by Pavel Kornev
Goar frowned and exhaled noisily. “Didn’t Lloyd tell you I was broke?”
I smiled. “There’s a big difference between broke and destitute.”
“That’s exactly what I am,” he said.
I winced. “Too bad. Come back when you’ve made some more money.”
He cast a quick glance behind my back.
“Not a good idea,” I warned him.
That didn’t stop him. He was already rising from the table when Isabella appeared out of nowhere.
“I don’t think Lloyd will be happy to find out about this,” she whispered in his ear.
The orc’s goofy grin faded. He slumped back into the chair which creaked in protest under his weight. He appeared visibly shaken by Isabella’s warning. An undisguised fear flashed in his eyes, if only for a split second.
I made a mental note. This Mr. Lloyd seemed to be a power to be reckoned with.
“I have no money,” Goar said darkly, his hands clasped in front of him.
Isabella pulled up a stool from a neighboring table, sat down on it and gave him a smile. “So what do you suggest?”
“I could work it off,” he didn’t sound too sure. “Or I could pay you back later.”
I was just about to say that I needed the money now when I noticed Isabella’s pensive stare. So I didn’t say anything.
“You could work it off?” she said slowly. “How then?”
The orc shrugged. “I could kill someone. Or I could help you level up.”
Isabella snapped her fingers. “We need a bodyguard!” she turned to me. “What do you think, Kitten? Should we hire old goofy for a month?”
I nodded. I liked her idea.
The orc, however, didn’t seem too excited about it. I’ll tell you more: his entire countenance turned into a grimace of disgust.
“Hanging around here doing nothing all month?” his broad nostrils flared. “Yeah right!”
Isabella rolled her eyes. “You, my dear friend, should use your head for a change instead of just stuffing it with food. Do you really think we would have needed a bodyguard had we been going to stay in the inn day in day out? This black piece of steel which for some reason is so dear to you, where do you think it came from?”
Goar pensively scratched his cheek with his gauntleted hand. “I want an equal share of the loot.”
Isabella and I exchanged glances. She shook her head. “You don’t want much, do you?”
He frowned at us. “I need to pay my bills. I’ll be broke in a month.”
Isabella winced but decided to meet him halfway. “Twenty percent of the loot once it’s sold.”
The orc nodded. “Deal.”
He reached out for the sword but I was still shielding it from him. “Aren’t we going to sign something?”
He gave me an evil eye, rose and said solemnly, “I swear by the Equilibrium to serve as a bodyguard to John... what’s your name?”
“John Doe.”
“... as a bodyguard to John Doe for a month.”
Tongues of ghostly flame flittered across his black armor. I handed him the sword.
He very nearly jumped for joy but forced himself to remain calm. He stepped aside and began turning the sword in his hands as if he couldn’t believe his own luck.
Watching him, Isabella said with a sour look, “At least some good has come out of that stupid piece of metal.”
“I’d have rather taken the money.”
“Well, life isn’t perfect. One always has to compromise.”
I just sighed. You couldn’t very well argue with that.
The front door swung open, letting in Ulrich. This time the box in his hands was quite small.
“Your order,” he announced, setting the box on the table in front of me.
I swung the lid open and took out a black metal mask from its straw packing.
A Mask of Black Mithril.
Armor: 5
Runes: 0/3
“Everything’s okay?” Ulrich asked.
“Perfect,” I said, putting it on. It fitted the outlines of my face like a glove.
The alchemist’s assistant bade his farewell to Isabella. When the door behind him closed, she said with a sarcastic smile, “You, Kitten, are now the man in the iron mask!”
“It’s actually mithril,” I corrected her.
I heard a knock on the door and turned to the sound. Still, no one entered.
“What did you say?” she laughed. “Speak up! I can’t hear you!”
In fact, although admittedly dull, my voice sounded quite clear. I was just taking in a lungful of air intending to scream that much in her ear, when I stopped mid-word and gasped instead, “We’ve got visitors.”
A cold unkind gaze prickled my back.
Chapter Two. The Raid of the Dead
1
Watchful Stare! Leap!
I DODGED to the side. A blurred shadow flashed through the air just where I’d been standing a moment ago. Promptly forewarned, Isabella swung her staff, aiming its steel-topped skull at the attacker and sending him tumbling across the room. The assassin somersaulted lithely through the air, slid under the table and disappeared without a trace.
I was already otherwise occupied. With a double-handed grip on my flamberge, I spun in place, activating both Sweeping Strike and Blind Strike.
The combo had proven to be the right choice. The undulating blade whooshed through the air. Its tip hit something invisible, faltered and then cut through it, cleaving the table in two.
The invisible wounded attacker recoiled, disappearing into the gloom of the hall. I stepped after him, looking intently for any claret splashes on the floor and walls. No such luck. For some reason, my flamberge had failed to draw blood.
I glanced at the logs and cussed,
Damage dealt: 214
Was that it now? No mention of bleeding wounds at all! That was crazy!
I backed toward Isabella. Immediately something slammed into me, knocking me off my feet. A curved scimitar fell from above, very nearly taking half of my head off; I’d managed to dodge it just in time. I then parried a double-ended weapon with my left bracer — but that was the extent of my success. Before I managed to duck out of their way, a thin sharp weapon pierced my side. Was it a bayonet? Or a rapier?
Irrelevant. Its thin blade slashed through my chainmail with ease, passing through my body and pinning me to the floorboards. Immediately another blow sliced through my leather leg protectors. The serrated blade ripped through my dead flesh and shattered the bone, stripping me of any hope of escaping the invisible assassins who were now attacking from all sides. And if I revealed myself to them, they would smoke me without hesitation.
So I decided to keep my Incognito. I was showered with blows. My wrought-iron pauldron had deflected some of them; a few were averted by my chainmail but some of its links were already broken. Another blow split my right pauldron.
My health plummeted. System messages began flashing, reporting the crits received.
Goar’s black sword ripped through the air like dark lightning. Our assailants recoiled. Isabella’s staff projected a long tongue of colorless flame which followed after the attackers. It may have been colorless but it was hot all the same: the fire flew above our heads but even so, our clothes began to smolder.
The attackers, however, didn’t seem to be affected by it.
“Get up!” Isabella shouted, transforming into a fury.
What did she mean, “get up”? I grabbed at the sword blade pinning me to the floor with both hands and pulled it out, then rolled onto all fours and grabbed at the edge of the table.
Too slow! Way too slow!
Goar who by then had already slammed his black helmet onto his head, kicked the smoldering chair aside and began swishing his sword over his head, covering me from the assassins. They weren’t ghostly shadows anymore as their invisibility had started to wear off. Now I could clearly see two tall silhouettes next to an unusually short one which constant
ly blurred in and out of focus.
Mark the innkeeper pulled a crossbow from under the bar. He fired at the attackers but missed, wasting the bolt which got stuck in the wall. The shot resounded across the room like a gong, forcing the assassins to charge at us again. Two of them lunged at Goar while the third one hurried to finish me off.
As if!
Goar emitted a low growl. The air in front of him thickened. The attackers’ movements became sluggish while his own black sword struck out at them with astonishing speed. A severed hand flew through the air; the shadows recoiled.
I awkwardly struck out at my assailant with the flamberge I’d picked up from the floor but twisted my ankle and staggered, very nearly losing my balance. Isabella backed me up by casting a bolt of lightning. The assassin convulsed; another crossbow bolt struck his side, forcing him to forget all about me and take cover behind an upended table.
I heard a crashing noise behind my back. The door of the storeroom swung open. Two golems in plain steel armor barged into the hall, carrying spiked maces on chains. They went for the assassins who by then had completely unstealthed and didn’t resemble phantoms anymore. Their gear betrayed them as rogues but you couldn’t be too sure because their profiles were inaccessible.
“Push them toward the exit!” Mark commanded.
The problem was, our attackers showed no intention of retreating.
One of them waved his hands in the air. A thick cloud enshrouded him, swirling and spreading around the hall. It enveloped everything in its impenetrable veil, its burning cold paralyzing us and — more importantly — concealing our enemy.
The cloud tried to freeze me solid and syphon the life out of me. That trick didn’t work with a deadman, though. With all her might, Isabella stuck her staff in the floor. The skull’s empty eye sockets began casting a blinding light which quickly burned away the gray mist.
“Come to me!” she shouted. Goar and I backed off toward her. The brainless golems, however, perished within the cloud.
I glimpsed a blurred movement beside me and hurried to swing the flamberge. Its undulating blade sliced fruitlessly through the cloudy illusion. This time the assassins targeted Isabella but Goar saved the day again. Imperceptibly he stepped forward and shielded her with his body, then repeated his slowing trick, forcing the attackers to retreat into the mist.
I stood with my back to Isabella’s staff, its eyes still raging, and began tracing figures of eight with my sword, trying to create a steel barrier between us and the assassins lurking in their frosty cloud.
Goar was covering Isabella. Me, I was only protected by my blade. I wasn’t afraid of dying but I really didn’t feel like it. I’d much rather chop those scumbags to bits.
Oh the adrenaline!
The short guy went for my legs. I intercepted him, just grazing him with the very tip of my sword which ripped through his leather armor. The wounded midget tumbled out of my reach without completing the attack.
His partner, however, was more experienced — or simply luckier, I suppose. He reemerged just out of my field of vision and swung his serrated blade at me. My right arm hung listlessly.
I gave him a whack in the mouth with the sword hilt. Immediately the stubborn midget jumped on my back and sank his teeth into my neck. I was forced to let go of the sword, grab the bastard by the scruff of his neck and rip him off me, flinging him through the air. The tiny assassin rolled aside and began puking black blood and gunk all over the floor. What a dork.
My body swung round on its own accord, dodging a rapier that was pointing at my chest. I parried the serried blade with my bracer. Goar materialized behind the assassin’s back, taking a swing with his black sword. Still, his blow didn’t find its target as the rogue seemed to have somehow sensed the danger and had disappeared into the mist.
I stepped back into the circle of light cast by Roger the skull. Goar followed me. With a clattering of steel, two assassins threw themselves on him from both sides. Roger’s light became much brighter. The gray mist filling the room began to fade and disperse. The frozen golems started to thaw out.
Isabella laughed a laugh that promised nothing good and pulled her staff out of the floor. Resisting the enemy spells hadn't been easy for her. She craved revenge.
The rogues retreated to the exit. But before we could launch a counter attack, the front door shuddered with blows.
“Open up! City guard!”
Mark stopped loading his crossbow and smiled carnivorously. “You scum! You’re finished! You'll weep blood now!”
The assassins looked at each other. The one who’d cast the mist stepped forward. “Truce!”
We couldn’t believe their cheek.
“Boys, have you gone nuts?” Isabella said sarcastically, waving her hand to Mark. “Come on, let them in now!”
“Wait!” the rogue demanded. “We’re gonna tell everyone that this guy,” he pointed his finger at me, “is the one from the silver phoenix video. They’re gonna crucify you!”
I cussed.
“Mark, wait,” the priestess hurried to say. “Let them go. This is personal. We’ll sort it out ourselves.”
“And who’s gonna pay for the damages?” the innkeeper grumbled.
‘We will,” I hurried to add.
Mark shrugged. Immediately the knocking stopped. The golems staggered back into the storeroom with the broken gait of puppets on a string.
“What kind of shit is this?” Goar snorted, taking a better grip on his new sword. “All right. At least I won’t have to share the XP.”
“Not here!” Mark snapped. “You’ll never be able to pay for the furniture!”
“Calm down, goofy,” Isabella said, then turned to the rogues’ leader. “Let’s talk.”
He cast her a lopsided grin and sheathed his scimitars. After a moment of hesitation, his sidekicks did the same.
I laid the flamberge on a nearby table, making sure it was within reach of my left hand. I couldn’t yet use my right one.
The orc balanced his sword on his shoulder without removing his helmet. Isabella, however, carelessly flung her staff behind her back, sat at one of the surviving tables and gestured to the assassins’ leader to join her.
She appeared perfectly calm. Me, I didn’t like the situation at all and I liked our opponents even less. Something about them wasn’t right but I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly it was.
All three looked like brothers: pale and thin, their faces gaunt, their eyes sunken, their lips bloodless. And they weren’t even a night race. They were human, for crissakes. Even the midget covered in my dead blood was a human too.
“Call me Count,” the leader said, apparently not in a hurry to open his profile.
Isabella chuckled and got straight down to business. “What do you want, Count?”
“Money,” he cast an unkind glance at Goar. “Your goon has upset our applecart so we’re prepared to offer you a discount. We can forget the whole thing for twenty grand.”
“I just love your self-confidence,” Isabella flashed them a sweet smile. “Did you really think that no one was going to recognize the Mist of Oblivion?”
The Count winced. “I didn’t think it would have to come to that,” he admitted. “It’s irrelevant, anyway,” he waved her objections away. “That doesn’t change anything!”
Didn’t it really? That remained to be seen.
The majority of players didn’t know the difference between vampires and the undead. Attacking the vampires didn’t entail any punishment; also, some alchemy chemicals could only be farmed from their bodies which were dead and alive at the same time.
Goar grunted in excitement, calculating all the achievements he might receive for smoking three vampires. Still the Count didn’t seem to be alarmed by the news.
“We’ll simply disappear,” he said. “Not the first time. Exposing us won't get you anywhere. We’re outlaws as it is.”
But even though the vampire leader remained calm, his younger sideki
cks seemed to have tensed up. The tall one laid his hands on his weapons: both the rapier and the serrated broadsword. The midget took the hilt of his dagger with his good hand.
“We can also disappear,” Isabella parried.
“Just for killing him the first time,” the Count pointed at me, “we could get up to forty grand. With a bit of a tip-off, bounty hunters will always find you, even at the bottom of the sea. I’m not even talking about those who hunt for hunting’s sake.”
“Go stuff yourself,” I said. “We’re not paying you twenty grand!”
The orc nodded his approval.
“Also, we’re a bit strapped for cash, goofy,” Isabella smiled. “What we can do is go and rip someone’s head off.”
“With whose army?” Count snapped.
You could cut the air with a knife when Mark finally joined in the conversation. “So who’s gonna pay for the damaged furniture?” he asked, laying a new crossbow bolt onto the bar.
The midget sniggered. “Certainly not us! Your so-called furniture isn’t worth it.”
“Look out the window,” the innkeeper told him with a lopsided grin. “You’re worse than children, really.”
The rogue ran over to the window and cussed. “There’re guards everywhere!”
“You won’t get out of this place alive,” Isabella said. “If you don’t want to lose your XP, you’ll have to come to terms with us.”
The Count leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “You aren’t going to believe our word anyway, are you?”
Isabella shook her head. “No, we aren’t. What we can do is come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”
The Count smiled skeptically, momentarily baring his sharp white fangs. “Speak up, my lovely!”
Hanging behind Isabella’s back, Roger the skull turned with another crunching sound. His eyes glared with a vicious flame. Still, the vampire remained indifferent to this blatant demonstration of her power.
She gave him an appraising look. “The reward on Kitten’s head, we’re gonna share it.”
‘What?” I began.
