The Citadel (Mirror World Book #2) by Alexey Osadchuk Page B

dare look out the window to check on the other wagons. I shrank to the back of my seat, afraid to move.
    Uncle Vanya briefly stopped his cussing and said without turning round, "Remember what I said about your bot settings?"
    "Yeah," I wheezed.
    "Do it. You have ninety seconds. The moment we stop, you gotta run for it."
    "Okay. What happened?"
    He cringed. "The magic shield over the Citadel is about to expire."
    "What do you mean, expire? And then what?"
    The right question to pose would have been , What is the magic shield? But for some reason, I'd asked what I'd asked.
    Uncle Vanya shrugged. "It won't last long. It's always like this. Some stubborn motherfucker can always hack the shield. That's part of the gameplay. Otherwise what would be the point in the Darkies trying to attack the Citadel walls if they're impervious? It's very possible that our raiders are attacking the Dark Citadel even as we speak. Having said that... no, I would've known."
    I tensed. "So is this the Darkies attacking?"
    He waved my suggestion away. "I don't think so. It's probably the Calteans. Just my flippin' luck. Now I'll have to repair the wagon again."
    I heaved a sigh. I felt sorry for his wagon but I wouldn't mind staying alive too. Who were these Calteans, dammit? Still, I knew better than to ask him. He had more important things to do.
    Uncle Vanya took one glance at me and added, "Keep your hair on. You'll live. They'll bring the shield back up pretty quickly. A Caltean Raid is an ordinary event. Not a patch on the Darkies' attacks."
    I rearranged my non-existent glasses. The word "ordinary", that's what scared me the most. What kind of universal agitation would something extraordinary inflict?
    The wagon jolted over a particularly steep bend, forcing Uncle Vanya to switch his attention back to driving. A minute later, he mumbled,
    "Get set."
    I was ready. My bot was set up to search for Captain Gard. He lived somewhere in the barracks, apparently not far from the wall.
    The wagon cleared the last bend.
    The Citadel's main square met us with hustle and bustle of at least two hundred warriors, levels 100+. My eyes watered with the miscellany of races, weapons and gear. The freshly-respawned players stood out in the crowd. They were especially numerous by the main altar at the center of the square. They wore white-linen starting clothes, their faces distorted with fury. I bet! Had I been killed, I'd have been furious too.
    Having barely resurrected, the players were off somewhere — apparently, to collect their gear left where they'd been killed. Some respawned partially clothed, a few wearing a full set of gear. This must have been what they called the non-transferable items.
    Just over a minute left till zero hour. The doors of several buildings opened, letting out a flood of people who headed toward the caravan. Most were low-level. I could see a few fellow Grinders.
    "That's our passengers going back to Drammen," Uncle Vanya said with a wry smile. "Aren't they in a hurry! Nothing motivates one like a couple of Citadel deaths. The moment we stop, you should make a run for it."
    I gave him a quick nod. "Thanks."
    He shrugged it off. "You're welcome. Take care, you."
    "I will."
    The wagon stopped. I had forty seconds left. Uncle Vanya gave me a wink and a slap on the shoulder. I darted out.
    I'd set up the bot to No Mercy mode. So! Apparently, I wasn't that bad at short-distance running. At first, my Energy bar plummeted, slowing down at about 80%. Good job I wasn't wearing my Goner's kit. A sprint like this would have bled me dry.
    I crossed the central square in one breath. Without looking back, I turned off into a narrow lane. Twenty-two seconds left.
    Stone buildings loomed overhead like silent giants. Narrow windows. Closed shutters. Wet cobblestones. Rough curbs. Some place this was!
    The gloomy lane ended quickly as the bot brought me out into a wide avenue. Judging by the sheer number of shop signs, this was probably some sort of