Oh, yes. He was generosity itself. Damn those Grinder account options! At least combat classes could die if necessary.
Admittedly Raven was a crafty bastard. If ever he had to report to Armat, he'd have an ironclad alibi saying that the "Grinder" had removed his gear willingly. Then again, I somehow doubted it would come to that. Raven had been right: Armat must have long forgotten all about me.
Oh well, I'd have to play for time, wouldn't I? I had a few surprises for them up my sleeve, provided I got the timing right.
And now it seemed to be just perfect.
"Whassup, guys? Why are you stalling?"
A Rock Horrud stopped a dozen paces away from us. Level 170: a walking ten-foot destroyer. He sported the logo of the Independents: the alliance's leading clan. Apparently the highest level around, he must have been running the coop in Armat's absence.
"Hi Morph!" Raven stood up to his full height. "We're just having a chat with this Digger here. You have a problem with that?"
"Chatting?" the Horrud growled. "Jed cast a gag on him. You, Mammon, are supposed to guard him. And you," he turned to Raven, "were supposed to be with the wagons ten minutes ago. I suggest you leave him alone."
Raven chuckled, turning to Mammon. "You see? What did I say? Too many chiefs and not enough Indians!"
Mammon didn't reply. He stood there silent, closely watching the potential developments.
"Raven, quit being fresh. I can see the guys were right about you."
I'd only known Raven for the last five minutes but even I could see this wasn't the way to speak to him. Not if you doubted your chances against him. Morph didn't seem to have a problem with that. I could see a few other players appear behind his back, walking toward us. All sported the Independents' logo. Morph must have already posted about the upcoming show in the chat.
"Morph, you sure you haven't hurt your head dropping from the piss can?" Raven's smile promised nothing good. "You watch your filthy mouth, dude. You think if you lick Jed's ass you're the boss here?"
The timing was perfect. The moment Morph went for Raven, I'd... but no. The Horrud apparently wasn't that tough, after all. He just stood there grinning.
"So much for you, Raven. All you can do is make trouble. And that's on a raid, right under the Lighties' nose. Well done, dude. Once the raid is over, our clan's blacklisting you."
Raven forced a chuckle. "Fuck your clan! And your black list!"
A level-120 Alven archer stopped next to Morph. "Is he stoned again?" the archer smirked knowingly.
Morph gave a curt nod.
"You idiot!" the archer snapped at Raven. "You wanna be blacklisted by all of the Glasshouse? The Loafers clan leader will kick you out, and rightly so! I'm surprised he enrolled you at all! You're a real pain in the butt!"
"There he comes," Raven shrieked, "another asslicker! Phil, dude, how does it taste like?"
The archer didn't boast Morph's self-control. As if in slow motion, I watched a mask of fury distort his handsome Alven face. His right hand darted for an arrow behind his back.
Raven reacted fast: the level gap was in his favor. He dropped to the ground, rolling over and loosing off three arrows in a machine gun-like succession. All three smashed against a translucent pale green cocoon that had enveloped the figures of Morph and Phil. It must have been the work of a Dwand wizard who'd stopped a few paces away from them.
"Now you're toast!" Morph growled and went for the bully while Morph's arrows pierced the ground where Raven had just stood.
"Mammon, help me!" Raven shouted.
"You keep out of it," Phil stopped Mammon. "I don't think Clo's gonna like her little brother side up with junkies stoned out of their heads."
"Mammon, I'm your clanmate!" Raven insisted. He'd already received two arrow wounds: one to his leg, the other to his shoulder.
I didn't wait for him to make up his mind. This was a perfect moment for me to escape. The gaming gods wouldn't send me a better one.
Step by tentative step, I moved toward a trail to my right: the one I'd taken not fifteen minutes previously.
I glanced back. It looked like Mammon had sided up with his clanmate, after all. Not the smartest of decisions but apparently chivalrous. I was pretty sure other raid members would forgive him, chalking it up to his young age and lack of experience. But as for Raven... I didn't even want to think about what awaited him now.
I was ten paces away from them. No one seemed to notice me, engaged in a short-lived combat.
Twenty paces. I stood up almost to my full height and ran. When I stopped and turned back for a look, Mammon was performing wonders of bravery — even though I had the funny feeling that others were sparing him. A deep blue haze enveloped his body as he adopted a defensive stance.
The nearest wagon was fifteen paces away. This was the most dangerous leg of my escape. If they failed to notice me now, I might have a chance. I could always have summoned Boris, of course, but I didn't want to risk it. Firstly, because I had no desire to expose myself to them. And secondly, no one could guarantee they wouldn't shoot us down as we took off. Then we'd have a real problem. No, I'd have to try and slip out on my own. It seemed to be working, anyway.
"Going somewhere?" a raspy voice asked.
I'd celebrated too soon, hadn't I?
I turned around. Bah! This was the Dwand wizard who'd cast a shield over Morph and Phil. He was quick, wasn't he?
Mechanically I attempted to speak. System messages flooded my mental view, informing me of my temporary handicap.
"Take it easy, dude," the Dwand offered, his voice hopeful. "No one's gonna hurt you, I promise."
Oh no, thank you very much. I'd had enough of the Darkies' company. Their leader had already promised me that, and what was the result? They'd very nearly mugged me right there and then. True, as a Lightie I couldn't have expected a red-carpet treatment. So it was probably better I just left.
My eyes must have betrayed some of the above because the Dwand stepped forward. I stole a look around. No one close enough.
"Hey, keep your hair on," the Dwand offered me one last chance. His voice rang with threat.
Too late.
I opened my inventory. A small glowing ball of light appeared in my hand.
The Dwand's eyes reached the size of coffee saucers. His hands shook. His frog-like mouth opened in a silent scream. A pale green haze enveloped him. Doubtful it would help him though.
Our eyes met. He seemed to know what it was in my hands and how things were going to progress from there. Well, wrong guess. This was a surprise.
Would you like to activate the trap: Yes/No
I mouthed a silent Sorry! to him, then hurled the glowing ball in front of me and pressed Yes.
In a fiery flash of yellow light, my prisoner materialized in the clearing. I barely glimpsed a system message,
Warning! The Caltean trap has expired! It's about to evaporate into the game's cyberspace!
Instinctively covering his eyes, the Dwand shrank to one side.
For a brief moment, the Diadem Serpent froze in an awkward pose. It was the second time I was seeing something like this. The first one had been back in No-Man's Lands where the hedgehog had seemed to exhibit the same kind of behavior. It was as if the creature was rebooting, processing new information. It looked admittedly weird. Imagine if he failed to come to life at all!
My inner pessimist heaved a sigh of relief when the snake's giant body began to quiver. Being a game mob, he paid no heed to me: there was a much juicier morsel within his aggro zone.
I watched, transfixed, as his reptilian head the size of a truck cab darted toward the Dwand's tiny figure.
Would I ever get used to game mechanics? And how would this affect my real-life perceptions? Back in the real world, a blow of this power would have turned the Dwand's body into a blob of crushed flesh. But here their combat followed a different scenario.
The wizard's force shield had withstood the blow. He hadn't even budged — ev
en though, judging by his grimacing face, he hadn't enjoyed it. No wonder. The level gap between the two was impressive.
Our eyes met. Surprised, buddy? Sure. The sheer fact that a Grinder had produced a Caltean trap out of his tatty bag must have been unfathomable for him. But the creature that had come out of the trap... I could bet my bottom dollar it wasn't listed in the game's bestiary.
The Dwand's glare finally shifted from me to the monster. The man was silent but I knew that reinforcements were already on their way. The problem was — and both of us understood it — that a dozen players were unlikely to smoke the furious snake. Only now did I begin to realize that once the last camp defender fell, this place would turn into a trap for all new portal-traveling raiders.
The cavalry didn't make it. The Dwand's flimsy force shield gave up the ghost after the serpent's second attack. With the third one, the player disappeared into thin air.
Having finished off his opponent, the snake curled up and froze, awaiting a new enemy. He didn't see me: I'd prudently made myself scarce, sitting it out behind a large rock and waiting for the sentries to arrive who'd earlier blocked my trail. It was still too early to let Boris out.
Finally, Morph came running — and two more players with him. They barged directly into the serpent's aggro zone. Apparently, they weren't new to battling this sort of mob.
Even though I couldn't check the logs, it was clear that the serpent had surprised them. They cringed — he must have attacked all three at once or, just like Steel Widow, cast some nasty debuff over them.
The Guardian of the Cave isn't some humble bot. The spells he casts are in direct proportion to his own level. Judging by how the Darkies' arrows kept bouncing off the serpent's body, his protection was up to the challenge, too.
As his heavily armored status suggested, Morph did the tanking. The level-120 Alven archer was small fry for the monster. Another Alven player next to him seemed to be casting a spell — apparently some protection for Morph. That's right. While the tank was distracting the mob — "aggroing" him, as gamers would say, — his stats had to be topped up.
The little group was dragging it out, biding for time. I could see more players coming. Three tanks, their levels barely over 100. You never know, they might do him.
Just when I thought that I must have overestimated the No-Man Land critter, he offered another surprise to his attackers. The serpent's body coiled like a taut spring. A lightning-fast blow of his tail sent the Alven archer to his resurrection point.
Oh wow. I wiped my eyes in disbelief. Indeed, the archer wasn't there anymore. Apparently, the snake had a particular dislike of distance weapons.
The loss of yet another fighter seemed to have really upset the Darkies. They stepped up; their tanks formed a semicircle, pressing the mob. The serpent wriggled about, dodging their attacks while responding to them with sharp precise hits. Two more players joined in the combat: a dwarf and a human. The former was holding a powerful crossbow, the latter brandishing his double swords. The serpent didn't like the swordsman at all: apparently, this class could deal maximum damage.
Finally, what I'd been waiting for happened. The sentries walked down the trail. Archers, levels 150+. Those who had captured me must have left with the Dark army. Good. The serpent would have a hard time fighting them.
The sentries dashed past the rock where I was hiding. They hadn't noticed me. Big sigh of relief. Excellent. I'd wait another minute, then be on my way.
The archers engaged. No one seemed to care about me. Time to leg it.
My virtual heart fluttered in my chest. I didn't even breathe as I cleared the remaining dozen paces, expecting to hear an angry shout behind my back at any moment. It didn't come. Luckily.
I'd made it to the trail and scampered off, zigzagging between rocks and swinging my head in every direction. I wouldn't put it past the Darkies to have left another sentry on the trail despite the desperate combat unfolding below.
The rain grew stronger. Perfect. You'd think this was the right moment to let Boris out and bid a hasty retreat. But I had this feeling that something was wrong. I sensed it with my back: a watchful eye following my progress.
I swung around. I thought I'd glimpsed it — but no. Nothing but the pouring rain, the gray cliffs and a deep ravine to my right.
I continued zigzagging in brief bounds. The sensation of a stranger's presence kept growing. By then, I was 80% sure I was being followed.
Finally, I reached the last bend and ducked behind it. The sensation of being trailed was gone. So there was someone behind me, after all.
I was standing on a small platform where I'd first let Boris out. I cast a desperate look around. This was it. Nowhere to run. End of the line. If I'd been followed by an archer, he'd have no problem shooting both me and Boris down. Boris was a zero-level mount: one arrow would be enough to down him. And falling from this height could only mean one thing: an emergency logout. Which threatened to sabotage my entire mission here.
I drew in a deep breath and tried to concentrate. Now I could clearly hear the splashing of my pursuer's footsteps. Then he stopped. He probably thought he'd cornered me.
I waited another couple of minutes but nothing happened. I strained my hearing. I even closed my eyes to focus on the sounds — but all I could hear was the patter of the rain. Could this pursuit idea have been a figment of my overwrought imagination? What if there was no one here? In which case, I was losing precious time. Or could it be my paranoia playing tricks with me?
As if answering my question, a familiar high-pitched voice reached out to me from behind the wall of rain.
"Is that it?" Raven asked wearily, materializing not a dozen paces away from me. "Is this where you were trying to get to? What have you got here? A portal? A stash? A secret tunnel? How the hell did you get here, anyway? Speak!"
His eyes burned with malice. His lips trembled. The broken-off shaft of an arrow protruded out of his left shoulder. A dark-red spot covered his right side. His right leg was wounded. Morph and his men had done a mean job on him.
I shrugged.
"Shit!" Raven cringed. "You're gagged, aren't you? Well, point your finger, then! And don't you dare lie to me, you asshole! This trail is exactly where our guys collared you."
I made a helpless gesture and shrugged again.
"Very well, you shit for brains. You asked for it."
He raised a bow in his left hand. Slowly he slotted an arrow into the bowstring.
"This is my last arrow, Digger!" he snarled. "I've been saving it for you, you scumbag! Couldn't you've just given us your gear nice and quiet? You could always have gotten yourself some new stuff. But no! Oh well, you're gonna regret it now. Really regret it."
I watched detachedly as he raised his bow. The bowstring grew taut, finally stopping by his cheek. The arrow's dark tip faced my chest.
This was his last arrow. The last one. There was no way I could duck it But-
Before I could finish my thought, my left shoulder exploded in burning pain. A powerful jolt swung me about-face, throwing me back. A red haze clouded my eyesight. I gasped.
You've received a wound to your chest!
"So how did you like that?" Raven asked in a calmer voice. "That's just for a start," he said, slapping the short sword dangling from his belt. "Just wait till I start cutting you to pieces. This Caltean trap, did you activate it? Excellent, bro. Perfect timing. They'd very nearly finished me off."
He took a short step toward me. "Regret it now? Sure. I know I would. Having said that, I wonder where you might have gotten all these thingies from. Never mind. Plenty of time for that. You're gonna tell me everything you know. Trust me. I know just how to make you speak."
He pulled out his sword and limped toward me.
Trying to ignore the arrow sticking out of my shoulder, I scrambled back to my feet. Raven was already almost within reach. His eyes glowed with hatred, his mouth a smirking mask. Well, well, well. Sorry, bro. You're not gonna make it.
/>
Come on, Boris. Your turn. Time to leg it!
You should have seen the expression on Raven's face when Boris materialized. Mechanically Raven recoiled but tripped, very nearly landing on his backside. He barely kept upright while getting an eyeful of my beastie. This moment of hesitation was enough for me to spring into the saddle and order Boris to take off.
Already at a safe altitude, I could still hear the shrieking curses in my wake. At the moment, Mirror World was on my side. I was too far for Raven to either launch his sword or hurl stones at me. The only weapon that could have aborted our escape was now sticking out of my shoulder.
Chapter Nineteen
Once Boris had soared to the skies, leaving the cussing Raven far below, my first impulse was to fly to Drammen to warn its citizens about the impending danger. Then I reconsidered. The damage to the town had already been done. Besides, how could I warn anyone about anything being gagged and all?
So after careful consideration, I finally told Boris to head for the Citadel. I'd had enough combat for one day.
As I approached, I activated my satnav. After my little adventure back in the Spider Grotto, I'd spent some quality time looking into gags, injuries and other related subjects. I just wanted to know the scoop, as they say these days. As a result, I'd bought a useful little app called the Healer Finder. You enter the name and level of your injury into the search box, and it offers you a list of all the local healers capable of treating it. Same applies to gag-removing wizards.
This was how I'd found Nyra.
* * *
"Don't move. And most important, don't look at the wound," the female Alven wizard and a level-8 healer, Nyra bit her lip, working on my shoulder.
"Why?" I asked.
"Don't you know?"
The Citadel (Mirror World Book #2) Page 22
