The Citadel (Mirror World Book #2) (12 page)

On top of that, the Catacombs were packed with all sorts of traps and highly aggressive wandering ghosts. And just to give you some idea, Zeddekey's level was directly proportional to the level of the player who wished to take him on but no less than a hundred. All in all, it wasn't the most accommodating of instances.

My checking of both the chat and raid applications confirmed my gut feeling: there was no way I could do this quest. No group in their sane minds were going to accept a zero-level player. Ideally, group members had to have similar levels. Fighting the boss was a very complex affair that demanded the highest degree of team work. Accepting a low-level player could jeopardize the whole operation, putting everyone else at risk. And I wasn't even a proper player!

Just as I thought, the only Yellow Onyx deposit was in the Main Cave. Or rather, in a small vault located behind it — guarded by Zeddekey's evil spirit.

At first I was even happy: seeing as I was the tough super Digger that I was, I was bound to find someone interested in my mining services. Not so. The forum made it perfectly clear: all the bonuses were pooled and divided equally between group members.

I opened the auction and immediately discovered that Yellow Onyx was a non-transferrable quest item. So it was a double whammy, basically. I might try and join a group, of course, but I doubted it would bring any results.

I checked the clock: half past one. I needed to make sure I didn't miss the caravan. According to the Guiding Eyes' schedule, they would be picking up new passengers at the central square at two-thirty.

Time to wrap up this show. Tomorrow would be another day. I still had to pop into the shop to get some writing supplies and buy a couple of local newspapers for Nikanor. His quest wasn't going to disappear overnight. I had to live up to my word.

My satnav promptly laid the optimal route to the nearest office supplies shop called
At Tiffany's
. How appropriate. As I walked, I checked auction prices for writing materials. They had loads. Pens, pencils, quills, inkwells and ink in every color, as well as erasers and paper of every possible size and quality. Players didn't sit on their backsides. They were busy making money. They didn't spend their spare time building some weird contraptions from blueprints like some engineering designers did, in the face of yours truly. I could probably have done much better just plucking geese and selling quills at auction.

Lots of writing materials on the auction pages. I could buy something cheap and cheerful right now and save myself a trip to the shop. But firstly, I wasn't even sure what kind of pencil or quill I needed to make entries in the cunning old lawyer's book. And secondly — as I already knew from experience — all these NPC shopkeepers were actually quite useful as information sources. Thirdly, I could compare the prices and buy a few newspapers at the same time.

The nearest office supplies shop was situated at the very beginning of Crooked Lane. Like all other Citadel buildings, it looked rather worse for wear — apparently, Caltean gifts had reached that far. Still, the whole street was in a frenzy of restoration. Another couple of days, and this lane might not look as, ahem, crooked as it now seemed.

The shop's freshly-painted door opened with ease, letting me into a rather cozy room smelling of fresh paper. I'd always loved the scent of new books.

What a great, special feeling when you walk into a book shop and check its shelves expecting to see the book you'd been awaiting for quite a while. The shopkeeper hides a knowing smile as you pay and reach out for the little tome. Seemingly matter-of-factly, you study its cover and open it as if to make sure it's what you've been looking for. It is indeed. You look at the author's familiar name: it feels as if you've known him all your life. The novel's title is printed in large, bold letters, followed by either a prologue or Chapter One. You catch yourself thinking that the book feels pleasantly heavy. You've only opened it to check the design but your gaze can't let go, hurrying from one word to the next, from comma to period. You devour the first paragraph in a matter of seconds... that's it! You've dived too deep to resurface; you're far from here, somewhere on a desert island or in the recesses of deep space.

That's when you pull yourself together and will yourself to stop. Not here. Not now. Tonight. After everyone's gone to bed. You'll make some tea and sandwiches, wrap yourself in a blanket and disappear for a while. You'll be gone. You'll be far from here.

I shook myself out of it. The salesgirl was already giving me funny looks. She must have taken me for some sick weirdo.

I had a brief chat with her which resulted in me buying some writing tools and a stack of local papers. I had my work cut out for me for tonight.

It didn't take me long to get to the main square. It was already getting busy. No one seemed to be particularly cowering. Players stood alone and in groups, talking and laughing. Some had newspapers in their hands.

It all looked like a large bus station medieval fantasy-style.

The Guiding Eyes arrived on the dot. Kosma led the caravan, towering over it like a gray cliff. Today he wasn't in a hurry, moving smoothly like a gargantuan steamboat.

I couldn't help smiling on seeing him. I'd only met his master the day before, but already it felt as if both were part of my family. No idea why. It's probably because you can't feel estranged anymore from someone who used to protect you. For you, they'll forever feel like family.

Uncle Vanya had noticed me too, smiling and waving. "Good job!" he said. "I knew you'd survive!"

"Hi," I squeezed his proffered hand. "How did you know, may I ask?"

He guffawed. "The sight of your clean pair of heels was convincing enough. That was a fine dash — any Olympic runner would have turned green with envy."

"You bet! I'm good at that!"

"I can see you haven't wasted your time," he commented cheerfully. "You're hung with medals like a Christmas tree!"

"Yeah right. If they want to call me a hero, who am I to object?"

"Listen," Uncle Vanya said. "We're leaving in five minutes. Wanna ride with me? You could tell me about your first day."

I shrugged. "I'm all for that. If the truth were known, I meant to ask you about it."

He gave me an encouraging slap on the shoulder. "Deal. You have five minutes. You can get yourself into the cab while I go check on the others. They might need help, you never know."

While he was running around helping other caravanners, I promptly installed myself in my old place. I'd only spent less than an hour in it but already it felt like home.

I hadn't even noticed the five minutes fly past. Uncle Vanya jumped back into his cab. He wasn't alone. A player had followed him. Who was it that said that it was a small world? Mirror World definitely was.

This was Shadow — the Alven girl. She raised a quizzical eyebrow, staring back at me. Long time no see!

I smiled. She frowned.

Oblivious of our little pantomime, Uncle Vanya shifted into his seat, making himself comfortable. "This is my niece. She's coming with us. Liz, whassup? Go sit down."

"We already met," I finally said.

"Really?" Uncle Vanya took in the scene.

"He's right," the girl perched herself on the seat next to me. "Remember I told you about the Swamp? That's him."

* * *

The Wastelands lived up to their name. Ditches filled with murky water crossed out paths blocked in places by brambles and large boulders overgrown with short brown grass.

Kosma didn't give a damn. He kept pulling his armored wagon, occasionally shaking his mountainous head.

We'd been on the road for about twenty minutes already. Liz — Uncle Vanya's niece — had proved not as silent as I'd thought her to be. She wouldn't win any prizes for being Miss Chatterbox of the Year, but at least she pulled her weight in our conversation.

Although we hadn't mentioned her age, she must have been about twenty, twenty-five max. Nor had we discussed any personal affairs. I'd managed to glean that she lived with her grandma. We hadn't mentioned her parents — apparently, this was a sore subject. I didn't insist. I hate prying.

Admittedly, my original not so favorable impression of her had by now completely gone. I was sitting next to a totally different person. What I'd mistaken for an ill-bred coldness back at the Swamp, was in fact a tactful reserve. And besides... I couldn't be sure, of course... but I got the impression that this girl had had her fair share of hardships.

"Dude, you're famous now," Uncle Vanya grinned. "Got three medals for yesterday's event!"

"Yeah right. I hope I won't live to regret it."

"Nah. It's perfectly normal. You just got your fifteen minutes of fame. Most players do. Actually, Liz, how did it go with you and Tronus?"

I pricked up my ears.

"It didn't," she grumbled, staring out the window. "Same old."

"Those developer bastards!" Uncle Vanya sniffed. "They just can't make it easy, can they? You sure you asked him nicely?"

Liz shrugged. "I tried it every possible way. Doesn't work."

"You must be doing something wrong," Uncle Vanya said didactically. "I heard about some dwarf being seen there today."

She screwed up her face. "I know."

I could see that the conversation was painful for her. Me, I just held my breath trying to look normal. No points for guessing they were talking about me. At least I hadn't seen any other dwarves — or should I say false impostor dwarves — in the wizard's household.

"It doesn't mean anything," Liz continued. "He might have bought a guidebook off someone. Why shouldn't he be applying it?"

"I'm sure that's what he did," Uncle Vanya agreed. "You can't do that sort of thing without a guidebook. But you know yourself that not all guidebooks are created equal. What's good for the cat is not always good for the mouse."

The girl sighed. "I know."

Silence fell. It was time for me to butt in. "This Tronus, is he a problem?"

"Not at all, dude. Not if you forget that for the last few weeks, this scumbag has been generating some truly awful quests. Customer support must be absolutely snowed with complaints. Most of his quests involve No-Man's Lands — and not just any old location but the one which is out of most players' league. You can still do them, of course, but only if you seek help from top-level players. Some poor bastards had to hire whole top-level groups! Imagine how much that costs?"

"I still can't see the problem," I said. "This wizard isn't the only NPC. Why can't they go somewhere else?"

Uncle Vanya and his niece exchanged knowing smiles. He ran his large hand along his beard and explained,

"The thing is, this wretched wizard is a member of the Citadel Council. It's comprised of captains and wizards of all seven castles. Basically, just some local top brass."

"I don't understand."

"You will in a moment. To put it briefly... there's this multi-stage quest. One of its steps is providing help to all of the Council members, may they burn in hell."

"Aha. I see. And?"

"It's basically an initiation," Liz added. "Once you pass it, you get access to heroic quests."

"Let me guess. It doesn't have anything to do with Valor, does it?"

"You got it," he nodded. "Each heroic quest is issued by its respective NPC and is rewarded with quite a bit of Valor."

"I see," I said. "And this Tronus throws wrenches in their works?"

"Not just him," Liz said. "But he's one of a few."

Uncle Vanya shook his head. "I just don't understand all this fuss about Valor. I wouldn't want it if it jumped on me. It's basically extortion."

"If you want to continue leveling, Valor is key," the girl retorted. "You know that better than I."

It looked as if this argument hadn't started yesterday.

Uncle Vanya chuckled. "Key! Yeah right! Remember that Dark Captain who barged into Drammen and started bossing everyone around? We made quick work of him, didn't we? So much for his Valor."

Liz shook her head but chose not to confront him. Whatever counterarguments she had, she wasn't in a hurry to offer them. From what I'd already sussed out, Uncle Vanya wasn't the easily convinced kind.

"Me and my Kosma, we're perfectly happy," he summed up, stroking his beard. "I told you before and I'll tell you again, girl: it's about time you forget your stupid Valor and do something useful. If you had put your mind to it, you could have already got yourself a draught beast. We might have accepted you into the caravan. You could have been making good money, you know."

Still silent, she shook her head.

"Ah, whatever," Uncle Vanya sounded hurt. "As long as you remember that Valor is for those who don't know what to do with their money. And you still have your Bronze account to pay."

She winced. "Uncle Vanya, please. You've chosen what works for you. I have my own priorities."

For the next few minutes, we didn't speak, each thinking his or her own thoughts. I was the first to break the silence,

"Did you say this NPC used to be easier to handle?"