The Lag (The Game Master: Book #1) by Alex Bobl

amid the trees. The moss covering its walls made it resemble a huge overgrown boulder. Its simple lean-to roof sported a chimney topped with a blue diamond-shaped icon with a spiral and an arrow pointing skyward.
    The ghoul was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Gamekeeper. Having said that, he could have barricaded himself in his hut.
    Obeying Attila's hand on the knob, the Eye rotated slowly, turning Attila so that he now faced the hill. His elevated position offered an excellent view of the hastening legionnaires and the desperate Die-Hard screaming for help, his splayed hand reaching out of the low shrubbery. Beast at the head of the procession disregarded him completely, ignoring this Dead Canyon's living (or rather, continuously dying) legend as he stared open-mouthed at Attila soaring over the lake.
    The Eye creaked, vibrating and dropping magic runes from its arms. The built-in levitation spell couldn't keep Attila's weight airborne for very long.
    A legionnaire fired an arrow at him. Then another. Both missed. Beast made a complex gesture with his hands, raising them in front of him. The air glowed crimson. Aha. So we were the group's wizard, were we? Attila had thought him to be a heavy warrior, a born tank, but Beast seemed to know how to use his magic.
    The fireball hummed, heading for its target. Attila spun the knob. With a jolt, the Eye built up speed, rocking in the air. Attila's hand kept sliding off it. Those below in the marsh yelled, celebrating. The first archer loosed off another arrow.
    The fireball missed him by a mere couple of feet. It would have hit him for sure had he not sped up. But it created a perfect distraction for his pursuers... who were immediately punished for their disrespect of the Dead Canyon.
    A legionnaire ran in front of Beast and screamed, stepping into a Witch Fire. It flared out torch-like, then bellowed smoke, reducing to ashes together with the hapless player. Another pursuer recoiled and stepped off the track, falling waist-deep into the quagmire. Beast swung round, momentarily forgetting Attila. The remaining legionnaire used his sword to cut a young tree and reached out, offering its trunk to the sinking comrade. The latter grabbed at it and began pulling himself out.
    By then, Attila had been flying over a large expanse of water, a lake almost. The Eye shuddered, forcing his fingers off the slippery metal.
    Attila dropped face down into some sickly reeds that lined the water by the shore. He tried to scramble to his feet but sank knee-deep in the silt. Accompanied by its greedy slurping, he waded toward the dry land.
    The thick bulrushes next to him swayed, disturbed by something in their midst. He heard the same slurping sound. It stopped, then resumed — this time from behind his back. Attila looked around but saw and heard no one apart from the legionnaires on the far shore busy helping each other out of the quagmire to Beast's indignant bellowing.
    So! Could it be the invisible ghoul rounding on him? If it was, then this was the end of him. The ghoul was quick. Or could it be his imagination playing up? That would be too good. He really needed to get out of this slosh and get busy restoring his health.
    Casting suspicious glances at the quivering bulrushes, Attila downed the remaining pills.
    Soon the ground became firmer. Attila quickened his pace, fiddling with the Book's knobs on the go. He could already make out Gamekeeper's hut amid the trees ahead.
    Finally the Eye descended and began snapping its arms close. Once the device was the size of a dinner plate, Attila opened his bag, letting it in, then buckled the bag close.
    Should he keep the Titan's Fork ready? Pointless. The artifact hadn't had enough time to recharge after his wolf encounter.
    As he pondered over it, he saw a man appear from behind the trees. Attila stopped dead in his tracks. Had his pursuers outrun him after all? Or was it another one of their agents like that kilted guy? What a shame. He'd so