“Oh, yeah. That was a close call. I was playing AoD with a bunch of my mates—we nearly had that big cassowary surrounded, y’know?—when we got logged out. It could’ve been any of us.”

—SharkBytes subscriber

They hit us in a blitz attack. One moment I was pondering my lack of spit, and the next I was defending my right to spit at all.

Against Warrior Assassins. I shit you not, their tags read Warrior Assassin. Except for one special snowflake who was a Ninja Warrior Assassin. He was the guy in black of course. The rest were in the usual bare chest, white skirt, guard ensemble, but made distinct from the good guys by a red band around their wrists.

The princess and Sekhet took immediate action, unsheathing their weapons and charging the enemy, pushing most of them back toward the door. Anhut, screaming low in her throat, crouched low and followed. Unfortunately, my way was blocked before I could join them.

Have to get clear. Defend... Somehow, I managed to get my lyre out without any prompting from my consciousness, raising it high in an instinctive move to protect my head. Not perhaps the best use of my instrument, but training opportunities for bardic melee fighting were thin on the ground in both real and virtual schools. And the only other weapon I had—the staff—would be worse than useless against opponents that wore helmets. One even carried an axe. My stick would’ve been kindling for sure.

“What are you doing?” Gerdy screeched, clinging to my ear. The raising of my arm had dislodged her from her perch.

“Saving our asses,” I retorted. “I hope.”

“This is pathetic. Go in there and get them!”

I inched backwards. There had to be a pillar around there somewhere, though I couldn’t risk turning to check.

“A little more concerned with the saving my ass part of the operation, really.”

“Shameful. And you a mob boss. Any adventurer worth his gold would make mincemeat out of you.”

“If you’re so concerned about my skills, maybe you could use some of your own.”

“Nonsense! A dungeon fairy does not involve herself in local politics. We are advisors, not militia. Defence is your job.”

“Arrrgh!” a red-marked assassin helpfully bellowed, giving me ample warning to drop my pumpkin and redirect the lyre to the spot on my right side that he was aiming at.

It prompted a strange mixture of sounds that occurred at almost the same moment.

“EEEEee!” Smack. Spliiish! Ack! Claaaannng!!!

The lyre shivered with the impact, the vibration translating itself into my hands and arms. If not for the extra strength granted me by my Attributes I would have bruised my toes. As it was, the shock of deflecting the blow stung like hell and I had to fight a strong compulsion to let go of the lyre and make Jazz Hands.

The assassin looked surprised that his attack had failed, but didn’t let it get him down for long. Bellowing another aaargh (because that had worked so well last time) he lifted his oddly shaped sword and—

Screech!

—was blocked by another. The Princess had interposed her own blade, angling it down his so that it chopped half his fingers off. His bellow became more of a moan. Unable to keep hold of his sword, he dropped it and used his other hand to stem the flow of blood.

A mistake. Within a fraction of a second the Princess took advantage of his preoccupation, slicing him open across the stomach, then spinning as another blade rapped against her armour. Metal versus leather. The leather held surprisingly well, a couple of the scales getting sliced up but staying in place. From my position behind her I could see that each plate had a ridge that prevented the scales from swinging open to expose the body. Ingenious.

It was just as well that I kept moving while admiring the princess’s gear. Two more assassins decided to focus their attentions on her, giving me the chance to put my back (finally!) against a pillar—a semi-optimal position for a ranged fighter. With the princess as my Royal Tank.

In my peripheral vision I saw Gerdy on the floor amongst the splattered pumpkin, scooping Bert up in her arms and flying off. They would no doubt find a safe place to wait out the battle. I envied them the opportunity.

Now, what to play, what to play… My mind moved frantically over the available options.

Lullaby? No. Undirected and underpowered. Making people sleepy wasn’t going to affect the fight’s outcome. But Banshee Shriek would have its advantages. At the very least it would take out the lower-levelled.

I activated the Skill, plucking the few notes that preceded it.

Magical Music Stand activated!

Instantly, an invisible force shoved an assassin forward. As he was battling the princess at the time, the extra oomph forced him onto her blade, making her stagger under his literal dead weight. Like dominoes, this pushed her against Sekhet, who I hadn’t noticed before; standing back to back as he had been against Shoshenq.

Oops.

He caught her of course, a dashing, swooping save that managed to incorporate the slashing off of his opponent’s head. Uber-romantic. And the care with which he resettled her back onto her feet might as well have been a kiss. I wondered if the game’s Egyptian script writer kept a secret stash of bodice-rippers.

It took a few seconds to think of what I’d been about to do. Nothing like a pretty set scene to distract you.

Right, yes. Banshee Shriek.

“La, lah, la, lahhhhh…!” I belatedly sang.

Everyone flinched and paused to look around. Unfortunately, only five fled. Four enemies and one friendly. Out of the warriors, of course. The servants had all been smart enough to scarper at the first clang of sword upon sword.

That still left ten-ish assassins to worry about. (Counting wasn’t exactly high on my list of things to worry about, okay?…and the pillars blocked a lot of my vision.)

Two of these assassins decided that I was a threat to be immediately eradicated, heading my way at speed.

My hands fumbled on the lyre’s strings and settled on the familiar. Clamorous Cacophony it was.

Making sure that they were both directly in my sights—no possibility of collateral damage—I sang with all the power my voice could muster, wishing I had Gunga to boost me.

You need her? Bert inquired, as relaxed as someone sitting at home watching a vid. Gerdy had probably stashed the AI into a secret space complete with silk-lined pillow. She did like to pamper her Core. Undoubtedly part of her Dungeon Fairy training: How to Suck Up 101.

Not sure. Not yet, anyway. What I needed was an armour-plated-Elephant-Bird Gunga. A monstrous beast that could stomp our enemies into fractals. Or pixels. Whichever. Although, now that I thought about it, she would probably be more bull-in-china-shop, with humans as the china. No one would be spared. Best to keep her in reserve.

Cacophony worked surprisingly well. Both of the assassins facing me froze into immobility and pitched forward like trees felled by a giant. I winced as the biggest one’s nose crunched against the floor. But as this was the one that had been wielding the menacing-looking axe, I had little sympathy. A man who counts things with notches is a very dodgy fellow indeed. (Except maybe for desert island dwellers counting time. Exigent circumstances and all that.)

Just to be sure they stayed down, I took out my stick, tapped off their beaded helmets, and gave them both a quick whack on the head. I had no notion of how long they would stay down otherwise. The Skill only stunned temporarily, and I had no desire to be surprised by men playing possum.

Which is how I found myself free of opponents for what felt like the first time since the battle began. Unfortunately, there was also a distinct lack of ‘good guys’ around me. In fact, no one at all—apart from the goons under my feet of course. The fighting had moved closer to the entrance, where Shoshenq and Sekhet were slowly pushing them, probably in the hopes that reinforcements would finally arrive to box them in.

Farther inside the room the Pharaoh, to my surprise, was still sitting on his throne, fingers clenched tightly on the arm rests. The priest was near him, hiding behind a large statue and valiantly trying to keep his robes from showing. I couldn’t blame him, really. Unless he had some cool martial arts moves his lack of weaponry made him a sitting duck. Both would actually have been better to have fled with the servants. But that wouldn’t have made for good game drama. As central characters they would be compelled to stay to the bitter end.

A flicker of metal gleamed in the shadows. Harry wasn’t the only one using the statues for concealment. The ninja was using the opportunity created by his men’s distraction to sneak around the edges of the room, making his way to the throne.

Quest Offered: Save the Pharaoh!

Reward: Undetermined

Y/N?

Oh, fuck.

This presented a quandary. Risk my life to save the Pharaoh, thereby helping to maintain the stability of the city’s status quo; or hope that the resulting civil disturbance created by Pedubast’s death covered my escape?

In the end it was a flutter of fairy power that determined my decision.

Poking her head out of the insides of a a carved piece of wood that stuck out from the wall, Gerdy threw what appeared to be glitter over the ninja—rendering him entirely visible. And glowing.

He continued in creep mode for a few more seconds before realising something was wrong. With his free hand he plucked at his clothing, then began brushing at it briskly. Without result. The shiny, glittery sparkle was there to stay.

I could have used her in my fight with Kalakorno, I thought with reluctant appreciation. No idea why she’d decided to involve herself in this battle after all her protestations of neutrality, but it made my own decision easy.

It was time to play Save the Pharaoh.

——

The actual saving proved more steeple chase than grand battle.

With his cover blown, the ninja opted for a more direct approach, following the same path but at full speed. I, closer but more impeded by the dead and/or comatose bodies lying between me and the Pharaoh, also began running, though it involved more skipping leaps than actual sprinting.

So it’s not surprising, taking into consideration these challenges and my natural clumsiness, that while jumping the last hurdle I tripped on someone’s outstretched hand, sending me sprawling toward the lap of His Majesty.

Though I really should have taken into account the effect of the Magical Music Stand. Before it upended the throne and the person in it. Talk about lèse-majesté.

By supreme chance, amongst the mess of cloth and the softness of royalty, my hand landed on the crook (no, not that kind of crook—get your mind out of the gutter) and I grabbed it as I rolled out of the chair onto the floor.

Whereupon I discovered in my immediate vision a pair of sandalled feet—standing still for the killing stroke.

For a fraction of a second I gave bashing some consideration, before realising the crook gave me more than one option. Hooking it around one of the ninja’s ankles, I pulled with all my might, making him teeter but not fall. He must have an incredible Agility stat, I thought enviously. My own was evidently so low that even a stationary object could trip me.

It bought me only enough time to scramble to my feet and reach for my lyre. Luckily, his game mechanics required him to sneer at me disdainfully and utter the word “Weak” granting me even more. In real life the flailing Pedubast, caught up in both robes and chair, would have been shish kebabbed by now.

The ninja raised his dagger, still smiling. (I have to admit that though he wasted time in his grandstanding, he did do a great menace. Creepy and dangerous—and just a little bit insane.)

I didn’t even see the first strike.

-20 Hit pts! You have been cut! 480/500 remaining!

The second slash had the unnecessary effect of blinding my right eye, blood dribbling down from the cut above it.

-25 Hit pts! You have been slashed! 455/500 remaining!

I felt three, four, and five appear; three across my left arm, two on my right. They made up an even row that looked like gills when I looked down at them. A surgeon couldn’t have done a better job. It even took a few seconds for them to start to ooze blood, as if it had taken my body time to realise that it was wounded.

The bastard was toying with me.

When I raised the lyre and tried to brace it with my left hand, I found that the arm would barely move. Useless. Just like my craft. It brought back bad memories of trying to play the guitar after my fingers had been injured.

"You'll be dessert," he sneered. Satisfied I was helpless, the ninja dismissed me and turned on the Pharaoh. Switching out the dagger for one of the oddly-shaped swords that Egypt seemed to specialise in, he raised it high, a weird cackle that was barely audible echoing eerily in the sudden silence.

Then he brought his sword down and—

—I dived across, grasped the lyre in my weak hand, and—

—screeling!—

—caught the sword against the lyre’s strings.

Hail Mary Skill (Passive) awarded! Due to your tendency to use your instrument as a shield, now it becomes one!

Blocks all attacks, with 50% of potential damage rebounding on your opponent!

The lyre instantly turned solid, yet somehow still malleable, like the toughest synthetic rubber ever invented. The assassin’s blade jerked backwards, striking him in the face with the flat edge before falling to the floor with a ringing clang.

He let loose an oath that would have made the rating censors question their Mature Audiences decision, then reached for his trusty dagger.

I backed up. Fast. I had no desire to tangle with that thing again. The man had some serious skills and I somehow doubted he’d bother showboating the next round.

But before he could retrieve it, a hand seized his wrist, crushing it even as the ninja was pushed into the wall. And it seemed that though ninja’s could stay on their feet like a weighted egg toy, they didn’t bounce. With a meaty thunk, he slid to the floor, either unconscious or dead.

“Hrmmp,” Sekhet concluded, eyeing the assassin judgementally. Then, from out of nowhere he produced a length of rough rope that he proceeded to use to tie the man up. Expertly. Like he’d done it a million times.

Meantime, both Harry and Humanacepts had decided that the coast was clear and were fussing over the Pharaoh, pulling him to his feet and readjusting his clothing. The Vizier had also appeared out of whatever hole he’d been hiding in, and added to their efforts, clucking in concern as he resettled Pedubast’s tail.

The Princess, of a more practical bent, saw fit to pick up the throne, though personally I thought she’d done enough. Her armour and the spots and splashes of blood on it showed definite signs of hard use. Sweat had gathered artistically on her brow and smudged some of the red, but it was going to take a power spray and a strong detergent to clean all the other…bits…from her skin and hair. (Honestly…Mature Audiences? Really?)

Actually, I was kind of girl-crushing on her right now. Her ability to take on a man’s role in a mancentric world; romancing a super-strong and capable he-man; saving my life… I would’ve wanted to grow up and be her, if half my life wasn’t already accounted for. Although, truthfully I’d probably still have lived my inane but comfortable existence if given the choice. Red was neither my colour nor my ambition.

“Well,” the Pharaoh puffed, still a little red in the face from being upside down. “That was a bit exciting. It seems Prince Osorkon isn’t taking the time to grieve for his late father, after all. How very business minded of him.” He lifted his chin and raised his voice. “Casualties?”

A puffing Amun finally reached us and bowed smartly to Pedubast. I was amazed to see that even after battle there was not a speck of blood on him. Especially considering how much was dribbling down his sword.

“Your Majesty, if I may speak?”

“Granted.”

“It seems one of your door guards was a traitor, probably sent as an infiltrator by Osorkon. He killed his partner and let the assassins in, then barricaded the outer door.”

I knew that guard was an asshole. Though I don’t know how he could have killed the smiley man. Ruthless prick.

Pedubast looked shocked. “Who?”

“Kejib,” Amun answered shortly, pointing at a corpse near the doorway.

It was, quite unmistakably, Smiley Man.

Oh. My bad. I really had to get past my response to initial impressions in this game. It liked to prove you wrong.

The Pharaoh aged ten years in two seconds. “Kejib. I liked him. He used to sneak me sweets when my wife refused to let them be served. Said I should live my life because you never knew how long you had left.”

And he would know.

“And he would know,” he added, mirroring my thought.

Amun cleared his throat slightly. Interrupting your king in any society was a delicate social matter. “I count four of our own dead, Your Majesty—eleven enemy. Not counting the three that are merely unconscious.” He indicated the two I had stunned and the ninja moaning on the floor beside us.

How he had so quickly summed up the situation I didn’t question. The system didn’t like unnecessary confusion when it came to statistics. The information had probably been automatically generated and passed to the NPC when the fight ended.

“Captain Amun,” the Vizier finally contributed, all-business. “Detain those still alive and send them to the cells for questioning. You,” he pointed to one of the servants who had edged into the room, “take a few of your fellows and see to this mess. All others into the Ibis Room. His Royal Majesty needs to process.”

The servant looked properly horrified by his orders, but resigned. Body disposal was evidently one of his regular duties. If this was real, there would probably have been a job contract somewhere with his signature, detailing in fine print: …fetching, carrying…and anything else that may be deemed necessary. That shit had to come from somewhere.

“Get one of the workmen in to fix the pillars, too,” Princess Shoshenq added, eyeing one of the chunks cut into the stone. They had taken some hard knocks during the fight.

“Of course,” the vizier responded, tight-lipped. He seemed none too happy that the Prince was ordering him to do what was his essentially his job. Have to say, the guy had some serious authority issues for a man who had sworn to serve. Though I suppose that in his position he only had to answer to two people.

“See to it,” he ordered a page-like lackey with hair shaved on one side and caught in a ponytail on the other. The boy instantly turned around and dashed off.

Vizier -Hat looked ready to burst when Humanacepts signalled a hovering soldier and ordered him to find the palace’s Guard Commander. Maybe he had more than two to defer to.

When everyone that was left moved through a locked door to the…Ibis Room?…Anhut and I sort of trailed behind, uncertain of whether we were included in the invitation. By ‘all’ did he mean ‘all of the important people’ or everyone not on clean-up duty’ all?

Humanacepts cleared the matter up by turning impatiently and saying, “Come.”

So we came. Into a room that was smaller but no less ornamented than the throne room. It also had furniture that had been sorely missing in other rooms: tables, chairs, and even couches that I looked at with yearning.

Bugger swapping my kingdom for a horse, let me rest on one of those babies and I’d sign over the deed to the whole world. If I owned it, of course. SharkBytes might have discontinued the game, but they would probably frown if I sold it out from under them.

And it turns out they weren’t being fanciful when they named it the Ibis Room. A stylised picture of a long-beaked bird in a launching position was painted across a large part of one wall, surrounded by a human montage. They were all in different forms of Ibis-related activity, ranging from mythology to industry.

One particularly disturbing picture portrayed a man dressed similarly to Harry, though with an Ibis’s head, tending a clutch of eggs. Not sure what that was all about. Another featured a ritualised slaughter, complete with dead-eyed priest wielding a knife already bloody from the previous sacrifice.

So…not exactly homey scenes if you examined the paintings too closely. I preferred landscapes myself.

The Pharaoh threw himself into a couch, stretching across the entirety. I wanted to weep with envy.

But he wasn’t without mercy. “Be seated. I do not stand on ceremony when in my private rooms. And after this most recent attack, you have all proven your worth.”

Harry looked a bit guilty at this; he hadn’t exactly been much of a participant. “My lord…”

“Oh, don’t worry, Harisese. What were you going to do—throw yourself over me like a human shield?”

Harry looked as if he were considering just that.

“Your life is just as important as mine. Our people need you to ensure that their connection to the gods remains strong. And I need you to legitimise my position as king. The triad between Pharaoh, Priest, and God is all that keeps us from anarchy.”

“I agree,” the princess said softly.

“A lesson you would be well to apply to yourself, my son,” Pedubast responded sternly. “Instead of wading into yet another conflict. Do you seek to surpass Osorkon’s idiocy?”

She hung her head.

The Pharaoh looked around and saw that no one had headed for a seat. “I said: Be. Seated.” The words came out with power, a threat inside them that said he wasn’t messing around. A reminder that this man, whilst affable, had commanded a rebellion and won.

I was only too happy to oblige, though I did wait for the others to sit before finding an unclaimed armchair. Not sure what the protocol was for parking ass, but I doubted that the foreign servant/slave/witch would take precedence.

“Right. Now. Who are you?”

And he looked directly at me.