Текст книги "The Clan"

Автор книги: D. Rus

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Their heartrending voices had long died away but my lips were still moving as I repeated Doc's last phrase,

"Who if not us?"

 A very uncomfortable question, once again raising the subject of responsibility. Instead of playing and having fun, I kept sinking deeper into local problems, lugging the load of other people's hopes and struggling in a net of responsibilities that hadn't been mine to accept.

Of course I understood Doc, at his wits' end with frustration, overwhelmed by the never-ending chain of deaths. He was like a cat saving her kittens out of a burning house: her hair smoldering, her eyes swollen with blisters, diving back into the flames time and time again to pull out her wailing babies one at a time. Doc, too: once he'd seen a ray of hope in the dark, he followed it, throwing caution to the wind, selling his apartment, exposing himself to blows from all quarters, all to pull his babies out: not so much where to, but more importantly, where from.

How could I not understand him? How could I have said no? True, he hadn't warned me; he hadn't asked for my advice. Probably, in the light of his objective it all seemed petty and irrelevant. Like a lip-biting kamikaze pilot pointing his plane at the deck of an enemy aircraft carrier, he saw no problems, only his goal and his duty. In his mind he was already there, burning alive on the mangled deck amid crumpled metal, taking hundreds of enemies and their powerful machine with him.

I had no idea how it was going to work out with the children. In case of war, we could always move them somewhere safe—say, to the Vets to begin with. No human being would object to offering shelter to a child in danger. Besides, they wouldn't have to walk the war's endless roads as refugees. Here, reaching safe areas was as easy as activating a teleport. Wish we had this skill back in 1941 when millions of people had perished in blockades and ambushes. The siege of Leningrad alone had cost us way too dearly...

In principle, given another ten to fifteen years, these kids who knew no other home but the world of sword and sorcery could become its strongest warriors. They would have no inkling that it was all a game. They'd have no doubt that magic is real, invisibility is normal and healing someone is as easy as waving your hand over them. They would be the ones to invent new spells and bring magic under control. There had to be a difference, making knights and wizards out of thirty-year-old office rats and housewives or raising them from two-year-old toddlers. Which of them would I bet on in the long run? Quite possibly, he with enough intuition to foresee this trend now and take the young wolf cubs under his wing could be looking at a considerable jackpot sometime in the future.

Still, I had to do something about Lena. This was a classic case of cognitive dissonance causing me to expect more from her: more responsibility, more help and more maturity. I kept forgetting about the barely teenage girl locked inside that voluptuous adult body, her hormones raging (if that were at all possible here). So I really had to put my foot down before she derailed us all. And seeing as we had a kindergarten in the making, it would be a good idea to introduce a similar hierarchy in the clan itself: we'd have a junior group, a senior group, pre-school, primary school and so on.

I spent a few more minutes distributing some basic rights between the groups, making sure that senior clan members had a few more options than the younger ones. With a vindictive grin, I removed Lena from the clan officers' list and moved her to a new group, Junior High. After a moment's thought, I added one final touch. Poking out the tip of my tongue with zeal and satisfaction, I wrote: Valley of Fear Junior High. Now, baby, you'd have to prove to me you merited a promotion! Best regards.

Excellent. I slapped my knees and jumped to my feet, scaring a butterfly and earning a disapproving glance from the Hound pup busy hunting it.

Enough digressing. I reminded myself of a steam engine pulling an enormous freight train packed with goods and people clinging to car roofs as I dragged it directly into the financial abyss. I had to force myself out of it. Actually, that was exactly what I'd been doing those last few days. The cigarette business wasn't bringing in any profits yet: all the proceeds were immediately invested into its development, building premises, buying supplies and hiring more staff. Judging by what my analysts had gleaned from my business plan, in just one year we were looking at five hundred grand gold a month to each alliance member. Nice as it was, I needed money now—preferably fifty times that.

I started by creating a new High Spell scroll, put it up at a private auction, then sent an invitation to the Minediggers impatiently waiting for it. In less than ten minutes, they bought the precious parchment. True to their word, they transferred the million into my account adding a polite letter where their ill-concealed impatience and hopes for quick revenge shone through their words of gratitude. I had a funny feeling they weren't going to stop at that. They would keep going, destroying the greedy offenders' castles one after another. They were yet to learn that sooner or later—sooner rather than later—their happy bubble would burst. Everybody in the square had witnessed the scroll in action. All the interested parties had gleaned everything they needed from that demonstration and were probably busy working on countermeasures. Which were quite simple and obvious. It was enough to break the dome down into a few smaller segments or levels. Then the scroll would only be able to remove the first layer, presenting the attackers with an unpleasant surprise: a second protective sphere.

I was afraid that very soon, when discussing a castle's defense levels, everyone would allude to the number of layers in a dome. The scrolls would still be used but their price would fall tenfold, if not hundredfold.

Too bad. I had to squeeze as much out of it as I could while I still could. I had to churn out a scroll a day: the Vets' arsenal could wait no matter how many hints Dan and the General would drop.

Another money-making idea had been burning a hole in my brain for the last twenty-four hours, ever since I'd received Thror's message. That honorable Dwarf, the patriarch of Thror's Gem House, informed me that the work on both altars had been completed. Which made me remember our last meeting and the way he complained of the greedy priests of Light who didn't want to add a new god to their pantheon—one that would answer the needs of both Dwarfs and miscellaneous crafters. Actually, he'd chosen the right shoulder to cry on. Was I the First Priest or just a pretty face? Granted, I only knew the location of one Dark temple out of the remaining four: the one in the Drow capital. But that was plenty to summon a new patron god. Ruata, the Drow Princess doubling as the deserted temple's Priestess, was unlikely to mind. And even if she did, so what?

In other words, I had enough to offer the midgets from Under the Mountain to make them untie their purse strings and dig up their grandfathers' pots of gold. The unique service of custom-summoning a patron god was going to cost them.

A couple of hours later, having rummaged through the available gods lists and having discovered, to my joy, an additional box saying include deities from literature, fantasy and gaming, I was knocking at the massive gate of Thror's Gem House with my most enticing smile.

The clan's patriarch knew better than to make me wait. Almost straight away, the receptionist invited me in. He wasn't particularly pleased with the speed with which I accepted my finished order—apparently, he'd been looking forward to explaining every flourish of the intricate design and painting a picture of the task's inconceivable difficulty. Now he sniffed into his beard, apparently betrayed in his best expectations.

Unwilling to alienate him, I hurried to rectify my mistake. "You'll have to excuse my haste, Sir. I didn't want to hurt your feelings by inspecting your perfect work for non-existent faults. The stamp of your House is all I need to justify its quality."

My sugar-coated flattery had the desired effect. The dwarf relaxed, accepting a stance of haughty arrogance. Oh well, end of fine tuning, time to engage the primary caliber.

"Besides, I wanted to save our time and energy for a much more important private conversation," I rolled my eyes meaningfully at the guards behind their firing slits.

The Patriarch gave a kingly nod and began making a complex sign combination with his fingers. Steel trapdoors clanged. The Dwarf's time-ridden face expressed a patiently polite attention with just a tad of skepticism.

"Absolutely private," I repeated.

He stared at me with suspicion, chewing his lower lip. Finally, he made up his mind. He made another sign, dramatically more complex than the first one, and froze, listening. Then he made another sign and finally shook his fist at somebody unseen. Another doortrap clanged—hopefully, the last one.

The Patriarch looked up at me from under his bushy eyebrows. "Speak."

"Does the name of Aulë say something to you?"

Crack! A steel pencil in the dwarf's hand snapped in half. With a thump, one of the guards collapsed behind the wall. So he should. The blacksmith god, the lord of earth and metals and the Maker of the Dwarven race who'd passed onto them his love of creations in metal and stone.

"Speak," the Patriarch repeated. He leaned forward, virtually lying with his chest on the table, his hopeful eyes looking into mine.

Four hours later I walked out of his house, not quite stable on my feet due to the amounts of Dwarven Extra Dry consumed, and breathed a sigh of relief. It probably would have been easier to come to a business agreement with an electric kettle than with those skinflints from Under the Mountain. They hadn't given me twenty million. Nor ten. I'd only managed to squeeze seven out of them. Plus five hundred Dwarves deployed for the restoration of the castle's defensive capacity including four external bastions.

And if someone says it's not enough, then I hope they have to deal with a dwarf vendor in every scruffy shop they ever visit on their crooked life's path. And if six months of such pain in the butt doesn't turn him into a gibbering walking skeleton gray before his time—then I'll eat humble pie and admit I was taken for a ride. But at the moment, I was entirely proud of the deal I'd just struck.

According to the Dwarves, they could have seven million in a week in exchange for my keeping my end of the bargain: summoning their much-anticipated deity. Actually, without even mentioning anything else, such summoning would bring thousands of Dwarves under the Fallen One's banners. True that whenever the question was raised, Honorable Thror had turned rather pale and sad—so it looked as if the event could lead to a rift in the Dwarven ranks. Not everyone was prepared to denounce their new gods returning to their original element that technically had found itself on the side of the Dark.

But for me personally, such a Dwarven exodus from the army of Light and their allegiance to the Fallen One was in some respect even more important than the money itself. This was a very hefty weight added to the balance of future confrontation.

Having received a boost from the admittedly decent brew, my mind was already painting countless steely ranks of Dwarf squads lining up at the foot of the Temple, waiting for my command. Then the world shuddered.

Booom, the gong reverberated all over AlterWorld with a system alert. I peered at the opened message and froze in the middle the road.

Pantheon alert! A new force has entered the world! Llos, the Dark Mother of the Drow, Weaver of Chaos and the Lady of Spiders, has joined the Pantheon of the Fallen One!

 A Drow Goddess? Still hopeful, I rummaged through the Altar menu only to confirm that the Dark Temple of the Original City had regained its patron deity. Ruata, you stupid woman, what was that now? How on earth could you have done the dirty on me?

I was like a taut string, unable to restrain my anger. What a cheek! Who did they all think they were? When I needed them to help me restore the First Temple and sort out the problems it had created—no one seemed to be interested. They were all too busy lining up for the freebies! Not just lining up—they were taking the place apart, pilfering everything that wasn't screwed down! Destroying valuable ammunition, stashing away mithril and gobbling it down, even denying me my right to summon a patron god! The Temple's High Priestess was the only person who could have done it, and that's exactly what she did, jumping at her chance. Everyone was busy tugging the blanket while I was alone lying here freezing my butt off.

Sorry, guys. This isn't the way the cookie crumbles. I'd do whatever it takes—excommunicate, anathemize, disembody whoever deserved it.

I found myself running on the cobbled pavement not really looking where I was going, colliding with unhurried players or ducking out of their way. They shouted at my back something about those Elven tykes who should all be put up against the castle wall or hanged on lampposts. I only smirked. Yeah, no foreigners allowed, wonder where I'd heard that before? Sorry, guys, bad timing, duels would have to wait.

Finally I reached the massive wall of the House of Night residence. The guards were respectful but unyielding. "You'll have to wait to be taken inside." For five minutes I paced the yard by the front door, working myself up and getting more and more agitated. Finally the majordomo, unhurried and majestic like the Queen, invited me to follow him. I was running rings around the well-fed NPC, struggling to refrain from goading him on with a hearty kick in the butt. The only thing that stopped me was the thought that the guards would interpret such an action as a direct assault, resulting in my respawning a few seconds later in the Vets' portal hall. So I had to grin and bear it, notching up interest on the bill I was about to present Ruata with.

After fifteen more minutes of marching through a series of opulent halls I was already almost sure they'd been walking me in circles. Then the majordomo finally swung open another pair of doors and stepped aside, allowing me to enter.

Yet another luxurious hall, its thirty-foot ceilings heavy with stucco and frescoes depicting the Drow's exploits. A soft 'the Princess will see you shortly' followed by the inconspicuous sound of the closing doors made me swing round. He'd legged it, the bastard. Very well, I could wait. Ignoring the soft couch and the side table laden with delicacies, I began pacing the hall making the guards of honor by the doors jump to attention every time I went past them.

The hall was sixty paces long and forty wide. Just when I started thinking I'd already worn a groove in the marble floors, the world shuddered again.

Boom! The guards bowed deep as the inner interface flooded me with messages,

Quest completion alert: The Prince of the House of Night. Quest completed!

Reward: a new social status, The Prince of the House of Night.

Congratulations! You've received Achievement: you've become the third person in AlterWorld to occupy a Prince's throne.

Reward: +10,000 to Fame

Congratulations! Your family status has been updated! Princess Ruata has become your wife!

Holy cow. That wasn't the agreement! What was that about the Prince? And his spouse? Didn't I have to make another 100 levels for a successful completion?

I opened my quest logs and looked for the record I needed,

Level above that of Princess Ruata (current level: 71) (met)

Gosh. How had she managed to drop a hundred levels? Taali would kill me and she'd be right. Why would I need this stupid princedom, what for? To be perfectly honest, I'd already bitten way more than I could chew. I was looking at at least another couple of years of simply gaining experience in running my own clan and the castle. All I needed now was a couple of thousand Drow and all the problems they could bring.

Having said that... I cast a patronly glance over the surrounding splendor and the guards with their doglike expression. What was it Ruata had said? A hundred fifty cutthroats and three hundred guards? Yeah, right—I gently shut my inner greedy pig's dropped jaw—plus a whole shedload of other people's problems. Including a marriage I couldn't care less about. Sure, Ruata was fire and ice incarnate, the peak of passion and beauty, totally mind-blowing, forcing you to think with completely different body parts. Still, finding myself licking someone's feet, looking up in devotion waiting for their command to fetch their slippers—that was something I really didn't look forward to.

I shook my head and pursed my lips, thus hitting the right note for my upcoming exchange with the Princess. With a decisive step I approached the bowing guard. "Take me to the Princess, now!"

"Yes, Sir!"

That's better. For the next five minutes we kept winding and unwinding down the stairs, descending deeper and deeper into the bowels of the residence's dungeons. The number of guards at intersections grew, pointing at our approaching an especially guarded object. Finally we arrived at an old archway of black marble intricately carved with archaic pictograms of a long forgotten tongue.

The guard pointedly stepped aside and saluted, making clear his mission was completed. Very well. I could manage on my own now.

In centuries past, countless feet had trodden a groove in the eighty-eight ancient stone steps that led me to an enormous hall, its size concealed by the True Darkness. A barely noticeable walkway was marked by braziers filled with smoldering embers and crimson sparks. It led to the iridescent soap bubble of a magic dome.

I stepped onto the walkway. It crunched and rattled underfoot. This wasn't the right time to enjoy the divine Darkness, so I rummaged through my bag in search of the Torch of True Flame. Yanking it out, I activated a third of its power and recoiled. The entire floor was littered with bones and ancient weapons. Crossbow bolts that sat deep in crumbling skulls, chestplates that spilled loose ribs, helmets crushed by powerful blows and shields smashed into pulp. It appeared to be the remains of a great battle that had once raged under the Temple's walls. The defenders and attackers lay randomly on top of each other, their bodies piled high in some places. The flesh had long been reduced to ashes and the smell had worn off; there was nothing left but bones and steel.

And artifact jewelry, my inner greedy pig pointed out, spying the glimmer of bejeweled rings on a skeleton's fingers that were still clutching an expensive-looking sword. The ruby in its hilt was enormous. True, there was plenty of loot here but we weren't grave robbers, were we? Still I crouched over the body and lowered the torch wishing to read the stats. I didn't want to miss something epic, something lost in the dust of time, capable of moving mountains and shaking the earth.

I brought my face closer, then recoiled. The skull stirred and swayed. A huge hairy spider forced its fat belly out through an eye socket. His beady lavender eyes stared at me with hatred as he waggled his mandibles, a little drop of cloudy yellow venom forming on them. No, thank you very much. Could never stand those eight-legged creepies. I spat in his direction and barely dodged when he spat back, the venom missing me and landing on a massive siege shield that almost covered a dwarf's skeleton. The metal spumed and smoked with corrosion. Ignoring my pride—no one could see me, anyway—I darted out of the creature's range.

Finally, the dome. I probed it with my finger, afraid of poking through the fragile bubble. As if! Not a trace to be seen on the surface as strong as concrete. My attempt to punch it equally failed as the weird material was absorbing my blows without as much as a vibration or sound. I looked around for something more effective and found it: a mace with a top of meteoritic iron.

I'll teach you to have doorbells! I took a swing and bashed at the dome, falling through it, weapon and all. The mace clattered over the floor while I found myself in a position unworthy of a warrior, standing on all fours with my hands flat on the flagstones. You didn't expect me to break my fall with my nose, did you? Grunting, I scrambled to my feet and looked back. The opening had already sealed as instantly as it had opened.

"Liquid steel, UFO technologies," I commented under my breath as I studied the Llos altar unit in the braziers' uneven light.

"The Impregnable Dome Shield," Ruata corrected me, emerging from the shadows. "The Great Goddess can learn from her mistakes. She'll never allow for another eventuality to submit her to oblivion. Hundreds of years ago a group of warriors of Light forced their way into the Temple through deceit and treachery, conducting the Banishing Rite. None of them lived to see the sun again but as the First Temple had already been destroyed, we couldn't summon the Great Mother back."

Ruata's voice changed. She lowered her head, sinking on one knee in front of me. "Greetings, my lord and my husband."

A shiver ran along my spine, my head foggy, my mind ringing with desire. I gulped, taking in the aroma of wild strawberries, unable to force my eyes away from the velvet of her bare neck.

Mental attack!

You've been exposed to some dangerous frequencies!

Pheromone attack!

We are taking measures to block and purge your organism of them.

A wave of freshness ran over my body, washing out any unnecessary hormones and giving my mind a jolt. "Stop it, Ruata. You don't need magic crutches: you're beautiful in your perfection as you are."

She raised her head, looking at me with surprise. Then she stood up, a promise in her smile, and stepped toward me, smothering me with the aura of her perfume: forest and strawberries and a woman's hot body.

She shook her hands, flicking eight purple sparks from the tips of her fingers. They darted aside, burying themselves in the small heaps of incense that were piled up in golden bowls. Smoke swirled toward the ceiling. That was something I could relate to—hadn't I doubled up as an incense maker? I quickly scanned the stats,

Submission Potion... the Powder of Bliss... Ecstasy Mix... the Brew of Desire...

Ruata's soft hand lay on my cheek, forcing my head away from the bowls and toward her own eyes, dragging me into their purple vortex. Her eyes locked with mine, she rose on tiptoe, her lips reaching for me. The taste of wild strawberries and mint, of absinth, of cannabis...

Repeat mental attack!

You've been exposed to mind-altering substances!

Pheromone attack!

An unidentified alchemy attack!

We are taking measures to completely block and purge your organism of them.

My taste buds shut down. It felt akin to a dentist's anesthetic shot, the layers of smells replaced by a long-forgotten high school memory of a gas mask on my face: rubber and coal dust. My eyesight glitched, blinked and switched to black and white mode. Thank you, Macaria, thank you.

Gently I prized her off me. "Another manipulation attempt, Princess, and we'll part enemies."

"I'm so sorry, my Lord. I only wanted to be desirable for you..." she cast me a confused glance, lowering her head in guilt.

My eyesight blinked again. The picture glitched and switched back to color. The magic of her lavender eyes didn't oppress me any more.

Only now could I finally see her in a true light which instantly made me want to revert back to monochrome. The Princess looked, er, quite seductive. The torch flames behind her back shone through the thin silk, outlining her perfect shape. The dress's left chest pockmarked with hundreds of holes did little to conceal the perfect hemisphere of her breast. I gulped again. Even without using her mental magic, Ruata exuded the very essence of femininity, an unrestrained hurricane of passion. Wait a bit. What was that for a dress style? Covered in hundreds of cuts and spotted with rusty red from neck to its hem? Blood. It was everywhere: on the fine silk, on her hands and the floor, covering the altar and the plain steel dagger that had been thrown nonchalantly onto its black polished stone.

"You... you sacrificed herself to Llos?"

She gave me a tired smile. "It's not about Llos, really. I needed to do something to become equal in strength with the man I liked. He wasn't in a hurry to gain power. And tomorrow... tomorrow the Council of Elders was going to force their own choice of husband onto me."

There was just a hint of reproach in her stare, but it was enough to make me want to apologize. "I'm sorry. I had too many things on my plate. The castle, the clan, that wretched Temple..."

Stop! I shook my head forcing myself to shut up. It looked like even Divine Immunity wasn't able to completely block out her pressure. Still, I'd never been a henpecked doormat and wasn't going to become one any time soon. This kind of behavior just wasn't typical for me. Which meant it had been forced onto me. Another reason to stay away from this femme fatale. I braced myself as if about to take an ice dip, and spoke,

"Ruata. This is about Llos. How could you summon-"

She raised her hand to stop me. A spider the size of a dog crawled out of the shadows and scurried toward her. Ruata lovingly scratched its bristly back, making the creature roll two of its side eyes with delight. Still, it didn't prevent the thing from watching me with the seven remaining eyes, a drop of toxic spittle forming on its jaws.

She gave the spider a good scratch calming it down. "You should never mention the Goddess' name in her own temple. This way you address her directly, attracting her gaze. She is not particularly fond of men. And as for the Temple... Please do not be cross with me, my lord. For centuries have the Drow been guarding these walls. Thousands of our warriors have died defending its sanctuary. Other gods have no place here! This is our altar. But I don't want you to be ridden by anxiety, so I'm going to tell you about a place where you can find an untouched altar of a Dark god. Take it to any temple, then summon a god of your choice.".

I nodded. Her offer made sense. The deal with the Dwarves might just go though, after all. Very well. Time to take a deep breath and move to the main subject.

"Thank you, Ruata. I'll be more than happy to take you up on your kind offer. But there's another thing. I'm sorry, but I really can't marry you. I already have a girlfriend and I'm happy with her."

And she makes me feel like a man and not a doormat, I added mentally before going on, "Consequently, I can't be a Prince, either. And I don't think I could be one even if I tried. Look at me! I'm struggling to control my clan, its castle and the First Temple. It really sounds very tempting what you're saying but I'm afraid I have to say no to both counts."

Large tears welled in her eyes, then spattered on the flagstones. Ruata sank to her knees, plea in her stare. "Prince! Please don't give me to the Elders! If you reject the throne, the Elder's son Ulgul will take it. A dumb, fat, lecherous pig that can't wait to lay his greedy hands on the title and my body! I shudder when I think of him groping me..."

She grabbed at her virtually bare breast and squeezed it tight mimicking Ulgul's greedy hands. I gulped again, perfectly sympathetic to some Elder's son urges, and registered a surprising pang of jealousy.

The Princess raised her tearful eyes to me and pointed at the blood spots, the dagger and her lacerated chest, disrupting my concentration,

"Have I done all this for nothing? I have died two hundred and seventeen times today, hoping that the late Prince's throne would go to one who's worthy of it..."

She broke down, dissolving in tears. I sat next to her and stroked her hair. What was wrong with her today? Never before had she been so tearful—she used to be a true iron lady. Were things really so grim?

"Try to see it my way," I said. "I have a girlfriend. She would never understand this."

"Very well," Ruata snapped. "I agree. We can perform the divorce ritual now in front of Llos while we're still in the Temple. It's possible. We'd have had to go to her anyway to seal our marriage... or our divorce. But Laith, I beg you! Give me one year! Take the Prince's place while I find another worthy suitor. You won't have to do anything. Everything will go as it does now. I'll occupy myself with my clan's needs and you can continue doing your own thing. You will have full access to the treasury and the artifact vault. You will also be able to take command of my cutthroats whom you like so much. I just hope," she forced a sad smile, "that you'll be fair and just and you won't leave the clan without money or warriors. The House of Night will never forget your help. We'll forever remain your friends and allies of your clan. Please. I beg of you..."

Again she buried her tear-strewn face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. I stared around me helplessly. This was a very generous proposition. In essence, she was offering me to bear the Prince's title for a year with full control of their troops and finances. What could you not do, having five hundred elite Drow warriors under your command? Just by sending them on an Inferno raid, you could get hundreds of thousands in gold worth of loot on a daily basis.

I mulled over her offer and couldn't see a single catch. Any way you looked at it, it was all pros and no cons. Wasn't it about time, really, I got lucky without having to worry about being set up? I glanced at the weeping girl and shook my head, making up my mind. "Okay, Ruata. I can take the Prince's throne for a year. I promise to treat the clan's warriors with care and won't abuse my access to the treasury. But," I looked her firmly in the eye, "on the prerequisite that we get a divorce."