The Crown and the Key Read online

  Glen looked at Lennox, who had stuck a huge piece of pork in his mouth and was waving as if to tell us that food was the only thing he knew anything about.

  I pointed at Lane. “No, no, I’m talking about him. That warrior is none other than Lossarnakh MacMagnus of the MacMagnus clan, Laird of Morrigot, Bailiff of Fassarlakh and Targot. He spent some time in exile, but I’m prepared to give him all the support I can, such that he regains control of his familial lands and wins the crown of the Borderlands. If things work out, and I have no doubt they will, he can give you any land that catches your eye. You can pick somewhere next to a lake or, if you prefer, live closer to a city. And when the war starts, not everyone will be on his side so there will be some empty castles looking for owners… They may sustain some damage, but you can put a little elbow grease into them, and they’ll be as good as new. You can even go invite some players from the Moldavian server to do it for you.”

  “You sure have some quests,” Glen replied, enviously shaking his head. “Epic?”

  “No, just usual.” I pushed a dish with something like radishes in honey toward him. “A series, but not epic.”

  “My brother Hagen is right in much of what he says, though not everything,” Lane said. “I would be happy to render a service to a friend of his, though I doubt that anyone will follow me.”

  “Low self-esteem,” Krolina sighed sadly. “But that’s fixable.”

  “Lane, my friend,” I replied, smiling at him. He was staring at the table. “If I didn’t believe in you, why would I give you my sister as a wife?”

  “Ooh!” MacSommers had finally finished work on the meat in his mouth, and his eyes bugged.

  “What?” Abigail burst out. “What do you think I am, a horse you can just up and sell?”

  “Woman!” I barked. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Me?” Her nostrils flared, she stood up, and her hands felt at her belt for a dagger.

  “Yes, you,” I replied, quieter. “You’re going to be the queen of the Borderlands. Queen! A girl nobody knows from a little clan, someone who would have lived and died without a trace. You’re going to marry this man, you’re going to sit on a throne in the largest castle around, and your children will be princes and princesses. What more do you want?”

  Abigail sat back down, drumming her fingers on the table and turning to Lane.

  “I imagine he didn’t give you much of a choice, either, Bailiff?”

  “I am not opposed to marrying the sister of my friend,” Lane replied diplomatically.

  “You should know,” she said as she pulled a plate of meat toward her, “that I’ll be expecting my brother’s head on a platter as your wedding present to me. And if I don’t get it, I can assure you, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

  “Uh oh,” Kro said. Tissa giggled quietly.

  “Don’t eat or drink anything she gives you,” Brother Herts said to me quietly from his seat on my left. “Don’t forget that.”

  Yes, that sister of mine… I hadn’t gotten any system messages, though, so I figured I was in the clear.”

  “Hagen?” Lane looked at me in confusion.

  “Just agree with her,” I said. “We may not even live that long, and we’ll think of something if we do.”

  “How are you going to take the throne?” Glen’s eyes were practically glowing—he was loving everything that was going on.

  “First, we have to fight,” I replied, raising my cup to those around us. “We have a big battle coming up, with the works—bagpipes, banners, and clashing swords. There are a thousand of them, and just a few hundred of us, so it should be fun. Then, we’ll head toward Lossarnakh’s lands to see if we can talk our way in. If we can’t, fire and the sword.”

  Glen looked at me slyly. “Brutal. And where do I figure into all of that?”

  “Oh, I’m not going to make any bones about that.” My cup came crashing down on the table. “I’m offering you an alliance between our clans. Join our side, send your warriors to fight with us, help us take power, and you’ll come out the better for it.”

  He put his cup down, as well. “What if you don’t win? That could happen, no?”

  “What would you lose? You’ll have fun, either way, you’ll be part of an NPC clan war, with all that entails—real hill clans. The worst that could happen is that a few of your warriors would be killed. I haven’t heard of NPCs doing anything really bad to players.”

  “What are NPCs?” MacSommers asked.

  “That’s what we call the warriors from enemy clans,” Tissa replied. “It’s tradition.”

  Glen thought for a second, looking around at his officers. Obviously impressed by it all, they happily smiled at him.

  “Sorry, my friend, but you don’t have much time to think about it,” I said a bit audaciously. “We have just a week left until the battle, and that isn’t much time. Really, just a couple days—”

  The Sons of Taranis would like to ally with you.

  You can learn about the normal rules for allied clans in the Collective Gameplay manual, which is in the Hints and Tips section.

  If you ally with the Sons of Taranis, your clan will receive:

  A 10% discount with the traders and blacksmiths in all locations under the patronage of their clan.

  +5% experience for killing player opponents in all locations under the patronage of their clan.

  Note!

  You will get experience for killing player enemies of their clan so long as they are at war with them.

  Warning!

  Your clan can only have alliances with ten player and NPC clans.

  I smiled broadly and hit Agree. We were allies.

  Your clan unlocked Combat Brotherhood.

  To get it, form alliances with 6 more player clans.

  Reward for the clan leader:

  +2 to wisdom

  Reward for clan players:

  +1 to stamina

  Clan reward:

  Banner: The More, the Merrier

  To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

  “Well, there we go.” Glen raised his cup, I followed suit, and we tapped them together, spilling a little ale in the process. “By the way, it’s cool that you get a banner for the action.”

  “You’ve never allied with anyone?” I asked in surprise.

  Glen took a swallow of ale. “Nope. Why would we? We’re role players—we don’t need to fight anyone.”

  “How many people do you have, Master Glen?” Lane asked suddenly.

  “I can maybe give you two hundred,” Glen said evasively. “Somewhere around there.”

  “What kind?” The gelts definitely didn’t have healers, and I figured we could use a few.

  Glen pulled out a pipe. “Warriors. A few healers, two mages… We’re mountain men, so there’s no point in us having thieves or elven archers.”

  “I hear you,” I replied. “Regardless, I’m glad we were able to come to an agreement.”

  He had something up his sleeve, of course, but that was fine.

  “You’re telling me,” he said, clearly satisfied. It made sense, too—we were offering a dream scenario for role players.

  As far as I was concerned, I’d achieved my goal and even picked up a bonus. Something I’d caught in the conversation with Glen had me very happy.

  Everyone was feeling better, the stiffness had disappeared, jokes were cracked, ale was poured, and lunch continued.

  ***

  An hour later, when Glen’s officers had gone off to play some game with MacSommers and Gunther, giving Abigail the chance to finally talk with Lane, the leader of the Sons of Taranis came over with a quiet question for me.

  “Hey, how did you get all of this? I mean, the quests, the clan…”

  After taking a second, I replied with a measure of truth.

  “It was by chance. Pure accident.”

  Glen took a second to think about that, too, and then he responded without
a hint of sarcasm. “That does happen.”

  He left soon after, though he chatted with Lane about something beforehand. Their clan needed to hear the news of our alliance. The officers stayed behind, heading off with MacSommers and a few Northerners to toss some logs—the gelts liked that. Whoever could throw one the furthest won, and the only thing I worried about was that someone could get killed. I sent Tissa and Dorn to keep an eye on them, with Tren-Bren rushing over, as well. She’d been attracted by all the noise.

  The portal closed behind Glen, and I sighed contentedly.

  ***

  “Hagen,” Krolina called as she walked over, a warrior named Slav trailing her. “Here’s someone for the clan. We’ve known each other for a while, ever since we went on a raid together, and we’ve seen each other a few times since. He’s a good guy.”

  “Hi,” I said to Slav, as I looked him over. It may not have been polite, but I needed to have some idea of who I was letting into the clan.

  He wasn’t that tall, though he was stocky and Level 70. A double-edged axe stuck out from behind his back. In a word, he was your typical warrior. He was dressed in solid armor, without too much flair—a brigandine, poleyns, and couters—the usual.

  “Hi,” Slav replied, grunting when he saw my appraising gaze. “Would you like me to turn around for you?”

  “Nice. Has Kro told you about our plans and problems?”

  “Sure,” he nodded. “Everyone’s against you, though world domination is right around the corner.”

  “Something like that.” I sent him an invitation to the clan. Kro wouldn’t have given me bad advice, and they’d presumably discussed everything else there was to discuss.

  We shook hands, and Krolina immediately dragged him off somewhere. Looking around, I called to my friend the knight. He’d spit on etiquette and joined his men building the guardhouse.

  “Gunther!” Does he not hear me? “Gunther, can I get you for a second?”

  Von Richter walked over, looking awfully strange without his armor.

  “Hey, Gunther, you were talking about taking me to see the inquisitors, the ones at…oh, what’s it called?”

  “Kadrans?”

  “Right.” I could never remember that name. Dementia is already setting in…

  Gunther looked at me. “Why not? Let me just put my armor on and grab my sword.”

  He ran off, leaving me to head over to the mailbox and see what was waiting for me.

  Damn it, I’m getting popular—there were thirty messages waiting for me. Some of them were offers, some of them were telling me how they’d be happy to grace the clan with their presence. Great. It was a bunch of spam.

  I finally got to a letter from the game admin with tips on how to guide the clan, and I made a mental note to read it later.

  There was also one from Miurat, who asked unpleasantly what I was thinking about his offer. Giving that some thought, I decided to let him stew without a response for a while.

  “Sire Hagen,” Brother Herts said, coming up to me. “You’re getting ready to go somewhere, correct?”

  “Correct. Kadrans, to see the inquisition. I’ve wanted to go for a while, I just didn’t have the time. And now—”

  “Excellent. You’re going with the junior master, I take it?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “In that case, I have a request.” Brother Herts was speaking quietly and concisely, though his eyes gazed at me like a sniper through a scope. “Take one of my people with you. What if you need to calculate something or sign an agreement? They know how to write, and they’re certainly good with numbers.”

  I was about to decline, but then I had second thoughts. Why not? Life is full of surprises, and having one of them with me couldn’t hurt.

  “Sounds good,” I nodded. “Which one?”

  The bookkeeper pointed at the guy that had done so well fighting off the MacPratts in the big hall a few days before. “Brother Mikh.”

  “But wasn’t he wounded?”

  “It’s better now. Balms, salves…traditional medicine.”

  Ten minutes later, Gunther took a portal scroll from me and opened a portal for us to step through. I was intrigued to see what the residence of the inquisition looked like—they were capable of quite a bit, after all. Probably another big fortress.

  ***

  By the time that thought finished crossing my mind, I was lying on the cobblestones, and I’d gotten very lucky. I had no idea how Brother Mikh noticed the sword aimed at my head and managed to react in time, but he did. He even had time to pull his curved blade out from under his robe and bury it in the ribs of the animal-like guy with distorted facial features.

  Von Richter’s sword rang, and I got up to stand next to him, my sword also in my hand.

  “What’s going on?” von Richter asked me in surprise.

  “I have no idea.”

  “It’s a bloodbath,” Brother Mikh said to both of us. “And we should get out of here before—”

  His advice came too late—we’d been noticed. And the ones doing the noticing weren’t human at all.

  Chapter Two

  On the benefits of writing things down.

  Three beasts—somewhat reminiscent of the werewolves that served the nasty old witch Gedran, just a little smaller—pulled themselves away from a couple corpses they were jeering at to stare at us. Their mouths hung open, giving us a clear shot of the blood dripping from their fangs. Some lumps of flesh were caught in there, as well.

  One of them growled softly, and the trio smoothly headed toward us like quicksilver changing course. Their eyes glinted red in anticipation of their next bit of fun.

  “I have time to open a portal,” I whispered.

  “No, you don’t,” Brother Mikh replied—and he was right. The three werewolves leaped in the air as if thrown forward by springs in their paws.

  “Don’t let them get around us,” Mikh cried, catching one of the three with his sword. The beast yelped as it rolled across the cobblestones, the deft bookkeeper having done quite a bit of damage.

  I was able to dodge the creature that came flying at me, and its claws clutched at thin air. Losing no time, my sword slashed at its sides, trying to add a little fire to our conversation, though the ability, unfortunately, didn’t take.

  Something scraped behind me. The third werewolf had apparently tried to slash through Gunther’s armor.

  In the meantime, the one in front of me got up on his back limbs and snarled angrily.

  “Oh, stop it,” I said. “If you want to fight, then fight; if not, then get out of here.”

  It clearly understood me, because it sent a blinding uppercut at me with the apparent aim of slicing open my stomach through my new armor.

  But it had been a while since tricks like that worked with me; one quick swipe of my sword, and the vile beast’s paw went flying off across the cobblestones. Damn it, I only got the wrist. I’d been aiming for the elbow.

  A howl came from behind me and faded into a whine as one of my companions finished off his opponent.

  “One down!” I heard Gunther call. “What are you waiting for?”

  The werewolf stood across from me, cradling its bleeding stump of an arm and measuring me up with its eyes. A few seconds later, it roared and disappeared behind a building close to where we were. It apparently didn’t think it had much of a shot at killing me.

  “Tenacious monsters,” Brother Mikh said, having apparently killed his, as well. “I kept chopping at it, but it wouldn’t stop breathing. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  We walked over to the shadow of the building, in which nobody looked to be alive. An enormous stone had been hurled at it from a catapult—it had walls, but there was no roof, and it smelled nasty.

  “We need to go,” I said nervously as I eyed the corpses scattered around the area.

  “Yes, you two leave,” Gunther replied. “I’m going to stay, though.”

  “You’re crazy,” I said with some res
pect in my voice. “Look what’s going on around here.”

  It really was a startling picture. The city was burning, and it was both terrifying and majestic. Against the background of burning homes, smoke billowing, and flames flying, the locals were trying to run, unthinkable beasts chasing them down and tearing them to pieces. The air was full with their cries, yelps, prayers, tears, curses, roars, squeals, and guttural calls. It looked like the final hours of Kadrans were playing out. Is this a quest, or maybe a game event? But if it was an event, where was the crowd of players saving the population and trying their laurel wreaths on for size? And there was so much blood—more than I’d seen before, as Rennor MacLynn had just been a single guy.

  Right there, on the other side of the square, a hefty guy with a tattoo on his face caught a girl by the hair and lopped her in two with an axe. Why? To be honest, I had the feeling the censorship rules were being stretched beyond belief or canceled entirely.

  “Sire, if we’re leaving, we need to leave,” Brother Mikh said. “It’s getting hot here—there’s no time. They’re definitely going to be trying to make it to that castle, and we’re standing right in their path.”

  “Go, my friend,” Gunther said quickly. “Stop wasting time.”

  “What about you? You really aren’t going? I mean, you’re serious?”

  Gunther pulled his shield off his back and settled it on his arm. “I can’t. Our orders have been friends for many centuries, and I can’t leave them in their hour of need.”

  “Excellent, and very noble of you,” Brother Mikh said as he looked around. “I hope you die quickly, von Richter—your career took off, and you’re going to have a heroic, if sudden, death. We won’t forget you, and I’ll tell them what happened back at the fortress. Sire, open the portal.”

  I held out a scroll to the bookkeeper. “Take this. Go back, and tell them whatever you’re going to tell them. We’re all going to die here, though, so don’t let anyone come help.”