With the ten gold wheels that Corvo had given him the night before, Roan was walking around with over twenty-one thousand in gold on his person. He didn’t need a few coppers and whatever disease came with them.
The illusion was still up, so he still looked like a straw-haired pauper in patched clothing, only now he carried a bloody sword and wore a scowl that kept the small-time ruffians away. They were so rat-like in their mannerisms that it was unsettling. As soon as Roan was twenty paces from the bodies of his victims, the slum dwellers snuck out from whatever dark crevices they lived in and began to go at the bodies in a revolting way.
Not only were their weapons and clothing stolen, the bodies were butchered for their meat, right there in the street with people fighting over ribs and shanks.
Disgusted, Roan watched, wishing he could kill all of them, however he needed them, or at least one of them. He didn’t know where he was going and needed a guide. Taking a handful of gold from his pocket, he tossed a few coins at the crowd. They fought over these as well. When the winners had their coins, he held up more gold and now he had their undivided attention.
“I’m looking for Magenlune the Seer. Ten gold to whoever can take me.”
Bloody hands shot into the air as the same men and women who had attacked him minutes before now scrambled to be his guide. “Me! Me! I can do it. No, I know where she is. No, me!” A new fight broke out and into the midst of it strolled a man in black leather armor with long dark hair that was either wet or oiled. He stood tall but reed-thin. The crowd of rat-people backed away from him and the arguments ceased.
“I’ll do it for fifty,” the man said, his right hand caressing the hilt of a sword that hung from his slim waist.
“The offer was for ten. I’ll pay no more than that.” He didn’t see the reason to pay any more since there were so many eager to help.
The man seemed to see the problem was one of oversupply to a singular demand. Without warning he whipped out his sword and ran one of the slum dwellers through with it. The rest fled.
“That’ll be fifty gold,” the man said, sliding his wet sword back into its sheath. “Paid in advance.”
Roan could afford the gold. What he couldn’t afford was being led into a trap and the man had that sort of look about him. It was true of all of the people he had seen so far in the slums. They all had that “I have a barely hidden secret” sort of look, only this guy also seemed to back up the look with a certain quality, or maybe a certain capability.
Still, with the streets once again deserted, Roan was without any other option, so he counted out fifty in gold and handed it over. Grinning, the man took the money. “My name is Behrens. Stay close and let me do the talking or I will leave you out here to die. There are some bad, bad hombres in these parts. They’ll gut you as soon as look at you.”
“Hombres? Are you a player?”
“One of the best,” the man answered.
It was a bit of a surprise that a player would choose a place like the Slums. It didn’t seem all that fun. Roan gave him a closer look and saw something else about Behrens. “You’re playing as yourself,” Roan noted.
The man nodded with that same grin, as if Roan was supposed to be impressed. Roan wasn’t at all. Yes, the man had demonstrated that he was faster than the average, and because of his height, he was probably stronger as well. He was lean and had a good constitution. But if he considered himself smart, he had badly over-estimated that quality. Roan could see the plotting going on behind his eyes.
Behrens pointed across the alley to a building that had settled into the earth at a steep angle. Roan hesitated in the doorway. The smell coming from inside reminded him of the ghast he had run into on K Street. It was a place of death.
“No way,” Roan said. “We’ll go around.”
“It’s the only way,” Behrens said, pushing past. “It’s safe, trust me.”
Asking for trust after having just committed murder was idiotic. There was no way Roan could trust such a man and really, there was no reason to, not when he had people fighting to show him the way. Those people were now out of sight, hiding and watching. They would come back if Behrens was no longer in the picture. All Roan had to do was remove his noxious presence. The very idea brought a slow smile to his face.
Behrens didn’t hear the Basilisk dagger as it slid from its sheath.
Chapter 34
The Slums, Oberast
Roan pounded the dagger into Behrens’ back with such force that it punctured his heart. He sucked in his breath in surprise and pain—it was his last breath as Roan next yanked his head back and drew the dagger across his throat, slitting the carotid artery.
The spray from the vessel was shocking. Roan had to point the man away from him to keep from being covered in blood(XP + 1000). When he dropped, Roan pulled the corpse from the slanted building and rifled his pockets, finding more gold, all of which he took. Behrens’ sword was magical, and Roan took that as well, thrusting it into his Dimension Bag.
When he stood, he looked around for one of the slum dwellers, but saw instead a woman leaning in the shadows. She had flowing brown hair and sharp features, almost as if she were elven. For long seconds the two gazed upon each other, each with appraising eyes. She wore plate armor that was the strange multi-hue of mother of pearl and Roan guessed she was a fighter.
Finally, she said, “Nice kill. Are you an assassin?” When Roan did not answer, she shrugged. “So, you wish to meet Magenlune, the seer. If so, I will need you to take off your shielding ring.” She pointed to his right hand.
A smile as crooked as the building he stood in front of lifted the corner of his lips. “We both know that won’t happen.”
Her eyes narrowed at the smile. “You have nothing to worry about. I only wish to gauge your alignment. So far you seem to be darkly aligned.”
“Yes,” was all he said.
She ground her teeth and stepped forward, hand on her sword. “I could take the ring off of you.”
“You could try,” he shot back, his Doom blade half out of its scabbard. “I don’t want to have to fight the entire population of the slums but I will if I have to. And I will start with you unless you take your hand from your sword.” She thought this over for a few seconds, shrugged and lifted her hands. “Good,” he said, easing his own sword back into the scabbard. “You know the way to the seer?”
“I do, but if you will not let me check your alignment, then I cannot bring you to her, at least not straight away. You see, there is an easy path and a dangerous one and you are choosing the dangerous one.”
Now it was his turn to shrug. “I think I’m in danger no matter which way I turn. Don’t take it personally, but I don’t trust you.”
She laughed at this, saying, “I don’t trust you either and, unlike you, I have cause. You slit Behrens’ throat and he hadn’t even led you into the trap he had prepared. It wasn’t very sporting of you.”
“I’m not here for games. I’m here on business and I need to get to it. How much to take me to see the seer?”
“Do not worry about that. The seer will pay me if you are what she is seeking.” She looked him up and down again, this time uncertainly. Then with a sigh of resignation, she said, “Follow me, but if you make one false move, you can trust that I will kill you.” Drawing a grey cloak about her, she walked down the alley with Roan following five steps behind.
They crossed two more empty streets and then went to an open doorway of a burned-out building. With her hand on her sword, the woman glanced inside, looking left and right as if checking for an ambush. “We’re clear,” she said in a whisper before stepping in.
Roan followed her into the dark building. Light filtered in, but not much. In the dim, Roan could see that the place had once been a hotel and judging by the rotting crown molding and the worn burgundy carpet, it had been a fancy hotel. Under the odor of decay, there was a feeling of great age about the place.
They passed through the lobby and, igno
ring the grand sweep of stairs that were crumbling into ruin, they made their way into what had once been a cozy restaurant. The few tables that were left were smashed into pieces.
In the back of the room was a doorway that was scorched and black. Roan guessed it led to kitchens. They did not go to it. Unexpectedly, she turned to the corner of the room where the floor had been pulled up. Someone had dug a hole into the ground. It led down a slope to a dirt-walled tunnel.
The smell coming from it was enough to make a grown man gag. “Are you kidding me?” he asked.
“Nope.” She didn’t wait for him and skidded down into the tunnel. The dark below the earth was close, damp and fetid. To drive it back, Roan pulled his magic sword, causing the woman to hiss, “Put that away! You’ll know when it’ll be time to fight.”
Grudgingly, he stowed his sword, while she brought out a ruby the size of a hen’s egg and sat it on her palm. When she blew on it, fire burst from it engulfing her hand. She didn’t flinch or cry out, she only lifted her hand lighting the tunnel.
“Stay close,” she said, casting a dubious eye at him.
The tunnel ran straight for fifty yards before it branched left and right. To the right was a dead body, sprawled face first in the dirt. It had been stripped not only of clothing but also of its flesh. The woman didn’t even look at it. She stepped over the body as if it were nothing more than a pile of excrement.
Out of habit, Roan gave it a quick look, his mind slipping into FBI mode: Male, six foot tall, African-American. Cause of death…there were gouges in the long bones of the thighs that had been made by either tusks or jagged teeth of great size. He couldn’t tell if they had been made pre or post mortem and it didn’t help that the woman hadn’t stopped. “Hold on a second, um…what’s your name?”
“Tyrean,” she answered. “Leave that alone and come on.”
She was right. He didn’t need to waste his time with stray corpses. He caught up and followed her as they came to a hollowed-out room beneath the earth. It was lit by a small fire that spewed up a greasy black smoke that cast everything in a haze. There were two other exits from the room: another tunnel and an imposing metal door.
She went to the door and thumped on it with her fist. “Whatever you do, keep your hand away from your sword,” she warned. The door creaked open, revealing the huge figure of a troll. It turned its wicked black eyes on the two.
“Ah gewld one,” it said, in a raspy voice. It pointed at a green painted box that sat on a short column.
Tyrean raised an eyebrow at Roan, expecting him to pay. There was no getting around making the payment. The troll was so large that even though he stood with a stoop, the curves of his angular shoulder blades scraped the ceiling. Taking a gold coin, he held it up to the troll and then placed it into the box.
“Gew,” it growled.
Twitching, his muscles ready to spring, Roan walked past the troll, following after Tyrean who walked, unconcerned down the new tunnel. He expected the tunnel to lead directly to the seer, it only led to more tunnels that wound left and right until Roan was hopelessly lost.
At one point they came into a below ground tavern which was populated by an outlandish gathering of humans, dwarves, goblins, half-orcs, and ogres. Although there was a bar with stools, the patrons sat at scarred and stained tables on heavy wooden chairs. A few recognized Tyrean and invited her to gamble with them.
“I can’t. I’m working. Has anyone seen Klive Skiver?” This brought odd looks; not for her, but at Roan.
“Klive ain’t into dull-faced boys,” someone called out. This was followed by a round of croaking laughter and high cackles.
Tyrean glared. “Has anyone seen him or not?”
One of the half-orcs threw back the last of his beer before tossing the empty mug on the table, where the last driblets leaked out onto the scored top. “I knowd where Grotto the Fist be and I knowd he’s lookin’ for somethin’ special what supposed to be comin’ down here. And I knowd he payin’ in wheels.”
This quieted the room.
“Does this look all that special to you, Gormared?” Tyrean asked, jerking a thumb at Roan.
“Maybe. It named Row-ann?”
Roan was dumbfounded that this beast beneath the earth knew his name. It was one thing for one of the Infinite Assassins to know who he was, but it was altogether different that his name was being bantered about by half-orcs deep beneath the slums of the city. He wanted to ask how the thing knew his name, only just then a memory struck him—two days before in Hansen’s brothel, he had been standing in front of a row of alcoves that were filled with people, when, just as clear as a bell, Amanda had called him Roan.
At the time, with so much danger all around him, he hadn’t even noticed. Now he was sure that Hansen had heard it and hadn’t wasted a moment in asking around concerning the name Roan. How long had it been before his name had reached the Infinite Assassins? A few minutes? A few hours? And how long had it taken to get down here?
Tyrean had stiffened at hearing the name, though she pretended otherwise. “I don’t know if he has a name and if he does, it’s not your concern.”
“I knowd it is Row-ann and thats makes it mine concern,” Gormared said, standing and picking up a battle axe that glittered with magical perfection.
2—
“If you want to live to see tomorrow, watch my back,” Tyrean said, under her breath to Roan as she drew her sword.
There was no more talk than that. The two clashed in a loud BRANGGGG of metal. On one side was the slim woman in platemail slinging a heavy length of razor sharp metal about, and on the other was a hulking beast with huge arms and black piggy eyes.
For nearly two seconds too long, Roan stared as sparks flew. Then instinct and Daggerland abilities kicked in. He spun just as one of the goblins charged from the rear. The goblin was a rogue of sorts and had been heading in for a sneak attack. Now it had to fight sword to sword against a much bigger opponent.
Roan expected an easy victory, however the goblin was no slouch and the two were nearly evenly matched. Where the goblin was faster, Roan was stronger. Where the goblin was more cunning, Roan was smarter. They went back and forth, slashing at each other while around them the men and creatures laid wagers and cheered.
Gradually, the extra damage caused by Roan’s strength and better weaponry began to wear down the goblin and he left trails of blood. But it was not done with the fight and managed to dance behind one of the overturned tables. It reached into its cloak and pulled out a vial.
Roan expected it to be a healing potion, but when the goblin poured it down his throat, it suddenly quadrupled in size until it was the size and strength of a gorilla. And worse, it was fully healed. The now giant goblin tossed aside the wooden table as though it were a kite and charged Roan and slashed through both magic and leather(Damage -14 HP).
Roan’s left arm dangled uselessly, which made getting to his potions impossible unless he wanted to drop his sword. This wasn’t something he would dare to contemplate and yet, a second later it was swatted out of his hand and went clanging away.
“Crap!” Roan cried and ran to the bar and threw himself over it. He landed among a tray of mugs and sent them flying. Covered in foam and blood, he lay on the sticky floor trying to unbutton his shawl. It came undone just as the goblin looked over the bar.
Seeing Roan in the midst of goblets and beer instead of the pauper was not what it had expected. It grunted in confusion and then spun around, perhaps expecting to be attacked from behind. And it was—only it was by Roan, who hopped up and planted the basilisk dagger into its back. It jerked and then froze in mid-contortion.
The goblin was so huge that it took three more thrusts with the dagger before it died(XP +2000). Gasping, Roan pulled out healing potion after healing potion. It took three potions to heal him completely. When he was whole again, he saw that Tyrean had won her fight as well and was digging through the orc’s belongings.
Roan did the same, finding
a thousand in gold and gems, two Potions of Healing and a Potion of the Giant which he supposed was how the goblin had become as big as it had.
“Here,” Tyrean said, holding out the Doom blade. “Try not to drop that again.” She glanced around at the crowd. “Now, I ask again, has anyone seen Klive Skiver?”
“In the pits more’n likely,” a dwarf answered in a rumbly voice. “I hear he’s workin’ a deal of some importance. He’s callin’ for gold. Actin’ like he’s a bank or some-tin.”
This caused Tyrean’s brows to cloud over. She grabbed Roan’s arm. “We have to hurry. If he makes a deal, then…well, I don’t know what will happen exactly. Trouble more than likely.” She yanked him along to one of the branching tunnels where the light of her magic flame was the only thing that kept the darkness at bay.
Once more without the sun or moon, or any landmarks to guide him, Roan was quickly turned around. They passed more doors: some metal, some wood, and they passed rows of dug out rooms where tradesman sold anything from linens to livestock.
Roan paid tolls twice more, once to a crowd of orcs who eyed the two hungrily and once to a tired-looking boy of about eight. He was so pale Roan didn’t think he had ever seen the sunlight in his life. When he had forked over a gold piece, and they were off again, almost at a run, Roan said, “I get paying the troll and maybe the orcs but why bother with the kid?”
“It was a vampire,” she whispered. “That’s the messed-up thing about the slums, everyone wants a cut, even the undead.”
“Especially the undead,” a voice boomed from behind them. Quick as lightning, Tyrean had her sword out. Roan’s came out a fraction of a second later. In the light of their magical weapons, he could see something lurking down the tunnel—it seemed to fill the tunnel completely, but he couldn’t tell what it was. It seemed like a cloud of undulating blackness.
Tyrean pushed Roan behind her. He could feel her shaking with fear and when the cold evil of the thing swept over him as well, he too began shaking in a manner that was beyond his control.
Infinite Assassins: Daggerland Online Novel 2 A LITRPG Adventure Page 32
