The Western Mark is getting a new location: Truvort Village. Players who visit will find 30+ new quests, along with a blacksmith and a tavern.
A total of 80 new production recipes are being added, including…
The Great River: On the Banks of the Crisna, Part 4
…and you’re just about to the great city of Selgar, known throughout all of Rattermark for its bazaar. It’s just like the real thing—noisy, colorful, and complete with tightrope walkers, thieves, and beggars. There are taverns, too, from which waft the exotic smells of the local cuisine, corners where you can earn yourself a knife between the ribs, and flexible dancers in the fun houses.
Excerpts from the Fayroll Chronicle
Two clans, the Flags of Fortune and the Seven Blades, clashed in Lord Twins’ Castle. The conflict started over a dungeon they had both found at that location at almost the same time the day before, and it was only resolved with difficulty. Interestingly enough, representatives of the Hounds of Death and the Double Shields served as the arbiters.
Unconfirmed rumors hold that the ruins of the Great Fomor’s castle in the icy North, destroyed recently during a test raid, are alive with life once again. Of course, that’s only if we can use the word “life” to describe the return of that mysterious creature to Rattermark.
Six days and seven nights is how long it took workmen from the Horn and Flame clan to forge a sword using an elite recipe they found during a raid in the caves at Forest Ridge. Thirty-two master blacksmiths put in two-hour shifts, as the work could not be left even for a minute. Certainly, the result exceeded all expectations, judging by the three days they all spent drinking as soon as they finished the job. The clan has not informed our paper what exactly they ended up with, however.
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The ad placed by the Healthy Way medical center was removed from this issue by order of the Investigative Committee. The Fayroll Times staff would like to assure all government agencies that we have no connection to that company whatsoever.
Competition
Players!
The second round of our mega-competition, the one with the unbelievable super-surprise, is starting.
Here’s what you need to do:
Describe what you would do in the following situation:
You’re on a raid trying to take out the saber-tooth people-eater in the Rusty Cave location, but the raid leader just died. You, a warrior, are left with two veterans—an archer and a healer—as well as twenty players less than two months into their playing careers. How would you distribute your forces, and what would your strategy be?
Note!
Your answer needs to be 500 words or less.
Soon in the Fayroll Times:
Special New Year’s issue of The Path of the Player
New Year’s competitions with special prizes
Chapter Nine
In which there’s a bit too much of the banal.
A furor broke out when I showed up at the office. Even a veteran like Stroynikov couldn’t remember the last time I’d shown up to work on a Thursday. For the newcomers, my appearance was even rarer, though they all reacted differently. Petrovich was first.
“Wouldn’t you know it? The boss is here. I knew it, you scorpion!”
The bastard knew I wasn’t going to do what I probably should have done and yell at him. Ksenya had taken refuge behind a pile of papers in a corner, though it hadn’t taken a very tall pile to do the trick. At times like that, when Vika was busy talking with the accountants, the shy girl felt very insecure.
I suspected something, and I was proven absolutely right—a few minutes later, Shelestova and Zhilin piled into the office loaded with bags that clinked as they walked.
“Slaves of Fayroll, it’s your Yuri’s Day! We’re going to drink and have fun, and then we’re going to go find Sveta from the sports department and bash her face in.”
“Well, hello there, you proud little patriot,” I said to her. “What did Sveta ever do to you? Life is hard enough as it is for her. She was half a second away from bronze in the only world championship she ever competed in, three husbands have left her, she has a fat ass, and she has pimples all over her face. What’s your beef with her?”
“She called me a flat board,” Shelestova replied without a hint of a blush. “Then, she said that with my, umm…attributes, even a soldier on leave wouldn’t look twice at me.”
I sighed—there was nothing else I could do. There was no point saying something like, It’s okay, she’s just jealous because that’s exactly what Shelestova was gunning for. Especially since it was true.
“Isn’t it a bit early for that?” I asked, pointing at the bag Zhilin was still holding.
“The morning is too early, but it might be too late by tonight,” Shelestova replied, dipping into her pocket and coming up with a lollipop. “But, don’t worry—I didn’t forget about you! Here, I got this just for you.”
What am I going to do with her? I couldn’t just kill her because that put me on the wrong side of the law; there was no reason to fire her; and living with her didn’t work, either. Vika wouldn’t have understood. But those were the only ways I could think of to pacify the devil in a skirt.
“Give it to Soloveva,” I replied with a grunt. “She’s young, so she could use the glucose.”
“Here, Mari, it’s a lollipop from the master’s table,” Elena said, putting her bags on the floor and holding the treat out to her pimply colleague. “It tastes good, and it’s good practice. You have to take what you can get…”
“You’re in fine form, today,” I said quietly. “Cool the jets. We’re fine with the way you usually like to be, but don’t push it. Okay?”
“Understood.” Shelestova pulled the lollipop away from Soloveva, who was sitting there in shock, dug around in one of the bags, and replaced the lollipop with a banana. “Is that better?”
“It’s better for her,” I said with authority and headed toward my office, though I fired a vindictive parting shot as I went. “If I smell alcohol on any one of you, you’re done. The labor exchanges are closed until the middle of January, too.”
I decided to pretend that Shelestova didn’t say anything else. The boogeyman I heard behind my back definitely wasn’t aimed at me.
Those good-for-nothings! They could have invited me. I may not have gone, but still… Is Vika right about that rift between us? What about the brotherhood of journalists, the guild of writers? Apparently, there was nothing to it. They hadn’t invited me; they hadn’t even mentioned it to me…
Vika walked into my office. “Annoyed? Chewed everyone out because they didn’t tell you about their party?”
“Well, and why didn’t you say anything?”
“I wasn’t planning on going, anyway,” she replied evenly. “I’m not one of them—never was, never will be. I’m sleeping with the boss; that got me a spot as his number two; I push their noses in their mistakes; and, basically, I’m just the personification of evil, as far as they’re concerned. That’s not to mention the mutual distaste Shelestova and I have for each other. That idiot Soloveva and Ksenya are the only ones on my side, and Ksenya’s just there for show. She feels like she owes me.”
“And how are you with that?” I’ll be honest, it was all a bit unexpected.
“Oh, I don’t care,” Vika replied, coming around to hug my neck from behind. “I have you and my career, and a successful one at that. I’m almost to where I dreamed of being a year ago when I was living in the dorm, too. Back then, I had Polyanskaya snoring off a drunken stupor on one side and Telegina screwing some guy on the other—she could never get enough. Do you really think I care about whether a few people I consider expendable invite me to their party? If you and I hadn’t gotten an invitation to the Raidion ball, that would have been a good reason to get upset, but this… Don’t you worry, either.”
“I’m not worried,” I muttered as I realized I’d just been allowed into the holy of holies. Wow, so, she’s tha
t comfortable with me. It was just a matter of time until the white dress and black car…
“I know you, and you’re lying.” Her lips touched my cheek, and I caught a whiff of her piquant perfume. “You’re still the same guy who sat at the third desk from the window in a company with ten other people doing the same thing in the same company, just in another wing. It’s time to grow up, sweetie. You already got your promotion, you’re going to be a husband soon, you have a title, and all you have left to do is realize all that.”
She flicked me lightly a couple times. Yep, I knew it was moving in that direction.
“You’re ready,” she practically whispered in my ear. “Just get past all the junk you have up in that head of yours. Who cares about their party? It would be the same thing that happened a month and a half ago—they’d have their fun, and you’d just sit there throwing back vodka as you tried to find something that isn’t there.”
“What’s that?” The odd feeling I was experiencing was discomfort.
“Your old self,” Vika said, moving to my other shoulder and cheek. Her arms squeezed tightly around my throat. “You died, and you were born again. The old Kif, the one that drank, sang, and danced, is gone, as far as the people beyond that door know. And as far as the people beyond the next go, too. He’s gone forever—all that’s left is Harriton, the guy you shouldn’t pick a fight with. You need to start living up to your name.”
“Is Vika still here?” I asked seriously.
“For you, yes,” she replied, just as seriously. “Although, I prefer ‘sweetie,’ ‘sunshine,’ and ‘kitten.’ It’s corny, but it’s still nice. Soon, I’d like to hear you tell your new friends that I’m Victoria, your wife. Believe me, that’s in both our interests.”
“What about for them?” I pointed at the door, deciding to overlook that last phrase. It wasn’t the time or the place.
“There’s a different Victoria for them,” she replied as her arms left my neck in peace.
“What about for Ksenya?”
Vika pulled her hair back. “For her, too. I don’t really care about her problems—you figured that out right away. I’m just expanding my zone of influence. For that, you and I are one unit. Okay, let’s see what’s going on out there. They’re starting to get rowdy.”
“Vika,” I called over to her just as she grasped the doorknob.
“Yeah, babe?” The turn of the head, the flashing smile, the jacket stretched over her chest… Seriously, what else do I need?
“Remember how something was bothering you? The thing you said we’d talk about later?”
Her smile widened. “Oh, that… Forget it. It was just nerves, the autumn air, fatigue, all of that. I made up a whole bunch of nonsense, and then I went and believed in it. I’m a woman—we do that kind of thing.”
“That you do. You’re good at inventing problems, fixing them, and then blaming the ones you can’t fix on us.”
“See? You get it.” Vika turned serious. “Just make sure you take away the important part of what I just said. The most important part.”
And with that, she left the office.
The most important part… Of course, I understood the whole thing—I was being flushed out, and the hunter was right there, waiting with his shotgun. Her parents in Kasimov probably weren’t the kind of people she could introduce me to as “Harriton, my lover.”
They were probably old-fashioned, the kind of people who would beat us both and kick her out of the house with yelps about what a slut she was. Homespun values and all that. I’d been through Kasimov on a trip, and it was that kind of place—a lovely, cheap little town that was as backwoods as it gets. There was the Oka River, old ladies walking around in slippers, a couple plants, and a candy factory with the odd name of Commitment to Quality. I just wasn’t sure what quality they were committed to, as I’d never tried anything from Kasimov in my life. Like other rural towns, it had the five-story buildings that ended to give way to the picket fences and wrought-iron gates of private residences. And that’s still part of the city!
Sometimes, I envy the people living in cities like that, like everyone else living in metropolises. It’s quiet, everyone knows everything about everyone else, and people go home to eat rather than the nearest shopping center. There’s something to that… Something real, and simpler. Everything’s simpler there. Although, I can only look at them from my point of view, and I’m never there more than a few days. For all I know, things could be more complicated.
But what I was sure of was that I needed status as a fiancé, at least. And if that was okay with me, then… Nope, it’s all over. There was no getting out of it, even if I crossed my fingers behind my back. Her sister was going to be there, too, and I had no idea what to expect from her. I was going to have to figure out something with the game, too.
I really wanted to head home, secure in the knowledge that my team was sitting at their desks looking at each other and wondering what sanctions and reprisals were in store for them. It would have been silly to just step out and tell them that there wouldn’t be any consequences, too, since Vika was right—nothing good would have come from me sitting in on their party.
I couldn’t just leave, though. They would have drawn all kinds of conclusions if I’d done that, and very few of them would have been accurate. And so, I sat there in my office until one in the afternoon like an idiot, surfing the web for anything that had nothing to do with Fayroll. I didn’t even want to think about the game. With how big the next day was going to be, I needed to just relax. I even decided not to read the latest Fayroll Times, however ridiculous that sounds.
At one, I got up and decided that I was out of the woods, so I called Alexey and stepped toward the coat rack. I was interrupted, however, by a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I called as I wrapped my scarf around my neck.
Zhilin walked in and looked at me uncomfortably.
“They sent you in?” I asked sympathetically.
“Yep. Would you—”
“No, my friend.” I pulled on the coat Vika had forced me to get the day before. Jackets are much more my speed; they’re easier to move in, and they have more pockets.
“Yeah?” Sergey cringed. “But maybe—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I replied, buttoning the last button. “Tell the group I appreciate it, that I don’t mind, and that I don’t hold it against you. It isn’t that I shouldn’t, either; I just have things to do. We still have another week before the holidays, so we’ll drink some champagne and have some tangerines next Thursday. There’ll be lots to celebrate: New Year’s, our first New Year together, the year’s last issue, and everything else. You guys just relax and have fun today. Oh, and don’t get Vika drunk; you never know what she’s going to do when she’s like that.”
“But…” Sergey grimaced.
“Oh, I know what to do with drunk women,” I said, interpreting the motion he made. “Drunk women and a drunk Vika are very different things, however.”
“No, I’m not talking about that. She said that she doesn’t want any part of things like this.”
“That’s what you mean,” I exhaled. “It’s simpler for me that way, at least. If she gets on your case about it, tell her that I gave you the green light. Have her call me, or you can just call me yourself.”
“Thanks, boss.” Zhilin flashed a childlike smile at me.
The group watched approvingly as I walked out the door, and even Shelestova kept her comments to herself. It’s true—there’s a time to scatter stones and a time to collect them. Nothing ever changes in the world.
I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what to do with the free time I’d forgotten sometimes happens. The last few months had been spent running around late and taking care of my own and other people’s problems, most of which had been in another world. That virtual reality was starting to become home to me, too, as I definitely spent more time there than I did in my own apartment. I’d made many more acquaintanc
es there over the previous year than I had in real life—and I was working as a journalist!
As a result, I got myself all worked up, scared Vika when she got home looking a bit annoyed and saw that I wasn’t in the capsule, and flashed a bit more impetuosity than I was used to by taking her bags of groceries to the kitchen and dragging her off into the bedroom. She definitely wasn’t expecting that, and clearly assumed that her words had hit home. In a word, she didn’t look that annoyed anymore.
***
The next morning, I woke up cheerful and ready for everything that was going to happen that day. Okay, not for everything—if it didn’t go according to plan, I was going to have some big problems. My chances were two to one. There were two ways things could play out that worked for me and one way that didn’t at all.
***
It was chilly out, and there were just a few scattered rays of sunlight illuminating the people packing the square. The variety of colorful, great kilts was astounding—seven clans, even small ones, was nothing to laugh at. There were a few dozen players with bows standing off to the side, as well. Those must be Glen’s people.
“König Hagen is here!” Flosi whooped, looking suspiciously sober and even sporting a combed beard. “Now we’re definitely going to rip them a new one!”
The gelts turned toward me.
“Hi, there, hillmen,” I said. They couldn’t care less about me and didn’t need to, though I needed them to at least remember who I was. “I’m glad you’re here to support my clan in our just battle.”
The gelts looked me over indifferently and turned back to the porch, where Lossarnakh was just walking out.
“Your king,” shouted a familiar voice from among the crowd. Was that the redhead?
“Yah!” the gelts called, giving him a scattered shout. They had apparently not quite figured out why he was a king, though they couldn’t help responding. It was more reflex than anything.
The Crown and the Key Page 14
