Winds of Fate Read online

  The könig’s brows creased as he thought to himself.

  “How much are they asking?” he said finally.

  “Twenty thousand, and that’s with a discount I managed to get out of them,” I replied. He didn’t need it, and, as far as I was concerned, I’d earned it.

  “Are you kidding me?” The könig’s hands flew up in the air. “You can’t put a price on saving someone!”

  “Well, we’re not saving some nun or shepherdess; she’s the könig’s daughter. That’s not to mention the fact that we’ll be going up against three shiploads of bad guys!”

  “Fine. I’ll give you 3,000; that’s all I have in the treasury.”

  The könig smoothed his beard down again, figuring that the conversation was over. Yeah, right. We’re just getting started.

  We haggled for a good half hour. I waxed rhetorical; the könig was furious. He jumped down from his throne to wave an ax around, promising to slice me to pieces where I stood, he tried to shame me into settling for less, he promised to have me executed, he swore to let me marry Ulfrida—later, if it came to that. Then he promised to make me rix of one of the burgs and throw in Flosy, seeing as how I liked him so much. He even appealed to the ghosts of his ancestors, who he said would visit him in the night to ask why he’d been so frivolous with the family treasury. I’d never seen anyone as spendthrift as him.

  As a result, we agreed on 10,000 gold, and, instead of taking him up on his offer to have me pay my people out of my pocket before getting the money from him later, I insisted on payment up front. He also insisted on giving me Flosy—there was no getting around that. What am I supposed to do with him?

  “You sure strike a hard bargain,” said the könig with a tone of respect. He’d sat down on his throne and picked his mug back up. “And about Ulfrida, really, give that some thought. She’s an acquired taste, but she’ll at least be faithful. And I wouldn’t mind having a son-in-law as good with money as you are.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I replied with a nod. “So where’s the gold?”

  I hadn’t gotten a quest for it, so I figured I wasn’t destined to become Prince of the North. It was a shame, really, because I would have enjoyed that.

  “Ah, yes,” the könig said sadly. “The money. Ingvar!”

  A door creaked, and someone walked into the hall.

  “Ingvar just got back today, so he’ll give you the money,” explained the könig.

  Ingvar came over to the throne. He was a middle-aged man with fine facial features, a rarity in the North. A despairing or snide grimace—I couldn’t tell which—was frozen on his beardless face. We’d definitely never met, but I could have sworn I saw a shadow of recognition flash in his eyes when he looked at me.

  “I’ll tell you what, Ingvar, heroes these days are greedier than ever. They won’t lift a finger to save someone in need unless you pay them to do it.” The könig’s voice was dejected. “Things just aren’t like they used to be. Give this young man 8,000 coins.”

  “Ten,” I interjected meekly.

  “That’s what I said, ten,” the könig responded with an air of confusion.

  “All right,” Ingvar replied with a nod. “Follow me.”

  “Go ahead, hero, and make sure my daughter gets back safe and sound,” demanded Harald. “Or else…”

  You have a new quest offer: Liberate the König’s Daughter

  This quest is the seventh in the Missing Daughter series of quests.

  Task: Free Ulfrida, the könig’s daughter, from captivity.

  Reward:

  1500 experience

  +10 respect among the peoples of the North

  Gebo Rune

  The next quest in the series

  Accept?

  “If you gave me 20,000, she’d definitely be safe and sound. With ten, I can only guarantee that she’ll be safe.” I couldn’t help firing one last snide comment at the könig, as I could tell that the frown on his face had nothing to do with the role he was trying to play.

  “Watch your mouth!” he shot back, and I could hear an impending threat in his voice. That was a mistake; I still needed him.

  “My apologies, könig, I got carried away.” I bowed as sincerely as I could manage.

  “Forgiven,” the könig replied with a wave. “But don’t let it happen again! Okay, good luck to you on your holy mission saving my daughter from evil. I’m off to handle my affairs of state.”

  Ingvar and I left the hall and headed down the corridor. I walked behind him, and I couldn’t help but notice how out of place he looked in the North: his shoulders were narrow, and he had neither a sword nor a knife in his belt. Of course, he’s the money guy, so that’s probably normal. Even strongman warriors have to have someone keeping an eye on the finances.

  “Please wait here.” We had stopped by a wrought-iron door that had locks on our side and deadbolts, clearly, on the other.

  “No worries,” I answered quickly. “You go dive into the coffers; I’ll be here when you come back.”

  Ingvar shrugged as if to wonder where else I’d be, before disappearing into the treasury.

  As I waited, I decided to check out the rune I’d gotten.

  Eivaz Rune

  One of a set of runes the gods are said to have created in ancient times.

  As long as the rune is in the player’s inventory, the player is 7% less likely to be robbed.

  Check the appropriate table to see the bonuses this rune gives when combined with other runes.

  Class limitation: none

  Minimum level for use: 45

  Impressed, I made a mental note to see what the other runes were like. That one, at least, was no joke.

  The door slid open to show Ingvar easily carrying a heavy sack full of my (yes, my) gold.

  “Here,” he said, holding it out to me. “I hope you’ll have Ulfrida back to us soon.”

  “Don’t worry,” I assured him. “Our adventurer friends don’t throw their word around lightly.”

  “How soon will it happen?” he asked, as if in passing.

  My response was nonchalant. “I’m not sure, probably five or so days from now. We have to think up a plan and get ready; it’s not going to be easy. You can’t take the mountains lightly.”

  All I needed was one more person talking about our plans. Plus, I didn’t know Ingvar, so a little disinformation could go a long way. I could keep the operation quiet forever. The Sea Kings gathering for war wasn’t anything noteworthy, and everyone else would keep their mouths shut.

  “Excellent,” Ingvar replied agreeably. “Can I walk you to the exit?”

  I was soon out of the palace and off looking for the hotel. Carrying a sack full of gold around wasn’t the best of ideas.

  My conscience didn’t bother me in the least. I’d been the one dealing with all the headaches, and so I had every right to walk away with a small percentage of the earnings. Even my clan membership had, so far, brought more problems than benefits. The only thing they’d given me was those first few levels, and I could have gotten them myself. Everything else we’d done had been mutually beneficial. So, what was the problem with getting a little something for the services I was providing?

  I wouldn’t have taken any money from Gunther, and not just because he was such an honorable person himself. That simply could have had an effect on my reputation. Profiting off the simple-heartedness of others is a sin, if we’re being honest with ourselves.

  After leaving the hotel, I checked my mailbox to find that Elina had sent the money. There was no message attached, which told me that she was really mad at me. Then screw her. Maybe she’ll kick me out? Make my day…

  That might have been the best option, I mused. It would have left me free to join the Hounds…or even the Wild Hearts. I had connections high up in the clan, and I could deal with nosy halflings. Of course, I’d have to talk with the Gray Witch beforehand if I decided to head over there. Speaking of the Gray Witch, why didn’t I get an invitation to t
he party? On the other hand, who am I to think she’d invite me? Another option was talking to Glen about joining the Sons of Taranis; I didn’t think he’d turn me down. But the first step is getting kicked out… I wasn’t about to leave on my own; I didn’t need old Rina to tell me how quickly Elina would blacklist me.

  Nothing had changed in the tavern with the exception that Flosy had slipped off his chair and was snoring under the table. The owner was standing nearby and obviously trying to figure out if he should leave him there or move him somewhere else. On the one hand, Flosy was unpleasant and stank; on the other, just touching him was enough to make your skin crawl. He had no interest in risking asking Gunther to move Flosy.

  “Drank himself to sleep?” I gestured toward Flosy, who was smacking his lips in his slumber.

  “Yep,” nodded Gunther, taking a sip of ale. “But that’s just the half of it. Before he went night-night, he was up and about singing his songs—something about goblins. ‘Green beast up, waving an ax, swing it up and down it hacks.’ Alcoholics are crazy—green beast crazy.”

  “Yes, green goblins is pretty far gone. We need to get him to stop drinking before he terrifies the entire burg. What did you want to tell me, by the way?”

  Gunther put his mug down and smiled placidly. “Oh, nothing, really. The local rix was torn to pieces right outside the walls of the burg last night, so there’s just one left. Actually, it wasn’t even at night; just early evening.”

  “Huh,” I responded, my brow creasing. “What was he doing outside the walls?”

  “I’m not sure. I decided to wait for you before trying to find out. Maybe we should see what’s going on?”

  I checked the game clock to see that it was only 5 p.m. We still have time.

  “Why not? Let’s go question some witnesses. It’s about time we figure out what’s going on in the burgs.”

  We let the tavern keeper know that Flosy could be wild when he had a hangover, recommending that the man avoid waking the little guy up and giving him anything else to drink. Then we left.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In which the hero and his friend try to get to the bottom of things.

  There wasn’t much left of the rix and the three large men he’d had with him. Just some bloody rags, a mess of body parts, and some weapons they hadn’t even had time to pull out. Someone had taken care of them quickly, effortlessly, and mercilessly, and then the bodies had been eaten afterward. The people who’d gathered around the cart that carried in the remains were arguing about who that might have been.

  “It was wolves. There are so many of them out there these days!” A tubby craftsman stuck a finger in the air knowingly.

  “What wolves? They don’t have teeth like that. No, this is the work of werewolves,” a city guard, with just as considerable a belly, shot back insistently.

  “Oh, preserve us! The plague has come to punish us for our many sins!” wailed a portly woman. “We turned away from the true gods, and now look what’s become of us!”

  Quite a few alternative theories were raised, though nobody had any idea which of them was the truth. What the woman said about the gods, however, stuck with me.

  “What’s our plan?” Gunther asked, looking at me.

  “Question the witnesses,” I replied. “What else? We just have to figure out which of them actually saw what happened. Otherwise, we’ll never be able to hash out what’s true and what isn’t. Who’s the head of the guard?”

  “Over there.” Gunther nodded in the direction of a warrior wearing a cap. “He’s the one who told me about the rix.”

  “Okay, then bring him over here so we can have a chat off to the side.”

  The head guard was a wiry older man without a beard, surprisingly, but he had a long, drooping mustache that nearly reached his chest. His name was Atly Gunnarson. He wasn’t terribly interested in talking to us, but a disk Gunther pulled out from under his armor and showed the man loosened his tongue.

  “So, my dear Atly, has anything like this ever happened before?” I asked, jumping right in.

  “Murder?” Gunnarson clarified gravely. “Or something else? And if you’re talking about murder, do you mean murder in general or the murder of a rix?”

  “I’m sure you’ve had murders before,” I responded. “I mean, have you ever had it where a few bones are all that’s left of the victim?”

  “No,” Atly said confidently. “I’ve never seen that.”

  “A new precedent,” I noted sadly.

  “What?” Atly’s brows wrinkled. “Is that some scientific term? Or a curse?”

  “It just means that was the first time it happened,” I explained. “At least, the first time anyone’s come across it.

  “Why do you say it’s the first time?” Atly was taken aback. “We’ve never had it here, no, but it happened in the neighboring burg, too. It happened to their rix, as well. He and his family were killed. Trody, my nephew, told me when he came by for a visit.”

  “Really? The exact same thing?”

  “I’m not sure if it was exactly the same thing. Trody told me their rix left out of the blue, taking his whole family with him and rushing off. Two days later, some beekeepers found his bones. They recognized him by a medal he wore around his neck.”

  “Who do you think could have done something like this? It doesn’t look like a wild animal, does it?” von Richter asked, joining the conversation.

  “I have no idea,” Atly said, fiddling with his mustache. “I just know that this definitely wasn’t wolves or bears. Wolves don’t gnaw on the bones like that, and bears would stash the bodies under some roots and wait until they’d started to rot. Bears prefer their meat a bit old. Plus, it isn’t winter, so the bears and wolves have plenty to eat.”

  “So, who could have done it then?” I asked.

  Atly hemmed and hawed, obviously too embarrassed to say something that was on his mind.

  I did my best to win him over. “My good man, if you know something, out with it. It can only help…everyone!”

  “Okay, don’t think that I’m crazy or anything,” the warrior stuttered. “It’s just that my grandmother, rest her soul, told me once about an old lady in the Iron Forest. If she didn’t like someone, she’d send her spawn—once people, but now with black souls—after them.”

  “What are you talking about?” Gunther shook his head.

  So there was an old lady in the Iron Forest. Could that be our new friend?

  “Does the old lady have a name?” I asked, looking Atly in the eye.

  His reply came unwillingly. “Yes—Gedran.”

  Gunther shuddered, but I wasn’t that surprised. The infamous old lady had made a name for herself and clearly played the long game.

  “What did you say about her spawn?” I needed to get as much information out of him as I could before he’d had enough.

  “Well, she often comes up to lowlifes, liars, and people who are unclean and offers to grant them one wish. In exchange, once ten years is up, they have to visit her in the Iron Forest and serve her faithfully for another ten years,” Atly blurted out, looking around quickly. “She makes them into real monsters, with fangs and everything, though they stay human. They eat flesh and blood, preferably human.”

  Gunther’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Does anyone ever agree to her offer?”

  “Just look at the cart. You tell me.”

  I believed Atly completely and unreservedly. That had to have been what happened. But where was the rix going in such a hurry that night? Why? We clearly had more questions than answers.

  “Atly, tell me this.” I decided to come at the problem from another angle. “Have you had many strangers visiting the burg lately?”

  “I’d say you’re the first,” Atly answered quickly. “Although, a group of warriors did travel through the burg on their way to catch some monster in the mountains… We were surprised they stopped by since nobody ever comes, but they just visited Gromly’s stall and left. And that’
s been all the new faces we’ve had in the last week.”

  That’s strange. What, do players not come here at all? My doubt must have been written all over my face, as Gunnarson kept going. “It’s not a surprise, really. Our burg is off by itself in the mountains, and who needs to climb them besides that one group? And we’re surrounded by the forest. Warriors don’t have anything to do here—there aren’t any exploits or fame to be found. Traders come once a month to buy the skins our hunters sell them, but that’s all.”

  “And the Iron Forest is too close,” a burly guard who’d just walked up added.

  “Exactly right,” agreed Atly. “It scares people away.”

  “And that evil Gedran lives in the Iron Forest.” I thoughtfully finished their argument for them. “What does she have in the forest? A house, land?”

  “Who knows?” Atly smiled sadly. “We don’t go there, and whoever does go in, stays there. People give the forest a mile’s clearance when they go around it, and nobody would ever dream of venturing inside.”

  “So, in all this time, nobody’s ever gone in?” I was having a hard time believing him.

  “Of course they have,” the guard said, his paunch shaking. “Warriors have tried it plenty of times. A pair of them went in just a month and a half ago. One was hairy, the other was wearing a pendant around his neck, and they said it had something to do with a family matter. They had a gorgeous black thoroughbred with them, too. Anyway, they went in, but they didn’t come out. Nobody comes out.”

  “I’ve heard that Gedran can get from the Iron Forest to any other forest in Fayroll, too,” added Atly.

  Damn, there are so many bad spots around here. And with my luck, I’ll stumble across all of them…

  “Okay, screw that Gedran. So, you haven’t had any strangers?” I repeated my question just in case, but all I got in reply was Atly and the nameless guard shaking their heads. I turned to Gunther. “This isn’t good. All we know is that we don’t know anything.”