by Pavel Kornev
His sword swished out of its scabbard. I prudently took cover behind Isabella’s back.
The prince snorted. “This is your last chance to resolve this peaceably.”
His original plan was pretty clear now. By arriving at the head of a large surprise group of mercenaries, he’d expected to intimidate Isabella into surrendering the artifact to him. She had to do so willingly. The chances of him retrieving the item from the priestess’ dead body were too slim.
Isabella could see right through his little scheme just as well as I could but didn’t want to deprive herself of the pleasure of seriously pissing him off.
“The boy likes to dominate?” she purred. “Bad boy! Very bad boy!”
The prince’s sword faltered in his nervous hands, its deep blue blade covered in black runes. I didn’t like the sight of it at all. I grabbed at my collar, preparing to rip it off and stealth up when Isabella decided to make him certain concessions.
“You want the fragment, don’t you?” she smiled as she reached into her inventory. “Aren’t you afraid of invoking the wrath of the Mistress of the Crimson Moon?”
At the sight of the ball of ghostly light the prince shuddered. Still, he didn’t let himself be provoked. He knew better than to insult the goddess.
“I don’t think she even cares about this piece of junk,” he said sarcastically, sticking out a demanding hand. “Give it here!”
Isabella blew on her hand. The white glow disappeared, replaced by an unhealthy-looking crimson. “Take it. Just make sure you don’t burn your pretty little fingers.”
He snatched his hand back. “You bitch!”
“Come on, take it,” Isabella insisted. “You’ll need my mistress anyway once the sphere is complete.”
Julien averted his stare from the artifact glowing dark red in her hand and even attempted a swing with his sword. Still, reason got the better of his emotions. “Let’s get outta here,” he said.
The mercenaries sheathed their weapons and began drifting off down the lane. The prince followed his henchmen.
“We’ll see each other again,” he dropped.
Once he’d disappeared round a corner, Isabella heaved a sigh of relief and returned the artifact to her inventory.
“What have you done with it?” I demanded.
She began backing off down the lane as if waiting for the prince to return. “It was touched by my mistress’ will,” she reluctantly explained. “Now no one can use it without my permission. But the moment this miserable excuse for a prince realizes he’s had a perfect chance to get one over on his competition...”
The idea that that bunch of armed cutthroats could return at any moment made me reach out mentally to my dead phoenix. Immediately the world around me changed, gaining color, brightness and speed. In fact, it became fast as hell.
My Scarecrow flitted over the city. I could see the whole place through his eyes: all the roofs, the chimneys and the weathercocks of the houses below. Amazingly, this dead bunch of feathers didn’t hit anything in mid-flight. It flew toward the canal and perched on one of the lampposts.
The prince was striding along the embankment, heading for the bridge. The mercenaries followed him at some distance. The shadows thickened, disgorging a few figures clad in dark cloaks and hoods. They didn’t attack the prince and his men, though. The cloaked figures turned out to be the clan’s scouts.
The phoenix’s hearing distorted the sounds of human speech a lot, but still I’d managed to make out most of their conversation. I couldn’t help laughing.
“What’s that?” Isabella jerked on the chain. “Are you out of your mind, Kitten?”
I shook my head, severing the connection. “I’ve just seen a group of thieves who were hired to steal the fragment from you. And the prince has just upset the applecart.”
“Are you serious?” she asked, unable to conceal her surprise. “What makes you think so?”
“I’m a lich, aren’t I?” I said with a smug smile. “I can do lots of things you don’t know about,” I leaned against the wall, waiting for my head to stop spinning.
She chuckled. “You’re full of surprises, Kitten,” she tugged at the chain. “Come on now. Let’s get outta here before they change their minds.”
4
WE GOT BACK to the inn without any further hassle. The moment we returned to our room, Isabella logged out with a shower of electronic sound effects. I ripped the collar off and hurled it into the furthest corner.
Neo heard the chain rattle and looked out of the other room. “Everything all right?” he asked sleepily.
I waved his question away. “Everything’s fine. Go back to bed.”
Then I reconsidered and dumped all my trophy amulets onto the bed. “Think you can identify them?”
The boy cheered up. “Of course I can, Uncle John! Let me try!”
He managed to recognize a few simple charms but the bulk of my haul remained unidentified. That upset him no end.
“Uncle John, would you like me to use the phoenix’s powers?” he suggested.
I shuddered. “No, please don’t. Isabella can do all the rest. Go to sleep now.”
Neo sniveled and went back into the other room. I took the Pendant of Enlightenment which offered his owner +2 to Intellect and tried to put it around my neck. I couldn’t. I started looking into it and discovered that apparently, the Deadman’s Set wasn’t compatible with other magic items.
Dammit. If it wasn’t one thing it was another.
I lobbed the charm onto the bed, walked over to the window and perched myself on the windowsill, pressing my forehead against the cold glass. The street outside was dark, its gloom occasionally disrupted by bright flashes of magic light. It must have been either some tipsy sorcerers having fun or robbers helping themselves to other people’s property. For some, the PK mark only added spice to the game.
Because that’s what it was for them. A game. Only a game.
A game is when you can go in and come back out. When you can’t come out, it’s not a game anymore. It’s called life.
I tapped my forehead against the glass. I might go mad during the night. All this time, I’d had something to look forward to. First to get out of the playpen, then to find the entrance to the Kingdom of the Dead, then to get to the capital... And now I had to wait and I didn’t even know what for. It was unbearable.
Should I go out and have a little fun too, maybe? Like smoke a couple of players? Good idea but how long was the PK mark supposed to last? Not to even mention the fact that I might get killed too which threatened me with more complications I really didn’t need. Oh no, sir, thank you very much. I should really get in some practice with my Soulkiller.
I’d already drawn the bone hook from under my belt when I heard hoarse crowing coming from the street.
I laughed and reached out mentally to my undead pet. Let’s fly, buddy!
ISABELLA LOGGED BACK IN in the early afternoon of the next day. By that time, I didn’t know what to think anymore. I circled the room not knowing what to do with myself. I didn’t want to go anywhere near the window for fear of the sunrays pouring into the room. The bright light irritated my eyes; my last-night’s outing over the city in the body of my dead phoenix had resulted in bouts of vertigo and nausea. I couldn’t think straight; my temples and the back of my head were in agony.
For no particular reason, I remembered the conversation I’d had with Mark the innkeeper. That got me thinking who was really in control of the dark side of this world. Was it the game designers or the technical team?
I walked downstairs to get some food for Neo, hoping to see Mark and talk to him. Still, the bar was manned by some other guy. Mark was apparently offline.
The bartender listened to my order and headed for the kitchen. I leaned over the bar and took the first bottle I came across, secreting it under my cape. Was I a thief or just a pretty face? Yes, yes, I knew that stealing was bad. But at the end of the day, food and refreshments were included in th
e price of the room anyway.
The successful theft had earned me 10 pt. XP. I went back upstairs very pleased with myself.
But the moment I took a swig of whiskey, I was crippled by the mother of all convulsions. I dropped onto the bed waiting for my muscles to relax and for my throat to stop burning. Apparently, alcohol and zombies wasn’t a good mix.
It took about five minutes for my eyes to stop watering. And that’s when the soft popping sound of a portal announced Isabella’s return.
“You really know how to drop yourself in it, Kitten!” she said without further ado.
Now why would she say that? I cast a glance at the bottle on the table but no, she’d ignored it totally.
“What now?” I groaned.
“Open the video tab,” she commanded. A deep furrow had formed between her eyebrows. She now resembled a vet who was trying to decide whether to euthanize a cat or let it suffer some more.
A video tab? I’d spent so much time in the game that virtual reality had become my natural habitat. I’d already begun to forget about the existence of things like forums and other in-game services.
Her eyes squinted threateningly.
“Yes, yes, I’ve opened it!” I hurried to say. “What now?”
“Look for the top viewed in the last twenty-four hours. You’re one of the ‘most watched’!”
“Me? Are you sure? It doesn’t make sense!”
Unfortunately, she was right. Amongst the “most watched” was a video featuring humble me. A quarter of a million views and third place in the rankings.
The video footage included the moment when the Drow archer shot down my undead phoenix, as well as my return blow. The success of such a normally mundane episode owed a lot to its flashy title. A Light Player Punishing a Darkie by the Tower of Gloom was how the uploader had called it.
A monk of the Order of the Silver Phoenix kills the Dark player with one blow and leaves unhindered — in the direct vicinity of the Tower of Gloom of all places!
Just my luck. Still, only when I skimmed through the comments did I realize the entire gravity of the situation. I wasn’t interested in either the Dark players’ threats or the Lighties’ words of support. What worried me much more was their discussion over my flamberge. Even though my Deadman’s set didn’t tie in with my Light player’s garb, one of the weapon connoisseurs had promptly identified it and even published its official Wiki image.
Dammit! If Garth happened to see this wretched video, he’d know straight away where to look for me.
A quarter of a million views. Shiiiiiit...
“What’s this ‘37,000’ next to the screen?” I asked Isabella. “Are they donations to the maker?”
“Oh no, Kitten,” she gave me a saccharine smile. “These are donations to take you out. Whoever kills you first gets 50%. The one who kills you next gets 50% of the rest. It can be done up to five times.”
I shuddered. “Is that legal?”
“The admins will approve of anything that adds an edge to the game.”
“Bastards!” I spat. “So much for unrecognizable me! So much for my Incognito! ‘Hello stranger! What’s this Silver Phoenix on your chest?’”
Isabella giggled. She must have recognized the song I’d so cleverly reworded. But before it had even registered in my mind, she became serious again.
“I’m afraid your sword is a bit of an eyesore, Kitten. You’re too easily identifiable.”
I waved her words away. “I don’t care. You’d better tell me what we’re gonna do about the shard of the Sphere of Souls. I don’t give a damn about the money but I’m desperate to get into the Kingdom of the Dead. Really desperate.”
“Relax, Kitten,” she smirked as she began to rip the leather trimming off her armor. “While you were snoring away in your comfy little bed, I made the Spawn of Darkness another offer. One they couldn’t refuse.”
“No way?” I said in disbelief. “Does that mean they’re taking us on the raid?”
“No.”
I cussed in disappointment. “Why are you so buoyant, then? What kind of agreement do you have with them?”
She reached out to give me a pat on the cheek but met my grim stare and reconsidered. “Firstly, no one’s gonna hassle us anymore. Pointless. The fragment has been put somewhere safe. Secondly, the clan has drawn up an agreement that if ever we decide to sell it, they get first option. They’re first in line.”
“But we’re not planning on selling it!”
She snickered. “Of course we’re not. Sooner or later, we’ll make them agree to our terms.”
I frowned. “So why did you need all this first-option thing?”
“You don’t seem to be able to think straight in the morning, Kitten! Aren’t you awake yet?” she snapped, not even trying to conceal the annoyance in her glare. Still, she deigned to explain, “The Spawn are sure that none of the experienced players will take us on the raid. Which means that sooner or later we’ll be obliged to auction the Shard. And now they have an official guarantee that the fragment won’t go somewhere else. Provided we don’t manage to talk somebody else into it.”
“We won’t,” I prophesized grimly. “The Sons of Light won’t even listen to us.”
“They won’t,” she agreed. “They don’t need a lich and a dark priestess hanging with them. But everything’s gonna change once the race reaches the final stage, trust me. Once the Spawn of Darkness collect 97% of the Sphere, then they’ll remember us, I assure you.”
“Does that mean that nobody else on the Dark side collects the Sphere?”
She shook her head. “The Swords of Chaos had their chance but they’re out of it now. All the others are just middlemen and profiteers.”
When I heard her mention the Swords — the second Dark clan in the rankings — I remembered I was now on their black list. I produced the silver disk I’d picked up from Karl Lightning’s body in Stone Harbor.
“Talking about the Swords of Chaos,” I offered it to the priestess. “You think you could identify this?”
She gingerly took it from me with two fingers, gave it a long studying look and threw it on the table. “I don’t understand your obsession with collecting all sorts of crap,” she winced, wiping her fingers on the bedspread. “Where did you get this from? No idea what kind of spell is cast on it but I can tell you that for sure it’s deadly.”
I put her in the picture, omitting all of the details that she didn’t need to know.
Isabella frowned. “Did they blacklist you because of just one murder?” she shook her head in bewilderment. “That doesn’t make sense! That’s not how you do it! Provided you hadn’t messed up any of their plans.”
I shrugged. “Apparently, I had.” I poured all of the amulets I’d found in the sarcophagus onto the bed. “This is my loot from the Dungeon of the Dead. Do we split it?”
She grinned. “Good idea! The Spawn of Darkness paid us ten grand. Of which four is yours.”
“Only four?”
“I had to pay a thousand for the storage,” she explained. “And another five hundred is for your skull’s protection. I don’t do charity.”
“Never mind,” I said, unwilling to nickel and dime it. “I suggest you check the amulets. If you manage to sort them out, we won’t have to shell out on their ID-ing.”
“Sure,” she sniffed and began studying them.
I lay down on the other bed and just stared at the ceiling.
The raid on the Kingdom of the Dead seemed to have been postponed for an undetermined period of time. I couldn’t say I was too happy about it.
5
OUT OF ALL THE BUNCH of amulets, Isabella had only failed to identify three: an emerald pendant, a heavy ring with a large star sapphire and a sculpted bracelet of some unknown gray metal. All the rest had turned out to be low-level stuff. But even so, according to her, we could earn six or seven thousand gold from it.
“If we’re lucky, these three might cost the same,” she suggested, puttin
g around her neck a chain with a bonus to Reputation with NPCs. “I’ll take it as part of my cut,” she explained.
I nodded.
Sadly, there was nothing useful for me in the whole lot. The Deadman’s Set prevented me from wearing both the Star Ring and the Bracelet of True Fire. The former offered a small improvement to all main characteristics while the latter gave +30% to protection from burns. Shame. I could have used both.
“Are we gonna auction them?” I asked.
“No,” she stood in front of the mirror, admiring her reflection. “We’ll sell it on to a trader. At auction, this junk will take forever to sell. Not to mention their rip-off commissions.”
She rearranged the chain and cast me a curious look. “What’s a Lich’s blood circulation like?”
“It’s not.”
“You useless-” she cut herself short and shrugged. “Never mind. I’ll go and get rid of the amulets. You coming?”
I couldn’t possibly stand it in the inn any longer. Also, I needed some gear. I scrambled off the bed and reached for the flamberge leaning against the wall. “Sure. Coming.”
She frowned. “No, Kitten. You’d better leave this rusty piece of steel here. You’ll be recognized in two seconds with that. Have you already forgotten the footage?”
Hesitantly I decided to follow her advice. Instead, I slung the black orcish longsword behind my back.
“If I understand it rightly, size does matter to you?” she quipped.
I waved her sarcasm away. “That’s for sale.”
She smirked, then donned a short cloak which made her skimpy armor appear less flaunty. Having said that, if anything it made her look even more seductive adding some sort of understatement.
I opened the door and showed her into the corridor. “Neo? We’re off!”
The boy peeked out of the other room. “Can I come with you?”
“Not this time,” I shut the door and ran down the stairs after Isabella.
CAUTIOUSLY I left the inn. I have to admit I was scared. Who wouldn’t have been? The wretched video made me feel as if the passersby would start pointing their fingers at me at any moment. As long as it was only fingers and not swords! Dying now would be very untimely.
