The Renegades Page 21

  “Strange place…” I said, looking around. There was neither an entrance nor an exit. The tables, ledges, shelves and walls bristled with a myriad of diverse items, whose purpose could only be guessed. Priceless cups, weapons, paintings, alchemical alembics, vials containing mystery liquids, jewelry decorations, costumes and suits of armor…

  “Maybe the Tenth is a hoarder?” I ventured, pulling up the properties of the nearest item. They were hidden. Who could’ve guessed?

  “Uh-huh, this must be his attic,” the pirc agreed.

  Looking around, he picked up a golden ring from the shelf beside him. It was plain, without gems or ornament and the pirc twirled it in his fingers and then stuck it in his pocket.

  “I’ll fence it with the jeweler,” he explained his looting. “Wouldn’t do to leave here empty-handed, I mean, really…”

  But before he could finish his thought, Chip vanished in a wisp of smoke and a short puff—while the ring fell to the floor and rolled under a tattered ottoman.

  Your party has been disbanded.

  “Great…” I muttered to myself. I left full-immersion mode and made a call to Chip’s communicator.

  “Hey,” he replied almost immediately. “Can you imagine—I got kicked out for theft, the jerks. The message said that ‘only a bard can earn something in that location.’ Listen—what if that was the One Ring? You should look around and see if there’s a skinny bare-assed halfling running around there, hissing ‘my preciousss, my preciousss…’”

  “The last thing I need in my life is a bare-assed halfling. Where’d you get kicked to?”

  “The entrance, where we started. I got a debuff too—I can’t enter the Tenth’s portal for the next twelve hours. Bunch of asshole tightwads—all of that over a tiny ring. The hell do they even want from us?”

  “If I only knew…All right, I’m going back in. I’ll try to get to the bottom of it.”

  Nothing had changed during the few minutes that I’d been absent. The cursed ring was lying in the same place and there were no scantily-clad riddlers lurking about. In fact, there was no one at all to tell me what to do next.

  “Hey!” I called for the sake of decorum. “Is there anybody out there?”

  There was no reply. Not a word, not a sound, not the slightest system notification. Not wishing to overthink things, I tried the tested method of unlocking stuff—first I played a song on my lute (without effect) and then played the melody that had opened the portal to begin with.

  Nothing.

  All right, I guess I’ll try and think this through logically. This is a quest for bards and its author is the first biota bard. This means that I have to figure out how this location is related to my class. Another visual inspection didn’t make anything clearer. No entrance, no exit, no hints. Given all this, it looked like the items in the room were the key to the puzzle. Although, why should they be a key? Maybe this is the end of the quest? Choose your prize for solving the pattern of the sigils and be on your way. Maybe, but this seemed a little…well…boring? I’d expect more from the top biota bard. All right, in any case, I should select an item and see what happens.

  I stayed away from the valuables: a classic greed check in every story ever told—as evidenced by Chip. Armor…A couple of sets looked pretty attractive, but the opportunity to get my hands on a bunch of high-level equipment evoked nothing but a healthy dose of skepticism. Either it’ll turn out to be cursed and I won’t be able to remove it—or I’ll get kicked for greed again. Weapons weren’t really bardic things.

  Regrettably, I found no music instruments in the hall—and I definitely wouldn’t mind getting my hands on an instrument of the legendary bard this early in the game. On the other hand, I stumbled upon a table with three books that really interested me. Every one could be a songbook or contain some information about this location. Or it could be yet another compendium of drivel from the local library. But the books seemed like the most reliable option. All I had to do was select one of them.

  The first folio made me anxious. Enormous with gilded edges, wrought-iron corners and clearly decorated by some master craftsman—it was clearly destined for the study of some king or mighty mage. The small book next to it—with a modest, worn binding—looked pathetic and insignificant. Soiled with dirt in places and with a torn corner, it was like a pitiful beggar lying at the feet of an illustrious nobleman. The third book lay a bit to the side, its lock glinting. The black leather cover revealed a barely noticeable, embossed inscription either in runes or symbols of some unknown tongue—perhaps even magical signs. A matching key was nowhere to be seen.

  My initial urge was to take the third book. Secrets, mysteries…they are always alluring. They promise something valuable. And yet this choice seemed as obvious and attractive as the one offered by the luxurious folio. In this company, the tattered little book seemed quite out of place. Why would the Tenth hold onto something like this? There’s only one conclusion—whatever’s inside is something worthy of attention.

  Weighing the pros and cons one last time, I picked up the worn book from the table and immediately received a system notification:

  Selection made.

  Item acquired: Cypro’s Notes.

  You have foregone the power of wealth and knowledge and confirmed your title as a bard. The way is open.

  Quest updated: Road to Nowhere (One trial completed).

  A flash and a new portal opened before me.

  I stepped forward.

  Twilight, the smell of moisture and mold. The deathly-pale light of the lichen plastered along the walls of the cave. And a mirror. A large mirror that was one-and-a-half times my height, its frame a verdigrised bronze, enclosing the dim light of the glass.

  It was so very cold. Vapor billowed from my mouth. I wanted to sit by a fire and warm my chilled fingers. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything to make a fire out of around here.

  I approached the mirror and glanced at my reflection. Instead of myself, I saw a ghostly silhouette, barely discernible in the lichen’s pale glow. Without night vision, I’d probably not have seen anything at all.

  “Who are you?” I asked and my words formed a small cloud of vapor.

  “I am the guardian of the path,” sounded an otherworldly, terrifying voice. “You wish to continue your journey?”

  The voice acquired a deep chill that pierced me to my bones, my very soul. I wanted to flee—away to the bright, warm sun, to the hot fire, to the living. But there was nowhere to run.

  “I do,” I exhaled and, as I did so, it felt like my body lost its last vestiges of warmth.

  “Death lies in wait for all travelers, always,” the voice of the creature in the mirror rustled with snowdrifts. “To continue on your way, appease death. Take another’s life to save your own and continue your journey.”

  “There is no one here whose life I may take,” I replied, rejoicing to myself that Chip had been expelled earlier. “Is there some other way for me to continue my journey?”

  “No,” rustled the inhabitant of the hall. “Go back to your world and find the toll. When you are ready, merely say ‘I have brought the toll,’ and your sacrifice and you shall be brought here.”

  Quest updated: Road to Nowhere.

  Find a sacrifice whose life you are willing to give to appease death and continue on your way.

  The world grew dim for a moment and then I found myself in the same place where Chip and I had begun our adventure.

  “D’you make it very far?” the furball inquired. Chip was lazing in the shade, with one leg over the other, watching me from under the brim of his hat, shoved down low onto his forehead. He looked revoltingly at ease.

  “I needed to make a sacrifice and there was no one around,” I grumbled, basking in the warm sun. The chill that had invaded my body was slowly retreating from its light.

  “Will I do?” Chip stretched and yawned deeply, showing off his picket of teeth and curling his red tongue.

  “There weren’t a
ny particular limitations, so I suppose you would. Then you can off me when you reach the same step.”

  “Well I can off you whenever,” Chip joked darkly, standing up. “Let’s go, oh my predatory queen of the flowers. We’ll play out our little melodrama about the unhappy couple again.”

  “Here’s the invite.”

  Once the pirc accepted the invitation, I announced triumphantly:

  “I have brought the toll!”

  A member of your party is prohibited from traveling to this location for the next 11 hours and 19 minutes.

  “What a flop!”

  “So we’ll wait,” Chip concluded philosophically and lay down in the shade again.

  “We shall meet the Swede on the field of battle!” he declaimed dramatically and pulled his hat lower over his nose. “Eh, it’s a sin to lie around the shade without a beer in this type of weather.”

  “You’re planning on lying here for the next eleven hours?” I asked surprised and sat down nearby—at the very edge of the shadow where I could still bask in the sun’s hot rays. After the freezing, humid cave with the mirror, shade was the last thing I wanted.

  “Why not? I have a nice thing going here,” Chip rejoined. “Listen, my little corncob, isn’t it time we invite a couple soloists to our ensemble? I mean, Reed and Sloe.”

  “Yeah, we can invite them. Theoretically, they should complete this quest faster than us—especially if they don’t start stealing stuff. I definitely won’t share the chain after its beginning, but they can get it themselves. They can ask Amaryllis about the sigils, run past them following our map and continue from there. By the way! I acquired Cypro’s notebook in the first room. Maybe they’ll contain some clues?”

  “And you waited to tell me?” The pirc perked up. His laziness vanished in an instant. “Let’s see it!” he demanded, wiggling his pink button nose.

  Unfortunately, we were in for a disappointment. The pages of the book (or was it a journal?) were blank. Not virginally blank, since they were pretty ragged—but it seemed that someone had enchanted the ink and turned it invisible.

  “Why does this bard make everything so complicated?” Annoyed, I slammed the book shut. “The scroll’s encoded and the notes are invisible.”

  “Your Cyprus or whatever his name is, is a bard too, correct?” Chip asked.

  “Cypro,” I corrected him automatically. “Yeah, he’s a bard. The first bard of the biota.”

  “Uh-huh…” the pirc riffled through the journal one more time and returned it to me. “So then the key to the cypher has some musical aspect to it. Let’s do some thinking: If you are a musician, how would you go about making a cypher? Would you use some kind of notes? Or would you scramble the words into a song?”

  “If only…These pages are simply blank.”

  I opened the book one more time and held it up to the pirc, demonstrating the utter lack of symbols to decipher.

  “I’d guess there’s some kind of magic or alchemy at play. Either I need to sprinkle, rub or slather something on it, or utter some kind of magic words that will make the text appear. That, or play the right tune. Could even be the same one I found in that library scroll, by the way.”

  “Well what are you sitting there for? Play on,” Chip commanded. He even adjusted himself to be more comfortable, placing his palms on his knees.

  “Come on now,” he hurried me.

  I didn’t object and simply placed the prize book of the Tenth before me, took my lute and commenced with my concert. I tried it all: instrumental pieces, a cappella, and even a duet with Chip—all without effect. The pages remained bare.

  “That’s it. I’m done,” I gave up after an hour and a half. “There’re two possibilities remaining: Either the text is revealed further on in the quest chain or the scroll holds the key.”

  “Well let’s try the scroll then,” the pirc suggested. “It’s right here after all and we still have a good long while before I’m allowed back in.”

  “All right. In that case, I’m going to head back to the library. You can get in touch with Sloe and Reed and tell them where they can get the quest and how they can activate the portal.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” the pirc saluted comically, jumped up to his feet and hurried off to do his errands.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Either I had chosen a bad time or by mere coincidence, the library was impossible to get into. As per usual, everyone in the city was occupied with their quests, crafting and leveling-up, while here the public was openly bored. Those wishing to learn Kartossian instantly announced their readiness to work in the library, and yet there was only enough actual work for a single player. And supplying this huge mass of people with work turned out to be a difficult task, so the majority of players were simply wandering from place to place. Many people were reading—some for pleasure, others to level up their skills—a few were occupied with their professions, but the majority were simply trying to find a way to kill the time.

  The librarian had given up on herding this mass into some semblance of order and locked himself into a utility closet, leaving one of the language students in charge. This player was now utterly at a loss for what to do and a little shell-shocked by his abrupt promotion. Unlike the librarian, he didn’t even try to shush the talkers and limited himself to fulfilling the few requests that were coming in. I knew where my scroll was kept and didn’t bother bothering anyone. I took my musical riddle and sat down at one of the unoccupied desks.

  As history would have it, ladies on their lonesome attract more attention in games than in real life. In part this is because in VR, in their gaming persona, people find it easier to interact with one another. A degree of anonymity goes a long way in this sense. At times it also goes too far.

  The absence of private chat in Barliona was at once an inconvenience and a blessing. The inconvenience were evident to everyone: To speak to someone, you have to get your hands on a fairly pricey amulet that allows you a one-on-one connection with that person. Or you can write them a letter. The mailing option isn’t particularly fast: You have to go to the mailbox, write the letter and then wait for the recipient to read it…Once you acquire a portable mailbox, this problem is partially ameliorated, and yet this is a steep expense for most newbies. The budget option is the general guild chat, but you can forget about privacy here and you can only communicate with others in your guild.

  The good thing about Barliona’s lack of private chat was evident to the female portion of the playerbase. In other games, the private chat would instantly flood with messages like ‘Ey gurl lets get to no each other!1!!’ or even outright disgusting (and anatomically unsound) propositions. I’m not entirely sure what the point of such missives is, given the availability of virtual imitators for every possible taste, but I guess, some people simply enjoy accosting strangers of the opposite gender with inappropriate offers.

  In Barliona, the issue of unwanted attention was much more innocuous. Either you had to become an epistolary stylist and hope that the recipient wouldn’t dump your letter into the trash bin on sight, or you’d have to approach face-to-face and speak all the revolting things you had creeping around your head. There was practically no one who was willing to do this eye-to-eye, so male attention as a rule remained within the bounds of decorum.

  Another reason for heightened interest toward female persons was the notable gender gap among the playerbase. Even though virtual worlds drew members from all genders, ages and social layers, player preference remained differentiated. And even though Barliona’s appearance had closed this gender gap a great deal, there were still significantly less female gamers here than male ones. Some linked this fact to deep-seated psychological differences, some with a maternal instinct spurring women to give birth and care for their children out in meatspace, but I personally suspect that everything came down to high-quality story simulators that had become quite popular in recent years. If earlier women of all age groups dreamed of great, true and at the same time fairy-ta
le love—as they held a novel in their hand—then now there were custom-made game worlds like Fifty Shades of Twilight.

  When you create a character in a game like that, you have a thousand and one appearance settings to choose from, special characteristics as well as other stuff, while the plot revolves around a romantic relationship with a partner that the gamer finds most attractive. And if in Barliona for instance, it was practically impossible to become a princess or a courageous corsair, then in the game-novel you could simply start right with that. And no one was bothered that every other player was of royal blood or the Chosen One. This contradiction was explained by the intersection of a thousand worlds in each of which lived the girl of everyone’s dreams. You could stay in your own world or step out to the Middle World, interact with other players, compare your outfits, coolness, number of suitors, sumptuousness of jewelry, et cetera et cetera.

  The gameplay and mechanics were typically superfluous. The heroine could scatter a wall of foes with the wave of her hand or allow her army of lovers to take care of the problem. And yet these simple mechanics seemed to appeal to the playerbase. After all anyone who wanted to grind levels and contemplate battle tactics had Barliona and similar worlds. In the VRomances meanwhile, the players spent their time worrying about which suitor to choose—the dangerous but sensuous vampire, the decisive werewolf or the wealthy nobleman with a dark history and terrible skeletons in his closets. Accordingly, the characters’ skills revolved around these kinds of quandaries and had relevant names: Seduction, polyandry, racial attractiveness…

  How did I know all this? I played a free trial one time. I rolled a beggarwoman for curiosity’s sake and was promptly propositioned by two princess on my first day—as well as four barons. I also received an invitation to a ball and some gaudy fripperies, a magical pet and countless compliments. I managed to save my native village from an ancient evil and discovered that the blood of the local divinities flows through my veins (I had chosen the Mysterious Ancestors perk when rolling my avatar) and that I’m destined to accomplish great deeds. All in all, I didn’t hang around much longer than the first day—uninstalled the nonsense and deleted my account. I mean, it’s nice and all to feel like a great hero, but it should require at least some effort, brainpower and perseverance. All that game was missing was a ‘Defeat Everyone’ button, though maybe I didn’t play long enough to earn it.