Free Dark Realm, The by Anthea Sharp Page A

moved his shoulders. The armor weighed practically nothing, but he could still feel it. Could feel the wind, too, tickling through his hair. “Those are some serious advances in game tech.”
    Her gaze dropped to the rich green grass beneath their feet. “Yes. I told you it was different from anything you’ve ever played. But don’t worry. The devs made sure to dial the uncomfortable stuff way back. You won’t feel much pain here.”
    “I just wanted to see myself. Check out my gear and stuff.”
    “Of course. You can draw your sword and enter combat stance by—” She broke off, laughing, as he found the control movement before she could explain. “Very good.” There was admiration in her voice, and something that sounded like hope.
    “It’s just a pull-back. Easy enough.”
    He swished the sword through the air a few times, and then re-sheathed it. His shield had immediately appeared, strapped to his left arm, as soon as his weapon was drawn.
    She cocked her head and examined him a moment. “Hey, I didn’t know you had green eyes. Your hair is always in your face, you know.”
    “Huh. I thought I chose blue.” Hadn’t he? He was sure of it.
    “Well, the game still has some bugs. You could say it has a mind of its own.” She laughed again, but there was a forced edge to it. “Ready to quest? As soon as we step out of the fairy ring, the creatures of the world will be able to interact with us. The starting lands are pretty easy to handle, though. And you’ll pick it up quickly, I’m sure.”
    “Great. Let’s go.” He took a step forward then, for fun, leaped over the boundary of mushrooms.
    This gaming system was really amazing. He no sooner thought of the movement than the sim translated it to his character. There must be some kind of complicated neuro-interface built into the gear. Every other system he’d played had a response-time lag. With his own, he had to rely a lot more on manual commands - specific combinations of hand and finger gestures that sent instructions to the game. This, though, was practically powered by thought alone. It made him giddy.
    Jennet stepped out of the ring, her movements graceful, then waved to a mossy path leading between the trees.
    “The game begins this way,” she said, starting down the path.
    Branches rustled behind them, and Tam whirled, sword at the ready. Nobody was visible, but high laughter chimed from between the leaves.
    “Who’s there?” he called.
    “It’s just the pixies,” Jennet said. “Don’t worry about them - they’re harmless. Come on.”
    Tam sheathed his weapon and followed Jennet between the pale tree trunks. Soon the forest thinned and beyond the tree-line he glimpsed a rise of small green hills. At the very edge of the wood was a house, one of those English-cottage looking places with white walls and a thatched roof. Sitting on the doorstep was the ugliest little man Tam had ever seen.
    His nose was enormous, a jutting cliff that overshadowed his dark eyes and thin lips. The only things larger than his nose were his two ears, great ugly flaps of skin on either side of his head. He was covered in a pelt of coarse brown hair, his only clothing a tattered cloth tied about his waist. He smelled, too, like moldy earth and old wood-smoke.
    Jennet stopped in front of the creature. A clay bowl filled with what looked like milk appeared between her hands, and she knelt and placed it on the weathered step.
    “Greetings, Fynnod,” she said. Then she leaned toward Tam and spoke softly. “He’s a Brownie - they like milk. I’ll try and explain the game lore to you as we go along.”
    Tam nodded. “Right.”
    “Fair Jennet.” The little man’s voice was hoarse, as though he were unused to speaking. “You return - with a companion. Will you continue further into the realm?”
    “Yes,” she said.
    Fynnod tilted his head up and looked at Tam. Something murky moved in his eyes. “Knight. Are you brave enough to accept the first