new composition about a battle against the wolves of nighttime’s domain.
They found a werewolf just outside the dining room. This was a section of the palace Jack had never visited, as he’d eaten in the kitchen, and not at the Pretender’s table. So he didn’t know his way around, exactly.
Which was alright, since he could always follow the screams. There were plenty of them. First, though, he had to dispatch of the wolf before him. It was a hideous creature, as they all were: tall, and covered in coarse fur, thick muscles and ropey sinew. This one had the added charm of blood running through its fur.
Jack raised his blade and charged the monster. It turned to him snarling, readying its claws for a swipe.
Then it disappeared in a poof of gray and blue mist, a hail of fur and claws, of teeth and shimmering particles that vanished the next instant. Jack drew up short, blinking at the spot where the werewolf had towered a moment before. Then he spun around, looking for the source of its disappearance.
His eyes rested on the old man. Magical energies swirled from his fingertips, and a haze of blue and green surrounded him. He blinked again. “Who the heather are you?”
“I’m Ieon, of course. The wizard whose home you stand in. The wizard these usurpers clapped in magical shackles, so that I would forget who I am and what had happened.
“But now I am free, and I remember. I am in your debt, adventurer. But we will speak of that later. Now, stand aside so that I may have my vengeance on these monsters.”
Jack stood aside, and Ieon avenged himself with an absolute fury. One by one, the wolves fell. Some went down in puffs of smoke. Others dropped in pillars of fire. All of them dropped some manner of spoils behind them, whether in a pile of dust or a heap of ashes.
So Jack shifted out of hero mode, and into scavenger mode. He let the old man go ahead, and he lingered behind, scampering from one pile of remains to the next. He spent a little more time evaluating his loot than he had in the dungeons, which is how he noticed the slabs of human flesh in a few of the werewolves’ inventories. He recoiled in mortification. Then, he reconsidered.
Was it grim? Definitely.
Would he have the chance to harvest human flesh again later? Probably not.
So he pondered whether or not he might need it later on, down the road. Was it just a morbid trophy from this particular level? Or would he need it for some kind of potion, or maybe bargaining later on? He imagined himself reaching a witch’s lair, trying to negotiate with an old crone over a bubbling cauldron; or passing a troll bridge, and being able to pay the toll.
He closed his eyes and pocketed the human flesh. Then, he wiped his hands against his tunic and hurried on.
All in all, Ieon cleared a dozen more wolves, and Jack looted them all. He gathered eight pounds of human flesh, two werewolf hearts, twelve sets of fangs, two dozen claws, and various coins and baubles.
Migli had left him about midway, to wail beside the body of one of the slain wolves: Katrice. Jack left him to his lamentations, to his “fairest of the fair, sweetest of the sweet,” with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes. But he didn’t bother to point out to the dwarf that his sweetest had lured him to what she imagined would be his death. He knew Migli too well to worry that his sorrow would last long.
Katrice would be forgotten as soon as they reached the next town, or waystation, or cottage in the woods – as soon as they came across a reasonably decent looking woman, single or married, young or old, interested or not. The dwarf would be in love all over again, and the events of the evening would be no more than an annoying song he’d trot out now and then.
So Jack focused first on looting the fallen, and second on speaking to the old man. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d say, but he didn’t have to make the choice anyway. As soon as he approached, Ieon said, “Traveler, I owe you a debt I cannot hope to repay. You have restored my memory, my life, and my freedom, and the freedom of all my neighbors.”
Jack had the option to say,
You owe me nothing, Sir Wizard. I was only doing what needed to be done.
Or,
Forget the feely good stuff, old man. Let’s talk payment.
Jack opted for the first response, and the wizard nodded. “Nonetheless, I am in your debt. We all are.
“Tell me, who are you and why are you come?”
So Jack did tell him, running through first the business with Iaxiabor and then the pretender. Ieon listened patiently, offering only brief comments here and there: “troubling tidings indeed,” and, “ill tidings to wake to,” and, “alas, evil times are these.”
When the tale came to an end, though, he said, “Then you need my aid. Many long decades have I been under that evil magic’s sway, Sir Jack, unable to recall my own name much less the wickedness that had befallen my valley. Long will be the rebuilding process, and many are the lives lost and ruined by the man who took my name. But I am no less a wizard today than I ever was. Tell me how I can aid you, and I will do it.”
Jack felt three responses were possible.
Any advice or items you could give us would be most appreciated.
I could always use a second companion.
And,
All I need is for you to shut your mouth and get out of my way, old man.
Jack tried the second option. He figured a companion who could cut through werewolves like Ieon had would be of a lot more use than a companion like Migli.
But Ieon was having none of it. “Alas, I cannot leave this place, Jack. My duty is here, to the people I have failed all these years. My duty is to rebuild with them.
“But I will do what I can. I have coin and supplies that will aid you.”
Chapter Fifteen
You have gained goodwill with Ieon the Wizard.
You are revered among the people of Ieon’s Valley.
The thoughts flashed through Jack’s mind as the wizard filled his hands with goods and a small coin purse. His mind processed the haul an item at a time.
Added to inventory: wolf bane
Added to inventory: healing potion
And so on, until he reached the end. Then, a new thought hit him.
Removed from inventory: paralysis potion
Removed from inventory: fake map
“I’ll take these off your hands,” Ieon said. “I know naught what manner of pretense they were given under, but I warrant they were said to aid you. They would not, my friend. The map will lead you not to the pass and the dragon, but to a lonely crag where there is no water, no green and growing things, and no life at all. Probably, it was to lure you there in case they lost your scent: so they would know where to find you, to devour you.
“And the potion would paralyze you as soon as you tried to use it, to make you a compliant dinner. They were not very sporting, those men and women of the moon.”
Jack gulped, thanking the hoarding gene that stopped him from using his supplies unless absolutely necessary. It had probably saved his life. One of them, anyway. But new thoughts crowded out the old ones.
Tell me, master of magic, how this evil befell you and your house.
And,
[End conversation]
He wanted to be on the road. He had a whole game to finish before he could get home in real life. But Jack was a gamer at heart. He’d just spent hours in a literal dungeon, setting a trap and clearing it of werewolves and wizards. He wanted to know the why behind it. How could he not?
So he chose the first option, and Ieon told him the story. The Pretender had been Ieon’s apprentice, back in the day. “He was not a very good wizard, but he was like a son to me. I loved him with every fiber of my being. Many long years I spent trying to make a better spellweaver out of him, teaching him my secrets, building him artifacts to strengthen his enchantment, to counteract his natural weakness to magic.
“He learned, a little. And he got to be alright. But he wasn’t
going to be a wizard, not like I was. He knew that. We both did. I never said it, and neither did he. But it was clear: he could manipulate magic others had already wrought, but he struggled to create it himself.
“But I didn’t care. He was my son, or might as well have been, magic or no magic. He would always have the first place in my home.”
The old man fell silent, staring past the others, as if into some distant horizon only he could see.
“What happened next?” Jack asked, quietly and as unobtrusively as possible.
“I failed him. His heart filled with hate and despair and darkness. But I didn’t see it. I thought all was well. I thought he’d accepted his limitations and made peace with them, the way I had done.
“But he hadn’t. I know that now.”
“How did he get mixed up with werewolves?”
Ieon shook his head. “I failed him a second time. Back then, you must understand, our services were in great demand. The valley all around us, men and women, children and grandparents, they all sought our help. Missing livestock? Speak to the wizard. He’ll conjure up a potion to lead you to the lost lamb. Illness? Broken bones? Aches in your joints? The wizard will fix you. Not just physical aches, either. A relationship didn’t work out? We had a spell for that, to erase the heartache. Crops weren’t coming in right? Spell. Fertility issues? Potion.
“Kings and princes from all around sought our aid. We worked from the break of dawn until the late hours of night.
“So it made sense to me that, when time was short, we would divide burdens. I sent him to gather supplies for me one night. We were working on a special order, from a baron to the east whose mines were plagued by rats. I needed wild onion, and my stash was running low.
“He went off to find me more as the sun was setting. But he didn’t return. I didn’t notice for hours and hours. I was so busy working.” The old man shook his head, pain written across his face. “So busy working,” he said again, and then he fell silent.
“What happened?” Jack prodded.
“Finally, I glanced at a timepiece, and realized that he should have been back already – hours ago. I grabbed my cloak and my staff, and I went in search of him.
“I found him, huddled in a treetop, all torn to pieces. He was barely breathing. A werewolf had found him on his way home and tried to make a meal of him.
“He fought and managed to escape. But not without terrible injuries. I poured healing magic into him and carried him home and repeated the process.
“But he didn’t get better all at once. The bites stayed raw and open, even against all of my magic. And I started to realize what was happening. He was becoming one of them.”
The old man shook his head again. “I thought I could save him. I thought I could find a cure. I dove into the research like a madman. I was obsessed – so obsessed, I didn’t see: he didn’t want a cure. This was a power he could control, finally, a magic he could use as easily as I could my own powers.
“I tried many potions, and they all failed – things that should have worked. I started to suspect that it wasn’t the magic that was at fault, but him: for the cure to work, he needed to want it.
“We fought about it, and he ran off into the night. I worried about him. I worried that someone would see him and realize what he was, that they’d kill him.
“And then he came home the next morning, covered in blood; and I thought my worst fears had been realized.
“But my worst fears were child’s play. He had tasted human blood, you see. It was the beginning of the end. He would go out and hunt, and then he would promise he’d never do it again.
“And I would believe him. I would help him hide the bodies and clean the blood. He’d help me with my research, swearing that he wanted the cure, that he wanted something that would stop his cravings for blood.
“We continued like that for months and months. So you see, I have blood on my own hands too, Jack.”
“What happened?”
“I guess he got to the point where he could ignore the guilt. He didn’t have to chase a cure as some kind of penance after every killing. He just…accepted that he was the monster.
“But I didn’t. I tried to talk sense into him. It got heated. I told him I would confine him to the palace. He wouldn’t be allowed to leave until we figured it out.
“We had a terrible argument, and then he went off again. But he didn’t kill anyone. He came back and apologized. He told me I was right, and that he’d lost his way. That he wanted to go back to finding a cure again.
“And I believed him. Not because I heard truth in his words, but because I wanted to, desperately.
“For a few days, it seemed like I’d made the right call. He was his old self again, cheerful and happy and eager to work. I’d still see the glint, the bloodlust, in his eyes, but only in brief flashes here and there. And that, I told myself, was a product of the curse. It would end when the curse ended.
The old man smiled ruefully. “And then I paid the fool’s price for playing the fool: he and a handful of wolves fell on me in the night, clapping me in irons that suppressed my ability to cast spells.
“For a while, they kept me on display. They dragged villagers in and devoured them before me and laughed at my horror. He promised he would free me, if I would take the mark too.
“I refused. He got angry. We fought, I in chains and he, free and in his terrible wolf form. He told me that for once I would do as he said, that he was master now. And I said I would sooner die.
“A cruel glint lit his eyes. ‘That would be too easy, Master. I have something much better than that in store for you’.
“The dungeons: that was his surprise. I don’t know how he constructed them. The curse seems to have strengthened his abilities, somehow. I guess it doesn’t matter now anyway.
“He sent me to the dungeons, and there I’ve stayed all these intervening years, except when he took it into his head to bring me out again for his own entertainment.”
Jack shook his head. “What a monster.”
Ieon nodded. “A monster, and a man. What are we all, but men and monsters, Jack?”
“What was he called, this apprentice of yours? Before he stole your name, I mean.”
Ieon fell silent for a long moment. “I will not say it. Once, his name was a good tiding. It meant help, or healing, or human compassion was on hand. I will not link it to the monster he became, Jack. Better it is linked to me, and my name; for it was my own selfish love that allowed him to become what he did. Let it be my burden to bear, and my atonement to make. Let him die in peace.”
Jack figured the wizard was far fonder of his murderous assistant than the other man deserved. But he accepted the old man’s counsel and gifts. The former was surprisingly similar to the Pretender’s. He warned that only an alliance of races would succeed in defeating Iaxiabor. “Man and dwarf alone cannot do it. You must seek out the others, Jack.” For the second, in addition to a plethora of minor healing and alchemical boons, Ieon gave Jack a staff. “It will harness your magic, for whatever purpose you like. If you desire a shield, it will form a barrier between you and your attackers. If you wish to deliver death, it will rain down fire, or freeze your enemies, or open a hole under their feet: whatever you wish, the staff can see it done. But you will need to practice and build your skills. Otherwise, well, unpredictable things may happen.”
He took the staff gingerly, stuffing it in with his other supplies. Then he took his leave from the wizard, his house full of dead, and his valley of suffering. And he headed once more for the mountains, and – he hoped – the end of his quest.
Chapter Sixteen
Jack had started his trek up the mountain, following an old, worn path through lush country. The sun shone bright and warm on everything, and birds chirped and scolded as they passed. He supposed he might feel the same if they were passing through the Sahara Desert. But after spending so long in the confines of a windowless cell, wandering open countryside felt lik
e being granted a reprieve from hell, to stroll heaven’s golden walkways.
He was thinking something along those lines when Migli turned to him suddenly. “Hey, Jack?”
“Richard?” he asked.
“Jordan.”
“Oh, good. I mean, hi.”
“Hi. Hey, I have – well, not much. But Avery just left for the day, so I wanted to let you know what I found.”
“About the Xi Incident?”
Migli nodded. “I didn’t find out much, like I say. But I did find a bunch of password-secured drives and folders with a name: Xi, William. Looks like he was an employee at some point.”
“Was? What happened?”
“I’m not sure. Honestly, he might still be an employee. I can’t find him on the public parts of the employee directory, but they lock parts of that down, even from us.”
“But this William guy, he definitely worked for Marshfield Studio at some point, right?”
“Yup. I found his employee number and everything.”
“When was he hired?”
“About five years ago. Which was before they announced the VR product. But they would have been working on it by then, probably for a year or two at least.”
“Was he a beta tester, like me?”
Migli shook his head. “No way. No way this stuff was ready for beta testing then. Alpha tester, maybe. But that would have been pre-Dagger of Doom. It would have just been a technology test. Probably with a tiny mini-level to explore, just so you could actually test it. But definitely a tech test instead of a game test.”
Jack nodded. “Alright. Look, you have to keep digging. We need to find out what the incident was.”
“I know. But – I have to be careful, Jack. If I get caught snooping, I could end up in lots of trouble.”
He snorted. “Come on, Jordan, it’s a game company, not the CIA. They’re not exactly going to haul you off to a blacksite.”
“No. But they could reassign me.”
