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

by Eric Nylund

  “Shy a few days of that,” Morgana told him, “but yeah.”

  “About a week here,” I said.

  “That is… correct.” Harlix nodded and his eyes stared far away as if in deep thought or accessing his interface. His focus then returned to me. “Just one more question.”

  Something was very off here.

  I mean, it was all off, but suddenly alarm bells jangled in my head—those annoying intuitive warnings that had saved my hide more than once. I had the feeling if I answered Harlix’s question, I might be doing so with my final words.

  “I’m not telling you anything more,” I said. “Unless whoever is really in charge here asks me themselves. Unless they’re too craven to face three prisoners.”

  All the gathered knights shifted as I tossed this verbal gauntlet at their feet.

  “Please,” Harlix said, his smile back, but now through gritted teeth. “Are you truly Hektor Saint-Savage of the Domicile of the Sleeping Dragon? The Hero of Thera who saved High Hill from demonic invasion?”

  I pretended to ponder this as if it were a problem in quantum mechanics, my brow furrowed, lips pursed, then I told him, “Go fish.”

  Wait. How many people knew I’d been in the Game for one week?

  Damn few.

  All the partially connected and misaligned dots then clicked into a neat row in my continually concussed mind.

  It was so obvious.

  What if the leader of these Red Knights was my brother, Bill?

  An anti-paladin of his stature could rally and command a bunch of black-listed knights. And it sounded just megalomaniac enough to suit his sense of self-grandeur.

  As a sixteenth-level character, he’d have the clout and resources in the underworld to arrange a hit with the Silent Syndicate. He was also cunning enough to gain leverage or otherwise pay off these three players.

  Furthermore, the poster had said the Red Knight was wanted for “murder, theft, and crimes too numerous and heinous to fully list herein.” That sounded like Bill.

  True, he’d been thrown into Duke Opinicus’s dungeon, but what player hadn’t escaped from at least one prison in their favorite fantasy game?

  And the last piece of this puzzle: why was Harlix going way out of his way to know with absolute certainty I was who I claimed to be? Because Bill would have insisted on a positive ID before they sent for him. I imagined he was on very thin ice with the Abyssal Lords after his previous failure. He couldn’t afford another mistake.

  How I wished I was truly Hektor Saint-Savage, gypsy elf. His brothers might be dead, but at least they had lived their lives with honor.

  My one real brother?

  Bill was pure trash.

  A wrenching squeal of un-oiled metal bought my attention back to the cavern. The earsplitting noise came from the assembled knights.

  The knights all turned toward the sound.

  A figure rose from their ranks. He must have been sitting there all this time, because standing he was a head taller than any here and I wouldn’t have missed him.

  His armor was covered with bloody handprints and spatters. The plates comprising this armor were ludicrously thick, made from different suits welded together, overlapping three layers in some spots.

  The guy had to be close to seven feet tall, and weigh… what? That armor alone had to tip the scales at two hundred pounds. Bill had bulked out since I’d last seen him. Some enlarging magic? Or perhaps the armor had simply been built to appear bigger than its normal-sized occupant.

  My heart beat faster. I might have made a slight tactical error in calling out my serial-killer brother.

  The Red Knight clanked toward us.

  The full helmet covering his head had bolts securing it at the neck, slanted slits for eyes, and the breath holes made the shape of a fanged mouth.

  Harlix stepped away from the throne as the Red Knight sat there.

  The Red Knight pointed at me, and in a booming voice that echoed out from that helmet, he demanded, “ANSWER…”

  I gave it an eight out of ten for its theatrically evil effect.

  And yeah, it worked.

  I’d only rarely won when I played against Bill. And the last time I’d defeated him, well, let’s face it, that’d been a fluke. I’d been lucky to come out of that battle with my soul and sanity intact.

  Funny how my big concerns before the Bloody Rooster had burned down were if I could ditch the Silent Syndicate by simply turning down a quest, and which of my STATs to increase.

  I inwardly cringed at the guesses, decisions, and many mistakes I’d made since then.

  But I took heart as well, because if my bad choices affected the Game and thereby the whole of Creation… that meant an idiot was messing with the gods, demon princes, and super-entities of power in the multiverse.

  I found the irony somehow comforting.

  Trying to understand the true nature of the universe and one’s role and purpose in it, though, was all the sound of one hand clapping as far as I was concerned. I could only play this out like I would have in any game—with a bit of honor, grace, and style.

  Even if it was the last thing I did.

  Especially if it was the last thing I did.

  But first thing first: the chains and manacles had to go.

  I phased into the aether, wrapped ley lines of elemental cold in tight coils about my wrists and ankles—then returned.

  The iron restraints rimed with ice and groaned from thermal stress.

  I gave them a good jolt.

  They shattered.

  Knights drew swords and maces and crossbows; magic sparked about Harlix.

  The Red Knight, however, remained calm and held up his hand to forestall my murder.

  I stared into the slits where his eyes had to be staring back at me.

  “I am Hektor Saint-Savage, adept of the Domicile of the Sleeping Dragon, and if my modesty is pressed, I suppose the Hero of Thera you seek.”

  The Red Knight leaned back and sighed.

  Have I disappointed you, Bill? Sorry, my brother, but I will never bend my knee before the likes of you.

  The Red Knight unscrewed the bolts securing his helmet.

  Hang on a second. If this was Bill, then where was his player placard?

  The knight removed his helmet with a flourish and shook out a mane of golden hair. He swept it from his face with a graceful gesture.

  He beamed at us.

  His sparkling smile, framed by blonde and exquisitely waxed mustaches, was unmistakable.

  Elmac, Morgana, and I stared dumbfounded, mouths agape… and together we cried, “Pendric?!”

  The end.

  To be continued in the next Hero of Thera novel: Fallen Phoenix Rising.

  Thanks for reading A Thousand Drunken Monkeys.

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  See you again in Thera soon.

  Until then go forth and play your game—live, die, fight, love, and conquer all! May your dice roll critical hits, may your aim be pixel perfect, and may you always level up.