Winds of Fate Page 18

  “She’s certainly not close.” Harald scratched his neck. “In Tirskhov, the sacred grove close to Holfstrig. That’s a five-day ride.”

  He wasn’t lying about the space in the North, I’ll say that much. Five days! How long will it take Gunther and me to go around to all the burgs?

  “Wow,” I said with a whistle. “That’s quite a ways. Five days there, five days back…”

  “Don’t worry about it,” laughed Harald. “I know it’s long, so I’ll just give you a couple portal scrolls from our treasury. Mages in the West invented them, and we buy them from merchants. They come in handy every once in a while.”

  “Yes,” I answered unhappily, “though I can’t get anywhere I haven’t already been. Gunther, have you been there?”

  “No,” he answered sleepily. “And I don’t plan on it.”

  “What do you mean?” I was taken aback.

  “As a Knight of the Tearful Goddess Order, I am not permitted to talk with sorceresses, even white ones. My obligation is to eradicate sorcery and witchcraft in all its forms and manifestations.”

  He hiccupped.

  As if, we needed one more thing to deal with. Our knight is an idealist.

  “I can’t agree with you there, Gunther,” I responded quickly. “If you don’t want to talk to her, you don’t have to—I can do that. While we’re talking, you can just stand somewhere nearby. But you have to come.”

  “Why?” Gunther’s eyes widened.

  “First, because it’s close to one of the burgs you and I are supposed to visit. Second, what if someone attacks me? Who will have my back?”

  “Yes?” Gunther paused to think. “Then fine, but I’m not going into her house.”

  “Done. But that still doesn’t solve the problem of how to get there.”

  “It’s simple,” the könig answered. “I’ll send one of the Sea Kings, Sven the Herring, with you. He’s definitely been there, and having an extra sword around won’t hurt. When do you want to leave?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” I replied after thinking it over. “No sense putting it off.”

  “Then let’s head back to the mission,” Gunther said as he started to get up. “We’ll spend the night at home.”

  The könig stopped him. “Sit back down. You’ll spend the night here. What’s the point in running back and forth? There’s plenty of space here; you can each have a room. Lots of people used to live here, not like now…”

  I figured he was right and left the drowsy knight and again depressed könig to drink away their sorrows in the hall.

  There was no point in looking for a room, so I found a dark corner and logged out of the game.

  There was a surprise waiting for me at home—Vika was flustered and nervous.

  “Damn, you took forever in there!” she exclaimed indignantly.

  “And?” I had no idea why she was so anxious. “The apartment isn’t on fire, you’re alive and well… What’s wrong?”

  “Zimin called your cell three times and the landline once. He even knows my name… Wow!”

  “Why wouldn’t he after everything I’ve told him about you?” I shrugged. “You know we’ve discussed you. Did he say what he wanted?”

  “No. He just said for you to call him as soon as you log out. Here.” Vika thrust my phone into my hands.

  I dialed the number.

  “Hi, Maxim, it’s Kif. Sorry for calling so late…”

  “Oh, is it late? I’m still up,” Zimin replied easily. “I’m not even at home.”

  “I heard you were trying to get in touch with me.”

  “Yep. You were going to stop by next week, right?”

  “I was,” I replied cautiously. “On Tuesday or Wednesday.”

  “No point in waiting,” he continued softly, if adamantly. “I have a friend at Dalmore who brought me a shipment of whiskey. It isn’t 1978, of course, but it’s still good stuff. There’s a lot of it, and it needs drinking, so I decided to invite the people closest to me over for a small party. No reason, just to have a little fun at my dacha.”

  “Thanks!” I was surprised at the suddenness of it all.

  “Excellent,” Zimin said, his voice warming to a degree I had a hard time believing. “Bring your girl, too. Or would you rather come alone?”

  “Honestly? I’m not sure,” I answered.

  “Then bring her along, and you’ll see if you like having her there at the same time. It’s at noon on Saturday, so I’ll send a car for you both around 10 a.m.”

  “Thanks, I was just about to ask where to go,” I replied, taking a deep breath.

  “No problem. See you Saturday.”

  He hung up.

  I stood there for a second lost in thought until I noticed Vika staring at me.

  “So what got you so worked up?” I asked her.

  “What did he want?”

  “Nothing, really. He was just inviting us to a party on Saturday at his dacha,” I responded, pretending it was no big deal.

  “Me, too?” Vika pointed at herself.

  “Yes. Is that okay?”

  “I’m not even sure,” she answered, perplexed and a little scared.

  I sighed and hugged her. “Hey, sweetie. A long time ago, a very smart person and excellent poet said, ‘Of all the woes, may God deliver us from both, from their love and their wrath.’ And who knows which of the two is worse…”

  Vika nodded under my arm.

  Chapter Fourteen

  In which the hero dives deeper into the web of intrigue wrapping itself around the North.

  I can’t say I was terribly excited about Zimin’s party, though it promised to be an excellent opportunity to climb a few rungs on the career ladder. What was that he said? “The people closest to me.” That meant that either I had found my way into the inner circle of a high-level manager in an incredibly successful company, or I was being given the chance to create that illusion for myself. In either case, it was a way to chat with the company’s upper echelon, prove myself, make a few useful friends, kiss my master’s ring, and think of some new lines to use at the office.

  Sure, but when Zimin and I were having drinks at his dacha…

  But regardless of all those plusses (not to mention that Dalmore), I had no desire to go. That type of event just wasn’t my thing, what with all the fake smiles, the equally fake laughs, the relentless pressure to say the right thing with the right intonation (and perhaps be recorded if you didn’t), the blended stink of expensive cigars and equally expensive cologne, and, worst of all, the fact that you have to play into the whole charade right along with everyone else.

  Throwing back some cheap cognac with my team sounded like a much better idea; they were at least fun to drink with. I wasn’t sure why I preferred one over the other. Maybe it was because I was plebeian—as El, who had disappeared completely over the horizon, had assured me on many an occasion—or maybe it was just because I was fed up with the whole thing. One way or another, I’ve always been just an average guy who wouldn’t trade a few hot dogs for dinner in a fancy restaurant.

  Ah, whatever, that’s all tomorrow, and today I have the whole day to visit the old vala and maybe even some burgs. The distances did cloud the prospects of that latter plan, though Gunther had already been to them, and I didn’t mind shelling out for the portal scrolls. Who needs money anyway?

  We were also going to be accompanied by…What’s his name? Sven the Herring. What’s with these Northern names? “The Herring?” Anyway, he’d probably made his way around the block a few times. It was a shame to spend that much money, seeing as how it didn’t exactly grow on trees, but to be fair, I hadn’t really had much use for it to that point. A quest series and an action, on the other hand, were always nice. I’ll probably end up paying about 12,000 gold by the time everything’s said and done. What can you do?

  Vika headed to the office, but before she left, she told me not to expect her home early. She needed to stop by the beauty salon and somewhere else. I did get a
n explanation about whatever that second place was, but it was mostly a bunch of words only women understand—and probably not even all of them. Who knows why a young woman with a beautiful face, great body, and all the rest would need something like “bioluminescence”? And who knows what that even is? When I asked her if she needed money, she blushed sweetly and said that she’d be fine, adding that she’d let me know if she needed anything. I offered, at least. Most likely, she was still a bit shy, since—though she’d, of course, had other lovers—she, perhaps, hadn’t lived so long with one man. She was still feeling the whole thing out. But that was a matter of time, and I was very aware of how much less of that time it took women to get their feet under them than it took men. Soon, I knew, we’d have a little box somewhere with a stack of money in it.

  We’ll put our money here, she’d say, and whoever needs some can just grab whatever.

  That would be fine, but it wouldn’t end there.

  Just don’t be buying ridiculous stuff, or at least let’s let each other know before we buy things.

  And that right there would be the kill shot.

  Then I’d hear all about how “bio revitalization” and “contouring” are important, because, well… You care how your girlfriend looks, right? You like when I attract attention? And so, that’s important. What’s not important, for example, is a cool remote-controlled tank that doesn’t have any real purpose and just drives you crazy with the constant noise. (Okay, so maybe it doesn’t have a purpose, but it’s still cool!) That 20-book Walter Scott series published in 1961 with the pink covers may be a fascinating find and smell like wonderful old paper, making it’s anything but cheap, and it, too, is pointless. You could just download it online and read it on your phone, so why spend money? Just one more thing gathering dust.

  But they don’t just say no.

  Sure, if you want it, go ahead. Though buy it tomorrow, okay? Sleep on it, and tomorrow you’ll know for sure if you need it.

  Of course, the next day, you won’t buy a thing, having spent the night convincing yourself that you shouldn’t. Your life loses yet another small piece of happiness, and one day you realize you’ve spent your life paying women in happiness just to be with you.

  Those thoughts in my head, I climbed into the capsule to transport myself into a world where women, both real and virtual, couldn’t care less what their nails looked like. Some were too busy fighting to worry about them, while others were too busy around the house—and fighting.

  Nothing had changed in the palace. It was still gloomy; it still smelled vaguely of mold; and I could hear the clatter of heels on the stone as one of the servant girls walked off somewhere. I sat down on the floor to check out the weapons the könig had given me the day before.

  They were both useless junk. While I thought I could get at least a little something for the Endinard trophy, as a thieving halfling might find a use for it, the two-handed ax was far from rare. In fact, it was about as common a weapon as you could find with exactly the type of attributes you might expect. I wasn’t sure if I was more annoyed at the könig or the developers.

  Next, I pulled up my experience scale. I’d been reeling it in hand over fist, but I hadn’t leveled up in a while. It turned out that I was a stone’s throw away from Level 50 and figured I’d get there that day.

  Getting up off the ground, I stretched. It would have been nice to work on knocking out all the different quests I’d accumulated in the West and then in the East as well, though I just didn’t have the time for it.

  Everything was laid back and relaxed in the hall. The könig was already awake blissfully slurping ale from a mug that didn’t appear ever to leave his side—not even when he slept. Next to him, with his head on the table, snoozed the representative of the chapter, Knight of the Temple, and so on and so forth. Judging by the smell and snores wafting in my direction from the far corner, the keeper of the toilets and cesspools was still there as well.

  “Oh, Hagen,” said the könig when he noticed me, waving the mug clutched in his hand. “How’d you sleep? It’s a shame you took off last night. We sang for a while, and then Flosy even danced. He’s a good dancer, but damn, does he smell…”

  “It’s the job,” came a sleepy voice from the corner. “You shouldn’t make such a mess.”

  “What did you just say?” asked the könig, bellowing toward the corner, “I’m thinking of making that one a jester. Here I am with my whole court, and I don’t have a jester. If things are ever boring, I can just have him tell me a joke.”

  “Exactly right.” Gunther picked his head up. “My father had jesters at our castle, too. I remember how his many friends used to come by, eat, drink, and then start to get sad. It got quiet—dead quiet. And then they’d call the jester to come and crack jokes about the king!”

  “And?” the könig asked.

  “And that was all,” Gunther replied, laying his head back down on his hands. “Everyone would laugh, and then they’d toss the jester’s body in the moat behind the castle.”

  “I’m no jester. You all can screw yourselves,” said the corner.

  “Do you hear how the people talk around here?” the könig said thoughtfully. “I really need to have a few executions to put them back in their place. Otherwise, you know how it goes—first insubordination, then freedom of speech, and then what?”

  “Democracy,” I replied darkly. “Gunther, are we going? It’s already morning. The sun is up, the leaves are rustling… We’re wasting time.”

  “Yes, of course, Laird, we’re going.” Gunther jumped up quickly and wobbled slightly.

  “Easy there, Knight,” the könig said. “Hangovers are tricky. You have to get used to them.”

  “König, you were saying something about giving us portal scrolls and another body,” I said to jog his memory.

  “I did?” He was surprised. “Really?”

  “Sure did,” the corner piped up. “I heard you myself.”

  “He’s getting bolder by the minute.” The könig frowned. “Gentlemen, I’ll give you the scrolls, and you’re welcome to Sven the Herring, but you have to take this one with you, too.”

  “What?” I said, dumbfounded. “What do we need him for?”

  “You think I need him?” roared Harald. “You brought him in here, so you’ll take him out!”

  “If that’s the way it’s going to be, I’ll just take him back to his shack.” My hands were on my hips.

  “We did that twice yesterday,” replied the könig, his voice gathering decibels, “and he just crawled right back! So take him. You can leave him somewhere over there where you’re going.”

  “Fine!” I waved my hands in surrender.

  We had quite the team for our travels: an idealist knight, a Sea King mercenary that could just as accurately have been called a pirate, and an alcoholic, truth-seeking toilet-cleaner. What did I get myself into?

  The könig did us the honor of getting up and walking us out, shouting the names of people he wanted to “see immediately” as he did.

  I went over to Gunther. “Hey, are you okay?” I asked sympathetically. We were walking into nobody knew what, and I needed him in tip-top shape.

  “Yes, I’m feeling fine,” answered von Richter. “That mercenary will be right here, so we can talk with him before I head back to the mission.”

  “Why?” I asked, surprised. “Did you forget something there?”

  “My horse. You thought I’d be going without him?”

  “You’re serious? What do you need him for?” As if our merry band wasn’t enough, we were going to be adding a horse.

  “I’m a knight. I have to have my horse. And Duke will miss me if I don’t take him,” Gunther answered shortly before hiccupping.

  “Speaking of horses,” I replied, broaching a topic that was bothering me, “how are we going to travel between the burgs? They’re really far from each other, right? We’ll be out there wandering the plains for a month!”

  Gunther squirmed. �
��Well, I have some portal scrolls, too,” he said finally.

  “Excellent. How many burgs have you been to?”

  “Five, but that’s not the problem.” Something was obviously making Gunther uncomfortable.

  “Come on, Gunther, out with it!” I had no idea what was going on.

  “It’s just that the scrolls, they’re…” The knight scrunched up his nose. “They’re inventoried.”

  “And?”

  “I’ll have to report to Brother Yur if I use them,” sighed von Richter. “He keeps an exact record of everything we have in the order, the accounting books and everything else. You have no idea how much parchment I’ll have to fill out for every scroll. I’ll have to explain why we used the scrolls, that it was appropriate to use them, and even have paperwork proving the whole thing. It’s exhausting.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. One thing was for sure—I felt bad for the good knight caught in the clutches of a hellish accounting department. Screw the gold; I can earn more.

  “My dear von Richter, believe me, I know what you’re talking about, and I have an offer. I have some money, so why don’t I give it to you so you can just buy us some scrolls on your way to get your horse?”

  “No, that’s unacceptable,” replied von Richter. “And unfair. You’re providing a service to both me and the order and not the other way around.”

  “You know what, just forget it,” I said, waving at him. “How many scrolls do you have?”

  “Six.”

  “We need to get to seven burgs and back, so just buy eight scrolls, and we’ll call it a day. Here’s the money, let’s go talk to that mercenary.”

  The Sea King mercenary walked into the hall. He was just as powerfully built, hairy, and tattooed as the rest of them. His tattoo was especially noteworthy, as it depicted a mermaid holding the end of an anchor chain that dipped below his belt. Above her was a caption that read, “Heave ho.”

  “Okay, Herring, you’ll be going with these two.” The könig’s mug waved in our general direction. Sven looked us over and nodded.