by D. Rus
Okay, Dad was an important enough excuse. Besides, I wanted to meet him myself if he was going to become a new clan member.
Lena seemed to follow my thoughts. "You are going to accept him, aren't you?"
"I am. I promised, didn't I? But you're an officer yourself, so you have the right to recruit whoever you want. Bet your Dad will be pleased to see you in a serious post of authority. It's probably better you do it yourself."
"Thank you, thank you! Dad's coming, how cool!" Lena gave the indignant hound a flick on her nose and burst out laughing as she disappeared in the radiant portal.
What a kindergarten. I turned to Cryl, about to find a job for him, when a panting goblin came running from the direction of the outer wall.
"The eggs! Master, we've found the phantom eggs!"
"How d'you know it's them?" disbelieving, I asked the cleaner.
"They're phantom ones, aren't they? You can't bite through them!" the goblin's voice trailed away as he took in both his foreman's glare and his raised fist.
I pretended I hadn't seen it. "Come on, then. Let's just hope you're right."
Ten minutes later I was climbing up the rickety steps of an inner wall tower. I walked out onto an open platform to an energizing breeze. The place was littered with all sorts of junk.
I found it straight away—a typical bird's nest, only instead of twigs it was made with a whole plethora of AlterWorld minerals. Marble and stone, iron and copper ores, and a scattering of scrap mithril. An ancient silver toll bell lay next to a huge chunk of quartz veined with a fat streak of gold. This nest alone could buy you a brand new Mercedes. Was its purpose purely decorative or did it conceal some hidden message?
The eggs were hard to notice in the hotchpotch gleaming with metal. But once you saw them, you couldn't mistake them for anything. How else, do you think, would a Bone Dragon's phantom clutch of eggs look like? Translucent to the point of being invisible, they were covered with the finest web of intricate carvings. They were large, at least three feet high if you or somebody else tried to stand them upright. And when you touched them, your hand sank into nothing as the eggs themselves were only an iridescent hologram—they didn't exist in our material world.
I selected one as target.
An Egg of a Bone Dragon. A unique clutch. Chances of hatching a Phantom Dragon: 97%. Probable gender: female
Mana: 0,081,722... 731... 733... 735... /4,000,000
The last figure kept changing, growing like a gas station meter. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Why all the mana growth? I chose the other egg, identified it and froze:
An Egg of a Bone Dragon. A unique clutch. Chances of hatching a Phantom Dragon: 91%. Probable gender: male
Mana: 0.000.432/4.000.000.
Mana: 0.000.418/4.000.000.
Mana: 0.000.401/4.000.000.
Mana: 0.000.388/4.000.000.
The chick's mana counter kept dropping by the second. Cursing, I fiddled with the settings, trying to locate the First Temple Altar control menu. It looked like the male chick was funneling his own mana to his sister trying to help her survive until their mother was back.
Found it! I pushed the mana flow bar all the way to the right, highlighted the five percent available to me and pressed Donate. The barely visible energy cable promptly reached from the Temple, enveloping the egg. It worked!
Mana: 0.000.132/4.000.000.
Mana: 0.000.278/4.000.000.
Mana: 0.000.398/4.000.000.
Mana: 0.000.533/4.000.000.
"That's better," I whispered to the would-be chick. "How did you expect me to face your mom, then? How would I look her in the eye? You don't know about her eyes, do you? They make the hair on your spine bristle. A cross between a floodlight and an eighteen-inch naval gun. Now you can stop sending your mana to your sister. I'm going to redirect part of the flow to her in a minute, I just want to fill you up a bit first."
Not to waste time as I waited, I opened the castle staff menu and hired ten Drow archers whom I immediately dispatched to guard the nest. Safer that way, especially considering its value. I wasn't going to touch it for the time being, but once the chicks had fledged, I fully intended to take all the valuables to the treasury. No shortage of them there: from where I stood, I could see a very interesting ammo belt circling the nest twice. Fat fifty-caliber cartridges promised a healthy profit when melted down. And if I managed to find the original gun...
Oh. I jumped up and began circling the platform, my eyes searching in all directions as I tried to estimate the potential field and flanking fire positions. Over to one side, the space between two walls was begging for a pillbox. You lured your enemy into this fire-spitting cul-de-sac and then... Oh, all the things I could do!
Never mind. Back to reality. I still had to hire a few of the more intellectual workers to move the rest of the explosives. We weren't shifting bricks, after all. I really wanted to preserve at least part of the arsenal.
The developers knew which side their bread was buttered. They charged you an arm and leg for any customized deviation from the standard. Either fit in with the rest of the crowd or prepare to shell out.
I opened the manual character generation menu, chose a troll, maxed out its strength bar, paid double for extra agility, and finally glared at the costs of intellect. One point cost the same as thirty points strength? As my inner greedy pig sniffed his indignation, I raised the monster's intellect from the level of a preschooler to a high school C-student. That had to be it; after that, the numbers went through the roof. Would have been cheaper to carry everything myself.
I saved my creation and confirmed his hiring. The troll was indeed custom-made in everything including his markings: he turned out to be an albino. Immediately I sent him to see Harlequin. As I watched his large white back, I got an idea.
"Hey! I'll call you Snowie!"
I didn't give a damn about what the Hound had told me. This wasn't a 'faceless outline'. This guy was just too unique.
The troll looked back, his red eyes focusing on me, then beamed—a broad winsome smile. He waved his paw to me and, waddling for some reason, set off to look for Harlequin.
That seemed to be it. I redistributed the mana flow equally between the two chicks and, too lazy to walk, teleported to the Temple. Everything seemed to be all right there. The puppies were crawling around, the guards stood their watch, the dwarf sniffed indignantly as he hauled armfuls of mithril deep down the corridor. I had to do something about his temper. I really didn't enjoy all that mumbling and looking daggers. What could I think of that dwarves liked? What would soften him? Beer, gold, a pole-axe, a smoking pipe and a beard—this was all I knew about dwarves. Being a zombie, it was unlikely he was able to smoke or drink—on the contrary, it would upset him further. Gold was definitely inferior to mithril; a war he'd have to wait for, and as for a beard... He didn't have one, his old burns were just too bad. Could it be why he was so bitter? It was probably easier for me to walk around the city in the nude than a respected Master from the Kingdom Under the Mountain could show in public without his beard. Wonder if they had wigs for sale here? Having said that... I got an inkling of an idea.
I watched the bald dwarf leave and walked out into the courtyard. There he was, Lena's father. Time to make his acquaintance. He, too, had chosen default character settings: a human being with a small pouch—was it a conscious choice or just mindless clicking through character generation? Then again, he was supposed to be a chief hospital physician so his IQ had to be high by definition.
I stepped closer and offered my hand. "Greetings, Sir. Welcome to the clan," I paused reading his avatar, "Alexander Nikolaevich." Hadn't anyone told this guy he could change his name?
Guessing my predicament, the doctor smiled—or rather, his lips smiled as his eyes were filled with fatigue, endless and hopeless. "Call me Alec. Or Doc, whatever you prefer. I really appreciate everything you've done for us. You have no idea how much Lena means to us. I can safely tell you that by saving
her, you've saved two more lives—at least. Thank you."
I didn't know where to look. "I'm not the one you need to thank, Alexander Niko... Alec. It's Cryl who deserves all the praise. He invested his very heart in it, not just his time and money. I hope you'll get the chance to meet Taali soon. She was very upset about your daughter's predicament. She really took it to heart."
Finally, Doc smiled a real smile: still a tired one but very sincere. "Yes, my wife told me about them. I look forward to meeting them all soon."
"Excellent. Now have a good look around and make yourself comfortable. Choose yourself an apartment and decide on its design. I'm afraid I can't allocate you much but I'll tell Lurch to set aside one percent of all resources to restore and redecorate your quarters."
Doc looked interested. "Lena told me that this castle is the safest place in the entire AlterWorld. Is it really so?"
"It's also the most beautiful," the girl butted in. She was sitting nearby amid the flowers trying to teach them to play Jingle Bells.
I paused, thinking. Then I nodded, "For the clan members—yes, without a doubt. No intruder can get inside. We have our own guards and the Hell Hounds, plus the Castle's AI is seriously paranoid. And we're backed up by the First Temple and the Gods' support."
Doc rubbed his hands. "Excellent! What size apartment can we take? How many rooms?"
I had to admit I was slightly taken aback by his pragmatic approach. "Take whatever you need. There's more space here than we can possibly use. But it does need some TLC."
"And if I ask you to allocate us a whole wing?" he nodded at one of the eight buildings that radiated from the Temple. This guy had some appetite.
"Actually, the place is sheer Stalingrad," I answered. "It's nothing but collapsed walls and other debris, stuffed with explosive surprises more than likely. And I really can't afford to renovate anything of that caliber..."
"I could inject some real money in it. From what I hear, the game does have this option. Do you think I could use that money to buy some redecorators?"
I nodded. "Possible. I could hire a hundred through the castle interface if you want. Stone masons, carpenters. No idea how fast they can work but work they do."
"Excellent! Then, with your permission, I'll choose one of the wings and adapt it to my needs, agreed?"
I just shrugged. He didn't want much, did he? Never mind. Time would tell. "It's not as if we're facing overpopulation here. OK, then. Make yourself comfortable."
I shook his strong hand and turned my attention to other things. What was next on my list? The chicks. I wanted to give them a good boost: not the required minimum of 2,000,000 mana but the whole 4,000,000. I just hoped such a waste would positively affect their stats. If I didn't sleep, I'd know it within fifteen hours. Oh, Jeez, I'd completely forgotten why I'd come here in the first place! I'd wanted to try and create a spell scroll!
I slapped my pockets—good, I had all the ingredients with me: the Magic Parchment and the Sparks of Divine Presence.
I looked around, choosing an open space. Over by the North wall looked about right. Having warned everyone in the chat they were about to witness some loud and visually impressive experiments, I hurried to the chosen area, mentally scrolling through the calligraphy manual as I walked.
The skill didn't let me down. Even though I'd had to temporarily redirect all the altar mana flow onto myself, I didn't think the chicks had time to even notice it. All I needed was patience and enough stamina to withstand the cooldown of the High Spell.
By the end of the second minute my legs were giving way, my neck cracking under the weight of my leaden head. Good enough!
Bang! I finally stopped casting and collapsed onto the ground. Who the hell said it was easy?—magic was damn hard work.
When I felt slightly better, I scrambled toward the parchment on my hands and knees and ID'd the still-warm charter glistening with wet ink.
Magic Scroll
Item class: Epic
Contains a High Circle spell: Astral Mana Absorption.
Effect: siphons 8,388,608 mana from the chosen target.
Cast time: 115 sec
Protect the person who reads the scroll! Any damage sustained will cause them to lose concentration, breaking the spell.
It worked! Okay, so the magic cooldown would only allow me to make one scroll every twenty-four hours, but that wasn't crucial at the moment. What was crucial though was that I could create a Portal to Inferno scroll right there and then!
Two minutes later I was blowing the imaginary dust off a fresh scroll before packing it into my bag. The day had been good. I'd done a lot of what I should have done. Now I had every right to finally check my own apartment and hopefully catch a few Zs. I was completely tuckered.
I walked upstairs, following Lurch's directions and listening absent-mindedly to his bragging about his exploits in the field of perfect interior design. I swung my door open and felt like someone from the Million Dollar Decorators TV show. There was no need for me to whoopee for the camera, but I wished I could do it. This Lurch was one hell of a guy.
It merged antique and modern, bent oak furniture the color of ebony and the softest ergonomic chairs complete with a stunning couch. A stuccoed ceiling hung over the marble fireplace and the mosaic parquet in the league of the Hermitage museum. Speaking of which, it was all so beautiful but it didn't give you that 'museum' feeling: just a cozy gloom dispersed by a live fire, a soft chair by the mantelpiece calling your name... Yes, I'm coming! I pulled off my dusty boots in the doorway, strode to the chair and, sighing with delight, began lowering my body onto its cushions.
"Grrrr!" I heard under my backside. I recoiled and groaned.
The White Winnie scowled in the chair. Spikes glistened on his plain collar that now bore the Mark of the Fallen One.
Damn.
Chapter Nineteen
At five a.m. the next morning the internal alarm clock screeched in my ear. I'd consciously chosen the most annoying ringtone and the most eye-hurting strobe light to go with it. Here, you couldn't cover your head with a pillow or smash the alarm against the wall... it would hurt and cost you a lot of money. Come on now, Mister Cyborg, arise and shine!
A reminder came up, The chicks! I shook my head, collapsing message windows, then asked Lurch for a light breakfast complete with a couple coffees. I couldn't think straight. The night before, I'd spent until midnight trying to get the wretched White Winnie out of my bedroom. He seemed to like my reaction to the constant popping of portals. Finally, I'd warned him I'd speak to the Fallen One who'd be more than happy to add a designer muzzle to match his collar. With a painful glare, Winnie growled some kind of four-letter indignation. Then he pissed off, for good this time.
I grabbed a quick bite and filled myself to the brim with coffee. Then I trotted down the dark corridors. My Elven vision didn't help me much. Most of the passages were tucked away in the windowless depths of the building, which was clever security-wise but hard to negotiate, especially at nighttime. The smoking torches did little to disperse the dark: the castle had no free resources available to create some fixed magical lights. Our top priority at the moment was to restore the castle's defense potential.
When I stumbled for the umpteenth time, I sent the economy to hell and dispatched the order to install some proper lighting. I wasn't a ghost, after all, to roam the place in the dark, hurling curses. Those ruins had stood there with their holes gaping at the world for the last eight hundred years, so another half-hour wouldn't make much difference.
I came across some Orc guards by one of the exits. I told one of them to swap his weapons for a couple of torches and follow me. That was better.
The top platform of the tower was gleaming light blue in the dark. WTF? I hurried up the steps. No nasty surprises this time, luckily: the eggs were so overflowing with mana it was leaking over, wasted, melting away.
Oh. It's been awhile since someone took me to task for forgetting to turn the electricity off. Abou
t time the Fallen One arrived and knocked some sense into us. Stealing a look around, I quickly pulled the plug on the chicks, redirecting the mana flow back to the Temple. Then I glanced at the eggs and froze.
Well-nourished and properly formed, they had completed their manifestation in our space and time. Their textured surface swirled with two hundred fifty-six shades of opalescent gray forming complex patterns: a mesmerizing sight sending any careless spectator into a deep trance.
A heavy gauntleted hand shook my shoulder bringing me back to reality.
"D'you want me to go get some more torches, Master?" the Orc torch bearer croaked. "These ones are finished. But it's morning now, anyway..."
Morning? I cast a confused look around, then stared at my clock. Morning it was, already past eight. Did that mean I'd been standing there for over two hours bug-eyed and droopy-mouthed, drooling all over the hatchlings? That was a very curious form of defense. Imagine some curious type like myself wishing to filch a taste of the eggs while the mother hen was away—he'd just freeze, hypnotized, until the dragon came back home grinning, having no need to look for a dessert, least not one that had had the audacity to come and the patience to wait.
If I could only cover our dome shield with an egg shell like that! One glimpse of it could send your surprised enemy into oblivion. A dream waffle.
Taking care not to look at it directly, I tapped the shell with my knuckle. It echoed without breaking. Knock knock, anybody home? I selected one egg as target and read its stats:
Mature Egg of a Bone Dragon. A unique clutch. Chances of hatching a Phantom Dragon: 99.9%. Probable gender: female
Mana: 4,000,000/4,000,000
100% bonus to initial stats.
Do you want to break the egg and help the chick get out?
Do I not? I slammed a virtual fist on the button, flooded with relief like anyone who'd just completed a long and tenuous task.