Spear of Destiny by James Baldwin (little bear else holmelund minarik .TXT) 📕

one reason.” She picked up her little cup of foamy coffee and looked down it. “I’ve been on the run for about five months. From Baldr, Lucien, and Violetta. Baldr rules Ilia. Lucien runs his army. Violetta manages the Mata Argis, the Ilian secret service. The Mata Argis are after me.”

“Why?”

She regarded me steadily. “After I picked up the Valkyrie class in Gilheim, I returned to Ilia and joined the resistance.”

My eyes widened. “There’s a resistance?”

“Yes. The Kingsmen.” Nethres nodded. “Some players. Mostly NPCs. The prince who was deposed in the Ilian Revolution is now an adult, and he leads the biggest cell of partisans. He’s in Revala right now, doing what he can to stop Lucien and the dragons. Prince Illandi made me a captain. I came here on his behalf. A longshot, I figured, asking you for help.”

“Not that long of a shot,” I said, taking the top off my coffee. “We’ve been fighting Baldr-slash-Ororgael since before I fled the Eyrie.”

“I don’t know how you escaped. From everything I’ve heard, the Order was some kind of trap. But I saw your dragon.” For the very first time, Nethres smiled—an expression that reached her hazel eyes and warmed them from grey to green. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is, and it was. And Baldr isn’t Baldr anymore.” I shook my head. “He got hijacked by the digital ghost of Michael Pratt, a senior developer who worked in Ryuko’s military and civilian divisions on the game’s A.I. Goes by the name ‘Ororgael’ in Archemi. He’s using Baldr’s body, but Baldr as we know him is functionally dead.”

“A dev? That would make a lot of sense.” Nethres gave a tense nod. “He’s killed players, as in, really killed them. Several players. If he knew where I was, he’d kill me.”

“How?” I set my cup down, watching her intently.

“I don’t know what it is. Some kind of sword. There’s only one of them.” Nethres drew a deep breath. “Lucien called it the ‘Godslayer’. Looks like some kind of laser sword, almost. I’ve only seen it at a distance.”

The Turkish coffee, normally aromatic and mellow and delicious, felt like it’d left a coating of ash in my mouth. “I’ve seen that sword. He dueled me with it.”

“You’re lucky to be alive.” The corners of Nethres’ mouth sloped. “He publicly executed three players in Liren. Beheaded them, right in the middle of the city. One of them was a murderhobo who went on a killing spree. One was just a rogue, a woman who pissed him off for some reason. The third was one of ours, in the Resistance. His name was Pravoslav.”

“Fuck. I remember him. He was with us in the Trials. Big guy, accent east of Germany somewhere.”

“He was Slovak. A refugee from the Bloc to the UNAC.” Nethres nodded. “Baldr killed him. He didn’t respawn. His PMs disappeared. Any dynamic information about him was corrupted.”

I slumped back into my seat, digesting the news. For one thing, it erased any lingering doubt in my mind that Ororgael needed to die. For another, why the fuck hadn’t Ororgael killed ME?

“If he’s an admin, that’d be how he got his hands on the Godslayer,” Nethres said. “Rumor has it there’s some temporary player-killer weapons like that that were left over from admin playtesting, but they vanish after a couple of hours.”

“Who did you hear that from?” I asked.

“Another admin. His name is Jamil,” Nethres said. “He’s also in the resistance. Keeps to himself, and he hasn’t ever said anything about a Michael or Ororgael, but he briefed us on what to do if we ran into someone with an Admin Test weapon. Several players were too scared to stay with us, and left the resistance to hide.”

“Sheesh. Guess he doesn’t want to panic people by telling them what’s going on.” I clicked my tongue. “I’m guessing Casper was one of the players who ran.”

“No. He’s worse.” Nethres’ expression turned stormy, and she crossed her arms. “He works for Violetta. The Mata Argis bitch. He was spying on us for her. He’d have turned me in if he’d gotten the chance.”

“Well, fuck.” I scowled. “He was in Dakhdir only a week or so ago, pretending to be working for the Morning Stars. They’re rebels, trying to reinstate an ancient royal lineage on the throne.”

“Tsch.” Nethres rolled her eyes. “After he dumped me and ran from the Trials, he went and became a bandit. At some point—I don’t know when—Violetta recruited him. Forcibly or not, I don’t know. He weaseled his way into the Kingsmen by playing on our friendship.”

“She probably recruited him at the point of the Godslayer,” I said. “Ororgael trusts her more than he does Lucien.”

“Yeah. That’s the consensus in the resistance,” Nethres replied. “Mind you, I’d trust a rabid raccoon more than I’d trust Lucien. Lucien’s sick. He’s raped, tortured and murdered his way across Ilia and Revala. Uses the dragons to kill people—NPCs—and worse. I’ve got lots of stories, none of them good.”

“It’s fine. I don’t need to know the details. I saw enough of that shit in the war.” Grimacing, I pushed the rest of my coffee away. “I always knew he was fucked in the head. Believe me, if I ever get my hands on that Godslayer weapon, he’ll be the first to go. Ororgael will be second, and then I’ll throw the damn thing into a volcano.”

“You’d do that?” Nethres frowned, suddenly uncertain. “Kill them?”

I straightened up in my chair. “Taking them out of action is my primary goal. We’re living in what amounts to a closed vault with roughly two thousand immortal player characters. That’s two thousand people who MUST live together in the same little virtual world. If I could shoot Ororgael, Violetta and Lucien into space and send them to another planet, I would. But we can’t, and they’ve made it