by Pavel Kornev
Several times we’d nearly become dinner for some local nasties but normally, Rob just swatted them with his magic without even slowing down. Not once had he thought of leaving one of them for me: he followed Neo’s orders to a T without considering any other options.
Luckily, we didn’t have to walk the whole way. After a while, Rob brought me to a swift little river. A boat lay upended on the bank. Drifting on the current proved to be much easier then trekking down animal trails, but even so Rob and I had hardly exchanged a dozen words in the whole course of my journey. I got the impression that he didn’t deign to speak to a level-24 rogue and was simply going through the motions, sitting in the prow of the boat and giving it an occasional push with the pole to steer it away from any rocks.
Boring.
THE BRIDGE WHICH HAD BEEN washed away during the last flood had now been rebuilt. And not just that: a whole new fortress had been erected on the opposite bank.
“Over there,” Rob said, pointing at the fortress.
“And you?”
“I can’t,” he said, dragging the boat onto the bank. “I’ll wait for you here.”
I nodded and walked across the sandy bank. At some point, I looked up and peered at the tiny black dot high in the sky. My black phoenix seemed to defy the gaming rules. Having said that, he was officially my pet now and I was a neutral player not affiliated with either Dark or Light. Chaos shouldn’t have any problems letting me through.
Indeed, the orс guards on the bridge didn’t say anything — in fact, they didn’t even turn their heads as if I was invisible. I chuckled and headed for the village along the too-familiar road.
Nothing seemed to have changed much. Soon, I entered the part of the road lined with precipitous cliffs. The memory of being chased across them by the hell hounds made me uncomfortable, but I overcame my uneasiness and hastened my step.
I started noticing the changes when I reached the small platform where the road spawned two faint trails. The wider one headed for the hills while the smaller overgrown one led to the lighthouse. The platform offered a fine view of the town.
Stone Harbor had grown a lot. The port had been made bigger, with the addition of a fort to help defend it. Even the Tower of Power seemed to have grown in size, dominating the rooftops. Sail boats and barges glided across the bay; streets were busy with passersby. In other words, the little town was now bustling with life.
I shook my head and continued toward the lighthouse that topped the hill like a stone needle piercing the sky. Its lantern was dark. Every now and again I’d switch to Scarecrow to check the area from a bird’s eye view. To my surprise, I saw no sign of roadblocks erected by the orc followers of the Silver Phoenix. Last time, there had been several; nothing now.
It all became clear once I’d reached the top of the hill which offered an excellent view of the lighthouse. The orcs had turned it into a veritable stronghold. All the trees near the fence had been dug out and replaced by a deep moat; the fence itself had been made higher and considerably stronger. Watchtowers manned with archers had been built at every corner, with two smaller ones flanking the gates.
Once again I reached out to Scarecrow to look at the fortifications through his eyes. The roofs of the barracks flashed past. I saw orc patrols and loaded scorpions. Upon closer inspection, I realized that our plans to take over the lighthouse in under an hour had been overenthusiastic to say the least. I had no doubt that the mercenaries would eventually crush the orcs, simply due to their higher levels, but any delay might result in blowing the deadline, read: defeat. Also, trying to storm the walls without any equipment such as siege machines or even ladders wasn’t a very clever thing to do.
At the very least, we needed better magic support. Only now did I begin to appreciate Lloyd’s foresight in advising us to “take our bearings” first and sign the contract later. The earlier conversation with Prince Julian had left me overly optimistic: I could see now that he tended to view the lighthouse defenders from the height of his own level, way underestimating the upcoming challenge.
Had my mercs been in his league, that wouldn’t have been a problem, but I’m afraid I just couldn’t afford such a high-level bunch.
I secreted myself in a patch of tall grass from any potential observers, slumped onto a flat stone and got thinking, calculating and estimating. I tried to approach the situation from every possible angle, turning it this way and that, and finally stopped my choice on some earth mages.
Strangely enough, when I PM’d Mr. Lloyd with a brief report, he wholeheartedly agreed with my choice.
“Are we gonna start?” he asked.
“Go on, then.”
We hired the mercs for the shortest possible period which was 8 hours, allowing us to save quite a bit and hire higher-level fighters. Plus we had the added bonus of the Black Trackers archers. Still, my heart wasn’t at ease.
Then again, why should I worry? This was Neo’s problem!
Still, I’d hate to let him down, of all people. This may be a game for the rest of us — but it was the only reality available to him.
A piece а program code? Maybe. So what?
I sighed, pulled myself together and opened a portal for Victor and his men.
“Don’t stick your necks out. Just wait for the right moment,” I warned them. “The archers and the scorpion teams are on you. After that, just play it by ear. And please make sure you don’t shoot down my little birdie. See it soaring up there?”
Victor nodded and waved to his men who promptly disappeared into the sparse vegetation. These guys were real pros!
I then summoned the mercs: dwarf tanks bound in armor head to toe, tattooed berserkers for rapid breakthroughs, enlightened clerics, a couple of healers and, naturally, the mages. It was the mages that dealt the first blow as soon as all the others had lined up and prepared to storm the lighthouse.
An explosion shattered the hilltop. An invisible hand swept the earth into the moat, creating a passage to the other side where the fence had disintegrated with the blast. The nearest watchtower shook and listed to one side. Its outer wall collapsed, exposing the tower’s inside to the archers who lived up to their fame. By the time the dwarves began their advance, covering themselves with full-length shields, Victor’s men had already showered the defenders with a barrage of arrows, wreaking the first losses on the unsuspecting orcs.
A scorpion snapped into action. Its massive spear pierced right through a first-line fighter, knocking the one behind him off his feet. The dwarves’ ranks quivered as they stepped aside to let the berserkers through who darted toward the walls, impatient to kill the archers holed up on them.
The ground shuddered again. One of the barracks caved in as if swatted by a giant hand just as soldiers hurried to leave it. This was our five earth mages at work who had by now gotten a taste for destruction.
But even so, the orcs had promptly blocked our approach and faced our fighters in a bloody melee. Their scimitars and poleaxes just kept rising.
Although our berserkers had seized part of the wall and the nearest watchtower, the enemy archers kept showering us with arrows from the two gateway towers. Which was why the mages chose them as their next target. Admittedly, they’d only managed to demolish one of them when a dozen paladins of Chaos poured out of the lighthouse, casting a gray haze which trapped the mages’ battle spells, disabling them. Their blows thinned out our dwarven ranks quite a bit and even smoked a few orcs who’d happened in its path. I saw flashes of healing magic while their priests hurried to set up a protection shield; then the battle resumed with renewed force.
Victor’s archers followed the berserkers up the walls and showered the enemy paladins with arrows while our mages held hands, forming a five-point star as they prepared to cast another spell. And then...
Blood gushed out of a mage’s throat. Immediately another scimitar pierced his heart. The attacker — a rogue orc — unstealthed while assaulting another mage, chopping off his hand and slashing thr
ough his collar bone, then turned to the others like a windmill running amuck.
I hurried toward him, slashed out at his leg and stabbed him twice in the back.
Critical hit! Damage dealt: 238.
Crippling blow! Damage to your opponent’s hamstring!
My first two blows had dealt decent damage but my last one — trying to bury my dagger under his shoulder blade — had failed. The orc slid out of my reach and slashed at my face with his curved dagger, aiming for my eyes. By a sheer miracle I managed to duck just enough to offer my forehead to the blow.
The sharp pain stupefied me. Blood gushed out of the wound. I took a few steps back, trying to increase the distance between me and this new enemy who was apparently way out of my league. He started after me but his wounded leg did little to improve his speed. Instead, he began growing some stone scales to cover his body. At first I thought this must have been some protection spell but soon his movements slowed down as his green skin turned gray.
He was being turned to stone!
The realization forced me to throw myself on him — but it was already too late. My dagger clanged against granite. So I didn’t get the chance to finish him off nor did I get much XP for him, either.
I didn’t care. I didn’t give a damn about XP. All I knew was that we only had three mages left: a fact which seriously inhibited their effectiveness.
Dammit! I wrapped a piece of cloth around my bleeding forehead, picked up a spade and a pickaxe and stealthed up. By now, the dwarves had advanced a mere fifty feet from the breach in the wall as the paladins’ support had filled the orcs with renewed enthusiasm, making them fight our avantgarde with gusto. The defenders of the surviving gateway tower poured out and launched a flanking attack at me and my mercs, so we had to hastily regroup in order to fight on two fronts. Our attack seemed to have been bogged down.
Time was dwindling, so I decided to take a risk. Once a deep crevice opened up before me, swallowing up three screaming orcs and repelling all the others, I leaped across the chasm, slid past the fighters and made my way toward the lighthouse. One of the paladins must have sensed me — but before he could do anything about it, he collapsed to the ground with an arrow sticking out of his eye socket. I’d been lucky this time.
The impossibly tall front doors of the lighthouse weren’t locked. I forced the door handle toward me, struggling to keep one of the door halves ajar, and literally wormed my way into the spacious dark hall beyond. Immediately I stepped to one side and crouched in the gloom, trying to merge with the wall.
They expected me. Not “me” me, but one of the orcs must have been smart enough to post two guards by the staircase leading into the underground dungeons. One was wearing heavy armor, the other a weird robe cinched with several leather belts. Both were short and stocky, their fangs impressive. A paladin and a shaman. Each of them way stronger than I was.
I cussed. Should I steal past them?
Nope. The shaman’s perception must have been high enough to detect an intruder.
The air outside seethed with the clangor of battle. Shit! Even if my men overcame the orcs, I still had that damn grave to open!
I cast a desperate look around me, and a triumphant grin appeared on my lips. I focused and summoned Scarecrow.
The darkness in a far corner began to swirl, thickening into some sort of an ink spot with Scarecrow’s head emerging from it. He dove onto the two guards, sinking his razor-sharp talons into the shaman’s shoulders while pecking the paladin on the helmet with such a force that his beak crumpled the steel, smashing the head inside it.
He’d killed an orc with just one blow! One blow!
The shaman growled and began brandishing his staff but Scarecrow effortlessly snapped it in two with his beak. By then, I’d shaken off my slumber, run toward them and stabbed the orc as hard as I could in the solar plexus. I leaned my whole weight against the dagger, widening the wound. The shaman spat blood, hunched up and slumped onto the tiles.
The phoenix threw his head back and opened his bloodied beak wide. “Craaah!”
My ears rang with his deafening cry. A whiff of his rotten breath spread through the air. I gave him an angry whack with the side of my hand, leapt over the orcs’ mangled bodies and hurried down the staircase taking several steps at a time, leaving the dead phoenix behind to feast on the bodies.
Before climbing down the underground tunnel, I stealthed up once again. Not that it was necessary: the corridor, flooded with white lamplight, was deserted. All I could see were the lamps, the bricked-up niches, the wall carvings and... a gate! A brand new stone gate!
I dashed toward it and stared in disbelief at the tall gate doors. Dammit!
There was no way I could break them down: even my pickaxe wasn’t up to the job. Should I pick the lock? I could forget it. I just didn’t know how to do that sort of thing. So what was I supposed to do?
A repulsive hoarse croak echoed through the tunnel. I swung round just in time to see Scarecrow darting right at me head-on. His powerful wings were all but brushing the walls but even so he’d managed to build up quite a speed. And it didn’t look as if he had any intention of slowing down.
I dropped to the floor. Scarecrow rammed the gates in full flight, exploding in a mess of feathers and patches of primordial darkness. The gate shattered. A net of cracks spread over its halves which imploded, sending chunks of masonry rolling over the mosaic floor.
Oh wow.
How’s that for a bird? How’s that for power?
What a shame he’d now take some time to respawn. I could have used him to cover my ass while digging the grave open.
Without further ado, I waded through the piles of collapsed stonework and entered the hall flooded with the uneven light of the totem of the Silver Phoenix. The totem kept flickering, sending ominous shadows dancing all around the room — the shadows which might well conceal a few stealthed-up guards. Still, no matter how hard I looked, I hadn’t discovered any. Neither had I detected any traps.
Excellent. Off we go!
They’d already restored the tombstone so I had to use my pick. Whack! And again! Then two more!
The marble split and broke. I pushed the chunks of the tombstone aside and picked up the spade. That wasn’t as easy as I’d expected. My Stamina plummeted. Hot sweat trickled over my face. By the time I’d finished, I’d nearly had a heart attack. My back was in agony; my hands were covered in bloodied blisters.
You just couldn’t make it up, could you?
I’d been digging nice and deep for quite a while when my spade finally clanged against the silver flank of my Moon Grail.
“Found anything?” a voice asked behind my back, mocking sympathy.
My quick reflexes saved me. I somersaulted down into the grave, stealthing up in flight without even checking who it might have been. The intruder’s staff smashed the stone where I’d just stood a split second ago.
My hapless killer growled his frustration. Or should I say, her frustration? Because it was a she — a female orc.
The burly green-skinned lady with a single long plait dangling from her otherwise shaven head kept turning her head, her nostrils flaring, peering around in order to locate me.
What an idiot. Who’d asked her to show off? She should have just killed me without any smartass overtures, period.
She was the last thing I needed now.
She was a shaman. Even worse, she was a Player. And what was even worse, she was level 52.
Arkha. She Who Dances with Spirits. Shaman.
The name rang a bell. I rummaged through my memory. Was she really the sorceress who had tried to desecrate the mountain temple and had very nearly done away with Neo in doing so? What a stubborn fool!
I hurried to take cover behind the totem of the Silver Phoenix, sinking deep into the surrounding shadows, and drew my dagger. Not that it mattered. Shamans might not be the most militant bunch but the level gap of over 100% left me zero chances.
How I wished I h
ad my flamberge here with me!
“Come out!” Arkha demanded. Powerful muscles bulged under her grayish green skin as she brandished her staff. She was dressed in a plain tunic which left her left breast exposed, but the absence of armor didn’t give me any particular advantage: the orc lady moved with exceptional agility and was apparently able to crush stone with her staff — provided it was indeed a plain staff.
“Come out!” she repeated. The many bracelets on her wrists and ankles dangled nervously. How had she ever managed to steal upon me unnoticed?
“Now!” she demanded. I ignored her, feverishly trying to weigh up my options.
