The Way of the Clan 6: World of Valdira

by Dem Mikhaylov

  “Oh…” I ran a hand through my hair.

  “And here comes by brother Nogli! Let’s talk money? I will ask a down payment, with respect…”

  “Sir, I am also an excellent fisherman,” the younger boy jumped. “I have been fishing from a very young age!”

  “Hello!” An orc-player jumped up to me. “Heard you were recruiting? I mean, into the league. If there are still places available…”

  “Elven Madhouse?” Kira offered, whispering in my ear. “Let’s call the team that, huh?”

  “A suitable name,” I said, laughing.

  How the hell did we get here?

  One moment we were driving around the lake, enjoying the views and drinking wine, and the next we had assembled a team… something unexpected always happened.

  Was it only like this for me? Or did it happen to everyone?

  “Do not bother the master!” Said the butler dryly.

  All the fisherman instantly stepped back with impassive expressions.

  “Everyone!” I stepped forward, realizing that something must be done, before this turned into a comedic farce. “I will soon be registered officially. And I’ll be glad to accept those WORTHY,” I raised my voice for a moment— “fishermen. Those who have experience fishing in local waters. I intend to win today’s competition! And I will accept no novices. There will be…”

  “Five players in each team,” came a barely audible voice from behind me.

  “Five players in each team! Two teams! Total of ten people! Ahem… I mean, ten representatives of any race!” I blurted, catching myself. As long as a graver didn’t come with a fishing rod… “Kira, help me out a bit?”

  “Only a bit,” sniffed Trouble. “Fishermen who wish to enroll in our league! Those who are novices, but would like to try their hand— please come to me and give me your names!”

  Before I could blink, four fishermen appeared next to Kira— three men and one woman, a half-orc. Two locals and two players. Wow… the team of novices was nearly assembled.

  “Sir,” quietly said the butler. “It’s not good for the selected fishermen to walk. They are also not worth travelling in your limo. On the way, they might want a refreshment or something to eat— and as the owner of the league, you have to take care of your fishermen.”

  “Meaning?”

  “There are a number of open freight wagons available for rent. There will be no shortage of cheap beer, young wine and fresh water. As well as simple snacks. If you want to give the order I can…”

  “The chest with silver is at your disposal,” I nodded with gratitude. I wasn’t expecting to ever be so frugal in Valdira, but enjoyed it nevertheless.

  “Hm… not too much to spend on the fishermen?” The butler squinted thoughtfully.

  “Just enough,” I continued. “Let them have everything. Let the people see that it’s a rich and generous league.”

  “The booze is cheap here, sir. It won’t cause much damage to your wallet. And I have already sent your application out already. Remember— the league title should be unique: one that has not been used before. Otherwise, it will not be accepted.”

  “Alright,” I nodded thoughtfully, biting my lip thoughtfully. What should the name be? Most importantly, something that sounds formidable— but not terrible— and secondly, something related to fisheries.

  “Don’t forget about stamps, Ros,” said Kira, filling out the paper. “We need one for sure. Without a stamp they won’t accept it.”

  “One minute, I’ll take care of it,” I nodded.

  I went to the deck of the outlandish limousine and poured myself a glass of wine from a dusty bottle. And then I caught the butler, who was coming out of the door with a pair of heavy canvas bags, and said:

  “I do not know your name.”

  “Strogus, sir,” the servant briefly bowed his head.

  “Strogus, thank you for your support and kind counsel.”

  “Of course, my lord,” he said.

  With a nod, the servant went down the stairs— and I saw him begin a conversation with a fat local. The conversation included an abundance of gestures and cries. He was probably bartering for food, and the vehicle for my league.

  I didn’t allow myself to be idle for long.

  After just twenty minutes, the luxury vehicle set sail again. But this time, a short distance behind us, followed a few caravans.

  I spent the next twenty minutes as follows: five minutes to read over the application and send it by personal hawk. Ten minutes to hire the rest of the fishermen. And five minutes more were spent helping to load the barrels, kegs, jugs, baskets and bags onto the caravan.

  Sitting on the upper deck on the limo, over the cabin, and leaning on the railing with one arm, I looked around with some astonishment at my fleet.

  Three cargo carts full of supplies. Two more, in advance. And I would still have to recruit and hire more people.

  There were edibles and fishing supplies— I bought everything to do with fishing from the village shop.

  Seven fishermen formed one team of newcomers.

  One fisherman went to the “middle” team— he was not yet a pro, but already an amateur.

  All the passengers settled comfortably on top of straw covered with blankets, cheerfully following me, and enjoying the sounds of percussion and acoustic guitars. Where was the music coming from? Oh… I hired an ensemble for twenty-four hours, who had opportunely wandered into the village. They were in the last carriage, and now we had music on our journey…

  The musicians did not charge much— the deposit was a pot of silver and a fresh keg of beer from the village. And now, as we went along the gently sloping grassy shores of Naykal, they were singing a loud and joyful song.

  In a quarter of an hour we managed to pass by four tiny villages, collecting their “tributes” of information, supplies, and worthy fishermen.

  My notebook was filled with possibly useful information.

  “A boy from the opposite shore caught a small fish, but the fishing rod was torn out of his hands by a terrible force and dragged into a whirlpool. What resurfaced were only small chips of wood. Then he saw the silhouette of a very large fish, right at the bottom of the lake.”

  “A man returning from a wedding was surprised when he saw a huge, toothy fish emerge out of the water, grab a fat goose which was walking by the water, and disappear again.”

  “A fishing net was broken at one of the small islands, Spine Ruff. And it was a popular place for fishing, too… the net was broken with one powerful jerk, which almost capsized the boat.”

  “An experienced fisherman went missing— he left to go to the lake at dawn. But he didn’t come back. His broken boat was found at the shore.”

  My plan was moving forwards, despite the sudden advancements with the fishermen’s league.

  And by noon we arrived noisily into the small and cozy town Tishka, where we were greeted by the sounds of music, spinning copper weather vanes, and garlands of multi-colored flags.

  The feathered messenger had already returned with the certified, approved application. And a whole flock of pelicans followed after him, bringing an official stamp, more documents, one hundred official badges, and my certificate as certified owner of a Fishing League. We were notified that, as owners of a league, we must rent a decent stone building for the fishermen. The bigger, the better. We were given a week to find one. Stunning… well, alright. Seeing the amused and merry face of Kira did me wonders. A league, then, it is.

  By the way, I named my personal fishing league the “Outland Anglers.” It was the first thing that came into my mind. Strangely enough, the name was approved.

  And then I was visited by a large, long eared bat, who brought me tidings in the form of a scroll and a bottle of wine. The message read:

  “The Esteemed Mr. Rosgard is informed that, tomorrow night on this day, he is expected at the Royale des Cannes in celebration of the conquest of the Outland. Dress is lightly formal. Sincerely, BB. PS.
Attendance required. We have counted the loot and will divide tomorrow. In the meantime, wishing you luck on your adventures and a good catch.

  PPS. The wine is from the special cellars of Royale des Cannes. By the way— you can now enjoy lunch and dinner there for free.”

  How sweet…

  The same message was sent to Kira, only without the postscripts and the wine.

  But I was more concerned about the phrase “good catch.”

  Beautifully written, and full of implication…

  Thinking for a minute, I sucked my teeth and motioned to the butler.

  That’s it…

  Strogus came instantly, at the same time giving the impression that he was walking quite slowly and steadily. I spoke dispassionately to the wise old man, for two minutes at least. Deeper wrinkles appeared on his forehead, his lips pressed together, and his eyes flashed with a restrained anger. Nodding briefly, the servant walked to the table of carved wood, picked up a shell and held it to his lips.

  His conversation with the unknown comrade didn’t last long. Strogus put down the shell, walked over to Kira and poured her some wine, and then approached me again.

  “This is at an additional cost, sir,” he said softly. “There is no direct attack, as you understand.”

  “I understand,” I smiled reassuringly. “No problem. The highest level, please. And if someone suddenly leaves…”

  “Oh, you won’t be disappointed,” the butler replied confidently. “They’re Warriors of Deciduous Dusk… if you’ve heard of them…”

  “Uh-huh,” I choked, slightly taken aback. “I heard of them, but… have seen very few…”

  “Oh yes. Three warriors will arrive at my call, sir Rosgard. A little later. And you don’t have to worry about it any longer.”

  “Thank you,” I sighed, sitting in a chair and picking up the notebook. “Strogus, I’ll be happy to have their company all day until evening.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The highest level,” I repeated.

  “Yes…”

  The conversation took place about ten minutes before arrival into the town Tishka, whose full name meant something like “Quietest Bliss” in a language I didn’t understand. As soon as we crossed the city gates, we were greeted by five guards. Tishka was famous for fishing, wine cellars and brothels. But the beer was no good, informed Strogus. Interesting information… the limo rolled smoothly on an unpaved street. We drove past quant houses and freshly painted fences. Barbeques and roasting fish. People with uncorked wine bottles in their hands. Men in white shirts open at the chest, and a woman in a white blouse. We were greeted with cheers— someone threw a whole bunch of flowers at our vehicle.

  “Like France…” Mused Kira, coming up to the railing and feeling my hand. “A lovely sunny province…”

  “Probably,” I shrugged. “I’m more of a specialist of small Russian towns…”

  “Sir…” Strogus said at my shoulder— and when I turned around, the butler nodded to the city gate.

  The town was situated on a grassy plain adjacent to the lake. The forest was far away. Grasslands and meadows everywhere.

  And down this road now raced a rapid vortex.

  There was a ringing sound, and the whirlwind slowed sharply— we saw a male player convulsing inside it.

  Another ring and the player fell to the ground, transformed into a silver clot of mist mid-flight.

  “Two spies were watching you, sir,” softly said Strogus, serenely looking to the side.

  And there was another player, dressed in a dark suit. He ran very slowly, possibly because his whole body was enveloped by long barbed vines with blood-red spots.

  There was a hit too fast for us to see it. A translucent figure of an unknown soldier appeared. And then came the yell of the player:

  “Damn you!”

  A crystal ring… and the figure of the soldier disappeared. It was extremely fast, and absolutely brutal… worth the crazy money I paid.

  And then, silence … only five soldiers retreating back into the grass. But the overall picture was very serene again.

  “What shall we do with the despicable remains and the objects which the despicable spies used to feast their despicable eyes on the intimate relationship of a couple in love?” Asked the butler.

  Damn…

  “Let them collect it,” I said, stunned at his wording. “And bring it. And calm the local guards. Let them know that it is our personal showdown; that it will not affect this blessed city.”

  “You’re on the offensive now, my dear?” Pouted Kira. “Alright, then… but I won’t let you get distracted anymore.”

  “You heard them,” I snorted. “They’re spying on us.”

  “Good, then, that you got ‘em.”

  “Warriors of the Deciduous Dusk will be waiting for you outside the city and will follow in your footsteps,” the servant informed me.

  “Why not in the city?”

  “Due to a peace treaty between elves and humans, Deciduous Dusk are not allowed to cross the borders of human cities, sir.”

  “I see… then bring them some lunch,” I ordered.

  “As you wish. And if more spies show up?”

  “Then it is necessary to call more fighters,” I smiled.

  “Yes, sir. I should like to add that one of the soldiers took a position on the slope of the mountain, and will be ready to shoot any villain who dares approach you.”

  “Hm…” I said, picking up a telescope from the table and observing a very distant hill. There were no less than three kilometers between the sniper and myself. I felt my nostalgia for Krashshot awaken again…

  “Ros, are you starting a war with the Sleepless?”

  “What are you talking about… I’m just shooting the perverts. I won’t let them watch me kiss you!”

  “Exactly! Oh… look! The mayor… does he think you are a prince?

  Indeed, as we rolled into the town square, someone was running to greet us. It was a hefty and well-dressed man in a black jacket and white frill, with a red face, smiling like a huckster.

  “The city is trying to collect donations for the restoration of the ancient temple,” quietly said Strogus. “They assume you are going to donate a large sum. Shall I dispel their confusion?”

  “No. We will make a donation,” I decided. “Do you know what god? Who is the temple dedicated to?”

  “No, sir. But I will find out.”

  “Be so kind.”

  “Ros! You…” Came a message from Whisper. So much emotion in one word… interesting, why would he write me now? Why not the Baroness? She was silent, but certainly aware of what I had done. After all, she liked to be updated. Oh well…

  Smacking my lips, I drank the last of the wine from the crystal glass, kissed Kira of the cheek, and closed the message. Looking out into the blue, blue sky, I sighed.

  “Life is so good…”

  “A month ago, I would have laughed,” said Kira, suddenly serious. “I would be thinking of the clan… rushing to defend the citadel, my shield up, or standing under the face of a fire-breathing dragon. Or finding an enemy of the clan and pushing him into the dirt. And now…”

  “Tired of adventure? Or tired of scraping the remains of clan enemies off of your boots?”

  “Tired of the word clan, Ros,” Kira smiled. “In any case, I don’t want to hear a word about it now. Oh! Thought of the clan, and remembered the message. Ros, Grey Talon is looking for you.”

  “Sounds terrible,” I quipped, smiling generously at the people smiling in the square.

  And there were half orcs, too— it’s hard to miss those green faces.

  “What should I say to him? To Grey Talon?”

  “Oof…” I breathed heavily. “I guess we should solve this problem. Write to him that I got the message. And that I’m going to turn on my private messages. Okay?”

  “Uh-huh… of course, I’m not your secretary, but… just for today… in exchange for half of tonight’s
dinner.”

  “Hm… I’ll make extra. And I’ll make a good lunch, too. We’ll exit in an hour for a break, half an hour or so. No reason to be zombies. Alright?”

  “Yes! Perfect! I want lunch.”

  “You always do. Just ask our friend to hold the communications for about three hours. First, we’ll talk to the locals, then lunch, and then a few words with our security guards…”

  “The Guardians of the Real!”

  “Eh?”

  “That’s what I call them,” Kira puffed her chest with pride. “Guardians of the Real World!”

  “Do they know about this?”

  “I haven’t told them yet.”

  “Then don’t,” I said. “Inventress… anyway, when we get back to Valdira, then we will talk with Gray Talon and Yellow Tooth. Why does he want to talk to me so bad anyway? Does he want my mother’s recipe for mushroom soup?”

  “There’s such a recipe?!”

  “Nah. Anyway, let’s go, the tournament will start soon.”

  “You sure there isn’t?”

  “If there was— I wouldn’t tell you. I’ll give the recipe to Mama Lena as a bribe. Come on, start smiling. We are a rich and bored couple. Generous patrons.”

  “Just recently you also stood and smiled, remember? In the photo booth,” snorted Trouble. “There were sweaty half orcs in leather skirts and rusty chain mail. Did you forget, my legend?”

  “Let’s not talk of sad times. Not only orcs in skirts, anyway! Sexy elves in silk skirts, too. Don’t underestimate the power of my charm!”

  “You keep on thinking about those elves, go on… it’s still funny. We were trying to scrape up money then… and then bought with it a ton of whale meat, a map, and some books. We hustled for every penny. And now… donating silver?” Kira’s face lit up with laughter. I shrugged and smiled:

  “The Outland has changed me. Morally and financially. Well, let’s go!”

  “Welcome to our lovely abode!” Cried the man in a black coat. “Welcome!”

  Joy radiated from his smile— as well as the anticipation of a large cash donation.

  We spent the next twenty minutes making small talk. I admitted that I did not have a title. This was important— there were some players who would practically knock down the bedroom doors of kings and queens for money.