The Way of the Clan 7

by Dem Mikhaylov

  But Whisper was right, and I was silent, giving a light nod to signify that I had acknowledged his argument. The cheerful spy smiled broadly and slapped me on the shoulder:

  “Oh, to hell with it. It is always like that with daughters. Sometimes, you do not know what to do - call the Guinness Book of Records, grab the belt or check out twenty volumes from the series “How to Raise a Teenage Daughter” from the library. Or, “What Language do our Children Speak?” Eh… let’s go kill some half-orcs?”

  “Let’s,” I nodded. “In an especially cruel way.”

  While we were throwing around lazy phrases, and while Orbit and Roska were whispering on the head of the mammoth, ahead of us, near the fortress and the portal, a lot was going on. The giant caravan had assembled into a protective form, which looked as if a long snake had curled into a ball. Above the caravan, a bright azure blob of energy hovered in the air and spread, creating a magical shield.

  On the walls of the fortress, the soldiers were pouring the contents of different cans and bottles into alchemical weapons. With a clang, the steel metal gate was raised up and revealed the large doors. There was the suspicion that they would open and a wave of lava would rush forth, sweeping away everything in its path.

  Most likely, it would happen - the inhabitants of the fort no doubt decided to march towards us. They would have warriors trained precisely for this. But was there a lot of them? They could not have known about our arrival ahead of time. In a fortress, there is usually only a single detachment - twenty players and perhaps some hired “locals.” But more and more often we could see the multicolored flashes of players arriving beyond the fortress wall. Reinforcements were arriving.

  “What’s our goal? Does everyone remember?” I asked suddenly, and with a serious alarm.

  “Start the portal!” The first to respond was Whisper, who was smearing his face with some brownish green grease from a small bone box.

  “Wrong!” I cut off. “Our business is to find the crying one and interrupt him… that is, so he would stop his sobbing agony! After which we will turn around, show our enemies our behinds, and depart to distant lands!”

  “We will leave through the teleporter,” Whisper added, covering his neck and hands with the grease.

  “Wipe the grease from your ears,” I grumbled, activating the menu with spells. “It is about the damned crying.”

  “About the stone and broken one,” said Whisper.

  “And boring one,” added Orbit.

  “The one who used to spoil all the people with the teleporter,” added the spy, persisting.

  “Maybe it is not him!” I frowned. “Maybe a younger brother who stumbled upon his corpse and is now crying!”

  “Here!”

  “What’s there,” I asked.

  “The voice! Crying!”

  “Here?!” I asked together with the spy, when we were looking at an absolutely plain grass hillock, about fifty meters from the nearest stone spikes and sixty from the stone palms sticking out of the earth.

  “Here,” confirmed Roska, deftly moving along the forehead of the Kolyvan, and then onto the trunk. “The voice is here!”

  “As far as I know,” Whisper observed, pointing to the fortress, “The lower part of the lips and jawbone lie in the gully over there. About twenty steps from the castle wall. I do not want to shock anyone with my genius, but to talk, you need a mouth, right?”

  “Wrong!” Roska waved her hand and ran around the hillside, peering at the thick grass.

  Having squinted at a large herd of carnivorous bull-rats walking in the distance, I slid off the plump side of the Kolyvan. Bull-rats are a hell of a creature - a rat, but the size of a cow, with bovine horns and hooves on its front paws. The tail is a trident, and the back is spiked with a bone crest. Levels from the high eighties to the hundred and fiftieth. Algora is close to here, but it is still one of the “heavy” zones. Bull-rats attack in herds, kill in herds, and devour in herds. They bite and bite, and beat their hooves, and with their tails, they can grab you by the neck and drag you across the stones until you turn into a well-chopped piece of meat. And then they devour you…

  Overall - it is dangerous to stray here. It is a bad place. If the herd is attacked, they will consume the mammoth like piranhas. Here exist many varieties of predatory monsters. Flocks of evil creatures fly in packs. But I do not see any flying ones, which pleases me beyond end. But the bulls cause me anxiety.

  Shit…

  I can imagine, in the distance, against the meadow background a child picking flowers, looking for something. Deadly adventures… a child in terrible danger… Such fathers should immediately be deprived of parental rights. Even virtual ones.

  Overall, the picture reminds me of the books I read by Kir Bulychev, creator of the legendary Alisa Selezneva. My Roska reminds me of her more and more. But Alisa’s father was a famous scientist, and I am not a genius nor as strong willed. My daughter will not be raised on the power of intellect, but… she shall be raised somehow…

  The mammoth, shifting behind me, blew air from his trunk onto the back of my head, ruffling my hair and blowing be off like a mosquito. That is the third kind of animal I remembered from this domain. The poisonous, flying bloodsuckers. Flying insects. In small groups. The most harmless of the local fauna, but still rather capable of killing.

  “Daughter. Did you not find him?” I asked hopefully, climbing to the top of the hill, never taking my eyes off the future goddess.

  “Found her!” She joyfully answered, pointing a finger at a lush red flower swaying on one of the slopes. “From here he talks and cries!”

  “From here? Exactly from here?” I asked, having gotten closer to the specified flower, wringing my hands. And if it dies… the stone whiner will stop crying, right? Huh… and a leaf came off… tsk tsk… what a shame.

  “Underneath it,” Roska explained, tearing the flower up before I could. “Underground, we must dig!”

  A rustling, only a rustling but incredibly loud, rushed through the air. We all looked at the fortress together and saw fountains that fell from its walls. Bright green and rotten yellow fountains, and a couple of moments later, red and yellow sheaves of fire hitting the large caravan.

  “The commander is a moron!” I could not resist saying. “What’s the sense of shooting fire and poison at expensive cargo? All the things will be destroyed, or seriously damaged! What’s the use?”

  “Moron,” evilly confirmed Whisper, gloomily looking at the group of wagons that were covered by the deadly canopy of poison and fire. Clouds of greenish steam, fiery flashes...

  PH-H-H-HEW!

  The whirlwind over the caravan worked as a springboard, carrying away the fire and poison upwards, into the sky. The player who had conjured it had acted wisely, and made a move at the most appropriate moment.

  That was what I understood an intelligent tactician would do. I especially approved the type of air vortex it was, able to contain both fire and poison. The tornado crossed the distance between the teleport and the fortress of the aggressors in a couple of seconds and collapsed onto its walls - appropriately throwing its contents directly over the attackers. And the added gusts of blowing wind… several players fell overboard. Some fell into the courtyard and some outside… as soon as they flopped against the stony ground, several crossbow bolts struck them.

  Wild cries and extremely inappropriate swear words were heard through the distance separating us.

  The Golden Knights began their simple and enchanting performance…

  Enjoying the spectacle of the shameful attack and brilliant defense, we continued to dig - Tyrant, Whisper, the mammoth and I putting in a lion’s share of effort to unearth the hillock. Orbit, meanwhile, was explaining something to my daughter, holding the red flower in his hand:

  “If you mix it with the l-leaves with the f-flaming g-grass over there you get a fine m-mixture to blow from your h-hands int-to someone’s f-face… ooh!”

  “Ooh,” enthusiast
ically repeated Roska, hiding the flower in her pocket and picking up a pebble from the ground.

  “Orbit!” I barked at the top of my lungs.

  “Do not shout! I am writing!” Grumbled Whisper, enthusiastically writing in a notebook with a leather cover.

  When did he stop digging?! When did he manage to take out the journal?!

  “It is a simple recipe!” I growled. “And very mean! Even I have heard about it!”

  “You can never tell!” Answered the spy, pointing at the bald elf. “There have been incidents. Oh! Ros! Watch out!”

  I had just taken out the knife to cut into a root, when a stone that was shining behind it suddenly flinched and opened. There was a bright golden iris and a pupil in the form of a pentagonal star. The eye blinked, narrowed its pupil as it ran over me, and jerked towards Roska. The pupil widened as it fixed on the child.

  “What the hell are you staring at, huh? You want to eat her?”

  “Dad! No! Do not cut! He is crying!”

  “Somehow I do not notice the tears!”

  “G-guests!” Happily announced Orbit, standing atop the hillock with the pose of Napoleon.

  Right… unfortunately, the elf was not mistaken. A riding squad had emerged from the open gates. Diverging immediately into two different directions. One, the larger and more powerful, rode towards the caravan - and the other, a smaller squad, was heading towards us. There were ten or so players.

  “I do not see bouquets,” I remarked, beckoning to Tyrant and calling for the pet snake.

  “And no meatloaf,” Whisper agreed, holding the chain in his hands. “The children of the stone corpse do not come in peace. Ros, these guys are tough. So are the girls. You’d better stick to the crossbow.”

  “I agree,” I said, clinging to the thick leather belt on the side of the Kolyvan and hoisting myself up. “Orbit, I trust you have not yet exchanged the Krabber ghost for a horde of azure mice?”

  “O-o-oh…” The bald elf fell into a catharsis. “Id-d-dea…”

  “Call the Krabber! Time to cut the Golden Templars golden balls with the golden claw!”

  “The more I know you, Ros, the more I am stupefied,” Whisper confessed, throwing some dirty greenish brown rags onto his shoulders and sinking to his knee.

  I blinked… Whisper’s figure quivered before my eyes, began to blur.

  I blinked again… and the spy evaporated. Only a small flat mound appeared in a place that was recently covered in weeds.

  The gallant knights galloped to us, with intentions clearly unkind, but I could not resist stretching out my leg and poking the bump. The mammoth thoughtfully grunted and also put a thick foot forward, intending to test it for strength. The bald elf on his head egged him on with a theatrical whisper.

  “Clean your hooves, you freaks!” Snarled the mound and, twitching, crawled over to some thickets.

  I stood very close - but still, sometimes the mound disappeared from sight, as hard as I tried to focus.

  Sh-hah!

  A powerful figure encased in a bone carapace appeared from the emptiness, bringing a wave of cold. A terrible claw clicked, almost chopping off Kolyvan’s trunk at the root. For some unknown reason the Krabber was shaking and barely straightened up. A grumble escaped from his throat. Snorting in displeasure, Orbit fell down, pulled a leather bag from his belt, took out a handful of gray dust and blew it onto his ghostly helper. The Krabber straightened, but continued to move slowly. The skinny elf fished out a large gold container decorated with carvings, jewels, and two ornate handles. Roughly speaking, it was an ornate medieval toilet. He procured a handful of bright red dust and blew it onto the Krabber. Instantly, the Krabber became “fresh as a cucumber.” The claw began to click twice as often.

  “Eh,” Orbit shrugged his shoulders, seeing my surprise. “N-not every day I c-can invig-gorate war ghosts with p-powder from the toilet. F-from the estate of Ced-dric.”

  “Cedric?” I laughed and grimaced at the same time. Damn… again, the Scarlet Cross was recalled.

  We had taken tapestries from the walls, a master clock, carpets, and other fine things… and Orbit stole the toilet. Sounds about right.

  Another ghost literally dove into the golden pot, buzzed inside, and when it flew out, it was twice as big and brighter. And faster - so fast that it was difficult to follow with the eyes. The ghostly spider had been craving a dose…

  “You sure those are not crushed drugs?” I asked in a whisper, glancing sideways at my daughter.

  “Al-most,” the elf sighed, allowing the spider to climb in again. The d-dried liver of the f-foggy dragon and the r-root of the ghostly ald-der… pulled from the clan storage…”

  “Bastard!” Came a voice from the thorns. “And they blamed everything on my detachment! Like we were last visitors in the storage thus guilty! After this, you were coming with me! To confess! He… Ros! On guard!”

  “If anything, give us time to escape,” I said at half volume, grabbing the elephant harness and scrambling up.

  “Sure. I am already used to dying and seeing your retreating ass in the distance. Go now, but slowly. In five minutes time, several of our fighters will be here, plus, two dragons with fighters on board and four barrels of fire.”

  “Got it,” I said, grabbing the crossbow and turning it to the enemy.

  There was no effort on their end to conceal their intentions. These guys were not skipping to us with a bunch of roses.

  “Here’s a small shield in the bag at the front,” added Whisper. “If Orbit did not take it for fun, it should still be there. Use it. Cover her.”

  There was no question about it. It took a few seconds to find the shield of polished red stone, to activate it and hand it to Roska. A luminous veil unfolded around my daughter with a buzz and shuddered nervously. Damn. Roska’s divine energy was definitely affecting it.

  All this was done on the go - the elf, who had returned aboard, sent the mammoth slowly away. There was no hope in escaping. The Golden Templars would definitely overtake us.

  Covering my daughter with my body, I pointed a gun at the pursuers and shouted fiercely:

  “Fuck off!”

  “Stop, wicked one!” Shouted the leading rider knight, with golden stripes on his shoulders.

  “You fuck yourself!” I muttered, firmly pressing the trigger.

  The rippling arrow made its way to the horse’s chest… and flew by, the horses making a beautiful somersault.

  I was able to witness only the beginning of the somersault - when, before the detachment, a brightly shining spiked chain appeared from the dust.

  Out of ten horses, eight of them tripped - they were galloping in such a painfully beautiful line that they ran into each other. Behind them, two horses jumped over the obstacle and continued the pursuit.

  “Wo-o-o-o-ow,” Roska said. “Dad! I want more! Let the horses do another!”

  “Tabra Tabra!” Said the elf piercingly, raising his terrible butcher knife.

  “You are damned! Wicked children! How dare you!” The roar was so loud that I got chills down my spine.

  “Raising a hand against the holy warrior-monk! Only a heathen could make such a disgusting act!” The same voice weakened because of the distance, and I saw who was screaming - he was already on his feet, and catching the first horse he could.

  “Tabra-dvamabra!”

  And the Kolyvan stood up on its hind legs, took a heavy step back, and flopped down on the ground heavily with his ass. The earth trembled. The hulk of the shaggy elephant shook, and so did we… someone’s cursing was abruptly cut off, squashed by the backside of the Kolyvan.

  “Tabra-tabra!”

  Trumpeting, the Kolyvan leaned forward and rose.

  “Tabra-dvamabra!”

  And again he sat down.

  “I feel bad for the horses,” said Roska.

  “And Tyrant,” I said - nodding to the wolf, who looked downright astonished. Even the legendary beast was surprised as much as his digital form
allowed.

  The ears of the wolf jerked, listening sympathetically to the voice still heard from underneath the elephant’s bum.

  “This… f… is just…”

  “Tabra Tabra! Tabra Tabra!”

  With a deep uterine sigh, the Kolyvan jerked to the side and rose, slow and heavy like a monstrous boulder. Finally, he stood on his two hind legs. I was the first to see the dent in the ground and the silvery clot of fog, some objects left over from the nearly dead player lying in the center of the crater. I looked into his awestruck eyes… and pulled the trigger, sending an explosive arrow straight into his chest.

  Bam!

  And I was also painted red, as Orbit had been not long before.

  “Oh, you spawns of Satan!” Mournfully screamed the knight galloping towards us. “Offspring of the dark one!”

  “Damn right,” I said, loading the next arrow.

  Behind the galloping warrior there was the overall impression that his comrades were connected by an invisible cobweb. They fought it, got up, and fell again. There was a glowing chain sparkling in the dust, whistling about like a long whip. The blurry figure of Whisper.

  The galloping player jerked his reins in time and managed to escape from the arrow. He easily slayed one of the bald elf’s ghosts rushing towards him. Orbit staggered back. The spear held in one of the player’s hands was aimed right at the forehead of the mammoth, and he rushed straight at us.

  “For the brotherhood!” Yelled he.

  “Move!” I yelled, sending two fires of spells in the direction of the opponent. The fire and ice crossed onto the horse, but the armored creature did not even blink, easily withstanding the blow.

  The mammoth jerked aside - he was heavy, slow to react. And the knight was already near - there was no escaping him. But we could defend ourselves. A spruce, torn from its root, would serve as a good shield. The trunk of the mammoth easily lifted it.

  It was a hell of a blow!

  The log splintered, the fragments of the tree flew in all directions, while the knight went flying to the heavens.