The Drachma Killers (The Last Warrior of Unigaea Book 2)

by Harmon Cooper

  He sneezes.

  “What kind of answer is that?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Chantrea says as she invites us into her expansive home. The air is scented with blue melon and a hint of mint, and the place is cozy, inviting. A spiral staircase in the center of the room goes to the top floors and that’s exactly where the two pugs have gone.

  From the top, they look through the railing down at Wolf, afraid to come down. “Milo, Bawa!” Chantrea calls out, “Get down here and be friendly!”

  “It’s fine, really,” I say as Wolf brushes past us. He finds a lush bugbear rug and stretches out on it. “Hey, get off that.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she says as she waves us into the dining area. “The pugs always sleep on that rug.”

  Wolf cocks his head at me and I shrug. “Fine, do what you want.”

  Deathdale takes a seat at the dining-room table, which is picnic style and cut from a single slab of Taelian redwood. Such a domestic setting seems at odds with her appearance and her abilities.

  It wasn’t long ago I saw her burn men alive with her solar power. If she’s bored, I can’t tell.

  Chantrea heads to the kitchen and immediately starts pulling things out of crates stacked on top of one another. I help her by moving the crates and soon realize the entire gnome strategy for food preservation is baffling, but say nothing as I help out.

  Soon we have a few plates of snacks – dried sea fruit from Stater, plantain chips from Karuna – and as I arrange them on the table, Arun enters through the front door, causing the pugs upstairs to go bonkers.

  “They like him better,” Chantrea mumbles bitterly.

  Arun comes into the kitchen with a big burlap sack. He sets the sack on the ground and starts pulling the armor out, carefully setting each piece on the table.

  “Not bad.” I run my finger along the place where a griffin used to be, admiring the handiwork. Any sign this was once Stater armor is nonexistent.

  The pugs are going insane, barking and running back and forth above us. Wolf tracks their barks, his eyes locked on the ceiling.

  “They’re rowdy,” Arun says as he takes a seat, “but they sure are cute.”

  “I know what you mean,” I say as I continue to look at Wolf.

  “So,” he says, “lowering his voice. What’s your plan?” He glances from Deathdale to me. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Ahem, the name is Arun,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m assuming you’re one of Oric’s associates.”

  Deathdale slowly extends her gloved hand and Arun takes it. He lets go as soon as he notices it’s warm. “Ah,” he says softly, “a Solar Mage. And she’s familiar with everything that’s going on?” he asks me.

  “She is.”

  “And what have you decided?”

  “I’ve decided to put Governor Talonas on the back burner for now. There are more pressing matters.”

  (^_^)

  After eating a delicious meal of baked ham and potatoes, Deathdale and I bid the two gnomes and their little black pugs farewell.

  “I don’t know when will see you again,” I say, “but I truly appreciate the hospitality.”

  “The pleasure is ours and I do hope we cross paths again,” says Chantrea, now holding one of their black pugs, who snorts and licks its lips excitedly. “Take care of the necklace I gave you.”

  “Will do.” I turn back to Arun, who holds the other pug. “Look, I don’t know if the friend I told you about – our friend,” I say with a nod towards Deathdale, “will come here or not. I also don’t know what Sam will look like when she does, or hell, if she’ll even be a she for that matter.”

  Arun chuckles. “Well, what do you know?”

  I glance down at Wolf’s face to see the big mutt staring at the two black pugs like he wants to play. “I was thinking you could tack a sign up at the front of your booth, just for a few days.”

  “A sign that says?”

  “Sam Raid. Odds are, if she comes here, she’ll go to the flea market to the main meeting point there. If she happens to look around a bit, she’ll see her name. And you can tell her we rode to Metica, that she can meet us there or if she’s fast, that she can meet us along the way.”

  “Sure, will do,” Arun says hurriedly. “I’ll write it in big red letters. If she comes there, she won’t miss it.”

  “Thanks again.”

  Quest update!

  You have decided to head north rather than go to meet Governor Talonas. You’ve left a message for Sam Raid with the gnomes, with the hope that she’ll meet you as you make your way to Metica.

  Deathdale, Wolf and I turn to the south, towards the only exit of the exclusive neighborhood. Not twenty paces later, we are immediately stopped by the orc guard from earlier who patrols the place.

  “Two Player Killers out and about at this hour, huh?” he asks in a low, rumbly voice.

  “We’re leaving Tin Ingot,” I tell him, “so there’s no reason to bother us.”

  He snorts. “Good. We don’t want your kind here anyway.”

  “You’ve made yourself clear,” I say as I step in front of Deathdale.

  I don’t like the way she has her head cocked at the orc and, while I like a good fight as much as any other player, this one would end very poorly for the ugly fucker.

  “We’ll be on our way now – that is, unless you’d like to see what it feels like to be roasted from the inside.”

  “Sick fucks,” the orc says as he steps aside. He doesn’t pursue us, which is good for him, and it takes us another ten minutes to wind our way out of the neighborhood.

  The funny part about this district is how “hidden in plain sight” it is. If you didn’t know the wealthy people of Tin Ingot lived here, you’d miss the steps that lead from the main city street to the district and would be completely oblivious to it.

  Wolf barks and a few passing drunkards turn to us. I place my hand on his head and turn my attention to Deathdale. “How would you like to travel tonight? Should we rent a horse for you or, um, are you going to ride Wolf with me?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Please, just talk to me. You were silent all through dinner. You must know it’s awkward as shit, right? Plus, it’ll make it hard in the future to plan out what we’re going to do. Before you say anything – ha! – here’s an idea: How about you just say short answers, like two or three words? What do you think? You don’t have to go into any great detail, but it will allow us to communicate.”

  “Okay.”

  I nearly lose my footing as a smile lifts Deathdale’s cheeks.

  “Good! A little communication goes a long way.” I clap my hands together, excited to have someone to talk to. “What do you say? Shall we ride Wolf or find a horse?”

  “I have a new skill.”

  “Five words?” I count them again on my finger. “I’m impressed.”

  She shakes her head at me as a ray of light spirals from her ankles to her heels and returns back to her ankles. Seconds later, the Solar Mage floats about eight inches off the ground and propels herself forward.

  “Whoa!” I say as I start jogging to catch up with her. Wolf barks and chases after both of us. A city guard just getting off his shift looks from us to a pub across the street. He shrugs, removes his shogun-like helmet, and heads to a pub called The Whore’s Head.

  “How long can you go like that for?” I ask as she slows.

  “A while.”

  “Good, because I’d like to cut some of our travel time down tomorrow by getting as far north as we can today. It’ll take us a day and a half or so to get to Metica. The sooner the better.”

  I mount Wolf and scratch him behind the ears. “Think you can keep up with her?”

  He barks as Deathdale takes off, floating close to the ground with the bottom of her heels encompassed by light. She speeds past a rickshaw man pulling a young couple and zips around a small donkey hooked to a cart in the middle of the street.

  Wolf follows clo
se behind her, panting as he trots.

  The wind through my hair makes me feel alive. Seeing Deathdale speeding in front of me as if she is on a hover board is a sight to behold, her revealing armor flapping and nearly giving me a view of her ass cheeks.

  Nearly.

  I am male, hear me roar.

  This last thought is suddenly distasteful to me, which I assume is because of my attribute boost in MIND. Why must men roar and beat their chests, and why am I promoting that behavior? When in doubt, blame MIND, as it seems to be the culprit behind most things. It’s an odd type of shame, the type you feel when you have a thought you know you shouldn’t be having.

  Be professional, Oric.

  She’s not my fucking coworker, Eric. And why shouldn’t you be having thoughts like that? I think as we near the city gates.

  My inner debate is interrupted by a few people yelling and pointing to the sides of the main boulevard. I suppose a Conan-looking guy riding a big-ass Tagvornin wolf and chasing a floating Solar Mage isn’t something they see every day, not to mention the fact that both are Player Killers.

  “This isn’t a show!” I call to a group of girls who have stopped to watch us. The youngest of the bunch shrieks, turns, and hugs her sister.

  So much for making a friendly exit.

  “Let’s go!” I press my body closer to Wolf’s, feeling his muscles move as he tears after Deathdale. She’s faster than hell, and I don’t believe for one minute she’ll be able to sustain this kind of travel indefinitely.

  “Whoa!” A city guard jumps back as Deathdale blazes past the city gate. He does so again as Wolf and I come racing along. “Hey!” he calls after us, but we’re long gone by the time he can get his weapon out, not that it would have done him any good.

  The fields surrounding northern Tin Ingot are mostly used for grain.

  There isn’t a tree in sight, and under an early crimson evening, Deathdale and I speed along a dirt road with wagon-tire grooves permanently cut into the soil. She’s still making record timing, and Wolf is breathing pretty heavily to keep up the pace.

  “Let’s slow a bit!” I call after her. She stops and Wolf whips past, only to slow so she can catch up.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask, immediately cursing myself for asking her a dumb question. This gets me contemplating whether my question is indeed dumb, and why I’m overanalyzing it in the first place. I know the culprit – MIND – and maybe I should leave that attribute alone once I level up again.

  Or not. Hell, if I dump everything in there, I could become the smartest Player Killer Unigaea has ever seen! Ha!

  You’re an idiot.

  I grin at Deathdale and she doesn’t say anything to me as she presses forward.

  Thank God you can’t read my mind.

  As she moves, the wheat fields to her immediate left lean towards her, as if attracted to her energy. A spark of light in the distance catches my eye and I point to it. A hill a least a mile away looks to have a campsite on it.

  I wouldn’t normally disturb the campsite, but the arrangement of the fire catches my eye.

  Rather than a single flame, six flames form a semi-circle.

  Some kind of ritual?

  My feelings on shamanism – and religiosity, for that matter – make me wary to investigate what may be happening on the hill. But before I can really make a decision about it one way or another, Deathdale cuts into a field of dirt.

  I guess that settles that, I think as Wolf trots after her.

  As we get closer to the hillock, I notice the fires are actually effigies shaped into human forms. They burn slowly, likely fashioned from the oaks that surround the Eastern Split Mountains, which are known for their slow-burn properties.

  The hair on the back of my neck stands to attention as we approach the bottom of the hill and I see the charred bodies all around it.

  Adding to my apprehension is the fact that the bodies have been arranged on their backs, with the tops of their blackened skulls facing up the hill.

  Deathdale drops to her feet and takes a few steps forward, the fire crackling and the flames whipping in the air atop the hill.

  “Is that a person?” I ask as I see something slide down one of the effigies. The flames ripple and spit blue sparks.

  A female hits the ground and stands, her body awash with flames like the Human Torch.

  The other effigies move as flaming people slide down to the ground.

  Six people who appear to be burning alive now stand at the top of the hill, looking down at us.

  “Pyro affliction.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I hop off Wolf and brandish my Splintered Sword.

  (^_^)

  Two of the men, their bodies engulfed in flames, run down the hill flailing their arms over their heads. “Get back, Wolf!” I cry, stepping before him.

  I go to meet the first man, heat radiating off his body as he swings his flaming arms at me.

  -86 HP!

  I slice right through his arms and the flaming appendages go whizzing over his head. “Careful!” I manage to call out to Deathdale, who has pulled her blade of light out and is set to engage the other burning man.

  The one I’ve just disarmed swings at me with his stubs, his maw wide as he screeches. Fiery strands of saliva connect the top of his mouth to the bottom, and as he screams, bits of flame flicker from his lips.

  Our surroundings heat up. I pivot to miss his fiery stubs and bring my Splintered Sword down onto the back of his neck.

  -274 HP! Critical hit!

  His head separates from his body and his torso turns to me, his chest heaving up and down. He brings one of his stubs up and I cut it off at the armpit.

  -43 HP!

  The rest of his arm goes spinning away and I follow through by swinging my blade around and cutting his leg off at the knee.

  -59 HP!

  “Fuck!” I say as the pyro-afflicted man hits the ground and starts crawling towards me as best he can with one good leg and half an arm. Flames lick his body as he picks up speed, the grass beneath him catching fire as I backpedal.

  Pyro affliction is a condition without a cure. Once it takes a person’s body, the particularly viral fire takes over their basic motor functions, using the person as a host. They are like zombies, and cutting off an arm or a leg will do little to stop their advances.

  Any living being a person with pyro affliction touches either dies or turns, depending on their will. The blacked bodies all around the hill are a testament to how many people didn’t make it through the transformation.

  “Don’t let them touch you!” I shout to both Wolf and Deathdale.

  With no idea how deep Deathdale’s knowledge of Unigaea runs, I take it upon myself to inform her of just what it is we are up against. “If their flames touch you, you’ll become one of them!”

  The four on top of the hill slowly begin making their way towards us, their shoulders slinking up and down as they track our movements, a trail of flames in their wake. Their leader, one of the females, stands back just a bit, letting the other three move forward.

  I’ve got bigger problems.

  The only way to stop the pyro-afflicted is to cut all their heads and limbs off and let them burn eternally, keeping them from moving around. Miraculously, the one on the ground is still able to slither fairly easy.

  He lunges towards me and lifts his belly off the ground like a striking cobra. I roll to his left, avoiding the flame trailing behind him, and bring my Splintered Sword down onto his last leg.

  -57 HP!

  He cries out and, seeing an opening, I lead my blade in a scooping motion and take off the rest of his arm. -31 HP!

  Not a moment too soon, either.

  As Deathdale swings her blade up, splitting her opponent’s body in half, and as Wolf barks on the sidelines, two of the pyro-afflicted descend upon me.

  I run to my right, giving myself a little more space before I try to address them. They lay chase, faster than I would have expected, and
once I’m in the clear, I swivel around to meet them.

  The first swings her arm and I step into it, moving left just in time to slice through her burning flesh and cut her arm away.

  -74 HP!

  Wolf sprints forward. “No! Back! Get back!”

  The flaming woman swipes her other arm at me and the man accompanying her, on hands and feet now, charges as flames spark off his body. I jump out of the way and latch onto Wolf, who charges back towards Deathdale as I hold on for dear life.

  I get my footing and hop on, only to see the two pyro-afflicted speeding towards me, their bodies bright beacons on a very near horizon.

  “Let’s go, Deathdale!” I call out. It’s too risky. I know this, and I’d rather not botch what I’ve apparently been put on Unigaea to do by turning into what amounts to a flaming zombie.

  But the Solar Mage has other plans.

  As the four pyro-afflicted surround her, a blinding column of light blasts down from the crimson heavens, the cylinder of energy completely engulfing Deathdale. Wolf skids to a halt and I shield my eyes as the light thins and brightens her skin until she’s glowing.

  The four standing pyro-afflicted stop dead in their tracks.

  The first to fall is the one whose arm I took. She begins convulsing, the flames bouncing off her body and sending sparks into the night sky as she falls to her knees.

  The others follow. The leader still tries to reach out to Deathdale but falls and lands in a pile of flames, inches away from the Solar Mage’s heeled boot.

  Deathdale’s knees buckle.

  “Wolf!” He gets the gist and tears off towards the Solar Mage, careful not to touch any of the raging flames. I leap off him and land in a run, my face covered in sweat.

  Deathdale passes out and I don’t quite catch her – I wish it were that easy – but I do perform something like a baseball slide, allowing her to fall onto my body rather than the hard soil.

  As light as she is, it isn’t hard for me to lift the Solar Mage over my shoulder and carry her over to Wolf.

  It’s only then I notice how hard I’m breathing, each breath painful as the air fills my lungs.

  The heat.

  Six bodies burn all around us, amidst crisscrossing trails of flames. I place Deathdale on the ground and wipe sweat from my face.