Winds of Fate Read online

  The Sea Kings always kept their word, serving faithfully for as long as they said they would even if whole hirds died in the process. Neither money nor anything else was ever enough to persuade them to switch sides in a conflict. On the other hand, they were perfectly fine with walking away from an employer when their contract was up or, at that point and only at that point, switching sides if their erstwhile employer’s opponent offered them a better deal.

  While there were plenty of small villages and homesteads scattered across the North, they were, as a rule, under the protection of one or another of the burgs.

  Besides all those human factions, there was one more creature who wielded immense power.

  At the very edge of the North, where the land ended and the Frozen Ocean began, was a place where the crazy Sea Kings’ drakkars never sailed—the enormous Ice Wall and Great Fomor’s palace, which was stood within it. Nobody knew what race Fomor belonged to, but he was a strange and incredibly dangerous creature. Nobody knew where he came from, and nobody had ever tried to kill him. There was a very simple reason for that; he was an NPC rather than some kind of epic or other monster. Killing NPCs, as everyone knew, only earned you problems. Sure, there were hotheads out there who were curious enough to find their way to his door in search of hidden quests. Some of them were taken out by Fomor’s guards, while others managed to make it all the way into his throne room and have a chat with him. Nobody got any quests; all they got was a recommendation never to visit again. The creature didn’t like people and did no business with them. He cherished plans to enslave the entire North, and visitors kept him from planning his conquests. The guards then unceremoniously tossed them out of the ice castle with a kick in the pants to make sure they got the message.

  That convinced the gaming community that the Great Fomor was a lost cause and not worth the trouble it took to walk away with nothing.

  Fomor did pull some of the strings of power in the North, with some people claiming that a few of the rixes answered to him.

  Miurat paused there and glanced up at Nox, who was walking back toward us.

  “What’s up?” he asked the giant.

  “I need to go to sleep! Have to stick to my routine!” he boomed, embarrassed like a schoolchild.

  “Hmm.” Miurat scratched his head. “Ah, don’t worry about it, we’re twenty minutes away. Get us to the walls, and you can go nighty-night. Look, you can see the burg from here.”

  Nox nodded and headed back toward his post in the vanguard. Miurat went back to his story.

  “Okay, so back to reputations. You can bump yours up with quests, of course, and you can get pretty far that way, especially since all the burgs have quest chains that give you all kinds of goodies. You won’t be able to max out your reputation that way, though. Most players who want to keep going sign up to serve one of the rixes. Later, if you work hard enough, you can even enlist with the könig.”

  “Can you just go straight to the könig?” I asked.

  Miurat grinned.

  As it turned out, reputation in the North was just as local as it was important. First of all, there wasn’t any “friendship” or “respect.” There was just a scale from zero to 100. If a burg had no idea who you were, your reputation was zero. Once you got to 100, you could kick open the door of the rix’s house, and they’d pour you a glass and even give you something nice and salty to eat while you drank it.

  However, the only thing building a maximum reputation in one burg meant in the others was that they’d let you in the gates. There was a chance the locals would even talk to you, but that was about it. You started from scratch, doing quests or showing your skill with a blade as a hirdman serving the local rix.

  As if that weren’t enough, your reputation in the eight burgs barely touched your reputation meter in the capital. He might deign to talk to you, though that was only if you’d built up a good reputation in at least six of the burgs. At least, you could always enter the capital, which made sense—the auction and everything else were there.

  But, otherwise, the könig threw a wrench into the whole system. He had his own scale you had to climb, but 100 points weren’t enough for him. You had to collect a whole 300. His scale was called Respect among the peoples of the North, and everything you did fed into it. Build up your reputation in one city and the könig’s scale would jump a few points. Finish a series of quests—that was a few dozen points. Maxing out that scale gave you respect and honor throughout the Northern lands, as well as a chance to unlock hidden and even epic quests. That last part was random, but the precedent was there. It just took you forever to get there.

  Long story short, my job was to build up my reputation in the burg we’d almost arrived at; there was no way around that.

  “But will they let me in?” I looked up at the looming walls apprehensively.

  “In Hexburg?” Miurat jabbed a finger in the direction of the walls. “Of course, it’s the city closest to the pass, so it’s sort of a starter city. Everything’s simpler here. You very well may not be let into the next city, however, unless you build a reputation here.”

  “So complicated,” I said, shaking my head. “In the West, it’s simple: you just go wherever you want and do whatever you feel like…”

  “You thought it would be like that up here?” Miurat’s eyes narrowed. “Down there, the people don’t really want to stress too much. In the North, everyone is more serious about the game. There are a lot of role-players, for example—I know a guy who likes to pretend he’s a Viking, so he’s been off sailing around in a drakkar with the Sea Kings for half a year now. He grew out his beard, he drinks ale by the barrel, and he even curses in Swedish. Fun times!”

  “Cool,” I said, appreciating his devotion to the role.

  “A lot of people are pretty hardcore. There are half a dozen really tough locations. There’s the World Snake, the jotunn caves… I wouldn’t even touch them on the hard level. Nox probably did though. None of that matters to you, on the other hand, since you need to be Level 100 to even think about all that.”

  “Agreed, though I wouldn’t mind seeing the World Snake,” I said, drawing out my words.

  “Just look up a video online,” replied Miurat. “So, is that it? Have I answered all your questions?”

  “Pretty much.” I nodded. “What’s yours?”

  “Did the Gray Witch give you a ticket for a trip to Rivenholm on the flagship?” Miurat squinted at me again.

  “Yes,” I answered, surprised at the absurdity of the question. I thought—

  Miurat threw a handful of powder into my face, getting a sneeze out of me. The smell was familiar; it was truth powder.

  “Why did you do that?” I whined. “I have an allergy to that stuff! And why would I lie to you?”

  “Trust, but verify,” answered Miurat. “We’re both adults, so I’m not going to apologize. I think you understand.”

  I had to agree that we were both adults, though I didn’t understand anything. What did that question have to do with anything?

  We walked up to the burg gate to find Nox there shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

  “What’s with the dance?” asked Miurat. “Need to go pee-pee?”

  “Can I go? My coach is going to kill me!” answered Nox plaintively.

  “Yes, go, go,” said Miurat with a wave. “Well done; you did your job.”

  “Thanks, Nox,” I managed to say before the giant waved and disappeared.

  Miurat pounded on the closed gate and roared to make himself heard.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

  From above us, presumably from the platform above the gate, popped the sleepy head of a guard.

  “What do you need?”

  “We need to get inside,” answered Miurat. “Just a couple travelers looking for a place to sleep in the common house.”

  He looked over at me, so I nodded and confirmed Miurat’s story.

  “Yep, just two pilgrims.”
/>   “Who’s out there? A messenger?” we heard someone say from behind the wall.

  “No,” answered the guard, looking us over carefully. “Travelers, apparently foreigners. I can barely understand them.”

  “Then let them in. We can’t leave foreigners waiting outside the gate this late at night.”

  The guard disappeared, and a couple minutes later, the gate swung wide. I walked into Hexburg.

  You unlocked Cities of the North.

  To get it, visit all eight of the burgs in the North (visited so far: 1) and then visit Holmstag.

  Reward:

  Title: Connoisseur of the North

  +5% protection from cold

  +1 respect among the peoples of the North

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

  “Got the burg action?” Miurat nodded knowingly.

  “Yup.”

  “It’s easy enough. Okay, head over to the common house over there; that’s what they call the hotels up here. I’m off. If you need anything, call or write. If you have money, send it; if you have news, send that, too.”

  Miurat wants to add you as a friend.

  Accept?

  “It would be an honor,” I responded.

  “Oh, and one more thing I almost forgot,” Miurat said, snapping his fingers. “Your reputation doesn’t just go up. If you do something to compromise yourself in the eyes of the Northerners…oh, I don’t know…like getting caught stealing, hitting a woman, or betraying someone with somebody there to catch you in the act, your reputation will drop. So, think before you speak and definitely think before you act. Although to be fair, the North isn’t the only place you should do that.”

  Miurat playfully saluted before stepping into a portal he opened.

  I was exhausted, but I took the time to walk over to a headstone I’d noticed and then dragged myself to the common house. Once there, I woke up a glowering gentleman named Holm, who was asleep behind the concierge desk.

  “Why are you still awake?” grumbled Holm. “Normal people are long since asleep, and this one’s still up and about. Your room isn’t even paid for.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Nope! Pay or get out!” he barked.

  I figured the money I’d paid in…Oh, what was that city’s name? Oh, well, doesn’t matter. Anyway, it had apparently run out.

  “Here’s 100 gold. Can I have the key?” I asked Holm wearily.

  He grumbled something under his breath, but he grabbed the money, gave me a key so big it would have made Pinocchio hang himself in envy, and went back to sleep.

  I walked up to the room, collapsed on the bed, and logged out of the game.

  It was night in Moscow, too, and Vika was quietly snoring as she slept peacefully. I lay on the couch, convinced I’d be out before my head hit the pillow.

  Chapter Seven

  In which the hero first assumes he’s just a bit unlucky, then realizes things are much worse than he thought.

  Back in the game, I figured I’d be out like a log as soon as I crashed into my bed. Nope! For some reason, I couldn’t get to sleep. I tossed and turned, adjusted my pillow, and nearly woke Vika, who mumbled over at me sleepily.

  “What are you so antsy for? Go to sleep.”

  I couldn’t. I don’t know if it was all the leftover adrenaline still in my blood or just how tired I was after the past few days. That definitely happens to me. If I get tired enough, it gets to the point where I don’t even want to eat or sleep anymore. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t happening. I lay there, wide-awake.

  After half an hour of that, I turned over once more and decided to give up, have a smoke, and do some digging in the Fayroll forums. No sooner had I made that decision, than I fell fast asleep.

  I decided to take that Sunday off after the rough time I’d been having in the virtual world. It wasn’t to the point where the virtual and the actual were mingling in my head; it was just time for a break. Plus, it was a Sunday, after all.

  Rainy fall was well underway in Moscow, though the sun was shining through the yellowing leaves that day. I love autumn, how easy it is to breathe, and all the colors that come along with it. It’s the best time of year to go for a walk along some leafy path in a cozy little park.

  So, that’s exactly what Vika and I did. We headed for Kuskovo, one of Moscow’s most beautiful estate museums, and walked along the alleys, enjoying the tall, thick oaks they say were planted back in the time of Peter the Great. Everyone knows how much the old tsar liked oaks—to the point that he would take foreign dignitaries out to plant them. Anyway, we had a great time and even visited the museum in the Sheremetev house.

  Vika had never been to Kuskovo, and I could tell she loved the peace and quiet, the rustling of the leaves, and even the acorns that were everywhere. We walked, Vika giggling at my jokes.

  I’ll be honest, it had been a long time since I’d had such a calm and soothing day. You don’t need much to be happy, do you? I mean, sure, there’s a lot you need, but one thing’s for sure, that day, I was happy.

  I’m not sure why that was. Maybe I didn’t have grandiose needs, maybe I wasn’t that ambitious, or maybe I just have simple tastes. Whatever the case, the good weather, Vika—who didn’t leave me wondering in the back of my mind when she’d be leaving (that was big for me) and who was fun to walk with—enough money in my pocket, and some confidence in what the future held were enough for me to breathe in the breadth and depth of life. I didn’t want the day to end.

  ***

  But all good things must, in fact, come to an end, and Vika left for the office Monday morning. A couple hours after the door closed behind her, closer to noon, I climbed into the capsule completely against my will. I told myself that it was better than working as a night watchman or selling papers on the street. There were worse jobs that didn’t pay nearly as much as I was making…

  Life in the burg, interestingly enough, was indistinguishable from life in, for example, Fladridge. There was the same well; the same girls with their buckets walked by; and the only difference was that it was all a bit bigger. The girls were well-built and featured wide, powerful shoulders. Northerners. Blonde beasts.

  There was a blacksmith pounding away at a hunk of iron with his hammer just like in all the other cities in Fayroll, and that was where I headed first.

  “Hi there, my friend,” I started off, picking one of the lulls in the battering the strip of metal was taking. It looked to one day become a sword.

  He glanced up at me before going back to his work without so much as a “hello.”

  Okay, so I get that my reputation is at zero and all that. But isn’t this a bit much?

  “Mr. Blacksmith,” I jumped in again when he took a break from his hammer work. “I know I’m new here, but, still, I haven’t caused problems for you or anyone else. What’s so terrible about just hearing me out? That’s what a decent person would do, anyway.”

  The blacksmith set his tool down and stared at me, apparently waiting to hear what I had to say. Or something like that.

  “I need to have my armor fixed. It’s a little beat up after a trip I just took.” I pointed at my chest.

  That wasn’t the whole truth; it wasn’t all that beat up, especially since I’d had it fixed just three days before in Kroytsen. But I needed a reason to start a conversation with one of the locals, first of all, and I also needed to start working on that passive ability and the money I stood to save if I could level it up. Little by little; step by step.

  “I don’t do work for just anyone,” he finally said. “That’s not my thing.”

  “I’m not just anyone,” I answered with a shrug. “My name is Hagen, Hagen from Tronje. I’m a free laird and seeker of adventures.”

  So, not only had I found a little, nicely sounding homeland somewhere in the depths of my memory; I also had a title the venerable old knight gave me for some reason. I had no idea why I’d decided to promote myself to a “free lai
rd” other than the fact that it sounded good, too.

  “You’ll get my name when you need it,” muttered the blacksmith. “Anyway, Laird, if you need me to do something for you, you’re going to have to do something for me first. Does that work for you?”

  “Why not?” I shrugged again. “How can I help?”

  “Get me twenty pieces of grave iron from the old burial mounds,” he said with what sounded like a malicious tone in his voice.

  You have a new quest offer: Grave Iron

  Task: Get twenty pieces of grave iron.

  You can find it in the old burial mounds, and it can be fragments of weapons or armor scavenged from warriors killed in ancient times.

  Reward:

  600 experience

  +10% discount with the Hexburg blacksmith

  +3 respect in Hexburg

  Additional information: this quest can be repeated up to four times, but it can only be completed once per day. The task and rewards may change each time you complete it.

  Accept?

  I was happy to see that there was a loophole in the whole reputation-building thing. If I could find enough of those quests, I could just go through each of them every day until I got my reputation where it needed to be. The rest of the burgs would have similar quests, too, I figured. But what could change about them?

  “Let’s shake on it, Mr. Blacksmith. You’ll have your iron,” I said strongly, as befits a warrior.

  “We’ll introduce ourselves when you get back.” He grunted and slammed his hammer into the metal again.

  No worries, I got what I needed. I decided to wander around the burg a little more and see what I could find. There wasn’t much point running off with just one quest.

  Sadly, the only person willing to talk to me of their own free will was the local trader, and he offered me a few copper coins for my goods while demanding a mountain of gold for his. The city rix should have talked to me as well, but, as luck would have it, he was off visiting the rix in Fiodal, the neighboring burg. At least, that’s what a guard told me begrudgingly. I got the feeling he wouldn’t have said anything at all if it wasn’t his job to tell me.