“Forty-five minutes?”
“Our enemies will be here in five.”
Sameer nodded with resignation. “I see. Well, then, there’s a time for everything. I suppose now is for fighting.”
Father Corman came trudging out of the dense foliage. Megan quickly briefed him on what was happening. The priest simply nodded and immediately went to the side of the clearing to prepare defensive spells.
Boris climbed one of the treasure piles and stood on top, cupping his hand over his eyes to shield out the sun and gain a better view of their enemy.
“There are ten of them. We’re outnumbered.”
“What sorts of professions do you see?” Sameer asked.
Boris strained his eyes. “Hard to tell, but... I see one warrior for sure. A big, blond fellow. The rest are strange looking. Dog-faces, slender builds, but tall. They’re armed with swords.”
“Some sort of conjured beast,” Sameer mused. “So. Only one live person?”
“Just one. With a lot of money behind him, though.”
“True.”
Haas called over from another treasure pile that he had arranged to leave a gap in the defensive wall. “Sameer, what kind of spells do you have memorized? Glyphs of Warding? Explosion Runes?”
“No, mostly offensive stuff. A Fireball, two Lightning Strikes... Rain of Spears... six Magic Missiles.”
The ranger shook his head. “We need to make a killing zone here, between the gold piles.”
“Very well, I’ll see what I can do.”
The wizard started tracing hand gestures in the air to cast protective magic. Megan saw Kalam standing listlessly by one of the treasure piles. She wanted to backstab him.
“Well, Kalam, I guess this might be it. If we die, I’m going to find your little ass and kick it from one side of this game to the other.”
Kalam looked regretful. “I know I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
“You better get ready to fight then to make up for it.”
Boris overheard her and flashed a gleeful grin. He didn’t know the whole story yet but apparently didn’t care. “Come on, Kalam—it’s tank time.”
Kalam dropped his voice and grabbed Megan by the elbow. “Megan, I truly am sorry about all this. Things kind of unfolded differently than I expected them to.”
Megan jerked her arm free. “You lied to us.”
“I know.” He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one else could hear. “Megan, if we start losing this battle... you need to flee. Get away. Run away as fast as you can.”
“What?” Megan shouted. She wasn’t about to abandon her teammates at this point. “How can you even think I would do that? You drag us into this mess where our lives might be in danger for real, and suddenly it’s every man for himself? You stupid kid! You are in no position to tell me what to—”
Kalam clamped his hand over her mouth and forcibly dragged her past the edge of a nearby treasure pile. Pure fury welled up inside of Megan. She instinctively reached for her dagger but the big warrior pinned her against his chest with his thick, boa constrictor-like arms.
“Megan, will you stop it? Listen to me.”
She had never wanted to kill someone more in her entire life. How dare he even touch her. She struggled and writhed but could not get free. Megan finally gave up and just threw daggers with her eyes.
“Finally,” Kalam said, exasperated. “Megan, please. The high-value treasure we separated out—the jewelry, gems, all that? It’s all in that little Portable Hold device of yours. Don’t forget that. You have over a million dollars on you. If this battle goes badly, you need to get away and take that money with you.”
Hearing the words made the realization sink in. She nodded, Kalam’s hand still tightly clamped over her mouth.
“Good. Remember, the money’s untraceable. That’s why these guys put it into the game in the first place. Run away if we start losing. We can all die today and be reincarnated and rendezvous back on the mainland, back in Silverton, and still pocket more money than we know what to do with. Got it?”
“Mmph.”
“What?” Kalam removed his hand.
“Let go of me.”
The brawny warrior let her go. Megan stepped away and narrowed her eyes. “If you ever... ever... touch me or another woman like that again, I will claw your fucking face apart, you cowardly little punk.”
Kalam shuffled nervously back and forth. “I—I’m sorry. Okay?”
“I don’t care.”
Kalam sighed. “Fair enough. Just... just remember what I said. A million dollars.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“Untraceable.”
Megan glared hate at him.
“Ours, split six ways.”
I wouldn’t give you any of it, you bastard.
Haas’s voice broke loudly from the other side of coin piles. “Get in position! They’re coming!”
Kalam gave Megan one last glance he drew his sword and ran back.
Megan scowled. If this was going to be some sort of last stand, so be it. She had no intention of abandoning Boris, or Father Corman, or Sameer or Haas.
It was quite a risk. But wasn’t life about risks?
Untraceable.
God, Megan hoped so.
The thief drew her sword and, as thief combat tactics dictated, slunk into the shadows of the overgrown foliage. She tiptoed around to what would likely be the flank of their approaching opponents. After she found a concealed position that would give her a good vantage point, Megan hid quietly and watched.
The enemy burst into the open.
The first warrior was clamoring with incredible speed up the side of the hill—only, it wasn’t a warrior. Nearly eight feet tall, the beast looked like a lanky basketball player with a Doberman’s face and an orange-red mane rolling down its neck. It ran like a gorilla and used its fists as an extra pair of feet. A pair of odd-looking knives jangled from its belt.
A thunderous explosion from one of Sameer’s spells shook the jungle around them.
The heat of the blast would have instantly cooked a normal creature. But as the smoke cleared, the beast shook off the concussion and launched itself forward toward the piles of coins.
“Kenzen!” Boris shouted, identifying the monster. He stood defiantly in the gap Haas had prepared in the wall, his dual scimitars whistling in wide, circular paths.
Megan did not know what a Kenzen was, but after watching it shrug off a Firetrap spell, it didn’t look good. The Kenzen crashed into Boris. Blades flashed and the air filled with the clang of metal on metal, two opponents wielding scimitars ambidextrously and skillfully. Megan felt a lump of fear in her throat. As good as Boris was, he was not scoring any hits on the monster. It was a complete one-on-one stalemate.
Another Kenzen bounded up the hillside. Kalam moved next to Boris and kept the barbarian from having to fight two opponents at the same time, but more were coming. Only the defensive wall that Haas had prepared kept them from being overwhelmed.
The philosophy of group combat tactics was on full display for Megan. The tanks bottled up the enemy to a narrow path so that only a few combatants could engage at a time, limiting the advantage of superior numbers. The members of the party who were weaker in combat, the spell casters, remained out of harm’s way. The only problem was that the melee so far was a stalemate. Neither Boris nor Kalam were able to land any strikes on the monsters that were so much stronger and faster. How would this strategy save them?
As if in answer to Megan’s unspoken question, the artillery came.
The sky blackened in less than a second. Something told Megan to run, run away as fast as she could, but since she was hiding in the dense foliage near the approach, all she was able to do was seek shelter next to an ancient tree with a heavy canopy. Then it happened. Thousands of thin stone slivers fell from the heavens onto the Kenzen’s position. One of the beasts was impaled through its chest and nailed to the jungle floor. Another Kenzen do
dged the first few darts only to have its back gouged horribly by the next volley. A third took a sliver in its shoulder, then its thigh, before letting out a horrific growl and ripping the darts savagely from its body.
After thirty seconds, the Rain of Spears spell had finished. The jungle path was littered with jagged shards and three Kenzen were dead. Enraged, the remaining beasts redoubled their efforts to break through the tanks. One Kenzen broke off from Boris only to spin around and reengage Kalam from the other side. A savage blow grazed Kalam’s calf, but Father Corman was there to heal him instantly. Kalam then feinted a counterattack, caught the Kenzen off balance and thrust his broadsword up into its scaly neck. It clutched its throat before falling to its knees and rolling down the hill.
There were four monsters left, two injured, two healthy. Megan lurked in the brush as thieves were supposed to do, waiting for the right kind of opening to strike quickly and disappear.
The battle continued in unabated fury. Sameer sent a Sudden Lightning Strike jolting into two of the enemy and left two charred hulks steaming on the ground. Haas continued to pepper the Kenzen with deadly arrow strikes. Megan saw a new arrival—a man dressed in steel chainmail with a sword slung on his back—hanging back from the fray. He had a rough but handsome look, with blond hair and a stubbly beard. Could this be the enemy captain? There were two more Kenzen behind him, but Megan thought if she could get a good stab in the right spot, perhaps they could end this fight quickly and decisively.
The captain stopped about twenty feet away from the bottleneck and produced a glass ball with a bright spec of orange shining from inside it. He hurled it right at Boris and Kalam. Megan’s eyes widened with panic. As a frequent user of magical devices to overcome enemies, she knew what she was looking at.
The thunderclap shook Megan to the ground.
Gold crowns flew everywhere. Boris stumbled and a Kenzen sliced his arm with its wicked, curved knife. Then the monster put its head down and charged like a linebacker, ramming him into the ground.
With Boris pushed aside, the enemy captain and his Kenzen sprinted for the perimeter. Haas shot one of the Kenzen twice with his arrows but the giant beast hardly slowed. Kalam grappled with his own opponent and managed to slice open the back of its hamstring. The Kenzen howled in pain and stumbled backward as the others charged past it.
Megan saw her chance. She snuck out of the foliage and thrust her sword into the wounded Kenzen’s spine. The monster convulsed violently as it clutched at Megan before finally crumpling to the ground. It took Megan a moment to free her blade so she could climb the approach back up to the perimeter. The sounds of savage combat filled the air as Megan peeked into the melee.
It was worse than she thought.
Black scorch marks from the captain’s Fire Globes covered the ground in all directions. Kalam and now Haas were both fighting hand-to-hand against the vicious blows of the Kenzen. Behind them lay Boris, collapsed to the ground and wounded badly. He seemed unable to get back on his feet. Where was Father Corman?
Sameer was also engaged in melee combat. A lone Kenzen had closed with him and was swinging its scimitar madly. Sameer was twirling his staff in a pattern that invoked a shimmering sphere of defensive magic around him. Every time the Kenzen’s blade got near the wizard, the sphere magically deflected the blow like some sort of transparent shield. But while Sameer was on the defensive, he could not cast any other spells to shift the tide of battle.
Where was Corman?
Megan felt a sinking feeling in her gut. Father Corman had been standing right where the Fire Globes hit. He had been healing the tanks. That made him a high priority target.
Boris downed a vial of healing elixir and forced himself back to his feet. He managed to slice a Kenzen under its arm and sent blood and guts spilling onto the clearing.
The enemy captain saw his underling fall and closed with Boris himself. Megan’s eyes were transfixed on him. He was eerily handsome, and moved with the grace of a practiced gamer. The weapons of the two men clanged against each other in a flurry of strikes and counterstrikes. Boris managed to shove the captain back and aimed a deathblow at the smaller man’s head.
But the captain was faster. He ducked the attack and thrust his blade into Boris’s heart.
Megan screamed.
The barbarian stumbled back. With a look of surprise at the blood spurting from his chest, he sank to his knees and fell onto his side.
Megan charged at the captain. It was a foolish thing to do; a successful thief struck from the shadows with an unexpected attack, not with a battle cry charging headlong into the fray. Megan didn’t think about any of it. There was only the rage from watching the slaying of her friend.
The captain turned calmly toward her and raised his red-stained sword. Before he could strike, however, a Kenzen crashed backwards into him followed by Haas and his Gaussian Blade. The captain stumbled into Megan and they both tumbled to the ground. Megan scrambled to get free. Her assailant rolled to the side and was back on his feet, but Kalam quickly engaged him before he had a chance to strike her down.
As she wobbled up from the ground, Megan could feel how much the tide of battle had turned against them. The captain was far superior in his melee with Kalam. To her right, Sameer’s Defensive Shield was faltering with every blow the Kenzen landed. Haas was managing to hold two more Kenzen at bay, but only barely. Corman and Boris were dead. And Megan herself—caught in the middle, with no shadows to use to her advantage—was a sitting duck.
A sharp, electrical snap and Sameer’s shield was gone, overloaded from the amount of damage it had absorbed. The Kenzen kicked the small man prone with its clawed foot.
“Megan!” Kalam yelled.
“What?”
“Get out of here!”
Megan reached into her pouch and pulled out her Potion of Invisibility. Her hands were trembling. For so long, she had been a lone operator who had never known companionship or teamwork. It had been terribly difficult to trust other people and to open up about herself. Even with her anger at Kalam, to abandon her companions now seemed horribly wrong.
Megan raised her sword. “I’m not leaving!”
“Don’t argue! Run!” Kalam shouted back.
Megan hesitated.
Near the edge of her vision, she saw a Kenzen deliver the killing blow to Sameer’s small, huddled form.
She didn’t want to leave these people.
Boris was dead.
Haas was barely hanging on.
“For God’s sake, Megan, run!”
Megan turned away, her throat choking up, and ran.
25
Bucharest, Romania.
Krystian’s skin was clammy, even though it was warm in his bedroom and he was stripped down to his underwear. He was pacing back and forth aimlessly. The faint smell of puke wafted in the air from the nearby bathroom, a testament to his insides still contorting into knots from the night’s events. The bedroom itself was completely dark except for the soft glow of the computer monitors on his desk, which together cast a sort of surreal, horror-movie quality that seemed terribly appropriate considering the circumstances.
For the past few hours, Krystian had been alternating between being on his feet and sitting in the fetal position in the corner. Occasionally he would stop and just scream at the top of his lungs toward his computer.
This was an unmitigated disaster.
Thieves.
He had chased them down. He had chased down those lousy, fucking, deceitful pieces of shit that had somehow—how?—found his stronghold and stolen months of work. And he had killed them. Most of them. He knew of one that got away. He would have to find that one, to hunt that person down and slice them open in a way that made them regret ever, ever thinking of taking part in such a plan as crossing him. And that was part of what was so disturbing.
Where in the fuck was the rest of his money?
The chat window on one of the monitors came to life. It was Pr1mal.
&
nbsp; What’s up?
Krystian walked over to his desk and started to type, still standing up. He was exhausted but still so restless that he couldn’t sit down for more than a few moments. He needed reassurance from his companions. He needed help.
“We got broken into.”
There was a moment of stillness.
What do you mean?
“The stronghold. Armchair Safari.”
Pr1mal: Oh, shit. Someone found us?
“Yes.”
How much?
Krystian straightened and considered walking to his bathroom as the bile started to come up. Even just thinking about it was enough to threaten a dry heave.
There was no way to soften the amount.
“Almost eight hundred thousand.”
Pr1mal: What? You mean, Euros?
“Yes.”
The chat window was still for a long minute. Then it exploded.
What in the FUCK?!?! Are you kidding me? Do you know how much work that is? How many nights DarkZeus and I spent sitting in front of a keyboard, typing in strings of CRAP numbers to load monthly charges from those credit cards? Do you??? You said this goddamn fortress of yours would be safe! ‘No one will ever find this,’ you said! So what the fuck? I said, WHAT THE FUCK? This had BETTER be a FUCKING JOKE, asshole!
Krystian turned away to his bed and pulled his knees up to his chin. His body was trembling. But at the same time, there was something cathartic about telling someone what had happened—particularly someone he had never met, his partner but at the same time a stranger, this person who was still and always would be an arm’s-length associate. There was no one sitting across from him to judge him face-to-face. Krystian had always struggled with real people right in front of him. Maybe that was what had drawn him into the world of computers and gaming. Sure, Pr1mal was angry, and rightfully so, but with him and DarkZeus it was still sterile, filtered. Conversations about incredibly deep topics were funneled through chat windows and blocks of code. There were no eyes boring into you like Anton’s or Valentina’s, judging, assessing. It was just a functional business relationship. He could trust Pr1mal and DarkZeus. The fury would eventually subside and then they would figure out what to do about the situation, together.
Armchair Safari (A Cybercrime Technothriller) Page 25
