Inferno (Play to Live: Book # 4) (9 page)

"Your weapons are worthy of a hero, but your armor is only good for one of those underground ogres that are said to inhabit the mithril caves. Never mind. We can fix that. In the meantime, accept this as my gift to you!"

With a dignified jerk of his chin and a regal wave of his hand, Aulë bestowed upon him the generous amount of whatever meager energy he'd already received from the passionately praying dwarves.

Scraps from the royal table
, I mentally commented.

A surge of power enveloped the mithril club and solidified, forming the angular symbols of the Dwarven alphabet which added chaotically to the fancy black script of the Fallen One's magic and Macaria's green runes.

I remembered casting a sideways glance at the Fallen One: was it all right to let Aulë tamper with the artifact weapon? Combining the forces so divergent in one item called for super accurate calculations, not brute power. Try to braid fire, water and crude oil in one neat flow. But the Fallen One stared at the club in cautious surprise. Apparently, this was now one hell of a killer item.

Now Aulë was busy forging new epic armor in his workshops, the kind you wouldn't be ashamed to wear when greeting your loved one after millennia of forced separation. Snowie got to keep all the failed versions, hurriedly altered to fit his size. Failed they may have been — ruined by an accidental astral redirection of the magic currents or a fly that had found its death under the hammer — but I mentally agreed with the dwarves who were slowly turning green with envy watching my troll piecing together a full set of divine armor. A unique set of mithril gear, the only one in AlterWorld, fresh from Aulë's own anvil! Imagine the ego trip?

Actually, the dwarves had no reason to plead poverty. Things were looking up for them, much to the envy of those underground folk who'd remained loyal to the Gods of Light. Their crafters had higher chances of making masterpiece items; their rates of profession growth brought dreamy smiles to the stern Dwarven faces; their ore veins were more generous, and their picks seemed to have minds of their own, capable of striking emeralds out of dead rock.

What can you say to that? Having your own patron god in the skies is much better than worshipping some petty household deity! The hearth fire was to the smith's furnace what a turtle was to a tank.

As the highest in the divine pecking order, the combat priests group was considerably better off than others. Less than a week later those freshly-minted Knights Templar already sported armor of the noble purple hue. All two hundred of them, mind you. The overall numbers of the dwarves migrating into the Valley of Fear was beyond count. They had some cheek. Unlike the Fallen One or Macaria, Aulë worked hard on creating his entourage, putting a lot of effort into forming cohorts of numerous battle, working and priest units.

The whole situation was starting to worry me. Here in the very heart of my lands was a military force comparable with my clan's entire combat section. Which wasn't really kosher because you never knew what kind of thoughts it might evoke within some crazy heads.

Of course, the proverbial
God is with us!
made me feel much better, offering certain guarantees against any unwanted scenarios. But the dwarves too took their religious obligations seriously. Having said that, the upcoming summoning of his wife had given me Aulë on a plate; besides, not even mentioning the bomb in the Temple's foundations I had yet another quite powerful security.

The summoner priest gained Admin's access to the Altar functions. And we shouldn't forget that summoning came with its opposite: the disembodiment function. Even if it resulted in a considerable drop in the Temple level as penalty. Of course, you couldn't just get up and do it: the function was quite protected from any capricious priest's whims of fancy, demanding a confirmation from the Head of the Pantheon, no less.

Also, no one had ever heard of any NPCs squatting on others' property. So it was probably just my imagination. It's just that I wasn't used to seeing such crowds of people in these once perfectly uninhabited lands. And not one person in those crowds remained idle. They were all busy, building houses and places of worship, expanding their new city under the mountain.

Of course, if my idea was to keep this territory deserted like some Chernobylesque exclusion zone, then I had to fold up the whole show. But I intended to tie as many sentients' interests to these lands as possible, so that they would stand up for its defense promptly and eagerly.

Also, I had this idea I wouldn't share with anyone. Seeing as the world itself was going perma, I wanted to lay claim to the surrounding areas, too. Why not? I had an isolated enclave; I had a castle — and a Super Nova one at that, nothing to sniff at! I had an army and enjoyed impressive support from divine quarters. So was I supposed to swear my allegiance to that Sun King from the City of Light? I'd much rather be my own lord and master. It was safer, too, considering we were definitely entering a period of feudal disunity and all the lawless anarchy that came with it. Imagine 1930s Chicago in a world of sword and sorcery. That was sickening.

Once clan numbers had soared — and once dwarves and the like had gained free access to the Valley — it was only a question of time before someone leaked the portal coordinates.

Thing is, everybody has their weak point. Some can be bought, others threatened and yet others deceived. So even though we had introduced monthly checks using our canine lie detector, I didn't hold my breath in the hope of preserving our incognito status for much longer.

Never mind. As long as we survived until the final battle and managed to come out on top, I didn't really care what happened next. As Peter the Great used to say,
Here we'll build!
I, too, wanted the local hills to grow gardens and pretty little villages, I wanted to hear caravans screech up and down my roads; I wanted to see crowds of pilgrims leaving their gold in my inns and taverns. Sweet dreams!

On top of all the other building projects, the dwarves were hurriedly finishing off Yavanna's temple. I had a funny feeling that this Goddess of nature would prefer a personally grown magic copse to bricks and mortar. Then again, it was people who needed temples rather than gods, so I saw nothing wrong with yet another one. Even Aulë himself had recently lugged in a lifelike rose he'd forged personally. The steel flower kept growing, offering its petals to the sun, all the while sucking up energy from a battery shaped as a lacy vase.

Aulë's usually frowning face began to clear in anticipation of him seeing his wife again. Also, the powers of the Dark that had summoned him turned out to be remarkably bright and cheerful in the sunlight. Aulë only shrugged as he studied the history of AlterWorld.

"What a mess! The world is too young. There's no Light or Dark, only some grey cloudy swill. It'll take it some time to settle down, separating into two, placing innocence and light above and the sludgy residue below. The question is, who will end up where. Honestly, I don't feel comfortable with this Sun God and his grim practices. I can see problems between the two of us."

The fact that we'd have to fight for our right to a new life didn't seem to worry Aulë that much. In his previous reincarnations he hadn't been that cute and cuddly, either. It was him who'd forged the chain destined to restrain the epitome of the Dark: Melkor. And I knew quite a few individuals who could definitely profit from wearing this piece of jewelry. Admittedly, I wasn't sure about the availability of the ingredients that this father of all blacksmiths had used in the making of the chain: the sound of a cat's footfall, a woman's beard, the roots of a mountain, the sinew of a bear, breath of a fish and spittle of a bird. Never mind. We could always find something.

I finally resurfaced from my memories as I reached the donjon entrance. I nodded mechanically to the saluting orc guards and stepped one foot across the doorstep — then froze. What had I just seen? Was it my imagination?

I slowly turned around, peering at an orc's gleaming black armor. I was right. A six-letter word had been drawn on it in an unsteady childish hand.

"Who did this?" I asked, pointing at the inscription.

The soldier reported crisply, staring in front of himself, "A little druid chick from the A-form, Sir! The runic alphabet apparently, Sir! She said it was some powerful magic to protect its bearer from any mental attacks."

Yeah, right. Education was evil. "Remove it," I said. "This is a swear word. Next time they do it, you have my permission to box their ears — but with due caution, making sure their heads remain attached."

The other guard's eyes glistened cheerfully. Apparently, he wasn't as gullible as his partner. I could just see this stupid word becoming the idiot orc's nickname. Then again, maybe it was for the better. You never know, this funny inscription could just become his lucky ticket to going perma.

Leaving behind the orc's suppressed growl of indignation, I flew up the stairs three at a time. As I headed for the last landing, my foot failed to meet the expected step. Choking on my own cussing, I collapsed in full swing onto the stone tiles. Dammit! My life bar shrank. My knee emitted a crunching sound.

You've been lightly injured! -10% to Agility for 15 minutes.

Just my luck. I could understand it when people had their arms and legs broken in battle with all sorts of clever combos and special abilities. But to do it so stupidly on your own doorstep?

My absolute memory helpfully suggested that the last step of the staircase was missing, which was what caused the unlucky accident en route. The autopilot was not to be blamed.

"Lurch!" I growled at the ceiling.

He replied immediately. He must have been monitoring the situation, the bastard. "Sir, yes, Sir!"

"Stop this American army talk! What have you done with the step?"

Lurch faltered for a second, then hurried to explain, "It was all for your own convenience, Sir! The last episode of Castle Makeover said that the ideal height of a step is six inches for a human being. So I thought I'd correct it..."

"I'm an Elf, dammit! You can't do these things without telling anyone. You should at least place warning signs. Next time you might want to replace the floor with an air vent, just to see how well we can fly..."

Lurch felt obliged to go on the offensive. "Actually, I've spent a hundred fifty bucks of my own money on this experimental stair conversion."

"You should have spent it on some extra lights," I grumbled, calming down. "Not everyone has Night Vision, you know."

I limped toward the hall's massive doorway and nodded my appreciation to Lurch when the sycophant spent an ounce of his own energy on helpfully swinging the heavy doors open.

Predictably, I was the last to arrive as usual. The present company didn't seem to mind my absence that much. They were too busy drinking coffee and smoking the latest specialty cigars with a built-in smoke control circuit. The ceiling was crowded with smoky blue dragons, birds and whatever else took their fancy. Even Amara was now hooked on this still-innocent pastime, creating her own line of flower-flavored pipe tobacco with various buff options. It didn't do so well but I knew that sooner or later this stubborn Elfa was going to make it, regardless of what the Admins thought about it all.

I put on a confident face — the boss is never late — and limped to my chair at the head of the table.

The cheerful noise didn't abate. We had a very simple democratic atmosphere amid the top clan members. I nodded, answering their greetings, and carefully slapped a couple of proffered palms with my left hand. I didn't dare use the right one with the Fallen One's logo fused into it.

I sensed Cryl's unasked question on seeing my injured leg and the drop in hits.

"Fell off the stairs," I explained cheerfully. The irony in his disbelieving stare made me hurry to explain, "I know it sounds like a schoolboy excuse. It was Lurch with his interior design ideas, doing some stair conversions."

Cryl arched his eyebrow in a very Dan-like way. "That's weird. I've never heard about petty accidents like that before. We need to look into it to see if anybody else has suffered. The Universe might be setting us up for a surprise or two.

I nodded, making myself comfortable in the ergonomic chair. "Possible. I wouldn't be surprised if I wake up one night to take a piss. Yes! I have an idea! Whoever brings me a night pot with you-know-what, I'll fill it to the brim with gold."

They all guffawed. Durin, ever the cost-conscious treasurer, protested, "The size of the pot has to be clearly defined. I know these jokers. They'll roll in a barrelful of some dubious stuff and you'll be the one to spoil your karma by having to renege on your promise."

"That's wise," I agreed. "As a reward, here's a free idea for you. You can start thinking about making some toilet paper. That's a true Eldorado, a perfect repeat product. Much more lucrative than selling TVs, one per household per decade."

At the word
TV
, my Analyst shrunk in his seat, trying to kick something under the table — something large and shaggy. I took a better look at it and recoiled. The enormous modified head of a cave bear stared back at me with its magical crystals for eyes. The golden tiara of a control circuit had its wire electrodes sunk into the back of the monster's head. The creepy device sat on a silver platter generously covered with runic script.