“Wow! You’re smart?” Van gasped. This elicited a cold, irritated stare from the dragon.
“Why, I do believe I am smart, Van, yes,” Jet said. “I would wager to say that your level of surprise is rather rude.”
“He was surprised that you were a fully sentient creature,” Sang said. “We didn’t mean to insult you at all.”
“Intentions and actions are two different things,” Jet said as he began to stroll around. His voice was harsh and grating; it was a little more high pitched than the other dragons they’d heard in the game.
“I have so many questions for you!” Sang said as she knelt down to get on the dragon’s level.
Jet merely looked at her and hissed a little, stepping backward.
“Am I interrupting something?” Kenwar asked as he strolled up to the three. They had walked a good distance away from the party, so as to not be eavesdropped on.
“Yes, you are,” Sang shot back.
“My apologies, but I have a message from Captain Edwardson. Apparently, he was so impressed with your ability to singlehandedly delay an entire force from moving when they needed to, that he wants to publicly commend us. We’re all heading to the tower, where he will give a speech and then will host a feast to honor us.”
“We get a feast?” Van asked. “Hell, yeah! It’s about time we got a feast!”
“I wouldn’t mind something to eat either,” Sang said. “I’ve been starving for the last four hours.”
“Well, let’s go,” Kenwar said, never taking his eyes off of Jet. Jet growled a little, but said nothing. It was clear that Jet wasn’t interested in talking when there were others around.
“Fine, let’s go,” Van sighed. He checked the in-game clock. Sleep Time wasn’t too far away now, so they wouldn’t really have enough time to feast and have a long drawn out conversation with the dragon. The good news was that Jet wasn’t going anywhere.
“Let me stay behind,” Sang whispered. “I need to talk to Jet.”
“I can’t risk Kenwar eavesdropping,” Van said. “Let’s ride to the beginning of Sleep Time, and then prevent him from logging in tomorrow.”
Sang nodded. “Yeah, good idea. He can’t hear a thing if he isn’t in the actual game.”
Chapter Ten
Van sat amongst a large group of warriors who were all eating and drinking merrily. The speech given by Edwardson had levied high praise to Van and his team, telling everyone that his mercenary company was one of the best things to have come out of the war. The next thing Van knew, there’d been a line stretching all the way outside of the feast hall with applicants who wanted to be a part of the Iron Dragons. The exploits of Van had been so exaggerated by Edwardson that players almost three times higher in level were itching to join up.
Van didn’t have much of a selection process, as all he really needed were players who were willing to go anywhere and do anything, so after writing out a quick pledge, he found that his small team of eight had expanded to a group of nearly one hundred players. This would be enough for them to push toward Bloodrock after a few more battles. With such a large group, Van knew it would be important for him to manage the players properly, so he quickly made all of his original team mates managers of squads. Each squad was composed of 14 people. This would allow for Van to not have to micromanage every single player. Instead, he’d still be dealing with his regular team, and would allow them to give out his orders to their people.
With the team figured out, Van was enjoying his scrumptious meal of roast chicken, corn, sauerkraut, and pie when a gangly fellow wearing a jester’s hat approached him.
“Why, are you Van?” the jester asked.
“I am!” Van replied, surprised that the jester knew his actual name. Most of the other players had called him Semimodo.
“Well, it is good to finally meet the man who was singlehandedly responsible for tricking an entire relief force into chasing a fake army,” the man said. “My name is Zac.”
Van looked at Zac’s name tag, which read Foolius. It was rare to meet a player who introduced himself by his real name.
“It’s nice to meet you, Zac,” Van said as he shook the jester’s hand.
“I’m a bard, as well, you know,” Zac said as he sat down, and grabbed a pitcher of beer and began to drink straight out of it.
“Are you here to join my mercenary company?” Van asked.
“Hahaha, no, not even close,” Zac replied. “No, I’m actually just here to congratulate you on your victory. My name is Zac and I happen to be one of the higher-ranking officials over in the Kyrissian army. This is one of my alts.”
“So, what, you’re actually a general?” Van asked. “I highly doubt that.”
“Fun fact, Van—I’m not just a general. I’m a Draco pro. I’ve been playing the part of leader of the Kyrissians as a way to keep Edwardson occupied.”
“Isn’t he a pro, too? I thought you guys worked together.”
“Oh, we do work together; he was just growing bored with the ineptitude of the Kyrissian forces and requested someone to liven things up for him. I was assigned, and have been doing somewhat of a good job. I’m not nearly as skillful as him at warfare, though. My talents… lie elsewhere.”
“So, you’re just here to tell me I did a good job?” Van asked.
“No, no, I’m also here to tell you that your kind of performance is just the kind of thing we’re looking for at Draco. You would make quite the professional player. Now, I’m not here on any official business, but I do know that most players who have professional advocates tend to get the job. Are you interested?”
“I’m afraid not,” Van said. “I like this game, but I don’t think I’m cut out to be a pro, sorry.” He stood up to leave, but felt the firm grip of the jester’s hand stopping him.
“Come now—why so glum, chum?” Zac chortled. “Does something about Draco make you nervous?”
“I’m just not the kind of guy who likes to be tied down,” Van said. “End of discussion.”
“Very well,” Zac replied as he took up another pitcher of beer and paused to drink down the entire thing. “But I just want you to know that I am watching you.”
Those words echoed in Van’s ears and he felt a shudder. It was as if the walls around him were beginning to close in. This was Draco’s world. Everything that he saw had been created by them. Every taste, every texture, every smell. All of it belonged to Draco. The way that Zac had so effortlessly gotten close to him reminded Van that he was walking down a dangerous path.
“You alright?” Bidane asked as she walked up to Van. “You look a little wobbly.”
“Just too much booze,” Van lied. “I need some air.” With that, he rushed out of the feast tent and promptly began to puke. After a few minutes, he leaned up and gasped. “What the hell am I doing?”
“Returning your feast, from the looks of it,” said Kenwar. Van looked up to see that Kenwar was standing by the tent, leaning against the tarp.
“Get out of here,” Van said. “Go party with the rest of them.”
“You look nervous,” Kenwar replied as he walked over and put a hand on Van’s shoulder. “Like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I just ate some bad chicken or something; I’m fine,” Van said as he shoved Kenwar’s hand off of him.
“Sure, you did. The fact that a Draco pro just popped by to say ‘hi’ didn’t have anything to do with your panic attack,” Kenwar said.
“That wasn’t a panic—”
“Yes, it was,” Kenwar interrupted. “It absolutely was. Do you want to know how I know? Because I get them all the time. It’s what happens when you’re in over your head.”
Van shook his head. “I’m not having this discussion with you.”
“I’m on your side here, Van. I’m on your side because we’re on the same team. We’re on Team Do Whatever the Hell It Takes To Survive.”