The Lag (The Game Master: Book #1) (25 page)

Rawlin shoved Beast in the back, "In single file, slowly!"

Beast climbed through first. Attila followed. Rubble crunched underfoot. He squinted, making out piles of various junk in the dark, broken rocks and pieces of bones, bits of wooden planks and scraps of fabric. They walked toward a torch-lit door on the opposite side of the shed, guarded by two orcs. These weren't some crossbreeds like Beast: as tall as Rawlin, they had large bald heads sat on fat necks; the rough thick hide that stretched over their muscular torsos would have done credit to a young Schwarzenegger. Both were armed with axes and large square shields. Attila wouldn't have been able to even lift one of those.

One of the orcs stepped toward them. Rawlin in front whispered in his ear. The orc looked the prisoners over with his purple eyes and stepped out of the way. Attila could hear a multitude of voices outside humming like a disturbed swarm of bees.

"In you go," the orc pushed the door open. "Viscount, you keep watch here with the guys, okay? These are dangerous times. We've got to be prepared."

This must be the donjon, Attila realized when they followed the orc into the next room. Or rather, the Lower Hall of the River Castle donjon.

He slowed down, taking in the scene. He was greeted with a wall of players' backs. The room swarmed with people: humans, Elves, orcs, Drow, dwarves... They all faced the other way: some sat on long benches by the walls or near the squat columns that supported the high vaulted ceiling; most stood.

"Give way," Rawlin boomed, shouldering through the crowd. "Move over, people!"

Soon Attila could see what they were all staring at. In the center of the hall stood a long table set in the free space between the columns. Behind it sat some of the most known — or even legendary — of the Canyon's personalities, headed by the small sharp-nosed Garreth the Goldfinch, a half-Elf. He was the one speaking.

"There's one thing we should all understand," he pontificated in his thin but very authoritarian voice. "And you'd better understand it well! The fact is, Alpha might send his mobs here at any given moment."

Next spoke a tall purebred Sun Elfa that sat next to him. With a sparkling tiara in her heavy black hair, she looked remarkably beautiful even for her race.

"We have over a hundred swords here. Same for the Anarchists. Plus the mercs, the loners and the hunters," she cast a look around the room, her deep dark gaze taking in everyone, "call it another hundred. The important thing is, we need to get our act together fast. Plus we need ammo, arrows, combustibles, elixirs and vials. And stock up on magic ingredients for combat spells."

The Elfa's name was Leandra and in Garreth the Goldfinch's command she was second only to Rawlin. From what Attila had heard, she was Garreth's real-life wife or girlfriend.

"Moneybag, that's your domain," Garreth turned to the other end of the table to look at the famous pawnbroker and one of Gryad's richest players, a bald-headed dwarf with a ginger goatee.

Moneybag chuckled. "So it's mine now, is it?"

"Well, our clan's treasury has recently moved to our new castle in Pearl City. And you must have stashes all around the Canyon. Surely you have a few in the vicinity of Deadville. You can crack a few open for a good cause."

Rawlin glanced back. Seeing that Attila and Beast stopped dead in their tracks, he retraced his steps and collared both like guilty children, pushing them further. Attila stepped on the foot of a sitting Pioneer; the man was about to cuss when he noticed Rawlin and hurried to shrink aside.

"Watch out," the orc growled. "Let us through! Hey you, did you hear me?"

Those sitting on the floor raised their heads and either moved aside or stood up and let them pass, studying the prisoners with curiosity. Those at the table were still too busy talking to notice them. Only Leandra raised a fine black eyebrow, trying to work out who the newcomers were. Then she nodded to Rawlin and motioned him to wait. The orc stopped some distance from the table, forcing Attila and Beast to do the same.

Moneybag wrinkled his enormous nose and said with a heavy Jewish accent — which he most likely put on deliberately, playing the role of a seasoned wheeler and dealer,

"Now what interest would you have in my stashes, I ask? Does it help us storm the Citadel? Do you really think you can do it? P-lease."

"What's this for a screwed-up face?" Ilvas the Anarchists leader slapped his slim Drow hand on the table. "You need to be thinking about how to save your ass, not your wallet! Or do you hope to bargain your wealth for your life? Well, Alpha doesn't give a damn about either! It's not the right moment to haggle."

"Is that what you say?" Moneybag suppressed a smile. You could clearly read in his cunning face that now was probably the best moment of all to haggle. "Well, my suit is equipped with enough life support to last me two weeks. It has to, because I spend more time online than in real life. As for Alpha... who told you that he's not interested in wealth? Wealth, money, influence, power... all these things take money to buy! And if he follows the rules of the game, it means he obeys the gaming economy too."

A dwarf sitting next to him, known as Little Blacksmith, shook his head. He specialized in weapon modification, and this profession tree boasted a whole multitude of elaborate branches allowing one to create all sorts of the most incredible items. Blacksmith had reached impressive heights in his craft, to the point when even the Admins consulted him or even occasionally hired him to develop a new weapon branch. Rumor had it that Blacksmith was the head of the mysterious Black Tulip clan but no one knew for sure.

"It's not my fault someone's suit will only last them twenty-four hours," Moneybag went on good-naturedly. "But me, I indeed can-"

"You skunk!" Ilvas jumped to his feet, clenching his fists.

Little Blacksmith was studying Moneybag like some new species of flea. The room rumbled with indignation. Some Pioneers jumped to their feet, others reached for their weapons. Rawlin and the prisoners stood only a few paces away from the table, listening.

Beast leaned toward Attila. "Cool," he whispered. "Watch them pluck this Moneybag now."

People surrounded the table, their backs shielding the scene from Attila. He could hear Garreth's thin voice slice through the hum but he couldn't make out the words. Leandra spoke. Then Little Blacksmith bellowed, drowning out the rest,

"Everyone back to their seats! You too, Ilvas! Sit and calm down!"

Reluctantly the fighters obeyed him. The room again droned like a disturbed hive. Blacksmith jumped onto the table and lay his spade-like hand on Ilvas' shoulder. The eyes of the Anarchists' leader glistened with fury. Mouthing something, he ultimately sat down.

Once the noise had subsided somewhat, Blacksmith turned to the pawnbroker. "Listen, Moneybag, if we don't quit the game, sooner or later we'll all start to die. Okay, you might last a little longer. And then what? It's only a question of time, you know."

"I'll wait for Wayfarer," Moneybag answered calmly. "Naturally, I don't want anyone to die. But I have some unfinished business with him that is no one's concern. Wayfarer, he... he's a problem solver, if you know what I mean. If he gathered us all here it means he has a plan. And all these meetings of yours are just a lot of bull, excuse my French. You freak out instead of focusing."

"He's right," said the gray-haired alchemist Zoran the Stargazer who sat at the other end of the table opposite Garreth the Goldfinch. "We should wait. The Canyon is changing. My colleague and I," he nodded at his tablemate, a younger but equally respected alchemist Flammel the Hermit, "we can't yet explain the nature of these changes. All these stories of Alpha-controlled Pioneers, of a machine taking over our minds — excuse me, but this sounds like fiction. As long as we don't have solid proof, we have nothing to discuss."

Standing on his chair, Little Blacksmith leaned his fists on the table. "Quiet, everyone!" he barked. "Silence!"

He paused, then asked, "What do the hunters think?"

"I should wait for Wayfarer," said a chunky Drow called Guidor who leaned against a distant column. "What do you think, Bard?"

All heads turned to two figures lurking in a dark corner. A Pioneer hiding his face under the hood of his short cloak sat astride a stool, fists on thighs. The other bent over and whispered in his ear.

On Leandra's sign, Rawlin nudged the prisoners toward the table, booming, "Watch out! Let us through!"

They stopped behind Ilvas' back. The Drow Anarchists leader turned in his seat and stared at them.

"These two have been apprehended in Deadville," Rawlin announced. "They claim they were the ones who told us to come here. Apparently, they've visited Healer and accompanied Wayfarer on his way here but then went astray in the Dwarven caves. No idea if any of this is true. Probably not."

At that moment, the famous Pioneer nicknamed Bard sprang from his stool and stepped forward, shaking the hood off his head. A scar ran from his cheek to his chin. Attila stared at him. He'd heard so much about the legendary player — the only one who'd ever managed to penetrate the Citadel.

Bard walked around the table and stopped in front of them, peering at their faces. "Where exactly did you get lost?" he asked in a soft voice.

"Just as we reached the caves underneath Deadville," Beast grinned. "And you're Bard, no joke? Cool, man. So we basically muscled in, got ourselves some mythoguns and a power cart with a cannon, an exosuit too. We were in a hurry to get here, see. I dropped off the cart and Wayfarer who was driving didn't even notice me. Attila jumped off to save me. That's basically it. These bastards took the mythogun from us and the suit too. Where is Wayfarer, actually? Why isn't he here? He should have been here before us."

"I don't understand anything," Bard turned to his companion. "It doesn't seem to add up. Hey, what's your name... Bystander, come over here. Tell everyone what you know."

"They're lying!" a familiar voice shouted.

Who said that? Attila squinted, searching the crowd for someone he knew.

"It's them!" the same voice said. The shadows parted, letting through Battlemaster — the Drow who'd died at the entrance to the mine that led to the Steam Tunnels. "They killed my friends and Wayfarer!"

"You're alive, man!" Beast beamed. "How is it possible? I saw them pepper you with their crossbows! How did you make it, bro?"

Battlemaster glared back at them. The smile left Beast's face.

But of course. Alpha must have taken control of Battlemaster's mind there and then. Battlemaster must have followed them along the tunnels; then, while they were busy studying the firing range and the mythoguns, he'd probably outrun them and been the first to reach River Castle. Alpha could see the Pioneers with his eyes; could hear all their conversations with Battlemaster's ears. Alpha knew how many they were, he could hear the discussion at the table. Wayfarer must have died on his way here. The mobs were probably surrounding the castle even as they spoke.

"I'
m telling you!" Yanna fumed on the back seat of the patrol car. The cops were still busy outside, collecting evidence in the parking lot. "Millions of players are locked in Gryad! If you don't let me go, they'll all die!"

She sat back, wincing at the cigarette smoke. She had a terrible headache.

The cop in the passenger seat wasn't listening. He was too busy poking a clumsy finger at his computer, entering the scooter's number into his database.

His partner, a major, stood outside talking to Baboon Face and Ginger. Their security workers' IDs had helped them to avoid arrest but by the same token they'd failed to get hold of her. Their greedy glares had followed Yanna as patrol cops took her to the car.

The main thing was, the precious laptop was still here, safe on the driver's seat.

Their radio rumbled. "Twenty-five double zero, copy?"

"Twenty-five double zero, go ahead," the cop replied.

Yanna leaned forward, listening.

"Take the detainee to the station and leave her with the desk sergeant, copy?"

"Copy that," the cop paused, looking at the major outside. "That's against procedure."

"The virtual police want her. They'll collect her themselves."

The virtual police! Habitually Yanna chewed her still-bleeding lip and winced with pain.

The cop lowered his window and called to the major. "Let's go. Control room wants us to drop the girl at the station. Let the local cops deal with it."

The major waved curtly to Baboon Face and headed for the car. "Why's that?" he asked, climbing into the driver's seat.

"Dunno," his partner reached for the laptop and placed it in his lap. "The virtuals want her. She must have form on their turf."

"Good," the major cast her a studying look and started the car. "Better safe than sorry. Those idiots offered me a thousand bucks just to let her go. I didn't like it so I said no. Now I think it's for the better."

"It probably is," the other one nodded. "I don't need no problems with the virtuals."

"You can say that."

They pulled away. Baboon Face and Ginger watched the car leave.

Soon the cops parked up at a modest two-story building with barred windows. A street sign on its corner said,

Richelieu St. 13

This was next door to Attila's house!

She was taken out of the car and handed over to the door watch. He nudged her inside.

The station was a mess. Workers were rushing around; cops were escorting suspects along the corridors. A mustachioed desk sergeant looked harassed, issuing snappy remarks to his subordinates. A plain-looking female captain was helping him to check detainees in.

Yanna was pushed toward them. "You gonna check her in, Pete?" the major asked. "Caused an RTC. But that's only part of her problem. The virtuals will be here to pick her up in a minu-"

Yanna realized his hands were empty. "The laptop!"

"Laptop?" the female officer raised her head from the papers and adjusted her glasses.

"I had a laptop with me," Yanna hurried to explain. "Where is it? They left it in the car on purpose!"

The woman cast a stern look at the major. He made a helpless gesture. "I forgot."

"And now you remembered?" the duty officer smirked into his mustache. "Bring it here, then."

The major motioned his partner to fetch it.

"Right," the desk sergeant cast Yanna a studying look. "What's with the lab coat?" he turned to the woman. "No need to check her in if the virtuals are on their way."

The station filled with a new noise as a few cops were dragging a shaggy hobo down the hall. The man struggled, yelling hoarsely. The base of the corridor near the stairwell was packed with people talking and shuffling their feet.

The cop brought in the laptop. The woman turned it around in her hands, then laid it onto a filing cabinet next to the entrance to the guards' room. She reached for the phone and dialed a number. The two patrol cops left.

"Station seventeen, Captain Bukhraeva speaking," the woman said into the phone. "I've just spoken to someone at this number. Delivered, yes. You're on your way? — Excellent. We won't check her in, then."

She replaced the receiver and gave Yanna another studying look. The girl shrugged. "I've no idea what they brought me here for."

The woman turned to the desk sergeant. "To the cells?"

He pulled at his moustache. "No way. They're all packed solid. Can't you see what's happening in town?"

He called the door watch and told him to put the girl in one of the chairs opposite the guards' room. "I want you to keep an eye on her," he said. "Don’t let her out of your sight. Some very important people are coming in a minute to collect her."

"These two are Alpha's spies," Battlemaster repeated, approaching Attila and Beast. "The sooner we kill them, the less he'll know about our plans."

The room fell quiet.

After a pregnant pause, a familiar noise cut through the silence. Very familiar. Wasn't it... it was! The power cart's engine!

People at the table looked at each other in surprise. Moneybag grabbed at his enormous nose. Ilvas and Little Blacksmith jumped to their feet.

"Hey!" Beast shouted. "That's our ride coming! Attila, can you hear?"

"Kill them!" Battlemaster shouted. "These spies have brought enemies to the castle! They're driving here!"

"
Driving?
" Leandra raised an eyebrow.

The prisoners' hands were still bound. In the confusion, Beast shouldered Rawlin aside and headbutted Battlemaster in the stomach, pushing him to the ground.

"Traitor!" he shouted, kicking the fallen Drow.

Before anyone could do anything, Bard stepped toward Beast and forced him to back off. "We need to look into it-" he began.

Battlemaster sat up and reached under his shirt, producing a large round medallion. He clicked its lid open, revealing an icy-blue stone inside.

"Watch out!" Leandra jumped to her feet, losing her famed cool.

A bolt of icy-blue lightning escaped the medallion and hit Bard with the crystal sound of a thousand tiny fragments of ice breaking.

This was a spell similar to those of the clerics' staffs, Attila realized.

With a quiet yelp, Bard collapsed to the floor. His chest and shoulders were rapidly disappearing under a sparkling glassy crust.

"I told you!" Beast bellowed, leaping onto Battlemaster who was trying to launch another spell on him. Beast's enormous orcish boot rammed into Battlemaster's head. Rawlin and Guidor the Hunter hurried to pull the prisoner aside. Rawlin straddled Battlemaster, twisting his arms and securing them with a leather strap. Battlemaster struggled at first; then, when he realized he couldn't set himself free, he froze motionless, his glazed-over eyes staring in front of him.

By then, the sound of the cart's engine outside had stopped. Guidor leaned over Bard's iced torso and produced a tiny vial. Opening it, he sprinkled some of the liquid on Bard's chest. Bard's body arched within clouds of steam, sparking brightly.

"It won't do anything," Leandra walked over to him. "There's nothing anyone can do against a Frozen Flesh spell."

Hurried footsteps came from the corridor outside. The door creaked. Tapping his scarlet-topped staff on the stone tiles, Wayfarer walked into the room.

A gasp emanated throughout the crowd. The Pioneers whispered between themselves, peering at the newcomer and stepping aside to give way to him. Those in corners craned their necks to see him.

Wayfarer strode through the room, forcing some of them to shrink out of his way. He nodded to Attila and Beast. Seeing the lying Bard, he sharply changed direction. Guidor and Leandra stepped out of his way.

Wayfarer lowered himself on one knee next to Bard and studied his body. "Bard, I want you to listen to me!" he said in a loud voice. "Tell me how we can get inside the Citadel. Where can we find the Great Wizards?"

Slowly Bard turned his head.

"Bard!" Wayfarer squeezed his shoulder. Bard winced but remained silent. "There's a whole army of them waiting by the Citadel. If we don't find out how to get inside..."

No one said a word. Attila held his breath.

"In the round tower," Bard burst into a bout of coughing. Wayfarer sat on the floor, the skirts of his cloak brushing the dirty tiles. He lay his staff on the floor next to him and lifted Bard's head. His coughing grew stronger until finally he caught his breath and struggled to speak. His voice died and came back, so that few words reached those surrounding them.

"The bars... in the hall... and a room above them," he wheezed. "There's a beam of light in its center... the Great Portal..."

"Yes, the broadband channel," Wayfarer interrupted. "What else in the room? Any traps or shields?"

"I haven't been there myself... I came here... to complete a quest chain. Long and complex. I was here by the Citadel... and then your message... Take this... then you can..."

Bard reached a weakening hand under his shirt. Something gleamed in his clenched fist. Wayfarer covered his hand with his and leaned closer. Bard whispered something in his ear, then fell silent.

Wayfarer sat up and grabbed Bard by his collar, shaking him. "Can the crypt's magic raise the Wraith? Tell me!"

Bard didn't answer. Wayfarer shook him again.

"Stop it," Guidor said. "He's dead."

On Rawlin's orders, two Highlanders dragged Battlemaster's body away. Even dead, he still remained Alpha's ears. Wayfarer stepped toward the table.

"You, the so-called Pioneers," Beast demanded, "how about untying us first? You blond one, come and remove this nonsense!"

Rawlin cast an inquiring glance at Leandra. She looked at Wayfarer and nodded. Rawlin walked over to Attila and Beast and cut the leather straps on their hands. Beast began demonstratively rubbing his wrists and shaking them, showing everybody the torture he'd been subjected to. His hands struck sparks. Little tongues of flame flickered in his open palms. The crowd around him stepped back just in case.

"Give me my Book back," Attila grumbled. "I saw the archer pass it on to you."

Without objection, Rawlin produced the book. Attila hurried to check on the Eye. It hovered over the castle, transmitting the picture to the Book's screen.

Garreth the Goldfinch, Leandra, Blacksmith, Moneybag, the two alchemists and Ilvas the Anarchists' clan leader — all of them sat looking at the man in the leather cloak. The crowd was silent. The floor and the benches were empty — everybody was standing now.

"What's going on?" Garreth finally demanded.

"We need to lock up the Alpha-controlled Pioneer in a well-insulated room until everything's over," Wayfarer said.

"We should kill him! Cut his lying head off!" Ilvas protested. "He killed our Bard!"

"The player who uses this avatar isn't guilty," Wayfarer slipped the object he'd received from Bard into his pocket and walked over to the table. Leaning against his staff, he spoke slowly,

"We'll have to go to the Citadel without Bard. We don't have much time left to get ready so I won't be long," he looked over the table and the quiet crowd. "My name's Wayfarer. Many of you already know me or at least have heard about me. These two and I," he pointed at Attila and Beast, "we lost each other in the caves under Deadville. I wanted you all to come here because-"

Attila couldn't hear his last words properly. They sounded muffled. He was sick again. One part of his brain was trying to keep his body standing while the other was struggling to make out Wayfarer's speech. This time the bout of dizziness was longer but finally it subsided. His vision came back into focus; his head stopped spinning. In the meantime, Wayfarer went on,

"The Forest Vagabonds, the Silver Wind clan, the Syndicate... oh, I can even see a few Black Tulips! Very well. I'll try to outline the problem to you. Gryad has fallen under the rule of so-called Alpha, an artificial intelligence which controls all the mobs, monsters, black clerics and a certain number of players. We can't expect help from RussoVirt. Robert Artov, their chief programmer — you know him as Healer — is either dead or has been forced offline," Wayfarer nodded at Attila. "This is the only person who still has some contact with the real world,"

Suddenly all eyes were on him. Beast next to him stood up proudly, sticking out his beard.

"In the past twenty-four hours, only one player has managed to quit the game. It's a girl who's currently helping us from outside. We need to get into the Conclave's secret room. Bard has been working in this direction for a long time. This was his lifelong dream. He completed a complex quest chain and received something that might have helped him do it. But he can't help us anymore. I want to ask all the hunters and scouts: have any of you managed to approach the Citadel less than a crossbow bolt's flight?"