The Darker Ages 2: Rebirth: The Darker Ages, #2

Chapter One

Timothy/Tyler

I DIED. MY HEAD SINKS so far between my shoulders, it almost lands on the diner's dirty table. "In The Darker Ages. Timothy died."

Oh shit, man! I'm so sorry! The condolences come from Rick, a friend from high school. We graduated last year, and now I see a lot less of him. I assume he's spending most of his time in his altsphere of choice. I know how much you loved that character.

Yeah. I was with him for three years. It's been... rough. We're sitting in an old-fashioned greasy spoon, eating cheeseburgers and fries for breakfast. The toasted bun is glowing with grease, and a cascade of cheese oozes down the slab of meat. It's the definition of delicious. You can't get this kind of food in The Darker Ages, that's for sure.

I've been with Chess a lot longer, Rick says, referring to his altsphere character. Rick is a long-time player of The Wilder West. In fact, I think he's been in that world since we were about eight years old. He used to be simple orphan, living on the prairie. Now he's a married man, an outlaw, and a bank robber. We used to talk about entering other realities together, but he always goes back to the one that makes him comfortable. Rick's a dedicated Wester. It's not uncommon to get so attached to a world, you don't try anything else. Still, three years is a long time.

Yeah... I dip a french fry into my burger's runny cheese. I guess you could say I'm addicted to cheese fries.

So, what are you going to do now? Rick asks.

I haven't decided yet.

Do you think you'd ever be interested in The Wilder West? If you are, I've always got a spot in my posse for you.

I haven't decided yet. Our conversation is momentarily interrupted by the arrival of our robot waitress, who refills my soda without cracking a smile. I thank her, even though it's probably not necessary. Robots don't need thanks.

Are you going to reenter The Darker Ages as a new character? Rick asks.

Maybe... It's hard to imagine being anyone but Timothy Coward. It's even harder to think about leaving Arienne, Alfred, and everyone else behind.

"Maybe you should look into Regent, my friend suggests. New males get three dollars an hour for the first month. I know it doesn't sound like a ton of money, but if you're one of those players who dives in for like, fifty hours at a time, it adds up after awhile. Besides, it's the only virtual world that actually pays you to participate."

I don't know. My shoulders leap into a shrug. I don't know if Regent would be my thing.

I've heard it's not so bad. Sure, you have to put up with the ballroom dances every now and then, but there's a darker side too, Rick tries to tempt me. I've got a friend who swears by that world. He says there are highwaymen, duels, wars...

Okay. Maybe it's not so bad. I take an enormous bite of my cheeseburger so I won't have to talk for a bit. I appreciate Rick's interest in my virtual future, but this conversation is killing me. I don't like to dwell on the fact that Timothy Coward died two days ago.

Oh, I know! Rick's eyes light up, as if he's been struck by an epiphany. "Have you seen the trailers for Odyssey of Dragons? Man, it looks so sweet! It opens up in about two months. People are saying it's going to be like The Darker Ages, but better."

How's it better? I pretend interest.

"Uh... hello? Dragons, man! Need I say more? Rick sops up a ridiculous amount of ketchup on one of his fries before popping it into his mouth. It's more fantasy than reality, I guess. There's magic and shit. Oh, and get this! It costs twice as much money to enter the game as an elf. Isn't that weird?"

What's so great about being an elf?

I don't know. But I think you'd look great as an elf, man, Rick chortles. I'd love to see an elven Tyler Ogura.

Have you ever seen an Asian elf? I ask with a roll of my eyes. "Ever? No. You haven't. Because Asian elves don't exist." Actually, I've never scanned my face into the game, nor do I create Asian characters, but Rick doesn't need to know that. It's not that I hate being Asian, it's just that I've never seen an Asian guy in an interesting Darker Ages role. Besides, girls aren't that attracted to Asian guys—or so I've been told. It must be true, because I've never had a girlfriend in the real world. On the other hand, meeting and attracting women was never an issue for the late Timothy Coward. While I'm not proud of Timothy's philandering ways, he once had three girlfriends at the same time. Anyway, Odyssey of Dragons doesn't open for two more months. I can't imagine being stuck in the real world that long.

As he shoves the rest of his burger into his mouth, Rick mumbles, Well, I hope you figure out what you want.

Even though I haven't admitted it to myself, I already know what I want. It was never up for debate. I'm going to reenter The Darker Ages as a new character, and I'm going to get as close to Arienne as I possibly can. After she was taken by James Bain, I can't stop worrying about her. I need to know what's happening.

After lunch, I ride home on my aerobike, run up to my room, and collapse into bed. I still live with my parents, but I won't be staying much longer. I've been collecting my robots' salaries since I was sixteen, and I think I finally have enough to move into my own apartment—not that it's important right now. Right now, there's only one thing that matters to me. I log on to my computer and pull up a list of Darker Ages ads.

When it comes to creating new characters, there are usually two schools of thought. Some people think it's better to dive right in and go wherever the wind takes them. I know that's what Alfred did. Personally, I think it's better to start with a foundation or a goal. When I entered the world as Timothy Coward, I already had two uncles. They took me under their wing and gave me a purpose. As soon as I arrived, The Defiant Lady became my life. That ship was my home. When I close my eyes, I can still envision her behind me, her sails enveloped in a chaos of flame. No matter how many times I replay the memory in my head, it crushes me every time.

So... let's see... I whisper to myself as I scroll through ads.

The Countess of Burksey, 34, seeks a lover to infuriate her husband. Ages 21-50 will be considered. Interested applicants must submit a picture of their altsphere appearance, as well as a brief character bio.

That's not quite what I'm looking for. And even if it was, I think I'm a bit too young for her—not that my mainsphere age even matters. If I wanted to be an older character, I could create one. But I don't think that's necessary.

Deadeye Delia, 26, is looking for a few brave souls to join her mercenary company, The Deadeye Rangers. Veteran fighters are preferred, but any candidates are welcome to apply. Some skill in archery is a plus.

I'm not an archer, that's for sure. I've trained with a sword until I've had blisters on my hands, but I've never even fired an arrow.

I spend thirty minutes scrolling through similar ads until something finally catches my eye.

Rufus Swaine, the new king of Drakesley, is expanding his army. Rookies need not apply. If you have skill with a sword, come to Razor's Bend at two o'clock on the 11th of Chrysember. There, your skills will be tested, and only a few will be accepted. Good luck.

Drakesley. Arienne was the Princess of Drakesley, so Rufus Swaine must be the man who conquered her kingdom. If I can wheedle my way into his army, that'll get me a lot closer to Arienne, right? At the very least, I might be able to ask around and find out what happened to her.

I lay down in bed, push the button on my wrist, and dive back in. A depressing message flashes before my eyes.

"Welcome back, Tyler Ogura. Your altsphere identity, Timothy Coward, has been removed from our database. Would you like to create a new identity?"

Yes... I answer with a sigh, and the automated voice relays another message.

Would you like to scan your face into The Darker Ages, Tyler Ogura?

I consider the possibility for all of two seconds. I'm not a fan of my face. I'm a skinny, pimpled, average-looking dork with a bad haircut. If I can be someone else, of course I'm going to jump at the opportunity.

No.

A few seconds later, I'm thrown into the character creator, and it's more complex than you can possibly imagine. You choose your height, weight, hair color, eye color, bone structure, nose, lips, eyelashes, blemishes, flaws—anything you can possibly imagine, you can choose it. Some things are changeable over time. For example, if you create a skinny character and overindulge in altsphere pastries, you probably won't be skinny for long. Even certain skin blemishes can disappear over time.

Since I'll be spending the majority of my waking hours in this new body, seeing the world through his eyes, I carefully consider every detail. Timothy Coward was tall, slightly over six feet. This time, I choose my own height, which is a whopping five feet and eight inches. (I'll probably regret that later). I give myself an average build, slightly on the muscular side. Like Timothy Coward, he's going to be the exact same age as me. Now I just need to give him a name.

Timothy is my middle name. This time, I think I'll go by my first name—Tyler. I don't want to be too unoriginal, so I decide to go with Tye instead. Last time, Jonathan chose my surname. Believe me, I wouldn't have picked a name like Coward for myself. Ogg sounds a little like Ogura, so that's what I decide on. Tye Ogg. I don't love it, but I can't come up with anything better. I hope it doesn't sound too ridiculous.

Believe it or not, I don't spend a ton of time on my new face. Some people spend hours in the character creator, and I don't blame them, but I usually go with my first instinct. I want my new face to be handsome, but not overwhelmingly so. I'm not trying to create a male model, after all. After twenty minutes of tinkering, I'm satisfied with my creation. The new Timothy—or Tye—has dark brown hair, almond-shaped blue eyes, and thin pink lips. His nose is a little too wide, but I think it gives him character. I guess you could describe him as cute, but he's not going to stand out in a crowd, and I like it that way. I don't want to attract too much unwanted attention.

After creating my face, I take a few minutes to select my clothes. I dress myself in an oversized tan tunic and black breeches. Every new player gets to start with three items, so I choose a sword, a satchel, and a handful of gold coins. It's better than nothing, I guess.

When everything's ready, I get to choose my character's origin point. Of course, I already know where I'm going.

Razor's Bend.

Chapter Two

THREE DOZEN MEN OF varying ages assembled in the tiny town of Razor's Bend. They were joined by three of Rufus Swaine's officers, and one of them was Alfred Du Bois. He was dressed much differently than the other two captains, whose polished silver breastplates and greaves glowed in the golden sunlight. They were clearly dressed to impress. Alfred, on the other hand, was entirely the opposite. His faded gray shirt was rumpled and only partially tucked into plain, dark breeches. On his head, he wore his favorite brown cap. Alfred's hat was so worn, it had a hole in its brim. Timothy always told him it belonged in a waste bin, but Alfred loved his hat, and he refused to part with it.

When they saw Alfred swaggering toward them, the other two captains wore matching sneers on their long, pompous noses. Of course, they didn't like the way he dressed, but they had more than one reason to resent him. Alfred Du Bois rose through the ranks much faster than they did. His captaincy came out of nowhere, and it simply wasn't fair.

Before the three officers addressed their potential recruits, Alfred lit a cigar, which earned him a disapproving glare from Captain Wilbred Eton. Wilbred was twice as old as Alfred and his beard was twice as tidy. Du Bois hadn't shaved in several days. His untrimmed, fledgling beard was already less kempt than his comrade's.

Pardon me, Wilbred spoke up, pointing at Alfred's cigar. Pardon me, but you shouldn't be smoking right now.

Pardon me, but you shouldn't be up my arse right now, Alfred callously retorted.

"Ahem... Wilbred cleared his throat and tried again. I'm quite serious, Captain Du Bois. You aren't supposed to smoke in front of the recruits. It sets a bad example."

Your face sets a bad example as well, but I'm not giving you hell about it, am I? Alfred took a long drag and blew the smoke in Wilbred's direction.

"Must you be so unruly? Do you want me to tell Rufus Swaine you've been insubordinate?"

"I don't see how I've been insubordinate when we've got the same rank... Captain." With a wink, Alfred shoved the cigar into his mouth.

Very well. At the very least, I will inform him of your uncooperative nature! Wilbred was so frustrated by the new captain's behavior, a vein in his neck was bulging. "I command you to remove that infernal object from your lips!"

Alright. With a roll of his eyes, Alfred lowered the smoking cigar. But I'm still going to hold it in my hand, if that's alright with you. Tired of being harangued, he stepped away from Wilbred and addressed the new candidates. Hello there, boys. I'm Captain Alfred Du Bois, an officer in the army of Rufus Swaine and James Bain. Now... I know what you're thinking. Swaine and Bain, right? Swaine. Bain. Adorable, innit? With rhyming names like that, you've got to think they're a match made in heaven. The only thing they're missing is a little man named Cain. Once they find him, they'll really be in bus—

Captain Eton stepped forward and cleared his throat, interrupting Alfred's inappropriate speech. Gentlemen, you have assembled today because of your interest in joining the army of the new King Rufus. We don't have time to waste on your training, so you will only be accepted if you can prove to us you aren't without skill. We will divide you into three groups. I will be in charge of selecting the best candidates in the first group, and Gerald will be—

I want the first group, interjected Alfred, who took a secret drag from his cigar behind Wilbred's back. It gave him immense satisfaction to blow the smoke into the stodgy captain's graying hair.

"Fine. Alfred will be in charge of the first group, I will be in charge of the second group, and Gerald will be in charge of group number three. You should know, not all of you will be chosen today. We have to be—"

Alfred interrupted again. "But what if they're all really bloody brilliant? What if they all blow me away with their amazing sword skills? Then I can choose them all, right?"

Yes, Du Bois... Wilbred amended himself with a sigh. But that's highly unlikely.

"But it is possible. Let's not discourage the poor lads, eh? Alfred arbitrarily selected a cluster of men and jostled them away from the rest of the crowd. I'll take this lot."

Wilbred's shoulders fell. He had prepared an entire speech, but Alfred gave him no time to recite it. Very well. Captain Du Bois has apparently finished with this discussion, so I suppose we'll begin. Good luck to all of you.

When Alfred was alone with his chosen dozen, his cigar was back in his mouth. Through narrowed eyes, he studied his recruits. None of them looked especially seasoned. He stood in front of a skinny blonde boy and raised an eyebrow.

What's your name, son? Alfred asked, sounding somewhat disinterested.

Sir, my name is Ronald Blackley, sir!

"Ronald... Blackley..." Alfred slowly repeated the name.

Yes, sir, Captain, sir!

You're a very enthusiastic follow... aren't you, Ronnie?

Yes, sir! I like to think so, sir!

Good lord, you're throwing out enough sirs to drown a pancake. Alfred chuckled to himself. Your nose is browner than my arse, boy.

Did I offend you, sir?

No. I like it. Your zest for life inspires me. Alfred tapped his cigar, expelling its ashes near Ronald's feet. So... Ronnie... I'm going to test your sword skills, but you'll need a partner. Alfred turned to the second young man in the lineup. And what's your name, lad?

Tye Ogg.

Tie Off? Alfred leaned closer to the recruit's thin lips. "Tie off what?"

"Not Tie Off. Tye Ogg."

Don't correct me, mate! Alfred snapped at him. "What sort of a name is Ogg, anyway?"

I... don't know.

It sounds like something I'd eat for breakfast. Scrambled oggs.

Uh... kind of.

Do you mind if I call you Oggy Oggy Oggy? Alfred breezily asked. Actually, I don't care if you mind. I'm calling you that anyway. Alfred separated Ronald and Tye from the rest of the recruits and encouraged them to face each other. Alright then. First... Plucky Ron will face off against little Oggy. And I'm going to stand here with my arms crossed and pretend to give a damn. Have at it, boys.

Tye, who had a lot riding on his success, was the first to advance. His opening swing was blocked by Ronald, who looked flustered by the force of his opponent's blow. Tye slashed again, aiming for Ronald's midsection. As the blade whizzed by his chest, Ronald shrieked.

Try not to kill him, Oggy! Alfred spoke up. "But... just so you know, if you do end up killing him, it's not my fault, and I can't be held accountable."

Tye swung again and again, giving his opponent no time to squeeze in a counterattack. After dodging a dozen life-threatening slashes from Tye, Ronald decided to forfeit. He dropped his sword and held up his hands.

Well done, Oggy! Alfred exclaimed. "You came at him like a beast, and I guess poor Ronnie didn't have the stones for it. That's a shame. This loss means he won't be recruited... but I quite liked being called sir all the time."

Ronald was abruptly dismissed, and Tye returned to the line. After trouncing his opponent, he was one step closer to joining Rufus' army. While Alfred focused his attention on the next recruits, Tye tried to decide his next course of action. On one hand, his secret identity was advantageous. On the other hand, he wanted Alfred to know his friend had returned.

But could Alfred be trusted? Tye had no idea. Alfred's self-serving nature made him difficult to rely on. Tye was expecting Alfred's loyalty—but what if he was actually on James' side? Knowing Alfred, he probably enjoyed being a captain more than he enjoyed being a loyal friend.

He decided to take a chance. As the next two recruits battled it out, Tye sidled toward Alfred and stood beside him.

What the hell, Oggy? Alfred tossed back his head and cackled. This is awfully bold of you, innit? You win one match, and now you think you can stand at the captain's side? You've got some balls, boy, I'll give you that.

Tye's stomach clenched as he whispered the truth. "It's... Timothy."

Alfred's eyebrows snapped together. Pardon?

"Timothy Coward, Tye whispered. It's Timothy. You haven't forgotten me already, have you?"

Well, shit! Alfred's face was brightened by a dimpled smirk. You're looking a little different these days, Timmy.

Uh... yeah.

You came back from the dead pretty quickly.

Tye agreed with a nod.

"And you're going by Tye now?"

Yep.

Alfred wrapped an arm around Tye's shoulders, but only for a moment. He didn't want to arouse suspicion in the other captains. I guess I should probably recruit you now, huh? Your identity should give you an edge. I can make you the right hand man of the right hand man... because I'm James' right hand man, you know.

I know... Tye groaned, wincing as one of the battling recruits barely evaded a death-dealing lunge. "Please don't tell my uncles I'm back. Especially James. He'd probably kill me on the spot."

"I won't be telling anyone. Trust me. Alfred said the words a bit ominously—at least, they sounded ominous to Tye's ear. In fact, I'd advise you to do the same. Don't tell anyone else who you are. No one. You never know who you can trust."

"You're right. Hell, I didn't even know if I could trust you, Alfred, and you're probably my best friend."

Your best friend who killed you, Alfred added with a snicker. With a raised brow, he studied the new Timothy's face. It would certainly take some time to adjust to his friend's new appearance. So... what should I call you, now? Timothy? Tye? Oggy Oggy Oggy?

Tye answered with a shrug, You can call me whatever you want.

Timotye, maybe? Alfred suggested with a grin.

Sure. Why not? Whatever floats your boat, Alfred.

Timotye it is, then, Alfred declared. Although... I'm quite partial to Oggy as well.

Chapter Three

AS MY RIGHT HAND MAN, it'll be your job to accompany me on these little... missions? James Bain explained to Alfred as they descended the spiral stairs to the dungeon. "I don't know if missions is the correct word. Excursions, perhaps? Chores?"

Errands? Alfred halfheartedly suggested when they reached the bottom step.

"Errands! Yes, that's the perfect word. Well done, Alfred. You're a man of many talents."

Buried deep beneath the earth, Drakesley Castle's dungeon was a cold, stuffy prison for its unfortunate residents. Thick stone walls cradled the scarcely lit cells. When they reached their first destination, James affixed his torch to the sconce on the wall and held his keyring beneath the light. Countless keys dangled from the ring, so it took him a moment to locate the one he needed. A few seconds later, the door opened with a groan, and Alfred followed him in.

Inside the musty cell,