“Well, congratulations,” the orc grunted. “You’re now a real tree: Green and covered in birds.”
“If you keep babbling,” I warned, “I’ll find him an instructor that’ll teach him to crap on whosever head I point to.”
As if he understood what we were talking about, the owlet squeaked and stared at the orc with rounded eyes.
“Won’t bother me,” Bogart waved dismissively. “He and I are like Peter Quill and his daddy. Although no, that’s a flawed analogy...Help me out here, Merlin...”
The cat glanced sideways at her owner and began to lick her paw with self-absorption.
“No, you just can’t get good creative help these days,” said Bogart, aggrieved. “Kiera, you’re more clever than me—help me think of something to defend my honor.”
“You can talk less and defend your honor in the process,” I winked at the orc, while Smaug hooted approvingly.
Bogart pulled a distraught face, but given the avatar’s generally brutal and grotesque appearance, this looked more like the face of King Kong, constipated.
“By the way, thank you,” I smiled sincerely at my friend. “Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to handle that mob of Seconds. It seems that you have impressed Geranika. If you’re interested, I could put in a kind word for you.”
“Not until he learns to dress himself like a normal human,” the orc snorted. “It’s like he’s some juggler in the Cirque du Soleil—instead of the chief villain of the most popular game in history. Why the hell do all the bad guys have such tacky fashion sense? Or are they all trying to look like members of M.A.V.O.? Black robes, business suits and idiotically pretentious armor? What kind of example do they set anyway—for the little, future villains of the world, I mean?”
He stuck his knuckles into his hips and stared at me with genuine indignation, as if the choice of Geranika’s wardrobe was somehow my doing.
“Write a complaint to the Barliona art department,” I advised. “As for me, I need to deal with the Guardian’s transfiguration, while my fan club is still resting in the Gray Lands.”
“Try to do without platitudes, ‘transfiguration,’” Bogart counseled. “Give him a Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts and some Wayfarers. Otherwise, I’ll be disappointed in you.”
“It’ll have to be the way it goes,” I spread out my hands. “All I have is a single magic pill.”
“In skillful hands, even a penis will do for a guitar, in a pinch, as it were” the orc parried. “Let’s go, Merlin. We still have a world to save. I don’t know when and from what, but we must be prepared.”
The orc and the sabretooth both turned to me.
“Ah, well, there’s one candidate, a future horsewoman of the Apocalypse,” Bogart remarked casually. “Kiera Khan, if you decide to kick off Armageddon or Ragnarök or Y2K or whatever, make sure to let us know.”
I bowed ceremoniously, waved at Bogart and studied the interface in search of a new function. Yeah, there it is—‘Summon Cicerone.’ The skill was active and I pushed the virtual button. Predictably, the owlet disappeared. How I love an intuitive UI.
My exploration of the guide’s abilities will have to wait. Right now I was more worried about the limited time I had to do Geranika’s quest. I fished an amulet out of my satchel to talk things over with Chip.
“I’m sending you coordinates, Pasha. You can find your POW at that location. But make sure to go by yourself. I have my own plans for him...”
Chapter Twelve
This time no one pursued me, nor tried to kill me, and in general, the journey was incredibly boring. Ordinary players shied away from the blighted parts of the forest, while the weird ones were currently raging about Bogart the Base on the fora, no doubt.
Thanks to the efforts of the Sixth & Co., the blighted ground now formed a labyrinth of paths mazing through the forest. A couple of times, in the renegades’ labyrinth, I turned into dead ends but I caught myself in time and reached the designated point in a little over two hours. To tell the truth, I was afraid to see an honor guard of renegades, but I found nothing of the kind when I got there. In fact, there was nothing special here at all. No crude dungeon, no jailers, no Guardian. But according to the map, he should be here. Think, noggin, think...If you figure it out, I’ll buy you a hat!
A survey of this ordinary swath of blighted forest did not yield any results. The hill, covered with the same sharp thorn-bushes, stood out only thanks to an old, gnarled tree. I’m not much for identifying tree species and when there’s no foliage whatsoever and the branches are all black and twisted, well, there was no chance. In any case, the tree didn’t seem like a Guardian. Crooked, withered, approximately fifteen meters tall, it did not stand out among the other vegetation around here, and it was clearly already blighted, whereas the Guardian should still be untainted.
Damn, I wish I knew what he looked like. What if he’s just a flea, hopping somewhere around here in fancy shoes. Or a squirrel in the hollow of the tree. Or some bark beetle. A giant mole, or a hare...And there is nobody to ask...
Okay. I need to think logically. The renegades couldn’t have simply dumped a cage with the revered Guardian in the middle of the forest. First of all, it seems disrespectful. And secondly, any passerby would find him. And that means that he is somehow hidden from random trespassers. The druids can’t find the Guardian, so he is shielded magically. But since Chip was assigned to look for him and Geranika sent me without any additional instructions, ordinary players should be able to find him.
The first thing I did was pull the Shadow artifact from my inventory and walk in a circle with it. Nothing happened. So let the record reflect this—I’m not much of a psychic. My next experiment involved casting Shadow Haze. If the Guardian was sealed with the help of Geranika, could the use of Shadow will reveal the dungeon?
Nope. All I did was burn the spell for no reason. Hmm. With my intellect, maybe Sasha will give me a job digging holes...
The realization came suddenly. That’s right! Pits! If the prison is here, but I can’t see it, it must be under me!
While I was crawling on my knees searching for a manhole or hatch or some other entrance to the dungeon, I used the opportunity to collect some blighted earth into my empty flasks. I had been meaning to experiment with local recipes for a long time, and some of them required this ingredient. In addition to strategic reserves of mud, I managed to find the disguised hatch, behind which a rather wide, inclined passage descended into the ground.
“Follow the white rabbit,” I muttered and climbed into the hole.
The passage bore an unpleasant resemblance to the throat of some outlandish monster. Slimy and thorny roots that formed a living carpet over the vaults and walls, intertwined on the earthen floor, making it difficult to walk. I spied movement in the murk of the underground passage ahead of me. Like a giant creature was trying to push me out of its throat and through the prickly grater of its jaws. Trying to keep as far as possible from the walls and now and then ducking under the thorny trellises hanging overhead, I cautiously made my way forward.
A Guardian devoured by the blighted forest...Sinister associations stubbornly crept into my head, causing goose bumps along my back. If I’m feeling this way at the entrance, what will happen when I get to the ‘stomach?’
The answer did not take long in coming. The underground passage turned out to be fairly short and led me to a huge cave, which seemed to occupy the entire inside of the hill. The cave’s vaulted walls and ceiling were also covered with trellises of roots, unpleasantly reminiscent of a ball of snakes. Along the walls, here and there, bunches of mushrooms, similar to luminous overgrown toadstools, protruded from the ground.
“If you cross a hedgehog with a snake, you’ll get a meter and a half of barbed wire,” I said, looking up at the tangle of spiked roots. The old joke I’d heard from Pasha helped drive off my unpleasant thoughts. It’s not very comfortable here...not very comfortable at all.
An enormous cage occupied t
he center of the cave. Its bars were fashioned from the roots of the tree growing on top of the hill. Breaking through the vaulted ceiling, they snaked down like giant centipedes, straight through the entire cave and disappeared again underground. Thorny shoots filled the gaps between the thick bars—a cage of thorns that kept the captive imprisoned in his wooden prison. The free space between the improvised bars was occupied by a familiar, swirling fog. Its pale light hinted that the wooden spines were not the only obstacle to freedom.
There were enough gaps between the roots to discern the prisoner in the cage—the Guardian. He was mighty, smelly and hairy. And he was definitely no flea. In front of me stood a four-meter-tall pirq. Level 500.
Black, like the night, the mighty pirq drilled into me with his yellow eyes and vertical pupils. His fur bristled and his lips parted, revealing impressive fangs.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT, TRRAITOR TO YOUR BRREED?”
The roar filled everything around me, making my body tremble. My legs faltered and I collapsed to my knees, unable to bear the onslaught of the Guardian’s voice. I wanted to curl up and cover my head with my hands, shutting off the overpowering roar. My head was spinning, debuff icons appearing and disappearing chaotically, but I did not even try to delve into the interface. Struggling with my sudden weakness, I slowly crawled to the exit of the huge hole. Every now and again stumbling over the tree roots, I finally managed to get out into the open.
I felt some relief. The pile of debuffs was gradually expiring and my mind was clearing. It was evident that I would not survive a conversation with the Guardian. That was one killer voice.
Sitting down at the entrance, I began to consider my options. How could I complete this quest? Maybe I can bean the Guardian with that orb from afar? I’ll ask Sasha ‘n’ Pasha to fabricate a cannon or at least a slingshot and then I’ll shoot the orb straight into the Guardian’s maw when he starts to roar from a nice distance where it won’t be so loud...Wait...Not so loud eh?
I grabbed the eid and cautiously tiptoed down the passage, hashing out my plan as I went. As soon as the cage of roots with its prisoner came into view, I touched the strings and cast Canopy of Silence. The spell covered the cage and its captive, muffling whatever noise the big pirq was bellowing up inside. Seeing me, the Guardian stirred, started and snapped open his mouth...yet not nothing followed. No debuffs, no nausea. I still wanted to get away from his menacing appearance, but that urge I could manage.
One of the protruding roots seemed quite comfortable so I sat down on it, without interrupting the classic Angra riff I was using to channel the spell. My fingers moved on their own, permitting me to concentrate on my surroundings.
Above all, I was interested in the sphere of fog that surrounded the Guardian. I did not believe for a second that some roots could contain a monster like this. It would take reinforced concrete at the very least. So he had definitely been fettered by some kind of magic. And how did get this giant into this hill anyway? It sure as hell wasn’t the same way I’d come in from.
Looking closer at the foggy haze, I noticed a few shades, like the materia shades that danced under my feet. But if mine had a defensive function, then these it seems were like jailers. However, I could neither select them nor check their properties. Okay. Well what about the sphere itself? Can I step through it or what? And how am I supposed to stick the artifact into this irate NPC? Orally? And have my hand loped off? Why, this fellow could swallow me whole, artifact and all. Though what’s the alternative? Build a slingshot?
Damn that Geranika...
For the sake of curiosity, I grazed the cage’s foggy surface with one shoulder. The fog rippled with an iridescent effect, not unlike that of the Arras. Immediately after this, three shades flew out of the fog and began spinning around the Guardian’s head. He growled silently, jerked and collapsed to the earthen floor. Then the cage’s roots parted, forming a small passage.
Kewl. Protection from Geranika and a service for the renegades. So, in order to complete the quest, it is enough to enter the cage with the immobilized Guardian and, uh, administer the artifact. Now should I slice him open with a dagger, the way Geranika had done to the sentries, or thrust the orb into his mouth without trying to be fancy? Shouldn’t be too hard considering that I can fit entirely into that overgrown pizza oven of a kisser. All I had to do was wait for Chip to show up.
I moved away from the cage and the wooden bars closed again. The shades immediately returned to their places, unpinning the Guardian. The pirq remained prone on the ground for a while, then staggered up to his feet, gave me a withering look, and sat down heavily on the floor. Channeling the Canopy of Silence was steadily eroding my mana so I finally decided to leave the cave and wait for Pasha outside.
He did not take long. No sooner had I started getting bored than a lump of white fur came tumbling out of the forest and seeing me, roared happily:
“Knock-knock-knocking on heaven’s door...”
A blighted wolf burst from the thicket and immediately aggroed Chip. Chip, without pausing his singing, turned on his heels and met the beast with the tip of his halberd. Despite switching to the druid class, he did not want to change weapons. A psycho—what do you want?
“Why aren’t you wearing your muzzle?” Chip dumped the aggressive beast to the ground and immediately impaled it with a coup de grace.
“And where the hell is animal control?!” the pirq asked rhetorically when the wolf disappeared.
“You are animal control,” I deadpanned. “By the way, do you understand that you are playing a caster class?”
Pasha had already ascertained that ‘caster’ referred to any class that specialized in magic.
“Lady Luck smiles on all equally,” he shrugged. “So there’s no need getting hung up on my poor lot. Where is the patient?”
“In a damp cell below,” I waved my hand at the entrance to the giant hole. “Only don’t even think of springing him—I need to seduce him to the dark side of the Force first.”
I took the Shadow artifact out of my inventory and showed it to Pasha.
“Astilba expressly forbade Geranika from getting his paws on the Guardian. She even enchanted the cell with a protective spell that only pirqs and biota can penetrate. She is sure that the locals would never hurt their Guardian. He’s like a saint here or something. So the Lord of Shadow offered me an internship in exchange for desecrating the most precious creature of my race. When I insert orb A into slot B, the Guardian will become a part of our gloomy band,” I explained.
“Kiera, you do understand, that this is your in-game Rubicon?” asked Chip.
“I understand very well and I’m not happy about it,” I sighed sadly. “If Astilba learns of this, she will never forgive you. Nor anyone else in this place. You may as well kiss the Portulac quest goodbye. But there is not much choice. There’s no place for me in the Hidden Forest. In a few days, high-level players from the Dark Legion will start showing up and then I’ll have a hard time leaving the respawn area. Both empires already hate me, and my level isn’t high enough to flee to the Free Lands. Some other time, I would say the hell with it, simply delete my character and roll a new one but now...with Eid and the souls I can summon...I’ll lose Anica and Salamander if I delete my Lori. Geranika represents the possibility of playing on for the Shadow Empire.”
“Yes...” drawled Chip. “That’s one heck of a stew you’re stirring up. Let me go and take a look at this Guardian fellow.”
And, without waiting for my response, he darted down the passage. The funny part is that I heard no roar this time around. I guess the Guardian liked his pirq brethren more than me. Chip crawled out a couple of minutes later, looking surprisingly pensive.
“Don’t transform him...” he asked softly.
“What? Why?”
“Just don’t,” Chip shot back, curtly, without a smile.
I stared at him blankly.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nuthin’. Can we just n
ot spoil things in here? Can we? Can we at least act better in VR than in real life?”
“Pasha,” I reminded him, “it’s just a game. This is a scenario. A scripted event in which some play heroes and others villains.”
“Why that’s all I ever hear—everywhere!” Chip barked unexpectedly. “Everything’s a goddamn game. Only in some places when you die you sit out for twelve hours—and in others you die for good. And the one common denominator is the shitty things we do—whether here or there.”
I listened to my friend’s angry speech and tried to understand what had caused such a reaction. What did the Guardian tell him in there? Whatever it was, it had really gotten to him...
“My playing on the side of the villains didn’t bother you earlier,” I reminded him cautiously. “What’s changed?”
“Earlier, you weren’t about to kill a defenseless creature who’s locked in a cage,” Chip answered in a strangely changed voice.
He turned away without another word. I looked at my friend in bewilderment, unable to understand what was happening. And something was clearly eating him. Something bad. And this something hadn’t started here and now but elsewhere and earlier. And it was much more real.
The pirq’s shoulders sagged and for a moment the mighty beast looked powerless. It was like the sight of the helpless prisoner, awaiting his demise, had extinguished Chip’s customary pep and enthusiasm.
I glanced at the entrance to the Guardian’s prison and rubbed my temples with my fingers. If I don’t complete Geranika’s quest, it’s all over. No game empire will accept me. The Dark Legion will eat me alive. And in the Free Lands it will be the NPCs, whose minimum level was 100. The last thing I wanted was to lose this character with her ability of traveling to the Gray Lands and summoning the souls of the dead.
Yet something told me that if I blighted the Guardian, my friendship with Chip would come to an end. He won’t make any scenes or kick me out of his place. But everything will change. He won’t smile at me anymore.
A Song of Shadow (The Bard from Barliona Book #2) LitRPG series Page 26
