08 – A bard who isn't worth a penny

  “Are you going to pay him?” Nura’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Are you not ok with it?” Elanil couldn’t understand what caused such a strong reaction of her companion. “All labor deserves to be paid.”

  “Exactly! Labor,” Nura exclaimed. “Not just strumming on some stringy stuff. What’s the point of all that?”

  “What do you mean? People shouldn’t play music at all?” Elanil asked, surprised. She watched with half an eye as the bard strolled sedately between the tables—no one paid him the slightest attention, or at least pretended not to notice him as hard as they could.

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” Nura shook her head decisively. “Let them play for fun, let them do whatever they want. In their spare time. But calling it labor, especially one that should be paid...” she apparently decided that was enough to say. And snorted loudly to emphasize her disdain for music as a profession.

  “Why are you so prejudiced against people earning their living through music?”

  “Because it’s of no practical use, other than to fill your ears with pointless buzz. If only it involved dancing. But no. Just standing by the fireplace, plucking some strings and whining some tune.”

  “Interesting. How is dancing any better?”

  “In many ways, but mostly because it trains your body. In a good dance, you’ll hone your hunter’s stamina, your warrior’s strength, your rogue’s stealth, your—”

  “I see, I see,” with her palm raised, Elanil stopped these explanations. “Everything for you should be purely utilitarian, I see. But life isn’t so simple to be only measured by practicality. It must also have a place for beauty. Precisely so that life would be felt as life, and not as mere existence.”

  “I don’t care,” Nura grumbled, glancing at the musician, the relaxed smile playing on his face and the slightly amused squint in his eyes. “All these useless niceties are for slackers. That’s why we orcs are stronger and more resilient than everyone else.”

  “Yeah, and those everyone else rule this world. While you orcs hang around in such shitholes that you managed to learn a thousand ways of cooking beetles. Certainty out of well-fed life and prosperity.” Elanil couldn’t help but quip. But she felt so annoyed with that arrogant young Orc, thinking she knew the absolute truth.

  Nura opened her mouth, speechless. Elanil was already expecting a torrent of indignation from her friend. She even prepared for the enraged orc to start a fight, defending the wounded honor of her people. But Nura simply closed her mouth and looked down. Meanwhile, the bard approached their table. Elanil dropped a coin into his small, open money pouch, hanging from his lute strap. The coin disappeared without a sound. So it had been there alone. The bard glanced at his pouch in surprise, then at Elanil, his eyebrows raised. But he said nothing and moved on.

  Elanil watched the musician’s retreating back for a moment, until she remembered she had just offended her companion. Nura hadn’t even glanced in her direction during their brief exchange of glances with the bard, but had continued to stare thoughtfully ahead.

  “Sorry,” Elanil began softly. “I shouldn’t have spoken about your people that way—”

  “Nah, don’t worry.” Nura finally looked up at her, smiling. Her eyes genuinely seemed devoid of any resentment or offense. “Actually, you’re right. We orcs really do live in deep shit, it’s just that you only begin to understand it, perhaps, when you somehow find yourself far from your homeland. And I have a strong feeling I’ll have the opportunity to see that for myself many more times.”

  Soon, one of the patrons brought them two large clay mugs, filled to the brim with ale—the innkeeper asked him to pass them on. She also apologized for not pouring them drinks right away, even though Elanil had requested it. It had been a hectic evening, as the farmer who had brought the drinks conveyed the innkeeper’s words. So, the ale was on the house, since the mistake was hers.

  “A fine end to the day,” Nura shrugged cheerfully and brought her mug closer to Elanil’s, ready to propose a toast. “Well, to our acquaintance. And to a good fight. Two fights, by the way!”

  “And to good loot,” Elanil added. Their mugs clinked together with a dull sound, that characteristic sound announcing a vessel filled with something intriguing.

  “Well-noticed, pointy-eared,” Nura grinned.

  “Of course, snaggletooth,” Elanil mimicked her mocking tone, grimacing.

  In response, Nura only burst out laughing and took a long sip from her mug. “Ah, life is good!” she groaned, contented.

  They chatted for the rest of the meal about all sorts of things. It seemed they talked about a lot, but at the same time, about nothing. Perhaps the bucolic atmosphere around them set the mood so that they didn’t want to discuss the intrigues and mysteries of the world, or the global games of politics and magic that had brought them both to the Sylvan Reserve and had led to their encounter with the constructs, or what had caused Elanil’s map to malfunction. As well as a host of other indirect signs that made Elanil worry about the dangers lurking in the fog of the future. People around debated the best ways to shear sheep and what kind of manure produced the largest cucumbers. That’s why both adventurers were in a serene mood. They would definitely have time to think about global affairs later.

  Finally, having paid the hostess for the dinner and lodging and thanked her for the generous portions and tasty meals, they headed to their room. It was on the second floor, at the end of a narrow corridor filled with a mix of soap smells, damp wood, and whatever herb the innkeeper favored for warding white ants. Elanil closed the door behind them and slid the simple iron latch into place.

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  The furnishings were modest, but they never expected the luxury of royal quarters, especially in a simple village tavern. The beds were narrow and sturdy, pushed against the walls opposite each other. The mattresses dipped slightly in the middle, the way used things always did, but the linens were clean.

  Without a word, Nura approached one of the beds and lifted its mattress, almost flipping it over, carefully examining its underside, then its sides. Silently nodding to herself, as if agreeing with her own thoughts, she released it, and the mattress fell back onto the bedframe with a dull thud. She then did the same with the other bed. Elanil silently followed her movements with her eyes.

  “What are you doing?” she finally asked.

  “What do you mean?” Nura’s tone suggested the naivety of Elanil’s question. “Aren’t there bedbugs in your lands?”

  “Ahhh,” Elanil drawled understandingly.

  “Yep,” Nura grinned. “This place looks good. But just in case, always better to check.”

  “Prudent.”

  Elanil set her bow carefully against the wall near her bed, then unfastened the quiver and laid it beside the bow. Her fingers lingered on the leather strap longer than necessary, checking the tension. Only after that did she shrug out of her cloak and hang it on the peg by the door. She sat on the edge of her own bed. The wood creaked timidly under her weight. She stretched her legs out, rolling her ankles, feeling the fatigue—the long and eventful day was taking its toll.

  Nura flopped onto her bed without ceremony, boots still on, hands folded behind her head.

  “I’m not moving again tonight,” she declared. “If the world ends, it can do so politely and wait until morning.” After a short pause, she added, sitting up, “No. I don’t want you to suffocate tonight from the stink of a sweaty, unwashed orc. It would be a shame if that were what finished you off, not some giant bugs or sneaky constructs.”

  Elanil smiled. “I think we passed by the bathroom, closer to the stairs.”

  “Okay, I’ll go check,” Nura nodded. Rising from the bed, she twirled around a few times, as if considering what to take and what to leave behind. Finally, she waved her hand and simply left the room.

  Left alone, Elanil listened to the echoes from below. Downstairs, the inn was still alive—voices, laughter, a chair scraping, someone coughing—but up here it was muted, wrapped in timber and plaster. A candle burned on the small table between the beds, its reflections dancing on the walls and the sloping ceiling of the room, shaped after the roof. However, the light of the full moon, peeking into the room through the open window, sufficed even without the candle.

  Elanil replayed the events of this incredible day in her head. In the thick of events, she of course hadn’t had time to fully comprehend the extraordinary nature of it all. But now, alone and calm, she could truly review everything that had happened to her and realized… it was amazing! Never in her life had she felt so alive and free as she did that day.

  Of course, she had questions about how she’d ended up here. Although what really intrigued her was the fact that she ended up being a half-archer and a half-mage. Why she entered the game at a different starting point than usual and somehow skipped the prologue was also among her concerns. She hadn’t landed in a relatively safe location. She hadn’t received the initial tutorial-like quests, for example defeating bugs. And by bugs, she meant simple ones, little and almost cute, not those terrifying horse-sized monsters spitting chemical projectiles. Or a group of nimble frenzied mechanical creatures, encounter with whom she would certainly not survive if she fought them alone. Even together with Nura, they barely managed to scrape out a victory.

  Yes, Nura—Elanil wondered whether she was one of those companions whose importance in her adventure was difficult to overestimate. But again, these folks should appear later. Elanil grinned—there definitely had to be a word for the longing for the missed prologue quests of a character thrown somewhere in the middle of the first act. At least she kept receiving rewards for passing the main questline’s milestones.

  She gasped—of course! She remembered she wanted to take a detailed look at those additional four runes she gained as a reward for escaping the Reserve.

  Menu.

  Item: Rune – Explosive Arrow (Archer-Mage)

  Quality: Bronze

  Description: Ability update

  Item: Rune – Boomerangs (Dual-axe wielder)

  Quality: Bronze

  Description: Ability update

  Elanil rummaged through her memory to reconstruct the game mechanics. Abilities could only be upgraded by acquiring and applying the character-related runes. Not via constant training by using the ability in the fight regularly, not by trading skill points. If she wasn’t mistaken, each ability had 5 upgrades.

  Next again was one more rune for some unknown character of a different class.

  Item: Rune – N/A (N/A)

  Quality: N/A

  Description: Incompatible

  While Elanil looked at the last one, she even widened her eyes in delight. That was something more interesting than simple bronze-tier abilities she and Nura had so far.

  Item: Rune – Regeneration (Archer-Mage)

  Quality: Silver

  Description: Each second regenerates the health of a caster or ally whom this spell is applied to. Removes the poisoning and burning damage. Each upgrade increases the HP regenerated per second and the spell’s duration.

  “Here we go,” Elanil murmured. “My first so-called healer's ability.”

  The only problem—the rune was grey and inapplicable. She frowned, then browsed through some of the clues until she found the right one.

  Abilities are divided into three tiers of advancement: bronze, silver, gold. Each upgrade is possible only if the Hero reaches a particular level. Below, the table of the required level for the Hero to upgrade their abilities depending on their category:

  “Deep in thought again?” Nura’s voice came from behind her. “I told you—thinking too much will lead to no good.”

  Elanil turned around and gasped. Nura’s chest was adorned with the exact same amulet she was wearing.