Fayroll [04] Gong and Chalice

by Andrey Vasilyev

  “Don’t worry, dad, everything’s fine. Hand mom the phone,” I said to my upset parent.

  “Mom, hi, I’m coming to see you tomorrow,” I said quickly as soon as I heard her voice. “I’m bringing my girlfriend, too.”

  Her “meet us at…” was cut short before it ever had a chance to get started. “Bringing my girlfriend” meant we could only get together in Moscow, as the dacha was cordoned off for anyone not part of the immediate family. Even my ex-wife had taken a while to be allowed into the holy of holies, and that was only because she’d made a good impression on my mom right from the get-go.

  “Really?” my mom answered thoughtfully. “Is she a good one?”

  “You’ll like her,” I said reassuringly. “She has a good head on her shoulders, and hair on her head. Plus, she’s a good cook, and she likes to keep things clean.”

  My poor mom had a hard time forgetting Irma, who she’d met accidentally two years before when the two of us were walking down the street. I have no idea why Irma, who wasn’t into the punk scene at all, shaved her gorgeous chestnut locks, but my mom was shocked by the light reflecting off her polished head into the windows of the buildings around us.

  “Oh, you’re living together?” Mom didn’t care about that kind of thing, and she had no qualms calling it like it was. “That was fast.”

  “Well, what do you expect? That’s how life is now,” I replied diplomatically. “We’ll be there tomorrow by two, and we’ll bring something for tea.”

  “Sure, sure,” she responded, clearly thinking about something. “We can forget the dacha. I read online that it’s supposed to rain tomorrow anyway.”

  My mom stayed up with the times. She’d mastered the internet quickly, and enjoyed spending time reading the news, gossip about TV and movie stars, reviews of tours to spots around the Golden Ring, and other fun nonsense.

  “See you tomorrow,” I said. She started saying something to my dad as I hung up.

  “Okay, fine, we’re not going anywhere. What are you…”

  It sounded like the old man was in for round two.

  How did Vika know about all the little pastry shops? I’d spent my entire life in Moscow and had no idea that somewhere in the web of streets in the historical center, there were small shops owned by local bakers. The pastries were fresh, they smelled fantastic, and the prices were excellent. Not long before that, I’d seen a bakery in the center with a sign that read, “Pies cheaper than ever today: just 110 rubles apiece.” I’d stopped there in shock. How could a cabbage pie cost that much? Did they use diamond flour? Was the cabbage encrusted in gold? I had no idea who would be willing to dish out that much.

  Contrary to my expectations, the introduction went off without a hitch. My mom had to ask a few clever questions, of course, that made me roll my eyes and my dad play with his mustache, but Vika was brilliant. She felt her way around the traps my mom laid with flawless dexterity.

  The two separated as friends, and, judging by the looks I was getting from my mom, she was already putting together a plan to get me married to the “very nice girl from a good family” and put us to work making her grandbabies. At least, as she walked us to the elevator, she whispered in my ear, “That’s the right kind of girl, you know…” She was in her element.

  “I don’t know what you were talking about,” Vika said, thinking back to the spiel I’d given her on the way there about how to meet my parents and stay sane in the process. “They’re very nice. I enjoyed meeting them. And your mom is a great cook.”

  I could only agree with her there. My mom really was good.

  “I think you’ll like my parents, too,” Vika continued. “Maybe we can visit them for a few days this New Year’s? Winter is great in Kasimov—snow, nice and cold. And there are plenty of hills so we can go skiing.”

  I don’t know if it was funny or sad, but, either way, I was probably a heartless bastard. I’d never even thought to ask where she was from. Not even once. That’s not good.

  Kasimov. It was a familiar name, but the only thing I could remember was that Balakirev the Buffoon [4]was from there and that they had big burdocks.

  “Why not? The paper will be closed, anyway,” I replied genially. “At least, our part will be. We just need to make sure someone checks in on Yushkov to make sure he doesn’t drink for ten days straight.”

  Vika smiled happily and then laced a good bit of poison in her voice to ask her next question.

  “And how will you get by for four days without your game?”

  My answer was completely sincere. I believed it, at least.

  “It’ll be great. We can ski, we’ll have some good food, and I’ll be too busy loving you.”

  She smiled again, this time even, I thought, purring a little. It made me feel good.

  “Maybe Elmira will go with us. She could use a break from Fayroll, too.”

  I twitched. The good feeling was gone, and I was already worried about spending four days with… I don’t think I’ll live to see day two, not to mention day four!

  “Although, probably not,” Vika said, quickly lifting my spirits. “She and my mom have been at each other for the past few years.”

  Has she been able to get along with anyone recently? I mean, besides the Iron Doofus.

  Of course, I didn’t say that out loud—there was no point spoiling Vika’s good mood. She was sitting there smiling, humming some tune or other, and the headlights whipping by in the other direction flashed in her eyes. Screw it. Let her sister go. I’ll go, too, even if I don’t want to—I’ve seen worse…

  ***

  It was still summer in Fayroll. Either winter never came to the South, or there was no such thing in the game to begin with. Either way, it was just as hot and muggy as ever, even as Moscow grew colder by the day. The morning breeze smelled less like my first cigarette of the day, and more like imminent snow and bad weather.

  Everyone was bustling around the parade grounds when I got there. They ran, yelled, and hustled in every direction, and I couldn’t find my company. Noticing a player running in my direction, I stopped in front of him.

  “Hey,” I said to him. “What’s going on? Are we under attack? Or are we attacking someone else?”

  “All three of the companies are being sent somewhere, though nobody knows where exactly. I’ve never seen anything like this, and I’ve been here for two months,” he answered. “Who knows what it is? Maybe some kind of big event. Sorry, I have to go—my squad is already lined up.”

  “Wow,” I said as he ran off. “And where’s my company?”

  I dashed along the grounds, scanning each of the ranks of mercenaries. I’d gotten there just in time—another half hour, and I’d have been greeted by guards, and the dust stirred up by the large formation.

  “Hagen!” I heard Lane call. “Let’s go!”

  I looked around, finally catching a glimpse of a hand waving to me from the second row of what looked to be my company. Running over, I squeezed through the front row and got in line between Lane and Fattah.

  “Where have you been?” hissed Fattah. “We would have all been punished if you’d missed the general assembly.”

  “How was I supposed to know that this was going on?” I answered just as quietly. “It’s not like I got a letter or something. I just happened to log in. Today’s Sunday, by the way.”

  “What do the Free Companies care what day it is?” replied Lane philosophically. “It doesn’t matter if it’s Wednesday or Saturday; our job is to fight and die.”

  “Hush!” Troot ordered under his breath. “Bunch of gossiping old ladies.”

  “It’s all Hagen’s fault,” Falk said from the first row, jumping into the conversation. “We were all quiet until he got here. And that’s not to mention the fact that he was late!”

  “Down boy,” I shot back at him. “Fetch!”

  Troot snarled so loudly that Lieutenant Grokkh swore he’d start chopping off everyone’s manhood—our squad, his squad… The go
blin grinned evilly at us, though right then the lieutenant promised to cut off his ears personally.

  “That makes sense,” I said, realizing that I was going too far but not caring enough to stop. “Goblins don’t have anything between their legs to chop off. Sometimes you can find it if you have a big enough magnifying glass, though not always.”

  Everyone around me shook with laughter, while the goblin shot daggers at me with his eyes. We were at war, with everything that had happened up until that point being just a fun prelude. Grokkh’s look told me I was in trouble with him, too.

  “Shouldn’t have said that,” whispered Lane. “You have no idea what a bastard he is.”

  “Oh, I do. I just couldn’t help myself,” I said contritely.

  “Warriors!” Captain Singkh’s voice rang out across the parade grounds and hushed our formation. “Today is an unusual day with an unusual mission. Not only will you fight spawn of magic; today you will do battle with Death itself. Stand tall in battle, and remember that your job is to both finish victorious and survive. I believe in you! Lieutenants, take your companies through the portal in numerical order.”

  He was inspiring, if uninformative. All I learned was that we wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

  The Third Company tramped through the large portal the captain opened.

  “Seventh Company, to the portal, march!” Grokkh barked out five minutes later.

  We started by marching in place, then continued across the parade grounds. I couldn’t help but pause before I walked through the portal. Where is it going to take me? I wasn’t sure if I’d find myself with my company or somewhere off by myself.

  In the end, I came out the other side of the portal with everyone else. But when we did walk out, I wasn’t just surprised; I nearly plopped right down on the ground in amazement. I know this place! Not far off, there’s a bride waiting for me in a marsh. Of, course, if a normal person had heard me say that, he’d have had me committed. But still—we were in Mettan. What’s there to do here?

  “Mettan,” Fattah said from next to me. “If we’re here for the reason I think we are, I need to make a quick trip to the hotel.”

  I followed his gaze and realized what he was thinking. No, that can’t be! Isn’t that against the rules?

  There were more than just our three companies there. Portals flashed right and left, and the First, Fourth, and Eighth Companies marched out onto the Mettan square. The players that joined them, I couldn’t help but notice, were all from the same clan: Fortune’s Favorites. That’s strange; I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them. That said, there were certainly enough clans in Fayroll for me to miss a few…

  “Fattah, they’re all from the same clan. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “You’re probably right, though there’s something else that has me surprised. I’ve never heard or read of the Free Companies being hired to storm Mirastia—at least, not this many of them. But no, I’ve never heard of that clan either,” Fattah noted.

  “There’s a first for everything.”

  “Then I definitely need to get over to the hotel. Mirastia is a special location, and your things stay there if you die while you’re there on a raid, though we’ll respawn here. There’ll be no getting back to them. I don’t think the normal Free Company respawn rules hold true on that side of the river.”

  “Are you sure?” I was having a hard time believing him.

  “Not completely, but I’ve read a lot about Mirastia.”

  I thought for a second. The mercenaries were all there, and it was getting crowded in the square. It didn’t look like there was much time left until we set off.

  “Forget it,” I said, winking at Fattah and heading over to the lieutenant.

  “Master Lieutenant, could I have leave for a few minutes? My stomach is tight, and I don’t want to shame the company while we’re crossing the river.”

  “The mission hasn’t been handed down, and he already crapped himself,” the goblin laughed deliberately.

  I decided that discretion was the better part of valor when it came to not making the lieutenant mad and was rewarded with a nod of his head and three fingers—I had three minutes, I understood.

  Dashing into the hotel, I got the key and shot up the stairs with Fattah hot on my heels.

  I left everything I had with me there, dumping my gold and valuables, with the exception of what would stay with me if I died, in the chest. Then I pulled on one of the sets of armor Fat Willie had given me way back when, picked out the Skorpion Mace Reineke gave me—I didn’t want to lose it, but I had to have something to fight with—checked my bag one more time, and only then noticed the scroll Idrissa had given me.

  I looked at it and grunted, almost putting it back in my bag, but at the last moment tossing it into the trunk where I wouldn’t be tempted to use it.

  Gift Scroll

  Wall of Fire

  For use in enclosed spaces.

  Summons a flame that fills the space in which it is used, destroying all living things with the exception of the one casting the spell.

  Spell active for: 45 seconds

  Effective area: 20 square meters

  Usage: one-time, does not need to be learned

  Additional information: this scroll can only be used by the player to whom it was gifted or given. It does not disappear from the holder’s inventory after death.

  It was a fun little toy, in a word. I just wished it had my name engraved on it.

  That last thought came as I clattered down the stairs. Running out onto the porch, I slowed down and decided to wait for Fattah. If the master lieutenant reprimanded us for being late, it would be easier to push back if there were two of us.

  He appeared the same minute behind me, and we looked each other over before grunting amicably. Fattah was wearing obviously low-level leather trappings, and there was a mangy-looking bow slung over his shoulder that could have been made by a child. He had leather slippers on his feet.

  “We should head over to Kursky Railway Station looking like this—we’re dressed perfectly to walk through the train cars singing something sad,” Fattah said to me. “We’d probably be more successful and make more money.”

  “That’s for sure,” I agreed. “At the least, we look like refugees running after a train.”

  A fairly high-level player from the Fortune’s Favorites snorted when he saw us.

  “What are you two outcasts doing here?” he asked me, as I apparently looked better than Fattah. “At your level, you should still be in the starting locations—definitely not coming with us.”

  “Right, tell us where to go,” huffed the archer. “Take a closer look.”

  “Oh, I got it,” the player, whose name was Chang, responded in surprise. “Then what are you doing looking like that? Trouble with PKers?”

  “No, damn it,” I said, jumping into the conversation. “It’s just that a few clans have enough money on their hands that they can hire the Free Companies to clear out undead locations, and now, the players serving in the companies have to go along with them. We’ll probably end up just dying there for you all.”

  “A-ah!” Chang smacked himself in the forehead. “You’re mercenaries! I couldn’t figure out what was going on—a couple normal guys, decent levels, and wearing a bunch of rags. As far as Mirastia goes, yeah, we decided to just jump in and make a big splash. Show off a bit, you know?”

  I was starting to feel like I was talking to a deaf person—we were creating more questions for each other than we were answering.

  “Who is ‘we’?” I asked.

  “Hey, would you mind coming with us and explaining the whole thing if you have a few minutes?” Fattah jumped in. “We have to head over to our company, but it would be great to hear what’s going on.”

  “Why not?” Chang’s smile was easygoing. “We won’t be leaving before you guys, so I’m not in a hurry.”

  “Okay, so who is ‘we’?” I asked again.

  “We’r
e Fortune’s Favorites. It’s a new clan alliance that just formed up yesterday when six clans joined forces.”

  The pieces fell into place, and I realized who “we” was, why they wanted to take on Mirastia, and where they’d gotten the money. Hiring almost the entire Free Companies was very expensive—prohibitively so, even. But if six clans got together…

  “So which clans merged?” Fattah asked, digging into the details.

  “The Chimney Sweeps, the Fun Suicides, the Triple Strike,” Chang replied, ticking them off on his fingers, “my clan—the Three Bears, the Sword and the Cross, and Fayroll Power.”

  “Oh, wow,” Fattah said, his brows raised. “Fayroll Power—that’s news.”

  “You’re telling me. So we decided to jump right into the deep end, and the clan heads got together. A quick jaunt through Mirastia to see the Emperor is what they came up with. By the way, you’re from the Thunderbirds? I don’t remember you. Are you new?” Chang squinted at me.

  “Yep,” I replied with a nod. “I’m new, really a nobody in the clan.”

  “Then we’ll be seeing each other again. Okay, good luck on the other side of the river.” He winked at me, giving me an unsettling impression, and waved. Then he walked over toward the already-large group of players standing by the gate.

  “What was that about?” I asked Fattah.

  “I’ll tell you, but first we should let the lieutenant know that we’re back.”

  Our lieutenant was standing with the other commanders near Captain Singkh and another officer wearing the Free Company uniform, and all of them were listening attentively to the latter. When he saw us waving to him, he made a face and gestured us toward our squad.

  As we headed over, Fattah sighed.

  “We have some fun in front of us. I haven’t heard of the Bears or the Fun Suicides, I’ll be honest, so they’re probably just little clans. But the other ones are pretty well known—especially Fayroll Power, one of the oldest clans around. They may not be the strongest clan out there, though they’re definitely a force to be reckoned with. And there’s only one thing they have in common.”

  “What’s that?” I asked, correctly interpreting the pause Fattah took.