The Clan (8 page)

My inner greedy pig shook, his eye twitching. How I understood him. This kind of thing could save your backside in dozens of situations. Not forgetting that all of the Fallen One's actions had at least one hidden agenda. By wearing the priestess' bracelet, the girl would get used to her new status. And by teleporting 'home' to a Dark temple after she'd extricated herself from various dangers, she will reinforce the association:
I am the priestess, the temple is my home, my safety.
This Fallen One was anything but simple.

He handed his gift to Lena. Having exchanged a few words with her mother, he tousled the girl's hair and waved his goodbye to us all. With a pop, the god disappeared, still enveloped by his dome. The summer forest sounds assaulted us with a renewed force, the sun growing hot and strong. Time to get back home and hide under our castle roof. A bite to eat wouldn't go amiss, either.

Tamara Mikhailovna and Lena walked over to us. The girl looked into my eyes, her stare attentive and vivid, very unlike I'd seen it before—bathed with joy, happiness and interest in everything around her.

"Max, thank you so much! Mom told me you helped them to find me. I don't know what would have happened to me without your help!"

My inner greedy pig purred, flattered by her praise. Still, I wasn't the only one deserving of it. "It's nothing, really. You need to thank Cryl over there. He stayed put feeding and guiding you. And Taali was upset about you more than any of us and helped us with everything she could..."

"Did she? I can't remember anything," the girl looked at my friends with gratitude. "Thank you too!"

We started along the trail that led to the castle. We could see the Vet's flag flying on the donjon spire. Tamara Mikhailovna had already changed into some period-appropriate fantasy clothes. Now she was doing all the talking, going unhurriedly into every detail. She had the rare gift of endearing herself with everyone from the first minutes of meeting them, just like a favorite auntie on a visit from out of town.

"I can't thank you enough, Max, both for myself and for our Dad. He'll come later on in the afternoon. No one gives time off to chief physicians. I'm not even talking about vacations..."

"It's nothing," I waved her gratitude away, embarrassed enough as I was. "What are you planning to do next?"

Tamara Mikhailovna stopped and looked back at the rather steep ascent we'd just climbed. "I'm not even out of breath," she shook her head. "What with my asthma and bad knees, I've been jumping around like a schoolgirl in May. And the air here reminds me of the seaside. St Petersburg is all covered in sleet, slush and those chemicals they use to melt the ice in the streets. Answering your question
—yes, we want to go perma mode, both of us. When our Lena got trapped in the game, we started looking for her here. The police don't deal with missing children if they're lost to the virtual world. The AlterWorld's administration was playing for time, quoting their confidentiality clauses and demanding an official request for an international police search. In short, my husband and I decided to go digital and look for her ourselves. She's immortal now—sooner or later, we'd have found her ourselves. Instead, you found us... with this horrible story..." she wiped the corner of her eye making sure her child didn't see it. She didn't need to bother: open-mouthed, Lena was listening to the blushing Cryl feeding her his finest war stories.

I tried to distract the woman from her sad thoughts. "You'll have to join a clan. Preferably, one in the top 10. That'll give you some security. If you have enough money, it would be a good idea to buy a house within the city limits. You don't even need to go above level 10. Then again, Lena has already done that so you might need to catch up with her, too."

She nodded. "I think you might be right about joining a clan. And you, Max—are you with the Veterans?"

"Not really. I have a mini clan of my own. Just a pocket version, so to say. More of a family than anything else."

She stopped in her tracks, looking at me with interest. "Would it be possible for us to join it somehow? I assure you we're serious and hardworking people. We can be useful. And we aren't going to arrive empty-handed."

"You don't understand me," I shook my head. "Joining a clan isn't a formality. You will need it as protection, to help you and to speed you up. Besides, they're only two of us: Taali and myself."

A hand lay on my shoulder. "There're three of us."

I swung round, facing a serious Cryl. "There're three of us," he repeated. "I owe you. You're my only friend. Besides, I've already told the Fallen One I'd love to be present at the birth of a new era. I have no doubt whatsoever you'll make it big, man. You'll need a security force then, won't you? I'm not setting my sights on the post of its chief but I think I could make a decent operative."

"You see?" Tamara Mikhailovna smiled at me. "You're three already! With us, you'll be six. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. In another hundred years we'll be laughing remembering this conversation!"

I looked at them all, willing myself to say no. The poet was right: we're responsible forever for what we have tamed. "Don't you understand? Running a clan is a pain I wouldn't wish on anyone, myself included!"

The woman's wise eyes smiled. "It's the retinue that makes the king... or the general. Once you pick the right people, your problems will be limited to setting objectives for them, then controlling the results."

"Send me an invitation," the rogue demanded.

I glanced at Taali. She winked at me and shrugged.

I raised my hand, motioning everyone to calm down. I had to do some quality thinking. Actually, it was probably for the better. My being part of the tobacco alliance tied me to my nanoclan for the next five years. At the same time, I realized full well that my clan had to be strong enough to guarantee both safety and lots of other things, as I had already said many times on different occasions. As always, if you wanted something done well, you had to do it yourself.

"Very well, then," I said. "It's not as if I'm dragging you in at gun point. You can always leave the clan, and not necessarily feet first. Here're your invites."

The next moment, my clan grew twice its original size. Tamara Mikhailovna declined my invitation.

"I'd like to change my avatar first," she said, answering my surprised stare. "I want to be a Higher Elf like my girl. Make a few alterations to my age and appearance... not much, just a little," she explained, embarrassed.

I nodded my understanding. Everybody wanted to be forever young and beautiful. She didn't need to explain it to me.

As we were walking through the castle, Dan collared us, wishing to report on Taali's situation. They had been busy collecting a wealth of information. A couple more weeks, and the lowlifes would be brought to justice. They already had the gun: a semi-automatic Tiger carbine with all options and high-end sights, virtually a clone of the good old Dragunov sniper rifle. Dan insisted Taali spent the next week at the shooting range and loosed off at least a couple hundred rounds to get used to it. So starting the next day, she was to go to some gun club not far from St Petersburg and remain AFK for a while.

Everyone got busy, leaving me alone to think about my own situation. My Mom, rather. Trevor's frantic threats had left me with a bad chill in my spine. I had to do something about them. Mom had better move somewhere else
—ideally, to stay under surveillance for a while. I really didn't want to go cap in hand back to the Vets. Begging never pays; besides, I didn't want to supply them with all the trump cards they might need. A potential leak couldn't be disregarded, either.

Once upstairs in my room, I dragged the armchair to a narrow window with a forest view, made myself comfortable and opened the chat menu. The saved contact of the RealService representative glowed green, indicating his online status. The spirited exchange that followed secured me an excellent apartment in a secure gated community in the suburbs. That particular pleasure cost me three hundred bucks a week: pricey but bearable, considering the current state of my wallet. I also ordered their removal van for the next morning.

After a moment's hesitation, I decided to humor my paranoia and looked up several security agencies. On average, bodyguards cost from five to thirty bucks an hour. I chose something mid-range: a retrained ex special-ops officer with a gun license. I opted for automatic contract renewal and issued a daily standing order. Now all I had to do was break the news to Mom without triggering a heart attack.

It took me a while to type the message making sure it sounded positive and optimistic. I told her of my inventing a unique recipe bound to secure our financial future. I also told her about the new friends and powerful allies I'd made. Then I complained about 'some people' never happy with their share of the pie and let her know, point blank, about her temporary change of address in order to provide her with the safety and comfort levels befitting a new clan lead
er and virtual millionaire. My Mom wasn't stupid, of course. She was bound to read between the lines. But at least this way it would take her some time to figure something out—a big difference from the 'Mom, your life's in danger, you've got to lie low and keep a bazooka under your bed!' scenario.

I stretched and slumped back in the chair. I wouldn't call myself a money worshipper. Still, money did help solve many problems, making one's life more comfortable. Instead of silently suffering your noisy upstairs and downstairs neighbors, you could rent or buy a proper house with a bit of land. Instead of swallowing painkillers, you could visit a good doctor. Instead of being extorted by the traffic police, you could simply call your lawyer...

Now my current affairs seemed to be under control. The next thing to do would be to see if I could get access to the Vets' clan storeroom. Time for an upgrade. Failing that, I could always check the auctions. Then I had to spend a bit of time tying some loose ends before hitting the road again: the Dead Lands, the Temple and my little baby Dragons were awaiting!

Chapter Seven

"O
pen, Sesame!" I whispered as I logged in to the Vets' clan storeroom database. The inventory interface was military-style plain: no bells or whistles there.

Less than five minutes ago, my inner greedy pig had been pacing his cage waiting for the Vets' decision on my storeroom access application. In it, I explained my desire to part-exchange some of the loot for gold. Dan had diplomatically backed out saying the question was out of his jurisdiction and bounced me over to Mr. Simonov. Their decision, however, was signed not by the bookkeeper but by Frag himself. Thanking me for my 'considerable contribution', the General expressed his hopes for further cooperation and made it clear that in the future, my compensation for casting the High Spell during their raids would be revised in favor of a considerable increase. In the meantime, to show their recognition of my services, they granted me full Lieutenant-level access to the storage facility that offered a considerable trade-in discount.

I suppressed a smirk. The Vets had apparently appreciated the outcome of their teaming up with the caster of High Spells enough to attempt securing me for themselves. I didn't even want to venture a guess at the amount I must have helped them make: it's not my style to count the profits in somebody else's wallet. Still, whatever the Vets thought of themselves, I wasn't sure I was happy turning into their hired lockpick. I had to learn to stand on my own two feet, cultivating myself a power strong enough to be reckoned with and not just used. But in the meantime, the Vets guaranteed me the proverbial stroke of a pen that turned my zero into a shiny tenner.

The search interface window chirped open, letting me know they'd finished their checks and confirmed my access status. Thank God for digital technologies! In real life, I'd have had to deal with a cartoon storage officer and his own inner greedy pig, t
heir combined combat skills enough to defeat any quantity of Phantom Dragons.

Right. First things first. Let's check out their vehicle facilities. Where did they keep their bear gear? A haphazard search offered me over four hundred available items, a bit over the top. I sorted them by price, the highest offerings stopping at just over twenty grand per item. Their names didn't say anything to me. I needed to consult an expert.

Any bear-savvy persons around? Apart from Animal Rescue, I could only think of Eric. I PM'd him describing my problem and asking his advice regarding some gear for my Hummungus. I remembered the love and care Eric had invested into kitting out his own LAV mount. Now it was my time to hear out the expert.

He promptly replied, stuck in the guardhouse as part of the reinforcement group and dying for some entertainment.

Super. Will help you, no question. Which storage have you got access to?

That got me thinking. What did he mean, which one?
Do you have several? I've got Lieutenant's access.

I see. It gives you access to all classes of items and gear up to rare. Epics and artifacts are locked in the classified vault. Not much but not bad, either. I don't have even that. Ah! Think you could look something up for my LAVvie? I need a Veil of True Vision. It allows a mount to detect a stealthed enemy even farther than a player with an identical buff can. And, please, also Pegasus Horseshoes. They add 15% to speed. And could you also look up-

Hey, wait up!
my inner greedy pig and myself replied in unison. We could use this sort of goodies ourselves!
Back to the subject. Once we equip Hummungus, you might be able run wild for a bit, depending on the result.

What's your money situation?

Not a problem.

Then you should take Winnypore's set, everything you can find
—there're six items in total and you've got the Claws already. That's the coolest of the affordables. The rest is a bit out of your league. Besides, they're mainly no-drop, anyway.

Very well. I typed in
Winnypore
. The search returned nine items. When I got rid of the doubles, I was left with four: the helmet, the pauldrons, a cuirass and something that looked like a pair of steel boots. I dreaded to think what the Moon Winnypore was and what it looked like. Price per item: three to six grand. I opened an auction in another window and compared the prices. Oh well, the Vets' had it all at least ten percent cheaper. Would be nice to buy up a million's worth of their stuff and auction it all off. One or two hundred grand easy profit, no sweat. But that would be a total loss of face and reputation, a ripoff to end all ripoffs. We didn't need that, did we?

I gave my inner greedy pig a clip round the ear to stop him looking at me with those imploring puppy eyes. Then I scanned the stats, envying my own bear, and began buying up. I also needed to get him a pair of armored pants, four earrings, two gold chains and something to fit on his teeth a bit like those horror fangs they sell in joke shops for overaged teenagers.

I ended up brainstorming it with Eric, after which we found all the items we needed—apart from the set of teeth which I had to buy from an auction for no less than eighteen grand. But the teeth were worth it, from the first incisor to the last canine.

Mithril Fangs of the Flesh Eater

Item class: Epic

Weapon type: for combat mount only

Damage 96-117, Speed 2.9, Durability 230\230

Effect 1: Hole Puncher. Gives 20% damage probability completely overriding enemy armor.

Effect 2: Flesh Eater. When mount deals a deadly blow, part of the slain creature is devoured, restoring 25% life to the item owner.

There you are, Teddy
—not a cute and cuddly toy any more but a carnivorous flesh-eater. I just hoped the effect was purely virtual and that he wouldn't have to chomp on all sorts of unsavory things.

I didn't forget Eric's requests, either. Unfortunately, they had only one Veil so I was forced to give it to him, even though my inner greedy pig kept making suggestive faces. But they had two sets of Pegasus Horseshoes which, beside a speed bonus which wasn't anything in itself, also offered an impressive +170 to hits. I took both hoping that the storage officer wouldn't start wondering about how many legs my bear had.

Now! Hummungus was fully equipped, tenfold more impressive than his owner. His stats looked more than respectable:

Riding Mount: Hummungus (Red Bear)

Level: 26

Strength: 185

Armor: 140

Constitution: 95

Claw power: 77-91

Maul power: 127-162

Speed: 10 mph

Rider: 2

Weight-carrying capacity: 9250

Special abilities: Armor Bearer, Arms Carrier, Mule II, Transporter

My Teddy had become a force to be reckoned with. Not that it hadn't cost anything. Even in real life, seven thousand bucks was more than enough to turn any wuss into a rather dangerous dude complete with bulletproof vest, a shotgun and two handguns under his belt. Add to it a couple dozen tactics and shooting classes, and our bullied-up nerd turned into a potential wonder waffle. That's a wuss, but here I had a combat mount initially created to eliminate everything that moved.

Now I could finally think about myself. Having said that, I had a whole kindergarten to take care of. I opened my guild settings. Cryl was level 13. Lena was a level-11 ranger. I rummaged through my bag and found a whip I'd won in that personal dungeon ages ago. That had been a brilliant find: good job I hadn't given it to Bug as promised. Not because I was too tight or something
—no, I'd just had too many things on my plate to remember about it.

Then I made a mental note of setting ten grand aside for each of my new clan members' equipment. Wiping my sobbing greedy pig's face, I assured him that the gear was a loan that later had to be returned to the clan storage. To bring the sniveling creature back to its senses, I set up a clan tax of 10% off all loot and on every sale. Having said that, I seemed to be the only person to suffer from it for the time being. There isn't much in the way of loot when you're level 10. Having said that, I was the only one with access to the clan treasury.

That was it. Now it was well and truly my turn. First of all, I wanted some of the thickest and richest elixirs they had. Even there, my appetite met with dire reality: the Vets kept their vials in a separate Alchemy vault that had nothing to do with their regular storage. And I didn't want to push my luck asking for yet another access. I really didn't need to add any more stones to the already hefty weight of my obligations to somebody else's—albeit admittedly friendly—clan.

So I switched over to the auctions. They offered a decent choice even though I couldn't see anything truly rare, like Unknown Skill Elixir. After giving it some thought, I finally bought four skill elixirs and twenty characteristic-boosting ones. That should last me three weeks, considering the cooldown. I was eighteen grand down but didn't regret a single penny of it. With a clinking of coins, the fluttering of the bag confirmed the receipt of my purchases. I drank two vials on the spot: the mint and the lime-and-honey ones.

I invested one talent point into something I'd long been drooling over but every time had to forgo it in favor of combat skills. A group teleport was something that neither Necro nor Death Knight had; what they did have was an advanced personal one that started at level 30 and allowed you to take your mount and your pet with you. And now I could finally acquire one, too. No more leaving my pets behind in dungeons! My inner greedy pig was still clutching at his heart every time he remembered the Plague Panther, all leveled up and dripping with abilities, that I'd had to abandon in that personal dungeon.

I habitually moved the one available characteristic point to Intellect. I'd done so every time, sharing all the points received between Intellect and Spirit at a ratio of two to one.

Right. What next? It was probably a good idea to set aside a particular sum I could afford. In hindsight, I should have done so before I'd even started buying. Never mind. Let's look at it in another way. I didn't really want to break into the million. Like a single large note in your wallet, it would resist being changed for the dubious pleasure of getting a few penny objects. I had to set aside another fifty grand for various operating costs I could already see coming. By doing a bit of some preschool subtraction, I was left with about eighty grand. Almost as much as I'd just spent on my own mount. Yeah, right.

What was worth keeping of the gear I already had? Honestly, considering the sum I had to play with, I really should upgrade everything I owned. I hadn't made any improvements to my gear since the tournament at the Vets' when it had been appraised at six grand. When you compared it to eighty, all that was left to do was gasp and crumble in a heap on the floor in silent ecstasy.

Still, there were a few things I wasn't prepared to swap quite yet. Staff of Dark Flame, Crown of the Overlord and Jangur's Battle Shield had to stay. The Crown I'd never sell, ever—I needed it as a unique tool for some specific tasks. But no one said I had to wear it all the time, so nothing prevented me from getting some new head gear provided I found something in the same league. The jewelry had to go to the clan vault, a.k.a. my bedside cabinet, at least until the clan finally got itself some kind of fixed abode.

I went back to the Vets' storage and started another search, this time only limiting it by class
—Death Knight—and price—lowest first. Well, well. About three thousand search results, the nicest thingies smiling at me from their thirty-grand-plus positions. Looked like I was again forced to buy a few top items and clutter the remaining slots with their budget versions. Not that this particular strategy was without its fortes. It had served me well last time I'd done it.

I pondered over both alternatives. Still, it was probably better to buy the best I could afford. Was I prepared to spend my money on a ton of low-class gear so that one day I was faced with the fact that at level (say) 120, a poorly invested eight thousand bucks hadn't provided me with the advantages I'd hoped for? Much better to get a couple of true uber waffles that I could at some later date exchange for some epics and artifacts.

That brought me back to the initial scenario. Pets were my trump card. I sorted the search results by
Raises the summoned creature's level: highest first
. Just in case you wondered, Death Knights—who were the most deprived in this respect—also had access to the superest items. Not that I complained, really. Who was I, after all—a humble Death Knight coming to them cap in hand for a handful of bonuses for his sickly pet.

Panting from the effort, my inner greedy pig and myself studied the offers. I ran a similar search on the auctions: ten times more choice, but their prices tended to sneer rather than smile.

Soon I'd sighted the first uber goodie:

Renegade's Steel Boots

Item class: Unique

Effect 1: +110 to Armor, +25 to Intellect, +25 to Strength

Effect 2: Speeds up mana regeneration 4%
.

Effect 3: The raised creature has a 50% chance of keeping one of its special skills.

Effect 4: +7 to the raised creature's level