by Pavel Kornev
Four killer rogues expertly frisked their bodies and jumped into a boat bobbing on the waves by the embankment. The next moment, the only thing that still reminded us of them was the quiet creaking of the rowlocks.
“Who'd have thought...” Isabella drawled, looking puzzled. “Come on, Kitten!” she jerked on the chain. “We’re almost there.”
We hurried past the lifeless bodies and ran onto the bridge. My night vision made out the boat disappearing down the canal. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see exactly who was in it.
“Nice quiet city,” I snorted.
“Just some underage brats on an adrenaline trip,” she said, hastening her step.
I followed reluctantly after her. The phoenix emitted yet another squawk and flitted off into the darkness.
As soon as we crossed the canal, we immediately bumped into a group of players preparing for a raid. A very focused sorcerer was busy chalking the outline of a portal on the cobblestones. A priestess was casting some blessings while all the others were checking their equipment and distributing healing potions and mana vials. Their average level wasn’t too high but their gear was nothing to sniff at. Even I with my limited knowledge of the game had recognized a few legendary sets.
By the same token, the players had recognized me.
Not literally, of course. They saw a black leather-clad lady with some sort of creature on a chain and had been smart enough to identify it.
“A zombie!” someone shouted. “Anyone for some free XP?”
“Count me in!” a burly seven-foot warrior growled, drawing a fiery sword from its scabbard.
This time Isabella knew better than to threaten them with her whip. She strengthened her grip on her staff. “Just try it!”
Her furious growl made the warrior waver in indecision.
Isabella had partially turned into a Fury. Her face sharpened. Her gaze filled with a grim glow. But even so, we stood no chance against a numerous group like this.
Luckily, we didn’t need to.
“Let them go!” the sorcerer ordered. The warrior obediently returned his sword to its scabbard.
We hurried to turn a corner.
“Nice quiet city,” I repeated.
“Those wretched paying players!” Isabella cussed. “I can’t stand all those rich daddies’ boys!”
I nodded. With levels as low as theirs, amassing such impressive amounts of gorgeous gear must have required some serious cash injections. Still, who was I to say? One man’s meat is another man’s poison. Some players used real-world money to buy fantasy weapons and armor while others invested it into a virtual catering business. The world economy had long transcended the limits of the real world. Stock speculators habitually hyped up online startup stocks sky high, even when all of the said startups’ assets were located on a single server.
Still, all such thoughts of a possible merger of the virtual and real-world economies flew from my head the moment I saw the grim building on the other side of yet another canal and the figure of a dark angel topping the imposing tower looming behind it.
‘Wait,” I said in confusion. “This is the residence of the Spawn of Darkness!”
“Of course it is,” Isabella replied.
I didn’t believe my ears. “Do you want to say that the most powerful Dark clan deigns to deal with us?”
She laughed. “They’d strike a deal with the devil himself provided he helped them to get one over on the Sons of Light. Or do you really think that no one on the Light side is trying to collect the Sphere of Souls?”
I tended to disagree so I simply shrugged but said nothing.
The bridge to the other side was paved with slabs of marble and lined with statues of various fantastical creatures intertwined like struggling snakes. There were no guards posted on it.
“We can’t just walk into the clan’s territory, surely?” I asked.
“Shut up!” Isabella hissed. “You’re a brainless zombie and don’t forget it!”
I cussed under my breath but obeyed.
The moment I reached halfway across, a sharp pain pierced the top of my head. It felt like I’d been smashed with a hammer. I very nearly doubled up in agony. A bunch of scorched black feathers drifted to earth.
No one seemed to have bothered to add my dead phoenix to the guest list.
“Move it!” Isabella hissed.
I forced myself to stand up straight, spread my shoulders and staggered after her with the faltering gait of a walking dead.
The guards awaited us at the opposite end of the bridge: ten swordsmen, two sorcerers and a dark priest who was the only player among them. He raised his staff whose crystal top began to glow, dispersing the nocturnal shadows.
The control didn’t take much time. The priest flagged us through.
“Keep going straight on,” he said. “There’ll be someone waiting for you.”
Immediately after the bridge, we came across an impossibly high wrought-iron gate topped with sharp spikes. But we weren’t important enough for them to open up. We only merited entry by the small side gate.
“Follow me,” the gatekeeper strode through the square toward the clan’s tower rising at its opposite end. Incredibly, the statue of the dark angel stood out clearly in the surrounding gloom.
Still, I didn’t get the chance to take a good look at it. No one expects to stumble across a sightseeing zombie. We’re supposed to walk with our faces in the dirt, just like pigs.
The gates into the order’s residence stood wide open. The gatekeeper saw us into a spacious hall and asked us to wait.
Even after he’d left, I continued impersonating an emotionless corpse even though maintaining an impassionate face was quickly becoming a struggle. Minutes passed but nobody called for us. In the real world, there would have been nothing strange or humiliating about this. But here, considering the cost of being in virtual reality, our hosts’ behavior promised us nothing good.
After a while, Isabella cussed under her breath. She stood opposite the front door staring grimly at the statue of the dark angel above it: his slender body, his ripped wings and the fiery gaze on his beautiful face. A dark sword thrust aloft by the creature’s right hand was matched by his left hand which clutched a flaming whip.
“This is the clan’s patron,” Isabella said. “They didn’t even bother to give him a name. Cheap and cheerful.”
Her voice rang with unbridled sarcasm. It was as if she was trying to let the invisible observers know she was pissed about the unexpected delay but not enough to lose it.
Her angry tirade hadn’t produced any effect. The doors stayed close.
Gradually other players started to arrive at the reception hall. No one spoke to each other as each kept their own company. I tried not to stare: they were nervous enough as it was, annoyed at the presence of a zombie.
Finally, the doors opened and a valet in a luxuriant livery announced,
“Isabella Ash-Rizt! Please follow me!”
The unkind jealous stares of the multitude of players in the room were all upon her. Ignoring them, she proudly walked down the corridor, head held high.
The passage was lined with four-armed statues. It took me some time to realize that they weren’t just any old statues but golem guards. Their swords and armor were fashioned from some metal that looked a lot like mithril, only it had a purple glow.
The audience hall was truly enormous. Its walls and impossibly high ceiling disappeared in the shadows overhead. It was illuminated with an eerie light that was focused on three thrones that towered opposite the entrance.
The valet headed toward them. Wherever he walked, the stone tiles began to glow in his wake. We followed him. Immediately the slabs of stone under our feet started emitting a visible reddish radiance as if warning everyone of the approach of an enemy.
“The case of the shard of the Sphere of Souls!” the valet thundered. He then stepped aside, leaving us alone with the clan lords.
An impossibly tall knight in blac
k armor and a closed visor was sitting on the central throne. There was nothing of Light about him. It seemed as if darkness itself enshrouded him, snaking around him in hundreds of ghostly shadows.
Lord High Steward
That was the only prompt I received when I’d focused on him.
A female figure in ice armor was sitting on the left-hand throne, her face concealed by a veil of snowflakes. An enormous white wolf lay at her feet.
The opposite throne was taken by a player clad in fiery garb. Their names — Lady Blizzard and the Duke of Inferno — said nothing to me.
Isabella lowered a respectful head. I just stood there like a sore thumb, staring impassively at the crowd heaving behind the thrones. All the players here were levels 80 to 90, and they looked the part with their legendary weapons, bespoke armor and unique pets. I’d never even heard of some of their classes and professions.
And there we were, offering them a deal. Yeah right.
The Lord High Steward snapped his fingers. An alchemist stepped forward.
“Allow me to evaluate your artifact,” he said.
Isabella produced the shard of the Sphere of Souls but wasn’t in a hurry to give it to him, holding it in front of her in her upturned palm.
It didn’t become a problem. The alchemist studied the item’s cold glow using some clever optical device.
“Three out of a hundred!” he pronounced his verdict.
The Lord High Steward nodded his approval. “How much?”
Isabella put the fragment away. “I’m not interested in your money.”
Whispers swept around the hall but the Lord High Steward kept his cool. “Explain yourself,” he demanded.
“You rub my back and I’ll rub yours,” Isabella said.
“Are you seeking our protection?” Lady Blizzard suggested.
“Or are you looking to join the clan?” the Duke of Inferno chuckled. “Our waiting list is years long. And you’re not a particularly valuable addition to it, Priestess.”
Isabella shook her head. “I want to join your raid on the Kingdom of the Dead. And trust me, you might find me quite a valuable addition to it.”
The crowd of players behind the thrones spoke all at once, voicing their indignation. I felt like we should make ourselves scarce.
Still, the Lord High Steward remained impassive. “Go on,” he said, motioning the crowd to calm down.
“I have neutrality with the subjects of the Lord of the Tower of Decay. I’m the best scout you can ever find.”
The black knight shook his head. “This status isn’t as unique as you think, Priestess. We don’t require your services.”
Nonplussed by his aloofness, Isabella shook the chain, attracting everyone’s attention to my humble self. “And how many pet zombies do you have, may I ask? Not some brainless dorks but sentient beings? Who can act on their own will and are capable of using the artifacts of the subjects of the Tower of Decay? And who are capable of disabling any magic defenses?”
She swung round to me. “Kitten, speak!”
I obediently said in a purposefully slurred voice, “Nice to meet you, ladies and gentlemen!”
The players began talking over each other, discussing the extraordinary proposition.
Once again the Lord High Steward motioned everyone to keep silent. “One moment,” he turned to the other two to confer.
Isabella allowed a tiny smile to flutter on her lips which vanished the moment the black knight spoke again, announcing the clan’s decision.
“We’ll pay you fifty grand for the fragment. And another thirty for your zombie control.”
Isabella seemed shocked by such a shameless proposition. She threw back a proud head. “Well, if that’s what you want. Let’s go, Kitten. You’re worth much more than some stinking thirty grand!”
The Lord High Steward leaned forward slightly. “Let’s make it sixty and forty. That’s a hundred grand in total. This is our final price.”
“I don’t need your money. I want to join the raid!”
He shook his head. “Sorry. It means we haven’t come to an agreement.”
Isabella shrugged indignantly and turned to go. But before she could take a step, one of the players — a certain Prince Julien — stepped forward.
“What the hell?” he demanded. “Are we just gonna let her go? The Fragment is as good as ours!”
Silence fell. I could hear clearly the clinking noises as Isabella’s staff began to flex its joints. My teeth began to ache in anticipation of all the shit that was about to hit the fan.
A prince! Who on earth had appointed this scumbag a prince?
This was no problem for Isabella. She would just respawn in the inn, end of story. And me, how was I supposed to get out of here? Or did I stand a better chance of reaching the Kingdom of the Dead if I went with the clan? No way. They’d see right through me straight away.
The pause only lasted a couple of seconds. The Lord High Steward shook his head. “We’re not the ones who break the law.”
“We’re the ones who make it!” the Prince shouted passionately.
I was pretty sure that many of those in the crowd wholeheartedly agreed with him.
This time the decision had already been made. “Go!” the black knight gestured to Isabella to leave.
She hurried to comply. I trudged behind her like a dog on a chain.
Isabella didn’t say a word as we forced our way through the crowd of other supplicants still waiting their turn in the reception hall. Only when we’d crossed the bridge, did she finally revert back to her normal self.
“Never mind,” she said through clenched teeth. “Two can play at this game.”
With those words, she hurried off home.
“Why did they let us go?” I asked as I too shed the role of a dumb zombie.
She shrugged. “My guess is as good as yours. They might have thought we were part of a bigger scam. Because trust me, even the Spawn of Darkness can be dealt with if they overstep the line.”
“But what if they did try to get rid of us? You didn’t think about that, did you?” I was angry and didn’t even try to hide it.
The priestess only smiled. “Trust me, Kitten. I knew what I was doing.”
She didn’t bother herself with any explanations, and I knew better than to hassle her.
A resounding “Craah!” came from the darkness above our heads. It looked like my dead phoenix was back in the game.
“So what now?” I asked.
Isabella chuckled ambiguously. “Don’t worry. We’ll hear from them.”
“But we don’t have the time!”
“Are you getting edgy, Kitten?”
“Screw you!” I was about to wrestle the chain from her hand when a loud procession appeared from a neighboring street.
Half a dozen mercenaries armed to the teeth walked out in front, followed by a level-85 fire mage. A bodilicious Elven girl scurried next to him, while three player bodyguards who closed the procession eyed us with undisguised suspicion.
Strange as it may seem, this was the first high-level character I’d met on the streets of the capital. The clan’s residence we’d just left had been teeming with them, but not the city itself. I turned to Isabella for an explanation.
She snorted. “They don’t have the time to hang around the city. Those who level up seriously treat the game as their job. It can also be quite dangerous.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Dangerous? Get away with you! They’re real killing machines!”
“Anyone can get killed. You just need to try harder or muster more people. Some PKs target high-level players.”
“What the hell for?”
“XP. Cool gear. Some clans even put contracts out on them, just to weaken a rival clan.”
“Put contracts out?”
“Sure. Can you imagine the size of their black lists? Even you have just made yourself a sworn enemy.”
I shuddered. “You mean they can really take people out?”<
br />
“If they can fork out quick enough,” she smirked. “Now listen. My game time’s coming to an end. I’ll take you to the inn and log out. Tomorrow we’ll decide what to do next.”
We turned off into a narrow passage between some houses but had barely taken more than ten steps before a portal popped open before us. Immediately another one opened loudly behind.
Before I could even blink, the lane was packed with humans, elves and dwarves pointing their swords and halberds at us. The crowd bristled with magic wands and loaded crossbows. I swung round and saw the same picture.
Now we were deep in it.
Isabella promptly transformed into a Fury. Still, it didn’t look as if we were going to win this battle. Our enemy was way too numerous — even though these weren’t players but just some hired NPCs.
Prince Julien stepped forward. He was in fact an 89-level Dark Knight. His deep-blue armor sparkled with protection spells; the white hilt of his two-handed sword fashioned out of a demon’s bones peeked from behind his shoulder. If you asked me, he had no need of the mercenaries’ help. He was perfectly capable of making mincemeat out of us as it was.
“Now it’s every man for himself,” I warned Isabella, fully intending to stealth up and leg it out of there.
“Stay where you are!” she snapped, then turned to the prince, ‘How can I help you, my boy?”
Strangely enough, her sarcastic address seemed to have hit its mark. With a jerk, the prince closed his visor fashioned as a tiger’s head baring its teeth and concealed his handsome face and the dimple on his chin.
“Don’t screw with me,” he said. “Just give me the shard.”
“Oh, so we’re robbers now, are we?”
“You can get your money from the clan’s treasury. You’ll be sorry if you don’t go along.”
She laughed. “So you needed your bodyguards to tell me that? Are we so afraid of women?”
I just couldn’t help myself. “He just doesn’t know what to do with you!” I offered my two cents. “He brought them along as advisors!”
“I didn’t want to waste my time chasing after you, that’s all,” he said through clenched teeth as he reached behind his back, fully intending to make me pay for his own embarrassment.
