The Lag (The Game Master: Book #1) (5 page)

Attila darted across the room, heading for the door. Now: command the Eye to soar up, direct it out of the window and refocus the Eye to watch the area behind it, synchronizing its movements with Attila's own. This way he could see his pursuers.

Actually, he already could. Beast, the five legionnaires, the stooping Elf, the kilted agent — all present and correct, chasing after him.

Attila scrambled deep into the thicket where they couldn't see him. His pursuers ran out of the donjon and paused, looking around and listening.

Should he log out and quit the game in a hurry? But that way, he risked losing the Eye. Then he'd have nowhere to get the money from. This was his own fault, choosing the life of a lone recluse. Not a good thing, especially when you're handicapped. Now he had no friends to urgently borrow the money from. So losing the Eye wasn't an option.

Should he hurry back toward the portal station? If he ran they'd hear him but if he walked fast...

He took a few tentative steps, leaving the donjon behind. The hole in the wall gaped right in front of him. Now run, swiftly as a fox.

He climbed out of the hole and crossed the gooey area again, successfully leaving the virtual trap. Hiding in the tall grass, he peered at the portal station. Dammit! They were waiting for him there.

That left him with only one option: Gamekeeper's hut. This was now the nearest portal station. Not the safest of places, considering the ghoul that lived in the marsh nearby. Few players ever ventured there.

He began walking away, listening to the disturbed donjon's noises and to the voices of his pursuers. As he passed some poplars, he was very nearly caught by another aberration, the Stinging Thorns which pierced everyone they trapped with long bone needles. He gave them a wide berth and entered a small grove while controlling the area via the Eye. His pursuers had split: Beast in his bulbous cuirass and stupid helmet was clutching the mace, leading six legionnaires in the same direction as Attila was heading. The second group had taken a sideways route, gradually moving away from him.

The Stinging Thorns were now in Beast's way. If only they trapped his pursuers! But Beast raised his hand, motioning his men to stop. He'd seen it, the bastard. They circumvented the aberration just like he'd done a moment ago and continued on their way.

Attila walked faster. The legionnaires were bound to know about the second portal station. That's exactly why they were moving in that direction. Never mind. If he stayed on top of them, they wouldn't be able to catch him red-handed. Their job was to apprehend an offender
in flagrante
just as the illegal software was changing hands. In order to prosecute him, they needed to catch him in the act. So he absolutely had to beat them to the station. Because if they caught him...

He shrugged the thought away. If they caught him, then he'd have problems. Big ones.

Chapter
Three

T
he Eye soared overhead, leaving in its wake the trail of magic runes melting in the air. Attila watched the view it diligently streamed to his goggles. The grove turned into a woodland followed by some brambles: Attila gave them a wide berth watching out for more aberrations. A forest rose up at a distance.

Attila's hand reached habitually for his sword — and didn’t find it. He'd surrendered all his weapons to that Joel in the tavern, hadn't he? All he had on him now was the forked medallion.

The air grew warmer and began to reek of ozone: a sure sign of an aberration lurking nearby. Attila stopped. He reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a little bone secured on a long piece of colored string. Some aberrations would discharge and lose their invisibility if you hit them with something made either of bone or iron. Then again, you had to find them first, sniffing them out and noting any rapid change in the wind and air temperature. Still, no Pioneer was ever without a rat or bird's bone in his or her belt pouch.

He saw the aberration before he could use the bone. A huge pool of sickly green slime glowed in the opening in front of him. Wasn't he lucky. Everybody called this thing Jelly; while not exactly deadly, it just trapped you for good. No, the Dead Canyon wasn't the right place to rush around. You really had to watch where you were going.

Problem was, he had legionnaires on his tail so he did have to rush.

He hurried to find a way around it, listening to every little noise. Here the trees grew denser, rendering the Eye quite useless: all he could see in his goggles was a sea of tree tops below and an occasional glimpse of his own head.

Soon the forest thinned out. That was weird. He was sure he'd been heading into the thick of it. He started coming across some sick trees, their trunks blackened, their leaves dry and curled. What was this now? What did the Dead Canyon have in store for him?

The answer came soon. It wasn't an aberration that had destroyed the greenery. A murky crimson stream flowed in front of him. The stench of rot assaulted his nose. What's with the water? Could this stream be passing through some cemetery or an ancient pagan god's sacrificial altar?

Attila absolutely had to cross it. The grass and the gray sand of the opposite bank were covered with the yellow fluff of blossoming bulrushes. Attila didn't dare step any closer: bulrushes offered shelter to various nasty critters. He decided to go along the stream's bed. Sooner or later, he was bound to come across a bridge or a shallow.

After a few hundred feet of running upstream, he realized his mistake. The stream flowed out of a long horseshoe-shaped lake. That's right, he remembered, that's exactly what it was called: the Crooked Lake. Further on lay a low hill followed by some marshes where Gamekeeper lived.

The yellow fluff bobbed on the water surface next to the reflection of a large stone pipe. It looked just like a sewage pipe; the problem was, this was supposed to be a world of epic fantasy devoid of technology.

Half-buried in the ground, the pipe led to a far-off wall lined with moss. It was probably some deserted alchemic laboratory that had failed to stop completely, releasing some residual waste into the stream.

Indeed, the water next to the ruins was frothing up, covered with murky bubbles. The end of the pipe closest to Attila was barred with a rusty grate. Below it, large iridescent bubbles were bursting, spreading a stomach-churning stench around.

Running around the lake would take him too long. It was rather narrow, though: swimming across it would be a much faster albeit a more dangerous way.

Attila was about to start running when he noticed his pursuers in the goggles' view. One of them was holding a blind sniffer wolf on a leash. Where had they gotten him from? Last time Attila had checked, the group had had no wolf with them!

Then he realized. It must have been the summoned pet of one of the legionnaires. Which meant there was a pet-controlling wizard among them. Oh well.

Only animal controllers from the Legion's frontier forts could tame blind wolves. If this group had a sniffer like that, you were in trouble. These beasts never lost a scent.

So skirting the lake wouldn't work. The legionnaires were bound to notice him and unleash their beastie who'd catch up with Attila in no time. It looked like a toxic bath for him, then.

The thought didn't scare him that much. He'd have to use some health-restoring elixirs afterward, that was all. Provided some water-dwelling monster didn't drag him down.

Attila stepped into the water. His feet sank up to his shins in silt. Bubbles rose in the disturbed water. It was cold, too. He waded in until the water was up to his waist, then kicked himself off the bottom and began swimming.

"There he is, there!" Beast hollered. "Get him!"

Attila quickened his strokes. He had to make it. He was nearly there. How long was it since he'd swum last? It had been a while. But now that his legs obeyed him, he could move fast enough.

His feet touched the bottom. He'd made it.

He scrambled up the siltless bottom easily and ran, pulling an elixir out of his belt pocket. His wrists stung. What now?

The sensation was familiar. Of course! The yellow fluff wasn't from the bulrushes. Damned aberration again! He'd walked right into Rusty Hair.

The stinging intensified, the skin on his hands rapidly covering with blisters. If he didn't heal them now, they'd burst, transforming into weeping ulcers.

Attila gulped the remaining elixir down and flung the empty vial aside. His hands began to twitch. Oh, no. Did it give you spasms too?

He couldn't stop, anyway. Attila pulled a crystal pill bottle out of his pocket and tried to unscrew the top. His burned fingers didn't obey him. He stopped, trying not to look at them. The acid must have already eaten through his skin and was making its way down to the muscle. Of course he knew that this body was only virtual — but the pain was real enough, even though dulled by the suit's neural filters.

Clenching his teeth, Attila unscrewed the top, poured the compressed magical herbal pills into his hand and threw them into his mouth. The stinging weakened somewhat, replaced by a twitching and watering of his left eye, the one controlling the Eye's view in the goggles.

He heard the sloshing of water behind him.

"No way!" a voice protested. "I'm not going in there! Look at all this! We'll have to go round."

"Shut up!" Beast yelled. "I give the orders! He's trying to get to Gamekeeper's hut! We'll lose him!"

Finally the pills kicked in. The stinging was gone. His left eye wasn't running any more, allowing Attila to see the trees in the Eye's view. He shoved the pill bottle down his pocket and bolted.

Gamekeeper's hut was somewhere ahead. It wasn't hard to find provided you steered clear of the marshes. They harbored all sorts of nasty things and he didn't even have a weapon. But this wasn't the problem even. The ghoul was. He might be lying in ambush near the hut. The monster was strong and cunning which made him a hard win even in full gear. He wasn't the location mini boss for nothing. He could also become invisible. That was part of the game: in order to gain access to the legendary Gamekeeper and receive a rare amulet plus the first task in a large chain of quests that led you to the legendary Forest Fort and Green Queen's treasure, you first had to smoke the ghoul. According to the script, Gamekeeper had run out of arrows and barricaded himself in his hut waiting for help to arrive. If you saved him, the old man knew how to be grateful.

Attila knew all this, of course: Gamekeeper's plotline worked every time for every player. But himself, he was yet to take that route.

To his right, the parting trees revealed a dark patch on the ground just ahead of him. A misshapen helmet and a severed leg still in its boot hovered above it. Round droplets of blood hung in the air. This was a Crusher — yet another aberration that would crumple your body and discard what was left.

Attila slowed down and breathed a sigh of relief. Good job he'd noticed. He really had to be more careful. Lots of people had told him that the area between the Crooked Lake and Gamekeeper's hut was swarming with traps. Few Pioneers ever ventured here due to the lack of artifacts and the sheer danger of the place. Choosing this particular route wasn't a healthy idea. You were much better off circumventing the lake and choosing other approaches to the hut.

Far behind him, water splashed. Someone cussed; the blind wolf growled. Had they really cut across the lake? It sure looked like it. The problem was, the wolf had a nose for aberrations. Which meant that once in the forest, nothing could slow the legionnaires down anymore.

Attila walked around a Witch Fire that droned softly. A dozen paces on, he encountered another Rot: this one was pale, apparently recently discharged. Why? Or... by whom?

He couldn't hear the voices behind him anymore. Not good. He walked faster. How weird. All the aberrations on his way — apart from the Rusty Hair — had been recently discharged. That's why he'd had no problem noticing them. Had someone taken this route just before him, disabling the aberrations by throwing them bones on a string?

He reached for the book and began turning the crystal knobs, adjusting the view. The Eye sped up overhead, checking the area in front. Then it came back. No one.

Attila ran up a low hillock, then crouched in some bushes as he noticed another aberration: a Catapult on the foothill right ahead. He removed the medallion. Triton's Fury had a cooldown of well over an hour which meant it was charged at about 15 or 20% of its normal combat power.

These were the disadvantages of the full immersion mode: you were stripped of all stats bars, markers and even player's name prompts. Naturally, it was done for the better authenticity of your experience: by choosing full immersion you agreed to plunge into this world head first. This was every hardcore gamer's wet dream — but admittedly it had its own cons.

The earth ahead became marshy. Pools of water glistened everywhere. Here, trees were sparser, replaced by bulrushes.

The bushes rustled behind his back. Attila swung round. The unleashed blind wolf poked his head out of the brambles. Attila clenched the forked medallion.

The beast's eyelids were gummed up. Puss clotted the corners of his eyes. The wolf bared his teeth, exposing his bright-red tongue. He growled and charged up the slope.

Once the wolf approached, Attila jabbed him with the fork. The air flashed blue, crackling and smelling of ozone, but the effect was noticeably weaker than earlier in the tavern. With a howl, the wolf threw Attila on his back, pinning him down.

The wolf's jaws snapped right in front of his face, his claws ripping through Attila's clothes. Clutching the animal's throat, Attila kneed him in the ribs, trying to force him off. The wolf struggled free and sank his teeth into Attila's arm. Once again Attila tried to kick him, then managed to force the animal off himself, pinning the wolf down. The animal yelped but didn't release him. Once again Attila tried to struggle free, losing his balance — then the world flickered around him as the two rolled down the slope.

His head hit a rock. Everything went dark. The wolf was as strong as ever, but for some reason, Attila had stopped feeling him. He could see him all right, but the beast seemed to have dematerialized. He was still pinning Attila down but his body began to glow, surrounded by a shimmering aura. The wolf's head extended, his teeth sinking into Attila's body right through his clothes. Like a giant worm, the beast began immersing itself into Attila's body, entering it. What kind of sick magic was this? Did the wolf have any extra functions? Or was it some kind of bug?

A powerful surge of air pushed him. Without noticing it, the two had rolled close to the Catapult, entering its trigger zone. The still-unabsorbed part of the wolf was thrown into the air, ripping it out of its victim's body. Attila watched as a round shimmering entry point in his body gradually closed, changing its color back to normal.

Attila too had been grazed by the Catapult but it was nothing compared to the wolf who was now lying on top of the hill twitching and wheezing. Scrambling to all fours, Attila stumbled away. The hut was within reach now, a thousand feet at the most.

He gulped down another elixir. He now felt strong enough to climb back to his feet and walk faster. This had been his last vial. If only he had a couple more! He still had a handful of pills but they mainly worked against poisoning and magic damage and did little to restore one's strength.

He hobbled on, dragging his feet. The bulrushes rustled treacherously. Colored circles flashed before his eyes. He felt sick.

It wasn't right. He shouldn't feel so bad. Could it be the wolf's attack affecting him? Attila knew too little about this damned full immersion mode. He wondered if the wolf had tried to paralyze him to make sure an immobilized Attila couldn't quit the game. It was a good job he hadn't broken his goggles... actually, he couldn't, could he? Hadn't he seen them marked as
indestructible
the first time he'd used them?

The Eye diligently hovered overhead, indifferent to its owner's woes. He could see human figures approaching the hill from the opposite direction. There was no way he could make it to the hut now. He didn't have time.