Текст книги "The Clan"

Автор книги: D. Rus

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Chapter Four

F rom the chat logs of an unknown bystander.

Current time .

Place: a lay-up about five hundred feet away from the Castle's main gates.

 

"They're going in, Sir. O-three hundred hours, just as we've been told.

"I detect the instance of a High Circle Spell...

"No, Sir, I'm afraid I can't establish the caster's name. The group is protected by a mist screen.

"Roger that, Sir. I'm adding all the established names to List 12.

"I'm observing the intervention of a third force. Presumably, a class A structure. An unknown spell detected. It's a buff, uncategorized.

"List 12 updated. The caster's name established. Code name assigned: Puppet.

"Roger that, Sir. Priority target list updated. Puppet added at #2.

"Roger, Sir. Commencing countdown now. 30 minutes to time D. The group is ready, Sir. We won't let you down."

 

* * *

I downed the mana and life elixirs and sat on the still-hot ground amid the makeshift graveyard. The interface blinked, receiving Lt. Brown's message.

Stay put and take it easy. The reserve clerics are moving up toward you. They'll resuscitate everyone.

I shrugged and typed OK. Why wouldn't I take it easy? There I was watching the slaughter on the castle walls from the front row as an occasional guard's body dropped into the moat. In a way, it was spectacular, very much like a New Year's firework display: deafening flashes and bolts of lightning mixed with the rattle of steel and some heavy-duty cussing. That was a favorite male pastime: to batter the bad guy black and blue and get away with it. Actually, I'd already noticed that about one-third of the Vets were girls. Not in the combat groups, of course, but they had their fair share of fierce valkyries.

I made a mental note about the perma players' gender ratio. This was a potential time bomb. Of course there were always lots of female NPCs—the Drow Princess alone was worth her weight in gold. Still, it was hardly a substitute. The NPCs were just that, NPCs. They hadn't had childhood Disneyland trips, they hadn't read the same books and were clueless about music. Learning to become kindred souls with a human being could prove a daunting task for them.

A couple of healers arrived. Three mid-level warriors came slithering over the vitrified stones behind them, meant to provide cover in case of any eventualities. The senior cleric stopped, estimating the potential work load, then began sending messages over his hospital chat, apparently calling for reinforcements. Fourteen resurrections and all the rebuffs—definitely too much work for the two of them. And now speed was our main advantage. I turned back to the castle. The skirmishing on the walls was dying down, dominated by the cutthroats' dull black armor. The north tower glaive thrower was lazily burning. Opposite, smoke bellowed from the south tower gunslots, apparently induced by some Godawful feat of magic. The front line troops had already passed through the gates, followed by a short HQ column. Judging by the serried rank of Drow warriors amid them, the Princess had to be there, too.

A solemn fanfare resounded behind my back as the Pearly Gates opened. The resurrection spell was a sight and a half. The idyll was ruined by Lt. Brown who swore wholeheartedly as he studied the surrounding desolation and the newly-sprouted graveyard. It was impressive, I had to admit: pockmarked with gravestones, the surrounding field was dug up as if by an artillery barrage.

The arriving cleric reinforcements worked double time. In less than three minutes, all the dead had been resuscitated. The enchanters headed back home while both Wizard groups stayed put, waiting impatiently for a rebuff, having a quick smoke and talking in quiet voices. They discussed the High Spell and cursed the ever-watchful NPCs on the walls with their paranoid Forest Cat masters. Apart from the regular guards on the walls, the Cats had also posted strengthened ballista sections which, together with some extra wizards, must have cost them a fortune.

"I can't guarantee much," the chief quack said. "My buffs are all level 160 but these are personal ones and not raid buffs."

A new battery of elixirs shot their corks in the air as the wizards hurried to refuel. I had a funny feeling that very soon cinnamon flavor would be on its way out, what with the dozens of elixirs one was obliged to down on a raid. Try taking a spoonful of cinnamon sugar every five minutes or so and see how you feel.

Lieutenant Brown, iridescent from the spells he'd cast, shouted over the cacophony of sound effects, "Max! The backup's already beat it. We too need to shift our asses to reinforce the front line. You shouldn't stay here on your own. You'd better shoot off to the HQ to make sure you get maximum protection. Besides, there you'll be in the thick of things. Come on, off you go. I'll keep an eye on you while I still can."

I nodded, obeying his logic and the commandeering note in his voice, and hurried to catch up with the HQ entering the main gate. Five cutthroats at the rear had recognized me and stepped aside, letting me into the perimeter toward the Princess and some Drow mage with a poker face. From a group of backs further on, I recognized Dan, the General and another couple dozen officers and HQ security guys.

Then I saw a few shafts of dark light rising around the Princess. Two at first, followed by two more and then another one. The next moment, the five respawned warriors lowered their heads bowing to her. Obeying her subtle gesture, the five bodyguards surrounded me again. I glanced at the clock. Apparently, the cutthroats' respawn time was ten minutes, their bind points set up in direct proximity with the Princess. I'd heard about this ability of the Drow house rulers before. I made a mental note to keep that in mind, just in case. You never know when something like that might be needed, especially if your life span approaches eternity.

I nodded my gratitude to the Princess, simultaneously typing away a brief message to Taali who had to be at her wits' end by now. Something along the lines of, Doing well, the dome's down, everything going as planned. By then the HQ column had already stopped in the center of the castle square, not far from the portal platform encircled by the thick ranks of the first special service company. They had every reason to be there, especially considering the couple dozen figures stacked up by the castle wall bound hand and foot. In the inner yard, the reserves fussed about resuscitating the dead and distributing the second round of supplies. Judging by their cheerful voices, they were already checking out one of the enemy's warehouses.

The donjon's massive gates lay on the ground nearby, a file of Cat captives trickling out of the dark gateway. Their expressions varied—some dumbfounded, other puzzled, angry or smug. Some of them spat threats, others begged while yet more preserved a grim silence.

Tavor and I noticed each other simultaneously. He struggled in the hands of two burly special-ops guys, his face a mask of hatred. He knew only too well who'd brought the Vets to his lair.

"You're dead, sucker! We got you once, we can get you again! Your family are dead, too! You're a fucking corpse, man!"

Apparently curious about the subject matter, the General motioned the guards to approach. In all honesty, his words had cut me to the quick. I already knew he was one vindictive son of a bitch. I also realized he was too half-baked not to make good his threats. I wouldn't put it past him to use some of his remaining real-life contacts to punish the imaginary culprit of his misfortunes. I had to decide what to do about him.

The Princess stepped forward, studying him. "Give him to me," she turned to the General. "We're tied by blood. He was the one who slaughtered the Drow prisoners. One of them never came back from the halls of the Fallen One.

Frag frowned. "What would you need him for?"

She gave him a blood-curdling smile. "We keep learning from you, the Immortal ones. Now it's our time to adopt a new skill. For this we need some unperishable meat."

The General scowled, his squint promising nothing good. "Do you know why we're here razing this cat's house?" He waited for her regal nod and went on, "I'd hate to see all the immortal clans unite against the House of Night. Our self-preservation instincts are extremely strong. What you're suggesting might alienate you to thousands of this world's dwellers."

She shrugged the idea off at first, then nodded her surrender. "As you say, General. All I wanted was to pay the blood debt and also help this young man," she pointed at me, her voice filling with steel. "Can you protect him? Or are you only capable of weird feats to protect your enemies against your allies? Lenience is never a good thing, General."

He chuckled, refusing to rise to the challenge. "We're not lenient. We're supple. Whereas an overwrought blade breaks, a supple one will only bend, ready to rebound and strike again."

She was about to object when a pop from three stationary portals assaulted our ears. Three air-thin arches rose on the granite platform, disgorging a wave of armor and clattering steel that descended on our special-ops men. The attackers weren't many, twenty at most, but their levels and their gear left nothing to be desired. Our guys would have made a quick job of them, but more kept coming out of the iridescent portals: various support classes followed by a close-knit caster group. Things were getting heavy. Our two forces were roughly the same strength. We were about fifty, plus the cutthroats. The attackers were fewer but their levels were slightly higher.

Dan was already reporting the results of a preliminary analysis. "Mercs. I can see some Steel Helmets, Bullhorns and Weasels. All top pros, the choicest in lowlife. They'll fight anyone at all provided the money is right. Someone has invested heavily in them. At least a hundred fifty gold."

The General burst into a string of commands. "Code B! I need two reserve platoons. Cutthroats: one third stays on the walls, the others go down and take care of the casters. Dan, I need the merc groups of Rabid Dog and Robinson Crusoe. Forward them their twenty-four hour contracts now!"

At that moment, Tavor—still face down on the ground and in the hands of his guards—disappeared in a teleport's popping void. WTF? As one of his guards glanced this way and that, three more prisoners—those piled up by the wall—disappeared one by one, followed by two of the attacking casters. This wasn't an attack! They were stealing our prisoners!

"General! They're pulling Cats out! Some are already gone! The attack is a decoy!"

Dan had already found his bearings. "The mercs are sending them invitations to join their group, then pull them out through the portal. Take all the prisoners down to the dungeon! Don't let them be selected as targets! Do it!"

Doing it proved a bit tricky, though, as prisoners kept disappearing physically right out of our hands. Very soon there was no one left to salvage.

An unknown guy next to me—some HQ caster lieutenant—exploded in a cascade of blood. An unstealthed enemy group of five rogues showered us with killing combos: about fifty hits in under two seconds. The unlucky Lieut's body was still melting in the air when the rogues stealthed back and pulled out. The guards lunged at them, furious. They did manage to select one of them and break his stealth, their dozen blades leveling up the score of the fallen.

Surprisingly, it was Dan who apprehended the second rogue. Intercepting the mercs' supposed trajectory, he lunged to one side to where a blurred shadow stole past, his two swords shimmering dangerously as he unstealthed the enemy. The rest was easy. Thieves aren't meant for full combat. One to two was already a good score, considering that the unlucky Lieut was already resurrected and cussing like the trooper he was. Our only losses were the wizard's raid buffs and a momentary dip in battle control.

But once I surveyed the whole picture I saw that not everyone was as lucky as we'd been. Here and there, enemy rogues kept coming up in groups of five, razing our reserves and whoever dared to get close to them.

The cutthroats saved the day. Themselves high-level rogues, they came down the walls, highlighting the enemies and unstealthing together with them in a splatter of crimson. It reminded me of a dogfight: opponents rolling on the ground amid screams and fur flying, the black granite of tombstones replacing their dead bodies. A few dozen pets added a surreal touch to the scene, from simple skeletons and elementals to monstrous creatures of hell and higher planes. Many of the players chose to fight in their secondary shapes: druids preferring the wolf form that positively affected speed and regeneration and also added night vision. Shamans chose to transform into bears for their added strength and hits bonuses. A troll towered in the donjon gateway, blocking it—the one I'd met before who'd complained he had to smoke several cigarettes at a time.

The game developers had spared no cost on visual effects, and now their work was paying off. The fight looked like an action blockbuster meeting a horror movie. Hollywood, eat your heart out. Control spells added groups of temporarily blinded, mute or paralyzed players. Poisons and acids removed sheets of skin, a whole bunch of fire spells filling the air with the sickly sweet smell of roast and the stomach-churning sight of charred flesh. The sword fighters gave as good as they got, their paralyzing combos leaving behind broken limbs gradually regenerating back to health. Blood combos were equally spectacular.

It's not easy to touch the hearts of our contemporaries. What was X-rated twenty years ago—what forty years ago had been only possible in some sleazy underground clubs—today is daytime TV staple. It gets harder to scare anyone with special effects or a documentary footage. It gets harder to get anyone to sympathize.

When there were barely half the mercs left, they attempted one last charge, apparently intending to get deeper and try to pull out whoever they still could. Their steel wedge headed toward the donjon entrance, promptly met by twenty of our reserves. Finally, a teleport popped open, letting out our merc reinforcements Frag had organized earlier. That gave the final edge to the skirmish. Having said that, the enemy forces disappeared with smiles on their lips. They had completed their mission, looking at what had to be quite substantial bonuses.

We had pissed away our prisoners, that was a fact. We'd underestimated the enemy something rotten. The Vets had lost a couple of points in my eyes. It was all right the op being a slapdash job done on a shoestring and in any case, if you wanted anything done, you'd better do it yourself. Anyone could criticize anything after the fact, every kitchen having its own President and Chief of Staff. But we'd made some kindergarten mistakes. We lacked some serious sword and sorcery experience, indispensable on rare and large-scale missions like taking over a castle.

The castle square had turned into a boneyard, hundreds of graves speckling the scorched, uprooted fragmented stone. Gradually, the castle would restore and the graves disappear, leaving only a nasty aftertaste behind.

The clerics had received their orders to seek out allied graves and were already busy resurrecting the dead fighters. Little by little, discipline had replaced chaos. Dan slapped my shoulder as he ran past, then sent me an invitation with observer status through the HQ communications channel. The picture was getting clearer. Frag sent his mercs to reinforce those storming the control room, followed by a trickle of constantly reanimated soldiers.

They had already dispensed with the NPC guards. The control room was defended by about thirty Cats who, in their infinite wisdom, had made their bind points right there in the room and were now taking turns dying and respawning to charge again. As they were gradually being forced deeper into the room, some of them failed to get to their graves in time to pick up their gear. They were short on mana, the elixirs' three-minute cooldown stalling all the fun.

Five minutes later, it was all over. Our guys were busy taking prisoners and locking them up in one of the towers. The Vets had taken the control room. The op went into its final countdown. Twelve more minutes, and the castle would be ours. How's that for loot! I could only hope it wouldn't get stuck in our respective throats.

I followed the HQ group into the cellar of the donjon next to the arena, cutting down a couple more holed-up Cats on our way and taking another one alive. Just a few more steps down, then the steel door screeched open.

The darkness was tinted crimson from the crystal's glow, the artifact's aura busy devouring mana. I stood, overtaken by the horror of everything I'd experienced there. I broke into a cold sweat, my knees slackening. There, I had approached the edge of something truly ugly. I gulped, bringing my body under control.

The prisoners were all gone, but the Cats had barely started removing the evidence. Three quarters of the cellar were partitioned into cages containing heavy chains and tools of torture. Initially meant to intimidate the prisoners, now they were going to testify against the Cats themselves. No way they could deny the fact that they had been keeping people against their will. If only we could shake more additional info out of the illegal prison owners' themselves! We needed to know who covered their backs—who bought slaves, that sort of thing.

We walked over to the artifact flashing crimson across our faces. Our mana began leisurely shrinking.

"Fat bastard," one of the officers whispered.

I peered at its stats.

2,000,000 mana. Siphons mana to restore health.

So. Not bad at all.

Dan drew his two swords and attacked the artifact with a killing combo. Chunks of crystal went flying as if the blades were hacking at a block of ice. Dan paused for us to check the crystal's stats.

1,999,118... tick... 1,999,441... tick... 1,999,761... tick... 2,000,000..

Yeah. Killing it was going to be a job and a half.

Dan shook his head. "It would take a whole squad a good hour to take it out—call it two. At least all it does is suck mana and doesn't strike back."

The sound of a gong echoed around the dungeon. The vets cheered, hugging each other. The sacked castle was now officially their property. I just hoped it wouldn't go to their heads. Quite a few locals wouldn't be happy about such expansion. First the cigarette business with its potential financial windfall and now this hefty chunk of real estate.

Outside, the stationary portal popped again. Everyone pricked up their ears hoping we didn't have to handle any more 'visitors'. The clatter of steel followed the howling of dozens of spells. The avalanche of chat messages confirmed our worst suspicions.

"Report! Report now! WTF's going on?" a staff officer yelled over the command channel.

Upstairs, fur was flying. The cellar ceiling shook with the rattle of swords. The torches blinked, rivulets of dust crumbling down our necks. Commanders' reports became more coherent, giving us some idea of what was happening. It looked like a crushing defeat.

There're about fifty of them! I can't give you a more exact number, they keep stealthing!

WTF? What class was that? I've never seen anything like it! Camo, stealth, two swords, fast heals and Ice School spells? Shit, they're all 200-plus! Time to leg it, Sir!

Use groups! Groups of five men for eac h target! Fucking Camo bastards!

Gray, we're finished. You can write off Platoon One completely.

I got one! I got him! Ah shit! I'll need help-

They've only got chainmail! Use stabbing weapons, they work best! Just go for them!

Frag froze, his eyes scanning the chats, then reeled off a string of commands. "Control! Block all portals into the castle premises! Dan, Code Eight! Bring in all the mercs you have! Standby status: zero. We need at least a hundred, preferably a hundred-fifty." He turned to one of the officers, "I need a casualty update."

He sat in a trancelike state as he monitored dozens of status reports and pieced them into a view of the battle. "First line, thirty-one. Second, twenty-five. Six mercs. Nine cutthroats."

"The enemy?"

"Five confirmed... no, six."

"Shit!" the General spat out. "Control room, I want you to barricade inside and hold on. Some of our men will be retreating to you from the square, they won't be long. Prepare to demolish the castle!"

My inner greedy pig startled with indignation. Oh, yes. You can take a castle, you can also demolish one—twice as fast, too, even though you won't get even twenty percent of what you could have had. Plus, you lose all the castle supplies. The op will only cost you money, the heap of almost-earned gold turning into a humble fistful.

Then three portals popped at once. We were too late.

"That's the Cats' mercs! They've rebuffed, changed into new gear and started it all over again! Same as fifteen minutes ago!"

Frag gritted his teeth. Things didn't look good.

"Dan, send an S.O.S. to the Alliance channel. We need all the help they can send."

Without taking his eyes off the combat chat, Dan reported, "Sir, this isn't them. The Camos are some third party. They fight everyone indiscriminately. Cats are sustaining their first losses."

"Belay S.O.S. to the Alliance! Order to all raid members: leave the Camos and the Cats alone! Let them smoke each other! Retreat to the control room or to the cellar and wait for reinforcements!"

"Sir, there are no reinforcements!"

Frag swung round to face Dan. "What did you say?"

"All the zero-status groups are unavailable. Someone's hired them at the last moment for some stupid, meaningless job in the Wastelands! Whoever did that won't get even a quarter of their money back from it."

Frag gave him a tired nod. "They just used their money to strip us of reinforcements. Anybody else we could use?"

"About a thousand mercs are still in town. A hundred of them are already engaged here, on both sides. The same number are now away in the Wastelands on some anonymous employer's orders. Others are all status one or above, they're either offline or hired out. We could pull together about sixty, I suppose, but we'll need at least half an hour. Same shit with the Alliance, talking it through will take time."

"Do both! Now!"

"Sir," the monitoring officer reported, "two thirds of the mercs are already gone, the rest are using portals now. Our men are retreating too, pulling back through key positions according to your orders. The enemy has eleven dead, forty still functional, controlling the square. Ah! They're not going for the donjon! Sir, they're trying to get here!"

My heart dropped. The crystal. "Dan! They want the artifact! That's why they're back!"

Dan and the General exchanged glances. "Looks like it," Dan nodded.

Frag lowered his eyelids, searching for the best solution. "Max? You think you can destroy the artifact? Like you did with the dome earlier today?"

I shook my head apologetically. "I can't. The spell has a twenty-four hour cooldown."

The Princess's voice distracted me, melodious and calm against the barking of orders and panicking chats. "There are ways around it," she reached into her bag, producing a purple-glowing vial.

"Reset Potion," Dan commented in a frozen voice. "Rare drop from the Phantom Dragons. Recipe unknown. Ten to twelve grand a vial if you can get it at all."

"If the General foots the bill," she said, handing me the vial.

Frag nodded. I peered at the stats.

Reset Potion. Resets all spell and skill cooldown times. Can be used once every 24 hrs.

 

Awesome. I accepted the vial, glancing around the cellar. About sixty people had already taken cover inside. The soldiers were promptly barricading the only remaining passage. The HQ staff hovered at the back while reserve supporters faltered in the middle. I did a quick bit of math, moving my lips and counting fingers. Two million hits plus regen. That was two to the power of twenty... or twenty-one, even. A hundred and five seconds of the spell... just over ten thousand mana...

"Dan?" I said. "I'll need seven or eight thousand mana's worth of batteries. Think you can find them?"

He frowned, turning his head as he looked over the crowd calling out the names of whichever Necros and enchanters he could see. "Seven. Do what it takes—drink it, whatever. Just do it. They're about to slaughter us all. Try to make it worth our while."

Then the Princess spoke again. "Dan? How much do you pay your mercs?"

He looked her over. "On average, ten gold a day per level." And, second-guessing what she was about to say, "Less for wholesale. NPCs are paid half."

The Princess shrugged off his attempts to downprice her offer. "General?" she turned to Frag. "I could offer you another fifty cutthroats and a hundred House of Night guards. Only two hundred grand with urgency and delivery charges, provided you give me the access codes," she pointed at a Drow mage who nodded his ability to open a portal directly into the cellar.

Frag cringed. He couldn't refuse the offer. "I accept, Princess."

She gave him a knowing smile. She knew he would. "Here's your contract."

I didn't follow the rest of it. My batteries and myself took a few swigs of our elixirs and began deciding on the mana transfer order. Finally, I opened the Reset Potion. A mere taste made me purr with delight. Orange custard cream... good...

Someone gave me a push on my shoulder. "Quit dreaming! Can't you hear our guys are already fighting?"

I could indeed hear the rattle of steel by the cellar's steps and the Vets' hearty cussing. The attackers in their camo armor fought in silence.

Select target: Crystal. High Spell: Activate.

 

The floor bulged. I was already getting used to it. The dark funnel disappeared through the ceiling. Its black dome must be looming now over the castle, unfolding its fury, stripping our enemy of their defenses, all the secret observers pissing their pants as they typed away at their reports to whoever had sent them to rat on us.

Thirty seconds. In the pop of a portal, the shuffling of dozens of feet and the clanging of drawn swords added to the sounds of battle as the Drow poured through the opened gate.

Sixty seconds. The nondescript mass of secondary players by the entrance who'd been trying to stay away from the scene of carnage had now begun to dwindle. The pressure of the Camos had dropped noticeably.

Bang! The crystal shuddered and burst in a crimson flash, crumbling all over the cellar floor in an ankle-deep heap of dust.

Spell alert! Your control of the Astral Mana Dispersal spell has soared!

The Astral Mana Dispersal has been transformed into Astral Mana Absorption! The caster receives 1% of all energy he releases into Astral.

I froze. What was that supposed to mean? Around tick 15 or so the spell became self-sustaining? This was something nobody needed to know. Let them think I was just a useless son of a bitch constantly in need of the cavalry to save his sorry backside.

The Vets seemed to have gotten the hang of it. They'd forced the Camos back onto the steps and went on fighting. The spot wasn't good as it didn't allow them to use their numerical advantage. By the same token, the enemy couldn't stealth any more and had to accept open combat.

The Vets were losing one man to their every three, but now they could afford it. The numbers of our attackers continued to drop. A powerful battle cry from outside announced the arrival of the control-room group. This was agony. The Vets were paying back for their moment of weakness and fear as well as for their financial losses.

The Princess cast a sly little glance my way. I frowned, trying to work out the catch. She pursed her lips, apparently annoyed with my dull-wittedness, then glanced down, her eyes pointing to the dust at my feet. I peered at it. Amid the grey fragments, several gems sparkled like drops of blood. Satisfied that I'd gotten her hint, she whispered something to her bodyguards. They lined up, forming a wall that protected me from any prying stares.

I bent down, pretending I was sweeping the dust off my boots, and picked up four precious little stones in the process.

Magic Absorption Crystal.

Item class: epic

The main ingredient for the top-level Magic Negator

 

Ruata stepped closer and poked my shoulder, inconspicuously showing me two delicate fingers, then opened her hand. Freakin' businesswoman. I parted with half the loot and dropped the remaining stones into my bag. Yes, I'd done it. I just didn't want four more Negators going on the loose in the world. Safer in my bag.

The rattle of blades on the steps had died down, replaced by excited shouting and a struggle. A knot of cussing bodies rolled into the cellar and fell apart, revealing a battered Camo, his hands twisted behind his back. At least we'd got one.

Rubbing his hands, Dan glanced at Frag who nodded. Dan walked over to the prisoner and crouched trying to look him in the face. The man wore a mask that only revealed his thin pressed lips. He raised his head, studying everyone, before giving us all a smile. A very nasty smile.

He jerked his head down, hitting the fragile artifact gem on his neck with his chin, and shouted something I didn't quite get. Then he smiled again. The artifact began glowing, brighter and brighter, droning as it changed color across the entire spectrum.

"Fire in the hole!" Dan yelled, jumping aside and taking cover behind some debris.

Some of the men dropped to the ground, covering their heads and trying to flatten themselves against the floor. The fighters holding the prisoner just cringed, turning their heads away from a blow that couldn't be blocked.

A flash of lightning crackled like a powerful transformer targeting the prisoner's body. A star of five voltaic arcs connected his forehead and limbs, imprinting itself into my retina. With a bang, a granite tombstone collapsed onto the floor.