The Citadel (Mirror World Book #2) (22 page)

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 — even 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

O
nce 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?"

I shook my head.

She sighed. "I see. Well, the thing is, it's not proven yet..."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'll tell you. Have you ever wondered how the combat account players overcome phantom limb pain?"

"Which pain?"

"Well, it's not exactly what it's called. We just call it phantom pain. You know, when someone loses a limb."

"I know what phantom limb pain is! I just never thought I'd hear it mentioned here."

"Have you already been to a real-world hospital after a mob attack?"

"Yeah."

"Then you probably know that getting wounded in the Glasshouse is not a good idea. And if you do, you shouldn't think about your injury or even look at it. The human brain is a complex thing. You can't imagine how much extra work it made for all those egg-headed researchers."

"I see. I actually wondered about it myself."

"Of course I wouldn't know how to explain it from any scientific point of view..."

"You're not alone," I said. "I have every reason to believe that those 'egg-headed researchers', as you so eloquently put it, have only scratched the surface. I dread to think how much stuff they're yet to discover — things that are both interesting and scary."

"Exactly my point," Nyra said, then warned me in all seriousness, "Now sit still. Don't move."

"Yep."

Obediently I closed my eyes and tried to distance myself from what was going on.

For a few seconds, I felt nothing. I was about to open my eyes when my interface was flooded with messages reporting my miraculous cure.

I looked up at the girl. Her face was flushed with pleasure. She must have received some Profession points — both for healing me and for removing the gag. As far as I knew, the lower the level of the victim and the higher the level of his or her torturer, the bigger the bonus the healer would get.

"Plus four to skill!" Nyra reported, confirming my suggestion. "Wish you got more injuries like these!" she added with a smile.

I chuckled. "I bet you would!"

"A special thanks for the gag," she said. "A very rare debuff. And cast by Jed himself!"

"He's quite well-known in this part of the world, isn't he?"

"Yeah, sort of," she replied, putting all her pots and vials back into her bag.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing," she dismissed my question. "Our clan deputy leader told me to give you a free heal."

"Why would he do that?" I didn't like this sudden show of generosity. Free lunches are rarely a healthy idea.

"Jesus," she sighed. "You really should visit forums more often. You need to study the game. You've just given me the Dark camp's coordinates. This is very valuable intel. My clan is probably storming it as we speak. If we win, it means tons of bonuses for everyone."

"But you weren't the only person I told about the camp. The moment you removed the gag, I PM'd a couple of friends..."

She smiled. "You mean Varn and Uncle Vanya?"

"Yes. But how did you-"

"Cool down. Keep your hair on. There's plenty of work for everyone there. From what I've heard, most high-level Darkies are still alive. Armat and Jed aren't the kind of people you can smoke easily."

"I see," I mumbled, pensive.

"Don't sweat it," she waved her goodbye. "Go get some rest. Better still, click the logout button and get some proper shut-eye. The big bad guys can sort it out between themselves."

I bade my goodbye and headed for the wizard's tower.

Despite the constant rain, the Citadel's streets were packed. The Darkies' Drammen raid had caused quite a stir in the unhurried local lifestyle. The Citadel's inhabitants hadn't been quite so agitated even after the Calteans' bombings.

When I opened the chat, I learned that Armat and his men had given the Lighties a good hiding back in Drammen. I also read a few things I didn't like quite so much. Messages were coming in saying that some very weird mob had put a quick end to the Independents' raid, adding that videos of the combat would be following soon.

Videos! They were the last thing I needed. I just hoped they focused on the brave camp defenders while drawing no unwanted attention to the humble Digger lurking in the background.

I walked down the street deep in thought. Pensive, I paid no attention to the NPCs around me — who admittedly behaved strangely. They cast frowning sideways glances at me, nodding to each other knowingly. They exchanged whispers. I thought at first that it must have been the result of the overall mood in the Citadel, but when I took a closer look, I realized this kind of behavior was reserved for me alone. A dwarf knotted his bushy eyebrows, his glare boring a hole in me. An Alven serving girl looked out of a tavern and gave me a squinted look.

What's up? Anyone? What the hell was going on?

I ran all the way to the wizard's tower.

The NPCs' behavior wasn't good news. Could it be a glitch? Or problems with my account? Or could it be some secret nutty-programmer's setting suddenly activated?

Talk about bad timing. Things had only just started to work out.

I strode across the inner yard and literally stormed into the tower. I slammed the door shut and sank to the marble floor, heaving a sigh.

The reception hall was dim and quiet: a soothing change after the bustle outside. That was it. I'd had my share of adventures for the day. I could finally climb upstairs and catch forty winks.

"Anybody here?"

The wizard's voice sounded so hostile I nearly jumped. The room's stone walls crackled as if surging with electricity. The distinctive smell of ozone filled the air. My reply stuck in my throat. What was wrong with him?

"It's me," I squeaked like a mouse.

"Olgerd? My friend! Is it really you?"

The electrical tension ceased somewhat. I found I could breathe easier now. Phew. That was close.

"It is... It's me."

"But how on earth-" Tronus sounded genuinely puzzled. "Only a moment ago I was sure I had an intruder in here, an enemy. How is it possible?"

I felt myself shaking again. "An en-enemy?" I remembered the NPCs' distrustful stares in the street.

The sound of footsteps came from the staircase. Tronus was coming down. Had he been talking to me from his study? That was several floors above!

The wizard appeared in the reception hall. "You see, my friend, my tower is packed with all sorts of useful spells which can only be activated using this little crystal," he tapped a fingernail on a small stone dangling from his neck. I had a funny feeling I'd seen it somewhere before.

I nodded my understanding. "A burglar alarm, sort of."

"Burglar alarm?" the wizard rubbed his chin. "What an interesting word combination. I must remember it. You're right, I suppose. When fibers of magic encounter something out of the ordinary, they send a signal to the crystal. It's professional, you know. But why are you sitting on the floor? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, thank you," I said, scrambling back to my feet. "I just got the impression I was about to get an electric shock."

"Get what, excuse me?"

"Eh, how can I say it... struck by lightning, if you wish."

"Aha!" he beamed. "You've no idea how right you are!"

"What do you mean?"

"This room was about to turn into the Hall of a Thousand Lightning Bolts. One of my best traps, you know. Look, you've turned pale again! Come on, Olgerd, pull yourself together. Allow me to help you..."

The wizard hurried toward me, then froze not two steps away. "Wait a bit, my friend. What is it you've got there?"

I glanced at my jacket and shrugged wearily. "It's blood. I've been wounded. According to the healer, the spots should disappear after a few hours."

Judging by the expression on the wizard's face, he hadn't even noticed the blood. He'd meant something else, but what?

"I see..." he finally managed. "Go ahead, tell me. Where did you manage to pick up a Caltean Mark?"

* * *

For the next hour, Tronus was plying me with his herbal tea — which incidentally offered an Energy buff just as powerful as the touch of Adkhur's kitty.

He tried to reassure me saying it wasn't serious. Things happen. Just some stupid coincidence.

Admittedly, I came slightly unstuck. Too much had happened in one day. No-Man's Lands, the Darkies' camp, the combat and now this Caltean Mark.

I was forced to tell Tronus all about my escapades: where I'd been and what I'd done there. I told him how I'd looted the abandoned mine and trapped the serpent, then set him free later. I told him how I'd helped the Calteans. This "Caltean Mark" was actually their clan's Reputation I'd received. Somehow NPCs seemed to sense its presence.
Sense?
What was I talking about? They were pieces of program code!

Now I'd have to check the box against
Make your Rewards private.
Problem was, this would automatically make private all the other little prizes and medals I'd earned. Which wasn't a good thing when you had to deal with local guards and such. I got too used to their friendly attitude — and not only theirs but that of all Mirror World's NPCs. It saved one a lot of time. Opened virtually all doors. And now... never mind. We'd make it.

Tronus talked me into showing him my little menagerie. The sight of Boris made him childishly happy. Admittedly he was impressed by Prankster too. Tronus even allowed me to let them out for a walk any time I wanted. He didn't mind them at all.

I sat there talking to him, feeling greatly relieved. I didn't have to lie or conceal anything from him. Such precious moments had to be relished. I was so happy Mila had given me that letter! Had it not been for her and the Captain, I'd have never met Tronus. And I didn't give a damn about him being a piece of program code.

"Actually," the wizard turned away from Prankster and looked up at me, "you can always remove the Caltean Mark at the Obelisk of Light. If one day you discover it's too much of a liability..."

"The Obelisk of Light?"

"You really don't know?"

I shook my head.

"The more I know you, my friend, the more amazed I am at your... eh..."

"Ignorance?" I offered to the embarrassed wizard.

He grinned. "Heh! I was going to say, your recklessness. But your definition is admittedly more, heh, more encompassing."

I grinned back. "I prefer to call a spade a spade. It makes life easier this way. Living in denial progressively lowers your chances of success."

"Absolutely!" he saluted me with his herbal tea mug.

"Talking about ignorance, I think I resemble one very famous detective."

"Oh! How interesting! Never heard about that! Come on, tell me!" Tronus shifted in his armchair and prepared to listen.

"Very well. This detective had a friend, also a healer and a very educated man who, however, was constantly amazed at his detective friend's professional knowledge. He seemed to know everything about poisons, chemicals and weapons. He was always up to date with current court cases and criminal reports in newspapers. At the same time, he had very little idea of most common facts known to every schoolchild. His healer friend was always surprised at this peculiar trait of the detective's mind. So one day they talked about it..."

"Oh! I'm very curious to hear what the detective told his friend. Even though I think I already know..."

"Simple," I smiled. "This is what he said in a nutshell. Imagine that the human brain is an empty attic. Most people use it to store all sorts of garbage — furniture and stuff. And remarkably, they keep it there all their lives."