The Mists of Erantia (Realm of Arkon Book 7) Page 9

  Max passed a handful of pebbles picked up off the ground from one hand to the other, then looked up at me with a smile.

  "None of them understand... With the exception of her and that spindly mage. And even their understanding is limited." Kicking aside a wooden chip, he dusted off his palms and reached into his bag for a tinderbox. "I'm not sure I could explain my thoughts in a language even I would understand, let alone anyone else..."

  "Hold up, is being the Guardian of the Great Forest a bad thing or something?! I saw tears in the goddess' eyes..."

  "Did you happen to see any bonuses to the clan or raid?" Max shook his head as he lit up. "I'm not anyone's guardian yet, Roman. The Great Forest may have chosen its guardian, but I haven't become one yet. I cannot pinpoint any changes aside from this strange tongue and a tangled mess of new information in my head..."

  "Anything specific?"

  "There's a quest," Max said. "Level 500, for an artifact. To plant mallorns in the Silver Grove. Not hidden, not epic... And only the one chosen by the Great Forest can complete it. By himself..." My friend closed his eyes, leaned the back of his head against the boulder behind him, and added, with the pipe still hanging from his mouth. "And if I fail, the elves will never have their mallorn trees..."

  "Well, they managed just fine without them a couple of thousand years, right?" I shrugged. "So, what's the big deal?"

  "Don't talk like that, Roman," Max opened his eyes, and gazed up at the sunset. "For elves, mallorn trees are like the smile of a beloved, like a sip of freshly brewed coffee in the morning, or a sip of cool water after a summer run."

  "Are we reciting poetry now?" I cast an askance glance at my friend, my right brow raised. "Speak plainly, damn it."

  "To loosely quote our lit teacher: 'You ain't got a poet's bone in your body, Kozhevnikov...'"

  "Oh, it's all right—I'm happy enough as an artist," I grinned. "And if I recall correctly, I got better grades in literature than you."

  "Irrelevant," Max laughed. "Anyway, the truth is that none of this makes total sense to me, either. But there is supposedly a permanent buff that mallorn trees bestow upon the elves on the Great Forest's territory..."

  "Even upon the gods?"

  "Aye, as long as they were born elves," Max nodded. "Don't ask me about the buff's details, I don't know. Only that everyone will get annaalasse—a sensation of absolute bliss."

  "As soon as enter its territory? Like a narcotic or something?

  "No, nothing like that," Max shook his head. "You just have to be an elf to understand it. It's like coming home after being away for ages, and remaining in that emotional state for all times. I don't know how else to explain it."

  "Forget it, then," I waved dismissively, then gestured toward the Great Forest. "Did you at least figure out how to plant them? Is there something I can do to help?"

  "Help yourself first," Max shook his head, giving me the evil eye. "It's a good thing Alyona hasn't yet realized you're on your own against that Teiran character."

  "What do you mean?" I scoffed. "Five hundred players and one hundred NPCs... I'll be all right."

  "Do you even believe that yourself?" Max stared at the tinderbox still clutched in his hand, then stashed it away and looked over to me. "I know you thought about why the number of NPCs allowed into the dungeon with you is capped at exactly one hundred? After all, a dozen of the king's elite guards could probably take out a dark god's companion and his entire army without breaking a sweat. And given the danger looming over the city, the nobility will be bending over backwards and paying through the nose to be taken along into the dungeon. But then..."

  "What?"

  "Why would you need the players? Four centuries of them? Level 200 and above? Do you need me to spell it out?"

  "Go for it," I smiled.

  "The century you'll take with you will be ordinary sluggers no higher than level 250. And considering Teiran's damage output, he'll wipe the floor with them before the battle even really begins." Max drew a sigh, and peered into my eyes. "The players will have only themselves to count on against the Lord of Darkness, and I personally can't even fathom the kind of horde we'd need to amass, let alone coordinate, to secure a victory."

  "Just don't say anything to Alyona, smart guy. The System can make mistakes, too." Finding Lola with my eyes, I gestured toward her. "And here's living proof. Tell me instead what you plan to do with those seeds of yours."

  "Nothing is clear," Max shrugged, staring at the ground at his feet. "The quest description says that a minimum of eighty trees must be planted. Out of one hundred and one maximum."

  "And I suppose that will determine the potency of the permanent buff and everlasting elven happiness?"

  "That's right," Max nodded as he exhaled the smoke. "Eighty trees planted would equal eighty percent of the buff. One hundred trees—one hundred percent, all one hundred and one trees planted would equal one hundred twenty percent of the buff."

  "I see. So, what are you thinking?"

  Max knocked out the pipe against the log unhurriedly, then stashed it away, producing a flask instead.

  "Tomorrow morning I'm sending you off to the Erantian border." He winced after taking a sip, then nodded toward the field campfires. "And the rest I'll take via a portal to the Silver Grove. From there, everyone will part ways. My people will head to the Wild Wood, Teetotaler and his guys to Vagabond's castle. As for me... Look, Roman, if anything happens to me, I want you to come get Alyona right away. She is a demoness now..."

  "Bite your tongue!" I shook my head. "What's going to happen to you? Will you turn into Pinocchio or something?" Taking out a flask of my own—the one that used to belong to Rynec—I followed Max's lead.

  The necromancer's vessel was pretty small, barely over a quarter liter, so I didn't need to worry about alcoholism. Rynec had taken the lid with him, and I could have done just fine without it—thankfully, player inventories were spill-proof—but one of Teetotaler's guys happened to be a jeweler for whom fashioning a lid was as easy as making a peace sign.

  "I didn't tell you the main thing, Roman," Max continued. "And it's this. Basically, if the Guardian takes the side of any race or High House, it doubles their strength while fighting on their territory. I am the second Guardian chosen by the Great Forest. The first Guardian perished during the invasion of the dark gods..."

  "And the elves then fell into their fratricidal wars," I continued his thought. "After all, if the Guardian was still around, he could come out for your High House and thereby prevent the war from breaking out. The elves would have remained a united people... And now the mallon trees are gone, and all fifteen High Houses are paralyzed with anticipation... But can't they—"

  "No, they can't," Max shook his head, as if reading my mind. "I got several pages' worth of reputation gains. And in tiny font, too. No sentient creature that calls the Great Forest its home will ever lay a finger on the Guardian."

  "Well, isn't that something..." I exhaled in awe, the full breath and implications of my friend's transformation dawning on me at long last. "That's quite a promotion!"

  "I wouldn't call it a promotion," Max gave a sheepish smile. "The Guardian is just an ordinary elf that the Great Forest occasionally uses to communicate with its children. "Kind of like an adjutant to a general."

  "Yeah, OK," I grinned. "Only in this case, the adjutant is at least a major in rank, and has several generals hanging on his words. Anyway, I've got no advice for you here. You were chosen, so the mess is yours to untangle."

  "The quest comes first, and everything else after. If I complete it..."

  "Not 'if,' but 'when,'" I corrected him. "Of course you're going to complete it—you ain't got a choice! And not another word about that unless you want to see my head explode. And I've got only the one, so I'd sooner avoid it. There's just one final matter to discuss, then?"

  Waiting for his affirmative nod, I continued.

  "I will send Donut with all the stuff as soon as we reach Vaedarr. W
ait for him to bring you the sword I'd looted off Shaartakh before starting your cultivation efforts. It's been gathering dust for too long already, you hear?" I took another sip, letting the pleasant warmth spread throughout my body. "I'm glad you remembered it when choosing your prize for that last quest. What kind of ring did you get, anyway?"

  "Enchanted Band of Primal Howl, a set item," Max demonstrated a plain-looking adamantine ring. "The first was dropped by Cenatodone with a plus to armor and crit. This one has a plus to damage, and the set bonus for both is ten percent to a base stat. But your plan with the sword won't work, Roman. There's no time, and no sword would help me in this situation, anyway. Not even a battalion of Wind Talkers would help..." Rising from the log, Max waved in the camp's direction. "Let's turn in, shall we? We both need some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a difficult day..."

  "As you say," I studied the flask in my hand contemplatively, then sighed and gazed up at the rapidly darkening sky. "You know, Max, my father had a childhood friend nicknamed Sparrow. Dad talked about him often, and I'd always ask myself, why weren't they in touch anymore? Friendship can't just end of a sudden, can it?" I drew another sigh. "I suppose everyone has a Sparrow from their childhood..."

  "You're not talking about us, are you, Roman?" Max smiled, and brought his flask to mine for a soft clink. "Here's to a friendship that will never end..."

  Chapter 7

  "Quit fussing, will you!" I barked, grabbing Gloom hard by the tusk and turning his snout toward me.

  The boar whimpered and gave me a look so full of pain and sorrow that were Salta or Raena in my place, this probably would have worked, and the razorback would have spent the rest of his days running around buck-naked. It was how a restrained cat on an operating table might look at a veterinarian bent over him with a pair of blunt scissors in hand. But I was immune to this kind of trickery. My mood was sour enough already, and the weather taking a sudden turn for the worst, with an overcast sky spewing out cold nasty drizzle, turning the ground underfoot to a slippery ooze, really wasn't helping.

  "Oh yeah, you're a real martyr!" Slipping Gloom's favorite bristling fruit into his mouth, I bent over and began fastening broad straps over the razorback's belly.

  But the armor didn't appear to cause him any discomfort. He could even guzzle down grub with the muzzle on, the rogue...

  The camp had awakened about an hour ago. The foxes and Teetotaler's guys were busy packing up tents or breakfasting, while I kept myself busy "outfitting" Gloom to keep my mind off the somber thoughts of our imminent parting. Back in the world I hailed from, no one had ever bothered to fashion armor for a wild boar mount, and I'd have no chance in hell of putting the armor on the black beast without Arkon clinging to classic game laws. But it ended up being rather simple, as the mechanism was exactly the same as horse armor. All you had to do was mentally insert the armor pieces, in the correct order, into the mount's pop-up window, and suddenly you knew exactly how all the pieces were supposed to fit, which straps to secure where, and so on. And thank heavens for that, as otherwise I'd be liable to blow my casket before figuring it all out. The only downside was the armor wouldn't equip automatically like before, but only manually... A consequence of our existing in the bloody Medieval Times.

  After half an hour of blood and sweat, I finally secured the last strap, then took a few steps back to gaze upon the result. It ended up being quite satisfactory.

  "Just gorgeous!" Donut's awed voice came from behind me. "He was a badass already, but now..."

  Turning around, I saw that no less than two dozen people had been observing the razorback's new gown. And not just the players—even some of the foxes were in the audience. As if realizing that he was the center of conversation, Gloom puffed loudly and with dignity, turned sharply around, and gave the idling crowd a menacing stare. Apparently, the heartfelt pleading expressions were meant for me and me alone.

  "Imagine him going into a meat shop and politely asking if they have any pork patties..." Bonbon mused from the first row.

  "What do you mean, you don't have any?" one of the guys picked up the gag. "What if you look real hard?"

  Gorgeous is the word! I thought to myself, listening to the buzz and laughter coming from all around. The black leather gleaned like metal, making the boar looked like some kind of armored car circa the XX century. One hundred ninety thousand HP, nearly sixteen thousand armor class, eighty to resistances and one to all skills! The armor automatically raised Fortification to three, cutting all incoming physical damage to five percent, and magic damage to ten. And with a rank four Charge, I couldn't wait to gain some speed and smash into the enemy! And I reckoned that even world bowling champions would choke on envy at the results!

  As everyone went about their business, and Gloom lowered himself into a mud puddle—carefully, as if to avoid splashing—Teetotaler came up to me. With the rain having ended, the mage gave a dubious look at the lead-colored clouds hanging over the valley, shrugged, and produced a rollie from his bag.

  "We have to go with you, Krian," he said calmly, putting away the tinderbox.

  "Who are 'we?'" I inquired, watching the boar make himself comfortable in his mud bath.

  "Me. And Myrrha, a ranger from the first squad," the mage explained. "She's got a husband in Vaedarr, and I need to start organizing our people."

  "What people?" I turned to him in surprise.

  "Max and I had a chat last night, and we both agree that nobody's going to help the players against the Lord of Darkness," the mage pulled on his cigarette, and held the smoke for a few seconds before exhaling. "Our clan has around forty level 200 players, counting myself and Vagabond. And roughly half of them are in Vaedarr."

  "What makes you think the former NPCs won't help us?" I objected, annoyed. "Take Altus, the archmage I'd met immediately after the patch. He wasn't supposed to help, either..."

  "This is different," Teetotaler shook his head. "The System already specified the exact number of both players and NPCs, right?"

  "And your point is?"

  "My point is that, any way you slice, you're going to need at least five centuries of level 200 fighters." The mage studied his smoking rollie, took one more pull, and chucked it aside. "Do you honestly think that it hadn't considered all the possibilities? Including your possibly taking along somebody like Myrt? No, this century won't help you in any way. The opposite is more likely."

  "Fine, let's say I'm conviced. But where do you come in? I get Myrrha wanting to get to her husband, but you and the other dark elves? You've completed your goddess' task, so what do you care for the affairs of humans? You've got your own invasion to prepare for."

  "The Ancients' coming isn't imminent—we'll have time for them yet. As for the rest of it... We're players, Roman, in case you forgot. We're prepared to take the risk for what promises to be a truly epic reward. Those in Vaedarr are likewise prepared, even if they don't know it yet. As for your guys," he turned around, gesturing toward the camp, "they don't need me anymore. Viper will be their guide, and will report to Vagabond as well. Meanwhile, Myrrha will gather all of our level 200s in the Great Forest and bring them to Vaedarr. Max is already on board."

  "You do realize that I don't have a strategy guide against him, don't you?" I inquired, just to confirm.

  "I do, and I estimate our chances of success at roughly three percent. And yet..."

  "Why three?"

  "I'm partial to statistical analytics. And when analyzing any given task, three percent is the standard margin of error. That's what I'm banking on," the mage shrugged, then grinned. "Or maybe I'm banking on your luck, given how implausibly lucky you've been to this point. The least we can do now is to lend a shoulder, should the need arise."

  "Very well!" I clapped Teetotaler on the shoulder, and grinned in return. "Tell Kan to fill you in on all his plans."

  Finding Max with my eyes, I started in his direction, stepping softly on the wet grass. Noticing me leaving, Gloom snorted loudly right from his b
ath, then rose reluctantly and followed after.

  "Y'all ready?" seeing me approach, Max nodded to Luffy standing nearby, then gestured at a small stone platform. "I'll build the portal here. You're sure I need to open it to the very border?"

  "That's what the knight-commander decided." I looked at Kan for confirmation.

  "This way we won't need to infiltrate the barrier on either side of the border," the knight-commander pointed Saverus out to Teetotaler, and walked over to us. "We'll destroy the undead upon emerging from the portal. If we fail or if there are too many of them, we'll retreat toward Kyrott. The main thing is to cross the border quickly. We'll play it by ear from there."

  "As you say," Max nodded, then looked around at the gathered players and commanded. "Five minutes to liftoff! Buff up everyone heading out... and say your goodbyes."

  "Don't get into too much trouble without me. And remember that I'm not alone here," there weren't any tears on Alyona's face, but I sensed that this was just as hard on her as it was on me.

  "I'll try," I said, pressing my sister to my chest. I stroked her hair until I hit the smooth surface of her horns, and smiled. "Goodbye, Ginger... And behave..."

  "Not 'goodbye,' but 'see you later,'" Alyona sobbed. "After you slay all those dragons, come right back. And bring your wife—I've got lots of fun stories to share with her."

  "Squads one and five, move out!" Kan roared into the general channel when the emerald window of a portal materialized on the platform. "Mages follow! Fan out as you exit the portal!"

  "That's me, sis. See you later!"

  I pecked her on the cheek, and waved at the troops staying behind. Then I summoned Gloom, and walked over to a solitary figure standing several yards from the portal window.

  "Keep her safe, brother!" I said softly as we embraced.

  "You know that I'll die before I let anybody hurt her..." my friend replied just us softly.

  "I know... But also keep her safe from herself..."

  "Fair enough," he smiled.

  "And good luck with your gardening quest!"