The Clan (20 page)

I scowled. "General," indignation was welling inside me, "I have come here as a clan leader, First Priest and your friend. But not as your subordinate."

"First Priest, I knew it..." Dan muttered, ignoring my escapade.

Me and my big mouth. These sharks had me just where they wanted. I was fed up with their rotten tricks. "Please. I know very well you have guys like myself for breakfast every morning. But I'm afraid, I'm the only First Priest you have, at least for quite a while. I may be a bit simple but there's no need to rub it in. Let's just work with what we have."

Dan grew serious. He raised his hands in a peace-making gesture. "Stop grumbling, Max. We're all friends here. We're only laughing because we want to make you see it's time to tie your simplicity up in a few knots. You're flying way too high these days, and still you're trying to remain Laith the simple guy playing a new and funny game. They'll scoff you up before you can say
Ding!
"

Poor Fallen One. How I understood him right now. This wasn't life: this was some stupid
downward escalator, its steps sweeping you right down into a sea of lava, its top riding high in the thunder clouds, and you keep running up the stairs simply to avoid being swept into the fire.

I took a deep mental breath and looked Dan in the eye. "I've heard you. I really appreciate your advice, thank you. But my life has long ceased being a leisurely walk in the park. It has since taken me up and down all sorts of funny little trails. Just give me some time. I might end up such a smartass bastard you'll regret ever saying this to me. You'd better knock on wood it doesn't happen soon."

Dan chuckled and tapped a bony knuckle on the wooden tabletop.

"So, First Priest," Frag cut us short, "what can we do for you and what can you offer us in return?"

Taking the bull by the horns, very well. I concentrated, lining up the items I was going to discuss with them. "The First Temple will need protection. Its restoration will also demand a considerable injection of funds. Although the official version of the Temple's devastation is not exactly correct, its outcome is the same: the place is in ruins. I don't think you're going to question the importance of having the Temple properly defended. The advantages of Macaria's gifts are too obvious."

Dan's eyes had glazed over the moment I'd mentioned financial problems. Now he sat up, offended, "Not everything is as rosy, I'm afraid. Our clan's siding with the Fallen One might bring us some serious pain in the butt."

"So what?" I said. "We'll still have our XP bonuses plus the Goddess' skills..."

Dan and Frag exchanged glances. "How many deities are there in the Pantheon of Light?" Dan asked softly. "Your guess?"

I frowned. "Dunno. I was sort of too busy to find out. My life has been a bit hectic in the last few weeks. I thought you knew that."

Dan shook his head, refusing to accept my excuses. "Six
—six gods, each with his or her own specialization. It's true that they don't have the High God or the First Temple: they've got some democracy there, or anarchy, whatever. But they're quite generous with their skills, not to mention their fourteen temples and their respective XP bonuses to all the worshippers of Light."

I slumped in my chair. How could I ever have missed it? True, I'd given their temples a wide berth, unwilling to worship one particular god: my chosen class cast plenty of shadow as it was. But how come no one had told me that? I
desperately needed an analytics department of my own.

"So I hope you don't think," Dan went on, "that all the players will now march to join the Fallen One's ranks? True, the smarter among us
—those who are either capable of independent thinking, have the necessary information or possess good self-preservation skills—will ignore the Light Ones' toys and will be more than happy to dedicate themselves to Macaria. Over time, we might look at a figure of several tens of thousands. Add to that those who'll follow him out of conviction or racial solidarity—there're bound to be a few. But those of the players who choose their religion by dumbly comparing the available bonuses will all remain on the other side of the barricades. And what do you suggest we do when, after a few tentative attempts, the Admins call for an event and a hundred thousand-strong crowd will arrive at the First Temple's walls? Who's going to face them—you and I and ten thousand die-hard permas? Because that'll be all the force we'll have."

He kept speaking, probably trying to bring me back down to earth by making me see the sheer vastness of the task at hand. And I
—yes, I guess you could say I
was
a different person already because the problem's scope didn't scare me any more. To each of his arguments, my mind came up with a possible solution and a potential counter measure. Too many temples of Light?—we could always thin them out. Not enough manpower to defend ours?—Well, humans weren't the only AlterWorld's inhabitants. Gnolls and Hell Hounds were prime examples of the opposite. Our Pantheon too modest, the XP bonus too small?—It only meant we had to summon more gods and build new temples.

Had I bitten off more than I could chew? But that was the only way to do it. You had to have ambitious goals. Saving enough for a new couch would hardly motivate one to move his backside. But if his objective were to buy a Porsche Cayenne in three years' time, that might motivate him to move it and be proactive, seek so he could find.

I nodded to Dan, "I appreciate the sheer scope of the problem. But we'll make it. What solution do you suggest, personally? I'm not going to charge my allies seven million; I'm not even going to accept the two the General has already offered. I need friends and allies more than I do trade partners. I intend to make one of the Vets a priest so he can dedicate the entire clan to Macaria. I also invite you to sign up for my alliance, The Guards of the First Temple, in order to join our defense forces. I don't seek a commanding post. There are some people here who deserve it more than I do."

Again they exchanged glances. Oh yes, I was full of surprises: first my new confidence that seemed to defy the complexity of the situation, then my rejection of a very lump sum, and now the news of the alliance I'd created. They froze, apparently discussing their decision through some closed private channel.

I had told them the truth. I needed allies more than anything. Money, too, but judging by the auctions' trends, I had staked a gold mine with plenty of potential to pay off my castle mortgage. And one more thing. By refusing their money, I hoped to reset my clan obligations to zero. Because if one day they had asked me for a service in return, I'd have had to drop everything and comply. This way, I was debt-free with them.

Clink
, a money transfer dropped into my inbox.

You've received a money transfer: 100,000 gold.

Sender: The official Veterans clan account

I raised a quizzical eye to Frag.

"We appreciate your proposal," he said. "We're more than happy to accept it. We also give our preliminary approval to joining your alliance, but this will need more discussion and working through all the agreement details. As a gesture of allied good will, we return to you the sum you paid us for helping to solve Taali's little problem. We'll pay our men from our own resources. Moreover, we'll monitor her problem closely: I can already tell you that we're going to replace her gun. The civilian Tiger is good enough but a Vintorez will suit her purpose better. I'll also make sure some of my men will cover her at the most difficult stage: a retreat."

At that point I couldn't keep my emotions in check any longer. Taali's problem was something I couldn't help her with which worried me quite a lot. These old dogs knew my weak spot, cleverly manipulating my nicest points. But I still had something up my sleeve to rub into their poker faces.

"I can't thank you enough for this," I said. "But as you've mentioned the guns, I think I've got something for you."

I reached into my bag, pulled out the steel invaders' heavy shooter and slammed it on the table. Nothing was going to happen to it. Mithril could take much more than that. One-nil, guys. I would claw through the Valley of Fear for another technogenic artifact just to see their expression again.

The General jumped from his seat and grabbed the gun. He studied it in disbelief. He unlatched the clip, pulled back and cocked the hammer a couple of times, then ran his sensitive fingers along the embossed frame. Still unbelieving, he exchanged glances with Dan and pressed the gun to his chest like a father who'd found his long-lost son. Was it my imagination or his eyes glistened moistly?

"Where-" his voice gave. He cleared his throat. "Where did you get
this
?"

"Just an echo of war," I answered in my best indifferent voice, enjoying the pun.

"Fuck the echo of war!" Dan exploded.

Frag gestured him to shut up.
"Wait. Max, I hope you understand what it is you have here. Firearms can radically change the balance of power in the game."

"Actually," I said, cutting their greed down, "the game's definition of a gun is a lump of mithril ore ready for recasting. Secondly, ammo is a bit of a problem, especially as I doubt that gunpowder or whatever it uses to generate the gases has retained its properties after eight hundred years. And thirdly and mainly, where do you see this imbalance? Are you sure that bullets can be a stronger argument than a regular level 1 self-guided firebolt? I don't even mention the Meteor Shower Spell or Armageddon which is easily comparable with a volley from a multiple rocket launcher."

Dan shook his head. "I don't intend to start a flame war on whether firearms are cooler than magic. Wait till you get a fifty-gram slug up your ass from a sniper about a mile away. Or when your castle takes a direct hit from the aforementioned rocket launcher—then you can compare them to level-1 firebolts all you like. Magic and firearms are two unique tools at opposite ends of the same branch of evolution. If someone manages to merge them, the Universe will shudder. Then everyone who doubted our peaceful intentions will drown in the resulting bloodbath."

That got me thinking. He could be right. He had to be. I definitely wasn't going to look into all of the consequences of, say, all of our players going back to the real world while preserving their characters' abilities. What had Frag called it, 'Israel and the end times'? It could well be. Actually, the former risked being the first to disappear from the world map. No amount of security walls or breakthrough technologies could save you from a stealthed nighttime 'well-wisher' smothering the sleeping streets and houses with clouds of Choky Death. I shuddered. God forbid.

"Imagine that?" Dan asked, watching the sequence of emotions run across my face.

"Yeah. A different scenario, actually, but it doesn't change the facts."

"So it looks as if you got it. How much of this stuff do you have?" he nodded at the gun in Frag's hands. The General had already ejected the contents of the magazine and lined it all up on the table in front of himself. "Have you unearthed the Ancient Ones' storeroom or just broken into some gaming millionaire's armory packed with made-to-order artifacts?"

So! I paused, trying to take in his random suggestions. This guy had some sick fantasies.

"Apparently not," a faked disappointment in his voice, Dan kept watching my face. "I will never believe that you've given us the only gun you had."

I'd have given everything for a shot of botox to paralyze my facial muscles. His soul-searching stare was getting to me. I wasn't a TV, after all.

I shook my head. "You don't need to believe it if you don't want to. This shooter is a real echo of war. With compliments from those technogenic dudes who tore the Temple apart eight hundred years ago. Oh, I got this thing, too."

I rummaged through my logs for the two screenshots of the dead trolls with a tank barrel as a club and forwarded them to the two.

"Holy shit," Dan whispered. "That's impressive. That's them just standing there? You think you could sell them? These are proper warriors, you understand, and they have this... firearm. This way the soldiers will have something to worship."

I shook my head. "They can worship Macaria if they want. Sorry but I have my own ideas about them. You can take the screenshot and have a painting of it made in the City of Light. If it inspires you that much."

Dan nodded, deadly serious. "I will. I need a copy of this for myself."

"Two!" the General broke his silence.

This was how it happened that the two unknown heroes had shed the dust of time, their act of desperate bravery acquiring a new lease of life before my very eyes. In another five hundred years, some Drow boy scouts would stand, open-mouthed, before the painting in some local art museum as the Troll guide would shed an involuntary tear, narrating the ancient legend.

Chapter Fifteen

A
s my associates recovered from their art appreciation experience, I rose and, searching their eyes for their permission, poured out a generous cup of coffee for myself. It was almost two in the morning; the accumulated exhaustion was weighing my brain down, I was sleepy as well as hungry. I looked over the conference table: nothing edible, only piles of paperwork. With a sigh, I slumped back into my chair. Dan who'd never lost control of any situation, read me with ease and snapped a couple of commands into the castle's control console. He really should play poker: he'd make millions. Having said that, he wasn't that poor: take the recent scheme with the two brokers at the tournament when a good hundred thousand US greenbacks wriggled their way into his pocket. I already had a funny feeling he'd creamed off more from the cigarette boom than even I had. Well, I didn't mind. Having good role models was never a bad thing. Being the smartest guy among idiots may be flattering but it didn't get you very far. Becoming part of a good team so you could profit from the old dogs' experience, now that was well and truly useful.

Soon, the table was laid with several platefuls of cold cuts and starters. After five minutes of laborious chewing, life was looking up even though now I was even sleepier. Both Dan and the General welcomed the pause as they got busy making changes to the clan's prospective roadmap in view of the intelligence received. I even forgot about the rabbit pie I was holding as I watched their master class in strategic thinking and solving mammoth tasks. How do you eat a mammoth? Easy: you keep nibbling until there's nothing left of it but bare bones. Same here: the seemingly unmanageable task could be broken down into smaller segments that could be delegated to actual workers or relevant administrators.

Finally, the General raised his head to me. "Are there any requirements for the position of priest? Their level, their relationships with other factions? Do you have someone in mind?"

I checked the list of priest abilities. Formally, there were no restrictions. Macaria hadn't made any particular demands, either
—having said that, she could have been too preoccupied. That wasn't my problem, anyway. But as for the candidates, my first thought was Dan, he was made for the job with one exception: he was completely unreadable and uncontrollable.
That
could be a problem because the priests were supposed to be my helpers—subordinates, even. I just couldn't imagine him in that role. But I hadn't yet met many Vets—none at all, in fact, apart from Eric. Eric... well, why not?

I looked up at the General and shook my head. "Currently, no restrictions. As for candidates, I believe Eric to be suited best to the post. I'd like you to keep in mind that if a priest is proven to be unsuited to the job, he can be defrocked or even excommunicated. This rule applies to everyone," I said as gently as I could hoping they didn't interpret my words as a threat.

They exchanged smiles. Those bastards just refused to take me seriously. I had my work cut out for me, authority wise.

"We could in fact agree to your proposal," Dan said, adamant he'd milk the idea for everything it was worth. "As a return favor, we'd like to help you carry your pot of mithril from the other end of the rainbow. For a few pennies, of course."

Yeah, right. Looked like they'd outsmarted themselves this time. Had they not been flexing their thinking muscles in front of me, I might have said yes. But now I could smell rats everywhere I turned. In any case, how were you supposed to give someone access to your own bank vault without supervision? No metal detector would find the gold stuck to their sweaty paws: the game's mechanics allowed you to move a tank into your bag with a single silent command. Okay, maybe not a tank—I hadn't yet met anyone with a thirty-ton weight carrying capacity here. Then again, you shouldn't forget about those artifact bags which could diminish or even nullify the item's weight. But pilfering something like a mithril tank barrel from a petrified troll's hands, I wouldn't put it past them. Soldiers! They can't resist temptation. There isn't even a word for stealing in the army. Instead, they say "appropriated". No, guys, sorry, but the gun is mine and you're not getting it.

"I have an offer, too," I said. "For a few pennies
—say, a million gold—I'll sell you the coordinates of an alternative rainbow with a field of gold at the end. Mithril I can't promise but what I can guarantee is about twenty hectares of the best Gigantic Fly Trap."

Dan sat up. He swung his head round checking a place for unwanted ears, then mumbled, trying hard to look disappointed, "One million
—don't you know any other figures for a change? How about a hundred grand? Any piece of intelligence is worth that!"

I grinned, shaking my head. "Sorry, chief, that's non-negotiable. You'll reap ten times more from that field. A couple of weeks working the land, and you'll have your million. I would have done it myself but I don't have any spare hands to guard and harvest it. Besides, I'm too busy as it is. It will also allow you to level up your farmers a bit. The area is unexplored with plenty of untamed game for them to tackle. By the same token, their presence will protect them from some overeager PKs."

Dan glanced at the General who nodded. He then heaved a sigh, his character begging for more haggling, but obeyed the unspoken order, accepting my conditions. "Very well. You have our preliminary consent. I'll forward you our standard contract for the acquisition of information regarding class A objects. You need to fill it in attaching all the screenshots and coordinates of the field, then seal it with your digital signature. We'll send our men to make sure the place answers your description. If it does, the money will be on your bank account the next morning. Please don't think we don't trust you. We just want to make sure you're not mistaken. It can be a different type of Fly-Trap or some visual illusion... ever heard of mirages?"

"Very well," I said. "When's Eric coming?"

Dan checked his internal interface, "He's on his way."

The General raised his stare at me as he rolled a dozen purple cartridges in his wide hand. "One more thing, Max. I really hope that if you happen to find more of the same, your findings won't spread uncontrollably over the entire cluster. You must understand the dangers firearms bring into our world. But personally, we would greatly appreciate having more samples... for research purposes."

Now what was that for logic? What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own? I decided against making an issue of it, giving him a noncommittal nod. He was welcome to interpret it in any way he wanted. By then, my inner greedy pig had smeared his venomous drool all over my heart, ogling the gun I'd just parted with. I shouldn't gift anyone another one of those in the near future if I didn't want to finish Mr. Piggy off. And what would I be worth without my resident treasurer? I'd splurge all my riches before I knew it.

Hurried steps resounded down the corridor. The door swung open, letting Eric in. He sprang to attention in front of Frag.

The General nodded. "As you were."

Eric slumped in the chair. Then he saw me, grinned and poked my shoulder with his giant fist. "That's what it is! I couldn't understand why they'd want to haul me over the coals. Sorry, Comrade General!" he glanced over the table groaning with various leftovers and twitched his nose, doglike. "May I?"

Not waiting for an answer, he scooped a few cookies.

"I thought the guards had eaten half an hour ago?" Dan asked.

"Ah!" Eric waved his objection away. "That was then!"

"Very well. If you can listen while you eat, you'd better do so. Command has confidence in you," Dan raised a meaningful finger. Eric frowned, surprised. His type wasn't used to command's confidence.

"You're about to fill a unique post. You'll be the clan's priest. Quit looking at me like that. You have Max to thank for that. But remember that the posting isn't interminable. One slip-up, and I swear on my immortality I'll make you swallow dust twelve hours a day as a second ammo carrier in an NPC gun crew of the defense ballista of the seventh tower of South Castle. I'm not joking. What with your level and your track record, you're long overdue for a promotion. If you really can't overcome the perma mode euphoria and if your healthy body and your immortality mean so much to you, you'd do better joining the Pratz. They love goofs like yourself. Is that clear?"

Watching Eric was breaking my heart. His drawn face paled, his doglike expression miserable and begging forgiveness. He jumped up,
pressing his hands to his chest.

"Sir! I'm sorry, I mean it! It's like the devil's playing with it all the time. I feel like a teenager on his first night of boozing, I can't even walk, I can only hop and run! It gets better, though. I can control it. I still clown around, but it's more out of habit now. I really appreciate your confidence in me, Sir!"
he jumped to attention and reported, saluting, "I won't let you down, I promise!"

Dan fixed him with his stare, then rose, adjusting his shirt like one wou
ld uniform, and crisply saluted. "Go to it, Lieutenant!"

"'Yes, Sir! Permission to leave, Sir!"

"As you were," Dan nodded, then turned to me. "Your turn. You'd better dedicate your protégé before he loses patience and races off not even knowing why or where to."

Impressed by the change in my best friend's behavior, I looked up the necessary skill on the priest's abilities list, selected Macaria as patron god and pressed the virtual button.

Millions of little bells filled the room with their gentle chimes. A cloud of glittering sparks swirled under the ceiling like a snowstorm, creating an opening into some other plane that revealed Macaria's happy and (I think) tipsy face. She peeked out, studying Eric, then gave him an encouraging smile, nodding. The opening collapsed, sending the colored snowflakes flying all over us. As Eric stood there open-mouthed, my internal interface reported a growing number of priests. Now we were already eleven out of the fifty. I'd love to know where the other three Dark temples were. I had big plans regarding them. We had to expand the Pantheon as soon as possible. The more people I could enlist, the fewer besiegers we'd find one day under the Castle walls.

Eric heaved a sigh. "What a woman!" he clearly couldn't forget the celestial apparition.

I just hoped that this was a temporary adolescent crush and not the ritual's side effect. I still felt obliged to warn him, just in case, "Eric, she and the Fallen One are an item. So you'd better keep your ideas to yourself before you get him on your case. You won't like that, I assure you."

"You think?" the freshly-baked priest glanced warily upwards. Shaking the heavenly snow off his shoulders, he went into reverse, "I said it from a purely esthetic point of view, you know. The Fallen One needs it more than... I mean... finding a broad... er, a goddess can't be easy in his situation."

Dan shook his head. "Eric, I think it's a good idea that I cast a silence spell on you a couple times a day or so. That'll do you a lot of good, trust me. If I don't do it, some unhappy god will one day. All right, Your Holiness, you may continue with your duties and dedicate us to the beautiful Macaria.

Eric zoned out for a bit as he tried to figure out his new skills. He must have found what he'd been looking for as he cast an unsure glance at Dan before activating the ability. A pillar of white light veined with black and green enveloped the secret agent, still shimmering when we heard him whisper as he, too, was studying the menus,

"There... I see... patron god... skills... that's the one... One point is worth a grand gold, so! Oh well, here's my donation..."

A string sang softly as another wave of light, pale green this time, poured over Dan. Faith level 1? It sure looked like he'd done it.

"Yes! We'll live!" he exclaimed.

I knew how he must have felt at that moment as the unbearable load had fallen from this immortal's shoulders: the fear of captivity, eternal and torturous.

The mother-of-pearl snow was melting under our feet. Curious, I peered at its stats:

Sparks of Divine Presence. An extremely rare crafting artifact that allows you to transfer any kind of magic to a scroll and seal it, creating a one-off spell scroll.

So! I scratched my head. I'd never heard of anything like it. Having said that, it didn't change anything: the very expression
extremely rare
pointed at the item's high value. It was worth taking.

Stepping closer, I scooped a handful of vials out of my bag and crouched, sweeping in the colored flakes.

Dan cast me a puzzled glance which then glazed over as he scanned the messages on his interface. Then a miracle happened. What else could you call it when Dan made an almighty leap across half the room while reaching into his pocket for a vial, then plopped down onto his stomach next to the shrinking pile of snow. Paying no attention to the damage sustained, he was stuffing the melting sparks into his vial.

Casting me a wild stare, he shouted, "Shut the fucking lid before it evaporates!"

True, the air over the vial hovered, misted. I hastily sealed the vial and checked the contents. The vial was nearly full. Eric and the General had already joined us, but still our combined trophies weren't that much: we'd barely filled five vials.

I surveyed our team sprawled on the floor amid iridescent pools of gaslike liquid. That made me smile. The informal meeting of the clan's religious leaders with its administration. I sh
ared the thought with my friends and the office shattered with their guffawing.