"As far as us going back to the Silver Mountain Valley," Droy continued, "I disagree."
"Why not?" Crym challenged him. "Has the old warrior Droy the Fang lost his fighting spirit?"
The Owls frowned. An angry hum sped along their ranks. This was a serious accusation.
"Yes, I have," Droy replied.
Silence fell over the campfire. I watched their long faces and open mouths.
Laosh alone smiled his understanding. Our eyes met. Fighting the Darkies had really brought those two together: Droy and the shaman seemed to read each other's thoughts these days. Which was a good thing. Their clan's wellbeing was more important than their own ambitions.
"You heard it right," Droy said. "I'm not going. You can't fool me a second time running. A smart warrior warned me about the trouble ahead. I didn't believe him. I was blinded by false pride. I put my own interests before the clan's. Scraggie told us about you fighting the Lighties. According to him, you performed wonders of valor. In fact, the Lighties drove you out by the scruffs of your necks like mangy dogs! Sit down! You're men — so you'd better face the truth when your friends and allies tell it to you! My men gave their lives at the River Quiet so that you and your families could live: your wives, mothers and children. And you too! You knew that the enemy was strong and still you didn't warn us. Now you're trying to do the same. Sorry, it's not gonna work."
He turned to Crym. "You wanna fight the Nocteans? Good. Take your men and off you go. I'll be the first to call you a hero. My Owls aren't coming. Why? Because all they'll do they'll die ignominious deaths. The Valley isn't our home anymore. We need to find a new one. You either follow us or take your families back to die at the hands of the Nocteans. It's up to you."
He fell silent.
What happened next could best be called a "well-choreographed play". Laosh rose from his place and announced,
"I suggest we vote! Those in favor of the Black Axes joining the Red Owls, raise your hands!"
Excellent move. Still, this wasn't checkmate yet.
A pregnant pause hung over the campfire. Then it exploded in a multitude of angry voices.
You should have seen that! Respectable gray-haired elders jumped from their places and screamed over each other's heads in the shaman's direction.
Laosh sat calmly on a large rock strewn with animal skins. Not a single muscle twitched on his furrowed face. He resembled a bronze statue. His proud dark stare focused on the flames as if he had nothing to do with any of this.
I cast a quick glance at Droy. Conspiring bastards! Droy — who was still my commander as technically I remained his raid and team member — tilted his head calmly to one side, listening to a warrior's report: his back straight as a ramrod, his hands resting in his lap. The Axes around him were gaggling like geese in a farmyard but he didn't seem to give a damn.
Soon the angry outcry began to subside. The situation moved to Stage Two: the Axes' elders put their heads together and began discussing something between themselves, occasionally screaming out and spitting at their opponents' feet. One old guy even spat another one in the eye; a few more tugged at their opponents beards, then continued to discuss the situation. Talk about art (or a computer game, as the case may be) mirroring life!
They all seemed to realize that their joining the Red Owls was inevitable; still, each one of them was trying to profit from the situation. I wouldn't be surprised if Laosh had already spoken to each one of them in private, promising them exactly what every one needed, and what I was watching now was just a show for the sake of appearances. The Axes just didn't look too upset. The idea of a clan merger must have been already in the making for quite a while.
Sentient beings just can't help it. Our politics are just one big show where every actor knows his or her place in a prearranged setting.
Finally the performance was over. Gray-haired elders stepped out one by one into the center, heads lowered and their right hands pressed to their hearts, and delivered a proud and dramatic speech about the Calteans' kinship and loyalty.
I counted nine of them. Crym was the last one to step into the circle.
Now it was time for checkmate.
Warning! The Black Axes clan has ceased to exist!
You've lost 305 pt. Reputation with the Black Axes clan!
Warning! The Caltean Clan Union has ceased to exist!
You've lost 530 pt. Reputation with the Caltean Clan Union!
You've lost the Order of Recognition awarded by the Caltean Clan Union!
Congratulations! You've received Achievement: Reluctant Onlooker.
Reward: +3% to your chance of receiving Knowledge in battle.
There you had it. I'd just become a "reluctant onlooker" of a historical event. Smiling, the Owls began rising from their seats to give new clan members a hug.
Once their show of fraternal affection has subsided, Laosh rose from his place and raised his hands in the air, calling for attention. "Brothers! Brothers!"
Once everyone quietened down and went back to their seats, Laosh went on,
"We still have the most pressing question to answer. Which direction should we go?"
Another pause hung over the campfire. Laosh looked around him. Finally he said, "I have a proposition."
"Yes!"
"Go ahead!"
"Spit it out!"
With a regal nod, Laosh went on, "There is a warrior amongst us who many a time has warned us against looming danger. It was only thanks to him that our group managed to defeat the enemy."
Dozens of stares alighted on me. I could physically sense them. It took all of my self-control not to shudder.
"He's been through a lot. He knows much," the shaman continued.
Well, he was a bit over the top with praise but...
"Let him speak."
The crowd hummed its agreement. The funny thing was, the moment the Black Axes had become Red Owls, I stopped sensing their cold animosity. They simply accepted me, viewing me as a friend. Reputation was an excellent tool any way you looked at it.
"What do you think, Olgerd? Which direction should we go?"
For a moment, I didn't know what to say. What would my advice mean to them, anyway? Okay, so they accepted me, but that was the extent of it. My suggestion would be just that: a suggestion. It wouldn't be me who would make the final decision. The tribal and clan leaders would decide for their people.
Wait a sec... I froze as if struck by lightning. How could I have forgotten! And what if...
I dug a shaking hand into my bag. My fingers closed around a coarse parchment scroll.
Would you like to activate the scroll of Great Initiation?
For your information: your sudden surge in Reputation may gain you some very powerful enemies!
Accept/Decline
My heart missed a beat. Was this the decision I was meant to make?
Accept!
Thank you. Please choose a Reputation you would like to increase.
I scrolled through the list until I found what I needed and pressed Activate.
The Red scroll crumbled to dust. System messages flickered before my eyes,
Congratulations! You've received 2,000 pt. Reputation with the Red Owls Clan!
Congratulations! You've been awarded the Order of Merit for outstanding services rendered to the Red Owls Clan!
For your information: the Order of Merit is awarded to a player who has collected 3000 pt. of the Reputation in question.
Congratulations! You've been awarded the Order of Veneration for outstanding services rendered to the Red Owls Clan!
For your information: the Order of Merit is awarded to a player who has collected 4000 pt. of the Reputation in question. No more Reputation can be awarded.
Congratulations! You've received a Legendary Achievement: The First Among Outcasts! You're legend!
Reward: the Order of the Outcasts' Right Hand.
In accordance with the Reputation ranking rule, you've become the new raid leader!
For your information: Currently your raid counts 296 non-player characters.
Light warriors, 16
Lancers, 50
Archers, 60
Military engineers, 6
Miscellaneous nomads, 164
The shaman's voice distracted me from reading,
"Olgerd! Which direction should we go?"
I forced myself to focus. When I finally managed to do so, I was stunned by the change in the Calteans.
Firstly, the expressions on their faces. I could barely recognize any of the men. Droy's warriors, Droy himself, Laosh and all the others — they all looked at me as if I was their clan's last hope. The one who would take them to the promised land. Oh. The Order of Veneration, did you say?
Apart from that, a new pop-up window appeared in my mental view, containing some kind of graph: a clan ranking table. It wasn't static: the clan members' names shifted up and down all the time. Now I could find out each clan member's Reputation with a single click. And not just that, but also his or her level, abilities and other stats.
My hands began to shake. My heart felt as if it was about to explode.
I raised my head and slowly looked over the silent clan leaders. My friends. I met Laosh's gaze. He was second after me in Reputation. The old man gave me a solemn nod, as if saying, Speak up — we're ready.
Oh well. I'd have to live up to my new kinsmen's expectations.
I stood up to my full height and said in a loud voice,
"We can't go south. Nor can we go back to retrieve your old home that you lost. Trust me. Both west and east are out of the question. We only have one direction left, and it's the only right one. We're going north! Our new home awaits us — the Twilight Castle!"
Chapter Twenty-Six
We'd already been trudging for a week across the huge location known as the Icy Woods. It wasn't some fairy-tale Christmas forest enveloped in glittering snow — oh no. This place seemed dead. No birds singing, no animal prints in the snow: only row after row of black tree trunks looking like giant thorn bushes, their gnarly branches reaching out for you, trying to scratch you, to draw blood, to delay unwanted newcomers. Only when an occasional breeze disturbed their black tops, might one hear a sudden crackling noise — the only sound this spooky forest was able to make.
Admittedly, it wasn't my first time in northern climes. I'd always had a huge respect for them. It had been my uncle — my Mom's brother — who'd used to work building the city of Novy Urengoy in Arctic Siberia. Later, I'd been to visit it myself and seen it with my own eyes. No idea where the Mirror World designers had drawn their collective inspiration from, but this location was very lifelike. I mean, very.
Even back in Mellenville when I'd first studied the Ennans' map sitting in a warm hotel room in my cozy bathrobe, I'd already shivered imagining what it was going to be like. And here I was now, experiencing all the pleasures of an Arctic hike in my very own albeit virtual skin.
That was nothing! Here're a few location names, just to give you an idea.
Frozen Fang, Icy Woods, the Desert of Seven Snowstorms...
The cold was such that our gear began losing its Durability already on the third day of our trek. My kit's Protection wasn't going to make it, I could see that. Luckily, Droy reacted just in time, issuing me a fur coat made of the skin of the local long-haired breed of buffalo. According to him, I looked "frozen to the bone".
The coat proved awesome. No level restrictions, tons of Durability and 15 pt. Cold Protection. An item like that could fetch a lot of money at auction.
We were seven in total. Same faces, minus Arrum Red Beard. He'd earned himself an arrow in the shoulder in that last battle with the Darks, so he'd been forced to stay with the clan, replaced by Crym the Hammer — the burly gray-bearded Black Axe who'd been all for going back to the Silver Mountain Valley.
I had this hunch that they'd been itching to get back there for a reason. And a very good reason, too. I'd have to give it some thought.
Crym was definitely not cut out to be a scout. He slowed our advance up quite a bit. Even I showed better results, considering my level.
All his stats pointed at the fact that Crym was much better suited as a tank. There was a reason though why I'd agreed to accept him into the group. Quite a hefty reason too, which outweighed all other inconveniences and made the group respect my decision.
Crym the Hammer was the only Caltean alive who'd been to the Twilight Castle.
Even though he'd only managed to see the Ennan city from a distance, it still made this grim man a real find for me.
I suppressed a smile, remembering the events from a week ago.
My brief speech by the campfire had triggered prolonged debates. Oh yes. Despite the fact that my Reputation was going through the roof, I'd had to listen to each and every leader and raid commander — and the shaman, of course. None of them could wait to speak their mind, showing off their quick thinking and sharing their respective points of view. Speeches... the Calteans seemed to live for them.
After a prolonged and boring discussion we'd finally come to the conclusion that it would probably be best to send out Droy's scout group first, like they'd done the last time. The remaining Calteans would follow suit, guided by Laosh.
I liked their plan. Really, why not? They'd already accepted the direction suggested by me and it wasn't as if I was trying to snatch the tribe's leadership. As our manager used to say, 'Specialization is key'. So basically, I was quite happy with my current position.
Admittedly, as I watched their debates, I was dying to open the clan stats and change everything. The only thing that stopped me was the sheer complexity of clan control. All those constantly varying graphs and stats and a gazillion descriptions... oh no, I decided not to go there, at least not at the moment. How had they managed before me? I gave myself a solemn promise to look into clan controls at a later date.
Droy's anxious voice distracted me from my musings.
"Are you sure?" he asked, looking grimly at Shorve the Hasty who'd just jumped down from a tree.
Shorve nodded. "Absolutely. I could clearly see the smoke in the west."
"Who might that be?" Orman asked, exhaling a cloud of mist.
Shorve shrugged. "Could be anyone."
"Olgerd? What do you think?"
Six pairs of attentive eyes focused on me. The men's beards and eyebrows were covered in frost. Clad head to toe in furs, they looked twice as broad. I didn't differ much from them, either: the same frosted beard and my bulky fur coat.
Admittedly, apart from the biting cold, the spooky woods and yesterday's snowfall, our hike was rather uneventful. The Ennans' map led us, avoiding any dangerous areas. But it looked like our luck had just run out.
"What do you want me to say?" I asked. "I need to take Boris and go take a look. Then we can talk."
They nodded their beards in agreement.
"In that case, we'll be waiting for you over there on top of that hill," Droy said, pointing with his mitt. Then he added, "Be careful, okay?"
I rearranged my fur hood and leaped into the saddle. "Don't worry," I smiled to him. "It's gonna be all right. Boris, up we go!"
Boris' muscles tensed up. He kicked himself aloft, lifting us both into the air. Immediately, hundreds of microscopic ice fragments bit into my face. My eyes watered.
The frost kept getting fiercer.
"Come on, kiddo. Let's see what kind of problem they have over there."
If only we had a Hugger mount for each group member! No harm in dreaming, is there?
This past week had tested us to the limit, what with the deep snow, angry magic trees and the cold that chilled you to your very bones.
Admittedly, I'd been trying to walk most of the way. I didn't want to spend too much time away from the other guys. Team spirit was paramount. True, they were only NPCs, but still you never knew what they might be up to. You wouldn't want to force your way through thorn bushes only to discover that another team me
mber is soaring in the sky astride your own mount.
The good news was, we were almost there. According to my calculations, the morning after tomorrow we would see the walls of the Twilight Castle.
Remembering Furius and his arrow's range, I tried to stay as high as I could. It was unlikely any players had already managed to get this far, but still.
I was flying over the Icy Woods, the snow below blinding white next to the gnarly outlines of the dead trees.
Finally I saw the smoke of campfires. How far was that? Ten minutes of flight max. If anything happened, our group had virtually no lead time.
What were they doing there?
The day before yesterday, I'd checked all the road before the snow had begun to fall. There had been no one there. Could it be a new surprise from the admins? Or even players, after all?
I saw them before I'd even got close. They were definitely not players. Oh, no. These had to be game developers having a laugh. They were probably sitting there now by their computer screens curious how I was going to get myself out of this mess.
How many of them were there?!
"You've got to be kidding me!" I grumbled. "Do they have to be so many? A couple of dozen I could understand, but this? Those developers have got some nerve!"
I decided to descend a notch to take a better look at them.
"Nocteans," I whispered, my voice breaking with emotion.
Any hopes I might have harbored of peacefully parting our ways with this new mysterious enemy had now been shattered. These guys wouldn't leave us alone. As simple as that.
The Calteans' sworn enemies looked very much like Rock Dwandes in a picture I'd seen in the info portal. Not the most popular race in Mirror World, I had to admit. Their looks were very special.
The Nocteans were covered in long tufts of dirty gray hair. Their ears were pointy like those of bull terriers, their similarly froglike jaws packed with very sharp teeth. Height was the only difference: these guys stood a good head taller than the Dwandes. As for the rest, they looked the spitting image of the latter. The overworked admins must have decided to use a template they'd had at hand. They had a point: why try to invent a plastic fork when it's already being produced by all and sundry?
The Way of the Outcast (Mirror World Book #3) LitRPG series Page 27
