Inferno (Play to Live: Book # 4) Page 8

  Actually, the dwarves had no reason to plead poverty. Things were looking up for them, much to the envy of those underground folk who'd remained loyal to the Gods of Light. Their crafters had higher chances of making masterpiece items; their rates of profession growth brought dreamy smiles to the stern Dwarven faces; their ore veins were more generous, and their picks seemed to have minds of their own, capable of striking emeralds out of dead rock.

  What can you say to that? Having your own patron god in the skies is much better than worshipping some petty household deity! The hearth fire was to the smith's furnace what a turtle was to a tank.

  As the highest in the divine pecking order, the combat priests group was considerably better off than others. Less than a week later those freshly-minted Knights Templar already sported armor of the noble purple hue. All two hundred of them, mind you. The overall numbers of the dwarves migrating into the Valley of Fear was beyond count. They had some cheek. Unlike the Fallen One or Macaria, Aulë worked hard on creating his entourage, putting a lot of effort into forming cohorts of numerous battle, working and priest units.

  The whole situation was starting to worry me. Here in the very heart of my lands was a military force comparable with my clan's entire combat section. Which wasn't really kosher because you never knew what kind of thoughts it might evoke within some crazy heads.

  Of course, the proverbial God is with us! made me feel much better, offering certain guarantees against any unwanted scenarios. But the dwarves too took their religious obligations seriously. Having said that, the upcoming summoning of his wife had given me Aulë on a plate; besides, not even mentioning the bomb in the Temple's foundations I had yet another quite powerful security.

  The summoner priest gained Admin's access to the Altar functions. And we shouldn't forget that summoning came with its opposite: the disembodiment function. Even if it resulted in a considerable drop in the Temple level as penalty. Of course, you couldn't just get up and do it: the function was quite protected from any capricious priest's whims of fancy, demanding a confirmation from the Head of the Pantheon, no less.

  Also, no one had ever heard of any NPCs squatting on others' property. So it was probably just my imagination. It's just that I wasn't used to seeing such crowds of people in these once perfectly uninhabited lands. And not one person in those crowds remained idle. They were all busy, building houses and places of worship, expanding their new city under the mountain.

  Of course, if my idea was to keep this territory deserted like some Chernobylesque exclusion zone, then I had to fold up the whole show. But I intended to tie as many sentients' interests to these lands as possible, so that they would stand up for its defense promptly and eagerly.

  Also, I had this idea I wouldn't share with anyone. Seeing as the world itself was going perma, I wanted to lay claim to the surrounding areas, too. Why not? I had an isolated enclave; I had a castle — and a Super Nova one at that, nothing to sniff at! I had an army and enjoyed impressive support from divine quarters. So was I supposed to swear my allegiance to that Sun King from the City of Light? I'd much rather be my own lord and master. It was safer, too, considering we were definitely entering a period of feudal disunity and all the lawless anarchy that came with it. Imagine 1930s Chicago in a world of sword and sorcery. That was sickening.

  Once clan numbers had soared — and once dwarves and the like had gained free access to the Valley — it was only a question of time before someone leaked the portal coordinates.

  Thing is, everybody has their weak point. Some can be bought, others threatened and yet others deceived. So even though we had introduced monthly checks using our canine lie detector, I didn't hold my breath in the hope of preserving our incognito status for much longer.

  Never mind. As long as we survived until the final battle and managed to come out on top, I didn't really care what happened next. As Peter the Great used to say, Here we'll build! I, too, wanted the local hills to grow gardens and pretty little villages, I wanted to hear caravans screech up and down my roads; I wanted to see crowds of pilgrims leaving their gold in my inns and taverns. Sweet dreams!

  On top of all the other building projects, the dwarves were hurriedly finishing off Yavanna's temple. I had a funny feeling that this Goddess of nature would prefer a personally grown magic copse to bricks and mortar. Then again, it was people who needed temples rather than gods, so I saw nothing wrong with yet another one. Even Aulë himself had recently lugged in a lifelike rose he'd forged personally. The steel flower kept growing, offering its petals to the sun, all the while sucking up energy from a battery shaped as a lacy vase.

  Aulë's usually frowning face began to clear in anticipation of him seeing his wife again. Also, the powers of the Dark that had summoned him turned out to be remarkably bright and cheerful in the sunlight. Aulë only shrugged as he studied the history of AlterWorld.

  "What a mess! The world is too young. There's no Light or Dark, only some grey cloudy swill. It'll take it some time to settle down, separating into two, placing innocence and light above and the sludgy residue below. The question is, who will end up where. Honestly, I don't feel comfortable with this Sun God and his grim practices. I can see problems between the two of us."

  The fact that we'd have to fight for our right to a new life didn't seem to worry Aulë that much. In his previous reincarnations he hadn't been that cute and cuddly, either. It was him who'd forged the chain destined to restrain the epitome of the Dark: Melkor. And I knew quite a few individuals who could definitely profit from wearing this piece of jewelry. Admittedly, I wasn't sure about the availability of the ingredients that this father of all blacksmiths had used in the making of the chain: the sound of a cat's footfall, a woman's beard, the roots of a mountain, the sinew of a bear, breath of a fish and spittle of a bird. Never mind. We could always find something.

  I finally resurfaced from my memories as I reached the donjon entrance. I nodded mechanically to the saluting orc guards and stepped one foot across the doorstep — then froze. What had I just seen? Was it my imagination?

  I slowly turned around, peering at an orc's gleaming black armor. I was right. A six-letter word had been drawn on it in an unsteady childish hand.

  "Who did this?" I asked, pointing at the inscription.

  The soldier reported crisply, staring in front of himself, "A little druid chick from the A-form, Sir! The runic alphabet apparently, Sir! She said it was some powerful magic to protect its bearer from any mental attacks."

  Yeah, right. Education was evil. "Remove it," I said. "This is a swear word. Next time they do it, you have my permission to box their ears — but with due caution, making sure their heads remain attached."

  The other guard's eyes glistened cheerfully. Apparently, he wasn't as gullible as his partner. I could just see this stupid word becoming the idiot orc's nickname. Then again, maybe it was for the better. You never know, this funny inscription could just become his lucky ticket to going perma.

  Leaving behind the orc's suppressed growl of indignation, I flew up the stairs three at a time. As I headed for the last landing, my foot failed to meet the expected step. Choking on my own cussing, I collapsed in full swing onto the stone tiles. Dammit! My life bar shrank. My knee emitted a crunching sound.

  You've been lightly injured! -10% to Agility for 15 minutes.

  Just my luck. I could understand it when people had their arms and legs broken in battle with all sorts of clever combos and special abilities. But to do it so stupidly on your own doorstep?

  My absolute memory helpfully suggested that the last step of the staircase was missing, which was what caused the unlucky accident en route. The autopilot was not to be blamed.

  "Lurch!" I growled at the ceiling.

  He replied immediately. He must have been monitoring the situation, the bastard. "Sir, yes, Sir!"

  "Stop this American army talk! What have you done with the step?"

  Lurch faltered for a second, then hurried to explain, "It
was all for your own convenience, Sir! The last episode of Castle Makeover said that the ideal height of a step is six inches for a human being. So I thought I'd correct it..."

  "I'm an Elf, dammit! You can't do these things without telling anyone. You should at least place warning signs. Next time you might want to replace the floor with an air vent, just to see how well we can fly..."

  Lurch felt obliged to go on the offensive. "Actually, I've spent a hundred fifty bucks of my own money on this experimental stair conversion."

  "You should have spent it on some extra lights," I grumbled, calming down. "Not everyone has Night Vision, you know."

  I limped toward the hall's massive doorway and nodded my appreciation to Lurch when the sycophant spent an ounce of his own energy on helpfully swinging the heavy doors open.

  Predictably, I was the last to arrive as usual. The present company didn't seem to mind my absence that much. They were too busy drinking coffee and smoking the latest specialty cigars with a built-in smoke control circuit. The ceiling was crowded with smoky blue dragons, birds and whatever else took their fancy. Even Amara was now hooked on this still-innocent pastime, creating her own line of flower-flavored pipe tobacco with various buff options. It didn't do so well but I knew that sooner or later this stubborn Elfa was going to make it, regardless of what the Admins thought about it all.

  I put on a confident face — the boss is never late — and limped to my chair at the head of the table.

  The cheerful noise didn't abate. We had a very simple democratic atmosphere amid the top clan members. I nodded, answering their greetings, and carefully slapped a couple of proffered palms with my left hand. I didn't dare use the right one with the Fallen One's logo fused into it.

  I sensed Cryl's unasked question on seeing my injured leg and the drop in hits.

  "Fell off the stairs," I explained cheerfully. The irony in his disbelieving stare made me hurry to explain, "I know it sounds like a schoolboy excuse. It was Lurch with his interior design ideas, doing some stair conversions."

  Cryl arched his eyebrow in a very Dan-like way. "That's weird. I've never heard about petty accidents like that before. We need to look into it to see if anybody else has suffered. The Universe might be setting us up for a surprise or two.

  I nodded, making myself comfortable in the ergonomic chair. "Possible. I wouldn't be surprised if I wake up one night to take a piss. Yes! I have an idea! Whoever brings me a night pot with you-know-what, I'll fill it to the brim with gold."

  They all guffawed. Durin, ever the cost-conscious treasurer, protested, "The size of the pot has to be clearly defined. I know these jokers. They'll roll in a barrelful of some dubious stuff and you'll be the one to spoil your karma by having to renege on your promise."

  "That's wise," I agreed. "As a reward, here's a free idea for you. You can start thinking about making some toilet paper. That's a true Eldorado, a perfect repeat product. Much more lucrative than selling TVs, one per household per decade."

  At the word TV, my Analyst shrunk in his seat, trying to kick something under the table — something large and shaggy. I took a better look at it and recoiled. The enormous modified head of a cave bear stared back at me with its magical crystals for eyes. The golden tiara of a control circuit had its wire electrodes sunk into the back of the monster's head. The creepy device sat on a silver platter generously covered with runic script.

  "WTF is this?"

  He gave me a guilty smile. "This is a subwoofer for our zombie box. The latest model. You should hear it boom!"

  "Jesus. That's a horror movie. Put it away, please."

  In the meantime, Amara was rummaging through a pot of embers for one still alive. Having found none, she shrugged and lit up her ciggy with a fireball of plasma. Lurch squeaked his indignation as she drew deeply on her cigarette, leaving him to restore the melted stonework of the wall opposite.

  I pointed an accusing finger. "Look! If you want to invent something, it had better be lighters. No good us keep doing it by rubbing two boy scouts together."

  Analyst cringed, watching his wife puff away. "The admins won't okay it. We've applied several times already. Sent them several recipes, from purely mechanical to biomagic ones which contain the spirit of a volcano trapped in a control device. All we received were form replies: the system is under development, we apologize for the inconvenience.

  The frowning Cryl butted in, "It's the same with all admin channels. The only systems that still work after a fashion are customer support and billing. They are automated, after all. What I personally think is that everybody has jumped the ship. We're out at sea with no one at the helm. It's a good job the login servers are still alive, otherwise no new players — or potential permas — would be coming."

  I rattled the spoon in my coffee cup, thinking as I stirred in a double dose of imitation sugar. It tasted identical to the real thing but had an intensely purple color that left an oily iridescent film on the surface. Funnily enough, it had been done on purpose, just for kicks and to be different. I'd cringed at first but now I'd got quite used to it.

  I turned to Analyst. "I want you to alert all clan members and allied clans: the world is about to go perma. The Fallen One has already warned me in private about the celestial spheres suffering from a terrible strain. A sparrow crapping on them will be enough to burst them. Tell all to fold up whatever unfinished business they still have in the real world. If they want to support their loved ones, tell them to hurry up with any gold transfers. Whoever wants to bring their family, they had better do it double quick. Dan's got his entire family still stuck on Earth and I don't think it's a good idea to wait until his kids finish school."

  Everybody got serious, making mental to-do lists. I searched the room for Widowmaker, my second precious acquisition I'd so shamelessly lured away from the mercs. Yeah, I was a very unwelcome guest in their guild these days. My name was on their No Entry List they had hanging on their gate. I could understand them. I'd shamelessly stolen two hundred of their mercs plus a handful of senior officers they'd so painstakingly leveled up, thus dropping the Original City's entire hire potential a good 25%.

  Well, they shouldn't have dawdled, should they? Money wasn't everything. There were other things, like supporting the right cause, like personal fulfilment and tons of other motivations. We now had a group of dedicated experts working on a totally classified propaganda textbook. If you could obtain two hundred choice perma warriors just by saying the right things and offering the right motivations — then you were doing something right.

  It wasn't that simple, of course. We had other things going for us, like quality lodgings in an elite castle, a percentage of raid loot, and direct support from patron gods that didn't involve any middleman. But yes, we did have this 'ours is to do or die' argument all right.

  You should have seen my geriatric ladies from the Sullen squad when I'd first ported them to the castle. That was a total shock for them. Dozens of little kids playing tag and chasing puppies in the Elven gardens. Imagine the sounds of a kindergarten on a walk in the park, just as surreal in AlterWorld as the clapping of enemy cavalry's hooves would be in today's Red Square.

  My green-skinned goblin Amazons had been reduced to sobs as they tried to give a hug to all the kids at once. Bomba, hung with children like a Christmas tree, gently stroked their heads, wailing,

  "What's going on? You my pretty ones, where did he get you all from?"

  The funniest thing was, the little mites had immediately tuned into the female warriors' true age, calling them Granny. Granny Zena, yeah right…

  "Widowmaker, weren't we going to hold our Parents Day this weekend? How about you invite Dan over as an allied clan representative together with his wife and the kids? It might be quite an eye-opener to him. Our Little Lambs Nursery might give him some food for thought. Talking about it. How're the preparations going?"

  Widowmaker sat up happily, squinting his eyes at his internal interface. And why shouldn't he be happy? F
or the first time in ages he was finally entrusted with something he loved doing most.

  During our initial recruiting interview and the prompt offer of the contract that had followed, Widowmaker had shared his story with me in private.

  "Max, you need to understand. I'm not a freakin' general. I'm an event organizer. When I first came to Moscow, I honestly didn't know what to do with myself, killing time at various office jobs. Then a friend asked me to help organize his wedding. You can't imagine how many things you need to get together in order to make it a success. The reception, the guests, the entertainment, the music... But it did work. I did a top class job and it didn't cost that much, either. A week later one of the guests asked if I could organize his silver jubilee party for him. I agreed. I already started to like doing it. And when after two days of fuss and innuendo I ended up with the equivalent of my office rat two-month wage, I realized I'd found my Holy Grail. It worked really well for a few years. I worked like a dog, got myself a brand-new flat and sent enough money back to our village to help Mom out. Then one day I had this brilliant idea. How about if I offered my clients something totally new? Like a virtual wedding in AlterWorld, the first of its kind? Well, the wedding was a hoot. All the guests went home feeling terribly pleased. But me, I had to stay here."

  At the time I had given him a compassionate nod. We clinked our glasses of Dwarven Extra Dry. "To the perma mode!"

  His merc job had ceased to excite Widowmaker anymore. He was ready for bigger-scale missions. A couple-hundred strong raids and assault missions started to seem rather unimaginative. He'd fully appreciated the whole scope of the future clash of the Pantheons. His choice of the side to support was conscious, too. Always the Russian, he tended to bat for the underdog. Besides, working for us could allow him to showcase the whole range of his talents. So now he could temporarily set all the important urgent business aside, giving in nostalgically to organizing our Parents Day. And he shouldn't dismiss its significance really — nor its call-up potential. All those Moms and Dads could potentially transpire into two hundred new clan members.