Keymaster

by Sergey Zaytsev

  Realizing how deep of a mess I had gotten myself into, I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe.

  “Every thirty days?!” I suddenly cried in a hoarse voice, clenching my fists painfully. “You want to say that... How long have you been here, Mashta?!”

  “I don’t know,” she squinted, looking into my eyes. The crooked and slightly guilty grin never left her lips, as if she was personally somehow responsible for the current state of affairs. “I try not to pay attention to time. I even turned off the interface counter. But for your sake, I will take a look at it... Ninety one days. You know what, Wise?” Mashta slowly shook her head. “Let's be quiet for a bit. You’ve disturbed me enough with your questions.”

  I nodded, and we continued in silence; we were both lost in thought.

  The air soon started to smell of tasty mushroom pottage; we had arrived at the hunting camp. The sight was rather picturesque. Each of Mashta's friends, awaiting their leader, was entertaining themselves in their own way. Colin, sitting in the corner, tongue sticking out of his mouth, was engaged in some kind of sewing. Looking closely, I realized that he was repairing the sling belt. Arkoosh was lying on the skin-covered stone lounger; under his head, instead of a pillow, was his backpack. A smoking pipe had been stuck between his teeth; a seemingly cheap artisanal craft, crooked and unsightly, made from opaque material. Phage was zealously stirring something in a pot that hung on a metal tripod, without taking his concentrated look off the brew. One might think that, if he got distracted, the fruit of his efforts would immediately disappear like the morning mist under the rays of the rising sun. And Chula... Chula was diligently scribbling on a rather clear section of the wall with a piece of coal.

  Colin was the first to spot us. He nodded silently and finished the repair with a hasty stitch, biting off the thread. Arkoosh was more lively; pulling the pipe out of his mouth, he jumped off the lounger, hit the dirty floor with his hairy feet and shouted:

  “Finally! The yesterday’s winds have brought you! Phage, let's eat, I can’t wait any longer!”

  “There you are,” Chula turned and shyly covered the drawing she had been working on.

  “Gather round, people,” the cook took the pot from the fire and put it onto a flat boulder, around which smaller stones were piled. Then he handed each of us a spoon, myself included. Apparently, it was not the first time that the Lowlings had to act as hosts. I didn’t ask whose spoon it was or when it was last washed. Hunger wasn’t picky. Besides, I saw no point in squeamishness — avatars were immune to infection. At least I hoped so. Mashta left the bag filled with mushrooms by the wall and joined us. For five minutes we were concentrated on sniffing and chewing. This went on until the pot was empty. I wouldn’t say that I ate a lot, but my share was a fair one. And then a buff notification popped up.

  Buff received: Traveler’s Breakfast

  Energy regeneration accelerated by 5% for the next four hours.

  “The pottage was good,” I said approvingly.

  “Grub’s bullshit,” Arkoosh sniffed disdainfully and thrust his darling pipe under my nose with a demanding gesture. “Come on, rookie, check out my mix, I’m sure you’ll like it!”

  “I’ll show you a mix! You’ll get more than you’ve bargained for!” Mashta snapped at him with a mocking threat.

  “Poison yourself with your shrooms!”

  “If my grub is bullshit, then you’ll cook it the next time,” Phage promised him.

  “Then you can forget about asking me for tobacco,” Arkoosh put the pipe back into his mouth and puffed with noticeable pleasure, releasing clouds of sweetish smoke that definitely had a narcotic effect.

  “Agreed!” Phage only grinned, not at all concerned about the threat of losing his dose. “One less extra mouth to feed!”

  “It’s just friendly banter, don’t worry,’” Chula nervously laughed. It seems that her kind’s behavior disturbed only her, the most delicate of the Lowlings. “Don’t you pay attention to them, Wise, they quarrel like this every day.”

  I couldn’t help but smile in response. The feeling of dread that arose after the conversation with Mashta about the epic quest, began to recede. Still, it’s good when one doesn’t have to face such problems alone. These guys were decent folk and it’s good that I got to be a part of their “gang”.

  Looking down, I noticed Fury hastily eating a piece of dried meat. When did they manage to treat her? My beast seemed to be misbehaving, allowing herself to eat from someone’s hands without permission.

  “Boys, check your equipment before going out,” Chula reminded, gathering the spoons, licked to a shine. “Does everyone feel full? You, Wise? And your Fairy... Where is she?”

  Tinnie had disappeared somewhere. She was nowhere to be found. But I didn’t have time to worry as she fluttered right out from under Chula’s hands with a joyous squeal in the next moment. She flew up to me, proudly demonstrating a translucent green stone the size of a walnut.

  “Raw emerald, crafting material for jewelry.”

  The gem was rough and unsightly, but to steal it... Who would have thought that my Fairy was a bit of a kleptomaniac. Awkward.

  “Chula, I’m sorry, I didn’t think that my Tinnie…”

  “She can have it, I don’t need it,” Chula insisted, not even thinking about getting angry. It was as if the Fairy wasn’t the one caught red-handed. “It’s just a trinket. I don’t know why I’ve kept it.”

  “Thank you, I really didn’t expect that...”

  “Wise!” Mashta unceremoniously interrupted my apologies, slapping my shoulder with great force. “You heard her, don’t think about it.” She then winked and whispered: “Better pay attention to how good of a student I am.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  But Mashta, no longer listening to me, put her fists onto her hips, looked at her friends with a formidable look and barked from the top of her lungs:

  “Why are you all relaxing as if you got your panties in a twist? Eh?! I look at you through a crystal ball, savvy? And if you put pies in your holes, I will arrange such a pickle for you! So take to your heels and start working!’

  It was worth hearing the Lowlings laugh after this tirade.

  But I made a mental note about Chula’s strange behavior. Just in case. The emerald is a mere trinket, you say? And you have no prospector? Well, well, we'll see.

  Chapter 15

  “Over there in the mist. Do you see it? Crocbeasts have respawned again.”

  “You do know that I don’t have your Lowling vision, yeah?” I glanced at Mashta and the rest of the small folk with a grin, then looked around the snow-covered slope, which smoothly descended into an abyss nestled between two steep mountain peaks. Rock shards were generously scattered all across the slope, some were even the size of a man. They stuck out of the snow like dragon fangs. I hid behind one such stone while the Lowlings lurked behind the neighboring ones. “You have a racial bonus to vision distance. I’ll take your word for it. How many are there?”

  Mashta stood up behind her cover for a second, tossed a quick glance around and sat down again.

  “Five, give or take...”

  “Could be six,” Arkoosh grinned mockingly, peering out from under the hood of his fur cloak. “Look over there... See one more? Next to the stone?”

  “No, there’s five,” Chula backed up her friend. “Why do you always have to play around, Arkoosh?!”

  “Five or six... What's the difference?” Colin interrupted, carefully checking his beloved sling for signs of wear and tear and laying polished stone shells, each the size of a fist, onto the snow beside himself. He was preparing in advance, not wanting to have to reach for the bag on his belt later. For mob hunting, the Lowlings used ordinary stones, which were easy to find in the mountains; losing them, thus, wasn’t that big of a deal. The lead projectiles, which were delivered by Kobi caravans from the Kandauri Fortress, were used exclusively for fighting against the natives, as they were more destructive.
What irony.

  The rest followed Colin’s example. They kept themselves busy, working without too much of a fuss. Whilst the Lowlings were occupied, I peered over the boulder, struggling to see the targets. But I couldn’t see a damn thing from a distance of three hundred feet. The sky was clear, and there was almost no wind. At the bottom of the ridge swirled a light mist, a byproduct of several dormant geysers. According to the Lowlings, the very presence of the Creepoars in this world awoke elements akin to them, forcing steam and fire to burst forth. In my humble and unbiased opinion, this could well be a common volcanic activity, not related to the invaders. The locals thought all kinds of misfortune, both thinkable and unthinkable, to be the work of the Chaos Demons.

  “Isn’t that a bit too much ammo?” I asked, not refraining from using well-founded sarcasm. “Yesterday, when the thing failed, we barely ‘persuaded’ three of them.”

  Crouching in the snow nearby, Fury snorted, sharing my fears. Tinnie squeaked, sticking her golden locks out of the fur bag, which I now wore around my neck especially for her. She was like a baby kangaroo in her mother’s pouch. And she had a toy, too — the emerald, which she had stolen from Chula; she dragged it along wherever we went. I hope that Tinnie learns to speak someday, at least through system messages; it’ll be impossible to understand why she needs it otherwise. When I tried to jokingly take it, she screamed as if I was intent on taking her life.

  “Yesterday was a special case, we wanted to see you in action,” Arkoosh giggled, having finished laying out a dozen shells on the natural stone step, which he had prudently cleaned from the snow. A sweet, narcotic spirit spread from him that could be smelled from several feet away. Instead of tobacco, the freak used those crushed mushrooms. He claimed that it had no negative effects on his health at all, and I was almost inclined to believe him. At times, he seemed almost too excitable. I got the impression that the results of Arkoosh’s addiction, such as increased nervousness and uncontrollability, were kept in check through joint effort of the whole group. It was none of my business, of course. At least until it becomes personal.

  See me in action, riiight... “Special case” my ass. I really wanted to talk about their special “seeing” methods, but didn’t dare to offend them. Without them, I'm just fodder for the local mobs. Crocbeasts, levels 12 to 16, dwelt here; the Lowlings didn’t even break a sweat fighting them, but it was still hard for me. Yesterday, they sent me straight to the geyser, where three such creatures dwelled. The whole group, with earnest honesty in their eyes, assured me that I would manage on my own. And I did... Somehow. When the very first level 15 Crocbeast jumped out of the sulfurous hole, splashing scorching liquid about the place, and knocked the sword with one swing of a clawed paw out of my hand, almost tearing it off together with the weapon, I had to run so fast that I all but left an outline of myself in the dust like in a cartoon. Well, at least I didn’t lose my cool and rushed straight to the Lowlings. No, I forced the mobs to run between the boulders, forcing them to form a line, and had the Lowlings shot them one after the other. Same as now. When I stopped next to them, all disheveled and steamed after the run through the snow, they all rolled with laughter. Especially Chula and Arkoosh — they laughed thinly and gracefully, clutching at their bellies and wiping away tears. I expected such a reaction from Arkoosh, the wisecracker, who laughed at everything, especially after a good mushroom puff. You could wiggle your finger in front of him and he would laugh. Chula would often join in, never starting first, as she was the first to be embarrassed. Good thing that I managed to restrain my anger and stay silent. They were sure that they would end up saving my ass anyway and had decided to play a trick on me, not seeing anything wrong in that.

  We all had different views on life, I suppose.

  For the second day, we hunted creatures that lived around the hunting camp, successfully eliminating at least four dozen different kinds of creatures. We farmed escs, meat, and skins; in that order of value. It were mostly the Lowlings who farmed, though, I mainly got the XP. What I liked about our successfully developing relationship was that the Lowlings weren’t greedy and one in five escs went to me. And since I was still alive, despite being the lowest level member in the group, it meant that they weren’t such daredevils as it had seemed to me in the beginning.

  They got used to me, and I got used to them. It was easier for them; they had experience in dealing with humans, and I was the only one such with them. I, on the other hand, had to deal with five different characters and an alien mentality.

  By the time I appeared in the location the Lowlings already had a fully formed group without me. And since someone had to remain at the camp, guard the passage to the mountain tunnel and hand over trophies destined for the Fortress storage, mostly meat and skins, to the Kobi, the following order was established: every three or four hours, the “farming group” returned to the camp, unloaded the loot and guards switched places. Now, for example, Phage remained at the camp. After a short break, we went back to work. I, of course, never got guard duty, and my pets had no choice but to follow me around. As I needed to level, I didn’t complain and did everything tI was told to do. The Lowlings had explored these places long ago, including the local animals’ dwellings and habits. It was already clear that I was quite a successful acquisition for their company. They all, without exception, were long rage warriors. A group without a melee fighter is quite vulnerable, but no one wanted to get involved with the Lowlings. The Okhtans kept to their own, the Dalrokts even more, so the Lowlings had to deal enemies on their own. Oh, those racial prejudices. Good thing that I at least managed to find common ground with them. The Okhtans, for example, only hissed and cast angry glances at us at every meeting.

  Frankly, I was looking forward to the end of today’s hunt. In my mind, I was already at the Fortress, finally choosing an appropriate moment to talk to the Rakshasa. Last night didn’t work out well for me. The five Okhtans assigned for night patrol duty settled down near the prisoner’s cell to play dice.

  The XP flow was slower than desired. I managed to get close to level 11. This meant that it was no longer worthwhile to postpone the Rakshasa’s task. A little longer and he would be sent to the respawn point, since, for some reason, his fellow tribesmen didn’t hurry with the ransom ...

  “Okay, don't mess around, Wise,” Mashta interrupted my train of thoughts. “Get closer to them.”

  “Fury, stay,” I said softly.

  The Direcat grumbled in discontent, letting out a cloud of steam from her mouth and nostrils. But seeing Tinnie’s curious little head sticking out of the bag that I then handed to Mashta, calmed her. They went nowhere without each other. And although I had already morally reconciled with the possible loss of pets, I wanted to be careful.

  Things were simple with Tinnie; she was a magical creature, physical death could only get rid of her temporarily. Her rebirth didn’t require a Replicator, but time intervals between rebirths progressed in the same way as they did for players. She died for the first time in the Destroyer’s Dungeon, so the next time she dies she will be resurrected in eighteen hours. How and where — I had no idea. Therefore, I had no wish to take risks. And while Tinnie had this chance to return, the Direcat had no such luck.

  But right now, Tinnie was a bigger burden than Fury. Since yesterday, for some reason, she kept refusing the escs, starving herself. Without recharging she won’t be of any help; her internal energy was barely enough to keep her warm. The Lowlings loved her so much that they showered her with gifts, but she only shook her head with a sad look in her eyes and turned away.

  “I have no desire to meet your Crocbeasts again. I am yet to see a nastier creature,” I sighed, not so much complaining as stating the obvious. “Because of them, I smell so bad that Tinnie will soon decide to look for a new master. Maybe we could hunt something else?”

  “You know damn well that we’ve eliminated everything nearby. Also, we can’t go too far from the camp,” Mashta reminded, practicing her com
manding tone on me. “We’ll deal with these guys and go change; you’ll get some rest. So, hurry along now.”

  Damn it. I naively thought that we were done hunting for today. It was almost evening; thick shadows crawled over the ridge, promising to cover it with dusk’s dark blanket soon enough.

  Taking off the hood, so as not to restrict my vision, I ran my hand through the growing hair, which had almost become a habit of mine in the past couple of days, and smiled with satisfaction; it was no less than an inch long. A beard and mustache about the same length protected my face. Okay, time to get down to business. I had updated my combat and defensive auras half an hour ago, so they should last me through the fight.

  Sword on my back, I leisurely jogged toward the chasm. Instead of moving in a straight line, I tried to hold onto the boulders scattered along the way whenever possible, and thus ended wobbling like a drunk. It was easy to run down the gentle slope, the shallow, frozen snow squeaked loudly under the boots. Good thing that the Crocbeasts had poor hearing, so one could make noise without fear. Those strong, large creatures that resembled a six-legged love child of a crocodile and an otter, lived exclusively in hot hydrosulphuric springs — poison for any of the outcasts, regardless of race. Apparently, that’s why not only their hearing but also the sense of smell was poor; unlike their eyesight, which was depressingly good, no worse than that of the Lowlings. One careless move within their line of sight was enough for the whole pack to charge at you; the Crocbeasts ran very fast too and hit hard — someone of my level, that is.

  For the Lowlings, a decent distance was desirable; they were able to hit a bullseye from a five or six hundred foot distance. I thus stopped hiding some hundred feet away from the chasm and got out into the open. The smell of rotten eggs almost made me lose my lunch. The snow around was melted, porous, and a gray-yellowish color. So where were those assholes? Hell, I should come closer, otherwise there wouldn’t be enough time for me to escape.