by Paul Kite
He’d noticed several more immortals. They were being led to the tavern by a short, bald, old man wearing a strict noble costume. Some others had blocked the passageways to the street.
The people standing near Kraven were approached by two drow-magicians, the strange old man, who seemed very dangerous, and three warriors of the grenkar race—tall and strong horned creatures, which were somewhat similar to minotaurs (the mythical race, destroyed many thousands of years ago by the gods for having reached great knowledge in magic and related sciences, and then using it to challenge higher beings). Grenkars were the descendants of that race, a not too numerous people who’d completely lost all abilities for magic, but had received almost complete immunity to it. That’s why warrior-grenkars were so valuable, as they could resist magic spells and kill magicians in open battle.
The old man began to talk to Kraven. He sometimes turned to the barbarian and the dwarf, as if wanting to clarify some points. The owner of the tavern was tied up with a gag in his mouth, the old man wasn’t interested in him.
Larng har siarkh! Liar siarhel tuarlmil! Damn! The elf swore mentally, adding the necromancer Livion's favorite curse. He'd already known that it was the name of one of the most fearful demons in the world of immortals and he understood why the ravan often used it.
The drow could not deal with the problem, but he wasn't going to leave Kraven in the hands of these immortals. Another thought popped into his head; it was impudent, dangerous, but had every chance of success!
A squad of guards was passing near the tavern at this moment. If he managed to draw their attention, and then made them confront the immortals, causing a mess, they, without any doubt and long pondering, would take everyone in and send them to prison. It wouldn’t be difficult for the Master of Shadows to get there, since he specialized in invisible infiltration and killing single targets.
At his skill level, he was pretty good at cracking the magi-mechanical locks of the prison cells and he had additional scrolls specifically created for hacking.
Now, how would he accomplish this? The best way was to use a direct insult to the representative of the city’s security or an attempt to kill him, and then to escape from the crime scene.
The elf, without removing his invisibility, descended to the other side of the house, bypassed it, and reached the two five man guard groups, who were standing next to the tavern, and discussing something at this point.
The elf abruptly canceled the invisibility at a distance of five feet from the intended victim, surprising and angering one of the guards, who’d noticed this violation of all the written and unwritten rules. Dazrael came closer to his target and drove a dagger into one of the cracks between the joints of the armor near the hip.
“I hope you don't die,” pulling out the bloodied blade, the light elf whispered those words and then immediately rushed in the direction where Kraven was.
Of course, the guards were frozen for a few seconds. It was an incredible insult! An attempted murder of one of them that had happened right in town, in broad daylight, in front of witnesses! It was rare to see such a thing! After all, everyone knew what would happen to those who dared attack the guards of the city, especially when they were on duty.
“Go! Bring me this creature alive!” A leader of a squad belatedly shouted and seven of the nine guards immediately chased the elf, and two were left to help their wounded and bleeding comrade get to the doctor.
Dazrael slowed down a bit so that the guards could follow him, then he took out his swords and turned into a narrow street between the houses, perfectly remembering that two immortals were there. Well, they weren’t a significant impediment to the Master of Shadows.
They didn’t have time to retaliate; Dazrael, like a whirlwind, flew at the two drow and instantly sent them to rebirth. It was unlikely that they’d understand who or what had brought them death. Their bodies began to dissolve in the air, but the guards might notice the corpses, and use them to trace what direction the elf had gone in.
At about a hundred steps from the scene of battle, that dangerous bald man in a noble suit beckoned to his grenkars and ordered them to do something with the fiercely grinning and swearing Kraven. Apparently, he hadn’t been able to make a deal with the guy. However, the elf had no doubt that he would be silent to the last. It was unlikely that the immortals would be able to get information from him by torture. If only because they weren’t going to torture him, because they didn't know that the strange immortal named Kraven could not leave the world of Noria, despite the fact that he hadn't gotten the mark of one cursed by the gods.
“Well, disciple, you're just too lucky! One of the gods is openly mocking you,” the elf smiled, activating his invisibility, and hiding near the group of immortals who hadn't noticed him. They were too busy with Kraven.
“He went there!” The guards had almost run past the turn, but one of them noticed the two bodies and shouted to the others.
“What are you waiting for?!” The chief spoke viciously. “Run! Faster! He couldn't have gotten far.”
The guards turned into a lane, and, at that moment, the elf was sneaking up on the group of the immortals.
Kraven was standing very close by, and three steps to the right, one of the grenkar had wrung his hands behind his back. The dwarf was standing with an ax raised over his head, with the quite clear intention to kill the unnecessary witness, Arnel. The drow’s only eye widened in horror; he tried to spit out the gag and say something, but it was in vain.
“Oh no! That won’t do!” Dazrael forgot his first plan—he wasn’t going to fall into the guards’ hands—instantly pulled out a dagger and threw it into the dwarf, since even a blind man wouldn’t have missed from such a short distance. He hit the dwarf’s hand and the descending ax passed alongside the drow, who’d closed his eye, and struck the stone pavement, producing sparks.
The invisibility ended, and everyone, including the immortals and guardsmen, were staring at the light elf.
“Boss!” Making a stony face and imitating the speech of the immortals, Dazrael turned to the bald old man. “The task is completed!”
“What?” The old man said in surprise.
“Who are you?” The druid added, stunned.
“Everyone, don’t move! We are the Guards of Siaren,” the senior guard gestured to surround the people. “Please do not resist.”
“What do you want?” The old man looked at the high-level guards appraisingly, figured that it was better not to argue and reassured the excited immortals with a gesture.
“He attacked one of us,” one guard from a group of five stepped forward.
“And what does that have to do with us? I don't know him,” the old man shrugged.
“But he seems to know you,” the guard snorted. “And that man,” he nodded in the direction of Kraven, “is dressed almost like this killer,” gritting his teeth, the warrior pointed at the elf. “This fact, without any doubt, confirms they belong to the same group or guild. Apparently, to the ‘Shadows’,” the warrior suggested, at last having guessed who Dazrael was. “I would really like to know the reasons why he tried to kill my man? Well, my good sir, will you continue to deny the obvious and keep claiming that you don’t know any of them?”
“Sir,” one of the guards noticed Kraven’s weapon in the hands of one of the archers, and the drow, lying beside the wall, next to which the dwarf was standing, and hurried to report it to his superior.
“Everything is clear, dear Sir,” the senior guard said coldly. “Take away their weapons, personal belongings and escort them to prison until the final trial and sentencing for the attempted murder of the guard named Miark.
The warrior took out a yellow amulet in the form of a star and activated it. The golden glow that emerged from it enveloped all the people nearby, except the guards, and was drawn back.
“Your auras have been recorded in the magic database,” he explained. “Please, do not interfere with justice until the investigation is co
mpleted. And you,” the guard came very close to Dazrael, and jabbed his finger into his chest, “will have a very cheerful pastime. Take him to a solitary cell on the lower levels,” he ordered. “The Wolf-rats will be happy to have fresh meat. Of course, I will send a request to the guild of Shadows, but, I’m afraid that they’ll probably eat you before I can get an answer from them.”
“Do it,” the old man said irritably to his people. “We’ll figure everything out, I’ve already informed the head of the clan about this misunderstanding.”
“We'll see whether,” the senior guard grinned, “it's a misunderstanding or not, in due time.”
* * *
“Damn, Dazrael, you are...” I couldn’t find the words to describe this elf, carefully reading the system message that had appeared before my eyes.
Attention!
You are under arrest.
You can try to resist, but it’s better if you follow the guards of Siarin voluntarily.
If you try to escape, your relationship with the city will deteriorate.
If an escape is successful, you will be wanted in all the cities of the Dark Forest and the relationship with them will also deteriorate to the extent of hostility or hatred from local residents, depending on your actions.
Now it was clear why the players, led by the old man, have been so quiet. Guards in all the cities, in any of the states, have a very high level—to force everyone, especially players, to follow the letter of the law—but also for when you are caught at a crime scene or like now, if you are suspected of committing a crime, the system threatens you with such punishments. Of course, such stupid and crazy people are rare. And the old man had ordered his people not to resist and to follow the guards to the local prison. We were led there in front of NPCs and players, who looked on in amazement at our considerable procession, consisting of seven guards and a lot of disarmed people.
“Kraven,” the light elf had approached me, as if by chance, and called to me in a whisper, attracting attention. “This isn’t for long, don’t worry, I will quickly pull you out of there.”
“Yeah, of course. Get yourself out, first.” I whispered in response. “I heard what that man said about the wolf-rats on the lower levels. Why did you attack them?”
“Would it have been better if these ones,” the elf said the last word while indicating the players, “had taken you with them? I can't even guess which clan they belong to. Of course, I would’ve found out later, but the news would hardly have been good. Imagine if they have their own castle somewhere on the territory of the Free Lands or the dwarves’ or orcs’ lands, and not just a reclaimed building in an ordinary city, at that? That’s not even counting the numerous guards, a bunch of traps, tamed creatures, and Vegor knows what else,” the elf continued. “In that case, it's easier for me to get into and out of a prison.”
“Okay then, fine,” I said sarcastically.
“Shut up!” one of the guards said viciously, glaring at us hatefully.
“You are intelligent for an Immortal, I’m sure you get my meaning,” the elf quickly said.
I got it, but I can't believe you're going to get us out any time soon. If you can even set us free! It was doubtful.
Prisons and guards in this game weren’t ordinary! In each prison, there were special, magical cells which blocked any attempts to contact someone, to teleport, to kill oneself, to pray to local gods and so on and so forth. Overall, it was a detailed likeness of the cage in which I’d been sitting on the Arkenrid ship.
Of course, each cell had a door and a lock, which was mechanical and magical at the same time. Someone could probably try to crack it, but only from the outside and only with highly developed skills of hacking these very locks. I've never met a specialist like that. Although, Dazrael was talking about such a possibility very confidently. I just hope he can get himself out of the cage. It was impossible, even in theory!
We approached the prison. It was a one-story building made of black stone. There was a long, winding corridor, with heavy wooden doors at the very beginning of it. Apparently, those were the rooms of the guards, and strong, forged bars were placed every twenty centimeters, put there to complicate any attempts to escape.
Two of the guards accompanying us disappeared into one of the rooms with our weapons and other things, then we were led further in. We were escorted down to the first underground level, where the guards put Arnel and most of the players in the cells. Then we were prodded down the stairway to the second level.
I forgot to mention that all the walls and stairs were made of the same black stone as the building itself, which, together with the terrible lighting, gave the prison a gloomy, oppressive atmosphere.
“Go inside,” the guard ordered the trio of horned grenkars, opening the quite large and roomy chamber nearest to the stone staircase.
“Go there,” he put the old man and the druid in the opposite cell.
The dwarf, barbarian, Dazrael and me were led down the aisle between the chambers.
“You'll have problems!” the dwarf spoke softly, when he and the barbarian were allowed into one of the cells in the middle of the corridor.
I understood that perfectly well. This old man's clan would look for me very persistently I am quite sure of that! As soon as they were released, they were going to have a heart-to-heart talk with Arnel. I hoped he’d get out of town after his release. Despite the fact that the drow was an NPC, I perceived him as a living and intelligent being and I began to empathize with Arnel, none of this was his fault, timing sucks sometimes. It was our fault that he’d started having problems and had almost gotten killed. They would certainly look for Dazrael, but he was a Master of Shadows and it was unsafe to threaten a member of the Guild ‘Elghinn Dal Veldrin.’ Therefore, they would not risk harming him, most likely, it would be limited to simple communication. But I wasn't sure about the intercession of the Guild in my name. Despite the words of Zorkhan about my supposed protection, I wasn’t going to trust the Shadows completely and unconditionally.
We came to the last cell; it was the farthest one and detached from the rest, and was located next to the stairs leading to the next underground level of the prison. The guard slowly unlocked the door, choosing one of the keys in a rather massive bundle. Each key had a special spell on it and was only suitable for its own lock.
“Make yourself comfortable,” the guard told me. He perfectly oriented himself in the twilight and closed the door of the cage. “Food and drink will be brought three times a day if you stay here for a long time. The toilet's in the corner. Please don't make noise, don't shout, don't swear. Don't provoke the guard and the peddler. The penalty for each violation will be imposed at the discretion of the senior officer of the guard or the Manager of the prison.” He said thoughtfully. “Okay, don't get bored.”
Then he led Dazrael alone further down the hall.
I read the new system message.
Attention!
Do not forget, you will be required to spend four hours out of twenty-four in the game, in the case of a long term of imprisonment, if you don’t want to be penalized in the form of an additional two hours for each hour.
Thank you for bringing joy to my life. But I don't know exactly how long I've been stuck in this cell. Though I can't get out of the game anyway! So I don't care!
“Life conditions were better on the ship,” I smiled, after examining the cell. “At least there were more people.”
I was allocated a small area—it was about twenty square feet. A cold, stone and plank bed was against one wall and a hole in the floor on the opposite side of the room.
“They could throw a piece of some cloth over it,” I muttered in disappointment, lying on the bed.
Time passed incredibly slowly! I tried to sleep it off, but I couldn't. Forty minutes had passed, according to my inner feelings, but they’d been very long forty minutes.
Suddenly, I heard loud footsteps, the guards were walking up the stairs, discussing something.
“How long do you think he'll last?” I heard one of them ask when they came to my cage.
“I think less than a day,” a hoarse voice replied.
“I don’t think so,” another young and thoughtful voice added.
“Karik, why do you think so?” the same hoarse voice asked resentfully.
“Who knows what these Shadows are capable of.”
The guards’ steps began to drift away, and soon I stopped understanding the phrases of their conversation, catching only a few words.
Time again flowed as a slow, leisurely river ...
I began to fall into a restless, unpleasant dream.
“Hey, neighbor?” A quiet whisper from somewhere... on the right pulled me out of the veil of darkness and horror that had enveloped me in the dream.
Damn! It never stops! What the fuck... Why I have been put next to someone!
“I’m listening,” I answered, not getting up from the bed or opening my eyes.
There was a sound, as if someone was crawling on the floor on all fours.
“Why are you here, friend?” the voice sounded closer, apparently, the unknown neighbor had gotten to the edge of the cell.
“I have no idea,” I said weakly. “No reason, I guess.”
I didn’t want to tell the truth to the first passerby. Why should he know?
“Yeah, that is bad,” the neighbor continued, not surprised at my words. “For how long are you here?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted absolutely honestly, and, without thinking twice, added. “But I hope to be out soon.”
“Oooh ...” my neighbor howled softly, “and I will hardly be out soon.”
“Why?” I asked with careless interest and, turning in his direction, squinted, trying to see and understand whether it was an NPC or a player.
However, I had little success. I saw only the outlines of a man, sitting right on the floor and wearing some rags. And that's all! I couldn’t see his face or recognize his race. His cell was too far away from me.
