by James Hunter
“Grim Jack,” he replied in turn. “I see you and the thief have made some significant inroads here.” He stopped for a beat, carefully regarding me and Cutter, sizing us up. “Not an easy thing to do,” he finally said. “The Maa-Tál and the Dark Conclave are notoriously suspicious of outsiders. Part of the reason they still remain free from Viridian masters. Well done.”
I just stared at him, stunned. That was the longest conversation I’d ever had with the man, and he’d complimented me. “Uh, thank you,” I replied, feeling a bit unsure of myself. “So, you guys want to fill us in on what happened in Alaunhylles?” I asked, switching the topic before things got awkward and weird.
Abby crossed her legs and leaned back against her palms. “God, what a mess,” she said before uttering a tremendous sigh. “I thought we’d have a lot longer before Osmark figured out what we did, especially since I went dark, but boy was I wrong. We caught a portal to Harrowick without a hitch, but as soon as we got into Alaunhylles, things started going downhill fast. The city gaurds were antsy. Looking for Rebel insurgents, from what we were able to gather from half-heard whispers and the merchant rumor mill.”
“Then I started asking ’round,” Otto interjected. “I have connections with the Rebel Underground over in West Viridia, and it didn’t take me long to turn this up.” He paused, opened a satchel at his side, and pulled out a tightly bound scroll. Carefully, almost reverently, he unrolled the thing, stretching it tight before holding it out for us to see. Abby’s mugshot stared at us from the page. Two pictures: one of her straight on, the other of her in profile. I reached out and carefully took the scroll.
I read it once. Twice. Three times for good measure.
Wow. This was bad, bad news.
First, that reward … 1,000 gold marks came out to the equivalent of a hundred grand—a small fortune to most people, which would certainly turn the pressure up in a big way. How could it not? And second, how in the world had they caught on so quickly? Sure, it stood to reason that Carrera had already discovered he’d been ripped off, but that didn’t explain how he’d managed to trace the deed back to Abby so quickly. On the plus side, there was nothing about me listed in the “Known Accomplices” section, which meant we still had a little time left before they put all the pieces together. I sighed in resignation and handed the scroll over to Cutter, who was currently craning his neck in an attempt to get a peek.
“How do you think they figured it out?” I asked as Cutter accepted the paper with a thanks.
Abby shook her head, her hair dancing wildly at the motion. “I honestly don’t have a clue. As far as I know, personal information—account info, location, all that stuff—is almost impossible to access by anyone other than the person themselves. All profile information is encrypted using asymmetric key cryptography and is then circulated nonstop through the Overmind databases. All of them.”
Everyone present stared at her with blank, uncomprehending expressions. For Cutter and Otto that made sense, given they weren’t actually aware of the world or technology outside of V.G.O. To them, her words were probably as incoherent as a foreign language, but sadly, it also meant approximately nothing to me either. I was a casual gamer, not a computer expert by any stretch of the imagination. “Which means what exactly?” I asked, trying not to sound like a complete moron. “Maybe you could just break that down into laymen’s terms?”
She scrunched her nose and see-sawed her head left, right, left, right. “It’s complicated,” she said after a second. “Okay, basically, all personal profiles are constantly moved through a giant, mind-blowingly-advanced onion-router controlled by the Overminds. All of the Overminds, working together to keep the info safe and free from tampering.”
“Wait,” I said, frowning. “Why would Osmark do that? Give up so much power, I mean. He’s interested in ruling V.G.O., so it seems like he’d want a way to control unruly citizens—like maybe wiping them from Eldgard …” I let the statement hang in the air, heavy with implication.
Abby looked away, worrying at her bottom lip. “Maybe they do have that capacity,” she finally admitted with a shrug, “but …” She paused, turning toward me. “But I don’t think so. The admins used to be able to boot people and wipe accounts, but those functions were eventually turned over to the Overminds, which sort of makes sense to me.
“I mean, sure,” she continued, “if Osmark and his pals made a weapon that could permanently wipe us, it would be powerful, but once a weapon like that exists, what’s to stop someone from hacking the system and turning that weapon against the ruling class? I could be wrong, but I think something like that’s too dangerous. As far as I know, only the Overminds have access to personal info—and it’s not like they could do anything with it.”
My mouth was suddenly dry. Abby still didn’t know the Overminds were self-aware. My mind flashed back to a conversation I’d had with Sophia, who was basically the in-game goddess of order and balance. She’d told me that her sister Enyo—the Overmind of discord, responsible for generating in-game conflict—had sided with Osmark and his lackeys. Enyo was using them as chess pieces to sow discord into the world, creating new and interesting content for players. Was it possible Enyo was already interfering? Or was this somehow Osmark’s doing?
I didn’t know, and at this point I wasn’t really sure it mattered.
“It’s always possible Osmark had someone comb through my work files,” Abby offered, staring off into the distance. “Starting with all files connected to Aleixo Carrera and that restricted area we ransacked. I’m a decent hacker, but not good enough to hide my tracks. If someone was looking, they’d find my digital fingerprints all over those files.” She absently ran her palms along her frumpy dress. “That’s the most likely answer.”
I nodded, hoping she was right. “So once you guys realized the guards were looking for you, did you take off or did you try to access the Grand Archive?” I asked.
“Despite the risk and against my advisement,” Otto said, giving Abby a hard, sidelong glare, “we pressed on with our mission. I had a friend—an Archivist who works for Loremaster Petraeus—sneak us in after hours. We scoured the shelves for hours, searching for any piece of lore that might tell us the purpose of the Faction Seal, but to no avail. Without the help of a proper Loremaster, the quest was doomed from the start.” He was speaking to me, but it almost sounded like the words were meant for Abby.
I glanced at her, and noticed she was looking everywhere but at Otto—if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was blushing sheepishly. I knew from experience that it was really hard to make Abby blush—which meant things must’ve gone spectacularly wrong to earn that kind of reaction.
“A full detachment of Imperial Inquisitors turned up as we were trying to slip away,” Otto continued after a beat. “Things turned”—he faltered, grimaced—“ugly. We spent five days navigating the warren of sewer passages beneath Alaunhylles before eventually escaping up the coast for the Crossing.”
Cutter snorted at the comment, then lowered the wanted poster. “You blokes should’ve taken me with you. Everyone looks down on us thieves, until you need to navigate a sewer. Most people don’t think about sewers—bunch of piss and shite other people like to forget—but not thieves. I’ve got massive connections to the Smugglers Union. They’ve got branches in every major city and could navigate those sewers blindfolded.”
“How helpful,” Otto replied, staring at Cutter with a flat, unamused look. “I’ll keep your services in mind next time I feel tempted to wade through knee-deep sludge, thief.”
Cutter arched an eyebrow at the Risi, then shrugged. Touché. “Quick question, though,” Cutter said, holding the wanted poster back up, eyes once more scanning the contents. “I noticed this wanted sheet lists High Commander Carrera as an immediate point of contact. Funny thing”—Cutter absently scratched at his chin—“but that name sorta rings a bell for me. I don’t suppose this High Commander Carrera is in any way related to the sod we robbed a few da
ys back, eh?”
I shared an uneasy look with Abby. “It’s the same guy,” I said reluctantly.
“Ah, I see,” Cutter replied, lips turning down into a scowl. “Well, I think I’ll just go feed myself to the bloody Spider Queen—that’ll be a far more merciful death than what the Inquisitors will do to us.”
I stared at him in silent shock for a long beat. “I feel like I’m missing something. I’ve never even heard of the Inquisitors—who are they?”
“They’re monsters, Jack,” Cutter said, solemn and serious for once. “That’s pretty much all you need to know. This Carrera bloke must be a new appointment, but no one gets that job without being depraved in the head. And not depraved in a good way, like me. The evil kind of depraved. The Inquisitors were created to sniff out sedition and stomp out the Eldgard rebellion—lots of Holy Templars in their number. At least that’s what they tell everyone. Really though, they’re the emperor’s personal enforcers. Cross the emperor and the Inquisitors will disappear you.” He snapped his lanky fingers. “Poof. Gone just like that. And no one will ever see you again.”
He leaned forward and drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the table, tat-tat-tat. After a spell, he sighed and stood, removing his leather armor, then slowly pulling back his tunic. A series of puckered white scars crisscrossed his belly. They were old wounds and deeply faded, but still noticeable. “That lot likes to carve folks up. Make ’em talk whether they’re guilty or not. And they have special weapons”—he lightly traced a finger over the patchwork of scars—“that make it so you don’t heal right. You’ll carry their brand with you forever, assuming you live, which you probably won’t.”
I looked away from the wounds. Cutter wasn’t real, I tried to remind myself. He was an NPC, created when I came into existence. That didn’t really happen, he hadn’t actually been tortured by the Inquisitors—those memories were planted in his head. Still, I glanced away because those scars made me awfully uncomfortable. Maybe it hadn’t actually happened, but those memories were certainly real to him. I noticed Otto giving the wounds a thorough inspection; a glimmer of familiarity seemed to linger in his gaze. Maybe he’d had his own experience with the Inquisitors.
“That makes sense,” Abby said, breaking the tense silence. “That Osmark would appoint someone like Carrera to that position. Most of the people on his team are politicians, tech whizzes, and business leaders—not exactly the kind of people who are comfortable getting their hands dirty. But I read up on Carrera. He’s a killer. A glorified trigger man who worked his way up the ranks of a drug cartel in Colombia. Definitely the kind of person who doesn’t mind getting bloody. The real question now is, what do we do next? How do we move forward knowing what we do?”
“I think I might have an answer for that,” I replied, leaning forward, resting my elbows on my thighs. “I think it’s time you heard my story.”
I promptly launched into a retelling of the events that had happened since our raid on the restricted zone. I explained about my Maa-Tál initiation ordeal, then filled them in on what the chief had told me about the Faction Seal. Abby and Otto both grilled me like a pair of detectives interrogating a murder suspect, stopping me every few seconds to pull out more information. Once they were finally satisfied about the Faction Seal, I filled them in about my surreal encounter with Sophia.
“I always suspected the Overminds were more advanced than anyone gave them credit for,” Abby mumbled, her eyes hazy, distant, introspective. “I mean that was never my department—the folks designing those things were freaking genius—but I always believed they were probably sentient. With the kind of power they have access to, how could they not be?” She looked worried.
“Do you think we can trust this Sophia?” Otto asked after a time. “I’ve never been one to have dealings with gods and goddesses. Too fickle for my tastes.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “I don’t know,” I admitted with a grimace. “But even if we can trust her, I’m not sure how I feel about being anyone’s pawn.”
Everyone was silent for a long time. Thinking. Digesting all the new info.
“Well, at this point, I really don’t think we have much choice,” Abby said eventually, “not if we want to survive the next few months. I’m not sure how this is all going to play out in the long run, but short term, I think the way forward is clear. We need to talk to Chief Kolle and form a faction, and we need to do it soon. Before Carrera can track us down and take the seal back.”
“You’re sure that’s the best thing to do?” I asked tentatively. “I mean, hypothetically, we could go anywhere and form a faction. Maybe someplace like Rowanheath would be a better option. Someplace bigger. With more pull and resources.”
She shook her head slowly, once more worrying at her lip as she ran her palms over her burlap dress. “I can’t say I’m a huge fan of the Storme Marshes, but there’s a reason why this place is still a free city. Rowanheath is great. So is Harrowick—but the empire already has a strong presence in both places. We’re going to be badly outmatched, and we need every edge we can get.” Her face hardened in resolve. “No, I don’t see what other choice we have.” She took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Let’s go found a faction.”
ELEVEN: The Keep
I pulled open the door, ready to run down the steps and find Chief Kolle, but I didn’t have to look far: he was standing on the wooden platform directly in front of me, hands in front of him, rocking nervously back and forth on his heels. “You’ve decided, then?” he asked, his brow knitted in concern.
“Yes,” I said with a nod. “We’ve talked it over and we think Yunnam is the best place for us to form our faction. We’d like to take you up on your offer to host us, assuming the offer is still good.”
The chief blew out a deep breath as a slight grin broke across his face. “Of course the offer is still good,” he replied, before coming over and clapping me on the shoulder—a fatherly gesture, which was oddly touching. “I was starting to worry, Jack. For a time, I was sure you would move on to greener—less swampy—pastures and leave us to our own devices. It does my heart good to know you’ve made this choice.”
I paused and cocked my head to one side. “Just out of curiosity,” I hedged, “why are you glad? Does it benefit Yunnam to have a faction in town?”
He folded his beefy arms across his chest and regarded me solemnly. “The Storme Marsh cities have managed to avoid the greedy clutches of the empire for longer than anyone—save the Accipiter of the Barren Sands, far to the west—but we are not invulnerable. Mostly, we have kept our freedom because the empire was concerned with the Wodes. But with Rowanheath and Harrowick under heel, it will only be a matter of time before they turn their sights on us. With a powerful faction at our backs, though, maybe we’ll stand a chance against them.”
“Whoa,” I said, holding up both hands in defense. “I don’t know how powerful we’re going to be. So far, I can count the number of our potential faction members on one hand.”
“Even so,” the chief replied, “I believe in you, Grim Jack. What’s more, Faction Lord is not merely some trumped-up title—it confers certain powers that can make even our small band a formidable force. Besides, once you found a faction, you will not remain small for long. Factions draw travelers like flies to honey, which can be a tremendous boon for a town’s economy—especially in a place like Yunnam where few outsiders are likely to visit without an immediate quest compelling them to do so. Yes, this will be good, I think.”
“Well, you sold me,” I said with a shrug before drawing the golden Faction Seal from my bag and presenting it to the chieftain.
He froze and stared at the coin, a look of puzzlement flashing across his rough-worn features. “What are you doing?” he asked quizzically.
“Giving you the seal so we can start our faction,” I replied.
He smiled and then broke out into a hearty, deep-bellied laugh, grasping his sides as he doubled over. After a handful of seconds
his mirth subsided and he righted himself, rubbing away a trail of tears with one finger. “Put that away. I cannot complete your request.” He shook his head as though this should be obvious. “I am a guide. I can but show you the way. Come.” A new quest alert flashed before me:
<<<>>>
Quest Alert: Founding Father
Congratulations! You have acquired a Faction Seal and have initiated the secret Faction-Founding Quest, Founding Father. To proceed, escort the chief and his honor guard to the ancient Darkshard Keep in the hills overlooking Yunnam and present your Seal to the Keep Guardian.
Quest Class: Ultra-Rare, Secret
Quest Difficulty: ?
Success: Present your Faction Seal to the Keep Guardian of an appropriate Keep and found a Faction. Chief Kolle of the Ak-Hani must survive!
Failure: Chief Kolle dies before presenting your Faction Seal to the Darkshard Keep Guardian.
Reward: ?
Accept: Yes/No?
<<<>>>
I accepted the quest, dismissed the screen, then followed the chief down the steps, not knowing what to expect.
Amara was waiting for us below, surrounded by Baymor and a pair of Rangers I didn’t know. They looked sort of familiar, but it was hard to tell since all the Rangers wore those strange skull masks, which hid their faces from onlookers. Baymor held my Night Blessed Armor—fresh back from the local crafters—which he presented to me with a grunt. Apparently, wherever we were going was dangerous enough to require my gear. The chief waited for Cutter, Abby, and Otto to join us at the foot of the stairs before giving the Rangers a curt nod—a simple gesture that seemed to communicate much more.
“This way,” Chief Kolle said, sweeping out an arm, then stepping off.
The Rangers fell into two columns, flanking our little party on either side like an honor guard or executioners leading someone to the gallows. I felt a flutter of panic in my belly.
