The Clan (5 page)

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."

H
e 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 start
led 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 repor
ted, "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 f
or 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.