Steel Wolves of Craedia (Realm of Arkon, Book 3) (32 page)

"Well, first of all, dar, you're the one with the magic touch," the mage grunted. "Second of all, I haven't been able to come up with anything for two days now. Third of all, you're my suzerain, and a proper suzerain ought to care about the names of his vassals."

"Our archeress is now called Salta dar Furo," I smirked back at him. "Now, do you see me fuming over the fact her surname also happens mean "ferret" in Latin, an ancient tongue in the world I come from? No, it doesn't bother me one bit. Call yourself d'Artagnan for all I care."

"Don't worry about Salta—she won't remain a ferret for long," Reece nodded at the couple riding side by side. "Our archeress will soon be called Daressa Elnar!" the mage paused for a moment, considering something. "Wait, did you say dar Tagnan? Who's that?"

"A clever rascal from a book I'd read as a kid who made out pretty well in life." 

"Dar Tagnan," Reece let the name roll off his tongue, then fell in thought for some time. Finally, his face brightened.

"You know what, dar? I like it! See, I knew I could count on you! Put me under that name in your notepad—I'll go share the good news with auntie." 

Reece spurred his bay horse, steering him to the vanguard where Vaessa rode in an entourage of bonehounds. 

"Glad to be of assistance," I muttered, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. 

The scouts sent out to meet us were waiting by two huge gray boulders on either side of the road leading into the gorge, marking the province's border. I commanded a stop, pulled out a map and rechecked our itinerary. The gorge ahead stretched southward for a good twelve miles. I wasn't anticipating any particular trouble, but it would behoove us to remain vigilant. So, after reminding everyone to stay alert, I waved to Elnar, and the century spread out along the road started moving—carts screeching, equipment clanking.

Surrounded by mountains on all sides, Gilthor was roughly one third the size of Craedia, comprising three large satrapies that were no smaller than Callehzia. If the map was to be believed, there were no castles here at all, and barely any settlements for that matter. The largest of them was Mishtah, which lay thirty miles south of here, around the midway point between here and our destination. The zones were all in the 170-200 level range, which, given its sparsely populated territories and numerous mines with occasional nodes of gold and mithril, made Gilthor an ideal place for grinding. That said, mithril really wasn't a priority for me. Mining this metal demanded a thorough, calculated approach—the nodes were simply too scare, and the proportion of ore per node too trivial to be worth it otherwise. 

Generally speaking, mining ore in the game worked as follows: every zone had a particular number of nodes, each with a particular respawn time that differed by type. For example, an iron node would reappear no earlier than one week after being picked clean, copper after a few days, and mithril after one month. Nodes varied by size—from twenty pounds to several tons—and by purity of the ore. Interestingly, after being mined a node would typically appear in a completely different spot. This begged the obvious question: why have mines at all? Simple. Take, for example, an iron mine that contained a small percentage of the metal. This presented miners with a choice: toil in a mine all day long, shoveling through several tons of ore to end up with twenty to forty pounds of iron, or hunt for a node and extract just as much metal in considerably less time... Assuming you were lucky enough to find a node, whereas working in a mine meant guaranteed, albeit meager returns. There was another element to consider, however. Mines were generally indicated on the map, which meant that every PKer worth his salt would no doubt peek inside one when passing by or, more likely, waylay any unsuspecting laborer by the exit. As a result, only the most reckless players would head into a mine without protection. Finally, most people logged into the game to, you know, play, and not swing a pickaxe all day long. Though I had heard stories of some Korean and Chinese clans occupying low level mines and making decent money from farming them. The ubiquitous stereotype of Asians being assiduous folk who weren't afraid to get their hands dirty was on hand in the game. Same as the stereotype of my fellow countrymen, most of whom would rather gamble by hunting for nodes than toil away underground.
It's funny, I've long since stopped being human, yet I still consider myself Russian.
Tossing back the hair clumped over my eyes, I took a look around. There wasn't anything of interest aside from yellowed grass, hillsides covered with sickly looking vegetation, and creatures grazing on either side of the road that kind of resembled real-world antelopes. I returned to my musings. We hadn't encountered any undead along the way, which was actually beginning to concern me. In Craedia's unprotected zones packs of twenty to twenty five mobs would be blocking the road every half mile or so. I wasn't exactly upset over their absence, but it was nonetheless very unusual.

But I digress. Getting back to the issue of nationalities, several months had passed since the folks in the upper realm had been divided by the high-level monsters from the Netherworld, so I imagined that by now the player base had further split into smaller communities along national lines. What hope was there of playing together when former clanmates had no means of communication and were separated by thousands of miles? What do you do in such a situation? Use nationality as the common denominator? Russian Orcs, French Orcs, Korean Elves, American Drow? That was as likely scenario as any, but perhaps with time the players pulled into the game would undergo such a transformation of consciousness that all racial and cultural differences would disappear? At any rate, I had no one dearer to me in this world than my sister, Max and the century of demons following me—I cared for each and every one of them so deeply that I would rip to bits any scumbag that threatened them without a moment's hesitation.
I'm becoming a philosopher lately.
I rummaged for my flask and took several gulps. The beverage had been prepared by Reena, and tasted surprisingly like non-alcoholic root bear, which I used to drink copious amounts of as a kid.
I wonder which local herb lends that flavor to the drink,
I thought while putting the flask away.

Speaking of herbalism, I'd been so busy lately that my clanmates' professions had suffered due to neglect. Then again, my demons were responsible enough to figure it out on their own. If anything, I shouldn't forget to pick up mining once in Iskhart. It was common knowledge that gathering professions were profitable and simple, while crafting professions came with tremendous earning potential but were also a huge time sink. For that reason I had no intention of becoming a blacksmith, tailor or alchemist, but mining seemed like the perfect fit. It didn't take much time at all: find a node, pick it clean, smelt the ore into metal, and you're done.

Now, what else did I know about mining?
All professions could be learned from one of the trainers in a starting city for one gold coin, though you could also complete a small quest chain and learn it for free. The quest chain was typically simple and incredibly tedious, but nearly all players did it anyway rather than fork up the cash. Besides, all the information was easily accessible in guides, making the quests easy as pie. How did I know all this? Well, upon getting hired I was pretty much forced to read several volumes' worth of FAQs about the game. Moreover, all my colleagues in the department were actively playing, which meant that nearly every discussion over lunch or the water cooler would invariably return to the game, e.g. who went where and with whom.

What else? Upon learning the profession you needed to complete several quests for your trainer, get a pickaxe and a small foundry in return for your efforts, and you were free to go off and ply your trade. Now, say you're an ambitious human who has just completed your race's newbie zone, which only takes you up to level fifteen or so. What do you do now? That's right, you set out for the safety of the Royal Copper Mines, where no PKer could ever get you. After two-three weeks of grinding it out with other peons like you while depositing half of your proceeds into the royal coffers, you would level your skill to fifty.

How do you do this? Simple—you whack away endlessly at the rock with your pickaxe, shove the extracted ore into the foundry, and collect the pure metal that comes out. The rock in the Royal Mines, which spanned several game zones, contained no more than one percent copper. Of course, as your skill grew higher coefficients kicked in to increase the miner's output. And yet, filling lorries with ore and rolling them to the foundry and back day in and day out wasn't what I would call a good time.

There were advantages to it, however. High-level players unwilling to waste time swinging the pickaxe would often come to the foundry and buy up copper ore from the newbies. Smelting was easier than digging, but it leveled the profession just as quickly. It was a win-win situation—any newbie could reasonably expect to net two-three gold coins by the time they raised their skill to fifty and came out of the mines. Moreover, copper bars were always in demand by smiths, jewelers, engineers and alchemists, as well as for a bunch of NPC quests. The upshot was that the price for a stack of ten copper bars never dipped below one gold—at least that was the case before the patch.

Leveling mining past that point was obviously tougher, but it really wasn't so bad, all things considered. You could complete another quest chain—a hard one but still achievable by one person—to gain temporary access to tin and silver mines belonging to the crown. Or you could search for nodes on your own. Or make arrangements to work in a mine controlled by some powerful clan. The terms were typically even harsher than in NPC-controlled mines, as you had to fork over as much as seventy percent of your earnings. And yet tons of people opted for that very route, because finding nodes in starting zones swarming with newbies was akin to searching for needles in a haystack, even though—or rather because—every miner could pull up a transparent mini map with all the nearest nodes marked on it. The higher a miner's level, the more distance their map would cover, but once you realized there were literally thousands of miners in the same zone, fighting for the same nodes... In short, it wasn't a pretty picture.

The point being, I had no intention of picking up a pickaxe and paying my dues in the mines. Money was no object, so I could level up my skill smelting ore instead, which I could even buy from NPCs. Why do all this? Truthfully, I had no clear answer. The gods only knew where fate might take me next, and it would be a damn shame to stumble upon, say, a node of adamantine or titanium, and not have the ability to extract it. Ingvar's set, for instance, was crafted from black iron. What if I lucked out and came upon some? I chuckled at my flight of fancy and stood up in the stirrups, looking out ahead.

The gorge had led us out onto a small plateau, beyond which the ground sloped sharply downward, twisting and winding. The mountains ended here, flowing into a great plain dotted with small patches of wood. Far out in the distance another mountain range hid behind a veil of clouds, and to the southwest, almost at the horizon, a river sparkled like a glossy ribbon in the sunlight. Ahead of us were relatively large settlements, spaced out at internals of roughly two to three miles, and beyond them was the zone of city gardens, the road through which abutted open city gates.
Not what I would call a small town,
I thought to myself. It wasn't Nittal by any stretch of the imagination, and not even Xantarra, but I would estimate a population of about fifteen thousand—not too shabby.

"Look at that view..." Reena said, stopping her horse next to mine. The girl was looking out onto the plain, breathless and awed. "I had no idea these parts were so pretty."

"And no skeleton in sight," I chimed in, somewhat clumsily.

And indeed, for as far as the eye could see there wasn't a single pack of undead, not a single burned or ransacked village. Had the invasion not reached these parts yet? But then why hadn't Gorm evacuated his subjects here? It shouldn't be difficult to make arrangements with the local rulers, given that there was only one ruler for all three satrapies. Wait a minute! These were all NPCs who had only developed some equivalent to a memory a few months ago. And in those few months the satrap's forces had repulsed a major assault by the undead from Suonu, and had cleared the entire southern part of the province. Gorm had accomplished plenty here even before my arrival, and he might have eventually risked bringing his people here by skirting La-Kharte. Then again, the idyllic picture before us could just as easily be an illusion, as evidenced by the affliction that had struck Gilthor.

"All clear," reported the scout leader.

"Keep moving and stay alert. It's a bit too quiet and peaceful here—be ready for any nasty surprises."

"Aye aye, commander," Ivar replied.

The kid's ears betrayed his mixed elven heritage, and his skills only solidified that suspicion. No one in the clan could match his keenness of vision, alertness and speed over forest terrain. Therefore, when deciding to form a squad of scouts, appointing him as the leader was the easiest decision I'd had to make yet. Ivar, his girlfriend Olta, plus Hyld and Raud who had joined the clan back in Ballan, made up the core of this squad. I'd instructed the leader to fill out the rest of the team as he saw fit, and I couldn't be happier with the result. Not only were they by far the most mobile squad in the clan, they were also deceptively effective in combat.

It was four in the afternoon and we hadn't yet stopped for lunch, but I decided that the clan could wait a few more hours till we reached the city. As we rode past villages, their people gazed upon us pensively. There was something else in their eyes, and that something made my skin crawl and plunged my spirits lower and lower with each settlement we passed. Everything seemed too picture perfect at a glance: well-kept houses with lovely door trims, apple orchards with trees heavy with fruit, neat patches of flowers and vegetables... But I couldn't shake the feeling like I was watching a horror flick, and kept waiting for the illusion to dissipate, giving way to some kind of horrid abomination. And it seemed that the feeling was shared by many. The laughter and chitchat had died down; my soldiers rode with grim and serious faces, casting anxious looks around themselves.