A Thousand Drunken Monkeys: Book 2 in the Hero of Thera series

by Eric Nylund

  She cocked her head as if she heard something, got up, and blew out the candles. She slinked to the only window on the far side of the room and peered out.

  I had to find out who and what I was dealing with.

  Dreading the side effects, I nonetheless activated the “absolute truth” ability of Azramath’s Headband of Grim and Fateful Insights.

  In a flash, I saw it all.

  Sadie’s caramel skin was really the color of ocean fog speckled with different colors. Those specks were tiny scales, round and smooth with the surface of her skin, and capable of shifting the tone and patterns of the surrounding cells.

  She was a devangari (a reptile humanoid choice for player race). They had a natural chameleonic ability that, with training, could be used to mimic others’ appearances.

  A scar traced from her left ear, down, and across her throat. This she had received from a broken bottle of Shirixian absinthe in a duel to advance to the rank of lieutenant in the Syndicate.

  More data screamed along my shredding optical nerve—she manicured her nails every day—under her simple linen dress she wore a bodysuit made from the silk of the dreaded and never-seen tesseract spider whose weave was as tough as Kevlar and, with subtle psychic commands, the wearer could alter its texture from diamond-grit abrasive to a near-zero coefficient of friction—there were seven daggers (six poisoned, one not) hidden on her person—her left pinkie had been severed three years ago and she wore a non-magical prosthetic of living wood that was hollow and had recently contained the crystalline venom of the “Glory of Onoskelis” cone snail (Conus Cor Subsisto), named after the murderous fallen angel, which only requires brief contact with a victim’s eyes, mouth, lips, nasal membranes, open wounds or other orifices to…

  Still more truth forced its way into my mind: She was originally Yumi Ishida, who at fourteen joined the Yakuza. She stole, killed, and was a good soldier until she lost two kilograms of heroin. For that, the Yazuka cut off her legs and left her to die in a dumpster. That is when the spirits of death, the Phonoi, came to her. They wanted her to play the Game for them, not only because Yumi was a nationally ranked champion gamer—but because she had been both victimizer and victim. With every ounce of her being, she believed that life was a choice between these two roles. The Phonoi approved and knew she would do anything to avoid being a victim ever again.

  My brain boiled with this overload of information.

  As if striding through hardening concrete, I willed my perspective back before I became lost in this spiral ever-increasing data.

  My enhanced focus shrunk to a pinpoint, but before it faded entirely, I caught a glimpse of Kirlian lines of force about her: a magnetic field of shadow draining color and power from the nearby ley lines.

  Not magic in and of itself… more like its opposite. Perhaps an anti-magic field?

  Silver smears then appeared over her head and sharpened into:

  Yamina Sussara

  ASSASSIN (Soul Stealer) / LEVEL 8

  The Phonoi

  That’s all I needed.

  And that’s all I could handle.

  I turned off the power of Azramath’s headband.

  Blood trickled out my nose from a hundred bursting micro-aneurysms.

  I fired off a Spiritual Regeneration, which saved me from stroking out and dying… for a little time anyway.

  Yamina turned from the window and stared at me wide-eyed. “You are full of surprises. The headband of Azramath the Trembling? I thought it a mere legend.”

  She returned to me, drew a dagger, and slipped its tip under the silk band.

  “I was instructed not to take any items from your corpse or inventory, but you are not dead yet, true?”

  She dragged the headband off.

  And in the process, nicked me with the dagger.

  WARNING:

  Player versus Player rules, systems, and prohibitions have been NULLIFIED.

  The Neutral Ground status of this region has been NULLIFIED.

  The alert was only there for a flicker of a moment before it vanished.

  Another handy assassin ability?

  Did it matter? Drugged—stabbed—dead was dead.

  She knelt, tapped her dagger tip against my jugular, and murmured. “I apologize for the venom taking so long. There are many that are faster, but this poisons the soul along with one’s flesh. Whoever has paid for your death went to great expense to assure it would be irreversible even by the strongest of divine magics.”

  Great. The Lords of the Abyss were going to make sure I’d be enjoying their hospitality—forever.

  My heart and diaphragm seized.

  My health bar was at the halfway mark—poisoned green pips now popping faster and faster.

  “I believe it might matter to you,” she said, “so let me assure you, this” —she pointed to herself— “is merely borrowed. Just enough to pass for the real Sadie. She is safe and alive with a few others that we drugged and have secured.”

  Borrowed… I wonder if her assassin specialization, this Soul Stealer, gave her the ability to clone the appearance, mannerisms, and maybe even more from another person?

  Gods! She was really good at keeping me distracted.

  Wait. Had she said “We drugged and secured”?

  We?

  Yamina was not alone.

  I had to message Morgana and Elmac. They were in danger (and if I’d been smarter, I would have done this the instant I became paralyzed).

  >_Hektor Saint-Savage: Assassins HERE. RUN!

  There was no reply. Not even a Privacy Block Alert.

  There could be many reasons they weren’t answering, most of them bad.

  It now felt as if iron hands gripped my throat, inexorably tightening.

  Yamina drew closer, not quite touching, but so near I felt her pulse on my skin.

  Her eyes were still blue, but not the real Sadie’s shade of tropical waters. These were the color of a guttering coal fire. The same eyes I’d seen glowing behind her veil the night we had both watched the Bloody Rooster burn.

  “I picked up your trail at the city dump and might have done this sooner, but when I saw your five cohorts at the Inn, I took no chances and sent for reinforcements.”

  Five cohorts? Along with Elmac and Morgana, she must have mistaken Grimhalt, Harlix, and Cassie as members of our party… and chalked off my duel with Grimhalt as a friendly match? Well, he had left more or less intact, so maybe.

  I guess after that fight, Yamina replaced Sadie and set her trap. She knew that we’d have to use the nearby gate to eventually return to Thera, and the inn was the logical place for us to visit on our way back.

  “And your decoy was brilliant,” she continued, nodding with admiration. “The fairy with his illusions. That is why my scouts lost you. Do you know the little fey wouldn’t give you up? Even after we tortured him for twenty hours straight. How he squealed when I tore off his wings.”

  Molten rage flashed through my thoughts—and intensified because I couldn’t move, couldn’t even try to strangle this cold-blooded murderess.

  Oswald, I misjudged you. I swear if you’re alive…

  I’d do what? I was almost out of time.

  And I had gotten sucked into her monologue again.

  She was good.

  “In another life,” she whispered, “you and I might have made a formidable team.”

  She moved even closer as if she were going to kiss me again, but halted. “No,” she breathed, swallowed, and then added, “that would just confuse matters… more.”

  Yamina pulled away. “And you deserve, at least, my respect.”

  If I could have, I would have thrown up.

  She strode to the door and seemed to stare at her interface, then set her ear to the wall.

  I couldn’t believe I’d almost fallen for her (or rather, her version of Sadie).

  I entered the aether.

  My reflexive mana was full, so I had about two minutes, give or take, to pull a he
rd of rabbits from my collective hats and wriggle out of this. Wishful thinking, if there ever was.

  Okay, Spiritual Regeneration didn’t work on this venom, but I did have something worth a shot: the last dose of anti-toxin in my inventory. One mental tap and it would be in my hand… and be useless, of course, because I couldn’t move my hand.

  Almost funny. Ha ha.

  I had been in a similar situation, though, hadn’t I?

  I’d used the same anti-toxin to neutralize the alcohol in Master Cho. Only that time, he hadn’t drunk the potion directly; I’d used my Small Pass ability to teleport it into his gourd of brandy, and then he’d drunk it.

  Could I do the same for myself? Not teleport it into a gourd, but inside me?

  My insides, however, didn’t have a well-defined empty space to trans-locate the potion into. Hmm. There had been a warning about that…

  I tabbed to my SKILLS & ABILITIES.

  Small Pass (Physical): Teleport an object less than five pounds.

  Range: 10 yards.

  Cost: 10 mana.

  NOTE: Attempts to move one object inside another significantly decreases the chance of success and may have dire effects on the object and spellcaster.

  A significantly decreased chance? Happy to take the long odds as long as they weren’t zero.

  Dire effects on object and spellcaster? Well, what was the worst that could happen? Die in excruciating pain… as opposed to just dying? Worth it.

  I snagged a golden spatial ley line and felt the familiar clicking into my astral grasp.

  I tapped the potion in my inventory.

  I’d learned my lesson from trying this last time, though. I couldn’t afford to wait and burn through reflexive mana, so I flashed into normal space-time—a quarter of a second ticked by, the game interface responded, and I felt the vial of anti-toxin in hand—then I phased back to the aether.

  I looped the gold filament inside the bottle and made another loop that I pushed into my center. It gave me an odd rollercoaster free-fall sensation.

  I then performed the Small Pass.

  The potion fought back. It was like trying to push an ocean wave headed one way—in another direction. It just slipped around and through my fingers.

  I tried again, and with excruciating care and focus, tightened the loop, and forced the contents ever so slowly into my body.

  My inner plumbing distorted and distended and stretched as the teleported matter tried to fit into the same space as… well, me. The titanic over-pressure felt as if I were swallowing a pound of nails and they poked my tender insides, punctured organs, and ruptured cells.

  And this was in the super slowed time of the aether. When I phased back, it would be a lot worse.

  My health bar, however, hadn’t fallen one pip.

  Good?

  No. The damage was coming. The game interface just hadn’t caught up yet.

  The question was: how many points of health? Let’s see… internal rupturing of several vital organs? Maybe nitrogen narcosis bubbles in my blood? Safe bet to say all of them.

  I spammed Spiritual Regeneration four times. That would get me from zero to full health, if I didn’t explode first.

  And again, my health bar didn’t change.

  I checked my reflexive mana: 36/120. Yikes. That had taken longer than I’d realized.

  I phased back—

  into a new dimension of pain.

  My viscera ruptured, blood squirted through my insides, third-degree burns made my intestines sizzle, and bubbling acid excoriated every blood vessel.

  The damage just as fast regenerated.

  Tissues and organs knit together, burns cooled, but it was just as painful going the reverse way. I also wasn’t sure everything got exactly back into the right spot.

  I would have screamed but was still paralyzed.

  That was actually a lucky break. If Yamina had heard, she’d have taken care of me before I could fully recover.

  I watched my health bar drop to zero—I blacked out for… an instant?—then was back. The indicator climbed to half, ticked down to 57/180… and halted.

  I quietly took in a shaky breath. The fresh air felt so good.

  I tried to wiggle my fingers. They moved. A bit. Good.

  I felt prickly sensation spread up my arms and legs.

  Yamina froze by the door. “One more surprise?” she said without turning. “Why Hektor, you do know how to show a lady a good time.”

  “Yeah?” I panted. “Well. Worst. Kiss. Ever.”

  CHAPTER 38

  It was dark in the room, but even without Azramath’s headband, I could see well enough from the moonlight filtering in through the window.

  I used another two Spiritual Regenerations. Pins and needles crawled over the rest of my body. The last of the paralysis burning off, I hoped.

  I stretched my back, flexed my calves.

  And that was all the time I had because Yamina leapt at me.

  The blur of a spinning kick scythed toward my face.

  I slapped it, sidestepped—but her speed and power nearly knocked me over.

  I willed Shé liàn to my hand.

  The ninja chain, however, remained wrapped about my waist.

  So I had seen correctly; Yamina did have some sort of anti-magic field about her.

  I made a fist. The demon bone knuckles bulged under my skin. No magic, no explosive power, but I’d take the added weight to my right-handed strikes.

  Yamina slashed with daggers and wove ribbons of steel in the air.

  I rolled over the table where we’d toasted one another. Glasses bounced and skittered over the floor. I managed to grab the wine bottle—broke its neck.

  Considering how she’d gotten the scar on her throat, this improvised weapon might give her pause.

  Two steel streaks cut the air before me.

  I spun a quarter turn.

  Daggers whispered past my Adam’s apple and the back of my head—

  and thunked into oak wall planks. To their hilts.

  I hadn’t even seen her throw those.

  I dove under the table—came up on the other side. Keep a barrier, if you could, between you and your opponent.

  She appeared on the opposite side and used a hammer strike to reduce the furniture to kindling.

  I brandished my pathetic broken bottle her way… as if it might do anything other than amuse her at this point.

  The bottle’s contents slopped onto the floor and filled the air with the fragrant bouquet of thirty-year-old Cabernet Ferico Alberto.

  Ah—inspiration! I give thanks for your blessings, wisdom, and teachings, oh drunken monkey god, Dà Xiào Hóu!

  I leapt back to the door, opened my inventory, and in a flash had Elmac’s flask of Red Dragon Whiskey in hand—and guzzled. All of it.

  My Drunken Resistance helped me down the entire thing without gagging. Liquid plasma scorched my lacerated organs, but also warmed my blood, lubricated muscles, loosened tendons, and soothed my jagged nerves… and wavering wobbling dots then lined up in my fuzzy thinking.

  Hello, drunken boxing.

  I laughed and dropped the emptied flask. This might be fun.

  Yamina stared confused… then a glimmer of understanding crossed her features.

  Oh, look! In my still-open inventory, that 1762 Gautier Cognac de me compliments of Miss Lillian Carat-Bringer. I’d been saving that for Elmac, but he wouldn’t deny a comrade a drink or three in a pinch. A fine friend, that Elmac.

  I tapped it. The bottle appeared in my hand.

  Yamina was on me in a blink.

  Double cobra-style strikes sliced at my eyes and throat, smashing through the door where I’d stood a split second earlier.

  Fortunately, I had tripped and made a teetering-tottering recovery, the so-called Broken Stairs defense.

  I toasted my good fortune, upended the cognac, and drank.

  Yamina grabbed for it.

  I twisted out of her way.

  She misse
d.

  With one hand.

  Her other hand, though, landed an open palm to my gut.

  I reeled back, arms pinwheeling.

  It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it might. Actually, I wasn’t feeling much of anything. Hurray!

  That strike did regrettably expel the contents of my mouth and throat—shot them out my nose, blasting alcohol straight through the blood-brain barrier of my sinuses.

  This was the dreaded Salamander Breath technique (not recommended for novices). Usually one used it in conjunction with a firebrand to produce a gout of flame. Without fire… the results were slightly less than spectacular.

  I wiped lines of snot from my face.

  Two new daggers were in Yamina’s hands. She did a double feint and stabbed.

  I danced, back and forth, this way, that—a cross between a dwarven jig and a Cossack’s kicking-jumping display of manly acrobatics.

  She missed.

  Missed again.

  And screamed in outrage as she missed once more.

  I then zigged when I should have not.

  She sliced me open to the rib bones.

  It felt like a swarm of wasps stung along that unzipped line of flesh, but the pain quickly faded.

  Had her blade been poisoned? I hadn’t seen any pop-up alert. On the other hand, I could have missed it in my moderately sloshed state. Well, I was numb—so either way, I really didn’t care.

  My swimming vision then centered upon Yamina perfectly poised in Tiger Stance.

  And I remembered… she had burned down the Bloody Rooster, chased me and my friends across two worlds, murdered who knew how many along the way… and Oswald. My poor friend, Oswald.

  Oh yes, Miss Yamina Sussara, we did indeed have accounts to settle this evening.

  I stopped messing around and fought.

  Together we stepped and counter stepped, blocked and riposted, kicked and threw knees at vital locations—locked in a precise, lethal tango.

  Her blades flicked and probed my defenses; I slapped aside the razor edges, grabbed her wrists; she twisted away.

  I couldn’t tell where my body ended and hers began, that’s how evenly were we matched, so intertwined were our limbs. It was a seduction of sorts, the courting of two praying mantises (perhaps not the best metaphor here, considering how that ended for the male).