by Rachel Ford
Karag barked out a laugh. “Except, you are both.” Without a word of warning, he stepped forward, seized the dwarf by the leg and flipped him upside down, shaking him until the purse clattered to the ground. Half a dozen coins spilled out, rolling this way and that.
“Not a copper, eh?” Jack repeated.
Migli sputtered with indignation, and Arath laughed out loud. Ceinwen, meanwhile, counted the coins. “Only thirty gold, Jack.”
“Well, looks like you’re still in trouble with the mayor’s lackey. But the show was worth it anyway,” the ranger said.
Karag set Migli down with a growl and turned Arath’s way. “Let’s see what a good shake does to you.”
“Be my guest,” the ranger shrugged. “I promise you, it’s tucked in there nice and tight. It’s not going to slip.”
“You’re disgusting,” Ceinwen said.
He just grinned though. “I figure, anyone’s going to rob me, they’re going to have to work for it. I might as well get something out of it too, eh?”
Jack shivered and turned to Ceinwen. “Okay, with Migli’s coins, and my gold – sugar. We’re still almost three hundred short.”
Migli scowled at the ranger. “Er’c, you could use one of those fireballs. Purify the coins by fire.”
Arath laughed. “Don’t be bitter, Migli. If you’d planned ahead, you’d be a whole thirty gold richer.”
The comment positively enraged Jack. As much as he detested Migli at times, right now he hated Arath worse. In his mind, he again saw the other man’s smarmy, faux generosity as he took everyone’s orders – right before he charged them all to Jack’s tab. He wanted to make the ranger pay for everything he’d done, as much for the principle of it as anything else.
But he sure as hell wasn’t going to go stick his hands down anyone’s underwear for it, either. “Light him up, Er’c,” he decided.
But Er’c didn’t light him up. The boy let his fireball sputter out and said Arath wasn’t worth it. “Forget him, Sir Jack. I will give you my purse, though it is slim.”
The ranger laughed. “There you go, little orc. Rein your murderous instincts in.”
“I’ll pitch in as well,” Ceinwen said. “I drank tea and ate food he ordered. You can take what you need, Jack.”
“As generous as she is beautiful,” Arath opined.
“I too fell for the worm’s schemes,” Karag said.
“Yes you did. Whatever you giants have in size over us, you lack in brains, I’m afraid.”
“I will pay my share.”
Arath seemed amused rather than chastened by the events of the afternoon. He taunted his companions, and showed not a sign of remorse.
Migli ranged between indignation at having been “tossed around like a ragdoll,” contrition at “the role I played in this misunderstanding,” and white-hot rage at Arath. He started to sing again, this time about a viper who needed to be stamped into the dirt, then a snake that led his friends into ruin and humiliation. As allegory went, it couldn’t have been more thinly veiled.
Karag murmured that it might be time to reconsider the makeup of their party. Ceinwen took Jack aside and whispered in his ear that this might at last have been too much. “His recklessness, his greed, might have ended our entire quest, Sir Jack. And even when he has the chance to rectify it, he refuses: he would sell the fate of the entire world for gold.”
Er’c just watched Arath. Jack had never seen the boy look quite so angry. Hell, he couldn’t remember seeing him angry at all. The young orc had the gentlest temperament he’d ever encountered. Only now, he was staring murder at the other man.
And as for Jack, well, he concurred entirely. He hadn’t wanted Arath on his team in the first place. The game had saddled him with the ranger. If this was his way out, his way to ditch the other man? Well, he’d take it. The cost would be worth it.
On that front, at least, Jack’s situation wasn’t quite as dire as it had originally seemed. Taking his companion’s money into account, he retained two hundred and forty-three pieces of gold.
Not much – a far cry from the eleven hundred he’d had before. But at least he wasn’t flat broke. Two hundred and forty-three was two hundred and forty-three better than zero.
Time ticked by. Arath went on taunting his companions, and they went on looking like they might murder him at any moment.
Then the hour passed, and Marsha Wellington showed up again. She was as pretty as she’d ever been, but she looked drawn. “Well, Jack,” she said, “you’ll be happy to know that the foxes you rescued are all alright. The mayor’s groundskeeper took them in.
“And I’ve talked with Andrew. He told me everything that happened, all about William the Wanderer and the demons.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe it. Poor Ashford. Poor, poor Ashford.”
Now, she studied Jack. “I can’t decide if you’re mad or not, to pursue this. But – well, I guess I understand the stakes a little better now. I’m sorry I didn’t understand it earlier.”
Jack murmured out a reassurance, that it was all okay.
She didn’t seem convinced. She wondered how much time had been wasted. “I hope we’re not too late.”
“We?”
“But I think I have what you need – the map, to the fortress you’re seeking. It’s far from here, over the mountains, by the sea. Many days away. You will need provisions, and a way over the mountain.
“Which is why I will be coming with you.”
Jack blinked. “What?”
She nodded. “I will come with you, Jack. I know the way across the mountains.”
Migli stared at her. “You do?”
“I do. I have dealt with Delling before, many times. I know the way to his hall – to Ivaldi’s Hall – and to the road beyond. We will save weeks going that way.”
Jack nodded slowly. He understood now, or thought he did anyway: his companions and he were about to turn Arath away. And lo and behold, a hero appeared to take his place. He smiled. “Welcome to our party, Marsha.”
She smiled too. “But first, we must get you out of here.”
“Right.” Jack stretched out his palms with the bag of gold in his hands. “We have pooled our resources and come up with the sum you require.”
She nodded. “Good. Although, I was prepared to pay the difference myself. But I am glad you settled your debt, Jack. It reinforces that I have made the right call in trusting you.” She reached her hand through the bars and took the gold. And in exchange, she placed a key in his hand. “Here is the key to your cuffs. Free yourself, and your companions.
“I shall go and speak to the guard. He will release you, and we will leave at once.”
Jack nodded. “Alright. And – thank you.”
She smiled again – a soft, sad smile. “Don’t thank me yet, Jack. I may just be hastening all of our deaths. But we cannot sit by and do nothing.”
Then she turned, and took a step away from the cell, and then another.
And Jack’s world went dark.
Chapter Fifteen
Wellington seemed to have crossed an invisible threshold – because, all at once, Jack’s avatar vanished, and so did his companions. So did the cell.
He found himself suddenly staring at the same fortress he’d seen days ago. The sky darkened, and the sea roiled. A foreboding score accompanied the cinematic.
And no wonder: the view focused on Kalbidor. The great, red-eyed demon stood over an altar, a dagger in his hand.
Not just any dagger: the titular Dagger of Doom. He’d pulled it from its ornate, black sheath, and the blade gleamed silver in the dimming light. Lightning split the sky all around.
And before Kalbidor, shackled to a stone altar, lay a man. Jack didn’t recognize him, but he recognized the desperation in his eyes as he stared at that blade. He was breathing heavily. Terror filled his face as he lay there, his arms and legs stretched taut against the stone.
The demon spoke in low tones, chanting in a language Jack didn’t
know – the language of demons, presumably. It sure sounded hellish: low, guttural and absolutely terrifying.
Red and black clouds filled the sky, and purple lightning flashed. Thunder boomed, and wolves howled on the horizon. Ogres whimpered and covered their ears in the background, and goblins screeched and pawed at the dust underfoot. Prisoners trembled in their cages and shackles. The demons, though, stood tall and proud, roaring with excitement.
Kalbidor went on chanting. A massive black dragon flew overhead, belching dark fire and letting out bone-chilling screeches. The sky roiled and raged until blackness settled over all the land.
A purple mist rose from the earth. The altar glowed, and the figure upon it began to writhe and scream – in terror or pain, Jack couldn’t tell. Then Kalbidor brought the dagger down in a swift, terrible motion. It plunged into the shackled man’s heart. He jerked against his chains once, as blood poured from the wound. Then he slumped backward, dead, and Kalbidor took the dagger away. Blood flowed freely over the stone, glowing in purplish hues as it touched the altar. A deep, terrible thrumming sound began.
And all around Jack, the monsters – demons, ogres, goblins and bone men alike – fell upon the prisoners. Screams rose up as the work of butchery ensued.
But in a moment, the heroes lay dead. The earth leeched up their blood. And the thrumming got louder and louder.
Then the altar erupted in a vortex of purple flame.
But no, Jack realized, it wasn’t flame. It was a portal to a world of infinite darkness and flame. Terror filled his soul as he gazed into it. And then a creature rose.
A terrible, horned creature. It stood out of the void, with eyes black as night, and skin pale as winter frost. The dagger in Kalbidor’s hand glowed with a sizzling, green heat. Then the blade crumbled into a powdery dust, and the green mist swarmed around the newcomer.
Its eyes glowed with a reddish light now, and all around the demons fell to their knees, chanting, “Iaxiabor. Iaxiabor.” Even Kalbidor dropped to a knee and bowed his head. Red and purple lightning split the sky.
The pale demon – Iaxiabor – took a long breath. Jack had the idea that he looked something like a cave fish, with his pale, lumpy flesh. He was almost disappointed. Kalbidor, with his glowing hell tattoos or runes or whatever they were – he looked like a badass.
But Iaxiabor? He just looked like a fat fish.
Then the fish spoke, and Jack reconsidered. Iaxiabor’s voice crackled like lightning. It boomed like thunder. It sends shivers up his spine and seared his thoughts. “I have heard your call, my children. I am returned again to this plane – and this time, I will not be leaving.”
The demons roared their approval. Kalbidor raised his head to smile a wicked grin.
“The blood of a thousand heroes summons me, strengthens me; nourishes me. Soon all of mankind, all the elves, and all the dwarves, and all the orcs – all the fools of the world – shall nourish us.”
Again, they roared and cheered.
“But listen, my sons, my children of darkness: there still beat the hearts of heroes out there. And while they draw breath, they remain a threat to us.
“So from the blood of those slain, with the powers of hell at my command, I unleash a new darkness on the world. From the halls of elves to the fortresses of men, let heroes become stone everywhere.”
A hideous purple and green vapor rose from the blood of the slain. The image panned out, until Jack could see for miles. The fume rose and traveled – and his view went with it. He saw kings he didn’t know upon their thrones, turned suddenly to statues. He saw elven lords freeze in place, still as mountain stone. He saw men in combat, suddenly immobile while hordes of evildoers swarmed past them.
And then he saw himself and all his companions in their cell, and Marsha a few steps away. It felt weirdly discombobulating and unsettling, to see himself in third person like this – as a spectator, staring at the avatar he’d for so long inhabited.
But then the vapors reached the cell. It washed over the group one at a time. Jack watched in horror as Migli froze in place, and then Ceinwen and Er’c. Little Frosty turned to stone in the cell beside them, and so did Marsha outside their space.
The haze passed by Arath and washed around Karag. It settled on Jack – the avatar – for a moment. But a strange blue light issued forth from the enchanted amulet he wore – a trinket he’d picked up from a dead scavenger, many play hours ago. It encircled the avatar in a kind of protective shroud; and the vapors passed by, leaving him unscathed.
They went through the prison, turning a few prisoners and a few guards to stone. They passed into the courtyard where Shimmerfax had been secured; and the glittering battlecorn turned into a shimmering block of stone. The vapor passed through the city, turning random civilians and soldiers alike into rock.
Then the cinematic returned to Iaxiabor. He stood with his pale, fleshy hands raised heavenward. “It is done. Only one place remains untouched: the kingdom of dwarves who live in the mountains, whose magic is too great to be touched by this spell.
“You must go there, my loyal Kalbidor. Lead an army. Destroy the dwarves yourself. They are the last stronghold of heroes. When they fall, all the world will fall.”
Jack stood panting in his cell. The cutscene had ended, returning him to his avatar – to a cell full of stone figures. He felt a burning in his chest where the amulet hung, and he fished it out from under his armor and looked at it. Its gems glowed with the magic of enchantment, and it felt hot to the touch, like a tool that overheated with excess use.
He’d found this particular treasure on the borders of King Miradorn’s realm, carried by an adventurer who died trying to rob the ancient elven king. Until the present moment, he’d never put its magic to the test. But the game listed its value and its properties:
Protects the wearer from curses.
He glanced up from the shimmering jewels to his frozen companions – to Marsha Wellington, a strange statue of the woman who had only just gone to free them; to Migli, his expression of surprise memorialized in stone; to Ceinwen, her brow knit in concern; to Er’c, some kind of magic hovering above his fingers – now turned to stone along with him.
I guess that’s my proof that this thing works. At the same time, the game sent a series of alerts through his thoughts.
Iaxiabor cast a terrible spell to turn all the world’s heroes to stone. Only the realm of the dwarven king Delling is immune. Most of your companions are trapped in stone. Kalbidor and his demon hordes are marching to Ivaldi’s Hall to destroy the last free heroes.
Objective added: Find the dwarven king
Objective added: Work with Delling to reverse the curse, and discover how to free your companions
Objective added: help defend Ivaldi’s Hall against the coming demon invasion
Jack looked around the cell. He had the key to his shackles, which was a step in the right direction, of course. But even once he’d freed his hands – well, he was still stuck in a cell with a bunch of stone companions.
Then, he frowned. A bunch of, but not all. Of his party, the ranger and the giant seemed untouched. Iaxiabor’s spell had simply bypassed them.
“Odin’s beard,” Arath was saying. “What kind of demon magic was that?”
“A spell,” Jack answered, “to turn heroes everywhere into stone.”
The three men exchanged glances, slowly and quietly as the implication seemed to dawn on them. Finally, Arath said, “Oh.”
And Karag said, “Interesting.”
Jack said, “Very. You’re an Obsidian Isles operative, Karag, so I guess I’m not surprised.”
“Preposterous. How many times do we have to go through this, Jack?”
“But you, Arath – you’re supposed to be one of the good guys.”
The ranger laughed. “I don’t remember promising anything of the sort. I’m trying to stop the end of the world. I’m no fool. But nor did I claim to be a hero.”
Karag fixed Jack with a pointe
d look. “And not to put too fine a point on it, Jack – but we’re not alone.”
Arath cackled with delight. “That’s right. You’re here with us, mate. Pretty little Ceinwen: she’s been turned to stone. And goody-two shoes himself, Er’c: rock solid. Even Migli, the dodgy bugger: he’s frozen solid. But not you, mate. You’re here in flesh and blood with the other dregs of society. Not so high and mighty after all.”
Jack frowned at him, and the obvious pleasure he was taking from his assumptions. He tapped the amulet he was still holding. “This protects me from curses.”
Arath laughed. “Right. You’re not stone because of a bauble? Well, maybe that’s my excuse too.”
“It’s not an excuse, it’s the truth.”
“How did you retain that,” Karag asked, “when the guard took your possessions?”
That was a good question, for which Jack had no good answer – no good answer, anyway, beyond it being a videogame. He couldn’t turn to stone. Not as the player. So the game needed him to retain the protective amulet; and, somehow, he had. But he couldn’t explain that. Not to one of the NPC’s. “I guess they missed it.”
“Sure they did,” Arath laughed. “That’s some impressive sleight of hand for an honest man.”
“Sounds like something a pocket picker would know how to do,” Karag agreed. “It sounds to me like we’re not the only ones with secrets, Jack.”
Chapter Sixteen
Inexplicably, Jack wasted a good twenty minutes arguing with his remaining companions as to who among them were the true liars and cheats. He maintained that he’d survived the purge of heroes only on account of his amulet. He’d even encouraged them to feel the amulet and see for themselves how hot it had gotten.
They dismissed this as evidence of nothing beyond the bauble’s temperature. Which, he supposed, was a fair objection. They had no baseline to compare it too, so no way to know that it shouldn’t be as hot as it currently was – no way beyond his word on the matter. But that being the thing in question, it didn’t really count for much.
