Shadows of the Great Forest (Realm of Arkon, Book 4)

by G. Akella

  "You're talking about the Petrified Mermaid?" the rogue inquired.

  "Aye," the ranger nodded. "And there are hundreds of similar examples. But I'm fascinated by something else... It seems, at least to me, that it's not the administration that's behind all these developments. It just seems a little too grand for a game only in its fourth year. It used to be you couldn't find a boss over level 300, but lately the Asian clans in Borderlands have been running into demons in that level range. Not bosses, mind you, but plain mobs! And what about some Steel Wolves clan killing Nerghall? That was just insane! And now you guys with your Cenatodone and some Ancients marching on the Great Forest... The last few months have been truly bizarre—with so many new monsters crawling out of the woodwork that I fear none of us will know peace for a long, long while."

  "Let's not worry about that," said Max, quick to change the subject after exchanging glances with Donut. "What do you propose we ask of the Blades?"

  "Two months of grinding, acceptance to the clan, and half the loot. We plan on setting out to the Wild Wood, are we not? Those two months will give us time to bank the necessary seventy or so levels to survive there."

  "We won't be able to join their clan, at least for the time being," Max shook his head. "I'll explain the reasons later. As for the rest... I like it."

  "Long live the grind," the rogue saluted with his mug of herbal infusion.

  "That reminds me," Alex smiled puckishly. "I owe you guys a round. Hey, innkeeper, we need drinks over here!"

  The Night Blades' field camp was pitched atop an earth embankment, with a ring of stakes jutting outward. They were in Loiren's Heath—a level 150 zone situated on the very edge of the Great Forest. Behind the palisade Max counted roughly twenty leather tents standing alongside "streets" lined with crushed stone. The tents had been set some thirty yards from the palisade—evidently to be out of range of missile weapons in the event of attack. There were wooden structures as well: in addition to four unmanned guard towers, a large two-story building had been erected in the center, ostensibly to serve as the administrative center. Max didn't know what the camps of Roman legions had looked like back in the Ancient World, but he imagined that this one had been conceived after their likeness.

  Donut's friend—a level 167 assassin of dark hair and a medium build named Egaz—had arrived the next day, closer to suppertime. Sizing up the party with a gaze that felt at once mocking and amiable, he chatted with his buddy alone for a few minutes, then asked Donut and Max to follow him. They would walk close to three miles out of the city before Egaz could build a portal to his clan's location.

  "This doesn't look half bad," Max chuckled, examining the fortifications. "How long did it take to put all this up?"

  "Roughly eight hours for a squad of ten with at least 150 in Building," their escort replied. "They did virtually all the work. Every wall section can be folded into a special scroll, to be unfolded at a later time. Don't get me wrong, it's still a lot of work and none of it is truly automatic, but it's still incomparable to construction work IRL. It's a pity we can't build a castle out here after our guys made some clever deal with the local lord... I don't get involved in that stuff. But this camp doesn't seem to be bothering anyone."

  "I don't see too many people around," Donut noted as they passed the sentries and entered onto the outpost's territory.

  "What?" Max turned to the rogue, incredulous. "I've already counted no less than fifty, and that's not including the sentries!"

  "No, he's right," Egaz said. "Our numbers are much fewer these days. Before the patch the clan had about two thousand members, with the dark elves amounting to four hundred or so. Many had quit since, though almost none from the dark elf and human races. The whole clan is here in the camp, aside from the folks who are out questing and grinding. Not counting those on guard duty, obviously."

  "I bet I know why none of ours have left," Donut snorted. "Here you got Vagabond with Jolie and the drunken mage, and there? Only Blackmaster and Punisher to rally behind."

  "You might be surprised by Olga, by the way," Egaz smiled. "The lady is all business these days, unlike us."

  "Don't tell me Fort Knox finally threw up the white flag?"

  "You bet—she and Vagabond deserve one another. And I, for one, am content to stand aside and leave them to their, um, affairs... Get my meaning? Oh, and I would steer clear of Blackmaster if I were you—in all the time I've known him, I'd never seen him as pissed as the day before the patch."

  "Maybe next time he won't be such a snooty douchebag," Donut snickered. "And think hard before bragging about his leet trapping skills. And anyway, it wasn't me who lifted that emerald from him."

  "Maybe you didn't, but I can think of a couple of ladies from Vaedarr..." Egaz muttered with a hint of sadness in his voice, trailing off as he looked away.

  "Don't worry so much, Romeo," Donut gave him a friendly smack on the shoulder. "Your beloved Viper will wait for you." Turning to Max, who had stopped following the thread of the conversation long ago, he clarified. "I'll tell you later about all the intricacies of my complicated relationships with certain members of the Night Blades. I've got no secrets or anything, but this particular story dates back all the way back to Diablo V."

  "And Viper is..."

  "Diana, my sister—she's a viper, all right," the rogue gave a gleeful laugh. "And she's got a virtual romance going with this shmuck."

  "You're the shmuck," Egaz shot back good-naturedly, and gestured at the two-story structure in front of them. "We're here," he said, and stepped through the unguarded door.

  The room they were invited to several minutes later contained three people, not counting Egaz. Vagabond—a medium-height ranger with a square jaw and and face oozing with character—sat behind a massive writing desk lined with dozens of leather scrolls in apparent disarray. He looked to be about forty years old, and wore a sapphire-blue suit of armor of exquisite craftsmanship, with plate pauldrons covering the shoulders. All set items, Max noted to himself. The Night Blades' leader was level 207.

  Standing in the corner of the room, next to the fireplace, was a short frail-looking rogue female with short bronze-colored hair. Rounding out the new faces was a bony mage of white hair, lounging in an armchair by the wall, scratching the ears of an enormous black cat in his lap.

  "Hello, old friend," the host chuckled at the sight of Donut entering. "What brings you here today?"

  "This is Max," the rogue nodded at the warrior. "He'll explain everything."

  "Greetings, Max," the ranger rose and held out his hand. "That's Jolie, and that there is Teetotaler," he introduced his clanmates. "And I see you've already met our resident scout commander. Have a seat and tell us about your matter."

  "Oh, he's a teetotaler, all right," Donut muttered, seating himself into one of the offered chairs. "I've seen him pump himself with booze enough to kill an elephant!"

  "Blunders of youth," the mage parried with the same contemplative expression. "And why are you so wound up? Lifted something again? Watch it, one of these days your antics might catch up with you..."

  "This here," Max produced the crudely severed head of the Ravens' commander, holding it by the hair, and looked around for a spot to set it, hesitant to soil the host's work desk.

  "How delightful!" the young woman by the fireplace threw up her arms excitedly. "And hey, Donut," with a wink to the rogue, she drew closer and proceeded to study the object hanging from Max's hand. "Where did you manage to catch this scumbag?"

  "We don't only have his head," Max said. "We've got plenty more."

  The young woman may not have been conventionally pretty, but there was a kind of savage, animalistic beauty to her: huge green eyes, a slightly pug nose, puffy lips and somewhat coarse, sharp facial features that resembled a bird of prey. Taken separately, none of those elements were particularly attractive, but together they blended into a composition that was downright entrancing.

  "Go on and set it on the desk," Vagabond nodd
ed. "For the pleasure of this sight, I will personally wipe clean every inch of this room afterward."

  Max shrugged and unloaded all eleven heads onto the desk.

  "Oh my! Rikki, Dron, Zorro and even Zherat—so much douchebaggery in a single heap," the young woman whispered with a frightening hatred, clenching her fists. "Thanks, boys. You've made my day."

  "It's time to go, Olga," Vagabond touched the woman's sleeve. "Marianne doesn't even remember anymore. Anyhow, this calls for a celebration. Tee, break out a bottle of Martell, and give these guys their gold."

  With a snort, the mage grabbed the napping feline by the collar and removed him from his lap. Wearing the same inward expression, he opened a bar cabinet and set a 750ml bottle of high-end cognac with six transparent shot glasses on the desk. The same desk upon which the severed heads of the Ravens had been placed. He gave another snort—presumably at he irony of the still life image—then tossed a heavy leather purse to Max, and proceeded to pour the cognac with unhurried, dignified deliberation.

  "You didn't think to clear the desk of this filth first?" their leader inquired.

  "Is it bothering anyone?" the mage asked with apparently genuine surprise.

  "I'll clean up," stashing the trophies into inventory, Jolie quickly cleared the desk.

  "Tell me what I'm missing, Donut... I only saw less than a dozen of your guys at the inn," Egaz said, raising his glass to the light to admire the deep leathery color of the beverage. "And no high levels that I noticed. How did you manage to take out these Ravens?"

  "I'll explain everything," Max answered in Donut's stead. "Actually, that is why we're here. We have a proposition for your clan that should be mutually beneficial." He offered the purse back to Teetotaler. "There's two hundred eighty extra coins here."

  "Call it inflation," Vagabond gave a dismissive wave. "Go on now, we're all ears."

  After Max was finished telling the story and voicing his demands, a silence took over the room.

  "It all sounds rather incredible, but we are living in a fairytale, after all," the ranger said contemplatively.

  The clan leader's features had grown rigid, betraying intense concentration as he mulled over the offered terms.

  "Here," Max shared the quest with everyone in the room. "As a signal of our serious intentions. Only I'm authorized to share the quest, and only I can summon the boss from the swamp. This Mark of Kohel is a personal item—nobody else can use it."

  "Young man, you needn't be worried about anyone here trying to take the mark from you," said the ranger, shaking his head. "That would be foolish on so many levels."

  "I wasn't implying anything," Max assured him. "I simply meant that, if we come to an agreement, nobody else would be able to disrupt our plans."

  "Nice save," Teetotaler snorted again. He had been sitting in his chair—motionless and with his eyes closed—for at least the past five minutes, giving Max the impression he had simply dozed off.

  "All right, let's get serious," setting his glass on his desk, Vagabond fell back in his chair. "Your demands are: all the gold dropped by the boss, half the loot with the right of first refusal, and an escort to follow your party of ten around for two months. In return you guarantee that, aside from the aforementioned ten and our clan's fighters, nobody else will take part in the slaying of Cenatodone. Correct?"

  "Correct," Max nodded. "With the caveat that we cannot be held liable if some random passerby happens to witness the battle and decide to lend a hand. All I can do is share the quest with only the people you indicate—all our people already have it. I'll summon the boss, but it's on you guys to ensure only the Night Blades get the glory."

  "Very well," Vagabond nodded. "Your terms are accepted. You will lead the raid, too—that is only right."

  "Wait! I've never even been on a proper raid, let alone led one."

  "No one said you're going to be in command—I've got plenty of battle-hardened officers for that. But we need your buff."

  "Ah. No problem, then."

  "In that case, go with Teetotaler and Egaz to Setara's shrine and speak aloud the terms of the agreement. I'll start planning on how to best distribute your people across our groups for most effective leveling."

  "So, you agree to all our terms?" Max exhaled, still in somewhat of a shock.

  "Did you expect me to start haggling?"

  "No, but I thought that—"

  "Is that why you decided to ask for all the gold—so as to agree when I countered with an even split?" Vagabond chuckled. "Listen. Two tents will be assigned to your people, and we'll start on your leveling the day after tomorrow. Unfortunately, I don't have any gear for you—all the equipment in your level range is currently stored in the treasury of Dewdrop, my castle, which is currently inaccessible for obvious reasons. But you're not going to need it, anyway. And I expect you'll get some decent upgrades in the process. That'll be all for now," rising from his chair, the ranger held out his hand to Max and Donut. "Egaz, organize portals for them for tomorrow, and ask Amit to come see me in half an hour."

  "Why do I get the feeling that we've just been had?" Max wondered as soon as they exited the building.

  "It's a common sensation when your proposal is accepted without argument," Donut objected. "Haven't you ever taken out a bank loan?"

  "That's the thing—that guy doesn't strike me as a banker. If he were, we might have wound up losing our shirts."

  "What makes you think we still have them?" the rogue laughed, then clapped his friend on the shoulder reassuringly. "Don't sweat it, eh? We got even more than we wanted, and the rest is none of our business."

  "But he didn't even offer us to join his clan."

  "Why would he? We could have asked him ourselves if we wanted to. And besides, I bet Egor had already told him we couldn't do it."

  "Egor? You mean Egaz?"

  "Bingo, that's the guy's real name—he and I go way back," Donut said. "And there he is now, waving at us. Let's get going!"

  "That was a strange display," Jolie spoke quietly as she gazed into the fireplace. "I can understand letting go off the gold, but the right of first refusal? Imagine if the boss drops three scalable epics, they would get two of them..."

  "Have you considered the matter from another angle?"

  "I don't see any other angles," the rogue shook her head. "I mean, I get that the bonuses will be a nice boost to us, probably enough to overtake much of our competition. But it's not like they have many options besides us. Probably none, actually."

  "All right. But even you must admit that I have a conscience, right?"

  "I suppose," the young woman smiled. "What are you driving at?"

  "This swamp is thirty miles from Ellorian. You're the clan's commercial director, yes? Would you remind me of the cost of land out there?"

  Jolie creased her brow.

  "It's the crown lands. Roughly two gold per one hundred square meters, if I'm not mistaken, with a purchase requirement of two and half thousand square kilometers—the minimum size of a lord's estate. That comes out to about fifty million gold," she concluded her calculations. "I doubt that there's anyone flushed enough to afford it, so, again, what are you driving at?"

  "And what is the price of a hundred km on the swamp?"

  "A silver, maybe one and a half, but what does that..." Suddenly the young woman's brows arched upward. Freezing mid-sentence, she fixed her man with a gaze of utter admiration.

  "Attagirl," he smiled. "You can't build a castle on swamp land, which is why the land is one twentieth of the price. After all, who needs land that doesn't come with a title?"

  "But when the monster dies, the swamp will recede!"

  "The lake at Baynorre dried out in the span of a month after the quest was completed. Even if it takes a month or two more in our case, that hardly matters. Moreover, nobody in the Royal Palace has a clue about the island with the goddess' shrine. After completing the quest, we will join her Order—who else but us will be fit to defend it? Which means, ev
en if we don't slay the boss, we'll still be able to build a castle."

  "Aren't you bothered by the fact that these guys will likely be far above us in the Order's hierarchy?"

  "So what? We don't intend on making enemies of them" the ranger smiled. "In fact, I intend on helping Max in his search for that temple. I don't know how yet, but rest assured, we'll figure out a way. Do you have any doubts left regarding my decision?"

  "I never doubted you, sweetheart. Never ever," she drew a contented sigh.

  "Oh really? Never ever?" Vagabond squinted playfully.

  "Never ever. But he who rehashes the past is bound to lose an eye," the young woman fired back with a sly grin.

  Chapter 9

  Alight in the morning sun, the swamp had a serene quality to it, a kind of... innocence. The reeds were strong and lean atop a light-green carpet of sedge. The eastward wind had scattered the mist hanging over the morass, driving it far from shore and exposing the furry brownish knolls dotting the landscape. A damp and heavy wetness wafted in from the swamp, the stench of rot blending with the salubrious scents of healthy vegetation lining the shore. Despite their outward mirth, the people gathered on the shore were inwardly focused and somewhat tense. Vagabond must have already explained to his people that they wouldn't get a second chance at this. And yet, their anxiety was surprising to Max. He was the noob here, raiding for the first time in his life, but these people—they must have been through it a hundred times. Right? Max regarded a group of female healers nearby, and reached for another rolled-up cigarette.

  "Nervous?" Donut snickered to his right.

  "What do you think?"

  "It's painfully obvious," said the rogue. "But you shouldn't be. These guys can put down this beast just as easy as that bonehound that nearly wiped us."

  "What makes you so sure?"

  "Science, Max. Basic mathematics." Donut tried to shove aside Mopsy's muzzle so as to keep eye contact with Max. Failing miserably, he drew a sign of resignation and proceeded to scratch the pet's neck.