The rain grew ever stronger. This was exactly the kind of weather I'd encountered on my first visit to Drammen. Mud and more mud. Actually, at the moment I was lucky: the rocky trail down to the mine was quite clear.
The mine was almost in sight, behind this one last bend.
I took a step toward it. Or rather, I tried to. Something powerful jostled my chest and sent me flying backwards. It knocked the wind out of me. My vision darkened with sharp pain.
"What in the devil's name-"
System messages began flashing before my eyes,
You've been attacked by another player: Lance.
A Fire Arrow has bored through your chest!
Damage received: #%@&*.
You've received a Burn to your chest.
Effect: -150 pt. Life every 40 sec
Through the haze of pain, I realized that had it not been for my Grinder's account, I'd already have been dead and sent to my resurrection point at the Altar. As it was, I'd received a rather useless debuff and a nasty injury.
My jacket dropped to the ground, losing 15 pt. Durability. I quickly picked it up and shoved it into my bag. As my college teacher used to say, "poverty learns you a few tricks".
"Lance, did you hear that? He called you a devil, the bastard!"
I turned my head to the sound. The voice was high-pitched and sneering.
The speaker's appearance matched his voice. He was small and lean, with green skin and pointy ears. A Forest Dwand, apparently. His level... oh wow. Level 240.
I racked my brains, trying to work out what such high-level players might want with me. Had Shantarsky, this psycho, finally got to me?
"Mind your tongue, Glitch, before I give you a dose of lightning."
This must have been Lance. I still couldn't see him no matter how hard I tried.
"Be my guest," the Dwand parried.
"Shut the fuck up, you two!"
Oh, there were three of them there. I couldn't see the third one, either. But judging by the fact that both Lance and Glitch promptly shut up, he must have been the alpha dog here.
His voice resounded somewhere very close to me. "Cheeky, take him and get him to the camp!"
They were four, then? Wait a sec... What camp was he talking about?
A warrior, wrapped in a dark cloak, walked out of the torrential rain. Race: Human. Level: 210.
"Move it!" he barked.
"I'm very sorry but could you please be so kind as to explain what's going on..." I mumbled, forcing my feet into a trot.
Without saying a word, the warrior strode behind me, giving me an occasional shove in the back. I was tormented by doubts. Somehow I didn't think these were Shantarsky's people. He didn't have to hire top-level players to trap the humble me.
Then all my doubts were gone.
The clearing before the emerald mine, deserted only yesterday, was now packed with players. There were at least a hundred raid members. Portals flashed open as more people kept coming. Strangely as it sounds, I was glad to see this. They couldn't have all arrived just to arrest me.
Admittedly they had come prepared. Their wagons were even sturdier than Uncle Vanya's, placed strategically in a circle in the middle of the opening like some kind of a siege vehicle. I could make out the outlines of archers and crossbowmen through their narrow window slits. The wagons were packed, but not packed packed. They had all sorts: dwarves and gnomes, Dwandes and humans, I even glimpsed a few Horruds and Rhogghs. At least 80% of them were levels 200+. I hadn't noticed a single person below level 100. Warriors in purple armor were especially eye-catching. I also saw some wizards and snipers. Swordsmen and lancers kept a select distance from the rest. The others were enjoying an eyeful — covert or otherwise — of the elite warriors' gear. The latter behaved as if they owned the place. They didn't look around, they just stood there talking in low voices, casting occasional impatient glances at the portals. No one had bothered to check me out, though.
What the hell was going on here?
We approached the center of the camp. Cheeky put me in front of a giant Horrud and froze, apparently awaiting orders. The monstrous creature simply had to be their commander. Next to his bulk, my friend Greg would have looked like a starving artist.
The Horrud's armor gleamed scarlet red. Level 280. If I wasn't mistaken, the legendary Romulus from the Steel Shirts was only five or six levels above him.
"You didn't gag him, did you?" the Horrud asked calmly. Or should I say, roared calmly.
A new system message popped up,
Warning! You've been gagged! You cannot contact other players for the duration of: 2 hrs.
"It's all right, Armat. I've done it," an Alven wizard in magic-class armor stepped forward from behind the Horrud's back.
With a curt nod, the Horrud turned back to Cheeky. "Tell Critter he's really fucked it up this time. This Digger must have already messaged half his friends about us."
"I don't think so," Cheeky replied calmly. "He didn't know what hit him. Lance really did his best. He still can't get over it."
Ignoring his explanations, the Horrud turned to the Alven wizard. "Jed, I want you to leave some extra guards in the camp."
The wizard nodded, then zoned out, apparently forwarding the order to the raid chat. I had no doubts that this was a Dark raid. The players' clan logos spoke for themselves. These were the Independents, one of the four clans that had fought at the Barren Plateau. I could see a few other clan members too, but still the Independents seemed to be in control. What would one of the game's most powerful clans want with the shitty one-horse Drammen?
Then again, trying to second-guess it wasn't worth my time. I had very little idea of Mirror World's political layout. I had nothing to do with it. I was just a little guy farming mines, earning Rep points and hoping for a bank loan. They might have been in the middle of a major clan war for all I knew. One thing I was sure of: I had to keep a low profile while these big guys played their war games.
"Jed, get your men to keep an eye on this Grinder at all times," the Horrud roared, then turned to me. "All you need to do is keep your head down. You've already ruined our surprise attack as it is. We'll let you go once it's over. Or maybe even before that. Don't worry, no one's gonna hurt you. Nod your head if you understand."
I nodded enthusiastically. We seemed to be thinking along the same lines.
Having finished talking, the Horrud seemed to have lost all interest in me. He turned away and walked toward the opening portals. What a beast. Somehow I didn't think this was a schoolboy playing. The player must have been quite old — and used to ordering others around. Just look at all the players fussing around him. In real life, he was probably a very influential person. Somehow I doubted I was lucky enough to have stumbled over the Independent Clan's leader but you never know. In any case, I could always look him up later.
A light nudge in my back motioned me toward a wagon.
My guard was a whopping level 260. I didn't know whether it was supposed to make me feel sad or proud. Level 10 would have been plenty for me.
The guard's moniker was Mammon, a Dwand. Some magic class, judging by his gear. Affiliation: the Wasters clan. Interesting name. He looked as sour as a lemon. He wasn't looking forward to the prospective of sitting the entire raid out in the camp guarding some worthless newb. He must have invested a lot of money into all sorts of buffs and elixirs. Other raiders shook their heads or smirked as they walked past.
No wonder. They couldn't wait to lay their hands on Drammen and its loot.
Another Dwand stopped a few paces away from us, grinning from ear to ear. He looked very pleased with himself. "Mammon, dude! Make sure you keep an eye on this wonder warrior! We don't want him escape!"
My guard snorted.
"No good snorting, man. He might be a Lighties' spy. You never know, he might grow a pair of wings and report on us to his bosses! Heh!"
He had no idea how close to the truth he was.
"Listen, Bob," my guard sa
id. "Do me a favor. Go somewhere and die a hero's death. Think you can do that?"
As if! His buddy was only warming up. "No, but really, Mammon. It's not for nothing Jed entrusted him to you! Heh heh! If he gives you the slip, that's gonna be fun! Is there anything you can do without fucking up? I'm surprised they still take you on raids."
"Shut your mouth," Mammon hissed.
If Bob had heard him, he didn't show it. "Actually, no. I think I know why they do it. Everybody does. It's your sister, isn't it? Had it not been for Clo, no one would have touched you with a barge pole. Guarding newbs is the only thing you seem to be capable of."
"Right, I've had enough!" Mammon put his dukes up and planted his feet wide.
Bob grinned. "And what do you think you can do?"
As if in confirmation, a pale green haze enveloped his body.
This must have been some kind of magic shield. Bob's voice rang with confidence which didn't promise anything good to my reluctant guard. Still, Mammon couldn't stop. Had it not been for a barked rebuke from a passing Alven warrior, an Independent clan member, I'd have become witness to a magic duel.
"Watch out," Mammon murmured, stepping back. "I've blacklisted you."
Bob burst out laughing. "I'm really scared! You can shove your black list where the sun don't shine! You can't frighten a hedgehog with a hairy ass!"
He waved a mocking goodbye and walked away, whistling an upbeat tune.
What I liked about this whole situation was that I had a school student for a guard. These kids were neither particularly observant nor responsible. I might indeed be able to give him the slip. He knew nothing of my bag of tricks.
Predictably the Darkies began leaving their camp — some on their own two feet, others riding their mounts. In about ten minutes, a hundred-plus top-level warriors were going to invade Drammen. No idea what they needed it for. They might be doing some quest. Or just for the kicks. The fact remained, they weren't going to encounter much resistance.
By now, there were only ten raiders left in the camp. Portals kept flashing open, disgorging even more players in a hurry to get to the war. None of them lingered in the camp, desperate to catch up with the main raid — worried about missing all the fun. Interestingly, these late players were mainly of the low-level type.
After another twenty minutes, the portal traffic stopped too. I estimated about three hundred Dark players looting Drammen while I was sitting here. Three hundred! Warriors of Light had their work cut out for them. I just hoped they'd be prudent enough not to assault the enemy in small numbers as new players kept trickling in. Oh, no. This called for a completely different tactic. We were dealing with a top clan, after all.
"Mammon?"
A raspy voice behind my back made me jump.
"Yeah?"
"I've been thinking."
The raspy-voiced speaker walked out in front of me. A Human. Nickname: Raven, level 140. He had a longbow by his side. The quiver behind his back was packed with arrows.
"What is it?" my guard sounded disinterested.
Raven gave me a sly look. Our eyes met. Then he said something I'd been dreading hearing all along.
"Have you checked his bag? The guys said our scouts apprehended him as he was leaving the mine."
"Well, I don't know," the guard hesitated.
"Look at him, look at him!" Raven was almost jumping with joy, pointing at me. "Did you see his shifty eyes when I mentioned his bag?"
I had to keep my cool. I took a few inconspicuous breaths. I had to get a grip.
"It's an emerald mine, isn't it? If he was exiting it, it means he's got a whole bagful of them."
"You think?" Mammon asked, doubtful.
"Sure! A hundred percent!"
"Someone told me Armat had promised him immunity. Said no one was gonna touch him."
Raven waved his suggestion away. "Please. Armat has already forgotten all about him. He has more important things on his plate. In any case, we aren't going to touch him, are we?"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning he's gonna give us the emeralds himself. He knows better than to get hurt because of something that's not even his. Am I right, my good man?"
I gave a non-committal shrug.
"Oh! Mammon, look at him! There might actually be something better than emeralds in his bag. Look, he's all shaking!"
My guard attempted to talk himself out of it. "I really don't know. Robbing a Grinder... it doesn't feel right."
"Bullshit! This is a game. Anybody can rob anyone. You'd better ask yourself what we are doing here. Why such disrespect toward us, of all people?"
Mammon scratched his head. "But how can you do it?"
Sensing his friend giving in, Raven rubbed his hands and turned to me. "You'll see now," he said with a dirty smile.
Chapter Eighteen
"You sure it's a good idea?"
I might have underestimated my guard, after all.
"Mammon, give it a rest," Raven hissed.
'"It's easy for you to say. He's not your responsibility. If Jed finds out, it's my neck on the line," Mammon repeated, firmer this time.
"Aha!" Raven rubbed his hands. "I knew it! You wanna rob him yourself and take all the loot!"
"Are you nuts?" Mammon looked embarrassed. His cartoon nature prevented him from turning crimson.
"Well, what do you want me to think? Look at it my way. I'm offering you to rob a Lightie. And you're trying to get rid of me, saying Jed this and Armat that. They've already forgotten all about this stupid Digger! Don't you understand why he's still here? Aha! I can see you do!"
"But Armat promised him..."
"Oh, do give it a break!" Raven switched to an angry whisper.
He was too cautious to shout at him. But he was trying to apply pressure to the guy. I wondered if Mammon would have been as unyielding had he known what I had in my bag. Or would he be the first to rob a helpless Grinder?
"Leave Armat alone!" the archer kept fuming. "Who is he? Is he your commander? The leader of your clan? He has no right to boss us around! We're not his soldiers! This isn't an army! I didn't sign for this!"
"This is an alliance," Mammon offered.
But Raven had already got on his high horse. Angry with the top brass, he'd finally found an audience to pour out all the negativity he'd accumulated. If the truth were known, I could understand him. Clan members weren't a regular army. They'd paid to play the game and wanted to get their money's worth. And here they were, stuck in camp while all the others were busy looting Drammen.
Raven grinned. "And? Why should it be us remembering about it? They didn't think about leaving us without loot!"
"Hold on! You're dead wrong there! Once the raid is completed, everyone's gonna get his share."
Raven snarled. "Yeah right. You really are simple, aren't you? Okay, let's presume we'll get something out of it. But how about Valor? Have you even thought about it?"
"You might be right," Mammon mumbled.
"Just imagine how much loot and Valor we could have gotten! After a high-level attack like this!"
"Probably," Mammon didn't sound too sure.
"I view this guy's stones as a small compensation for the damages. Robbing a Lightie is a sacred right. Especially because the stones don't even belong to him. They're the property of whoever owns the mine. And that's the Steel Shirts, if I'm not mistaken."
He turned to me. "Am I right?"
I gave a reluctant nod.
"You see? He doesn't mind!"
My guard shrugged.
Oh, Mammon... I thought better of you. Then again, why should he care? I was a stranger, wasn't I?
"Actually," Raven squinted at me, "He's not so simple, either. His Profession level is good. His gear is quality. I bet it's got runes installed. You see his cloak?"
Mammon shook his head.
Raven grinned. "Neither do I. What does that mean?"
"That he's got elemental protection installed on all his clothes."
"Exactly! Good boy!"
Raven crouched next to me, studying my gear. I didn't like his expression at all.
"You know what, Mammon? The more I look at him the curiouser I am. I'd love to know what he's got stashed in his bag."
Mammon walked closer. "So how are you gonna do it?"
"Haven't you ever robbed Grinders in raids before?"
Mammon and I cringed simultaneously. "Nah," he said.
"Injuries!" Raven raised a meaningful finger.
"Excuse me? Are you going to-"
"But of course. Their gear has no Defense installed. You cast an injury on him, then strap him up and share out his stuff."
Mammon opened his eyes wide. "You nuts?!"
"It's tricky, sure," Raven mockingly agreed. "His stuff's Durability will suffer. But if even some of them have runes installed, they'll still be auctionable."
"I'm not talking about that! Are you suggesting we mug him?"
"Not mug him, stupid. Just act in self-defense," Raven grinned. "This is enemy territory. I can understand leaving our Dark Grinders alone, but you can't expect me to ignore a Lightie! Do you think their raiders spare our Grinders? Well, don't. Right, enough whining! Let's do it!"
His last arguments must have worked. Mammon's expression changed. Doubt had left it, replaced by a threatening squint. He must have imagined poor Dark Grinders being attacked by the army of Light. Shame I couldn't ask him how I fitted into the picture. But even if I hadn't been gagged, somehow I didn't think these kids would have listened to me.
Raven turned to me, his face a mask of mock sympathy. "Listen, dude. Neither I nor my partner here wish to hurt you. Why would we want to? We can't even level Fury on you: all we'll get is a miserable +1 if anything. But you're gonna suffer. Not only will you lose your gear, you'll end up paying a lot of money to a healer. With our levels, you'll get injuries for 24 hours at least. You know that, don't you? You have a Burn already: thirty hours plus the level of the injury. It's gonna cost you, I tell you."
I sighed. The scumbag was damn right.
"I can see you're a smart dude. You know how these things work. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, that's all. Shit happens. It can't be helped. Sure it's a game but we're at war: this is martial law, as simple as that. No hard feelings, eh? You would have done the same yourself. We're offering you a chance to cut your losses."
The Citadel (Mirror World Book #2) Page 21
