The Duty (Play to Live: Book # 3), Page 2

  I cast an inquiring glance at the Fallen One: is she bluffing? He cringed and shrugged. He didn't look too sure.

  "So what do I do?"

  "Just wait. Time will weaken the bond until it deteriorates by itself. I shouldn't die in the meantime if I were you, though. Wherever your bind point, you'll end up here and the next time you won't get off so easily."

  Her smile was full of promise. I gulped. Talk about a rock and a hard place. "So? How long will it take for the bond to deteriorate?"

  She shrugged, faking indifference. "A year. A year without a single death, can't be that difficult. Think you can do it?"

  So that's the catch, then. It sounded quite undoable, but it's not as if I had much choice. I suppose, I'd have to collect all the mithril I could get and make myself a tank.

  Never mind. We'd worry about that when we came to it. As long as I could get out of these wretched dungeons.

  Again I glanced at the Fallen One. He lowered his lids, hinting at the right answer. I was about to speak when Macaria butted in, shaking her gorgeous mane of hair.

  "I disagree. As a First Priest, Laith is in possession of my Blissful Death skill. His using it will not be considered as a return to bind point."

  So! She definitely wasn't herself today! If your amendment passed, Macaria baby, I'd be happily kissing your feet or hopefully legs, preferably from the knees up.

  The Spider Queen frowned, puffing purple smoke. Macaria seemed to be rubbing her up the wrong way. Silence hung in the air. Finally, she spat through clenched teeth,

  "One Voluntary Death within the year. Enough! I already regret agreeing to all your terms!"

  She swung round toward me, droplets of her acidic saliva burning holes in my face as she hissed,

  "You die any kind of death and you're mine! Any! I don't care what it is—you can do yourself in with bad mushrooms as far as I'm concerned. I'll also give you a month to send the Patriarch of Light down here to the Halls of Gloom. He must die from this blade. That's all! Off with you!"

  She made a complex gesture in front of my eyes. The already familiar spider dagger materialized in the air, its wrought edge glistening as it plunged down, piercing deep into the crystal floor in the exact place where my foot had just stood.

  Cool as a cucumber, I put my foot back and bent down to pull the dagger out.

  Lloth darling, I have a good memory. My abilities keep growing, my imagination is limitless. Every dog has his day—and then we'll see who'll laugh last.

  The Fallen One gave me a wink and an inconspicuous thumbs-up meaning I'd gotten off lightly, then swept me into the portal that had promptly opened behind my back.

  A sonic boom assaulted my eardrums. Ouch! I lost my balance and collapsed onto my backside.

  "Who the fuck?" Lena's teenage voice grunted underneath.

  I looked around me. I was sitting sprawled in the First Temple's courtyard with my back to the front gate, my butt resting atop Lena and the front porch. Home sweet home.

  I forced myself to my feet, then offered a helping hand to the girl busy impersonating a squashed medusa.

  Ignoring my hand, she bounced up, then walked around me, squinting and tut-tutting, until she faced me again. There she stood hands akimbo like a nagging wife.

  "Where do you think you've been? Just look at yourself! All this blood and gore! Your clothes are burned through! So you're busy smoking mobs doing a bit of leveling while I'm here stuck with all the kids? And what's all that about Junior High? I've got no food for the baby dragons as your zombie of a dwarf refuses to part with a bit of mithril! Even the castle cook seems to ignore me—but the children have already missed their meal!"

  She stopped and blushed, staring past me. I turned around. Cryl stood behind me, looking quite dumbfounded. That's a good lesson for you, bro. If you ever decide to marry—not now but in a few years' time—one day your ethereal Elfa might turn into the sergeant major from hell.

  I smiled, shaking his proffered hand. Cryl took in the brown and green spots my palm had left on his. "Whassup?"

  I waved the question away. "Just got out of the slammer. On a year's parole. But I have to keep my nose clean."

  Chapter Two

  From the online newspaper AlterWorld News Daily:

  In the last few days, there have been at least three cases of stationary dome shield breaching in the Russian cluster. All three domes belonged to different classes. The news has produced a quiet panic among the top clans as well as online real estate owners. Where before in the case of a surprise attack castle defenders always possessed the few hours needed to mobilize their resources and hire any extra help, no one can feel safe now.

  The latest reports suggest the existence of an epic scroll containing a previously unknown Astral Mana Absorption spell. At least one auction sale of these scrolls has come to light, not to mention another one used during recent events at the City of Light's main square. We still don't know how many more copies of this prime example of cheat magic are still available for sale. Neither can we give you the names of locations and mobs who drop them. One of the more convincing theories connects the scrolls to the recent auction offer of a raid portal to Inferno made by an anonymous broker. Those of you who follow our financial column know of the excitement the offer produced among potential buyers. At present, the bids have exceeded two hundred thousand gold and we still have twenty-four hours till all bids are closed.

  It's possible that one of the medium-sized clans has managed to create a relatively stable portal leading to the Inferno planes. They appear to be in a hurry to capitalize on their achievement by dumping on the market both the unprecedented loot and the very means of transportation. Let us remind you of the unique portal spell awarded six months ago to the Porters clan for completing a global clan quest known as the World Wide Web. They received a portal spell to the Planes of Fear.

  Yesterday, the Olders held a public conference in which they voiced their concerns about the Astral Mana Absorption spell being "unbalanced" and "exposing all the online real estate owners to the imminent risk of a global financial catastrophe". The conference ended with the signing of the petition quoted above when over nine thousand signatories made their will known to the AlterWorld administration.

  In addition, our financial analyst is asking you to keep in mind the explosive growth of interest in minor dome shields whose price has soared, doubling in the last week. Such demand could have well been prompted by the recent trend to rethink the entire dome shield strategy with a view toward multilayering domes as the means of protection for strategically important locations. Those of you not avert to risky speculation would be advised to check out this option as a potential source of a quick and easy buck.

  * * *

  I'd always wanted to own a house. To be able to walk out of my front door in the morning sipping a coffee, then lounge in a deck chair squinting at the sun and the country views. To feel proper earth under my feet and not several layers of concreted holes stuffed with the other inhabitants of our apartment block. A unique, unforgettable feeling.

  Okay, so I didn't have my own house yet. What I did have was a Super Nova castle. Not that it ruined my dream in any way. Which was why, instead of having breakfast served in my room, I ordered coffee and sandwiches downstairs in the Temple courtyard which these days looked more than inviting. What it needed was a delicate pavilion complete with a fireplace and a few couches and soft chairs exactly for this kind of occasion.

  I splashed some water on my face, then ported to the Altar, saving myself a five-story descent down the steep castle stairs polished by thousands of virtual feet.

  I'd enjoyed our clan get-together last night. I shared my experiences of Lloth's lair and the lessons I'd gleaned from it. Then I just relaxed, enjoying the good company. We really needed to do it more often: such quiet evenings allowed us to unwind while getting to know each other.

  If only Taali could join us soon! A man without his woman is not complete, his soul a drafty
and uneasy void. I said woman, mind you, not a picture-perfect dummy with a Botox kiss. A woman is someone whose cheerful gaze you meet every time you turn round; who claps her hands enthusiastically at your every good deed, however miniscule; who steps in helpfully whenever you're not fast enough to catch the ball. A friend, a partner, a lifemate.

  In any case, by then my desperate longing was nearly over, replaced by impatient waiting. That morning I'd received a PM from an anonymous account worded as a typical spam message,

  Dear Sir/Madam,

  Pleasant greetings!

  An out of town trip has depleted my bank account. Your gift of three gold would be greatly appreciated.

  Thanks & BRgds

  This was the latest coded message from Taali's group. The key words 'depleted', 'three' and 'out of town' meant that all the three targets had been successfully eliminated and the girl was on her way to Moscow. In another twenty-four hours, I might be lucky enough to see her tattoos again.

  Honestly, I couldn't wait.

  I left the temple's chilly gloom, nodding approvingly at the orc guards' diligent salute. Immediately I smirked at the outrageous sight that greeted me.

  Macaria sat on the porch, still sleepy and deliberately disheveled, gulping down my coffee from my favorite blue mug—custom-made, mind you, an exact copy of the one Mom had given me for my birthday two years back.

  AlterWorld was quite accommodating to this sort of little money-making ideas, provided they didn't interfere with the game or its atmosphere. And the fact that the virtual mug had cost me five times the price of its real-life original—well, that was my own informed choice.

  I heaved a half-hearted good morning to her barely discernible eye greeting, then mumbled a repeat order into the castle control artifact.

  As I waited for my caffeine fix, I sat down next to her watching her idea of fun. Her head tilted on one shoulder, Macaria stared at the Hell Hound puppies playing in the grass as they changed colors every few seconds, obeying the goddess' unspoken will. A dozen fluorescent and very puzzled pups were busy playing chase in color-coordinated teams, targeting those of the more eye-insulting hue. Strangely enough, it was the chief hound who chaperoned them today. Herself clad in a leopard print, she ignored the change in her appearance with a truly feline nonchalance. Could it be that she saw everything in black and white or did she understand that this was only the temporary whim of a fun-loving goddess?

  In actual fact, this morning the inner court seemed to be full of curious observers.

  A very sleepy Lena was busy guarding a sandboxful of children that our cuckoo of a Doctor had dumped into her care. God only knows where the sandbox itself had come from. The kids looked much more active than the day before, digging away with their hands and spades, occasionally trying to escape in every direction. Every such attempt was immediately apprehended by two of the hounds who froze silently, sphinxlike, at opposite corners of the makeshift nursery. She had some nerve, this girl, even getting the dogs involved! We really needed to take her animal-whispering talents more seriously. In future, she could become responsible for the clan's bestiary and their training, as well as public relations with non-humanoids.

  The Fallen One sat comfortably nearby in the shadow of a dwarf mallorn tree that was purring with pleasure. He'd transformed a block of marble into some kind of seat by pressing his backside into the stone, fashioning the semblance of armrests and turning the surface soft and spongy. Just think that in another thousand years or so, the discovery of a religious relic such as the Fallen One's very own portable throne could trigger a full-blown war! Should I maybe stash it away later to make sure no one came to grief from it—or on the contrary, should I keep it and fit it with a memorial plaque?

  I was already succumbing to the mood, reaching for the artifact whistle around my neck. I blew it softly, summoning Hummungus. Only too happy to leave his virtual stable, Teddy showed up straight away squinting his moist and slightly offended eyes from the sunlight.

  "I'm sorry, buddy. I had a lot on my plate," I scratched him behind his ears, then slapped his burly side. "Go walkies! Just don't hurt anyone, okay? We're all friends here."

  Strangely enough, Teddy obeyed. He looked so funny lumbering off to explore the ruins with his backside in the air. Almost alive, really. Wonder what he might become in another thousand years?

  Finally, a flustered servant girl rushed in balancing a coffee tray, her full breasts swaying tantalizingly under the weightless silk. I sniffed the air and actually caught myself licking my lips—and not at the sight of my morning coffee, either. If I ever discovered anyone trying to make money by selling virtual bras to AlterWorld ladies, I swear I'd bury him personally in the tightest coffin I could find. No one should deprive anyone of life's little pleasures.

  I thanked the blushing girl, habitually pressing a heavy gold piece into her hand. Not by way of payment, you understand, but simply to see her eyes flash with joy. They apparently needed money for some reason, and ten cents weren't going to bust the bank.

  I took my cup and headed toward the Fallen One, stumbling over the puppies busy chasing their new target's fluffy ultramarine tail.

  "Guten morgen," I offered the lion's share of my German vocabulary, squatting myself down into the lotus pose on the soft and gentle Elven grass.

  "Guten abend to you too," the Fallen One played along without taking his gaze from his fingers that were busy kneading a lump of mithril as if it were modeling clay.

  "Pardon?"

  "I say good morning, you polyglot."

  "I see. What's that you're doing?" I nodded at the flattened mithril cake as the god pinched off a tiny bit of adamant and heaved a sigh of regret kneading it into the mithril.

  He paused, weighing in his hand what looked like a piece of tiny adamant mail the kind you wore on your armor. It was small and incredibly ancient. With the sigh of a compulsive hoarder parting with his moldy treasure, he pinched off another infinitesimal crumb adding it to the mix while stashing the remaining treasure back in his pocket.

  He cast an annoyed glare in my general direction, apparently not too appreciative of people breathing down his neck. "That's gonna be an artifact," he mumbled.

  You couldn't ruin my good mood so easily. I think I've told you already: the morning sun, a cup of coffee in your own garden to the accompaniment of children's voices—that sort of thing. So I ignored his badly concealed hint. "Don't you think the mix needs something else? A bit more adamant, maybe?"

  He shot a heavy glare which was like a cold shower to my joke. "No need to," he said with a nasty smile. "Give me your hand. Stand still, you. You're gonna like it."

  I offered him an insecure hand for a fitting—had he fashioned me a magic ring? As if. The Fallen One's steely fingers clasped my forearm like a bull terrier's jaws, ripping out a piece of my flesh.

  "Holy fuck! What d'you think you're doing?"

  He seemed to have already cheered up. "You can't make a good charm without some blood magic," he raised a meaningful eyebrow.

  "Think you could heal me now?" I asked with concern as I stared at my profusely bleeding arm getting numb with every second. It didn't look as if an injury inflicted by a god could regenerate.

  "You wait. It's not only your flesh, it's part of your life energy you're donating."

  "Hello? I don't think I've given you my consent to any-"

  I promptly shut up watching the Fallen One rip off a generous chunk of his own flesh and add it hastily to the mix. We seemed to have some serious business here: mithril, adamant, God's flesh... Could I have the recipe, please?

  With that thought I noticed the blood dripping down the Fallen One's divine hand and scattering in the grass in the shape of tiny rubies. Those had to be priceless provided you could gather them inconspicuously, my inner greedy pig insisted as he rummaged through his virtual closet in search of the biggest pot he could find. God's blood! his greedy voice whispered into my ear. Millions—no, billions—in gold! Trillions even,
yeah right. Somehow I doubted the Fallen One would appreciate my trying to scoop them up at that particular moment. Especially considering the fact that my arm was already numb all the way up to the shoulder, the sensation creeping down, squeezing my chest and making my heart flutter.

  "Listen, AI311," I wheezed, "I'm afraid I'm not feeling very well. My body's sorta numb."

  He gave me an attentive stare and nodded. "It's probably even better this way. You sit here. And seeing as we've mentioned it, please don't call me that name any more. It's like someone calling you a sperm—well, or an embryo. Even though that's probably exactly what I was at the time, I'd appreciate it if you didn't focus on it any more."

  "Freakin' embryo," I managed to whisper back, all my muscles stiff, my own tongue wooden and unwieldy.

  In the meantime, the Fallen One had shaped the resulting mix into a hefty disc the size of a large coin. He clenched it in his hand and cringed, glancing up into the sky, as if expecting some yet unknown repercussions. Shrinking his head into his shoulders, he brought the artifact to his lips, breathing life into it.

  Bang, the heavens boomed. No other ramifications followed. Cheering up, the god took my unfeeling hand palm up, laying the artifact in it. Now I could clearly see the Fallen One's logo of the streamlined yin and yang: the symbol of life's two eternally intertwined forces.

  With a sympathetic glance in my direction, he mouthed a barely audible command. The coin glowed, heating up. My flesh hissed and began crackling, turning black, then scorching. My life bar promptly shrank. The god didn't let it drop too far, though, healing me as required, while I stared through the sickening whiff of barbeque smoke at the crimson-hot metal sinking into my open palm.

  I rolled my eyes, calling him all the names under the sun but still grateful for the timely administered anesthesia. Finally the hissing subsided as our faces lost the crimson hue from the reflected flames. The Fallen One swept away the remaining whiffs of blue smoke and paused, studying my hand. He grunted, pleased, then touched his finger to my forehead, restoring sensitivity.