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THE VILLAGE OF TIKOS was conveniently located by the foothills of the mountain I’d landed on a few hours ago. The Great Ocean spread before me. The Tallian Prairie lay behind me. That’s where I’d taken my first Mount Riding lessons.
Despite the early hour, the village was bustling with life. No wonder: it may be night in Europe but across the Atlantic the day was still in full swing.
This time I’d decided not to bother with any disguise. I simply kept a low profile, attracting occasional curious glances. A level-50 Alven lady lingered by the door of a magic shop, her amazed gaze filled with recognition.
That felt admittedly funny. They probably viewed me as some sort of legendary high-level player. On my way to the riding hall, I hadn’t met a single player whose level was higher than mine. In a way, this was flattering but still I shouldn’t give in to the illusion. They could look at me all they wanted but none of them had yet attempted to speak to me.
Which suited me just fine. All I wanted was to reach the riding hall without any more surprises.
I saw a tavern and hurried to cross to the other side of the road. It was dimly lit; two of the streetlamps weren’t working. Excellent. I took a shortcut through a dark side street stinking of rotten vegetables and cat piss.
Where to next? In front of me lay a public garden. Good. I hurried toward it. Quality gear was a great thing. It gave you this invincible feeling.
I moved through the garden in short bursts, lurking in the shade of the trees. My heart was about to jump out of my chest.
Finally, I forced my way through the garden hedge and stopped, facing a small square. The gate of the riding grounds was visible at its far side.
I lingered in the shadows, watching. Someone short and stocky — could be a dwarf or a Dwand — sneaked through the gate. A tall blond Alven archer with a quiverful of arrows slung on his back followed him.
That seemed to be it. All was quiet. Off we go.
I crossed the square in two heartbeats.
Now the gate. I hurried to enter.
Finally I could catch my breath. No one had attacked me yet. And I knew that all fighting was off limits in the riding school.
“Ah-ha,” a familiar voice said behind me. “Look who’s here!”
I turned round.
Master Rotim hadn’t changed. Same bronzed skin and clean shaven chin, his slanted eyes watching me closely from under his closely cropped hair.
“Greetings, Master,” I said. “I’m so happy to see you. I feel flattered you remembered me.”
“How could I ever forget! A Miner wishing to learn mount riding!” he curved his mouth in a sarcastic smile. “Or should I say, a renegade warrior wanted by the Mellenville authorities?”
I was speechless. That’s what the absence of Reputation can do for you.
Master Rotim must have noticed my hesitation. He waved a nonchalant hand, “I shouldn’t take it too seriously. I don’t care if you have problems with those paper-pushers. I can tell you everything about them myself. They don’t know what they want, the bastards!”
That was an oversight on my part. I really should have checked his story out in Wiki. He sounded like someone with a bit of a past.
I nodded my understanding. “I bet. Today they shower us with privileges, and tomorrow-”
“And tomorrow they give us the boot and send us to some God-forsaken prairie to teach wannabe cowboys how to tell a horse’s head from its backside,” he ended my sentence for me.
Aha. He wasn’t too happy with the powers that be, was he?
Actually, he was one of the very few NPCs I’d seen outside Mellenville or the Citadel. In a way, he too was an outcast. Just like myself.
“Never mind,” he waved a dismissive hand. “You’d better tell me what brought you here this time. Will I be able to finally see your mount?” his suntanned face dissolved into a cunning smile.
He must have known I’d had a mount all along, he’d just been too tactful to press the subject. Then again, what was I saying? Of course he knew. He was only a computer code. He was part of the Mirror World system.
By way of an answer, I activated both summoning charms. First Prankster’s, then Boris’.
Rotim’s previously slanted eyes took on the shape of two saucers. I thought he’d stopped breathing. He just stood there like a salt pillar.
Ignoring the transfixed riding instructor, Prankie set off to inspect the new territory. He was now the size of a young panther clad in armor from head to toe. No wonder Rotim looked impressed.
A few players beelined for us. I didn’t mind. Let them look.
Sensing my frame of mind, Boris reared up, showing off the ashen gray span of his wings. His gorgeous armor glistened in the moonlight. He looked good even if I say so myself.
The players surrounding us studied him in admiration. A dark-haired girl opposite me covered her mouth in awe in a funny childish gesture. Heh. These weren’t your regular common-or-garden pets. These were relic animals. I still couldn’t believe my own luck.
Master Rotim was the first to come round. With a gulp, he took his eyes off Boris and looked around him. He didn’t look too pleased.
“What are you staring at?” he shouted at the players. “I thought you had a job to do? Or do you think manure will disappear on its own while you’re fooling around?”
The players promptly made themselves scarce. What remarkable obedience. He must have issued them some really important quests. That was the answer to my question of how they managed to keep the place so clean.
My chat box started pinging. Someone was desperately trying to contact me — one of the players I’d just seen, most likely. Sorry, guys. I’d have to deal with you later.
“Olgerd,” Master Rotim’s voice shook with emotion. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? This is a Night Hunter! And a Black Grison! How is it possible?”
Oh. How interesting. “You’re full of surprises, Master Rotim,” I said. “I had no idea you were familiar with these breeds. Your erudition is impressive.”
“Thank you,” he said with a small bow.
I could see in his face he was pleased with my flattery.
“May I touch him?” he asked in a voice filled with reverential awe.
He was impressed, wasn’t he? “Absolutely,” I said, sending Boris a mental command to approach.
Boris obediently froze a couple of feet away from the riding teacher.
Rotim’s shaking hand lay on the beast’s neck, his fingers stroking the silvery feathers.
“You’ve no idea what seeing him means to me,” his voice rang with regret. “I grew up on legends about the great Night Hunters and their riders. My grandfather used to tell them to me as bedtime stories.”
“And now you discover that one of those riders is your own student,” I added, smiling.
Rotim laughed softly, trying not to scare the motionless animal. Finally, he wiped his tears and said, “I know it’s none of my business but would you care to answer a question?”
“Depends what it is.”
“Are you a descendant of the Der Swyor clan?
I froze in place, flabbergasted. “How do you-
He chuckled. “You too are full of surprises. You don’t have to answer my question. I already know. And as for my, as you put it, erudition... That too is my granddad’s influence.”
I couldn’t believe it. It looked like I’d finally stumbled across a clue, after all. And in Rotim’s stables, of all places!
“Would you care to listen to one of my granddad’s tales?” Rotim asked.
“Honestly, I was just going to ask you the same thing. Please do,” I coughed, clearing my suddenly tense throat.
“It’s not very long,” Rotim reassured me, then began his tale,
“Deep in the mountains in days of yore
Amid all the stones and layers of ore
A master craftsman finished in his lair
His last most amazing ware.
In awe he stood before his great work,
The marriage of magic and steel,
But then the Mountain King went berserk
And the treasure he planned to steal.
To the craftsman’s house his guards would go
On the orders of the king
For to seize the fruits of the master’s work
And forth the capital to bring.
Then all the workers laid down their tools
And took up arms to a man
In order to save the master’s great work
And thwart the king’s scheming plan...”
He paused, whispering something with his eyes closed as if trying to remember what came next. He didn’t look as if he’d succeeded, though.
“Shame,” he sighed. “I used to know the entire ballad by heart. I must be getting old...”
“Can you just tell me what happened next?” I asked.
“Well, to cut a long story short, the master’s apprentices weren’t the only ones who took his side. The leader of the Der Swyor clan offered the old man their protection. His warriors were known as the Wings of Death. They used to ride Night Hunters.”
I gulped. The belt buckle in my bag! Apparently, it had a fine history.
“...Unfortunately,” Rotim continued, “the Der Swyor troops suffered a resounding defeat. The King under the Mountain was so furious that he ordered his men to kill each and every one of the Der Swyor. There was something else I couldn’t understand as a child. According to my granddad, the king was so furious he even had all the Grisons exterminated. Why would he do that? They’re such beautiful animals!”
“You’re lucky,” I said. “But I can tell you why. They killed Grisons — although as you can see, they failed to eliminate them completely — because they served as a silent reminder of the crime they’d committed.”
“I still don’t understand. Why Grisons?”
“They had the misfortune of being part of the Der Swyor emblem.”
“I see,” Rotim said darkly. “You know, sometimes I ask myself why animals can’t live on their own without the interference of humans? The world would have been a much better place...”
He heaved a sigh, then continued in a more cheerful tone, “Never mind! Enough sadness. You never told me why you came. Having said that... don’t. I think I know.”
He gave my pets a quick once-over and pronounced his verdict,
“Your Hugger has grown a lot. His magic abilities need fine-tuning. I think I could raise his Flight to level 3. That way his range would double. He’ll also be able to carry four more items. And most importantly, he’s now strong enough to carry two riders.”
“Excellent!” I stroked Boris on the head, unable to suppress my excitement.
Rotim smiled. “That’s not all. His ability to temporarily stun the enemy...”
“Yes, the Triumphant Crow!”
“I think I can bring it up to level 2. That would double the stun times.”
“Excellent.”
“Now, your Grison. This beast is born to defend his master. His ability to repel part of the damage dealt to his owner deserves to be doubled. His healing ability can be trebled. There’s something else I could do: I could make him heal any other person of your choice. I can offer you all this at the discounted price of four hundred gold. What would you say to that?”
“Oh yes, please!”
For the next quarter of an hour, Rotim was busy exercising his magic on my pets, running his hands over their heads and whispering something. The two creatures suffered the weird ritual in silence; even the restless Prankie didn’t show any attempts to run off.
I read the system messages reporting their progress. When the last one of them appeared, informing me of Prankie’s Reflection ability reaching level 3, Rotim finally opened his eyes.
We spent a few more minutes discussing my pets’ future transformations. This, however, seemed to be the standard pitch he delivered to every customer. He just sounded too stilted, just like he had on my first day in his stables.
Compared to his initial emotional reaction to my menagerie, the rest of our conversation seemed too dry and mundane. Admittedly I was taken aback by his change of attitude. Then again, what could I expect from an NPC?
And still, if you took Droy and his stone-age gang, they seemed perfectly real. With them, I tended to completely forget I was in a game.
Having paid Rotim for his services, I headed unhurriedly for the exit. I lay my hand on the door handle when I realized I’d been followed by a very annoying sound.
That was the chat box again. Someone was insistently trying to PM me.
Okay, let’s take a look. Who might that be?
As I pushed the front door open and stepped outside, I opened the chat window. Several identical lines were typed one under another in ALL CAPS:
WATCH OUT! THEYRE WAITIN 4 U!
I didn’t get the chance to see the sender’s name. Someone attacked me.
Warning! Player Regron (112) has cast Gust of Ice on you!
Congratulations! You’ve successfully dodged your opponent’s attack!
Had I? How had I done that? The guy wasn’t a necro, was he?
But wait a sec... How about that achievement I’d received for defeating the lich? Didn’t it say something about improving my chances of dodging magic attacks?
All these thoughts had flashed through my mind in an instant. I’d never been known for my quick thinking under stress. This was a recent improvement. That’s exactly what constant interactions with mobs and high-level players can do to you.
Mechanically — blindly even — I set a swarm of fleas onto my attacker.
You’ve built the simplest mechanical creature: a Swarm of Fleas!
Level: 170
Number of swarm members: 8
There were eight of them this time! Level 170! I felt sorry for this Regron or whatever his name was. He was only level 112.
The wizard cussed, investing all his amazement in a few choice words. And that was only the beginning. Trust me.
I rolled over to the wall and froze in a crouching position, taking in the situation.
There were five of them, levels 100 to 130. I couldn’t make out their nicknames from this distance. Two wizards, judging by their outfits, the other three swordsmen. Their gear was “blue” but not top level.
The Alven player at the center was especially picturesque. His suit of armor glinted in the rays of the setting sun. His greaves and gauntlets were “purple”. He was quite a handsome sight. I had a funny feeling I’d already seen something very similar... somewhere.
I clenched the teleport crystal in my right hand, activating it, then scrolled through the impressive list of potential destinations. Yes! The Ennans’ city.
Would you like to teleport to your chosen destination: Yes/No
I was just about to press Yes when a nasty little voice disrupted my thoughts,
“Get that bastard! Don’t let him escape!”
How could I ever forget that voice! Talk about bad luck. It was Shantarsky Jr, a.k.a. Lord Melwas, as large as life and twice as ugly.
What was it his millionaire banker daddy had said about his precious son? “He’s too young and too quick off the mark; for him, you’re nothing.”
What else had he said? “Power is the only language he understands... You might say you’re a human being — but that’s not enough for him. I’ve been raising him to be a leader, proud and strong. I’ve taught him never to bow his head to any Tom, Dick or Harry...”
Very well. I might be a regular Dick but I wasn’t going to run from him this time. I wasn’t their quarry anymore.
Only now had I realized that I’d been waiting for this moment all this time.
I looked around me. Idle players started arriving at the scene. Rotim’s front door opened again, letting out a whole crowd of them. They weren’t in a hurry to interfere, though, too curious to see how this show might end for me.
I returned the teleport crystal to the bag but kept the summoning charms close at hand. Then I stepped back toward the wall to safeguard myself against any overzealous onlookers who might decide to stand up for Shantarsky Jr.
I found it strange I didn’t see any of the local clan’s members. This was happening on their territory and they didn’t seem to care. What was the name again — was it the Steel Fists? Oh well. They must have decided to turn a blind eye. Apparently, a neutral clan is supposed to remain neutral even on their own turf.
I heard screaming as the fleas had finally got to Regron. That was quick! Less than fifteen seconds.
The other wizard actually tried to help his colleague. He began shooting some sort of fireballs at the fleas while the swordsmen were trying to outflank me, brandishing their weapons.
Unfortunately, all the wizzy had achieved was to attract the swarm’s attention: some of the fleas left their victim and went after him with a vengeance.
A new system message promptly informed me of all the details. The other wizzy’s name was Zarlog. Level 104. His chances were even worse.
Melwas was full of surprises, however. He bared his sword and rushed to the wizards’ rescue.
He was actually quite good. He very nearly killed one of the fleas — no wonder, with his level 130. With a bit more durability, my little beauties would be priceless.
Right. While those three were tied down doing some pest control, I could turn my attention to the swordsmen.
They were almost upon me. The one to the right was a Rhoggh. Name: Armadan. Level: 128. The one to my left was a level-100 human called Ridd. They moved swiftly but cautiously. Their faces betrayed their anxiety about the strange behavior of the other three.
I wasn’t surprised. I would have been anxious too. It hadn’t gone exactly as their underage leader had planned, had it?
They tensed, preparing to attack me. Sorry guys.
You’ve built the simplest mechanical creature: a Scorpion!
Level: 150
None of them expected a steely level-150 insect the size of an SUV which had appeared completely out of the blue. Even I stood speechless, staring at his massive pincers and his long tail tipped with a sting.
The crowd gasped as one, recoiling. The swordsmen’s faces lost some of their enthusiasm.
Zarlog screamed, apparently expressing his displeasure with the venom of the Swamp Monk. That was my last vial, what a shame. This was a perfect psychological weapon.
My little babies had suffered some losses too. Shantarsky Jr. had managed to smoke two of the fleas. He seemed to be getting the hang of it. Not that it was going to last, though. Very soon the fleas were obliged to notice the new target.
The swordsmen began gulping down elixirs, changing their tactics. They stood shoulder to shoulder, preparing to defend themselves — or should I say to play for time?
I couldn’t help smiling. I could read them like an open book. They must have contacted some top-level colleagues who in turn must have asked them to hold the fort until they arrived.
I didn’t like the idea. At the moment, I was a cut above my enemies. Until now, I’d been a passive onlooker. But that might not last. Judging by the two swordsmen’s gleefully expectant faces, they were awaiting some heavy cavalry. And I couldn’t afford to face it quite yet.
Never mind. Impatient as I was to get to their “magnificent Lord Melwas”, I might have to leave it till some other time. Honestly, after what I’d just seen, it didn’t seem to be such a good idea anymore. If anything, I felt slightly ashamed of myself. Had I really wanted to wreak my revenge on this kid?
I activated both summoning charms.
The audience gasped their admiration at the sight of my two beasts. I leapt into the saddle as Melwas strained his voice over the melee,
“My clan guarantees protection and a fair reward to anyone who stops him!”
The crowd stirred. Exactly what I hadn’t wanted to happen. I hurried to issue orders, telling Boris to take off, Prankie to cast his shield, and the Scorpion, to cover our retreat.
Hissing and snapping his pincers, the Scorpion began to back off. I sensed Boris’ body tense up as he prepared to take to the sky.
That’s when a fiery spindle shot out of the crowd. Not the fastest of spells but then again, nothing seemed fast enough to me after Furius and his arrows.
The spindle barely grazed us as we took off and was completely absorbed by Prankie’s shield. I didn’t bother to strike back, afraid of hurting our supporters in the crowd. Still, I remembered the caster’s name. Just in case.
