by J D Astra
Otto nudged my arm. “Abby, there’s nothing we can do for them.”
I nodded, pulling myself away from the horrific sight and turning north. Farmhands moved about in the distance, herding animals I couldn’t see below the waving fields of wheat. We’d made it to the countryside southeast of Harrowick, and I was going to take us back into that hornet’s nest.
The bright city hung below looming hills in a pink sky. It was beautiful, but terrifying to think there was very little difference between me and those hills, that sky, the addicts, or Otto. I was pure code now, no evidence of my humanity other than my memories.
I sucked in a breath and scanned the cityscape for my trainer’s signature flagpole, flying the four colored flags of the elements. There, north and west a bit, maybe two miles away. Damn we’d been in that tunnel a long time.
“Let’s go.” I took off between pens of squealing piglets, making my way back into the city.
The hike to town gave me ample time to dig through the satchel Meredith had given me, and I devoured the entire thing in minutes. The food definitely helped me feel more awake, more like myself, and the nagging burn of fire-ant bites itched at my gut with less frequency. I stowed the satchel in my inventory as we reached the edge of the business district—no knowing what we’d need as we moved forward.
There was plenty of bustle for me to disappear in with the morning hawking in full swing, but Otto was much too tall to not stand out. Ever Victorious Imperials, though Osmark had no control over Harrowick yet, were out in force. We took to crouching in back alleys, sneaking between carts, and following behind bumbling patrols of red Imperial soldiers.
Otto pulled me through a narrow passage, holding tight to my hand as if he were going to lose me. Then again, he almost had a few hours ago when I was on the edge of a knife, tottering between life and death. We stopped short of the alley exit, and Otto crouched in the cold mud, pulling me down with him.
There were mumbles around the corner, some laughter, and the tinkling of chainmail armor. Otto had heard the patrol even at a jog, even with his heart hammering away like mine. There was still so much I didn’t know about him, but it was becoming clear that this sort of business was his business.
The narrow alley let out a few yards ahead and it was completely open, nothing to obscure us, nothing to hide behind. Even if we did want to hide, our feet were so deep in mud, moving would alert everyone to our presence. The sun had climbed quite a ways in the trek to Naitee’s shop, and the shadow of the building next to us ended just above our heads. If we were quiet, maybe we’d go unnoticed.
The patrol walked into view and we held our breath. Three Imperial men, and at the back, a Dokkalfar in chains. Could that be Jack? My teeth were set on edge as I scanned the figure, looking for his tribal bicep tattoos. I let out my held breath. It wasn’t Jack.
This Murk Elf was shorter than Jack, and his matted, shoulder-length hair had a single white stripe at the front right. His body was frail, not toned like Jack’s, and his eyes were a brilliant green instead of Jack’s black.
Otto squeezed my hand as they passed, his other hand clamping down against the hilt of his sword. My fireball cast time was significantly decreased from all the points I’d put in it, but still, two seconds was a long time when the shit was hitting the fan. If I readied one now, it would be a shining beacon.
The Dokkalfar limped and lumbered under the weight of his binds, but his eyes were roving like a mad dog with the scent of blood. Could he be some kind of tracker? His head turned to the alley. Within a fraction of a second, his gaze locked on my face and a pop-up appeared in my vision.
<<<>>>
Alert: Stealth Failed!
You are being observed by an unfriendly entity, and your stealth check has failed.
<<<>>>
I dismissed the alert with a blink as shivers shot down my spine. I raised my free hand, mouthing “Please” to the man turned hound dog.
He stopped, the chain at his neck still slack, eyes darting between me and Otto, then resting on me. I could see the deep pain in the worn creases of his sunken cheeks, gnarled bones, and sickly bloated stomach. He was a slave. Though Jack was much more muscular, a bit taller, with a wider jaw and nose, I saw Jack in this slave’s dark features. It made me angry to think someone would put Jack in chains like this.
The Ever Victorious Empire knew no empathy, had no humanity, and would do everything they wanted, no matter the cost. Osmark would be at the helm, telling them that all of this was okay because it was in the name of forward progress.
The chain went taut.
“What is it?” some rough voice accused, and the Dokkalfar man snapped his eyes forward.
“It is,” he stammered, strange accent thick in his tenor voice, “it is nothing. Rats.”
The chain tinkled as the owner pulled hard and the Dokkalfar jerked forward into the mud. The slave’s swollen belly and face made a nasty splat as he landed, shooting muck out onto the man’s boots. I gritted my teeth, a fireball forming in the palm of my hand.
“Abby, no!” Otto hushed, clapping his hand over mine and extinguishing the flame. I looked up to the straw roofs and wood-framed buildings, but wasn’t worried. It had rained, a lot. Everything here was going to be flame resistant, except those assholes.
The Dokkalfar looked up, his face smeared with brown muck.
“You got grime on my nice greaves.” The chain-holder pulled hard on the binds and the Dokkalfar choked.
No. No freaking way. The fire in my gut turned from agony to fuel. I didn’t care if he was just an NPC, this was wrong. I stood and readied another fireball. Otto didn’t try to stop me; instead, he pulled his sword from his sheath. I moved through the shadows to the opening of the alley, my cloth boots squishing softly against the wet earth.
“You think we’re out here for fun, do ya?” The man kicked at the Dokkalfar’s face, slinging mud across the street.
“Hey!” I screamed, and the Imperial’s head jerked up, his eyes locking on me. He gasped, hand moving to grab a weapon, but Otto and I were faster.
I smacked the slave driver with my fireball, proccing Burning Affliction. He dropped the chain in an instant, hands raising to his face to put out the fire that ripped across his scalp.
The Dokkalfar scrambled backward as Otto moved in on the Imperial man with a devastating chop to the shoulder. Blood spurted from the soldier’s neck as Otto pulled the sword free with a stiff twist, rending the tendons. The man’s cry turned to a gurgling sob as his head flopped back unnaturally and his Health dropped to zero.
Chainmail clinked as the soldier hit the ground, then silence. The Imperials stared, mouths agape, like they hadn’t been expecting to find us.
In an instant that silence broke as Otto charged sword first at the next man. The farthest Imperial turned to run. I slapped him with three instant casts of Burning Affliction and followed those with a fireball.
The runner hit the ground, smashing his face into the cold mud in attempts to put himself out, but mud had no power over magical flames. I hurled one more fireball, putting the soldier down to 5% Health, and watched as Burning Affliction gobbled up the last of his life.
Otto landed a heavy kick to his opponent’s chest, launching him ten feet back and dropping his Health to zero. The body lay there for only a moment, then disappeared with a shimmer.
A Traveler.
This was bad news. New Viridia was the starting area for Travelers who picked the Imperial race, and if they were already in Harrowick... I popped open my map. It wasn’t a short journey, that’s for certain. They still had to join up with the Ever Victorious Empire, train, level, get class kits, and then make their way over.
Not like we’d had difficulty with the soldiers, but I felt more behind in this relay race for Eldgard’s freedom than ever. We didn’t have an empire, or an army, or more than three friends at this point. Two friends—I still wasn’t sure about Cutter.
Otto panted and sheathed his sword
as he approached the frightened Dokkalfar slave.
“Thank you, friend.” Otto put his hand out to the crouching man and he accepted it.
The Dokkalfar eyed me suspiciously, then turned his gaze back on Otto. “I am Renzik. What is a Soulbound doing so”—he became flustered, trying to find the words—“aboveground?”
Otto’s hand fell from the informal handshake back to the hilt of his sword.
The slave took a step back, holding his hands up in surrender. “Do not be worried, I saw your dagger.” Renzik pointed at Otto’s belt.
Otto pulled the dagger from its sheath and inspected it, then raised a brow to the man. “And how do you know the Òrdugh an Garda Anam?”
I’d known when I’d read the text on the hilt in the Wayward Caverns that the dagger was special, that it meant something. I cursed whatever part of me decided against taking a look at the information sheet on that blade. I was sure it would’ve given more insight into his interesting past, or perhaps just raised more questions.
The slave named Renzik shrugged, relaxing his defensive posture. “The Order of the Soulbound is one of, if not the most notorious Risi rebel faction in all of Eldgard. Your work is well known in the realms of the free people.”
“My work?” Otto’s cheeks colored a deeper green as he pointed the dagger into his breastplate.
The Dokkalfar chuckled. “I do not know who you are.”
A distant shout of “This way” piqued my interest, and I became acutely aware of the two dead Imperials in the street.
“Otto,” I said as I touched his arm. His attention snapped to me and we locked gazes. “We need to go.”
He glanced at the bloodied body behind him and the charred body still smoking at the edge of the next street, then nodded.
“Do not leave me!” Renzik’s eyes were glossy with fear. “Please, I can help you if you get me out of here, and out of these chains. I will not go far like this.” He lifted the thick metal links and cringed.
A new window popped up at his plea.
<<<>>>
Quest Alert: Renzik’s Plight
Renzik cannot get out of the city in his current state, and the Imperial soldiers will surely kill him when they find his slaughtered keepers. He doesn’t look like much, but Renzik is a skilled survivalist and is offering his aid to you in exchange for freedom.
Quest Class: Rare
Quest Difficulty: Moderate
Success: Free Renzik from the chains and get him out of Harrowick.
Failure: Fail to free Renzik from his bonds and ferry him out of Harrowick; allow him to be captured or killed.
Reward: Renzik’s services and 5,000 XP.
<<<>>>
“Over here, I heard them!” Another shout pulled me from the quest description.
“Hurry,” I whispered, accepting the quest and helping to grab Renzik’s chain.
The slave sighed in relief. “I thank you, Miss. Your kindness will not be forgotten.”
“Don’t thank us yet,” Otto mumbled as he took up the lead to Naitee’s shop.
The mud gave way to solid cobblestone as we reached another busy street, the last before the sorceress’ building. Otto’s breastplate was speckled with blood, and Renzik’s iron necklace was sure to turn some heads, but the patrol behind us would have found the bodies and would sound the alarm. We didn’t have any options left. Naitee was the only one who could get us out of Harrowick fast enough, in secret.
“Just go.” I nodded to Otto, and we stepped into the morning hustle and bustle.
Gasps and whispers followed us through the crowd until suddenly, every gaze locked on Otto, and for good reason; he was covered in blood, his sword dripping with it, and there was a wild look in his eyes. The crowd moved around Otto like fish around a shark, revealing Renzik.
“Here! They’re here! The murderers!” a nameless face in the crowd cried out, and the mob erupted in a flurry of noise.
The bottom of my stomach dropped out and I sucked in a breath. “Run!”
Mob Rush
“GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Otto bellowed as he charged through the swarms of civilians. We dashed for the side street that would take us to Naitee, hands groping, slapping, and throwing stones as we went. Cries of “Murderers!” and “Treason!” followed as we escaped into the alley.
What did Sandra tell the people of Harrowick to evoke such a reaction from the citizens? Surely it couldn’t have been the truth: we stole a private dungeon from a wretched fiend of a man.
The crowd didn’t follow through the side street, but they shouted for our capture, and retribution. We had wronged them, deeply. Or at least the lie Sandra told them had wronged them.
Renzik slipped on the slick ground, clutching his side as he tumbled into the mud. I pulled on his arm, but he was surprisingly heavy for such a gaunt man.
“Come on, get up! We’re almost there.” I looked over my shoulder to the black, gnarled exterior of Naitee’s shop.
“I,” he panted, “cannot.” His lips were a pale gray, cracked from dehydration. His hands were trembling, eyes losing focus as his head swiveled about on a thin, stubble-specked neck.
“Damn it, Renzik,” I said through clenched teeth and began the cast for Flame of Holding, “we said we weren’t leaving you!”
His eyes bulged as flaming tendrils wrapped about his body. The cast completed, I lifted him from the ground with a flick of my wrist. He yelped as his weightless body jerked into the air by my magic.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, confusion and maybe thoughts of betrayal creasing his forehead.
“Carrying you, dumbass.”
“Right here!” The shout turned my gaze to the end of the alley. A Wode boy, no more than eight, pointed his dirt-caked finger right at me. His teary eyes were filled with hate, a gut-turning rage.
“Abby!” Otto boomed and pulled me back to the present.
I turned on my heel and sprinted for Naitee’s open door, Renzik in magical tow. Otto slammed the door home behind us and threw the deadbolt. I dropped Renzik to the floor and released my spell hold, grabbing my knees as I panted.
“What have you gotten yourself into now, child?” Naitee accused, her haunting blue eyes narrowed to slits. She crossed the floor of her shop and pushed me upright.
A smirk curled the left side of her lips. “Assassinating Harrowick’s magistrates and the provost is not what I thought you meant when you said you were going to become the greatest sorceress in Eldgard.”
The breath caught in my throat and my mouth fell open. Assassinating magistrates? When would we have had the time? And why would we want to kill magistrates or the provost? I stammered, trying to push out the words that banged against my skull.
“Relax, child.” Naitee squeezed my shoulder. “I know you didn’t murder anyone.”
Otto grunted as he and Renzik pushed a massive glass case to block the door.
“The whole town is after us! You’re telling me there’s some rumor we’ve killed governing officials?” Anger swirled with the hot pain in my gut. Sandra was up to some shit, I knew it.
Naitee tutted and turned for the back of the shop. “It’s not just a rumor—you’ve already been convicted.” She pulled a sheaf of parchment from the top shelf and another from under the glass cabinet. She slapped the yellowing paper down and pointed for me to look at it. She turned again to grab her quill and ink. “Where do you need to go?”
“Alaunhylles,” I mumbled as I approached the sheet sitting on the smooth glass surface. The outline of a familiar headshot stared back at me. As I got closer, my worst fear was confirmed. I pulled the wanted poster from the countertop as Naitee scrawled away on her parchment.
There was my face, my hair, my name, right above a big fat freaking lie. “Wanted, fugitive assassins, murderers of Harrowick government officials Joshaiya Parish, Davion Clement, Sarah Lin.” The words tumbled past my dry lips.
“What?” Otto snapped as he stomped across the burnt wood floor. I offe
red and he pulled the sign from my trembling fingers.
No, no, this was bad. We needed Harrowick. We needed this place as a stronghold. It would be the front line on the coast of the Black Sea, the fields from which we would farm rations to fuel our rebellion, and the place we would call home for the long fight against Osmark and his aristocrats.
Otto’s eyes darted all over the page: title, footer, picture, footer, picture, title. His brows tightened until a bead of sweat dropped from between them onto the wanted sign. “Those bastards.”
“What did you do to upset the applecart so terribly, child?” Naitee chuckled darkly.
I licked my cracked lips. “We stole something important from someone very powerful.”
She smirked, then taunted, “As roughnecks and scallywags do. What did you relieve them of?”
“I’m not su—”
Bang! The door rattled with the slamming of a gauntleted fist. “Open up!” a gruff, muffled voice demanded from the other side of the ashen oak door.
“We must flee this place!” Renzik urged, and I waved him off.
“It was called a Faction Seal.” I leaned into the table as I whispered.
Naitee’s eyes darted to the door and back, then she pulled me in closer. “That is an unimaginably powerful object. It’s no wonder you’ve earned such a mark on your head. Stealing that,” her whisper softened, barely audible, “is like stealing the very life out of a regime.”
Bang, bang, bang! “I said open up!” The voice came again, rage thick with his impatience.
Naitee returned to her scroll, using both hands to scribble faster than before, working a quill on either side of the paper. “A Faction Seal can turn the tide of war, that’s all I know. Kings have it, usurpers crave it.”
There was a much heavier thump at the door and I jumped, squeaking as the air escaped my chest.
“They’ve brought a battering ram!” Otto pulled another glass case in front of the door.
Naitee rolled up the parchment and tied it off with a shimmering red string. “This will get you safely to Alaunhylles. My—”
