The Azure Dragon

by Vladimir Vasilenko

  Terekhov shook his head. The decision was clearly not easy for him as his personal dislike for Genghis was too strong.

  "The guys make a good point, Leo," said Doc. "All of us are Hounds, and we all work for the same purpose. Now is not the time to fight among ourselves."

  The paladin gritted his teeth and snarled.

  "Okay! Go!"

  As we rushed forward, the vanara cub jumped off my shoulder and disappeared in the bushes. I didn't blame him for desertion—on the contrary, I was glad that the kid had enough brains not to rush into this meat grinder.

  We arrived just in time. Genghis’s tanks still could not close the formation, the intermediate ring of defense was also almost crumpled. To cover the mages and archers, Genghis himself moved forward shoulder to shoulder with Laurel. Their main opponent was still the same coal-black vanara. Once again, he picked up his log, brought it over his head, clearly intending to sweep the closely huddled core combat system of the Hounds.

  Daniel rushed forward, like a steam locomotive; the joints of his armor were clanging rhythmically, increasing the tempo. Only instead of a fun choo-choo at the end, he shouted something like "R-r-rr-r, #%@*^La!" as he rammed into the vanara's shoulder. It was a success—the huge monkey lost his balance and fell to one side, dropping his log. Dan managed to stay on his feet after the blow and only slightly spun. He immediately raised his terrible two-handed flanged mace over his head and brought it down on the enemy.

  The vanara instinctively covered himself from the blow with his paw and immediately howled in pain. I thought the nasty wet crunch of shattered bones could be heard by everyone, despite the prevailing battle noise.

  Two more monkeys came to the rescue of the giant vanara, but Terekhov, Viper, and Bers intercepted them halfway, giving time to Genghis’s soldiers to recover and form a formation again. The expression on Genghis's face alone was worth all this shebang. Even his eyes seemed to have changed from almond-shaped to perfectly round. He looked like an owl.

  I threw Thorns under the feet of the attackers, at the same time, trying out my new skill. The effect was quite good but very short—the monkeys easily tore off the sprouts grabbing their legs. It seemed that I had to have a much higher level of this skill in order to stop these thugs. However, in battle, even this little trick was already an advantage. The thorns slightly baffled the attackers and made them stumble, and the Hounds used this opportunity. Viper's spear, Terekhov's blade, and two of Karachun's ice arrows almost simultaneously hit one of the vanara’s chests. A little later, an arrow with colored plumage flew in, plunging the poor monkey straight into his left nostril. Really classy, Sting.

  In just a minute, our interference turned around the course of the battle—the Hounds again went on the offensive, and the vanara corpses began to fall on the grass, one after another. Sting, Doc, Karachun, and Edge strengthened the long-range core of the squad, Terekhov and Dan reduced the load on the tanks. Viper, Kata, and I remained in the supporting force group.

  However, it did not last long…

  As soon as we were able to retaliate and push vanaras away, Terekhov and Genghis clashed like two stray dogs. I didn't see who started first, but the verbal sparring instantly turned into a real fight.

  "Leo, enough!"

  "Hey, stop!"

  "Commander!"

  The Hounds were shouting something, trying to reason with the fighting, but no one dared to intervene in their fight. They fought in earnest. Genghis somehow managed to knock Terekhov's sword out of his hands, but he grabbed the shield with both hands and fought fiercely, cutting with the edge of the shield no worse than with an ax. Soon he was able to disarm the enemy, and they resorted to use daggers. The fight using short blades looked interesting as the fighters reminded medieval warriors, but their stands, skills, and techniques clearly manifested their association with army school of knife and hand-to-hand combat. Interestingly, Terekhov and Genghis were worth each other. If I had to bet, I'd think ten times.

  "Stop it! Now is not the time to spar with each other!" Doc tried to get some sense into them.

  Finally, he lost his patience and gave Karachun a command. Moving forward, the lich suddenly showered the fighters with a wide frosty jet. Both screamed in pain and shock and darted in different directions.

  "Cool down a bit!" The necromancer muttered. "Since when is it okay to throw tantrums in the middle of a fight? These fucking monkeys are going to send us to the menhir, and all you care about is dogfighting?"

  "Shut up, old man!" Genghis growled. "And get out! You're all saboteurs! This is your last session in Artar, I promise you that! You'll all be fired in the morning!"

  "We actually saved your ass just now, jerk!" Terekhov snorted contemptuously. "And I wouldn't be so sure about tomorrow morning. You can't do shit without us, Genghis! You can't handle vanaras, neither can you get adamantite!"

  "We'll see about that!"

  "What's there to see?" Bers laughed. "Mongoose, show him!"

  I took out the fiery tear and, with a smug look on my face, jounced this weighty piece of adamantite on my palm.

  We must pay tribute to Genghis—he still managed to pull himself together. He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, clenched his teeth, and then his face turned back into an impenetrable mask.

  "I knew from the beginning that none of you could be trusted! I knew that you would plot against me."

  "Hey!" One of Genghis's men shouted. I think it was Bison—I recognized him by his massive cold iron helmet with horns.

  "Don't play innocent!" Terekhov cut off. "You started this! But you underestimated us."

  "Hey, commanders!"

  "Don't worry. It's not over yet. I have a pair of aces," ominously grinned Genghis. "But we'll talk about it in the morning."

  "Commanders, god damn it!" Finally, Bison was heard by the opponents. "Look over there!"

  He pointed to the central part of the settlement. When we threw the main vanara forces back to the oak tree, they retreated and grouped there. This gave us a little break, but it seemed to be over. The remains of the ape army were again coming up to us, and behind them, leaning on massive staffs, walked three familiar figures.

  "Here come the shamans!" Viper said in a trembling voice, breaking the silence.

  "Hold formation!" Genghis cried out. "Long-range shooters, get ready!"

  All immediately took their places, deploying the perfect order of battle as if just a minute ago, there were no squabbles inside the squad. As soon as the vanara leaders showed up, our enemy also stopped acting like a disparate pack and began to be more organized. The soldiers spread out, covering us in a semicircle. A small group separated from the main army and was about to attack us from the rear flank. At least we weren't about to be attacked from the air. The space here was open, there were no tree branches over our heads.

  Painted with war paint, the shamans, in their ornate headdresses of feathers, bones, and pieces of skins, seemed even larger than their kin, and certainly scarier. But it was worse that we didn't really know what to expect from them.

  However, we didn't have to wait long to find out. The main troops had just again clashed in battle, and the shamans began to use their entire arsenal of magic against us.

  Their spells were far less effective in appearance than those of our healers and magicians. There were almost no bright flashes, glowing auras, fiery flashes. But it didn't make them less effective. The fight was on two levels: while ordinary vanaras fought the Hound warriors, shamans had a remote duel with our mages.

  The vanaras started with a familiar spell—the skinny shaman with knotty crooked stick sent a big cloud of furious wasps toward our squad. I remember the first time we faced this weapon of mother nature, and we shamefully retreated. However, Genghis’s team had a great antidote for it. The magic of fire. Like a master flamethrower, Kali quickly drove away the pesky insects, and most of them burned in flight. Some of them, of course, managed to sting us, but in general, they didn't affect
the heat of the battle.

  The second vanara acted more cunningly. He had control spells in his arsenal, like my Thorns that I had recently learned. Flexible roots came out of the ground and grabbed the soldiers by the ankles. But the soldiers quickly got their bearings. The roots attacked mainly tanks, trying to restrain them or knock them over, and then allow ordinary vanara soldiers to finish them off. That's what support soldiers were for—they were an intermediate ring between long-range shooters and tanks. They cut down roots and covered the tanks if it was necessary, coming to the front when needed.

  Our archers and mages showered vanaras with streams of arrows and spells, focusing on the shamans so that those had to be distracted by the defense. All three were overgrown with a thick, lumpy shell, similar to the bark of a tree, which was also some kind of a spell. Arrows pierced this armor without harming the shamans. After a couple of minutes, the healthiest of them resembled a porcupine: he had three dozen arrows stuck in him.

  At the howling call of shamans came some huge black panthers with glowing green runes on its sides. The beasts slammed with all their might against the line of our defense and even completely knocked out Kir and another one of Genghis's tanks. Viper and I had to plug the gap in the defense, and I spent two-thirds of the Qi charges to defend against the monstrous predators. I had to use Levee Burst, but the new Wood Element skill—the Dragon's Tail—was especially helpful. The circular kick threw back and stunned our opponents. Importantly, it strengthened my armor at the moment of impact. If it hadn't been the Tail and the constantly maintained effect from the Heart of Oak, I would have been torn to pieces long ago. Well, of course, the buffs and healers were of huge help.

  For the first time since I started playing I felt that we actually were missing out not having a healer in our group. We were like crazy circus acrobats working without safety. Competent healer significantly increases the strength of the unit in battle, and many literally pull it out of the jaws of death at the last moment.

  When the last panther designed by the shamans fell to the side with a drawn-out roar, I quickly looked around. The battle was still in full swing, and both sides suffered losses. There was less than a third of us left. From the tanks, only Bison and Daniel survived. Terekhov seemed to still be on his feet, but his entire right side and arm were scarlet with blood, and it wasn't clear whether it was his or someone else's. Viper didn't survive. We fought back to back together, covering each other, but at some point, I realized that I was alone. I didn't even see who took him out.

  But the vanaras got slammed pretty hard by us, too. There were about a dozen of other fighters left, and all of them huddled around the shamans. The leader was hysterically screaming something, dancing to his own beat—he must have been preparing another surprise for us.

  "We need to knock down his cast!" Someone yelled behind me.

  Of course, I knew that. I looked around. To my left, Bison was butting with two vanaras. To the right, Terekhov and Dan desperately fought back against three vanaras, trying not to let them into the formation, as our second line of defense was also very weak. In fact, mages, archers, and healers were left without cover, and one desperate attack from the vanaras would be enough to crush them all.

  I leapt forward, over the corpses of the panthers, somersaulting and dodging a boulder the size of a basketball that was thrown at me. I threw the chakram at the head shaman, but the sharp ring pierced the thick wood of his armor, not causing him any harm. Another shaman leapt forward, swinging his staff at me. I threw the Stinger at him. The sharp tip pierced his chest. Judging by the furious roar, it broke through the protective bark and went deep into the flesh. I pulled the rope.

  Actually, I was going to knock him down like that, but we were in different weight categories, so I was dragged to him, instead. I fell on my back, digging my feet deep into the ground with the heels of my boots. The shaman also staggered, grabbing the rope, that was as tight as a string, with his paw.

  Just don't break it, you bastard!

  My feet hit the root sticking out of the ground and found a firm footing. With all my forces, I pulled the Stinger, dragging the shaman toward me like a fisherman reeling in a huge catfish. And then, taking advantage of his confusion, Daniel attacked him from the flank. He knocked him down and knocked his staff out. Terekhov followed. I released the Stinger and fell back by inertia.

  Meanwhile, the shaman cried out the last words of the spell, and the jungle suddenly resounded with cries of pain.

  I turned around and got chills of horror. From under the ground, like sharp spears, fast-growing stems of bamboo were coming out and growing right before our eyes, a foot per second. The spell engulfed a wide area, several feet across. It was just enough to cover the core of our squad. The majority of mages, archers, and healers came under attack and was literally skewered alive on sharp spikes. Only Laurel managed to get out thanks to his heavy armor, and Kali because she was just on the edge. Doc was alive too, but Karachun was gone. The lich, who was immediately pierced by a dozen stems, literally collapsed and wilted, exuding a jet of steam similar to smoke from the extinguished bonfire.

  Terekhov and Dan furiously finished off the fallen shaman. I jumped up and rushed to help them.

  Our squad had less than a dozen people, and the vanaras didn't outnumber us—they had two shamans and a dozen wounded monkeys left. We huddled in front of each other in two tight piles, breathing heavily and gathering our strength for the last push. It was clear that this attack would be the last one—either we take them or they take us. Just as with the battle of Genghis and Terekhov, I would be very careful betting on anyone.

  Genghis, by the way, was still alive. His helmet was knocked off, his shield cracked, and seemed ready to fall apart after a couple more good hits. He had lost his sword somewhere and was clutching a dagger with a blade that was red from blood. His face was covered with blood from a deep wound on his forehead. The rest of the survivors didn't look any better, including me. Damn panthers scratched me a couple of times with their claws, completely tearing the leather armor on my shoulder and on my side. Right through the terrask leather! Which is supposed to be almost as durable as metal.

  The pause before we rushed at each other again lasted just a few seconds but seemed like an eternity. I caught a glimpse of the cat-like yellow and full of hate and desperate determination eyes of the shamans. The vanara warriors barred their fangs and their monkey nostrils swelled from heavy breathing. I saw Terekhov's petrified face and Bers's half-mad grin, the back of his hand wiping the blood from a scratch on his chin. It was one of those moments that makes you shiver. The moment of truth.

  And just as we were about to launch our last attack, from somewhere above, a black shadow with a tail fell upon us.

  With one giant leap, the lone warrior burst into the fight, landing exactly in the center between the two groups.

  "Wait!" He snarled, striking the ground with his staff.

  Terekhov, who had rushed forward, was stopped with a flat blow to the shield, throwing the paladin a few steps aside. Vanaras met the stranger with a friendly growl, but he raised his clawed palm.

  "Stop! Enough blood shedding!"

  "Get out!" Baring yellowish fangs, the biggest vanara snapped. "I am Ngala Mol, head shaman of the Whispering Oak! No one will prevent me from driving out the intruders from my land. And all the more, some Xy henchman!"

  "Enough blood, I'm telling you! It's not going to solve anything. You need to negotiate. Right now! Uobo is in great danger!"

  "I know that, fucking cat!" Ngala snorted. "I'm trying to save Uobo, whatever it takes!"

  "Really? Is it really that hard to just talk?"

  Those Hounds that survived looked dumbfounded, turning their heads, looking at the shaman and the diplomat. Terekhov, who was knocked down by the intruder, finally stood up and cursed, joining the others.

  "Does anyone even know what's going on?" He grumbled. "Who the hell is that?"

  Everyone looked at
each other and shook their heads.

  "I have no idea what's going on here," I said. "But I know this guy with the staff. It is Venerable Weyun Bao. My Sensei."

  Chapter 20. Fish in Muddy Waters

  "What are you doing here, master?" I asked, taking advantage of the pause. "I thought you never left your camp at the foot of the Gray Peak."

  "You're right," Weyun Bao nodded, turning over his shoulder. "But this time I had to go. Someone has to be the eyes and ears of Xy in this conflict. Moreover, I bear part of the blame for the fact that I got you involved.”

  "It's not your fault," I was surprised. "We barely talked lately."

  "However, I'm afraid I'm the one who put you on the wrong path. Remember you asked for my advice and we talked about friends and enemies and common interests? Now, it's not always that the enemy of your enemy is your friend."

  "Enough chitchat, Xilay!" Loudly beating himself in the chest, boomed Ngala. "Say what you want and get out of here! You know that Xy are unwelcome guests in Uobo!"

  "It was not always like that, though, venerable shaman," Bao said sadly. "Unfortunately, now it is too late to fix that. But we can deal with this new threat, if we unite."

  “With whom? With these hairless strangers?!" The vanara growled in indignation and shook his head so that the hanging bone ornaments on his helmet rattled like castanets.

  "What are you talking about?" Genghis winced. "And why are you busting in our battle?"

  "Because your war is a mistake. You want to destroy each other, believing that this is the only way to achieve your goals."

  "What do you know about our goals, Xilay?" The skinny gray vanara contemptuously pursed his lips. He was the second of the surviving Whispering Oak shamans.

  His voice was squeaky and shrill, like that of a scandalous woman.

  "Especially about our goals?" Terekhov chuckled.

  "Your goals are obvious," Ngala snorted. "All hairless people who come to Uobo want one thing. Kill and rob."