by Paul Kite
And after everything he’d thought, his relatives—the light elves—who’d perceived themselves as the most important and powerful branch of the tree, had also turned out to be pawns in the hands of their dark brethren. The war hadn’t been unleashed by sinrims, but by the drow, for the purpose of their global plan, which they’d implemented successfully. The dawn elves, the youngest and smallest race, had been destroyed because of the lust for power of the Derolighler of the guild Elghinn Dal Veldrin and, at the same time, the secret ruler of the Dark Forest, since on its throne sat his own son. The Head of Shadows had wanted to know the secret of the unusual magic of the sinrims, but they’d refused to share their knowledge. So... everything was clear.
The question is, what do I do now? Go back? And when I return, should I kill Zorkhan?
Livion, the rather intelligent and honest, although sometimes harsh and even cruel immortal, had advised him... as he put it, to not go off the deep end. And to do what he had to do— teach Kraven and escort him to the island Harith-Hodor. But then... He could act accordingly, but the best way out would be to stand aside and not stick out. Get rid of the artifact of communication he’d used to talk with his teacher, his weapons, clothes... in general, of all the things connected with the Guild of Shadows. And, of course, go through a complete purification in one of the temples of Vegor or Onarkis, the patron saint of light elves, and then get to the ravan’s house. And then, if he’s not home, contact him. The necromancer had rather accurately and clearly explained how to do this, and had even given him an example. When the time came, Livion had promised to prepare for the elf a new set of armor, weapons, potions and other things from the long list that the Master of Shadows had written down as soon as they’d agreed on everything.
Yes, Dazrael had also told Livion about the magic marks. He, of course, had taken it badly, cursing some ingenious AIs. The necromancer hadn’t known about such things, and had been very interested in how and where the Shadows had learned to do to this. But, alas, Dazrael didn’t know that. Zorkhan had taught him how to use it. Unfortunately the drow hadn’t told him where he’d gotten such knowledge. But the light elf had cheered up the necromancer with the news that not all of the masters had this skill.
The ale ran out quickly and Dazrael demanded another bottle. Why not? Master Zorkhan can wait, and Kraven too. Fuck them both...
The elf decided to follow Livion’s advice. He would return and teach Kraven. Well that won’t be a picnic! Also, on the way to the island, there would be places where it’ll be possible to train him in so-called combat situations and grab some rare weapons—Livion had given him a tip about their locations.
And then, as Kraven would be leaving the island together with the magician—Lsaeros, Dazrael would be ready to follow both of them while, of course, not giving himself away (or not both, since it’s unlikely that the main action will take place without the head of the guild there) to the Ilian ridge, till opening of the passage in the barrier. Somewhere, closer to the mountains, Livion would join the elf. That is where their overall plan had come to an end. Further plans without accurate data are not so easy to think up.
“Wooh!” the elf sighed heavily, getting up from the bench and, carefully moving his legs, went toward the tavern owner.
Lying on the table there were three empty bottles, the last of which he’d finished off just half an hour ago.
“What’re you staring at?” Dazrael grinned at the other visitors, looking at the drunken Master of Shadows. “Yes, Vegor take you, I'm drunk!”
“How much?” The elf barely spoke, leaning on the counter and beckoning the owner with a finger.
“Umm,” the owner thought, mentally wincing at the loss if the sum, to which he hadn’t failed to add a dozen coins, were to upset the Master of Shadows, and he got angry. “Thirty iren, Master,” the dwarf said cautiously and immediately backed away from the counter, preparing to hide under it at any moment.
“Yeah,” the elf pawed around in his bag, searching for a purse. “Here,” he poured an approximate amount of coins onto the counter. “You can count it.”
“Everything is all right, dear Master, I trust you as I would myself!” The dwarf instantly grabbed all the coins, and, judging by his bright eyes, he was glad that the elf had made a mistake with the amount.
Dazrael turned around and, still shaky, headed for the exit.
“Damn!” Dazrael swore, after moving a couple of dozen steps in the direction of Noar-Rahor. The drunken Master of Shadows frightened not only the ordinary residents of the city, but also the guards, even though they tried to pretend that everything was normal.
The elf didn’t know what ‘Damn’ meant, but he liked to use the curse words of immortals, as well as a few of their other completely unknown, but undeniably sharp and expressive words.
“I have a cleansing potion,” moving away from the road, the Master of Shadows began to delve into the magic bag. “Where am I going in this state?’ He muttered. “Zorkhan will kill me.”
The potion was found and the elf, grimacing, drank it to the last drop.
“Now I'm OK,” Dazrael felt the ale begin to clear from his blood, the veil that had fallen over his mind started to dissolve, his legs were once more firm underneath him, and his eyes began to see as clearly as always.
Now respectable, the Master of Shadows quickly and confidently approached the gates of Noar-Rahor.
“Tell me everything,” Zorkhan demanded, as soon as Dazrael entered his office. The Master took out a dark yellow drink from somewhere under the table and poured it into a carved metal glass.
“Livion will no longer try to stop us…” the elf began to report, but he was immediately interrupted by the drow.
“Have you made a deal or have you killed him?”
“We've come to an agreement,” Dazrael answered the question, hiding his annoyance.
“Go on,” Zorkhan took a sip from the glass.
The elf talked for a long time, answering the master's leading questions from time to time. Of course, Dazrael wasn’t a fool, and he cleverly hid the facts that Zorkhan wasn’t supposed to know behind a veil of truth. And the Master of Shadows seemed not to notice anything, as he was quite satisfied with the story.
“Well done!” Zorkhan praised the light elf. “Get some rest tonight, some good sleep. But!” he lifted his finger. “There have been small changes to my plans. Starting tomorrow, you must personally train Kraven. We must accelerate things. I’ve been informed that something strange is happening in the Ardal monastery. The order to relocate the personal guard of the king of Nazhar in Fadlas to Harith-Hodor has recently been given. Within a month, the city will be filled to the brim with excellent warriors and powerful magicians.”
“How fast do we have to go?” the elf asked.
“You have a maximum of seven days,” Zorkhan replied, loudly banging the empty glass on the table. “Then you will train him on the way to the island.”
I was going to do so anyway, Dazrael thought, and now there is also a good reason for it. Great!
“That's all. You are free to go,” since he didn't hear any further questions or objections, Zorkhan let the elf go with a gesture and again filled his glass with the dark yellow drink.
Chapter 12
M y agony in the form of accelerated learning in Noar-Rahor, based on the training methods of the NPCs, has just ended. Of course, it had all happened despite the fact that I was an immortal, a player.
It sounded, admittedly, too strange, even as an occurrence in a virtual game, since it was still a game, but this, at least partly, conveyed the essence of what I’d had to do there. After all, in the last few days, Master Dazrael had personally trained me, the only light elf in the Guild of Shadows. And unlike Urosal, he didn’t believe in any restraint. We didn't have any limitations! The training only took place with me at full strength and using all the skills I knew, including those learned from Dazrael.
Well, he’d offered me several skills to cho
ose from, while obeying the rules of the system. Three skills were available after getting a class (although I had five of them, but I’d gotten those with the help of Vegor) and three from the teacher (it was impossible to have more, if some local God didn’t intervene, but alas...). I chose ‘Spurt,’ ‘Invisibility’ and ‘Silent Death.’ I learned these skills the same way other students of the Guild of Shadows would have, as if I were an NPC. This meant I’d needed to work hard to get the long-awaited message about the improved skills. Dazrael wasn't stopped by the fact that I was an immortal. As he’d put it: “It doesn't matter if you're an immortal or an ordinary Noria resident. Experience is everything!” Well, if we considered experience to be levels, I, of course, would agree with this statement.
Oh, how confusing it all was! I was a player. The system reacted to me as if I were a player, too, at least in most cases. It hadn’t done so while I was getting the three skills and I still had inactive features, such as Help, Forum, Mail and Exit. But almost all the NPCs (except those that’d recently learned that I was immortal) thought I was an NPC. At the same time, they easily gave me quests - Grandpa, until he’d realized who I was, an old lady had asked me to find her husband, I’d also received assignments from Zorkhan. Well, no, that time he'd already known that I was immortal. Oh, my head hurt from trying to figure it all out!
I continued pondering until I’d had the opportunity to think about everything, starting with my appearance in the game.
So, the most important thing - what's happened to me in real life, since the accident with the flyer? My dad (no one else could’ve done it) wouldn’t have connected me to the game without a serious reason. Which means something happened to my body after the crash. Do I still have a body? Or, maybe, just my brain, with the implanted transmitters, is swimming in a jar of solution right now. Although that's unlikely, it sounds like pure fiction. Of course, our technology is very well developed, but not to that extent. Limbs and some organs can be regenerated with no problems, humanity's already conquered sickness, but a cure for old age hasn’t been invented yet. I think it's a question of time. Well, if my body’s been destroyed, even if my brain is intact, I'm definitely dead. But I'm alive, my thoughts and self-awareness are proof of it! Then it's not as bad as it seems to be.
Hmm, regarding the question of the accident and its outcome. If very little of me had been left, the body must’ve been placed in a regeneration capsule, even if the chances for a favorable outcome were minimal. Speaking of re-growing... Mmmm... for example, with the legs, it takes from three days to a week, so how much would it take to fully regenerate a body, if the main vital organs are intact? A month? Three? A year? Hmmm, I have no answer. Well, I’ve never studied medicine and the relevant technologies, it’s just something that I remember from the news or from my father.
Oh! Of course! The medical part of the capsule! It wouldn’t have let me connect to the game. The ‘Life’ corporation takes great care with gamers’ health. This means that someone helped my father with this since he would hardly have managed to cope with everything. My Dad may be the director of the technical department, but he isn’t omnipotent.
Oh, well-meaning people, what went wrong when you connected me to the game?
“Kraven!” Dazrael came into my room. He was fully armed and ready for a long and dangerous journey. “Aren’t you ready? We are to leave in ten minutes!” the light elf said, his tone strict as usual.
“I’m ready,” I jumped out of bed. “I’ve been just laying about, waiting for us to get out of here.”
I was wearing new armor, which hid the collar pretty well. The weapon was on the table, as well as the bag-inventory, which I had stuffed full of various necessities as soon as I’d learned that I was leaving the Guild of Shadows - Noar-Rahor. All this had been donated to me by local drow, on the order of Master Zorkhan. Of course, it’s all for the sake of my task, which must be completed without a hitch. And it’s far from being as simple as it seems, that’s why Zorkhan is being so generous.
Mmmm! And what I’ve become! I’m just stunned! Not every player gets to level 28 so quickly (in the training arena, Urosal and Dazrael had sent me more than a dozen students, and I’d gotten some victories, which granted me experience). Although, according to the extra stat points I’d gotten for my hard work, I was realistically level 35, at least. Of course, not every player would get the chance to gain so many levels, so quickly and ‘easily’. I’m just so very lucky, damn AIs!
“Well, come on then, take the weapons and the bag,” the elf pointed at the table with a nod, “And let's go.”
I put the swords on my back, in a crisscross position—it was more convenient for me that way—threw the bag over my shoulder, straightened out the belt with the quick access cells that were attached to the armor (I was using such a thing for the first time) and showed I was ready for anything with my whole appearance.
“Come along,” the elf quickly walked down the corridor to the exit from the building, and I followed him.
As Master Zorkhan had explained yesterday, we would be going by teleport to Siaren, the city located practically opposite of Saradan, on the other side of the Valand River (along its length is the border) in the Dark Forest of the drow. From there, our “friendly” small company will walk to a nameless settlement in the territory of the Kingdom of Nazkhar, and there somebody will help me get to Harith-Hodor island, where I will be completely alone.
It was amazing; judging by the stories that I’d heard and overheard in Noar-Rahor, the Guild Elghinn Dal Veldrin has contacts almost everywhere. The shadows, like spiders, had spread their web almost all over the world of Noria.
We reached the teleport quickly. It was a large, round stone, divided into sectors by five rays emanating from the center. There were no magicians, no guards or any other observers nearby. Is this normal for the Free Lands? Or is it simply because this stone is one of the outlying portals of the city, but the central one is being watched by all available eyes? It’s none of my business, regardless.
“Do you remember the name of the city?” Dazrael asked me and I nodded in confirmation. “Then stand on the stone and think about the place where you want to go. And don't forget,” the elf emphasized, “that we need to go to the center of the city! Don’t think about the payment—the magic of the portal itself will determine whether you have the necessary sum or not. If you haven’t got it, then it simply throws you away from the portal site, and if you do have it, the portal takes it for the city. Have you ever used portals?” the Master of Shadows asked.
Yeah, this is how NPCs explain the principle behind the operation of portals. For them, a lot of things ‘work’ by magic. After all, this is the simplest and most accessible explanation that the creators of the game could think up, in order to not spoil the overall picture of the virtual world.
“No, I’ve not used it,” I answered honestly, and immediately set foot on the stone platform.
The surrounding space seemed to dissolve into some gray mist, and a message appeared in front of my eyes:
…
Choose a transfer location from the list below:
The Kingdom of Nazhar -
...
The Kingdom of Havrtol -
...
The Free Lands -
...
The Light Forest -
...
The Dark Forest -
...
The Kingdom of the Dwarves -
...
The Wasteland of the Orcs -
...
There was a list of cities under each territory name. The overall list wasn’t short. What had the elf said? Think about the place where I want to go. Just a second.
I mentally said Siaren several times. The list blinked a couple of times, and the system removed the unnecessary options, leaving only the one specified by me. It was followed by a request to choose a portal. I was asked to choose either the Central one or one of the four located on the edges of the city, at an equa
l distance from each other.
Dazrael told me to pick the central portal, so... I shrugged, choosing a point in the middle of Siaren.
I was enveloped by a whirlwind full of silver stars, I felt a moment or two of free falling and found myself on a huge, stone circle, with at least a dozen rays radiating from the center.
“Welcome to Siaren,” one of the five drow standing around the portal greeted me, a formal smile on his face. They were all dressed in yellow and red robes. “Come on, don’t delay the queue,” he said, in the expectedly strict tone.
Not wanting to irritate the man, I immediately stepped down to the ground... or rather, the paving, a fairly large area around the point of transfer was paved.
“Welcome to…” not having any interest in me, the drow continued his regular greeting, facing the new people that were appearing on the stone circle. “You have my utmost respect, Master!” the voice of the dark elf suddenly changed into a fawning and obsequious one. “Perhaps you…”
Without listening any further to the drow, I looked around. I'd already guessed who’d appeared out of the portal behind me. Dark elves rarely talked to anyone with such reverence and seldom called anybody master. And, of course, it was Dazrael.
He was on his way to me, using the shortest route, without considering that someone might get in his way. He didn't have to. All of them gave way to the Master.
“You shouldn't be looking around like that,” he stopped me from examining the area around the portal. The light elf was leading me aside, “We have no time to explore the local sights. You'll see them next time.”
“Yeah, if the next time even happens,” I mumbled softly, trying to keep up with the Shadow Master.
I had a reason to look around! I was warily checking to see if any of the opposing players would pay me any attention, since the system would instantly display all the available information—my name, guild and so on. And I didn’t want someone to see my info! If anyone became aware that there was a player with the class of Shadow, the first in Noria, then the hunt would be on. It was a new class. They would definitely want to find out the secret of getting it. But there was no secret! I was more than sure of it-no one would believe my words.
