Read Online Gamers' Quest by George Ivanoff - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: George Ivanoff
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about, but Vera's arms slowly constricted, crushing the air from her lungs.
‘Not a chance,’ said the princeling, attempting to make a dash for the nearest door.
Tark grabbed him and dragged him towards Vera and Zyra.
‘Let me go,’ demanded the princeling. ‘What are you doing?’
‘This ’ere is our employer,’ said Tark to Vera. ‘We has only been doin’ wot we has been told.’
The princeling started to protest, but Tark gave him a sharp punch to the mouth.
‘The snotling gaves us the sword o’ light,’ continued Tark. ‘He tolds us to do in Edgar and takes his gold.’
Vera dropped Zyra, who fell to her hands and knees, gasping for breath.
Tark shoved the princeling towards Vera.
‘It's not true,’ yelped the princeling, as Vera wrapped her crushing arms around his podgy body.
‘Tells us,’ demanded Tark, ‘or ya dies first.’
‘The hilt,’ gasped the princeling. ‘Panel … open … button.’
Tark fumbled with the sword hilt, pressing at it with his fingers, until a small section clicked inwards and slid aside, revealing a red button.
‘Ya means – that's all?’ said Tark.
The princeling nodded, gasped and lost consciousness.
Tark pressed the button.
The sword flared into brilliant life. Tark tried to shield his eyes as it sprang from his hands, streaked through the air and embedded itself deep within Vera's side, missing Princeling Galbrath by a hair's breadth.
Vera immediately dropped the princeling, threw back her head and released the most inhuman howl either Tark or Zyra had ever heard. Light spilled from her eyes, nose and mouth. Her flesh and her clothing burst into flame, turning to ash in seconds. Her metal skeleton glowed white-hot, then disintegrated.
The sword clattered to the ground, spent and lightless. Tark sheathed it absently, his eyes fixed on the smouldering metal fragments scattered about the room.
Zyra staggered to her feet and shook Tark from his reverie. ‘Comes on,’ she said.
They made their way past the unconscious princeling to where Tark had left the cart. They slowly wheeled it over to the pedestal. Zyra fished their keys from a pocket and placed them on the pedestal. Then they put their hands, palms down, beside the keys.
‘Access granted,’ said the same disembodied androgynous voice as the Oracle's.
Tark withdrew his hand. On impulse, Zyra pocketed the keys.
And then everything around them melted away.
13: Into Paradise
Static! Grey, crackly, fuzzy, all-encompassing static. It was like being within electronic interference made tangible.
Tark and Zyra were surrounded, encased, in drab, sizzling nothing – suspended in the anticipation of things to come. They could almost feel themselves disappearing, ready to be reformed into something better.
‘Payment calculated,’ said the voice. ‘Access to Designers Paradise granted for sixty-three hours, seventeen minutes, three sec … seconds.’
There was pause. Tark and Zyra waited.
‘Avatars?’ asked the voice.
Tark and Zyra smiled at each other. But before either could speak, the voice announced:
‘Avatars. Avatars not necessary. Entry parameters altered. Game Master assigned.’
‘Game Master?’ asked Tark and Zyra, together.
‘Yes,’ wheezed a voice. ‘That would be me.’
The Fat Man coalesced in the static.
‘Ya can'ts do this,’ protested Tark.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Zyra. ‘We's paid for our time in Designers Paradise. We's paid for our choice.’
‘I have enough money to do anything I want,’ said the Fat Man. ‘You see, if you have enough money, the rules are different. If you have enough money, you can even make your own rules. If you have enough money, you can control those who do not have enough money.’
‘The Oracle,’ whispered Zyra.
‘Oh yes,’ said the Fat Man. ‘That was me and my money. No one ever gets assigned a path through the rat-mage's domain, unless I pay for it. Actually, I'm surprised you made it through. No one else has. You're
‘Not a chance,’ said the princeling, attempting to make a dash for the nearest door.
Tark grabbed him and dragged him towards Vera and Zyra.
‘Let me go,’ demanded the princeling. ‘What are you doing?’
‘This ’ere is our employer,’ said Tark to Vera. ‘We has only been doin’ wot we has been told.’
The princeling started to protest, but Tark gave him a sharp punch to the mouth.
‘The snotling gaves us the sword o’ light,’ continued Tark. ‘He tolds us to do in Edgar and takes his gold.’
Vera dropped Zyra, who fell to her hands and knees, gasping for breath.
Tark shoved the princeling towards Vera.
‘It's not true,’ yelped the princeling, as Vera wrapped her crushing arms around his podgy body.
‘Tells us,’ demanded Tark, ‘or ya dies first.’
‘The hilt,’ gasped the princeling. ‘Panel … open … button.’
Tark fumbled with the sword hilt, pressing at it with his fingers, until a small section clicked inwards and slid aside, revealing a red button.
‘Ya means – that's all?’ said Tark.
The princeling nodded, gasped and lost consciousness.
Tark pressed the button.
The sword flared into brilliant life. Tark tried to shield his eyes as it sprang from his hands, streaked through the air and embedded itself deep within Vera's side, missing Princeling Galbrath by a hair's breadth.
Vera immediately dropped the princeling, threw back her head and released the most inhuman howl either Tark or Zyra had ever heard. Light spilled from her eyes, nose and mouth. Her flesh and her clothing burst into flame, turning to ash in seconds. Her metal skeleton glowed white-hot, then disintegrated.
The sword clattered to the ground, spent and lightless. Tark sheathed it absently, his eyes fixed on the smouldering metal fragments scattered about the room.
Zyra staggered to her feet and shook Tark from his reverie. ‘Comes on,’ she said.
They made their way past the unconscious princeling to where Tark had left the cart. They slowly wheeled it over to the pedestal. Zyra fished their keys from a pocket and placed them on the pedestal. Then they put their hands, palms down, beside the keys.
‘Access granted,’ said the same disembodied androgynous voice as the Oracle's.
Tark withdrew his hand. On impulse, Zyra pocketed the keys.
And then everything around them melted away.
13: Into Paradise
Static! Grey, crackly, fuzzy, all-encompassing static. It was like being within electronic interference made tangible.
Tark and Zyra were surrounded, encased, in drab, sizzling nothing – suspended in the anticipation of things to come. They could almost feel themselves disappearing, ready to be reformed into something better.
‘Payment calculated,’ said the voice. ‘Access to Designers Paradise granted for sixty-three hours, seventeen minutes, three sec … seconds.’
There was pause. Tark and Zyra waited.
‘Avatars?’ asked the voice.
Tark and Zyra smiled at each other. But before either could speak, the voice announced:
‘Avatars. Avatars not necessary. Entry parameters altered. Game Master assigned.’
‘Game Master?’ asked Tark and Zyra, together.
‘Yes,’ wheezed a voice. ‘That would be me.’
The Fat Man coalesced in the static.
‘Ya can'ts do this,’ protested Tark.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Zyra. ‘We's paid for our time in Designers Paradise. We's paid for our choice.’
‘I have enough money to do anything I want,’ said the Fat Man. ‘You see, if you have enough money, the rules are different. If you have enough money, you can even make your own rules. If you have enough money, you can control those who do not have enough money.’
‘The Oracle,’ whispered Zyra.
‘Oh yes,’ said the Fat Man. ‘That was me and my money. No one ever gets assigned a path through the rat-mage's domain, unless I pay for it. Actually, I'm surprised you made it through. No one else has. You're
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