The Crown and the Key Read online

  Fayroll

  Book Eight

  The Crown and the Key

  By Andrey Vasilyev

  Copyright © 2017 Litworld Ltd. (http://litworld.com)

  All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase another copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contents:

  Contents:

  Chapter One

  On a bunch of different things.

  Chapter Two

  On the benefits of writing things down.

  Chapter Three

  On guests and hospitality.

  Chapter Four

  On how things don’t always go the way you expect them to.

  Chapter Five

  In which we find that life can sometimes surprise even the most jaded.

  Chapter Six

  In which we see that there’s always a way out.

  Chapter Seven

  In which some pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place.

  Chapter Eight

  In which everyone goes around striking bargains.

  Chapter Nine

  In which there’s a bit too much of the banal.

  Chapter Ten

  On how important it is to be thorough.

  Chapter Eleven

  In which we find that curses can have an upside.

  Chapter Twelve

  In which the important thing is to pick the right moment to run away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In which we see that troubled times can be unpredictable.

  Chapter Fourteen

  In which sparks burst into flame.

  Chapter Fifteen

  In which we hear both yes and no.

  Chapter Sixteen

  In which the ceiling gets shot up.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In which there’s a lot of pointless shooting.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In which our hero tries to escape his fate.

  Book Recommendations:

  About us

  Chapter One

  On a bunch of different things.

  “Are you crazy?” Lane looked at me uneasily, clearly worried about something. “You think I’m going to be a king? What am I going to rule, a bunch of dirty underwear? A king who sold his sword? They’ll throw dirt and manure at me the minute they see me. No, you must be out of your mind.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said. “My head’s fine, though, you’re right, I did get ahead of myself talking about the crown. First, we need to get your ancestors’ lands back. What were they? Fassarlakh, Targot… Maybe we’ll even annex some new territory for you.”

  “Listen, Hagen,” Krolina jumped in, “I’m starting to get worried—you’ve never mentioned invasions. And now, annexing? That’s quite the word.”

  I winked at her. “Krolina, babycakes, there’s a whole world of words like that out there. You just take our contender for the throne to the house, and I’ll go get Glen. We gelts don’t like being late.”

  “Careful how far you push us,” she replied, lips pursed. “By the way, it looks like you picked up an upgrade. That’s nice armor. When did you have time to get it? Just last night, you were wearing something else.”

  “I’m fast. One way or another, I’m the clan leader, and I need to protect my hide; I wouldn’t want you all to be orphaned. I should look the part, too.”

  Krolina grunted and led Lane into the house, while I pulled out one of my few remaining portal scrolls. I need to visit a trader, and I’d better make sure that happens today.

  There was time for me to do exactly that, and then even visit the blacksmith. He recognized me and asked pretty respectfully if I wanted to get some more grave iron for him. I even had time to drop by the hotel, where I dropped off my old armor—there were too many memories associated with it to think about selling it. I figured it was entirely feasible that I would log back into the game a few years later, pick it up, and reminisce about all the good times I’d had.

  Glen was right on time. A portal flashed at noon in Hexburg’s main square, and he walked out of it, followed by his entourage. They were all big guys outfitted with armor, shields, and swords, and two of them were carrying good-sized kegs made of darkly stained wood under their arms.

  “My respects, Master Glen,” I said with a broad smile. “Was it an easy trip?”

  “Of course,” he replied gravely, clearly appreciating what I said. “Trips are always easy when they lead to the home of a friend.”

  Role players are the best, since you just have to play their game, make it sound sincere, and they’re yours. You know what you’re getting with them, too.

  “And hello to you, too, noble Sons of Taranis,” I said, bowing my head.

  The noble Sons of Taranis greeted me in reply, the casks gurgling in a way that promised a very enjoyable lunch.

  I opened a portal and gestured them through it since there was no point in anything long or drawn-out. There weren’t enough of them for that.

  There was a surprise waiting for me in Erinbug: Tissa was there to greet us. She’d somehow even managed to pick up a gelt woman’s outfit, though, to be fair, it didn’t really differ too much from what the men wore. Still, it had a nice-looking brooch holding a cloak with the colors of the clan around her neck.

  “Good afternoon, noblemen,” she said to Glen and his people with the smile of a practiced guide. “We’re overjoyed to welcome you to the lands of the MacLynn clan.”

  “And hello to you,” Glen replied with a smile. “Beauty like yours is a credit to any clan, and there has not yet been born the man who wouldn’t remain in that clan for the simple joy of seeing it every day.”

  It was well said, I had to give him that. Tissa grinned appreciatively.

  Glen looked around the square, checking out what was going on, and, more likely, wondered what that could be.

  To be fair, I would have had the same look on my face if I didn’t know what was going on. The center of the village, where we were, was packed with everything under the sun: Northerners taking up their posts, knights pulling off armor and building something like a guardhouse—presumably, the beginning of the order’s local mission—with some other men I didn’t recognize, and three bookkeepers standing in the shadows and jotting something down on paper—either a map of the village or a plan for how to capture the gelts’ land with as little bloodshed as possible. The local women, identical throughout Fayroll and looking the same as they might have in Iowa or the center of Russia, were hanging around the well, children were running around, and players, of which there seemed to be more than there had been, walked to and fro.

  “It’s nice here,” Glen said tactfully, “if a little chaotic.”

  “It’s true.” It occurred to me that having Tissa greet us wearing a sarafan and kokoshnik, rather than her gelt garb, and offering us bread and salt, would have been the cherry on top of everything going on. That would have been epic.

  “Let’s head in,” Tissa said. She looked like she was about to say something like “milords,” but she held her tongue. “Everything’s all set.”

  “Yes, let’s.” I noticed that the players were gradually switching their attention over from the Northerners and knights to us. Put a camera in their hands, and they’d make perfect tourists. “It’s the perfect time to try some of our ethnic gelt cuisine.”

  “I’m all for that,” Glen said—he didn
’t look too keen on the notoriety we were getting. “Are we heading into that house?”

  “That we are.” And off we headed, our guests behind us.

  I was about to step up onto the porch when someone grabbed my arm.

  “Just one minute,” came a lovely feminine voice. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  That was something new, and it put me a bit on edge.

  “What about?” I turned toward my unexpected interlocutress and practically whistled.

  She was a luxurious elf girl, the dream of any pimpled teenager. Her curves were fabulous, and she had blonde hair and sensitive lips. But what really surprised me was that she didn’t have a single weapon. Not a bow, not a sword, not a crossbow—nothing. There was a tiny dagger strapped to her waist, but it was the kind of thing you didn’t take seriously as a weapon. Still, she was at Level 100. How? Who is she?

  “Who are you?” I had to ask. “And what do you need from me?”

  “My name is Miranda Morell,” she replied, batting her enormous lashes. “At least, that’s my name here in Fayroll. And I need to ask you a few questions.”

  I decided not to beat around the bush. “What about? If you’d like to join the clan, you’ll have to talk to Krolina, my deputy in charge of that type of thing. Although we don’t really have any openings—you can see how popular we are.”

  I gestured around the square as if to say that half of Fayroll was there waiting for us to let them in.

  “I’m not looking to join your clan,” the sexy elf replied, continuing to surprise me. “I’m a journalist. Have you heard of the Fayroll Times? I work for the paper, and I’d like an interview with you.”

  That wasn’t what I was expecting at all. I’d been about to nicely tell the busty elf that she could screw herself, but her last phrase just left me with my jaw hanging open. All I could do was close it—there were no words.

  “You look so funny,” she said. “I realize how pleasant and unexpected it is when a paper like mine asks for an interview. People always want a story about them.”

  “Yes?” I asked hoarsely. “I don’t doubt it. It’s quite the honor, like getting a medal.”

  “See? We’re being nice and constructive here, and you were all ready to start us off on the wrong foot.”

  I coughed. “I guess, that’s just the kind of person I am. I have a lot on my plate right now, too.”

  “Hagen,” Glen called. He and his people were waiting at the door, apparently unwilling to go in without the host.

  “Sorry about this, Glen,” I turned and said. “You go ahead, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Glen nodded and walked inside, while I turned back to the elf and studied her carefully. Who are you? It wasn’t Shelestova—she would’ve dressed like a slob or maybe made herself a goblin girl. Tasha? No, she didn’t pull stunts like that one, and it was her day off, too. Vika’s at home. She had to be either our pimply go-getter or Vika’s friend.

  “This is funny, actually,” the elf girl said, flashing her snow-white teeth once again. “When you heard about the paper, you suddenly looked exactly like my boss. You’re back to normal now, though—he always walks around looking like that.”

  Definitely Marietta… Ksenya was smarter, at least, from what I could tell.

  “We’re all bosses in our own way,” I muttered. “So, what do you need?”

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions about your clan. You’re the first player to take leadership of an NPC clan, after all, even if it is pretty modest so far…”

  I had nothing to say, though I really wanted to figure out who’d sent her, why she’d come there, and how she’d gotten such a high-level character. “Hey, how did you get to that level without a weapon?”

  “The developer gave me this character,” Miranda replied, her tone very friendly. “I picked the look and name, and they did the rest.”

  “Interesting!” Who’s playing a trick on me over at Raidion? Although, there wasn’t much to guess. There was only one jokester worth poisoning over there. But what an idiot, to just blab about all of that the first time she sees someone. I needed to do something with her. “And they sent you to talk to me?”

  “Not only you,” she said as she brushed her hair back. “We have a lot of stories we’re working on.”

  “And who told you about me?”

  “Wait a second, who’s asking the questions here?”

  I realized I wasn’t going to get any more information out of her and called Tren-Bren over. She was clearly peeved that she hadn’t been invited to the banquet, but she flew over, regardless.

  “What do you need, nasty Hagen?”

  “Don’t talk to your father like that,” I replied involuntarily. “See this elf?”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell her whatever she wants to know,” I said to the fairy in the same tone my father used to use.

  Tren-Bren sighed. “What’s up with her?”

  “She’s from a paper called the Fayroll Times. Answer her questions and give the clan a little publicity. Just don’t give too much away—you’ll be our press attaché.”

  I didn’t respond to the fairy’s happy squeal or Miranda’s “where are you going?” Better have Tren-Bren tell her about us. She was great at spinning utter nonsense, her imagination took regular flights of fancy, and Soloveva’s stupidity would all result in an article that wouldn’t even make it to my desk. I wonder what Tren-Bren will say, though. I needed to talk with Valyaev, too—I understood, but he’d gone too far.

  Glen still hadn’t even gotten to the main hall. Instead, he was taking in all the weapons and banners hanging on the walls with unconcealed curiosity and chatting with Lennox. The latter was sitting on the stairs watching our guests as he crunched on an apple.

  “So, is this a clan banner?” he asked the redhead, feeling a colorful rag decorating one of the walls.

  “It is,” MacSommers replied. “The DragDillers clan, an old one that used to live on Lake Lokh-Foll, where they traded bad salt. They aren’t around anymore, though. That isn’t ale in those kegs you have, is it?”

  “Good guess. Am I right in concluding that you take the banners of the clans you conquer?”

  “Of course,” the gelt replied proudly. “What else should we do? And would that happen to be a dark or light ale?”

  Glen looked at Lennox appreciatively. “Light. Are you part of Hagen’s clan?”

  “No,” the redhead said as he stood up. “I’m a MacSommers, though I’m a friend of Hagen’s, and that’s why I’m here. I couldn’t just leave him alone to deal with everything that’s happened, could I?”

  “Oh, yes?” Glen asked guardedly. “What happened?”

  “War happened,” I cut in. “But we’ll talk about that later. Let’s sit down and eat first, and then I’ll tell you everything. Redhead, you’re coming with us.”

  “Of course,” he replied with a grin. “I’m not missing out on four kegs of ale!”

  Just then, Flossi came flying out of a corner, already tipsy and looking all kinds of upset. He threw himself on my chest and started wailing about absolutely everything. The mean people I was friends with had burned his clothes, they weren’t letting him into the hall where everyone was going to be drinking, they were making him take baths, and it was just too much. I was his jarl, and I needed to kill them all to restore some kind of social justice.

  I promised Flosi I’d take care of everyone giving him all those problems and headed toward the hall, hoping that would be good enough. Once we got to the door, I sighed in relief and gave Kale orders not to let anyone in without talking to me first. Glen and his entourage entered, and I followed him.

  To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t all that cozy in the big room. It was built for large crowds of warriors, for enormous boar carcasses to roast in the fireplace, and for gelt ballades to be roared by hundreds, but it wasn’t built for a dozen people sitting at the only table right in the middle.

  Anno
yed by how we were treating it, the room chilled us with a cold draft, gave us nothing from the fireplace, and sent echoes soaring around in the arches.

  Still, we were a simple and seasoned group of people gathered there, and nobody really paid any attention. We ate, drank, and talked the way hillmen do.

  “So, you’re really the leader of a hill tribe?” Glen asked, a touch of jealousy shading his voice. “That’s… I beat my head against a wall trying to build our fortress here, but I couldn’t make it happen, and you had everything handed to you on a silver platter.”

  “Really?” I asked in unfeigned surprise. “What happened? Honestly, I was trying to figure out why you headed north. I thought it would have been perfect for you here.”

  “There are some limitations,” Glen replied as he tossed a piece of haggis into his mouth. “If you want to build a fortress or castle here, or, really if you want to build much of anything, you have to get permission from the local council of elders…or leaders? Anyway, that’s beside the point. I tried to talk with them over and over again, but they just wouldn’t give me a reputation quest. All they’d say was that they only trade with or make war on foreigners. After trying a bunch of times, I gave up and headed north.”

  “Gelts don’t like strangers,” Lane said. I’d introduced him to Glen as soon as we walked in, though I didn’t use his title. “That’s true.”

  Glen took a drink of ale before coming back to me. “And it’s a shame. I like it here in the Borderlands. It’s tough, and the atmosphere is fantastic. You’re local now—what do you think I should do?”

  Before I had the chance to answer, the door to the hall banged open, and Abigail walked in. She was as pale and beautiful as ever.

  “That’s my sister, Abby,” I said to Glen, who had immediately gotten up from the table to give her a bow. “Have a seat across from Lane, sweetie.”

  Abigail’s eyes flashed, though she sat down where I told her to without putting up a fight. Lane eyed her with interest—he’d given his word, and she was his future wife.

  “So, about patronage,” I said as I poured myself some ale, “I’m not the right person to talk to about that; I’m just the leader of a small clan. My friend here can help with that.”