You have a new quest offer: A Free North
This is the fourth in the Secrets of the North series of quests.
Task: Defeat an ancient evil of the North.
Additional task: The Great Fomor has to die.
Reward:
2000 experience
+20 respect among the peoples of the North
Reward from the order: random elite item
Reward from the könig: random ability
Well, aren’t we lucky?
“Okay, so what other forces can we gather?” I asked the könig.
“There’s no one to gather; they’re all out in the field. I’ll send a messenger.” The könig looked darker than a storm cloud. “And you’re looking at our war council.”
“I’m coming, too, right?” Flosy’s voice coming from the corner was already a bit slurred, and it was interrupted by a gurgling liquid. He’d apparently found his way to the könig’s wine cellars.
“You mean nobody’s killed him yet?” The könig looked at me reproachfully.
I shrugged, unwilling to grace that with a reply.
“Okay, so what are our numbers like?” The könig scratched the back of his head.
“The order can contribute fifty knights and maybe three dozen archers. I’ll be coming, too, of course,” Gunther added quickly.
“There’s me and Flosy.” I waved.
“It’s just a question of the price,” Sven said, his biceps flexing. “But there’s no getting around this—you have to take Fomor’s ships out, or you’ll get hit in the flank sooner or later. I think you can hire 400 or 500 of us without a problem. You’ll even get a wholesale discount. I’ll answer for that.”
“Discounts are good,” the könig replied, pondering something. “So, we have 800, with the same amount in the burgs. They’re hunters, the militia, and everyone else, and I can find another 200 here in the city. But I’ll need two or three days. In total, we have a bit more than 2,000 men.”
“Fomor has about the same,” noted Sven.
“How close is ‘about’?” Harald squinted.
“A couple thousand around the fortress, 100 guards inside, and five ships,” I replied, showing off what I knew.
“Don’t forget old Gedran, damn her,” the corner added.
“So, we have a small advantage,” summed up the könig. “So long as we get everyone off the Sea Kings’ ships onto the shore fast enough. You can hire seven jarls, Sven?”
“Easily. We Sea Kings have been dreaming of taking Fomor out—he doesn’t let us get close to the other side of the bay.” Sven’s face twisted into a nasty smile. “There’s nobody there to rob, of course, but it’s a matter of principle.”
“Understood. Just say how much it will cost, and the treasurer will take care of you,” the könig replied busily, before turning to me. “Hagen, I saw who you came with—servants of one of the Departed Gods, part of the Wild Hunt. I won’t ask how you met them, but I do need to know one thing—are they with us? Each of them is worth twenty warriors, and maybe even more.”
“They’re with us,” I nodded. “But only after we get inside the fortress, since they don’t fight in the sun. And there’s no point in us heading up there at night.”
“Maybe you can bring your other friends?” asked Gunther. “The ones who helped us free the prinzessin?”
“No,” I said sharply. “They’re too much of a hassle, and they’ll only be there to take care of themselves. König, unless you’re looking for chaos, keep the outsiders to a minimum.”
All I needed was a bunch of players ready to write about everything on the forums. Sure, word would leak eventually, and I still hadn’t gotten a chance to lead an army, but it wasn’t worth it. I knew what I was doing.
The könig nodded. “Good. So, it’ll take us a day to walk from Kayger, the closest point to the Ice Wall. Let’s gather the militia and march with the whole army from there. Sven, have the jarls meet us there in their ships. I think everyone will be there in four days, and we can set off then.”
So the grand marshaling will be on Thursday, and the battle will be on Friday. Excellent.
“That’s it then. If everything’s clear, let’s get to work.” The könig clapped. “Send me the couriers!”
Ulfrida jumped up and dashed into the corridor. Democracy in action.
“König, I’ll meet you in Kayger,” I said to Harald, who answered with a curt nod.
The bustle I’d set in motion was taking over the palace, and I had no interest in the rest of the process.
***
Back at the hotel, I decided to see what the könig had given me. In keeping with tradition, they were rare and pointless items, and even just for Level 40. The ring, on the other hand, was much better.
Frost Ring
+14 to strength
+12 to agility
+7% protection from cold
+5% chance of doing cold damage
+10% chance of stealing 200 health from attackers
Durability: 230/250
Minimum level for use: 50
I just happened to have a free finger, so I slipped the ring onto it, distributed my attribute points, and checked out the rune that had suddenly appeared in my bag when I completed the quest.
Gebo Rune
One of a set of runes the gods are said to have created in ancient times.
As long as the rune is in the player’s inventory, the player gets +7% physical protection when playing alone and another +3 to luck when playing in a group.
Check the appropriate table to see the bonuses this rune gives when combined with other runes.
Class limitation: none
Minimum level for use: 45
That made three runes I had. Things were moving along slowly, but the day had turned out pretty well. All right, some of us have forces to gather; others have a pie waiting for them. And pelmeni. And, if I’m lucky, I’ll even get some compote. Everyone knows the key to a happy life is plenty of compote.
Chapter Twenty-Three
In which events tend to resemble more of a kaleidoscope.
That morning, I surprised Vika by jumping up and heading out for a smoke on the balcony, rather than my usual mumbled have a good day and rolling over to go back to sleep. She looked at me askance, wondering what it was that had me more productive than usual.
“Why are you up?” she asked, her voice betraying a note of apprehensive uncertainty, as she poked her head out onto the balcony.
“Oh, I’m coming with you to the office today,” I announced, tickled pink to watch a calloused plastic hand scoop my cigarette butt into the waiting toilet. Such a cool ashtray. What will they come up with next? I’d completely given up tossing the butts over the balcony railing, something the gentleman who always sat outside reading a paper could only have been happy about.
“But it’s Monday…?” I got a kick out of her question, as if going to work on a Monday made me some kind of bizarre phenomenon.
“Yes, it is. Everyone else is going to work, and I’m joining them. I’m part of society, aren’t I?”
Vika got back to doing everything a young woman getting ready for work has to do. She put her makeup on, got dressed and undressed a few times, told me “just a second,” looked for and pulled something out of her purse, put something in her purse, slapped her forehead with an “a-a-ah, of course!” and just did her best to get everything done at once—including, I had to imagine, achieving world peace.
In the meantime, I did what a man heading to work with his woman is supposed to do. I signed an agreement to be patient and keep my mouth shut, after which I sat back and silently watched the goings-on.
After the third “one more minute,” we walked out and headed for the parking garage.
***
There was something about all the movement we spotted before we even got close that unsettled me. I’m not sure why, but police cars never give me a good feeling. Doing my best to rid myself of my foreboding, I hurried
onward.
“There he is! That’s the owner!” yelled one of the guards to a young police sergeant. The former jabbed a finger at me as soon as we got close to the parking garage.
“He’s lying!” I quickly shot back. “I don’t own even a part of the garage.”
“Who said anything about the garage? Sergeant Bobkov, sixth platoon, traffic police,” the officer said wearily. “A Chevrolet Impala, license plate number—”
“Stolen…” I sighed, my fears realized. “Right?”
The stubborn sergeant finished reading off the license plate number before nodding.
“Damn it, what’s with me and American cars?” I pounded my legs with my fists.
“What, you’ve had which other cars stolen?” the sergeant asked reasonably, if less than coherently.
“This is the first one I’ve had stolen; the car I had before the Army just died,” I explained.
The sergeant relaxed after hearing that I’d served and went back to telling me what happened. It turned out that a gang had tied up all three guards, opened the gate, and driven off in my car, obviously in a planned and ordered heist. There were no leads on who they might have been.
“Of course there aren’t. Nobody has anything today. You have no leads, I have no car. And things are going to be great for the garage when I destroy you idiots,” I said, starting to yell at one of the guards. “Do you have any idea how much that thing cost?”
“They just about killed us over your car!” he screamed back. “You had to go and buy yourself a rare car like that. Where do you people even get the money?”
I spat, asked for the garage owner’s number, promised the sergeant I’d be available if he needed me, gave him my number, asked him to give it to the investigator in charge of the case, and turned to Vika.
“All right, let’s go, sweetie. It’s the wonderful world of public transportation for us today.”
Vika perked up when I called her “sweetie,” and spent the whole trip trying to convince me not to be upset. What’s gone is gone, and we can save up for a new car. We make good money now, right? That “we” told me that she was getting her feet under her, had drawn some serious conclusions for herself, and figured I was family-making material. All I had to decide was if I wanted that… I didn’t have to worry about her cheating on me for a year or two, she was a good cook, and she had a head on her shoulders. That last thing, I couldn’t help but note, could have been considered both an active and a passive ability. Just like youth, which, as we all know, fades with time.
Losing the car obviously sank me into a foul mood, and the nervous glances of my team, busy thinking up a thousand reasons why I might have shown up at work, didn’t help. Everything from mass layoffs to figuring out who spilled coffee on the common table ran through their minds—that much I could tell.
Vika shushed them and told them not to bother me, at which point the boys all got to work at their desks. I was about to head for my office when my phone rang.
“Morning, Kif. You were incredible yesterday!” Zimin was bright, chipper, and overflowing with optimism.
“Morning. I did my best,” I replied, though Zimin saw through my futile efforts to match his enthusiasm.
“What happened this time?” he asked quickly.
“My car was stolen, the one you gave me. Right from the parking garage.”
“Okay,” he said, drawing out the word. “Where are you now? At home or at the police station?”
“At the office,” I said with restrained pride. It’s been a tough day, and I’m still here bearing my cross.
“On a Monday?” Zimin asked, surprised. “Although, yeah, there isn’t much for you to do in the game. I’m going to hang up, but I’ll call back soon.”
I felt a little better. Maybe they’ll be able to do something…
“Okay, you rug rats, what’s it so quiet in here for?” I glanced around the office. “Tell the old man what you have for this week’s issue.”
My phone rang again ten minutes later, after I’d had the chance to hear the latest news. We had already found some volunteer reporters among the players, and they were sending their thoughts on the game to the paper’s email address. One of them, a player named Old Dervish, had a particular knack for the job, and his story about a brig called the Nostodomus had us all in tears.
“Hi, Harriton. This is the head of security at Raidion. My name is Ilya Azov.” The voice on the other end of the line was business-like and likable. “We haven’t met yet, though you do know some of my men. And it’s a shame we have to meet like this—there was too much to do at Maxim’s dacha for me to introduce myself.”
“Yes, good afternoon. Well, sort of. This morning—”
“I’m aware,” Azov cut in. “Do you know who’s in charge of the case?”
“How would I?” I chuckled mirthlessly. “Some Sergeant Bobkov took my statement, from the sixth traffic police platoon.”
“Got it.” Something rustled, and I assumed Azov was writing down the sergeant’s name. “Also, give me the address of the parking garage. You don’t have the owner’s phone number, do you? Ah, that’s great. Don’t worry, we’ll find your car.”
“As long as they didn’t already drive it off to some country with long toasts and tangerines,” I replied, sharing my dour misgivings.
“They can take it off somewhere they make their own cigars and drink daiquiris for all I care; we’ll still find it. Anyway, I’ll keep you in the loop. Write down my phone number, and don’t be afraid to call me if anything happens.”
I actually believed him. I’m not sure why, but I felt better immediately. Zimin could tell when he called me.
“I see the blues are in the rearview mirror?”
“Something like that,” I agreed. “If anyone can find the car, I’ll bet it’s that Azov.”
“Yes, that’s the kind of guy he is. Just don’t ask him where he worked before he came here,” Zimin said half ominously and half-jokingly.
“What if I do?” I replied, playing along.
“Then he’ll have to kill you!” Zimin laughed. “Although to be fair, he may have to do that regardless.”
I laughed to fit in, but that was an odd joke…
“All right,” Zimin continued when he calmed down. “Yesterday was incredible. We even brought on dusk a little earlier than usual—it’s just a shame we couldn’t make it completely dark. Still, that holmgang was something! We didn’t even know it was in the code—Kit spent half the night afterward digging around.”
“You were just watching; I was there when Gunnar split the Crooked in two. It looked incredibly natural. I hope Marina wasn’t too scared?”
Vika was eavesdropping not far away, and she scowled when she heard Vezhleva’s name. What did you think? While you sleep, the enemy is working.
“Marina? It wouldn’t scare her if an atom bomb went off in the next building. She likes you, by the way—I’m telling you that man to man.”
“I like her, too.” I winked at Vika.
“Oh, and one more thing; a guy is going to be stopping by today with your money.”
“What money?”
“Paper money, what other kind is there?” Zimin snorted. “If we were in Australia, we’d put it on your card, but this is the best we can do here.”
“Um-m-m…” I still had no idea what money we were talking about.
“Your share,” he explained with a sigh. “We were all betting on you yesterday, some for, some against. Kit, Marina, Bob—you don’t know him—Danilov—the one you saw at my dacha—and I won. Azov bet on you, too, didn’t even give it a second thought. Nine other people didn’t think you could do it, so they bet against you.”
“Their loss,” I replied, throwing in my two cents.
“Agreed. So, we earned a little money, and decided it would be fair to give you 25% of the proceeds.”
“Perfect timing,” I replied, seeing no reason to be coy. “I’ll go buy some kind of car, really anything
I can drive.”
“What are you talking about?” Zimin shot back with surprise. “Why would you buy something when we have a whole fleet of cars? Just call and ask for one, and it’ll pick you up and drop you off wherever you want. You can even use them to send your girlfriend wherever she wants—to the mall, the spa…”
“No, I don’t like that kind of thing. And by the time she gets back… But, more importantly, it’s official, and you know how that goes… It’s not mine.”
“Got it,” Zimin said sympathetically. “Hey, you won’t let all your principles get in the way, will you?”
“What do you mean?” I really had no idea what he was talking about.
“Let me buy you an everyday car, something more modest, and you can be done with it. We can put your Impala in our garage when Azov finds it, that way you can pick it up whenever you want to show it off. Nobody will steal it there—I can guarantee that.”
“No, no principles there,” I said happily. “That would be great.”
“Excellent. Then I’ll send the same guy over as last time, and he’ll get you a car.”
“A—” I was about to say something when Zimin interrupted me.
“No, no, this is from me. I like giving my friends presents. Oh, by the way, if the police call about your car, refer them to Azov. He gave you his number, right?”
“Yep.”
“Then we have a plan.” He hung up.
“What was that about?” Vika asked, walking over. “What’s up?”
“Oh, everything’s fine,” I replied with a smile. “The boss said they’re going to find my old car and even buy me a new one today. This time, something that I can drive around in.”
Vika frowned slightly. Buying something together would have brought us closer, while manna from heaven like that was more likely to drive us apart. I had to put an end to her line of thinking—thoughts like that have to be nipped in the bud. Who knows what she’ll dream up this time?
“Vika, come on.” I took her by the hand. “If we didn’t break up after the other day, I don’t think we’re going to be breaking up. Well, not unless you find someone younger and richer.”
“You idiot!” She playfully punched me in the stomach. “I want to marry you, and that’s not a joke. I’m done joking.”
Winds of Fate Page 31
