Deadline Read online

  Faced with the end of the world, our little differences seemed smaller still. This night, at least, saw a suspension of all hostilities. It wasn't everlasting peace, but it was a good first step. Change was in the air and we were its agents. That was cause to smile.

  Lacing the laughter, however, was another emotion. Something closer to fear or uncertainty or maybe the desperation inherent in hope. Haven was going public in a few short hours, and everything would change all over again.

  Bandit's heavy paws touched down, tamping the wet soil as she changed back to her true form. I rubbed her neck as it went from scales to fur. It was nice being able to fly for the sheer joy of it as opposed to dodging boss mobs and watching a timer. I dismounted and hugged the mountain bongo.

  "We've been through a lot together, you and I, back since we first met in the small forest outside Stronghold." I chuckled inwardly. "Can you believe we were running from a few goblins?" I sighed. Times changed fast, especially for a couple of power levelers like us.

  I dug through my inventory and gave Bandit the best treats I could find, handcrafted dark chocolate peanut butter cups. She unceremoniously gobbled the handful up.

  Nearby, horses nickered. We'd landed on the sure ground of the stables, since swamps weren't especially conducive to hoofed feet. The crusader mounts shuffled nervously at Bandit's presence, but Artax cantered up and stomped the ground playfully. After they smelled each other's noses, the black stallion neighed and hoofed away. Bandit watched after him.

  "Go play with your friends," I said. "You deserve it."

  Bandit simultaneously farted and winked before galloping off. I swear she was getting a sense of humor.

  I shook my head and marched toward the crowd. With hundreds of soldiers, rather than a big party it was more like fifty little ones, all bouncing and intermingling, feeding into the greater energy of the whole. Nervous excitement tickled the air. The beta test was officially ending. In some ways, it felt like the whole world was.

  I passed through the camp of Black Hats. Phil was here, to my surprise, still wearing nothing but a loin cloth and pink socks. Between incoherent grumbles, he waved a sign that read, "The End Beginning is Nigh!"

  "Oi!" called Nooner, standing behind a table. "All-you-can-drink wristbands! Get yer wristbands here!"

  I arched an eyebrow and approached the petty criminal. Beside him, another gangster manned a money bucket and a pile of fluorescent-yellow bracelets.

  "What's this?" I asked sharply before they noticed me.

  Nooner jumped. "Talon! I thought you were off on a scouting trip. I just figured—"

  "That you'd make money selling useless wristbands?" I guessed.

  The gangster swallowed. "It don't concern you, of course. You bein' faction leader an' all. You get the pick of the booze, on the house!"

  My snide smile didn't wane. "Everybody in camp gets free booze, Nooner. We all fought together. We all won." I snatched the money bucket. "How much are you selling the wristbands for, anyway?"

  Nooner gulped. "Er, five silver."

  Five silver coins clinked at the bottom of the bucket. I turned a pointed eye to Nooner's assistant in crime. He was the only person in sight with a bright-yellow wrist. "Only one sucker, eh?"

  "He made me buy one," confessed the assistant. "As a show of support."

  My eye turned to Nooner.

  "It's a damn savvy lot you got here," he complained. "What was I thinkin', trying to get one over on a guild of Black Hats? Now them goblins, there's a good mark!"

  "No scamming," I said firmly. "Especially against the goblins. They've had it hard enough. Unless..." I turned away and paused for effect as they hung on my words. "Unless you're looking to pick up a blood feud or three. I hear goblins are quite partial to those."

  Nooner's eyes went wide as I strolled away.

  Speaking of trouble, the next group I found myself in was the catechists. They'd held up their end of the alliance, most of them anyway, but I still wouldn't group them into any category remotely adjacent to good company. No drinking, no gambling, no cursing—I wondered what it was exactly they were getting up to.

  "Protector."

  I turned as Cleric Vagram approached for a word. Great.

  The blond-haired cleric was an enigma. We'd just won a war but his expression telegraphed the opposite. He was as devout as they came but had gone against his old leader. I still didn't know what to make of him.

  I waited on him and nodded as he approached. "Bishop Vagram, I take it?"

  He shook his head solemnly. "No. I may be the most powerful cleric in Haven, but a cleric is what I am. There's no more Oakengard, no more Trinity, no more bishop."

  I nodded respectfully. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. No one foresaw Gigas. And I'd say I'm sorry about Tannen too but..."

  "The man was a power-hungry prophet. I could no longer look past his sins. I'm afraid we have to admit he was another Hadrian in the making."

  "What will you do?"

  He shrugged. "Wait for a sign from the White King, I suppose. It's clear we need to rethink a great many things. But I'll take up the leadership mantle for my priests. It seems fitting, in a way, for Oakengard to fall. We catechists have already broken away and the knights are riding with the Black Hats. Maybe this is as things were always meant to be."

  My immediate thought was to offer them a place in the faction, but it didn't feel right. The catechists were powerful but not a good culture fit. Besides, I was pretty sure Vagram would reject the offer. They had to find their path and travel it, even if it did eventually lead to Stronghold.

  "I wish you well," I said, offering my arm.

  "And I you," returned the cleric as we clasped wrists.

  We walked off and I pondered his reference to the White King. What would it mean to Christian Everett if Oakengard was gone? We'd succeeded at ousting the Whisperer, but the Trinity was dead, the trijewel destroyed. Where did that leave his seat of power?

  The flow of catechists naturally led to some reuniting crusaders. Many knights still wore their armor and black tunics. When I spotted a friendly face, I didn't hesitate to hurry over.

  "Buildmaster general!" I called out, laughing and rapping his shoulder. "You did it! The Black Army kicked ass."

  "Aye," agreed Trafford. "I've done it and now I'm done."

  The chuckles silenced. I studied the present knights, who included Grimwart. "What do you mean done?"

  "I've been tellin' ya for ages—I'm too old for this. You're officially looking at my retirement party, didn't you know?" He spread his arms wide and shouted to the sky. "Everyone's here for me!"

  Spectators held tankards high and hurrahed. I scratched my head uncertainly while the noise died down. Before I could ask a follow-up question, the old man helped me out.

  "Don't look so stunned, son. I'll still be around. I'm a Black Hat for life. But I'm giving up the welcome shop and army duties. Gonna streamline my life. I'll still watch over Dragonperch and Oldtown. I'll keep the quest book too. Jixa will make a good buildmaster, but that's your call."

  "And what about general?"

  Trafford smiled. "I'm sure you'll approve of my replacement." He shoved the black knight forward. "Let me officially present General Grimwart of the Black Army."

  The stout though slightly inebriated crusader cleared his throat. "It would be my honor if you would have me," he said. "All the crusaders, in fact. We need a permanent home, and it would do us no greater pleasure than to serve Oldtown."

  I blinked at the collected group of knights. The turn of events had nullified their need to follow their oaths and serve Oakengard. "Hell yeah!" I exclaimed.

  "And look," said Trafford, holding up the crusader's full helm, lacquered black. "He already has guild-appropriate headgear. It's a perfect fit!"

  A round of laughs erupted. Someone handed me a beer and we did a round of toasts as well. We chatted about the immediate implications of the promotions, but we kept that discussion light. This was a party
, not a work meeting. Nothing was gonna stop our fun.

  After a bit I pulled the old man aside. "I guess it's time to say goodbye to Buildmaster General Questkeeper Shopkeeper Trafford. Maybe cutting out a few job titles will make room for a new one..."

  "Over my dead body!" snarled the crank.

  I winked. "Got ya."

  "Why you smug little..." His face reddened. "Aw, who am I kidding?" The old man grabbed me in a bear hug. He released me and clinked his glass to mine. "We love you, son. Keep doing your thing."

  "You too, Trafford. I couldn't imagine running the Black Hats without you around." I realized the old man had always been there whenever and wherever we needed him. Whether it was manning the sanctum master panel in Dragonperch, cleaning up Oldtown, or just smacking me with some old-fashioned good advice, he'd always sort of worked in the capacity of a general manager. "You know, I'm serious about that job title. While Izzy and Kyle and I are off battling world-ending threats, you do a great job running the day-to-day at home. You spin a lot of plates and keep them spinning. How'd you like to be the official faction GM?"

  His eyes lit up. "Guild Master?"

  "Well, actually GM stands for—"

  "Guild Master," he said assertively. "I love it." He clapped me on the shoulder and rejoined the group.

  After a moment's deliberation, I decided to let Trafford have it his way. I waved them off, wondered where Kyle and Izzy were, and wandered in search of a refill.

  The wetlands shivered under heavy stomps. I circled a column of large tents to investigate. Various friends were face-to-face with ogres violently bouncing off each other. I rushed over before realizing it was Baz and the rest of Jixa's team.

  Stigg prodded a few goblins with lutes. "Harder and faster," he said. "Like this." The Viking thrashed an air guitar and mimicked screeching riffs with curled lips. "Can you do that?" The goblins eagerly nodded.

  I snorted. "You're teaching ogres to mosh?"

  "That's the easy part," said Stigg. "They're naturals."

  Baz wore black eyeliner and made devil horns with his fingers. "Hail puny yooman moosik!"

  Stigg put his hands on his hips with a frown. "I'm still trying to figure out a way to electrify the lutes."

  "Let the big guy have his fun," cut in Caduceus. She was sitting with the white knight.

  "Hey," said a drunken Lash, "sheck out my new helmet!"

  She placed the new gear on her head. It looked just as menacing as before, but now her pony tail protruded from the back of the helmet and flared around her head like a peacock. It was a bold look for a bold fighter.

  "I like it," I said, deciding not to comment on her drinking. It was the opinion of quite a few of us that Lash needed to find more ways to blow off steam.

  "I don't know," warned Dune, sidling up to me. "It's trouble letting those two conspire together."

  "You're just jealous." I shook the ranger's hand. "Getting friendly with other Black Hats is a rule of membership. Nothing to be done." We watched as Glinda and Conan drank sparkling champagne, the chessboard between them worn from heavy use.

  "Check," said the barbarian.

  "I didn't know he was into chess."

  "Apparently a star member of the chess club, back in real life," reported Dune. I turned to him in astonishment. "You said being friendly was a faction rule, right?"

  I shook my head. "I guess it finally makes sense why Glinda likes him."

  "Oh, don't sell the old woman short, either. I saw her sneaking out of Trafford's tent earlier."

  I burst into laughter. "Too much information!" I filled my beer from a nearby tap and said, "It looks like you're settling in nicely then."

  "That I am. Finally made level 10. But I'm giving the loadout a rest for now and enjoying the company of friends. You down for a game of hopcoin?"

  I scoffed. "With you? Might as well give my money away. But Serpico should be around here somewhere. He might give you a good run."

  "Not on his best day."

  Another round of lute metal kicked up. Hex stormed into the fray and began dancing, a nameless zombie headbanging at her side.

  "Talon?" came a young voice. Dune and I jumped.

  "Crux!" snapped the ranger. "Stop sneaking up on us like that!"

  I rolled my eyes. "He's a bit of a show off. Imagine that."

  Dune's eyes narrowed.

  The thief cleared his throat. "I just wanted to say thank you for believing in me. And for supporting us getting Hex back."

  I shook my head. "Hey, kid, it was all you. You kept your promise to your sister. You did what you had to do with a clear conscience. She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you stubbornly searching her out."

  "But everyone helped. You scouting Oakengard with me, Bravo Team charging in."

  Lash stumbled over just in time to catch the end. She latched a heavy arm around the thief. "That'sh family for you," she slurred.

  Crux beamed and raised his eyebrows. "Even Kyle was incredibly resourceful."

  "Kyle," coughed Dune. "That's a surprise."

  "Not really," I said. "He has a lot of grit and persistence when there are people to fight for. I could say the same thing about you two."

  Crux and Dune shared a glance before turning to me. The thief was receptive to the lesson and nodded. Dune? Well, let's call him a cynic. "Izzy's right about you," he laughed. "You get a little sappy when things work out."

  "Totally," Lash snickered, ironically unaware she was still hugging Crux.

  The laugh at my expense was shared by a few. The mirth died down but the smile on the ranger's face persisted. "We needed someone like you," he finally said. "Someone who saw the good in everyone. Someone to give us hope." He paused and went serious. "Jeez, did I just say that?"

  "I'm infectious," I said.

  "Nah," said Lash. "You're jusht a good leader."

  Dune nodded. "She's right." He pointed a finger behind me. "That's infectious."

  I turned to the nearby pirate camp. Grom and a lady of ill repute lay in a cattle trow half filled with drool water and floating pieces of hay that clung to their wet bodies. Grug, so blitzed that he didn't even notice their presence, was puking his lungs out into the same trow.

  Our faces scrunched in disgust.

  After that train wreck killed the mood, our little party broke away. I wandered into the pirate camp, giving a wide berth to the cattle trow. Seamen crowded close, boisterously shoving each other and slamming down tankards of mead. I suddenly found myself partaking in some kind of drinking game while spectating a slapping contest.

  "Ain't it a grand sight?" boasted Errol, sidling up with an arm around Avisa's waist.

  I looked knowingly at the two before turning my attention back to the sport. "It's something all right, but I don't know if grand describes it. Then again, that's kind of how you roll, Admiral Oates."

  "Captain my captain!" shouted Avisa.

  The Scar of the Six Seas grinned a silver tooth. "Ar. Now that the exhaustin' work be done an' we be lookin' at peace time, I wanted t' properly introduce you t' me lady love."

  "Reunited at last," beamed the sergeant.

  "Aye, a rough history we've had, but this latest adventure proves we can do anythin' so long as we're together."

  Avisa smirked. "We went to hell and back, literally and metaphorically."

  "An' I wouldn't have it any other way." Errol gave her a long sloppy smooch before disengaging and tenderly holding her hands. "With that in mind, methinks it's time t' pop the question."

  Her eyes widened.

  "Me sergeant, me love," he started. Avisa covered her mouth and spectators gathered round. "Me first mate, emphasis on mate." Sly snickers followed. "Would ye, Avisa o' Shorehome, do me the honor o' joinin' the Black Hats?"

  Everyone held their breath in anticipation. I scratched my head awkwardly, not sure what I expected of the rascal. Avisa blinked for a few stupefied moments before grinning wide. She pulled her hands away and socked him in the jaw. Errol hit th
e dirt.

  "That's all you have to ask me?" she snapped.

  The captain pushed to his feet and groggily shook his head. "What did I say?"

  Papa Brugo regally strode up wearing a garish smile. "I believe it is what you didn't say."

  Sideshow over, the pirates returned to the festivities, cheering loudly for a new contestant. I stared in disbelief as Grug returned from the cattle trow, wiped a bit of vomit from his chin, downed a cup of ale, and stepped up to the slapping table.

  "You guys really do party harder than anybody else."

  Errol laughed and grabbed a mug. "To long nights an' short memories!"

  As we watched the festivities, Papa Brugo leaned into me. "It occurs to me, Protector, that without the saints, you are the only one with the means of managing factions."

  I took a sip of drink and realized he was right. I opened the dev menu and studied the faction controls. "Do the Brothers in Black need help from an ally?"

  Brugo clasped his hands behind his back as a particularly hard slap knocked Grug to the ground. The pirate clutched his head to keep it from spinning and struggled to his feet.

  The Papa sighed. "In retrospect, I've had enough of black. The division in Shorehome has been repaired, but the brotherhood must adapt rather than wallow in its former shadow. We need a new color, a new start. Besides, your faction made its own claim to black."

  "Yeah," I acknowledged, rubbing my neck, "sorry about that. There should've been a color-coded chart or something." We watched Grug warm up his palms with a fan-riling rub before using an open hand to knock his opponent out. "What will you do?" I asked.

  "Choose a color that suits me more," answered the crime boss. "A nice gaudy scarlet."

  I grunted. Then I used the dev menu to unlock faction controls. Papa Brugo went through his menus.

  Global Haven Alert:

  Papa Brugo has named a new faction: the Scarlet Knives.

  I smirked at him. "Not the most subtle of names."

  "Has it been your experience that I am a subtle man?" His tone was deadly serious.

  "Good point."

  Avisa hooted as she returned with a pile of coins. "Look at the silver your man won me!" She gave Errol a kiss.