Fayroll [04] Gong and Chalice

by Andrey Vasilyev

  “This is Hagen. Remember, I told you how we hid in the temple from the walkers?”

  The girl’s forehead crinkled, perhaps trying to remember, though she came over and held out her hand. “I’m Xantria, this burly fellow’s sister.”

  “Hagen, Free Laird of Tronje.” Her hand was firm and warm to the touch.

  “You really are noble.” Xantria turned back to her associates. “The idiot was right.”

  The poor guy’s body had already disappeared into the fire. They had simple manners, those children of the forest living on the edge between life and death.

  “Who’s this nobleman?” A large, curly-headed man crawled out of the far tent, a mustache spread across his face, an enormous earring in his ear, and a purple silk shirt buttoned up to his neck. A smoking pipe was clenched between his teeth. “Where’s he from, and why is he still alive?”

  “I brought him, and the fact that he’s still alive means that he’s supposed to stay that way,” Danoot cut back before crawling into another of the tents.

  “Xant, I realize he’s your brother,” the curly-headed man said, walking over and looking at me unpleasantly. I assumed he was the fourth leader of the local army, and thought I remembered that his name was Yasmuga. What surprised me was that he said some words, and only some words, with a vaguely familiar accent. It struck me as funny. “But lately he’s a bit… Well… He seems to be straying toward thinking that he’s in charge here. That would seem to be a mistaken assumption, my friends, no?”

  He waved his hand, which was holding his pipe, toward the rest of the rebels. They murmured approvingly, some even clapping.

  “Quiet, quiet, comrades,” Yasmuga said, waving his pipe again at the noisy crowd. “I think, my friends, that we’re all equal, only Danoot for some reason thinks that a few of us have the right to more than the rest. And that is a serious mistake. I would even say that it’s more than a mistake; it’s unforgivably short-sighted politically. Criminal, perhaps. Wouldn’t you agree, Vaylerius?”

  “Yeah!” shouted the delighted rebels. “What you said! Didn’t understand a word, but you’re right on the money!”

  Vaylerius held his tongue, smiled nervously, and looked around. The rebels whispered to each other, with one, a dark, muscular gentleman, staring fixedly at Danoot’s tent. He stroked an axe so large it resembled an ice pick.

  Xantria, as if thinking nothing of it, put a hand on her belt, which was dotted with the hilts of a good six or seven knives. Vaylerius, still smiling, clutched his staff tighter. Neither of their actions was missed by Yasmuga, who coiled as well. The leadership of the rebels—dedicated to fighting to the death for all the lowly peoples in Fayroll—was clearly less than united.

  “What was that about a criminal? I didn’t hear the first part. What were you talking about, Yasmuga?” Danoot said, a second later crawling out of his tent.

  “I’m talking about the criminal cabal of fat cats exploiting the working people, my friend.” Yasmuga kept waving around the hand with the pipe as he watched Danoot carefully. “They’re just waiting for us to let down our guard, but our answer is that we will not.”

  The enthralled rebels broke into spontaneous applause, glancing back and forth from one leader to the other.

  And there really was something to see. Danoot was dressed to the nines for our visit to Princess Anna. He’d switched out what had been a perfectly fine linen shirt and vest for a black doublet with…someone painted on it.

  “Danoot,” I asked him as he put on his belt and sword, “who’s that drawn on your chest?”

  “This?” Danoot jabbed a finger at the figure. “This is Bert Dim Revar, one of the first leaders of the legendary liberation front fighting for the freedom of the gremlins.”

  “The gremlins?” That was the first I’d heard of gremlins in the game.

  “They were a brave and valiant people,” Danoot replied, his voice tinged with sadness. “There weren’t many of them, but they were steadfast and fierce in battle.”

  The mustachioed gremlin on his doublet really did look nasty. In one hand, he held a cleaver, while the other was flipping someone the bird. He had belts crisscrossed around his waist that made him look like either a revolutionary sailor or a plumber, and his helmet was slung jauntily over one eye. The picture was completed by the tongue sticking out of his mouth.

  “Bert Dim Revar came out of the very depths, right out of the earth, rallied all the gremlins around him, and showed absolutely everyone that they have a right to life and freedom. Ah, how he showed them!”

  “He slaughtered five villages, too,” Vaylerius muttered off to the side.

  “And razed a couple towns,” Xantria added thoughtfully.

  “Chips fly when you’re cutting wood,” Yasmuga noted philosophically. “Do you agree with me, Xantria?”

  The beautiful girl didn’t reply.

  “Wait a second, so he fought against humans?” I asked Danoot in bewilderment.

  “We’re for all races, and we don’t care which one heroes belong to or which language they speak. Actions are what matter.” Danoot puffed out his chest, all without answering my question.

  “Yes, it doesn’t sound like that little guy cared about the different races either,” I noted. “He just slit all their throats, one after another.”

  “On the other hand, he was an excellent warrior who always stood for truth!” It looked like Danoot was even a bit offended.

  “What happened happened,” Vaylerius nodded.

  “They say he started his career as a warrior at the tournaments,” Xantria added. “And he always won, even with how short he was.”

  “Very educational,” I replied, cutting short our discussion of the gremlin people’s hero. “Can we go? Time’s ticking.”

  “Yes, let’s go,” Danoot replied with a nod. “Are you all coming?”

  “Coming where?” asked Xantria.

  “To see Vaylerius’s mom,” the brave ringleader replied, his face again blushing.

  “Count me out,” Yasmuga said, pipe waving. “I’d rather spend time here with our brothers in arms.”

  “I’ll come,” Xantra said with a quick glance at the mage. “I’ve wanted to meet her for a while, and I have something to tell her.”

  The mage stuttered about something and scratched the back of his neck before bursting out with exaggerated enthusiasm. “I need a scroll!”

  “Here.” I handed one to him, thinking to myself that we were less in a rebel base and more on the set of some kind of TV show. The kind where they sit around doing nothing much, get all up in each other’s business, and never learn anything constructive.

  Ding! Something popped up on the interface telling me that I’d gotten a letter. I wasn’t sure who would be writing me but nothing good had come through the mail in the recent past. Of course, I still needed to read it; you have to hear the bad news before it’s too late, too. Actually, the bad news is what you need to hear first since you need time to get ready for the consequences. But I had to finish what I was doing first.

  When we stepped out of the portal, I realized that Princess Anna really was a smart woman. Only that kind of person would hide from her pursuers just a few miles from them in a small town called Trinsville on the bank of the Crisna. I couldn’t imagine that anyone would even think to look for her just a couple days away from the capital.

  “Not a bad little town,” Danoot said, looking around with a practiced gaze to see where the guards were, where they weren’t, and what could be exported for the needs of the people.

  “Let’s go.” Vaylerius was also looking around to see if the city guard was anywhere nearby, as he knew perfectly well that an exotic band like ours would be sure to attract attention. There was a mage, a guy with a goblin on his robe, and a cutie dressed in leather to go along with me and my poorly matching armor. Anyone who saw us could only have assumed that we were a traveling circus or a band of crooks. Those were the only two options.

  “Is it f
ar?” I asked.

  “On a street over there. Come on, let’s go,” the mage said, hurrying us along.

  I really wanted to stop by the mailbox, though I realized that I’d be much better off visiting the princess with her son; she’d definitely be home then. If I came a little later, there was no guaranteeing that she would be. Judging by what I knew of her, she was highly experienced and had spent a long time on the run…

  Vaylerius lead us up and down different streets for five minutes before finally stopping in front of a high fence. He tapped out a code in the carved gate.

  “Who’s there?” a strong male voice asked from the other side.

  “It’s me,” Vaylerius called back. “Reggie, open up.”

  “Ah, young master,” we heard, though the voice was in no hurry to open the gate. “Who’s with you?”

  “My friends and another gentleman from… Where are you from again?” Vaylerius looked at me. “Just say it, he won’t open it until you tell him.”

  “From Tronje,” I called, in no mood to be stubborn.

  “Tronje?” The voice was quiet for a few seconds, though he stunned me when he continued. “I remember that town, over on the sea, on the other side of the Sumaki Mountains. I’ve been there a few times; they have a great plum cordial.”

  What? There’s a Tronje in the game? Maybe I should go see my two older brothers… It was ridiculous.

  The gate creaked open, and a very small man with a large humpback and plenty of gray hair appeared from behind it.

  “Is mom at home?” Vaylerius asked, ignoring his bow. “I really need her.”

  “The fair mistress is drinking chocolate on the veranda,” the hunchback replied.

  Danoot snorted as if to say that the whole thing couldn’t have been more aristocratic—the sun was high in the sky, it was a work day, and there she was drinking chocolate.

  “Calm down, chocolate isn’t cocoa,” I said in an attempt to cheer him up. “It’s actually a very revolutionary drink!”

  “It’s what kind of drink?” Danoot asked curiously.

  Oh, damn it. I need to watch my mouth.

  “A rebel drink. I used the Swahili term; that’s a language they have in the East.”

  “I like the way it sounds,” Danoot said approvingly. “Revolutionary. I love it.”

  If I get a revolution going here by accident, Zimin and Valyaev are going to have me looking like Lenin, though I’ll be off somewhere in the ground, and certainly not in the middle of Red Square. And it won’t be an accident.

  “Mom. Mo-om!” Vaylerius called as he walked toward the house. “It’s me!”

  “Vaylie, sweetie, it’s been forever since you were last here.” A strikingly beautiful woman walked out to meet us. I could tell by looking at her hands that she was past the prime of her youth (don’t believe the cheeks, chest, and waist; arms and the neck are what tell you how old a woman is), though she was still very attractive. She was at that age where women need a single glance to separate a man from the herd and have him whimpering in the palm of her hand. Really, she looked like the rare kind of woman who could take men captive against their will without the least consent on their part. She was born to rule peoples and countries—that much was clear. Well, as much as you can say that anyone in a computer game is “born”…

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Vaylie, you could have warned me that you’d have your friends with you.” She nodded to us coldly.

  I could tell that she’d already noticed the brave gremlin on Danoot’s chest, Xantria’s grin, and my shabby look, and I had to think that we wouldn’t have found her at home if she’d been warned. The mage was nobody’s fool. I did have to break through the situation, though.

  “Good afternoon, fair lady,” I said, going over and bowing my head. “Laird Hagen, Hagen of Tronje. I’m here to return something that belongs to you.”

  “I don’t remember us ever meeting before, and I’m not sure you could come to have something of mine,” Anna replied, still just as coldly.

  “We haven’t met,” I agreed, “though the two have nothing to do with one another. Is this yours?”

  I pulled out the ring and showed it to the princess.

  “Ah-ha!” she responded calmly. “You managed to find our family heirloom? Well, that is certainly unexpected.”

  Now that is some damn fine restraint. Her eyes didn’t twinkle, her hands didn’t even tremble. All I noticed was that she started breathing a touch lighter. The hunchback also slipped in behind me.

  “So it’s yours? Then go ahead and take it.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Hagen of Tronje, but you’re willing to give me the ring?”

  “Absolutely,” I replied. “That I am.”

  “And what would you like in return? Unfortunately, I’m not that rich…”

  “I don’t need anything,” I said, even waving my hand dismissively. “All I’d like is five or six minutes of your time. That’s it.”

  The princess did lose her calm then, as she didn’t quite take my words the way they were intended.

  “If you’re talking about the two of us…”

  “No, no, not at all.” I heard an angry sniff from the hunchback behind me as well as the sound of a dagger being pulled out of its sheath. “I’d like to make you an offer on the veranda or even right here on this path. I think you’ll find it interesting.”

  “Yes?” The princess looked at me doubtfully. “Well, then you have a deal.”

  I held out the ring, and she took it gracefully.

  You completed a quest: Family Heirloom

  Reward:

  2000 experience

  Rare item: random

  The gratitude of the princely house of Eisher

  “I’m not sure what you’re going to tell me,” the princess said,” though I’d still like to give you this ring. It isn’t nearly as ancient and valuable as the one you gave me, but it’s my present to you. And remember, the princely house of Eisher will always remember what you did for it.”

  “I am happy to serve such a famous and ancient family, a family that has the right to stand above all others in the kingdom, and one that could even take the throne in the West,” I announced floridly.

  “Those are very brave words, and I’m happy to hear them, though they’re also dangerous words,” the princess replied, watching me closely.

  “They are no more dangerous than what I am about to tell you. If anyone close to the king heard me, I’d be sewn up in a bag and dumped in the river without a second thought,” I said, catching her glance.

  We looked at each other for another thirty seconds, after which the princess smiled radiantly. “Then what are we doing standing here on the path like some wanderers? Reggie, take my son and his friends to the gazebo, give them beer or tea, or whatever else they want. Thane Hagen and I are going to have a talk in my office.”

  “I’m a laird,” I explained to the princess.

  “Yes? My mistake,” she replied, smiling charmingly. “Please, after you.”

  The princess’s office surprised me with how many books and scrolls it had. They obviously weren’t for show, either; Anna read them and had even edited them here and there.

  “Not all authors are equal,” she explained. “Some should really just have their hands cut off. I only wish I had the power to make that happen.”

  “Power isn’t the issue,” I replied. “Just say the word, and you’ll be sitting on the Western throne on Monday morning.”

  The princess smiled thinly. “If it weren’t for the ring, I’d have killed you already. People don’t just walk in here with those kinds of offers, especially when I don’t know them, and even more especially, when they’re with my idiot son and his renegade friends.”

  “How should they walk in?” I fired back. “At night, wearing a black cloak, talking only in whispers? I’ll be honest, this isn’t for you; it’s for me. Everyone else involved is in it for themselves, as well.”

  “So you ar
en’t alone?”

  “Princess, when have you ever seen plots like this done alone? We’re not planting cabbage; we’re engineering a change in power—you need a lot of people for that. I have Bran from the Borderlands and Brother Yur from the Tearful Goddess Order with me.”

  “Yur is involved?” The princess’s tone changed. “That chatterbox is always running his mouth about something a mile a minute, but there isn’t much use—”

  “Come on, Princess, don’t make me think less of you than I do. I doubt he’s ever been that talkative, and it sounds like he’s had that stutter since he was born. If you’re going to try to trip me up, at least make it interesting…”

  “You’re right, that was a hackneyed move,” the princess agreed. “Well, you have a good group, one I wouldn’t mind a trip to the gallows with—or even to the river in a bag. I’m just afraid—”

  “Don’t be afraid.” I showed her the White Prince Crown. “No need for that.”

  The rest of our conversation lasted ten minutes. She won me over completely with the clear and precise questions she asked, learning everything she needed and giving me subtle recommendations on how to pass them on to Brother Yur.

  “I won’t take the crown myself,” she said toward the end. “The throne isn’t for me; it’s for my son.”

  Ah-ha. There’s the catch in the quest.

  “That’s a shame, the house was a fine one,” I said sadly.

  “Which house?” the princess responded, looking up at me.

  “The house of Eisher. Old, even ancient, though about to come to an end, it looks like.”

  The princess frowned.

  “What are you looking at me like that for?” I asked. “That son you want to sit on the throne may be a good, smart kid, but he’s unbelievably naïve. He spends his time roaming the jungles with insurgents freeing peasants; he’s sleeping with a rebel girl; and I’m afraid to tell you, she’s pregnant. What would be left of the Western Mark in six months? And do you think he would live that long?”

  “So it wasn’t just me,” she replied. “I thought that ragamuffin was looking a little puffy. He takes after his father, that one.”