DLC: A LitRPG Adventure (Beta Tester Book 4) Page 15

  Here, Elfkin passed over his burden. Jack took it dubiously. “Shouldn’t this…I don’t know…be with its mother or something?”

  “It is an orphan. My father found the egg in his travels. An adventurer had slain the mother and father in search of treasure. But, mercifully, they missed the egg. So Father took it, and we’ve been tending it in the dragon nursery.” She smiled softly. “He had a habit of that, you know: finding strays and castaways, and bringing them home. Saving their lives.”

  Elfkin glanced up at her, a soft, sad look in his eyes. Jack, though, still had eyes only for the dragon egg – and skeptical eyes at that. “An egg,” he said again. He decided to ignore the fact that in addition to dragon stables, Santa Claus also apparently had a dragon nursery. He was holding a giant egg that emanated cold and magic; he had much more important things on his mind than the whacky imaginations of the game makers. “So…umm…what exactly am I supposed to do with this thing?”

  “If you are ready to hatch it,” Elfkin said, “you can set the egg in a snowbank. If you’re not, keep it warm. The wee one will sleep in the warmth.”

  “Keep it warm? What am I supposed to do, carry it with me?”

  “You should be able to slip it into that pack you’re carrying,” Estelle said. “That is near enough your body. An ice dragon requires extreme cold to wake.”

  Jack cringed, thinking of his mad capers – the running and jumping, crouching and rolling, the fighting and climbing he did. In his mind’s eye, he saw an accidental ice dragon omelet in his pack – a real problem, not only because that would be a hideous mess, but also because, “Jordan’ll kill me if anything happens to it.”

  “Oh, you needn’t worry about that. Dragon eggshells are hard as dragon scale; they are quite impervious to most kinds of damage. Anyway, this little one is ready to leave its egg. It has only to wake in the coldest winter snow.”

  “Ah. Okay.”

  He had a million more questions, most of them along the lines of what the hell? But he didn’t get a chance to ask. Estelle changed the topic. “We are finishing the last touches of the feast. It was tradition, you see, to eat our Christmas Eve dinner at dawn, when the work was done and Father returned triumphant. We would celebrate.

  “We did not know at first if we should carry on the tradition. But I spoke with Mother, and she feels he would want us to do it – to go on celebrating the season. This year, we will celebrate a little more – we will celebrate his life, and your triumph.

  “You will join us, won’t you?”

  Jack was still eyeing the egg, but he nodded. “Sure.”

  “Good. I’m certain you must be hungry after your midnight ride. Join us whenever you are ready.”

  He told her that he would, and then he let Estelle and Elfkin return to the ice castle. “I don’t suppose one of you wants to carry this thing?” he asked his companions.

  “I would be delighted, Sir Jack,” Er’c said. “I have never seen a real dragon egg before.”

  “Great. Well, here you go.” He slipped it into the other man’s outstretched arms. The truth was, Jack was feeling a little let down. Richard had promised the greatest dragon in the game if he jumped through the game’s many hoops. And all he had now was an egg.

  “Let us go eat,” Arath said. “A man could starve here.”

  Most of his companions snorted or started to list the endless array of sweets he’d already consumed. But Migli nodded. “Meat and drink: it’s life to a dwarf.”

  And Karag watched Jack with a perplexed frown. He had been doing so for some time, though Jack couldn’t say when, exactly, he’d started. “Everything okay, Karag? You’re not at war with dragons too, are you?” He laughed at his own words as he imagined the Obsidian Isles man and the baby dragon going at it the way Ceinwen and he had squabbled since the first.

  “I am unconcerned with the dragon. It is you, Jack, that troubles me.”

  Jack blinked. “Me? What did I do?”

  “You continue to mention this Jordan, and yet you rebuff any attempt to provide information about her. Who is she?”

  Jack frowned. He’d been playing and replaying the mission so many times, he’d lost track of where and when he’d let Jordan’s name slip. But surely it hadn’t been that many. Had it? “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Karag.”

  “And now you lie. We have all heard you speak of her, as if you report to her.” The giant’s expression took on a look of suspicion. “A shadowy operative, calling the shots? Now, Jack, it has me wondering about how we just happened to bump into each other back in Kaldstein. It has me wondering if you didn’t bribe that guard to put you in my cell.

  “In fact, the whole thing has me wondering if the Crimson Isles aren’t at play here.”

  There was an edge so cold to the giant’s voice that Jack physically shivered. “For the love of God, Karag, I’m not in league with the Crimson Isles.”

  “Which is what I would expect any operative of the Crimson Isles to say,” the other man returned, just as coldly.

  “He’s got a point there,” Arath nodded. “Not that I think you’re working for them, myself. The Crimson Isles only employs the most capable and cunning.”

  Jack scowled at the pair of them. “I am not some kind of spy, Karag.”

  “And yet, you continue to mention this person of whom none of us have heard.”

  “Are you okay, boss?” Er’c asked.

  “There are illnesses,” Ceinwen put in, “that can affect the brain, so that it dreams all manner of fictions: people and events, and things that have never happened. You have been poisoned recently. Do you think, perhaps, this is a side effect of the poison?”

  “Guys,” Jack said, a little exasperated, “she’s not a spy, or imaginary.”

  “Is she a spirit?” Migli said. He seemed almost excited by the prospect. “That would be a romantic tale, Sir Jack.”

  “No, of course she’s not a spirit, Migli. She’s…she’s a friend.”

  Arath laughed. “Well, good for you, Jack old boy. I don’t think any of us thought you had it in you.”

  Jack scowled and flushed at the same time. “Not that kind of friend, Arath.”

  “No, she’s a friend no one has seen, or heard from, but who gives you orders,” Karag observed, sounding no less suspicious than he had in the first place.

  “She doesn’t give me orders,” he snapped back.

  “Oh, so she’s your operative is she, then?”

  Jack rubbed his temples. “She is not an operative, Karag. Or a ghost. Or a figment of my imagination.”

  “Then what is she? Where is she? Why have we never seen her?”

  “She is a good friend. And you’ve never seen her because…because she lives far away from here.”

  “Like, all the way on the Crimson Isles?”

  Jack scowled at the giant. “No. Will you forget the Crimson Isles already? I told you, she has nothing to do with any of that. She’s from – well, an entirely different world.”

  “A mysterious lady, from a strange realm,” Migli said, nodding as if he was satisfied. “Not quite as worthy of song as a spirit, but I’ve no doubt the muse will find much to work with.”

  Arath, meanwhile, laughed and winked at him. “Ahhh, so that’s how it is, is it? The mystery woman that no one has seen, who lives where no one has been?” He shook his head. “No worries, Jack old bean. We’ve all been there.” Then, he shrugged. “Most of us didn’t stay there, but, as they say, it takes all kinds.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jack seemed to convince no one but Migli, who was already composing verses about Jack and his mystery woman. Karag continued to eye him with suspicion, and Arath with amusement. Ceinwen and Er’c regarded him with distress, as if they feared a mental breakdown was imminent.

  Now, too late, Jack sorely repented his earlier slipups, and vowed to do better. He just hoped the giant wouldn’t murder him in his sleep, thinking he was ending a spy for his people’s age-old
rivalry.

  He wanted to speak to Jordan and show off his dragon. Or at least, the egg. But at the moment, he felt a little too awkward. So he said, “Let’s go eat, shall we?”

  Arath concurred with a hearty exclamation, and Migli nodded. The rest followed in troubled silence as they headed toward the ice castle.

  The castle seemed somehow grander and more imposing as they neared it. A huge set of stairs, all formed of pure ice, led them up to a grand entrance. The sounds of music reached them as they stood on the threshold, and an elven footman appeared. “Ah, the guests of the hour! Come, please: follow me.”

  The little man was decked out in Christmas greens and reds, and he jingled as he walked. His step was quick, and in no time, they reached a huge dining room. The room echoed with the sounds of a raucous wassailing song. Everyone seemed to be singing.

  But they all fell silent as the band entered the great dining hall. Then, just as suddenly, they broke into a chorus of cheers. Estelle beckoned them over, to a table reserved for them not far from her own. The cheering went on as they took their seats.

  Jack glanced around, surveying the room. Long tables and short lined the hall, all but one packed with people. As near as he could tell, this table had been set up specifically with his party in mind. Estelle similarly sat at a smaller table, with two great ice thrones at the head of it – one, upon which sat a beautiful but very sad looking older woman, and the other which sat completely empty. Elfkin and Miss Mint sat with them, along with a handful of elves Jack didn’t recognize.

  Once he and his companions had taken their seats, Estelle raised her hands to call for silence. “On behalf of the Winter family, allow me to extend my most felicitous welcome to our honored guests, and to everyone here today. On this Christmas morning, we feast – in honor of those who have done the Vale a great service…” This, she said with a gesture full of courtly grace toward Jack’s table. “In honor of those who have worked tirelessly all the year long to make the people of the Vale’s holiday a memorable one. And in honor of my dear Father, who gave his life to bring joy to others.”

  The old woman – Mrs. Winter – looked like she might cry. Estelle smiled softly and sadly. “So in his memory, let us not grieve tonight. Let us endeavor to be joyful, for that is what he would want – for us, and for everyone.”

  A few knowing, assenting murmurs ran through the crowd. Estelle paused, as if to muster the energy to speak again. And when she did, her tone carried a nearly authentic note of excitement. “Let the feast commence.”

  Cheers rose from the assemblage. Arath and Migli joined in. Jack was too hungry, and too busy still scoping the place out. So it was that he saw an entire procession of tray bearers pouring out of a far doorway. They were burdened with platters that overflowed in food. The smell of a thousand dishes wafted through the room: breads and meats and pastries alike.

  The little elves danced through the dining room, setting down their burdens and scampering off. Then new ones took their place, over and over, until the tables looked so full that they might collapse under their bounty. Then came the trays of soup, and the servants ladling it out. There were so many of them, that no one seemed to wait long.

  Then the serving elves all took their seats at another table, that had similarly been decked out with food in their absence. Only four seats remained empty.

  And finally, the last group of servers entered. These were large elves, some of the largest Jack had seen in his time in the North Pole. Even so, they seemed to struggle a little under the weight of the tray they carried.

  Jack stared at the sight of a massive roasted boar’s head, with an apple in its mouth.

  All at once, trumpets rang out, and the elves began to sing.

  The boar's head in hand bear I,

  Bedeck'd with bays and rosemary.

  And I pray you, my masters, be merry.

  Now, the entire room joined in.

  The boar’s head they bring

  So let us raise our voices and sing

  Be merry, be merry, for ‘tis Christmas day.

  The original quartet resumed.

  The boar's head, as I understand,

  Is the finest dish in all this land,

  Which thus bedeck'd with a gay garland

  And the room responded with,

  The boar’s head they bring

  So let us raise our voices and sing

  Be merry, be merry, for ‘tis Christmas day.

  They went on singing in this manner, with the tray bearers belting out one verse, and the room rejoining with another, until the boar’s head reached the table. Then the final four servers took their seats, and the feast really did commence.

  Jack ate hungrily. He hadn’t had anything but sweets recently, but here was a spread of food fit for a king. He ate quail and duck, goose and mutton, venison and pork. He tried sweet sauces and savory, and found that he was a little too American for that. So he ate his meat plain and loved every bite. He ate a little soup, which was good too, and a lot of breads and pastries.

  Everything was delicious, and he washed it all away with liberal amounts of mulled cider and spiced wine.

  And then, when he thought the feast was over, a different set of elves stood up and cleared away all the plates; and a third brought in fresh platters, and new food. “Oh God,” he said. “I don’t know if I can touch another bite.”

  And yet, he somehow managed – not just a single, solitary bite, either. Jack scarfed down pieces of pie, and sampled puddings that had raisins in them – another dish that was a little too British for him. But he found plenty he liked, and plenty he loved.

  It was during this second round of feasting that Mrs. Winter excused herself. The older woman had held up admirably so far, but the exercise of restraint at last seemed to have gotten the better of her. She rose and took her leave quietly.

  She didn’t make a fuss at all, but her exit still threw a kind of damper on the celebration. All at once, the reason for her departure sat foremost in everyone’s mind. At least, so Jack supposed judging by the glum air that settled on the party that remained. Plenty didn’t stay. Plenty followed Mrs. Winter, retiring to their own homes and quarters.

  Estelle did her best to dispel the glumness. She stood and smiled and raised her glass. “To another year of bringing joy and good tidings to all the Vale.” And everyone dutifully raised their glasses in turn and repeated the toast.

  Still, when she sat down, she looked a little deflated. And so did the rest of their party. Arath had been watching her all night, when he hadn’t been focusing on his plate, anyway. Now, even he had sated his appetite. And he had nothing but attention for the beautiful heiress of the North Pole.

  So once her mother left, and she made her toast and returned forlornly to her seat, he smiled. “You know what she needs? A little cheering up. A little taking her mind off the situation.” His grin broadened a little more. “And I know the man up for the challenge.”

  Karag shook his head, and Ceinwen rolled her eyes. “What she needs is being left alone by the likes of you.”

  “Not everyone’s a cold fish just because you are, darling,” the ranger shot back.

  “She just lost her father, for heaven’s sake. She does not want to be creeped on.”

  “I must concur,” Er’c said. “Though I am fortunate enough to have never experienced what she’s going through, I cannot imagine I would be kindly disposed toward romantic overtures on the day I learned of my father’s death.”

  Arath had got to his feet by now, and he patted Er’c’s shoulder. “Well, I promise, you’ve nothing to worry about on that front from me.

  “Anyway, there’s nothing romantic about the ‘overtures’ I’m planning. They’re entirely carnal. That woman doesn’t need chocolate and roses and lies. She needs a man right now.” He nodded, as if he’d settled the matter.

  “Leave her alone,” Jack said. “I don’t want you getting us kicked out of here.”

  Arath shook h
is head, though. “You’re my boss when we’re in the field, old fruit. But when it comes to my social life, that’s my business.” He touched his forefinger to his eyebrow in a kind of faux salute.

  “Don’t expect any of us to come to your rescue when she puts you in the stocks,” Karag said. “Or feeds you to her dragons.”

  But Arath wasn’t to be dissuaded. He marched off, and his companions could only watch. Which they all did, in a kind of mute horror. It felt to Jack like watching a traffic accident unfold in slow motion.

  The only outlier of their party was Migli, who seemed annoyed by the entire business. “Now that’s just unsporting,” he said.

  “Unsporting? You mean creepy,” Ceinwen said.

  “I mean unsporting. He knows I’ve had my eye on Estelle from the first. He’s racing to beat me to the punch.”

  Ceinwen frowned at the dwarf, and Karag rubbed the bridge of his nose like he was trying to ward off a headache. Er’c just shook his head.

  Jack, though, demanded, “Estelle? I thought you were bugging Miss Mint?”

  Migli brushed the idea aside with a wave of his hand. “Who can think of Miss Mint when Estelle Winter is present?”

  “I’m sure she’d be thrilled to hear you say so,” the giant snorted.

  “Especially after how we all had to suffer through your wooing yesterday.”

  Migli ignored both Karag and Jack, and went on scowling at the ranger.

  Arath reached the Winters’ table now, and he inserted himself between Miss Mint and Estelle. She seemed at first surprised to see him, but in a pleasant way. Then, very rapidly, her expression changed. Jack almost laughed at the progression of emotions that crossed her face: confusion, annoyance, embarrassment, and anger each had their moment. It wasn’t funny. Not really, and especially not right after her father’s death. But he did feel like laughing at Arath’s obliviousness.

  Because the ranger seemed to miss each of Estelle’s expressions. He missed how she drew back in her seat, putting as much distance between them as possible. He missed how Pepper’s jaw dropped, and Elfkin’s cheeks blazed with anger. He missed it all until, at last, Estelle dismissed him with a few, curt words. Jack couldn’t hear what, exactly, she said due to the distance between them. But Estelle’s expression and Arath’s reaction conveyed their meaning clearly enough.