Grand Game 121: More Surprises (Patreon)

Day Five. Early Morning.

“Excellent,” Mariga said, her body swaying in what I interpreted as pleasure. “Place your hand in mine, and I will form the Pact between us.”

I did as she bade, gingerly setting my gloved hand atop her scaled palm.

A Game message opened in my mind.

Initiating a Pact between the Envoy known as Mariga, acting on behalf of an unknown Power, and the player, Michael…

I squinted at the somewhat surprising wording of the Adjudicator’s response.

Mariga waved at me, drawing my attention. “Go on,” she said impatiently. “Let the Adjudicator know your requirements so we can get this done.”

Refusing to be rushed, I reread the opening message. It suggested I knew less of the dark druid’s true nature than I’d thought. “‘…known as Mariga’,” I repeated aloud. “That’s not your true name, then?”

“Of course not,” the druid said dismissively. She gestured down at her body. “This would not be much of a disguise if I used my true name, now would it?”

I frowned. “You’re not really a snake woman?”

A snort of disdain was my only response.

I walked a slow circle around Mariga, studying her in renewed fascination. “How do you manage to retain your disguise in the safe zone?” I asked, thinking of my own failure with lesser imitate.

“I use a master tier deception spell naturally,” she replied.

“Naturally,” I murmured, wondering what that said about her level. The ability she was using had to be also capable of fooling a player’s analyze ability, too, I realized. Otherwise, she would have roused the suspicions of Ishita’s sworn.

“Now, can we get on with it?” she asked, getting more impatient.

I broke off from my fascinated study and gave her my attention again. “Not yet. Who is the ‘unknown Power’ you serve?”

That druid scowled. “I told you I am bound to the goddess of nature.”

“You aren’t,” I stated firmly. “If you belonged to Artem, the Adjudicator would not have labeled the Power you serve as ‘unknown.’” I paused. “Now, will you be honest with me?” I asked, getting impatient myself.

The druid was silent for so long that I thought she wouldn’t answer. “I serve Arinna,” she said at last.

I frowned, not recognizing the name. “Who?”

“She is a goddess of Light,” Mariga said quietly.

“You’re a Light player?” I asked in a strangled voice.

“Yes,” she replied. “Does that bother you?”

It didn’t, not in the sense she meant, but it did disturb me to discover another layer to her deceit. What else was she hiding? “Why does an envoy of the Light care about starting a war between two goblin tribes?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mariga asked. “I’m here to curb the Dark’s expansion. They can’t be allowed to claim this sector. Once they do,” she spread her arms, gesturing all around her, “the entirety of this valley will be heavily fortified, and it could take months, if not years, to dislodge them. I’ve been sent here to stop that before it happens.”

“What makes this valley so important?” I asked. I had Talon’s view, but I wanted to hear her own. Would she tell me the truth?

“The Netherworld entrance primarily,” she replied. “Connections between the aether and nether are few and far between, and each one is dearly prized. What’s more, this one is in a closed sector. That’s almost unheard of.”

She paused. “There is more to it, though. There is something about this sector that draws the Awakened Dead in particular. In the months I’ve been here, I’ve spied many of their finest players passing through the valley. They’ve always been careful to hide their identities.” She smiled. “But it is hard to hide one’s true self from me.” She glanced sideways at me from beneath lidded eyes.

Was her last comment directed at me too?

“And before you ask, I don’t know what those players are up to,” Mariga finished with an undercurrent of frustration. “But I intend to find out.”

I hid my disappointment. It didn’t seem I was going to get all my answers neatly laid out.

“Will you still form the Pact?” Mariga asked.

I spent a moment considering my answer. “Yes,” I said finally.

~~~

You have sealed a Pact with the envoy known as Mariga, acting on behalf of Arinna. The Power will deposit a sum of 1,000 gold into your Albion Bank account if you push the Red Rats and Howlers into a pitched battle and keep Mariga’s true nature secret from the sector’s occupants.

Your task: Goblin Wars! has been updated. You sealed a Pact with Mariga changing the terms of her original request. Revised objective: force the Red Rats and Howlers into a pitched battle.

I quickly retreated from Mariga’s cabin once our Pact was concluded. Glancing up at the brightening sky, I stifled a yawn. Morning had arrived. In the end, the druid’s revelations had proved enlightening, and in the process, my own path had solidified.

I was certain now of what I needed to do next.

But it had been a long night, and I was tired. I require sleep, I decided. Pointing my feet in the direction of the tavern, I strode that way.

The village streets were no longer empty. Players strolled to and fro. Recognizing me, some cast me dark looks. I paid them no heed.

As I drew up to the tavern, I noticed fresh scraps of paper posted on the noticeboard. They were all the same: copies of the bounty Ishita had placed on me.

My lips turned down. Someone was making very certain that my face did not go unrecognized. Hurrying past the bounty noticeboard, I climbed the tavern’s stairs and entered its darkened interior. It, too, was occupied by a smattering of players. They sat huddled around their tables, nursing their drinks. At my entrance, a few looked up and scowled.

Ignoring their angry mutters, I sat down at the bar. Benadean walked over. “Wow, you’ve made it back.” His eyes roved over my frame. “And with all your possessions intact. Impressive.”

I threw him a wry grin. “I’m harder to kill than you think,” I murmured and placed a silver coin down the bar counter’s polished surface.

Benadean’s eyes flickered to the coin. “What’s that for?”

“For a mug of ale,” I said. “And payment for the other day’s freebie.”

The barkeeper opened his mouth to protest, but I waved aside his objections. “Keep it, I insist.”

Benadean pocketed the coin. “Thanks,” he acknowledged and placed a brimming mug before me.

I took a sip, savoring the dark earthy flavor of the brew. I sighed and leaned back on my stool. “How much for a room?”

The barkeeper’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You’re planning on staying in the village then?”

I nodded. “For a day, no more.” Less if I could help it.

Benadean shook his head, undoubtedly thinking me foolish for taking such risks, but this time he didn’t voice his concerns. “It’s one gold per day.”

Wincing at the cost, I placed another coin on the counter, and the barkeeper exchanged it for an iron key. “The room is up the stairs, the first door on your right,” he said.

I nodded in thanks.

“So, what did you think of Mariga?” he asked suddenly.

I stared at him in consternation. How does he know I visited the dark druid?

Mistaking my expression for confusion, Benadean elaborated, “The last time you were here, it seemed like you were going to see her.”

“Ah,” I said, realizing it wasn’t to my most recent visit that he was referring. “You were right. She is odd.”

The barkeeper nodded sagely. “I wouldn’t have sent you her way, but given your circumstances... I didn’t think anyone else would deal with you.”

“No, you were right to direct me to her,” I said, waving away his concern.

Benadean leaned forward and whispered in a tone too low for the others in the room to overhear, “Between you and me, I suspect she is not entirely of the Dark.”

I looked up at him, my interest piqued. “What makes you say that?”

The barkeeper shrugged. “I don’t know... For all that she bears all the trappings of a Dark player, she’s shown little of the inclinations I’ve come to associate with those sworn to the Dark.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I’ve never known a Dark player to sit content in their home for weeks on end.” He pursed his lips. “I’m not sure how to explain it, but in my experience, Dark players all bear one trait in common: ambition. They are always striving, always pushing to gain more. To advance. At the best of times, you lot are impatient.”

I stroked my chin, ignoring his implication that I, too, belonged to the Dark—and that he didn’t. “That’s an interesting observation... Are there any other players that you suspect of not being Darksworn?” I asked casually.

Benadean laughed. “What? You mean one is not enough? There aren’t any others. Ishita’s sworn have been too fanatical in rooting them out.”

“How do you mean?”

“Only Dark Marked players without affiliation to any other Force have been allowed into the sector,” he explained.

I cocked my head to the side and studied him. “But you bear Marks of Shadow and Light as well, don’t you?”

Benadean snorted. “I do. And let me tell you, negotiating my way into the sector has proven to be more hassle than it’s worth. Ishita’s mages grilled me for hours before they let me through. The idiots suspected me of being a spy or something.”

“Why did they let you in then?” I asked, generally curious.

He laughed—somewhat bitterly, I thought. “I’d like to think it’s because I have a long history and solid reputation amongst the Darksworn, but the truth? It was probably because I was just a civilian and no threat.” He paused, then added, “And though I didn’t realize it at the time, they were likely desperate for merchants too.”

I raised a questioning brow. “Why is that?”

He looked at me. “You’ve seen the valley. There’s not much of value here. Business has been poor.” He shook his head. “No, that’s an understatement. Business has been abysmal. The gamble I took in coming here has not paid off. It’s time to return home.”

“You’re leaving?”

He nodded. “I’ve been scraping by as it is, and I’ve made nowhere near the profit I’ve been expecting.” He exhaled a heavy breath. “And with the way matters have been going, I suspect things are about to get a lot worse.”

“When will you go?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Benadean shrugged. “A month. A week. Maybe less.” He sighed. “I will need to find someone fool enough to buy this place first, though.”

I raised my glass. “Well, here’s to you. May you find better fortune wherever you venture next.”

~~~

Benadean left me to enjoy my drink in silence after that, and I sipped at it slowly, relishing the rare moment of quiet.

It didn’t last long, of course.

Not five minutes after he’d left, the barkeeper hurried back over. “You better go,” he whispered furtively. “I’ve just heard. A large group of Awakened Dead players is on their way here.” He eyed me. “Looking for you.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” I said but made no move to leave.

Benadean stared at me in consternation for a moment, then, throwing up his hands, he left me to my fate.

Turning back to my ale, I nursed it, patiently waiting.

It did not take long for the gang of Dark players to barge into the tavern. The one at their fore was immediately recognizable.

It was Forsyth.

His eyes simmering with hate, the spellsword advanced menacingly in my direction. I swung about on my chair and raised my mug in a casual toast. “Forsyth. Fancy meeting you here again.”

The Ishita follower glared at me and, not unexpectedly, did not return my greeting as he came to a halt less than two feet away. “What did you do?” he demanded.

“I have no idea what you mean,” I said lazily. My gaze drifted beyond him to the players at his back. They had spread out to surround me in a loose half-circle.

“Don’t play the fool,” Forsyth grated from between clenched teeth. “I know it was you!”

“You’re going to have to give me a bit more than that,” I suggested, “if you expect a response.”

The spellsword snarled in wordless rage and said nothing for a moment, chest heaving. “The Howlers have sealed the gates to the village,” he finally ground out. “They’re not letting anyone out!”

“Ah,” I murmured and took another sip from my nearly empty mug. “That’s a pity.”

“What did you do?” he demanded again.

I looked at him innocently. “Me? I had nothing to do with it.”

“You’re lying!” he accused.

Of course, I am. Maintaining my facade of innocence, I said nothing as I continued to stare at him blankly.

Our standoff lasted for less than a minute. The irate spellsword did not have the patience to sustain his glare for any longer.

“You will not get away with this,” he promised harshly. Not waiting for my response, he spun about and marched out the door, his troupe following on his heels.

A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Finally, things were looking up.