Winds of Fate Read online

  I had many more questions in my head than answers. What was that with the dark dwarves? Where did they even come from? I figured they must have just materialized out of the walls, but why did they decide to save me? Even Fitz, fearless as he was, preferred hiding in trash to being seen by them, and they hunted the light races wherever they found them. Who is Wanderer? Sure, he’s an odd duck, but not that odd. Most importantly, how did he get the dark dwarves to help me? Why did Miurat play on Fitz’s honor to get him to cover our retreat? Did he have something in mind, or did he just want to save me? And why did he sacrifice himself? He didn’t seem like that type of person at all.

  A few minutes later, I gave up on the whole thing. I knew I wouldn’t be able to come up with any answers, and my brain was about to explode. All in good time. I figured the information I was missing would come later.

  I sat on the edge of the platform and dangled my feet over the edge. It was quite a ways down, but there was no scaring me with little things like that after the mines. I figured Fitz and Miurat would show up soon after dropping by a hotel, changing, and porting there. Can you port right here to the platform, or do you have to climb up the mountain? I could have experimented, but I really didn’t want to waste a scroll.

  Just when I was about to get to work on something useful like going through my quests and declining a few of them, I heard voices working their way up the stairs. I got up, figuring they belonged to my companions, but a second later, I found they were nothing of the sort. In front of me, were two human warriors named Damian and Mirro. Did they forget something here? They looked like normal players, and neither of them had a PK badge.

  “Hi,” I said, waving to them.

  “Hey,” answered Mirro. Damian waved back. “Did you just come out of there, by any chance?” He nodded toward the dark mouth of the mines.

  “Yep,” I said. “Scared myself half to death, to be honest. Not a great place. Believe me, the two of you have no business going in there. Of the eight of us who went in, I’m the only one who made it out alive.”

  “You’re lucky,” said Damian. “If you were the only one who made it. The rest probably died somewhere in the middle, no?”

  He asked the question in a neutral, sympathetic tone, but there was something about it I didn’t like.

  “Oh, all over,” I answered evasively. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering. And why are you waiting here? Shouldn’t you be on your way to the city?” asked Mirro.

  “I needed some time,” I answered with conviction, “to calm my nerves down after everything that happened down there.”

  “You have to take care of your nerves; you need them to stay healthy,” said Mirro with a nod. “You’re probably waiting for your friends, too, right?”

  “What if I am?” I liked the pair less and less. “What’s wrong with that? It’s a team game, after all.”

  “So, they probably died near the entrance.” The smile on Damian’s face was unnerving. “High level?”

  “That’s none of your business,” I replied sharply with steel in my voice. “They are what they are. Would you mind telling me why you’re asking?”

  “It’s simple,” Damian responded, still smiling. “This is our business. Every once in a while, we drop by and check the areas close to the entrance. The players who get this far are usually pretty high-level, so we often get lucky with abandoned cocoons just inside the mines. They let down their guard when they’re this close, and that’s what the mine monsters are waiting for. And then they run off back to the depths when the deed is done. They don’t like the light, so they leave the cocoons here for us.”

  There was logic to what he was saying, though letting our guard down wasn’t what did our group in. The ice devils would have slaughtered us either way. Well, okay, Fitz may have relaxed a bit prematurely. Moris, too.

  “Well, not this time, gentlemen.” I was doing my best not to exacerbate the situation. “My friends will be coming soon to pick up their things, so I wouldn’t call them abandoned.”

  “Why not?” asked Mirro in surprise. “Are they yours? If so, go get them. But if you’re not going in, then we will. You snooze, you lose.”

  “Guys, do you really need this?” I had no desire whatsoever to fight them. Each was past Level 60. I may have had an outside shot at killing one of them, but I had no chance against them both. “They’re Hounds of Death veterans, both good friends of the Gray Witch. Is that really something you want to get involved in?”

  “Oh, please,” snorted Mirro, having finally decided to throw off the façade of good manners. “Why would Hound veterans take a noob from—what is it?—the Thunderbirds with them? Listen to yourself; veterans from a top clan died, while some nobody survived. Does that sound reasonable to you? Next, you’ll say they died protecting you! How can you say that with a straight face?”

  I smiled involuntarily; he was right. The truth, the honest-to-goodness truth, sounded like complete nonsense.

  “Believe it or not, that’s up to you. What I told you is 100% true.” Just in case, I pulled out my sword, unslung my shield, and stood with my back to the mine exit. “As long as I’m alive and my friends haven’t come back, I won’t let you in there. You can decide how much you want a PKer badge and a spot on two clan blacklists.”

  The pair glanced at each other and pulled their swords out of their sheaths. Damian wielded a gladius with a pretentiously decorated hilt, while the enormous two-handed sword Mirro fought with made me feel a bit better. That type of weapon takes skill to use, and you need more space than was available on the platform the three of us were standing on.

  “Somehow, I think we’ll be okay,” answered Damian. “Maybe you’d be better off wondering why two clans would blacklist us for your sake. Even if they do, we’ll be fine. Our clan is much stronger than your Thunderbirds, so your clan leader will think twice before trying anything.”

  Judging by the badges over their heads, the raiders belonged to the Sons of Taranis clan. I had heard of it. The Sons of Taranis was a strong, ambitious clan that focused on filling their ranks with powerful warriors, and they were the kind of players who, as they say in the movies, believed in an even “nine grams of lead for everyone.” Damian was probably right that Elina wouldn’t stand up for me, though the same could hardly be said of the Gray Witch. And when Miurat hears who made off with his stuff… Not to mention Fitz!

  I wasn’t that worried. Even if they killed and robbed me—something I figured would probably happen—they wouldn’t be able to sell everything I had very quickly. Even if they made it to the town, they’d have to auction it all off; vendors didn’t take things like mine. The cavalry would be along any minute. It was just a shame I’d have to part with the experience I’d gained…

  “Let me warn you one more time. Get out of the way,” said Mirro slowly and threateningly.

  “And I’ll give you one more chance. Walk away,” I answered.

  “You made your choice,” said Damian idly as he stepped toward me.

  Well, that didn’t work. I was in for a fight, and I was probably going to die. What if they can’t port directly here?

  “Wolf Soul!” I shouted. It was as good a chance as any to see what I was able to summon.

  From nowhere, appeared a hulking gray wolf. He took up position in front of me and bared his teeth at my opponents.

  So how do I tell him what to do? There was only one way to find out.

  “Bite the one with the short sword,” I said, pointing at Damian with my blade.

  The wolf quickly leaped, traversing the platform with a snarl. It’s just a shame he won’t last long. Damian was a tough nut to crack, and an animal like that would barely put a dent in him. I figured I’d bought myself thirty seconds. To be fair, that’s an eternity in a fight, so I hoped something might swing my way.

  Mirro whirled his two-handed sword around dexterously, making his way toward me. If I had been fool enough to get in its way, he probably would ha
ve finished me off in just one or two swings. You can’t even take hits from a sword like that on your shield. Happily, I was able to dodge his swipes, and the third time I ducked, jumped forward, and smoothly ran my sword through his back. The Memory of the God, which I shouted as I did, worked—about 20% of his health slipped away.

  A plaintive cry from my wolf told me that I was about to die and that the damage I’d been able to do to Mirro would probably be my only success in the duel. I raised my sword and—

  “Well, what do we have here?” I heard Miurat’s jolly voice ask. “Who are you, my friends? You don’t look like you’re from our neighborhood.”

  “Not even our county,” continued a voice I didn’t recognize.

  “I certainly didn’t die down there just so you could die out here!” Miurat shoved Damian and Mirro aside before coming over to me. “So, what are you and these fine young men fighting about?”

  I sheathed my sword and tossed my shield behind my back. “Oh, nothing. They wanted to go pick up Fitz’s and your things,” I said without an ounce of pity for the two marauders. “I told them it was a bad idea, that they belong to some strong players from the Hounds of Death, and that you wouldn’t be happy if they did. They didn’t believe me, and they said they didn’t care who the cocoons belonged to or what clan they were from—this is their business, and nobody’s going to get in their way. That’s when we started fighting.”

  “Oh, come on, it wasn’t exactly like that,” said Mirro sullenly.

  “Miurat, you figure this all out!” barked Fitz. “They didn’t get my things, which is good news for them, so I’m going to pick them up. Just make sure they understand what we think of rats. I’ll grab your stuff, too; you died in the hall, right?”

  Miurat nodded.

  “Let’s go!” ordered Fitz, who dove into the darkness followed by another eight veterans covered in iron. I thought I recognized one of them—especially when he waved before he jumped in after Fitz. Was that Turok? Maybe Nox.

  “Well, well, well.” Miurat stretched like a cat, stepped closer to the marauders, and continued in a smooth tone. “So, which part was my friend lying about? Did he tell you those things belonged to someone? Answer me!” His voice changed, adding sudden aggression.

  Damian and Mirro nodded together.

  “So, he told you.” Miurat was clearly in his element. “And that they belonged to someone from an important clan—did he tell you that?”

  They nodded again.

  “Did you listen to him? Ah, I can tell from your faces that you didn’t. Your swords are still out of their sheaths, which is also a bit of a giveaway.”

  The unlucky grave robbers hurried to sheath their weapons.

  “It’s a little late for that,” Miurat said sympathetically. “You’re already in up to your necks. Attacking an ally of the Hounds of Death—not to mention a personal friend of its leader—trying to pull a trick like that, what you said about the clan and its leader… Not good. I’m afraid to even think what Glen will do to you when he hears that he has rats like you in his clan… Given his principles, I don’t think we Hounds will need to lift a finger.”

  “Maybe we don’t have to do that?” asked Mirro tentatively.

  “Do what?” Miurat responded, half inquisitively and half mockingly.

  “Tell Glen.”

  “If it were only Hagen and me, that might be possible. You could give us something for our trouble, and we’d call it a day. But Fitz is involved, too, and he won’t stop until you’ve paid in blood. That’s just the kind of stubborn mule he is. Yes?” Miurat looked at me.

  I pursed my lips and nodded as if to agree that, yes, he was stubborn to a fault; he wouldn’t be happy until he got what was coming to him. They didn’t need to know that old Fitz had probably forgotten about them already.

  The pair stood there dejected, but they jumped when they heard steps coming up the stairs and a voice I didn’t know.

  “Miurat, you old rascal. If you yanked me all the way out here for nothing, I’ll have your head on a pike. And I’m not getting in on one of your scams!”

  A man walked up onto the platform, and I couldn’t help but notice his green cloak, claymore (it must have cost a fortune in real money, as it was an exact replica), and carefully trimmed beard. I looked at his name and saw that it was Glen, the head of the Sons of Taranis.

  He hugged Miurat, apparently an old friend, amiably, nodded to me cordially, then looked at his clan mates in some confusion.

  “Miurat, my friend,” he said thoughtfully, “is there something I don’t know?”

  “I think so,” answered Miurat in a friendly tone. “Allow me to tell you about a small venture your underlings here thought up.”

  With that, Miurat told Glen a story that bore only passing resemblance to the one I told him and was even further from the actual truth. It was, however, witty to the point where I could barely keep from laughing at points. Miurat was a fantastic storyteller, something I’d noted already in the mines.

  “Well, you made half of that up, though the other half is the truth,” summed up Glen. “And that half is enough for me to chase these animals so fast around Rattermark for the next six months that the ground starts to get hot under their feet.”

  He stared fiercely at Damian and Mirro. “You just wait. We’ll head to the clan fortress, and the Large Council will decide what to do with you.”

  Glen looked them over hotly one more time before coming over to me. “You did excellent work—taking them both on and keeping your cool, not going crazy or trying to play the hero. Respect.” The leader of the Sons of Taranis held out his hand. “Glen.”

  “Hagen,” I replied, taking it. “Warrior, Thunderbirds.”

  “Elina is lucky to have someone like you in her clan. But what are you doing with this character?” Glen motioned in the direction of Miurat with his chin. “You keep your distance from that spider.”

  Miurat crossed his arms over his chest and looked back with mock indignation written all over his face.

  “Okay, what kind of compensation would you like for these two fools?” Glen asked with a broad smile. “If you want gold, just tell me how much.”

  “Oh, I don’t want anything.” I shrugged. “Everything ended well, thank God. And I gather you’re going to be giving them a hedgehog birthday today anyway.”

  Glen’s eyebrows shot up. “A hedgehog birthday?”

  “Well, I imagine they’ll be giving birth, spines-first.” I winked at him.

  He roared with laughter.

  “I like this one,” he said to Miurat. “He’s our kind of guy.”

  “For sure,” answered Miurat with a nod.

  “Still, I don’t like letting something like that go without an apology from the clan,” said Glen, turning back to me. “Ah-ha! Got it!”

  He pulled off his cloak and held it out to me.

  “Here, take this. It’s just a gift from a friend, I don’t mean it to be an insult, a brush-off, or compensation. Just one warrior to another.”

  I took it and looked it over.

  Sir Berj’s Cloak

  Belonged to a great warrior and poet who gave up everything for the sake of his true love’s happiness.

  Protection: 280-346

  +22 to strength

  +16% chance of parrying opponents’ blows

  +12% to dodge ability

  +7% protection from cold

  +3% chance of getting hidden quests

  Boosts Worthy Reward to Level 2 (if that passive ability is learned; this happens once, while the ability’s effect is permanent)

  Class limitation: only warriors

  Durability: 378/440

  Minimum level for use: 48

  “Wow,” was all I could say. “That’s such an expensive gift!”

  “Not too expensive,” answered Glen with a shrug. “It’s fair. Oh, and here’s one more thing.”

  He pulled a ring out of his bag and handed it to me.

  Sons o
f Taranis Friendship Ring

  +22 to stamina

  +18 to agility

  +18% protection from fire

  +9% defense against all weapon types

  Durability: 232/260

  Minimum level for use: 45

  Cannot be stolen, lost, or given to anyone else.

  If the owner dies, does not remain at the location of their death.

  “I always keep a ring like that on me, but I very rarely give them out,” added Glen. “In this case, I think it’s well-deserved. I hope there’s no bad blood left between you and our clan?”

  “There wasn’t any to begin with,” I answered sincerely, stuffing the cloak into my bag and slipping the ring onto my finger. “Why would there be? Clans all have their idiots. You don’t even have to do anything; they appear on their own.”

  Glen smiled. “Isn’t that the truth? Our clan fortress is here in the North not far from Holfstrig. If you’re in the area, stop by and say hello. Just flash the ring at the gate, and you’ll be our honored guest.”

  “I definitely will. It looks like I’ll be staying in the North for a while anyway.” There was no point being coquettish about it.

  Who knows? Maybe I really will drop by.

  Glen shook my hand, nodded, and turned to Damian and Mirro, who were standing in a corner staring at their feet. “Well, you little parasites, let’s see where you’ll be flying off to.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the stairs. “See you, Miurat.”

  Just then, a happy Fitz, wearing his usual armor, pulled himself out of the mines.

  “Here, Miurat, take your stuff!” he bellowed. “Oh, hey, Glen. Did they complain about your little pipsqueaks? You need to push your people harder. They’re over here robbing honest warriors and digging up graves, the creeps.”

  “Hey, you old bear.” Glen waved. “Yeah, I know, I’m thinking about what to do with them. So, you’re still dragging the kids through the mines? Careful or you’ll kill them off before they can grow into the clan. You should think of something easier.”

  “Never!” roared Fitz. “Better have them learn up front that being a Hound of Death is about surviving, not playing games. This way they’ll be ready for anything—especially after the mines. Right, Hagen?”