The Renegades Page 27

  A new letter appeared in my mailbox. Brouhaha announced that in half an hour her lessons would begin in Daisy’s house and I could come by if I wished.

  “Listen, Chip, is it true that those who serve in the army never laugh in the circus?”

  “Verily, so it is!” the pirc replied hotly. “Why?”

  “I just wanted to go take a look how the local circus folk study here and also check out the accuracy of this bit of wisdom. Will you come with?”

  “Pourquoi pas, ma chère laitue?” No, one day I’m definitely going to kill this polyglot. In the best of traditions, I’ll grab my lute and craaa-ack-ack-ack on the back of his stupid skull. Loud enough that Mars hears about it…

  “Come again?” I asked just in case, without really expecting a useful translation.

  “‘Why not, my dear lettuce?’” Chip translated. “Picked it up from the recce squad—they’d sing this song. It’s from an ancient movie about some musketeers.”

  “I’m getting the impression that all our glorious army does is watch old movies and read books.”

  “Why what else would we do?” Chip sighed sadly. “It’s boring as hay in there. A dull routine. Anyway, let’s go see what our local competitors can show us.”

  Mentally promising to myself that I would figure out how much communication amulets cost, I sent an invitation to Reed and headed to the tavern in order to purchase some home-warming gift for the kind Daisy. My culinary skills allowed me to prepare simple and healthy beverages, but I wanted to make the best impression possible on this potential source of knowledge and spells—and this meant that the drinks I brought would have to be good. A bottle of water from some inaccessible mineral spring ended up costing me twenty gold, but I really hoped that my investment would pay off. Who knows, maybe I’ll learn something useful?

  Reed caught up with us at the last moment, practically right at Daisy’s doorstep.

  “I just got the letter,” he shyly accounted for his disheveled look. “I was in a crazy hurry.”

  “A crazy hurry, my young friend,” Chip said in an admonitory voice, “is necessary in three cases: When you have fleas, when your stomach is upset and when you’re sleeping with someone else’s wife. And the lasts one is only the case if her husband is busting down the door.”

  “Didn’t he just come in a great hurry? How do you know where he came from?” I added, and Reed blushed a deep crimson from our combined laughter.

  “Ah forget you guys,” he waved and quickly knocked on the door to preclude any further speculation about his private life.

  Brouhaha opened the door.

  “Whoa,” she blinked with surprise upon seeing the pirc. “You got a heck of a phiz on you.”

  Chip started as if someone had smacked him in the phiz.

  “Is this a face check?” He asked coldly, pressing his ears to his head in a gesture I already recognized as irritation. “I think I’ll wait outside after all.”

  “Nah,” the circus performer waved her hand guilelessly. “I’ve simply never seen your race before. You’re a scary looking lot. What are your people called?”

  “The Stephen King It Squad,” barked the pirc. He placed his paws on our shoulders and went on, “All right, guys. I think I’ll go see what the local Radagasts are up to.”

  Chip nodded to Brouhaha and left. It was the first time I’d seen the furball slump his shoulders and hunch his spine—it seemed that the dancer’s words really had stung him.

  “What’s with him?” Brouhaha asked, surprised, following Chip with her gaze.

  “I have no idea,” I admitted sincerely. “I’ll go find out.”

  “Hang on,” Brouhaha grabbed me by the sleeve. “Since you’re here, step in for a bit and say hello to Daisy. If you want to learn something later, it’ll be easier.”

  I looked askance at Reed who was shifting from foot to foot and nodded unwillingly. Ten minutes wouldn’t change anything.

  But then again, ten minutes wasn’t enough either: After the gift of mineral water—which was accepted like some rare wine of a venerable vintage—I couldn’t help but chat for a bit and play a couple songs. My thoughts returned to Chip again and again and the conversation didn’t flow freely, so in the end, I praised Reed’s talents and once he’d engrossed his audience with his cello, quietly snuck out.

  I found the pirc at the Branch of Vocation. He was in a trance, hammering a training dummy that wasn’t guilty of anything with his halberd. All you could hear were the cracks from his halberd and all you could see was the straw flying every which way.

  “And why did you leave?” I asked, sitting down nearby.

  “You think there’s something I haven’t seen in that circus?” he replied, sitting down beside me. “All I need is some trouble with a bunch of clowns. What if they decide that I’ve come to take their bread? Do you have any idea how powerful their union is? Tangle with those guys and you’ll be turning tail before you know it…” He scanned our surroundings cautiously from the shadow of his paw.

  The excuse was a fairly tepid one, but it was clear that he didn’t want to continue talking about it, so I simply decided to play his game.

  “I don’t know about you but if I were in their place I’d be the worried one. You’re like a circus tent on two legs and if I play accompaniment for you, why we’ll steal their entire audience easy.”

  “It’s not a bad idea,” the pirc grew pensive. “By the way, I switched to a druid,” he announced. “It turns out that they get a bonus to healing when healing pircs and biota. Looks like it’s because we’re so closely linked to nature. Maybe we should find some sensible druid for our party? He can heal while we let that putative medical student have it.”

  “We could try it,” I approved the plan. “Especially if we find one with bonuses to healing.”

  “Healing,” Chip sighed a little wearily. “If there’s anything that’s good here in Barliona it’s the healing. Kazaam!” A mysterious green glow appeared in his paws and after several seconds the system notification announced that the healing spell had been cast on me, “…and that’s it! No catheters, sensors, syringes, needles, therapy, bed rest, regenerative devices, tissue compatibility checks and recovery periods. Abracadabra and you’re good to go.”

  “Are you really tired of your convalescence?” I asked cautiously.

  “It’s been worse,” the pirc waved with exaggerated bravado and quickly changed topics. “What do you have to do? Have you composed your hit of the century yet?”

  “Actually, yes,” I admitted, happy to somehow cheer up my companion. “Whether it’s a hit or not isn’t up to me but I do have something. Would you like to hear it?”

  “Like you need to ask! Come on, my Celery Dion, belt it like you mean it!”

  “It’s all keks for you, isn’t it? Let’s go find a quiet corner where no one will bother us.”

  Following our cartographic activities, finding a quiet corner on the Tree was not a problem so we headed to the nearest one and I placed the lute on my knees and with some anxiety played my new composition for someone for the first time. The lyrics were still a bit rough, yet the ballad ended up being pretty. It told of the Sixth and her fate. Naturally, the main part of the ballad dealt with the death of her beloved, her transformation into a vengeful necromancer and the battle I saw between the allied armies of the eight races. And the ending was a wistful one—consumed by her thirst for revenge, the Sixth abandoned her home and friends, with whom she had spent the last hundred years, and set off into the dark and the unknown.

  A glow appeared before me—within it, a scroll roiled with a pearly, silver light.

  Attention! A new stat has become available to your character: ‘Composition.’ Composition influences the bard’s ability to combine the effects of several songs into one and lowers the penalty for such a combination. Composition also affects a series of other abilities and enables you to create unique spells by composing new songs. The effect of the created spell consists of
many factors, including the content that the bard invests in her new creation.

  Do you accept? Attention! You will not be able to remove an accepted stat!

  I accepted the new stat without further thought and glanced through the rest of the notification. I’ll read it more carefully later. At the moment I’m more curious about Chip’s opinion of my ballad.

  A new stat has been unlocked for the character: ‘Composition.’ Currently: 1.

  You have created a new Song: ‘Vengeful Flame.’

  Vengeance is one of the most destructive feelings in the world. Vengeance knows neither mercy nor friendship, vengeance destroys indiscriminately. And the first thing vengeance consumes is the one who pursues it.

  The Vengeful Flame incinerates everything around the vengeful bard, without distinction for friend or foe. Casting time: This spell is channeled. Cost of performance: 1% of max HP per second. Damage: 1% of target’s max HP per second. Area of effect: (Fame + Composition) meters. Cooldown: 24 hours.

  Achievement unlocked: ‘Unique Repertoire Level 1’ (19 compositions remaining until next level).

  Achievement reward: +1% to efficiency of created unique spells.

  I took the shimmering scroll in my hands and glanced at its properties.

  Lorelei’s Songbook. Songbook class: Unique. Contains Vengeful Flame. Once you use the songbook, the songbook will vanish and the Vengeful Flame spell will be added to your spellbook.

  Attention! Your spellbook already contains Vengeful Flame.

  Attention! This songbook may not be copied.

  Attention! This songbook may not be traded.

  “Astounding.” There was so much sincere admiration in Chip’s voice that I couldn’t help but break into a wide smile. It’s always nice to know that your creation has appealed to the listener.

  All of a sudden, a portal fizzed to existence before me and none other than Eben himself stepped out of it and up to me.

  “Yes,” the Seventh said pensively. “It is indeed a lovely ballad, Lorelei. It’s too bad that bards are incapable of biting their tongues in their music.”

  You have broken the promise you made to Eben!

  -1000 Reputation with the Biota. Current status: Friendly.

  It’s true when they say, ‘one born a fool, shall die a fool.’ Art is art, but the ballad did mention the Schism which I swore to stay silent about. And what would it have cost me to leave the game, call up Chip on the comm and play him my new song irl? FSM, why didn’t you bless me with a brain?

  “I got carried away…Forgive me.”

  What else can I say in this situation? I’m a fool who forgot that within the context of the game, this was a grave secret. At least Chip had something to say, as per usual. The pirc bristled his fur, stuck his hands in his sides and fixed Eben with an unfriendly stare.

  “Look here, you fossil, you’re not lost in time, are you? It’s not that I mind, but this is a private affair and you weren’t on the guest list if you catch my continental drift.”

  “Chip, this is Eben—the seventh member of the biota council,” I hurried to check my simmering companion. If he borks my rep right now, I’ll have only myself to blame.

  “He could be a knight of the Round Table for all I care,” the pirc replied utterly unfazed. “I’ll say it again: No one invited you, Eben. And that means by implication that you’re free to go.”

  I opened my mouth to try and reason with my white knight—when Eben stopped me with a weighty gesture.

  “It’s all right, Lorelei. I have known pircs for a long time. Our friends are renowned for their unbridled, unchecked temper as well as their devotion so I would expect nothing else. And yet we are at an impasse. You did not keep your word and the news of the Council’s schism could spread. My job is to ensure the security of the coming embassy and secrecy is its guarantee. It is not your fault that you became involved in this affair. And, moreover, it is not this pirc’s fault that he is now involved in it either. However, I must prevent these rumors from spreading further. Does either one of you have any solution to my problem?”

  Well, I could tear my unruly tongue out—there’s one solution. But then I’d still have my hands to write with so only a good ol’ fashioned quartering would do. Chip, however, turned out to be much more quick-witted.

  “So you decided to send us to the brig? Well I don’t hail from your herbarium. I have my own staff headquarters I report to.”

  “I’m not entirely sure what a brig even is,” the Seventh said with a tinge of surprise, “but you are correct in that I have decided to send you away…for some time. And yes, you are entirely correct, Chip—I cannot order you to obey me directly, but I can ask you to meet me halfway. I shall send you both to a closed training ground where several of my pupils are pursuing their studies. It is well-hidden from prying eyes and you won’t be able to leave it without external help. At the same time, there are many training opportunities there and your time there ought not be a waste. You will be able to increase your stats and perhaps even acquire certain new skills. Then, on the day the embassy is scheduled to arrive, I shall return you back to the Tree.”

  I started to think. On the one hand, it didn’t sound so bad. We were clearly going to be sent to a special location with the opportunity to level up and return in time for the most interesting part. On the other hand…We’d spend almost two weeks FSM-knows-where. No quests to complete, no reputation to increase, no profits, no class instructor near at hand…

  “And what will happen if we refuse your generous offer?” Chip crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Eben defiantly.

  “I shall be compelled to exile you from the Hidden Forest,” the Seventh said ruefully. “You shall leave me no choice.”

  Chip and I exchanged glances. In theory, it wasn’t a bad option for quickly reaching the wider world and yet exile…Exile means that we wouldn’t be able to return, complete our affairs and quests and explore the Hidden Forest…

  “I am partial to being isolated at the training ground.”

  “Well I’m partial to sending him somewhere dank and dark where he won’t stand out so much,” barked Chip. “Who do you think you are to be dictating terms to me? Since you’re so smart—why aren’t you marching lockstep and singing songs, eh? Why don’t you account yourself per the regs—to Lori and I, that is—and explain what the carrot you’re sending us to basic like a bunch of bolos for?”

  The imitator’s eyes clouded over for a moment. It was clearly trying to digest, Chip’s jargon-rich speech. At last Eben replied:

  “Everything is very simple. Your friend was unfortunate enough to see things she wasn’t supposed to in her Twilight Dream. She promised to stay quiet about it but she did not keep her promise, leaving me a very poor choice. Either I isolate you, furnishing you with enough chances to develop, or I exile you. And whereas when it comes to Lorelei, this is fairly straightforward—in your case, I will need to discuss the matter with the pirc ambassador. However, something tells me that he will suggest exactly the same solution to our problem. So, what shall it be?”

  Attention! For breaking your promise you shall be exiled from the Hidden Forest and suffer a penalty to your reputation with the Biota that shall reduce your status to Suspicion—or you shall be isolated at a training ground until the Kartossian embassy arrives. If you choose the latter option, you will be allowed to continue developing your skills during your in-game imprisonment.

  “I choose the training ground,” I decided. We had too much unfinished business in the Hidden Forest to accept the exile.

  “A wise decision,” nodded the spymaster.

  “In that case, I choose the same,” Chip squinted unkindly and added: “But I shall return and you will rue the day you escaped the local natural history museum. Do I make myself clear, fossil?”

  This threat didn’t make much of an impression on the Seventh, though perhaps the imitator simply didn’t think of anything to reply to this strange and esoteric speech. Instead
, he uttered dryly:

  “Do you have any requests before I send you to the training ground?”

  “Bash your head against the nearest wall?” Chip ventured.

  “An enticing proposition, but no,” Eben refused such a generous offer. “And you, Lorelei, do you have any requests?”

  “Yes. I would like to take several books from the library with me.”

  “This may be arranged. Which ones do you need?”

  “Any that treat of the history of the Hidden Forest, the biota, the pircs, Cypro and bards. And one more in Kartossian.”

  “Very well.”

  In the next instant, Eben opened a portal and made a welcoming gesture with his hand:

  “It is time.”

  “Tea time?” asked the pirc. Receiving no response whatsoever, Chip regarded the biota as if he wished to remember him better, spun his halberd and said: “Let’s go, Lori. We shall try out the chow they serve at the training ground’s mess.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  There were no shimmering portals this time around. The picture simply changed and, in a blink, instead of the Tree, I found myself somewhere in the Hidden Forest. How did I know this? Well, there were buildings made of plants and trees, silhouettes of enormous plants, and also the maps indicated that we were somewhere in the northwestern part of the forest, in the middle of one of the white spots.

  Unlike back on the Tree, there was a certain utility to observe here: less decoration, more functionality. A squat, elongated building that resembled a barracks for several dozen, an immense training area filled with various contraptions and an obstacle course, a small forge and several buildings whose purpose I could only guess at. All of this was surrounded by a living stockade of tall, impassable thorny brambles getting through, over or under which seemed entirely unfeasible. I was happy to see some ore lodes, useful plants and trees that would be good for lumber. It looked like the developers wanted to furnish the imprisoned players with everything they needed to pass their time productively.