Sicilian Defense

by Andrey Vasilyev

  “Who’s there?” yelped a girlish voice, and one of the black-robed figures pointed her dagger at us.

  “Death!” yelled Dorn as he brought his axe crashing down onto her. I heard the crunch as it shattered her ribcage.

  “Light beings!” yelled the executioner, who quickly sank her dagger into the young man and ripped him open like a fish. “Kill the prisoners before they can get to them. Mistress!”

  “Treville, take care of that one first,” roared Miurat. “She can call their mistress, and we won’t be able to handle her!”

  Treville dodged between two other witches, in the process slashing one with his rondel dagger and slicing into the others back with his heavy rapier.

  “Well, cutie,” he snarled as he watched the witch kick the dying inquisitor away. He was staring in horror at the guts pouring out of the bleeding cut in his stomach and instinctively trying to stuff them all back inside. “Fancy a tango to the death?”

  “You are mortes, dead man!” she hissed. “Your body will die, and I will play with your soul for a very long time!”

  Treville didn’t bother to reply, instead lunging forward to attack.

  Jax had managed to cut off the hand of one witch and slice deep into the legs of another, while Miurat slashed the throat of another running toward the imprisoned inquisitors. Two more were already lying dead on the ground with arrows sticking out of their eyes—Fattah was hard at work.

  “Die, light one!” A robed figured leaped at me from somewhere above me. Wait, can they fly?

  I caught her with my sword and felt the blade open and pass through soft, human flesh before I tossed her to the side. She tumbled across the rocks, hissed, and tried to rise, but I was faster. My sword flashed once more, leaving her head to roll off away from her body. To be honest, I’d never thought that was something I could do, and certainly not something I could do quite so effortlessly.

  You received Witch’s Passing, a posthumous spell.

  You will lose 0.3% of your health per second for three minutes.

  You will lose 0.3% of your mana per second for three minutes.

  You will be impervious to light spells restoring your health or mana for the next hour.

  So witches play dirty.

  “Ah,” I heard Dorn sigh a split second before another body collapsed to the ground.

  You completed a quest: Kill Witches, Avenge the Inquisitors.

  You (or your group) killed at least five witches studying under Supreme Witch Gretken. The deaths of the inquisitors have been avenged.

  Reward:

  1700 experience

  1500 gold

  +10 friendship with the Rattermark inquisition

  To get the Inquisitor Beads, talk to Gilles de Blassi.

  Because you killed more opponents than was required, you have the opportunity to earn an additional bonus. If you or your group kills at least twenty witches in the next 24 hours, you will get an alternative reward or additional quests from the Rattermark College of Inquisition.

  My first reaction was frustration that there hadn’t been twenty of the witches in the coven we cleared out. Obviously, I couldn’t go looking specifically for witches, and the group wouldn’t agree to that either. I knew better than to ask. On the other hand, we wouldn’t have been able to handle twenty witches…

  The battle was over, and Dorn was deftly finishing off the injured witches with his axe, almost like some kind of lumberjack. A few times he cursed into his beard, presumably when he caught those posthumous curses.

  Treville was trying to catch the witch leader, though she was able to dodge most, though not all, of what he was throwing at her. Her robe was torn in a few places, she was favoring one leg, and black blood sprayed every time she jumped.

  “I’ve got her,” Treville roared. “Stay back!”

  “Treville, hurry up,” Miurat said nervously. “She’s not the kind of enemy to mess with. Hagen, what are you waiting for? Free those inquisitors so they can get out of here.”

  Oh, right! I went over to them.

  “Gentlemen, you have been freed, so let me cut the ropes.”

  A gray man, the one who’d been ready to die at the witch’s hand, held out bound arms.

  “Thank you, warrior. Might we know your name?”

  “Thane Hagen of Tronje,” I replied quietly. “I was sent by Gilles de Blassi to rescue you.”

  “Monsieur Gilles is alive?” he exclaimed happily. “That’s excellent news. Here, I’ll help you untie the rest.”

  You completed a quest: Save the Inquisitors.

  Reward:

  1500 experience

  1100 gold

  +7 friendship with the Rattermark inquisition

  To get the Inquisitor Amulet, talk to Gilles de Blassi.

  “I think that’s the way out of here,” I said, pointing in the direction of the opening. It was almost completely dark. “Hurry, keep to the edge of the forest, and you’ll make it to the mining village.”

  “And you?” the inquisitor asked calmly. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” I replied to his distress. “We have a lot more to do here in the mines—you aren’t the only ones in trouble.”

  “I mean, do you need help?” he explained. “One of us could stay with you.”

  “No, that’s okay,” I responded. “You’re tired, hungry, and maybe even wounded. Go see monsieur Gilles in the village.”

  The gray-haired man waved his arms.

  Your group was blessed with Aid for Warriors.

  +10% health

  +5% attack strength

  +6% protection from physical effects

  +6% protection from mental effects

  +5% movement speed

  Active for three hours

  “Well, isn’t that nice!” laughed Jax. “Thanks, holy father.”

  “I’m no holy father; I’m an inquisitor of the second circle,” the old man explained calmly. “You know, I forgot to introduce myself. Peter Arbois, always at your service.”

  “Go, go,” I said, hurrying them along. “Don’t waste time. It’s almost night, and that’s not the best time for a walk in this area.”

  “You’re right, though there’s one more thing we have to do.” Peter walked over to one of the witches and ripped the black robe off her headless body.

  “What, he’s going to get changed?” Dorn tugged on his beard.

  Arbois walked over to the heads of the dead inquisitors and tucked them carefully in the robe.

  “Are you going to kill her or not?” Miurat yelled at Treville. “And here I thought you knew how to fight!”

  Treville leaped forward fiercely, his blade scraped against the witch’s ribs, and she let out a desperate cry before sinking to her knees.

  “Mistress!” she shrieked so piercingly that Treville, who was already in the middle of swinging his rapier toward her neck, jumped backward. “Mistress il morte! Punish them, give them death! Take my body, mistress, kill them, as I conjure you with my blood and death! Ih sagre il morte! Challa tauh Heliana!”

  Her eyes glowed with a bright white light, something black and not very blood-like trickled out of her nose, and her body started to rise as if plugged into some sort of outlet.

  “Whoa,” Treville grunted as he swung his rapier back again. “She really gets on your nerves, doesn’t she?”

  “No!” cried one of the inquisitors. “Not just yet!”

  Chapter Eight

  In which the group continues through the Neilozh Mines.

  “Wait, what?” The rapier paused, smack dab in the middle of its arc toward the last witch’s neck.

  “A merciful inquisitor, that’s new,” Miurat said with a surprised shake of his head. “I guess I shouldn’t have been so hard on the game creators—they did manage to slip something novel in. So you want to release her, padre? Or do you just want to slit her throat yourself?”

  “Don’t touch her, otherwise none of us will ever leave.” Arbo
is was obviously scared. “And there’s no time to lose—run!”

  “What are you talking about?” Dorn was busy going around to the bodies of the witches, quickly dumping what he found in his knapsack. When I realized what he was doing, I bent over the corpse of the one I’d killed. She’s shaking, she’s pale…so what? My neighbor looks like that every morning until he gets to the store.

  “Look at her go,” Fattah said as he walked past. He’d jumped down when he realized the battle was over, joining us as we watched the last living witch.

  “Her body no longer belongs to her: she used her death and blood to open a path to this world for an ancient evil,” the inquisitor said, looking closely at the witch. “It’s too late to run now—you should have listened to me. The evil is already here.”

  Her fiery white eyes turned anthracite black.

  “Who’s there?” rang out a raspy, powerful voice. “Who dared assault the students of my most faithful follower and spill their blood?”

  The witch’s head turned from side to side, though it was a mechanical motion reminiscent of some kind of Florentine doll.

  “Here I am, mother of evil,” the inquisitor called loudly as he straightened up. “I took the lives of your servants with my own hands, and it is a deed I am not ashamed to call my own.”

  “Ah-h,” the witch laughed hoarsely, turning toward him. “A fool, and a worshipper of a fool… Doubly foolish, in fact, since your preposterous master left this world long ago.”

  “You are no longer in this world either, if for a different reason, but here I am talking to you.”

  “I’ve never strayed too far away from this world,” the witch asserted. “All this time I’ve been nearby, and I always have eyes and ears here, not to mention people willing to serve me.”

  “I don’t think they are many in number,” Arbois replied with a contemptuous smile.

  “They are sufficient,” whoever was in the witch’s body shot back. “But that’s not important; what’s important is that you’re lying. I could first tell by your voice, and, now that I can see, by the fact that there is no blood on your hands. But the five over here…”

  The witch’s eyes, still flashing darkly, swept toward us.

  “Wow,” Miurat said in shock. “I’ve never heard of anything like this. Who’s in her?”

  “I am the one who will take you all sooner or later,” the witch said, a bit cliché.

  “The mortgage?” Miurat looked at me in bewilderment. I threw up my arms—I really had no idea who she was and what was going on. Maybe a god? Or a goddess?

  “The mortgage?” whoever was in the witch replied peevishly. “What’s the mortgage? I’m Heliana, lady of the dead!”

  “Oh, please.” Miurat spat, though I could tell from the sparkle in his eye that he was deadly interested in what was going on. “I mean, I’m glad you’re not the mortgage—I don’t know about anyone else, but I feel way better. But what are you talking about? Let me ask you this: who are you, Heliana? And which dead are you the lady of? Zombies and skeletons coming to life or something else?”

  “Mortal, I will be only too happy to continue our conversation when we meet there, in the Palace of Pain. I’ll give you the answers to those questions and more if you have the strength and desire to ask them. But I think we will find out soon enough.”

  The creature in the witch rasped again, apparently laughing.

  “Oh, I doubt that,” Miurat snarled. “I’m not in a hurry to cross over, and neither are my friends.”

  “Friends?” The witch’s head turned again, looking around as if photographing our faces. “Friends are good. The more souls I get, the better.”

  The creature’s glance turned to me, looked me up and down, moved on, and suddenly returned.

  “How interesting,” she said, new notes appearing in her voice: surprise and curiosity. “Look at how many beings have marked you, little man, in so short a time. And I know them all, with one exception… Although no, I know her as well—I just didn’t recognize her at first. Rebirth always changes the impression of the soul. I see you count a challenger to the throne among your friends?”

  My whole being felt Miurat’s eyes on me.

  “He’s just a normal player,” I heard him say. “Nothing like that!”

  “Shut up, fool,” the witch cut back. “It’s you, you walking chunk of meat, that is nothing like that. But this one is curious, very curious… How could you still be alive with so many marks from so many different lords? They all serve different powers. You should have been torn apart, if only by their eternal and irreconcilable enmity.”

  Multiple beings, multiple lords? What is she talking about? If she’s referring to the gods, then…

  “Oh, stop it,” Miurat said obstinately. His eyes were alight, and he was practically screaming at the witch’s face. “I’ve known him for forever, and there aren’t any marks on him—there never were. You’re lying, you old witch! Why don’t you just say who’s been digging around in his soul? Who left their mark?”

  “I’ll feed you to the worms of Gigungir!” the witch wheezed furiously, her words taking more effort now. “You’re blind, you’re all blind, even this one—it doesn’t look like he knows anything! And the marks are so clear…”

  “Silence, spawn of darkness,” shouted the inquisitor. “Do not bend souls with your tales not meant for the human mind!”

  He barked a spell, and a clump of light smacked into the witch.

  “Run!” yelled Arbois. “Run, before she explodes! You’re all about to die!”

  The witch started to shake, her black eyes went colorless, and black slime began to drip from her nose once more.

  “Save yourselves, you idiots!” the inquisitor practically bawled. He hitched up the hem of his robe and dashed toward the exit.

  Treville and Jax sprinted for the nearest tunnel without a word, while Dorn was way ahead of them—he was the closest to the exit from the cave. Fattah, smart as he was, had long since headed in that direction.

  “Miurat,” I said, tugging on the sleeve of my bewitched friend. He was biting his lip as he watched the witch start to spark. “Miurat, we’re goners if we don’t get out of here!”

  “Damn those inquisitors!” Miurat couldn’t help throwing a few choice words toward their receding figures, letting them know what he thought about them, their colleagues, and the standards they all had at the college.

  We flew toward the passage and ran headlong down it. Behind us we heard an explosion, a cloud of rock dust enveloped us, and our hearing went.

  “Geez, what kind of game is this?” Jax yelled, his voice indignant and adrenaline-fueled. “Combat training?”

  “Damn it, damn it, damn it,” Miurat repeated inconsolably. “That fool inquisitor! She was just about to tell us everything!”

  “What did she say?” Treville asked with a frown. “A crazy witch went on with some nonsense about marks, lords, beings… It’s just fragments from a buggy quest—that happens in games like this. She blew up, though, and that was pretty cool.”

  “You idiot, you have no idea what’s going on. That’s hardly surprising though, seeing as how you’re an idiot!” Miurat grabbed me by my armor and started shaking me, his eyes wild. “Tell me, tell me what she meant about the marks!”

  “Are you crazy?” was all I could yell, my eyes also bugging out—only in my case from surprise.

  “Easy there.” Dorn’s axe scraped along the wall. “I’m not one to threaten, but I think you’re going a bit overboard.”

  “Who’s an idiot?” Treville asked at the same time Dorn made his comment. “Also, do you have an extra life with you by any chance?”

  Miurat let me go, the crazy vanishing from his eyes. In a second, he was back to his usual imposing and graceful self.

  “You’re right, guys, I don’t know what came over me.” Miurat massaged his temples. “Wow, my head feels like it’s made of metal. Treville, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s better,
” Treville muttered. “That was ridiculous. We put you in charge, sure, but you don’t have to be like that—I’m a veteran, too.”

  “Miurat, are you okay?” I asked him cautiously. “Are you sure you’re over whatever that was?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine,” he replied, looking at me with his usual gaze. “Please forgive me, too, it’s just…”

  Yeah, right. As if I don’t know perfectly well what you’d do if you had the chance… He knew, as well. Still, formalities are formalities.

  “Nah, I know how much you hate not knowing things, so it’s fine,” I replied with a smile that told everyone I wasn’t offended in the least. It happens, I might as well have said. “But seriously, I swear, I don’t understand what that thing was talking about. I really don’t!”

  “She said herself that he doesn’t know,” Treville chimed in unexpectedly. “The whole thing was nonsense—it was just a flow of consciousness, and you can’t take something like that seriously. I have no idea why you got so hung up on it. If it was important, she’d have given us a quest.”

  “Yeah, the NPCs go crazy sometimes, too, and you’re probably right, Treville. That had to have been some quest the developers didn’t get around to finishing. Somebody should write tech support so they fix it in the next patch.” Miurat inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Well, shall we go take out some worms? Screw them all, inquisitors and witches alike. Just a bunch of nothing. Break time’s over, let’s go.”

  He went to the head of the group and started walking onward. I stayed near the back, my mind working over what just happened. Who was that Heliana? She obviously wasn’t a goddess, though she was some kind of important figure if she could take over bodies the way we’d just seen. Lady of the dead…maybe something like a storekeeper in the kingdom of the dead? I had no idea if there was such a thing—I thought there was just a hard drive with a folder full of backup files.

  Miurat really had lost it, though. I could only assume I’d be more under his microscope than ever. If he thought I might know something before, he’s sure of it now. Though that’s the kind of information he won’t be able to get from me no matter what he tries.