The Clan by D. Rus Read Free Book Online Page B

resuscitate everyone.
    I shrugged and typed OK . Why wouldn't I take it easy? There I was watching the slaughter on the castle walls from the front row as an occasional guard's body dropped into the moat. In a way, it was spectacular, very much like a New Year's firework display: deafening flashes and bolts of lightning mixed with the rattle of steel and some heavy-duty cussing. That was a favorite male pastime: to batter the bad guy black and blue and get away with it. Actually, I'd already noticed that about one-third of the Vets were girls. Not in the combat groups, of course, but they had their fair share of fierce valkyries.
    I made a mental note about the perma players' gender ratio. This was a potential time bomb. Of course there were always lots of female NPCs—the Drow Princess alone was worth her weight in gold. Still, it was hardly a substitute. The NPCs were just that, NPCs. They hadn't had childhood Disneyland trips, they hadn't read the same books and were clueless about music. Learning to become kindred souls with a human being could prove a daunting task for them.
    A couple of healers arrived. Three mid-level warriors came slithering over the vitrified stones behind them, meant to provide cover in case of any eventualities. The senior cleric stopped, estimating the potential work load, then began sending messages over his hospital chat, apparently calling for reinforcements. Fourteen resurrections and all the rebuffs —definitely too much work for the two of them. And now speed was our main advantage. I turned back to the castle. The skirmishing on the walls was dying down, dominated by the cutthroats' dull black armor. The north tower glaive thrower was lazily burning. Opposite, smoke bellowed from the south tower gunslots, apparently induced by some Godawful feat of magic. The front line troops had already passed through the gates, followed by a short HQ column. Judging by the serried rank of Drow warriors amid them, the Princess had to be there, too.
    A solemn fanfare resounded behind my back as the Pearly Gates opened. The resurrection spell was a sight and a half. The idyll was ruined by Lt. Brown who swore wholeheartedly as he studied the surrounding desolation and the newly-sprouted graveyard. It was impressive, I had to admit: pockmarked with gravestones, the surrounding field was dug up as if by an artillery barrage.
    The arriving cleric reinforcements worked double time. In less than three minutes, all the dead had been resuscitated. The enchanters headed back home while both Wizard groups stayed put, waiting impatiently for a rebuff, having a quick smoke and talking in quiet voices. They discussed the High Spell and cursed the ever-watchful NPCs on the walls with their paranoid Forest Cat masters. Apart from the regular guards on the walls, the Cats had also posted strengthened ballista sections which, together with some extra wizards, must have cost them a fortune.
    "I can't guarantee much," the chief quack said. "My buffs are all level 160 but these are personal ones and not raid buffs."
    A new battery of elixirs shot their corks in the air as the wizards hurried to refuel. I had a funny feeling that very soon cinnamon flavor would be on its way out, what with the dozens of elixirs one was obliged to down on a raid. Try taking a spoonful of cinnamon sugar every five minutes or so and see how you feel.
    Lieutenant Brown, iridescent from the spells he'd cast, shouted over the cacophony of sound effects, "Max! The backup's already beat it. We too need to shift our asses to reinforce the front line. You shouldn't stay here on your own. You'd better shoot off to the HQ to make sure you get maximum protection. Besides, there you'll be in the thick of things. Come on, off you go. I'll keep an eye on you while I still can."
    I nodded, obeying his logic and the commandeering note in his voice, and hurried to catch up with the HQ entering the main gate. Five cutthroats at the rear had recognized me and