The Highland Game (True Scotsman #4)
Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
JAMIE
Together the warrior and mage trudge up the mist-shrouded hill, the mage’s glowing staff casting faint halos in the swirling haze.
“It’s been too quiet for too long,” the warrior mutters.
“You’re right.” From beneath the mage’s hood, a stray lock of fiery-red hair escapes, the colour a stark contrast to the grey all around the pair. “Stay on guard. I’ve a funny feeling you’ll be using that sword of yours before long.”
The two press on warily until the dark shape of a standing stone emerges from the gloom, looming tall and ominous before them. The warrior can just about make out others beyond it. A stone circle? He rolls his shoulders, a sharp crack breaking the stillness. “Looks like this could be a boss’s territory. Are you ready, Sass?”
The mage smirks and twirls her staff with a flourish. “Always ready to save your kilt-clad arse, Lochie.”
The warrior draws his broadsword from its sheath and continues towards the circle. He manages three steps before an unearthly howl shatters the quiet. The sound comes not from straight ahead but to the warrior’s right. He turns to look, and the mist there seems to coalesce, taking on a monstrous form. A massive spectral wolf materialises, its eyes glowing like twin moons, its ghostly fur rippling in an unfelt wind.
“Oh, balls!” the mage curses. “That’s the Cù Sìth. If that thing howls three times, it’s instant death for both of us—game over. And the howl count is already at one.”
The warrior settles into a fighting stance, his broadsword raised and ready. “Then we’d better put down this overgrown pooch pronto.”
With a bone-chilling snarl, the Cù Sìth lunges forwards, its massive paws leaving scorched earth in their wake. The warrior meets its charge head-on, his broadsword clashing against the beast’s infernal claws. Sparks fly as steel meets unholy energy.
“Incoming!” the mage shouts, and a volley of fireballs narrowly whizz past the warrior’s head, striking the hellhound.
“Bloody hell, Sass, you nearly hit me!” The warrior blocks another claw swipe with his sword. “I can’t focus on fighting this thing and dodging your pyrotechnics.”
“Oh, please. If I’d been aiming at you, you’d be a smoking crater by now.”
The warrior grins despite himself, parrying another blow from the Cù Sìth. In response the creature rears back and releases an otherworldly howl that echoes across the misty landscape.
“Shite, that’s two!” the warrior yells. “We’ve got to take this beastie out before?—”
Suddenly a horde of goblins charges out of the fog, their caps soaked in crimson blood, their rusted blades held high. The mage, already several paces behind the warrior, retreats to safety, but the warrior is quickly surrounded, and the redcaps cackle madly as they close in.
“We don’t have time for this!” The warrior swings his broadsword in a wide arc, cleaving through three of the goblins in one stroke. “A little help here, Sass?”
“What’s the magic word?” the mage teases, even as she raises her staff high.
“Please don’t let me die a gruesome death at the hands of these ugly wee bastards?”
“Close enough!”
With a flourish, the mage slams her staff into the ground. A shock wave of force ripples outwards, scattering the redcaps like leaves in the wind. Several smash against the standing stones with sickening crunches.
“Show-off,” the warrior mutters, but there’s admiration in his voice.
Their reprieve is short-lived. The Cù Sìth lunges forward once more, jaws snapping inches from the warrior’s face. He stumbles backwards in the nick of time, but before he can steady himself, a surviving redcap pounces at him, its jagged blade tearing into his side.
“You wee gobshite!” The warrior drives his sword through the goblin’s chest then kicks its dying body aside. Grabbing a small vial from his belt, he uncorks it with his teeth and downs the healing potion in one gulp. That’s when he spots another sneaky redcap creeping up behind the mage. In a single smooth motion, the warrior draws his flintlock pistol, takes aim, and fires. The goblin’s head snaps back like it’s been yanked by an invisible string, and with a final gurgle, the creature crumples to the ground, very much dead.
“Saved your arse again, Sass!” The warrior turns back to the Cù Sìth, only to find it bearing down on him, a snarling blur of fur and fangs. “Oh, crap!”
At the last moment a shimmering wall of golden light flashes into existence before the warrior, and the wolf slams into it with bone-rattling force. Shooting a glance over his shoulder, the warrior sees the mage lowering her staff and sporting an insufferably smug grin.
“You watch my back, Lochie, and I watch yours. That’s what makes us a good team.”
The warrior nods and returns his attention to the boss. The wall of light is still protecting the pair, for now, but it’s already beginning to dim. That spell never does last long.
“I’m growing tired of this Big Bad Wolf, so let’s end him before he howls a third time.” The warrior wipes goblin blood from his blade. “Any bright ideas for taking him out, Sass?”
“I’ve always got a plan, Lochie—you know that. But you’re not going to like it.”
The warrior sighs. “Just tell me what it is.”
“Simple, really. You lure Growly McGrowlface into the middle of the standing stones, and I’ll handle the rest.”
“Right, so I risk life and limb while you stand back and wave your magic stick around? Why does that feel so familiar? Oh aye, because it’s your strategy every bloody time .”
There’s no opportunity to quibble further because the shimmering wall of golden light flickers one last time and then vanishes completely, leaving nothing but empty air—oh, and a gigantic monstrous wolf not of this world. The creature’s lips curl back into a snarl that reveals far too many teeth, spectral saliva dripping from its slavering jaws.
The Cù Sìth pounces and the warrior drops into a roll, diving beneath its colossal paws just before they crash into the earth with enough force to shake the standing stones themselves. Scrambling upright, the warrior delivers a quick slash across the beast’s flank—not that it does much more than piss it off.
“Here, boy!” he calls. “This way, you ugly mongrel!”
The warrior bolts toward the centre of the stones, sword in a white-knuckled grip. The beast gives chase with terrifying speed, each thunderous paw step shaking the ground.
“All right, that’s him between the stones!” the mage calls. “Now keep him there. I only need a minute.”
“A minute ?” The warrior ducks as the Cù Sìth swipes at him, its claws slicing through the air where his head was but a moment before. “Sass, do you have any idea how long sixty seconds is when you’re being chased by a homicidal ghost mutt?”
“Quit whining and keep it busy!” The mage’s staff glows brighter as she chants in Gaelic.
The warrior dodges another swipe then, with a grunt, takes a swing at the beast. “Oh aye, sure. I’ll make small talk with ol’ Fluffy here while you recite a wee poem. Fantastic idea.”
He reaches for his flintlock pistol, levels it at the fiend, and fires. The shot echoes through the stone circle, but the Cù Sìth merely shakes off the impact like a bothersome fly. Undeterred, the wolf circles the warrior with slow, deliberate steps, ghostly fangs bared, silvery drool dripping to the ground and sizzling on contact.
“That’s it,” the warrior growls under his breath. “Keep your eyes on me.”
The mage’s chant intensifies, her voice ringing out. Runes carved into the ancient standing stones pulse with light and grow brighter with each syllable. Suddenly beams of energy shoot from the stones, converging on the Cù Sìth. The demon hound roars in agony as the magical net constricts around it, holding it in place.
“Now, Lochie!” the mage shouts. “Finish it!”
“Gladly!” The warrior charges forwards, ducking under the beast’s snapping fangs and then, with herculean strength, driving his broadsword upwards, piercing the beast’s jaw and plunging deep into its skull.
For a heartbeat, everything is still. Then, in a blinding explosion of light, the monster shatters into nothingness. As the mist on the hill clears, the warrior and mage stand gasping for breath, the ground around them littered with the fading corpses of redcaps.
A golden text box appears: The Cù Sìth has dropped the Claymore of the Clan Chiefs!
The Claymore of the Clan Chiefs? Finally! I’ve been hunting for this legendary sword for weeks. My fingers dance over the laptop keys.
LochNLoad
Yas! Hope you’re not too jealous, Sass.
I click the need button next to the claymore, indicating I want it. But to my surprise—and annoyance—SassyLassie’s character portrait also appears beside it, signalling she’s done the same.
LochNLoad
What the hell, Sass? It’s a massive two-handed sword. There’s no way a mage could wield it—not with your puny wee twig arms.
SassyLassie
So? I could sell it. Or maybe I just like big swords.
I snort, the sound echoing through the snug. That’s what we call the Bannock Hotel’s small drinking area, where I’m currently “working” behind the bar. It’s quiet tonight, as it often is. The only patrons here are two local men nursing pints at the far table. They cast curious glances my way.
“Sorry, don’t mind me.” I gesture to my laptop. “Just a funny moment in the game I’m playing.”
They nod, clearly not interested, and return to their conversation. However, Bruce, the resident black Lab, rises from his dog bed, stretches, then pads over to see me, tail swishing lazily.
“Hello, mate.” I reach down to ruffle the fur on his head, and he leans into my touch, his whole body wiggling with happiness. I give him a good scratch under the chin, earning myself a lolling tongue and a doggy grin.
After a bit more petting, Bruce gives my hand a lick then wanders back to his bed. He circles once, twice, then flops down with a satisfied grunt.
It’s a dog’s life, all right. Then again, I don’t have it too bad either. Playing a video game while on the clock? I can hardly complain.
In the bottom-right corner of my screen, a playful animation pops up, adding a bit of levity to Highland Legacy’s otherwise gritty game environment. A chibi version of my muscled Highland warrior, rendered in comically exaggerated proportions with bulging arms and a jutting jawline, grips one end of a rope. The other end is held by Sass’s tiny mage avatar, all oversized eyes and fiery hair. The rope jerks back and forth as numbers flash above the characters’ heads—random game-generated rolls that take no account of the fact that, in a real tug-of-war event, my warrior would whoop Sass’s ass.
I score a respectable 61, but Sass rolls a total of 73. With a final heave, her chibi mage yanks the rope so hard that my warrior goes flying. Her mage does a little victory dance, and then the animation disappears. A text box declares: SassyLassie wins the Claymore of the Clan Chiefs!
LochNLoad
Bollocks. This is an outrage. That was mine!
SassyLassie
Aw, don’t be a sore loser, Lochie. Why is a massive sword so important to you anyway? Compensating for something?
LochNLoad
Oi! Nothing to compensate for here. Anyone who’s peeked under this kilt has been VERY impressed.
SassyLassie
Sure. Keep telling yourself that.
LochNLoad
I actually can’t believe you rolled for the claymore. We’ve been questing together for months now, and we always distribute loot fairly. Never expected to be stabbed in the back by you.
SassyLassie
Wow, keep your kilt on! I wouldn’t want your wee dagger getting chilly (and even smaller).
LochNLoad
You’re unbelievable.
SassyLassie
You know what, seeing as I’m such a nice gal, I’ll make you a deal. If you want the Claymore of the Clan Chiefs, you can have it. You just have to do a wee thing for me first.
LochNLoad
I’m listening.
SassyLassie
It’s simple, really. I’m going to ask you a question, and you have to answer it.
LochNLoad
Is that all? I thought you were going to make me transfer you a whole bunch of gold. All right, shoot.
SassyLassie
Great. What’s your secret kink?
I blink, taken aback. Sass is steering our conversation towards some very unfamiliar waters. We don’t normally talk to one another like this. Jokey banter? Absolutely, par for the course. Saucy confessions? Nope, that’s new.
She and I chat about all sorts: anime, fantasy books, music, biscuits (she claims custard creams are the best, which is absolute madness, of course). In some ways I know a lot about Sass—what she likes, what she doesn’t—but when it comes to the important stuff, I’m clueless. I mean, I’m certain she’s Scottish, like me, but I’ve no idea what town or city she lives in. And I don’t even know her real name. As for her voice? Never heard it. We exclusively communicate via text chat when we play together.
“Oi, Jamie! When you’re done googly-eyeing your computer, a couple more pints, please.”
I glance up to see that one of the two men—Roddy—has walked over and placed a couple of empty glasses down on the bar. So wrapped up was I in my digital world, I didn’t even notice him approaching.
“Coming right up.” I grab a glass, tip it under the tap, and let the golden liquid flow. “This should help you and Hugh tolerate each other for another hour or so.”
Roddy shakes his head. “Jamie, it’s a good thing we come here for the peace and quiet and not your patter. Though I suppose it’s marginally better than your pouring skills.”
“Ouch!” Grinning, I pass him the first pint then pour the second. “And here was me thinking it was my sparkling wit that brings you two old buggers here every Monday.”
“Absolutely not!” Hugh calls from the table. “I’ve seen graveyards with a better atmosphere than this place. Still, at least we can hear ourselves think here. The same can’t be said for the Pheasant on quiz night.”
The Pheasant is the pub just down the road, and Hugh’s right: it’s no doubt as busy right now as the snug is quiet.
Roddy heads back to his table with the drinks, and I return my attention to my laptop screen. A new message has come in from Sass.
SassyLassie
Cat got your tongue? Too scared to reply?
LochNLoad
I can’t tell if you’re pulling my leg or if you’re being serious.
SassyLassie
Oh, I’m being dead serious. Spill your dirty little secret, and the claymore is yours. Unless you’re too chicken, of course.
I tap my fingers against the edge of the bar, weighing my options. Sass and I have never veered into this kind of territory before. Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued. And I really want that bloody sword.
Sod it.
A mischievous smile tugging at my lips, I lean forward, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Here goes nothing.