The Lag Page 9

  "There are people over there," Beast said in a hoarse whisper. "I think I can see them."

  "They are statues, stupid," Yanna said.

  "I know they are! I'm not talking about them. There, look, over at the tower."

  The valley of Death used to belong to the large and prominent Highlanders clan who some six months ago had managed to cleanse River Castle from all the water spirits and moved over there. River Castle was closer to the Citadel; the area was more dangerous but admittedly better lootwise. The Highlanders didn't have enough people to man two large locations, so they'd gradually abandoned the valley which had stood deserted ever since.

  Attila led their descent. The slope was steep. More than once he had to grab at the shrubs growing amongst the stones as the rocks crumbled underfoot.

  They descended slowly, studying the hollow below. Its center was marked by the ruins of a castle once inhabited by Kromik — the famous orc shaman. All orcs were militant Barbarians living in synch with nature, so their shamans had a good grasp of elemental magic. Kromik was the greatest one of them. Nicknamed the Rock Shaman, he specialized in the element of Earth. But one day Kromik had made a tactical mistake by alienating the House of Twilight — the Drow, also known as Dark Elves, who too populated this area. Through the natural canniness of their nature, they dared not challenge the great wizard (for Kromik, according to the remaining evidence, was one powerful son of a gun). Instead, the Drow courted a nearby tribe of forest grummers setting them against Kromik's people. The grummers' leader was none other than Vlas, the hunchbacked cyclops and the proud owner of the two legendary hammers that used to belong to Wayland the Smith — the one who'd died in the war of Gods and Titans that had ravaged Gryad in its prehistory.

  The Drow had so brainwashed the grummers that they'd declared war on Kromik. They surrounded the Castle and when the siege failed, they tried to storm it. As a result, both tribes had perished in battle, turning the Valley into what it now was.

  "Weird location," Beast mumbled, losing his footing on the slippery slope. "I could never work out why anyone would need it."

  "Why would anyone need the game at all?" Yanna said. "What exactly do you mean?"

  "I agree with him," Attila said. "The place is weird. The location's story is good, it has lots of big fat mobs — but not much in terms of loot. You get a couple of chests stuffed with supplies if you're lucky, plus maybe some uncommon weapons, that's all."

  "Exactly," Beast agreed. "The chests and supplies are fine, but how about the top prize? Imagine you have a raid, you smoke all the mobs to get to the Square Tower, and there you're met by Kromik himself. Never mind he's a ghost. So your raid starts killing him, and it's not easy, he's one strong bastard, and what do you get? The Stone Crown on top of the altar which gives you +50 to Life! Nothing else! The place is such a let-down! I really don't get it."

  "What kinds of mobs are they?" Yanna said, anxious. "We really have no time for them."

  "So you haven't been to the Valley yet?" Attila realized. "It's populated by spirits — that is, by the souls of the grummers whom Kromik had turned into statues. They siphon your life."

  "So how am I supposed to kill them? Arrows are no good against spirits."

  Attila climbed onto a large boulder, shielded his face from the sun and studied the area below. From where he was, he could clearly see the sparse vegetation studded with heaps of rubble and a multitude of statues. To the left from the castle ruins, a deep crevice cut through the slope. The moat curved to his right.

  "As far as I can see, the spirits aren't here at the moment," he said. "Normally, you can see them: they're sort of shimmering, like a gray and blue haze. What I see is a lot of legionnaires by the castle. Tons of them."

  "I see," Beast said. "They must have killed all the spirits. Which isn't a bad thing. These Valley spirits respawn every twenty-four hours which means the place is safe for the time being. Come on, then."

  "You're probably right," Attila resumed his descent. "And as for the top prize, you know what I think? This is a relatively new location. I have a funny feeling it might have a catch. Some kind of secret that will unlock the prize. This Stone Crown is put up here as a distraction until someone finds the way to the main treasure."

  "It's not that new," Beast protested. "It's been open for the last six months."

  "Come on," Yanna took the bow from her shoulder. "We'll find everything out in a minute. The legionnaires will tell us."

  Once below, they couldn't see the Castle ruins for all the statues and the heaps of rubble. The wind brought bits of voices and conversations but they couldn't make out any words.

  "Move it," Beast hurried on. "I don't want to miss the best bit."

  "This is serious," Yanna grumbled, "and he makes it sound as if he's late for the movies."

  They stumbled over the rocks, wading their way around the statues. The petrified grummers were gaunt and skinny with long ape-like arms. Clad in loincloths, they were armed with clubs. Some statues had been reduced to fragments of legs still standing firmly on the ground or a collapsed torso, or just a head lying around, its face distorted with fury. Some were intact though.

  Attila stopped, studying an exceptionally tall hulk of a grummer. He leaned forward, pushing with one foot, the opposite leg outstretched, his two hands firmly closed around his club, his face raised to the sky, his mouth agog in a silent war cry. The brave savage must have been running, charging at his enemy in his unhinged fury when the spell had reached him.

  These were the giants of old, far taller than their offspring... no, the race of grummers wasn't the same ever since.

  The rocks crunched underfoot. Which ones of them were real and which were the remains of the petrified statues?

  "We're sure walking over ancient heroes' bones," Beast mumbled, echoing his thoughts.

  "Heroes!" Yanna sniffed. "I remember reading the Valley guidebook at some forum. Its history was all there. The grummers were savages, just some forest-dwelling cavemen. This Kromik of theirs was a savage too."

  "He was a Barbarian!" Beast jumped to the defense of his race. "They're much tougher than your Elven rune mages, those blue-eyed cross-dressers!"

  "You be careful who you call a cross-dresser, Blue Face!"

  "Why, is it too close for comfort?"

  "Yeah, right! You can see I'm a girl."

  "That's what you say. You can be a seven-foot logger from Siberia for all we know."

  "Shut up, both of you," Attila said. "Yanna, please. He's only a schoolkid, you said so yourself. You shouldn't wind him up."

  The girl pursed her lips and walked away. She ran up a big mound of debris and peered in front of her. "You can see them well now."

  They followed her. Kromik's Castle was in fact a single squat building known as the Square Tower. The castle walls had been reduced to ruins that didn't differ much from the rock debris cluttering the valley. A petrified Vlas the Cyclops froze facing the tower's wide gate: a hunchback almost twelve foot tall, his long arms touching the ground, a warhammer still clenched in his right hand. A hole gaped in the wall before him just above the gateway. He must have hurled the other hammer at Kromik, decapitating him a split second before the shaman's especially successful spell had turned him into a statue. Kromik too had returned to his home element, turning to rock, his headless statue still gracing the tower's second-story hall. But what had happened to the hammer? Could it actually be the location's secret prize? Having said that, he had no idea where to look for it.

  The Legate — the admins' chief field operative in the Dead Canyon — now stood on top of the cyclops' enormous angular hump. Although Attila'd never seen him before, he immediately recognized the man's importance by his bright cloak and shiny armor. A crowd surged below him, dressed in plainer gear: humans and orcs, High and Dark Elves, giant sentient lizards, dwarves and demonoids. Some wore emerald-tinged knee-long chainmail shirts and helmets topped with iron beaks. Others were in plain clothes: those were moles and und
ercover agents like those who'd ambushed him back in the fake tavern.

  Without saying a word, Beast hurried down the crumbling slope. Attila and Yanna exchanged wary glances and followed.

  "I don't like it," Attila admitted. "I feel like a hood gatecrashing a cops' party."

  "Keep your hair on," she dropped. "We'll make it."

  As they approached the castle, a deep crevice opened up before their eyes. It ran across the slope, as if cleft by a giant battle axe. A tall black cliff towered over it.

  Beast was running, waving his hands, but no one looked at him. All eyes were on the Legate. The wind blew toward the tower, dampening his words. Attila and Yanna couldn't keep up with Beast: they had to run around large rocks and statues, stumbling and cussing under their breath.

  The Legate raised his hands, calling for silence. The crowd quietened down.

  A howling came from within the crevice. The Legate turned toward it. The crowd hummed.

  "Look!" Attila pulled up.

  Beast stopped too. Yanna sprang onto a large statue fragment and craned her neck for a look.

  "It's a stampede!" she shouted. "Mobs are coming!"

  The crevice glinted with teeth, eyes and fish scales as the mobs flooded it, rolling toward the Valley.

  "A stampede," Attila repeated, feeling lost.

  This kind of thing happened in the Dead Canyon when large groups of monsters started to migrate, taking over new territories. A very dangerous thing if you happened too close. They'd trample you down and wouldn't even notice.

  "Go left," he shouted. "Go down the moat opposite! Beast, hey!"

  Yanna leaped down and darted to the left. Attila followed. Screams and the clanking of weapons consumed the crowd. Some tried to run only to clash with those next to them and collapse to the ground. A few arrows whizzed through the air. The Legate on his pedestal was straining his voice calling for order. But it was too late to form any defenses: the mobs had already charged into the Valley and would descend on the crowd within seconds.

  Attila and Yanna took a sharp turn. Now the Square Tower was positioned between them and the crevice. This particular place was littered with a maze of rock debris and crumbled statues of a grummers' squad which had successfully been stopped by one of Kromik's spells. Beyond it lay a deep moat that nearly reached the hill slope. Attila and Yanna jumped down and kept running close together.

  Footsteps thumped behind them. A legionnaire stumbled down the moat, clutching his sword. His long chainmail shirt slapped around his legs. Three basilisks followed him: fast and agile scaly creatures with snake tails and very sharp claws.

  The legionnaire lost his footing and collapsed with a desperate shriek, letting go of his sword. Attila and Yanna stopped. The basilisks were upon the man: one of them closed its jaws on his neck while another swung its head around trying to chew his leg off. Screaming with pain, the legionnaire tried to scramble back to his feet when the third basilisk ran around him and with a throaty gurgle breathed a cloud of gray smoke into his face. The legionnaire's eyes rolled back; he began shuddering like someone suffering an epileptic fit.

  Attila couldn't help but imagine the man's body back in the real world, tucked into a virtual capsule in his office or just lying on his couch back home in his suit and helmet, squirming and shuddering, whining and groaning.

  Snap! Snap! Yanna's arrows clipped through the air. The first basilisk dropped down with an arrow in its head; the second one reared up, still clenching a bloodied chunk of human flesh in its teeth, offering its tight pale belly to the second arrow. The third beast went for them. Attila raised his sword and lunged at it but the third arrow pierced its scaly throat.

  The legionnaire shuddered one last time and froze, lying on his side. Scorched by the basilisk's breath, his face had turned into a crimson mask complete with two bulging white eyes.

  "He's dead," Yanna whispered, lowering her bow. "He's dead."

  "Run," Attila shoved her out of her stupor and backed off. They turned round and bolted. The mobs' growls reached them from the direction of the Square Tower, drowned out by screams and groans.

  More stomping of feet came from above. Attila and Yanna raised their weapons in unison. Beast appeared overhead on the edge of the moat. He'd lost his helmet; his wide pants were in tatters, his eyes bloodshot. A large purple mark glowed on his forehead.

  He jumped down into the moat. "Where are you going without me? We need to run! It's a flippin' meatgrinder!"

  He led their retreat. The moat turned smoothly in one direction, then in the other. They hurried toward the hill slope which was almost vertical here; it already towered overhead when they heard the roar of an ogre, so loud it drowned out the noise of the battle.

  The moat ended with a round iron trapdoor in the ground. Far behind they could hear the shouting of the legionnaires and the popping of combat spells.

  Beast dug his heels in, braking. "How d'you open it? There's no lock here! Not even a handle!"

  "You don't," Attila snapped, helping the girl to climb up the slope. "No one has ever managed to open this door. Up you go!"

  They scrambled out of the moat, finding themselves at the foot of a vertical rock drop. They could barely see the tower and the top of the cyclops' statue far away at the center of the Valley.

  A deep thump resounded in the air, similar to the sound of a boulder starting a rockfall. It was followed by a jaw-wrenching screech. The cyclops' statue stirred. Cracks ran along its surface, dropping pieces of rock like a dry crust.

  Yanna gasped. "He's coming alive! Vlas is coming alive! The Legate must have summoned him!"

  The cyclops struggled to turn around. His legendary hammer rose high in the air and crashed down with a thunderous clatter. An aberration wave ran from the impact spot in large circles. The earth shuddered; their ears popped. The powerful ancient warrior shed his rock shackles and marched away from the tower, brandishing his hammer. His only eye glinted with primeval fury.

  "He shouldn't have done it," Attila said. "The cyclops can't tell friend from foe. Now he'll trample everyone indiscriminately."

  "Where do you want us to go?" Yanna asked. "The slope's too steep."

  The ogre's bellowing now sounded very near to them, from behind a crop of rocks not fifty feet away. To the other side of the slope a large mercury lake glistened its dull steely surface, emitting tiny silvery runes that melted in the air.

  A metallized human torso was seen at the center of it, its arms reaching out for the sky. On the lake's far shore, the shape of a kneeling Elf glistened silver; and some distance away, they could see a shiny metallic body of yet another unfortunate.

  "This is a Steel Mirror," Attila said. "A very rare aberration. You can't go there."

  "We can't go back to the tower, either!" Beast cast a desperate glance around him. "Talk about a rock and a hard place. There he is, there!"

  The ogre loomed up from behind the cliff. He wobbled toward them on his crooked legs, his shoulder continually brushing against the hill slope, causing rockfalls. Although not particularly tall, he was fat as a drum and hung with crude necklaces and bracelets made of bones. In Gryad, the ogres were very much like orcs, only even uglier. And stronger. And much much taller. They weren't considered a sentient race which meant you couldn't play an ogre although shamans could summon them as pets. Next to the ogre's enormous club that he was now grasping in his beefy hands, Beast's mace looked like a matchstick.

  Yanna jumped up and clutched at a small ledge higher up the slope, trying to pull herself up. Her hands gave out; she dropped to the ground.

  "Where can we go?" she exclaimed.

  At the center of the Valley, Vlas the Cyclops kept plodding through the sea of mobs advancing on him, then receding. Once again he struck his divine hammer, sending a concentric wave of aberration. The earth shuddered; mobs' bodies went flying.

  The ogre grew ever more furious with the scene. He bellowed, as if challenging anyone to attack him. His beady black eyes searched
the slope until they landed on the three friends. Raising his club, he wobbled toward them ever faster on his short crooked legs.

  Yanna rattled off arrows like a machine gun but they dropped impotently to the ground, unable to pierce the giant's thick hide. Beast reached out, twisting his wrists, and hummed through his closed lips. A fireball escaped his hands and broadsided the ogre's chest, exploding. The giant didn't even stagger — if anything, he walked faster.

  "We gotta get back," Attila crouched on the edge of the moat. The others stood right next to him. "That's the only way."

  The iron trapdoor in the moat below his feet opened up. Caught by surprise, Attila lost his balance and very nearly tumbled down the slope into the opening. The other two gasped, recoiling.

  A man appeared in the opening. He was clad in a leather cloak. In his hands he held a staff topped with a bright red crystal.

  "Get down here," the man said calmly.

  His voice sounded weirdly lifeless, as if he was speaking through a synthesizer. Attila didn't get a chance to see his face as the man stepped back and disappeared into the darkness.

  Attila rolled down the slope. "Follow me!" he shouted to the other two, waiting for them to descend.

  A group of basilisks raced along the moat toward them. Beast jumped in, followed by Yanna. Seeing his quarry escape, the ogre bellowed and wobbled after them.

  Yanna stepped down the opening, followed by Beast.

  "The walls are all covered in glimmering mold!" he exclaimed. "Who are you, dude?"

  "Just follow me," they heard from the depths of the sloping passage.

  "Attila, shut the door!" Yanna screamed.

  The basilisks were almost upon them. The ogre stopped at the moat's edge, raising his club. Attila jumped down the opening and pulled the heavy trapdoor. Before it closed, he caught a glimpse of the cliff on the opposite side of the valley.

  The Dark Paladin, the leader of the great Silent Brotherhood, stood atop it with his arms crossed, watching the massacre below. Behind him, the Silent Brothers lined up, motionless like unplugged robots.