by Kirk Dougal
The Farwolaethan grinned as he moved his shield to block the thrust. He was still grinning when the spear cut through the shield like a blade through grass, not slowing as it dove into his body. The man's momentum carried him up the shaft until the tip emerged from his back.
The second man faltered, stumbling as his shieldmate fell. That was all the time DeBrest needed to whirl and bury his sword in the juncture between the man's helmet and armor, biting deep into his neck.
Only then did I notice the third soldier, still quivering on the ground near the grass, an arrow sticking from his back. A flash of silver from closer to the wall told me where the shot had come from.
Pounding hooves echoed from behind us, and I wobbled through another turn, expecting to see Farwolaethan cavalry readying to run us down. My mouth dropped open at who I saw approaching.
The Holy Crusader, Xavaern, charged across the plain, sunlight glinting off his armor, the white cloak flapping behind him like outstretched wings.
“Look to the sky, Searcher!” he yelled, his voice rolling across the ground between us.
I glanced up and felt my skin go cold. The dragon was already in its next dive, wings clamped tight to its sides, gaining speed with every foot it dropped.
“Run,” I said, settling my shield and raising the Spear of Dyllar toward the attack. When DeBrest did not move, I felt the rage from the spear race into my body. “Run, damn it! Do what you can to take the castle!”
DeBrest turned and sprinted away. I blinked in surprise as I watched him go, long loping strides eating up tremendous chunks of ground and moving faster than anyone I had ever seen run before. But then the black shadow fell on me from above, and I turned my attention back to the dragon.
There was no strafing run across the battling soldiers this time, no swoop into a low arc where the flames fell in a straight path. This time the dragon was headed for only one target.
Me.
I risked a quick glance at the wall and saw the man on the top parapet, sun shining above his head, fully risen over the mountain behind him. Even across the distance, our eyes met, and I felt his anger.
My eyes turned back to the dragon. My only hope now was to delay the beast long enough for the Gargians to take the castle and Saleene and DeBrest to finish the mission, hopeless as that now appeared. Agent Samson was already back inside Quest Call and, perhaps, he could be sent to help. I also knew I would reset as quickly as possible and be back inside as soon as Doc cleared me. But a shiver racked my body as I wondered how many more innocents would die in the real world while they bought time with their blood for my failure.
Iridescent eyes, changing colors as the light moved across them, bore their way into my mind. The dragon no longer needed its master to find its enemy. It recognized me for what I was and attacked, mouth opening wide. I steadied myself against the inferno about to rain upon me.
In the last breath, the dragon wobbled, its wings dipping to one side and back, head flinching to the side. The flames shot by on my left, a blast furnace turning the ground to dust and making my clothes smolder but leaving me standing. I reached out with the spear and watched the tip slice through a leathery wing.
I tumbled across the ground in the dragon's wake, the spear nearly jerking my arm out of socket, but finally rolling to a stop on my back. The dragon's roar beat the ground like a physical blow, thumping my ribs and driving away my breath. I turned, rising to a knee, and stared.
A wide trench cut into the plain, digging deeper into the earth with each passing foot. At the far end, one wing hanging limp, the dragon stood on its back two legs, head slithering from side to side like a cobra preparing to strike.
Xavaern stood before the dragon, white cape no longer a banner stretched in the wind but now a scorched rag hanging from his shoulders. Sunlight shined off his shield, blinding the beast like he had when he faced me at the temple. The flail whirled around his hand, faster and faster until it was a blur, blue-white light mixed in the shadow, waiting to strike.
I lurched to my feet, hopping and stumbling toward the pair. Xavaern swung forward, and I heard the flail head beat against the dragon's chest, the scale turning away the studs and lightning but still echoing with the blow. The dragon leaned back its head and roared again before drawing in a mighty breath.
I struck before it could release its fire. The bear armbands burned as the spear bit into the beast's leg, diving in until it hit bone and stopped. Dyllar's rage turned to glee for a moment, and I felt myself laugh, a laugh that lasted long enough for a wing to swing overhead and knock me from my feet, the spear ripping flesh and scales from the dragon's body when it pulled away.
Faced with two enemies, and wounded for perhaps the first time in its life, the young dragon missed with its fire, turning the area between Xavaern and me to ash but leaving us untouched. The beast struggled to back away, but its body was still partially buried in the swath it had cut when I crashed it into the ground.
Another clank echoed across the plain as the flail struck home for a second time. I lashed out again, cutting a swath across the dragon's haunch and it whirled to face me. Xavaern may have been attacking but the flail's blows were merely a nuisance against its scales. I was inflicting real pain, and the beast knew who it had to take down first.
I crouched on one knee, my shield raised above my head, spear ready to thrust forward. The dragon raised even higher on its rear legs, body leaving the ground, chest expanding like a balloon filling above me. Its neck curled in an S, maw opened wide and pointed down at me, out of reach. My only chance was to strike at its chest as the dragon came down to attack, hoping against hope that I could kill it as it fell upon me.
I suddenly realized we were in the same position as the tapestry in Slop's home, reliving the final battle of Dyllar again. I swallowed, knowing the wizard had died in that fight.
Yet, the dragon did not strike. It hesitated, seconds lingering, one breath becoming two, and then three. When the beast moved again, it pivoted, turning away and releasing the flames toward the Farwolaethans near the castle wall. Then the dragon waddled after the soldiers in black, as awkward on the ground as it had been graceful in flight, dragging one wing and hobbling on a leg.
“The wall, Searcher!” Xavaern shouted. “Look at the wall!”
I stared where the crusader was pointing.
DeBrest was standing on the parapet, hand raised above his head, light shining from the ring.
Chapter 49
“I've got to get inside the castle, Xavaern,” I said, using the spear to lever myself to my feet. “I can't explain but it's a matter of life and death.”
The Holy Crusader was already moving toward me, throwing my arm across his shoulders.
“This would be a damn sight easier if the dragon hadn't killed my horse. I barely jumped out of the saddle in time when you brought it down, but Liberty wasn't so lucky.” He blushed as he spoke the name. “No need to explain anything, Dowland. I'm Jay Mercer, from the Treasury Department. We were clued in on some movements of funds that couldn't be explained and have been searching for an answer for about six months. When Agent Tower's report about your discovery of the money transfers inside the games hit the cabinet at the White House, all hell broke loose, but it made it down the chain to me. That's when I realized what Dinas Farwolaeth might be because I played Quest Call in my free time. I was headed back this way when Agent Samson approached me at the temple, and he spilled it about what you were trying to do. For this kind of interdepartmental cooperation, the heads must be running circles around the beltway.”
I gritted my teeth against the pain in my leg, each hop sending a jolt of pain through my body.
“Do you know about the tags?” I asked.
“Yes, Samson told me.”
“So you know we can find these bastards in the real world if this is really the terrorist meeting place.”
Mercer nodded. “We can hurt them pretty bad. Catch some of them, scatter the rest, and cut off the
ir funding. Be a damn good day's work. But we'll need to move fast.”
“Then let's pick it up,” I said.
*****
The dragon had cleared the area of fighting in front of the gates by the time we made it inside Dinas Farwolaeth. I barely noticed the smoldering bodies, the smell of scorched flesh and burned hair hanging in the smoke. The Gargians who survived the battle outside and entered the castle ahead of us had cleared the streets, only pockets of fighting still echoing around corners. I glanced up at DeBrest when we were inside and noticed several squads of Gargians around him, protecting his back as he continued to direct the dragon against the enemy outside the walls.
But the sight that finally brought us to a halt was inside the gates to the keep. At least two hundred soldiers patrolled the area while General Freith shouted orders, ensuring that all resistance in this area had been put down. When he saw me, he nodded his head and pointed at the main doors. Saleene was standing there with several soldiers.
She held her dagger at the kneeling Pagul's throat.
“I found this bastard trying to buy his way out through a side gate,” she said after Mercer helped me to the top of the stairs. She nodded to Treasury Department agent before glancing down at my leg. “Jesus, Beast. I can see the bone where your muscle burned away.”
Avatar or not, I felt queasy when she told me. I had purposely not looked at my leg since the dragon's fire sent the first river of pain through my body, and now I was afraid I might faint if I took a peek. We did not have time for that.
“Where's the rest of them, Pagul?” I said.
“The rest of who? The Horde?” He smiled. “I'll tell you if you let me go.”
The warmth flowed over my arms as I reached down and picked up the tattooed man with one hand, my fingers digging into his throat. I held him there for a few seconds, his toes scraping the ground as he attempted to stand before I let him go. He crashed to the ground, but before he stopped moving, Saleene had her knife pressed against his skin again.
“I don't give a fucking rat's ass about the Horde.” My voice was level, words crisp. But each syllable held a sword's edge and threatened to cut him. “The people who run Dinas Farwolaeth. Where are they?”
Pagul's eyes widened, for the first time showing some realization of what I was capable of doing.
“The Council? The Council is always inside the Great Hall. Only the Protectorate ever leaves once they arrive.”
I pointed over my shoulder toward the castle wall. Pagul's eyes followed and widened. “The Protectorate? The one who controlled the dragon?”
Pagul's shoulders slumped, and he lowered his head. “Yes.”
“Kill him.”
Pagul's head snapped up. His eyes blazing. “Don't do that. I'll have to start all over again. I like this character.” He glanced at Mercer and General Freith. “Come on. I know you're mad about me taking the wagons and telling them you were coming, but it was all part of the game. I was just trying to make a little money on the side. You know? You can do the same thing. They'll pay you real money on the outside, yooks, for what you can steal in here. Lots of us were doing it.”
I nodded at the confirmation that Pagul and at least some of the Horde had been hired to collect gold and treasures inside Quest Call to help fund the Council's activities.
“Hold him until we return, General Freith.” I started to turn away but stopped. “Don't let him bribe his way into escaping. He's the one who was in charge of the group who attacked Bear's Run and killed your people.” I saw red rise in the general's face. “Xavaern, Saleene, let's see the Council.”
We walked the rest of the way inside the keep and found two doors reaching at least fifteen feet, bound with gold and jeweled inlays. Even in a game it was a display of wealth rarely seen. Two Gargian soldiers were standing there with a pile of Farwolaethan bodies off to one side. I almost smiled when I noticed the body draped over the top was Captain Three Fingers.
“What happened here?” I asked.
“They gave us a good fight,” the sergeant said. I recognized his voice as the man who had led the squad that found us on the plain.
“What's inside?” Saleene asked.
He blushed, shifting his weight from foot to foot before glancing up again.
“We thought it might be the treasure room,” he said. “They put up a helluva fight. But it's just a bunch of…well,” he leaned in close and lowered his voice. “It's just a bunch of players, you know, with their gamers on the outside.”
I nodded and Mercer helped me around him. Saleene opened the door, and we went inside, leaving the two men outside staring at each other.
The sergeant had been correct. Although at least thirty characters were inside, none of them were active. In fact, they were all lined up along the wall, almost as if they had been stacked into holding places, just waiting on their owners to enter Quest Call again.
Several tables were scattered throughout the room, with a long one nearly bisecting the center. Piles of manuscripts were stacked on top of each one. Mercer led me to the closest and we began searching them.
“If anyone starts to move,” I said to Saleene. “Kill them. I don't know how long this will take or when they will be back.”
The words were barely out of my mouth before I heard Mercer swearing.
“Paris, Baltimore, Barcelona.” He waved several manuscripts as he spoke. “Time tables, explosive loads, damage estimates.” Mercer looked me in the eye. “Kill totals.”
I glanced down at the papers by my hands and saw a list with a string of numbers. “Requisitions for the money needed to get the jobs done. It's all here, Mercer. These are the terrorists.” I leaned against the table, my knees growing weak with the realization we had been correct. A moment later, rage filled me with the strength to stand again. “Get me over to them,” I said.
Mercer grabbed my arm and led me to the closest avatar. I stared at it for a minute or two before I hobbled to the next one a few steps away.
“The bracers,” Mercer said. “They're the same.”
I nodded, my stomach turning over when I realized they had the same IP tag hiding place that I did. I reached out and yanked off the nearest bracelet.
A set of numbers glowed on the avatar's skin.
“Grab a manuscript and some ink. Write them down. Write them all down, Mercer. We're going to burn these bastards to the ground.” I turned toward the door. “Sergeant!”
The soldier stuck his head inside the door. “Yes, sir?”
“Have General Freith bring the prisoner in here. Just him. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He left the door ajar and we heard his steps running away. Mercer had ripped off the fifth bracer and was writing down the tag numbers when Freith walked into the room, half-dragging Pagul with him before dropping him to his knees a few feet away. The tattooed man no longer smirked. Blood dripped from his nose, and one eye was already swelling shut.
“He had an accident,” Freith said. “He will have a more permanent one tomorrow morning at dawn with a hangman's noose.”
“I don't think so, General,” I said, hobbling closer. “You're about to see and hear some things you're going to need to keep quiet. Do you think you can do that?”
Freith stared at me for a moment, and then glanced at Mercer, who was methodically moving down the line of frozen avatars. He gulped when he saw the Treasury agent rip off another bracelet. “Holy shit! What's he doing?”
“Can you keep your mouth shut, General?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”
I nodded to Saleene who drew her dagger and placed it under Pagul's chin again. He stiffened when the point made contact with his skin.
“Where's the dragon's treasure?”
Pagul eye's tilted to one side, glancing at the far wall. I noticed a set of double doors.
“Through the doors and down the stairs,” he said. “The dragon can enter through a cave and sleeps there when the Protectorate is not
using him.” His shoulders slumped but jerked up again when I spoke.
“You were just playing a game.” I snapped the words, pointing the spear at him with each word. “You were just trying to make a little money on the side.” I limped closer and gestured at the avatars. “These men are terrorists. They're the ones killing people around the world. They met here to make their plans, and you were helping to fund their activities. I'm FBI. He's from the Treasury department. We've been searching for them for months, and when you betrayed us, you gave these bastards more time and they killed even more people.”
The blood had rushed from Pagul's face with each word. The tattoos stood out even more against his pale skin. “I didn't know. You can't blame me!” he screamed.
“You're right,” I said. “I can't blame you. That's not my job. But I can give you to the people who can.” I nodded.
Saleene pulled the dagger upward, the blade burying itself into Pagul's chin and driving up into his brain. I realized this was the first time I had ever watched her use the blade.
Pagul's body stiffened. I had expected blood to gush onto the floor, but nothing came out of his body. In fact, at first, I was not sure he had even died. Then white flowed over his eyes and his body shrunk in on itself, a dried husk of fruit after all the juice was sucked out. Saleene let him drop to the floor, and his skin cracked like a dried insect's shell.
I bent over his body, ripping open his shirt. The tattoo in the middle of his chest still shone like metal. I folded my fingers around the edges and glanced up at Saleene.
“Watch this,” I said. I yanked the tattoo away from his body. His tag numbers stared up at us. “I'll write Pagul's location down,” I continued. “But with my leg, I can't make it to the top of the wall. I need you to go to DeBrest. I imagine he killed the Protectorate to get the ring. If not, kill him, and then search his body for something like this. Bring me those numbers so we can find that son of a bitch in the real world.”
