“So what did you do?” Miurat stared at me.
“Who knows?” I scratched my head. “Maybe he knows about Fomor—I was up there with the könig in the Ice Palace.”
“Ah, yes, that could be it,” Miurat replied, calming down. “Sure, helping the crown in the North, killing undead…good work. That’s probably it.”
Hm, sounds like he knows more about all my little trips than I do.
“Okay, it’s getting late. Can we go?” Dorn pulled on his beard. “We still have a twenty-minute march through the caves in front of us, and you can chat while we walk.”
Miurat invited you to join a group. Accept?
Chapter Seven
In which the road leads to the Neilozh Mines.
Different people have different definitions of “late,” but the sky was definitely starting to darken by the time we’d gotten to the central entrance to the mines via a narrow path.
“Anything exotic we should be expecting?” Miurat asked, glancing at Treville.
The latter shrugged.
“This is Fayroll, anything can happen. It was fine the last time I was here, though that doesn’t really mean anything.”
“Orcs like to roam this area,” Dorn chimed in, pulling his axe out from behind his back. “Thank heavens, there are only small groups of them. They’re selective about who they attack, too.”
“What does that mean? They send out a casting call to see which players they’re going to kill and which they’re going to leave alone?” I asked.
Dorn sniffed. “They don’t attack big groups or high-level players. But they’re only too happy to pick off lower-level or lone people.”
“So the vermin here are smart, strategically savvy,” Miurat grunted. “Good thing that isn’t true everywhere, otherwise life would be quite a bit harder.”
“They’re different depending on the area,” muttered Dorn. “What did you expect? They spent centuries side-by-side with dwarves, both players and NPCs. Even Pinocchio would pick up some smarts living like that, not to mention evil scum like them.”
“You have to keep leveling up,” Jax said with a yawn. “When you get far enough, you stop caring what kind of scum you have to deal with.”
There was no point in me getting involved in that discussion. Someone at my level discussing leveling-up with players beyond Level 100 would have been presumptuous at best.
Twilight glimmered at the entrance to the Neilozh Mines. It wasn’t that it was that late; the skies were gray over that part of Rattermark, meaning that evening came sooner there than elsewhere.
Miurat, who was walking out in front of our group, stopped, peeked around the edge of the cliff, shook his head, and glanced back at us.
“Well, you tramps,” Miurat said, dead serious, “are we heading in today or leaving it for tomorrow? I’m just asking, because I’m not used to giving up on things halfway through. I have plenty of shortcomings, though I have principles, too—and that’s one of them. If we go down now, nobody’s going offline until this poor guy has his things back. If anyone so much as thinks about it, they’ll have me to deal with first. So if you’re going to back out, now’s the time.”
“I’m with you,” Dorn replied quickly. “Time I have, my things I don’t—they’re in there. Well, probably.”
“I have time, too,” I said after thinking about it for a bit and looking over at the entrance to the mines.
I didn’t think Vika would appreciate my decision, though I didn’t want to get sidetracked and waste time with a possible shortcut to the Sumaki Mountains so close. Plus, I still hoped to get details from Dorn about the steamboat and how to find it. The steamboat would mean no end of problems, I knew, and a tough journey by foot would normally be preferable to an easy journey by water, but still… There was no guarantee I’d get another group together if I went offline right then. Worse, I might even find out later that they’d gone on without me and had a fantastic time.
Miurat’s three-man squad didn’t even bother to think about it. The question, from what I could tell, had been posed to us and not to them.
The entrance to the mines was large, the only entrance of this size to anything underground that I could remember. I’d gotten used to narrow rock crevices, small doors, or just holes in the ground like the entrance to the naga king’s caves. But in front of us was practically an eight-lane highway. It was a wide road through a rocky pass, and it was lit by torches. All we were missing was a sign that read, Welcome, honored guest.
“Something’s funny here,” Miurat muttered. “It’s too easy.”
“Isn’t it?” grinned Dorn. “I couldn’t believe it at first either. We probably waited here for twenty minutes to see if anything would happen.”
He left the shelter of the cliffs and ambled toward the yawning entrance to the mines.
“Breaking the mold,” Miurat said sarcastically as he set off after Dorn.
“Blowing my mind,” I added, running to catch up.
The Neilozh Mines were far different from anything I’d ever seen. Okay, sure, caves are caves, while mines are mines, and the two aren’t the same. But I found myself far preferring the feeling the latter gave me over the former…
“Humans!” we heard someone shriek from somewhere above us. “Humans! Ah-h! Kill them, allies—remember your oath!”
I spun around to see a long-armed, long-nosed creature with hanging ears disappearing behind a rock. Was that some kind of new, dangerous beast? It even talks. And it’s intelligent!
“A drogter, the bastard,” Dorn said as he slammed his axe into a short, fanged, and ash-skinned orc that launched itself at him from behind a pile of rocks. “It led the animals right to us!”
More than a dozen orcs tried to surround us, whooping, screeching, and waving their scimitars. Their attempt to slice us up was heroic, needless to say, but utterly pointless. Level 45 orcs didn’t stand the slightest chance.
A few minutes later the clang of steel on steel and the curses spat into the air died down. Orc corpses littered the stones around us, and I was happy to get a notification as I rummaged through the bodies of the ones I’d killed.
To complete the quest, collect 6 more orc necklaces.
It wasn’t much, but I was loving it: quests were dropping right into my lap, practically with doorstep delivery. Oh, speaking of quests.
I pulled up my map to see where we were. We had a ways to go before we got to the worms, our primary objective, and the plants were behind me—I’d forgotten about them as we walked and talked. The witches and their captive inquisitors, however, weren’t far off at all. I figured we could take the side passages I could see at the end of the spacious entryway into the caves to get there. I could also see that the rocky road in front of us led inexorably downward.
“Well, all we have to do is go straight, then down, and then straight again.” Dorn pointed a short, fat finger in the direction of the descent.
“We still need to pick off some more orcs so we can get their necklaces,” Jax replied. “Are there any down there?”
“There are orcs all over the place,” Dorn reassured him. “There aren’t any way down there, but here on the upper levels they’re all over the place.”
“Stereotypes everywhere you look,” Miurat said with a frown. “Orcs underground, dwarves in the mountains, zombies in the graveyards.”
“That’s the way it’s always been,” I said, scratching my nose. “What should be here besides orcs, trolls, and dwarves? Mermaids?”
Miurat shrugged. “I don’t know, but they still could have thought up something new.”
I waved at him, not interested in continuing the argument. Push back all you want, but why reinvent the wheel? The classics are the classics.
“Speaking of new things,” I said suddenly. “Dorn, so that thing with the nose and ears was a drogter? It certainly wasn’t very dwarvish; more like a monkey, actually.”
“Yep,” Dorn said, spitting. “They’re animals, smart and c
lever, and they give these idiots orders. They have an agreement to be friends and work together.”
The bodies of the orcs had melted away by that time. That meant that they’d be respawning soon, and we’d be dealing with a new wave of the maneaters.
“Okay, let’s go.” The same thought had obviously crossed Miurat’s mind. “What are we waiting for?”
“Hold on a second, guys,” I replied. “I need to head down those side passageways…or galleries? Anyway, that doesn’t matter, whatever they’re called, I need to go that way. Some unpleasant witches are tyrannizing a few excellent inquisitors, which is precisely the reverse of what should be happening. Can we go that way? It looked like a twenty-minute walk, and then it shouldn’t take us more than ten minutes to finish them off. There’ll be something in it for you, I’m sure!”
“So you’re going to be visiting our citadel on Monday at around six?” Miurat asked quickly.
“Quite.” It didn’t take much thinking to realize what he was getting at. “I’ll be in Selgar, at one-eyed Ibrahim’s tavern on the second floor waiting for you or whoever you send to take me to your clan leader. I like it there: the shashlik is good, and the ashik is a good singer.”
“Dorn?” I looked at the dwarf. He clearly wanted to hurry on to where his things were waiting for him, though he also knew that I’d organized our little expedition. He didn’t feel right turning me down, and in the end nodded his agreement.
“Go ahead,” Miurat said, gesturing with his chin. “You’re the only one with the quest, so lead the way.”
There were lots of passages branching off—a good two dozen or so. I ruled out the possibility of a labyrinth right away, since the red spot on my map wasn’t that far away. There wasn’t enough space to make a good labyrinth. With that in mind, I headed down one of the very first openings we came across, crossing my fingers and hoping the developers hadn’t overthought it.
Torches lined the walls of the passage as well, rocks crunched underfoot, and there were even quite a few bones. It appeared to be a popular, well-visited place.
Around one of the bends we found a sign made out of four index fingers pointing in four different directions. They were labeled North, South, West, and East. None of us had any idea who or what it could have been there for. Soon after, we came across the skeleton of a small animal that looked like it might have been a rabbit. Next to it was a half-rotten cylinder and the rusty remains of a pocket watch.
We also found the mummified corpse of a person wearing strange, unusual clothing that didn’t match the location at all. It had on something like overalls, and the letters Sem— were still visible over the left chest pocket.
“Huh, was that an NPC?” Miurat asked thoughtfully, talking to no one in particular.
“Maybe it’s there just for effect,” I suggested. “But it definitely wasn’t a player—you don’t get anything like that when one of us dies.”
“We should come back down here with a dozen veterans to explore the place,” Miurat said as he looked at Treville. “I guess we missed this area, and it looks like it could be interesting.”
“Oh, if you ever do, let me know,” I said, tugging on Miurat’s sleeve. “I think I’m going to be here a while poking around the lower levels to see what I can find. But if you’ll take me with you, I’ll come back up.”
“Why not?” Miurat shrugged. “Even better, just give up and join us already—that way it’ll definitely be fine.”
I kept my mouth shut and walked on. As my old man used to say, if you don’t want to lie or tell the truth, just keep your mouth shut. It’s easier that way.
Almost immediately after that exchange we passed two tombs, each of which were topped with a straw hat and a pipe. Right between them were two crosses drawn on the wall in black soot. A curved Indian knife jutted out of the ground. Treville grabbed my shoulder, whispering in my ear as he did.
“Look, the light is changing.”
I glanced up ahead to see that it was true: the light from the torches on the walls was dimmer than it had been, and there was a different shade, as well.
“Is that someone singing?” Jax looked around. “Or howling? Am I the only one who hears it?”
I stopped to listen. A monotone recitative was barely audible.
Miurat signaled to Treville, and he crept forward stealthily like some kind of Mohican. Fattah followed him noiselessly.
“We’ll wait here,” Miurat hissed. “Soon, they’ll tell us what’s going on, though I have a feeling we’re just about to go to where we need to get to.”
A few minutes later Treville returned, though he was without the archer.
“What’s going on up there?” Miurat asked, staring at him.
Treville rubbed some dirt off his shoulder as he calmly responded.
“There’s a big cave down that way, and it has a creek and possibly its own entrance. From what I can tell, if we want an easy way into the mines from the surface, that’s it right there. Right now we’re above the cave—we’re basically the height of a story above them. We’ll have to jump.”
“The second story,” Miurat replied, rubbing his chin. “The jump will probably take off a good 5% of our health.”
“So what next?” Treville sneezed into his hand. “It’s an easy distance for Fattah, and there’s a rock he can hide behind. They won’t be able to touch him. And he’ll be able to make our lives a lot easier in the meantime.”
“Are the witches there? And the inquisitors?” I asked impatiently.
“Yep, everyone’s there. The witches and the inquisitors both,” Treville replied sedately. “Though if we don’t hurry, there won’t be any inquisitors left. The witches are cutting their throats and draining their blood into the river in some kind of ritual as we speak.”
“What?” Jax twitched. “That took some imagination… Fanatics!”
“What did you expect, witches from the cartoons we watched when we were kids?” Miurat looked at him skeptically. “Kind and blundering? That doesn’t actually happen—witches are witches. It’s in the books that the witches are all nice, red-haired, and romantic, just waiting for a prince so they can give up conjuring. One kiss and they stop killing and cursing people.”
“But in real life?” Jax wasn’t smiling; he was listening attentively.
“In real life, they’d spill the blood of that prince, eat his horse, and stick both their skulls on a shelf outside their house. They’re witches, they hate humankind—dwarfkind, too. They’re an old enemy, ancient and tenacious. No romance whatsoever. Oh, and aim for the head. That’s the best way to go with witches, and your best shot is to decapitate them entirely.”
It wasn’t your traditional coven, though it wasn’t far off. Seven witches in black robes, their faces covered by hoods, waved shining daggers, sang a drawn-out song, and kicked the bound inquisitors with hateful, evil glee. One of them was hanging head-down in the stream running through the fairly large cave that served as the setting for the events we were about to take part in, and there was one more witch standing by him.
Treville was right: the light cast by the fires in the cave illuminated a dark opening that looked to be an exit leading to the surface. We could just make out a few rays sent by the evening sun, which had apparently cut through the clouds looming over the dreary area.
“Harra!” The witches broke out into unintelligible howls right when one of them cut off the head of the long-dead inquisitor, his blood having vanished into the current running by below.
“Harra yah!” The killer answered, holding up the head and chortling. “Morte! Ha-ha!”
She tossed the head into a corner. Looking around, I realized that it wasn’t the first: five other roundish objects lying there told me that the locals were building up quite the collection.
Then the witch turned toward the inquisitors left alive, who were watching the scene with a mixture of repulsion and impending doom written all over their faces. She looked them over slowly.
“What, you damned soul, you’re trying to figure out which of us will be the next sacrifice to your unclean gods?” an older, gray-haired inquisitor asked. “Let it be me—why not?”
“No, you’re later,” the witch replied, her voice surprisingly youthful. “You will be left for our mistress—she said she’ll cut out your heart and eat it.”
I counted the surviving inquisitors: there were six left. Oh, come on, you’ve got to be kidding me!
“Guys,” I hissed to the group, “we have to do something. I need to save five of them, and one of them could die in the battle. We’re out of time!”
Miurat nodded.
“Fattah, cover us, but only start shooting when they notice us. It’s at least forty strides from here to there, so we’ll jump down and run that way as quietly as we can—no yelling. Don’t forget that they’re witches, so they can debuff us. At their Level 60, though, I don’t think we’ll have any real problems. Oh, Hagen, you stay back a little. You’re in the group, so don’t worry about getting credit for the kills. Everyone has their health potions?”
We all nodded.
“Then let’s roll!”
Miurat leaped down to the ground below, with Treville, Jax, Dorn, and me following. Before I jumped, I noticed Fattah crouch behind the rock, pull ten arrows out of his quiver, and lay them next to him.
Just then some of the witches selected one of their prisoners, a young guy, and spouted off some gibberish as they led him toward the stream. He followed them obediently and submissively, like a cow to the slaughter. The rest of the witches raised their daggers in the air, chanting something unintelligible and occasionally banging the bracelets on their wrists together. Oddly enough, the whole thing reminded me a little of the ceremony the dryads had performed to summon Mesmerta.
Down on the floor below, we did our best to run noiselessly toward the witches, and they were so engrossed in their ritual that they only noticed us when we were ten strides away.
Sicilian Defense Page 9
