by Vitaly Zykov
A curse came from behind, and the table top that seemed so robust soared up blocking the escape route. Yarik's right hand grabbed a leg of the nearest stool, he rolled onto his back and pursed his legs using the piece of furniture as a shield. There was a thud, and the stool shuddered. Throwing unreliable shield aside, Yarik wildly screamed and hit the furious warrior hanging over him with his both feet.
The thrown stool redirected the nomad's weapon slightly, diverting his attention and the dual punch in the stomach came completely unexpected. The warrior bent down with a hoarse holler and tried to step back fencing from the laying slave with the saber. But problems with breathing and severe pain weakened his reaction and Yarik could react first. His legs clutched the legs of the warrior and with a sharp roll Yarik dumped his enemy to the floor. The sword flew aside ringing in protest and the slave with an animal growl leaned over the fallen enemy and began to beat him feverishly. Mortal danger caused such a surge of fury that Yarik was not even beating, but hammering his enemy smashing his own fists in blood and turning the warrior's face into a bloody mass. He wanted to howl, to growl, to tear the warm flesh with his teeth…
Yarik forced himself to stop with great difficulty and rolled away. Giving vent to his uncontrolled rage, he forgot everything, but he was still alive for some reason. Yarik raised his head and looking round the hall with his crazy eyes saw that the breakthrough planned by his master had failed, but the enemies withdrew themselves. At the time when the slave tried to look around, the door slammed behind the last attacker.
Darg came to Yarik quietly crunching with splinters of broken dishes.
– Get up and go! – He breathed hoarsely. – It's not over. Bosk just was not ready, that your beast would be with us!
Yarik got on his feet mumbling something piteously-menacing, as if he had not decided upon his feelings yet: what to do – either to pity himself or to threat the enemies. His eyes found Rual, who was licking his lips sitting on the chest of the dead nomad like on an island of flesh in an ocean of blood that flowed from the wound on nomad's throat.
– Tyke, I forgot about you! – Yarik muttered, picking up his bag that was thrown in an unknown direction at the beginning of the fight. – I had to set you on Bosk!
– Nevertheless, he saved us. This slink of the Abyss was about to cut you to pieces, while you were fussing with that loser, when your beast finally tore his throat. – Darg grinned gloomily. – Only that forced Bosk to retreat. He was not ready to face a creature from Zaarr'h'dorr!
Darg frowned looking around the field of their battle and turned to a skinny bartender who had barely begun to recover from shock:
– Is there a backdoor here?
– There is! – The man pointed at a door in the back of the hall, but then mustering some courage and cried: – But who will pay for the damaged furnishings?!
Having heard about the money Darg grimaced and threw a handful of coins on the counter, about three farlongs.
– But this is not enough… – hinted the skinny.
– Enough! – Snapped Darg and ordered Yarik: – Follow me!
They darted towards the backdoor, ran through the kitchen and got into a dark alley. The stench of mud hit in their noses. Darg shook his head and headed toward the docks. Suddenly he fell to the ground, and an arrow clanged into the paving stones. A resonant whistle swept along the street: the ambush soldier summoned his comrades. Darg jumped up and ran without delay. Already in motion he explained quickly:
– I killed two!.. Oh.. good swordsmen they were, you and your animal also killed two, so four in total. Seven warriors came into the hall, but it seems to me that Teorn sent ten, so six left. We got out there by a miracle, but next time they'll shoot us with their crossbows!
– What do we do? – Yarik cried panting. The bag was beating in his back, knocking off the rhythm, but his breathing was steady and his tenacious eyes were examining the road in front of them in spite of the darkness.
Near him, Rual was clicking over the rocks with his claws, judging by the sounds wafting to Yarik, Rual was getting pleasure from the night racing.
– We need to search for captains! – Darg could talk quietly and smoothly, in spite of the running. – And we'll start from the third berth.
Without interrupting the run, he managed to push his sword into the sheath and hide the dagger. Somewhere close, on the nearby street, they felt the deadly heat of the chase. Again legs were the main argument in dispute between life and death…
Oleg leaned back wearily in his chair. His eyes hurt, his neck was aching, his fingers were cramped. These evening vigils in the reading room of the Academy library were necessary, but much did they tire him, marhuz take them! Irung insisted that he attended some lectures and workshops. There were mostly ancient languages, general theory of magic and basic of runes-casting. As the magician said, Oleg should study the first semester like all others, but then take his exams for the whole year. Therefore, when everybody else was enjoying their life, Oleg, turning green from rage, had to go to the library (praise to gods it remained free). There he spent some extra hours on main subjects, and then studied basics of geography and history, read notes of travelers from different countries. Without reminders from his mentor, he realized that he should to get used to the new world. Especially considering that he had almost no time left for that.
It turned out that a man learning by an individual program, has one additional problem – he has no right for scholarship. All students of the Academy received scholarship, albeit small, but all the same, besides upstarts like Oleg who should live at their own. Irung mentioned this fact between this and then, as something quite ordinary and unimportant. When the stunned student asked «What should I live on?» Irung shrugged and said that Oleg should work in the evening or night.
So Oleg tried to learn urgently at least in general terms, basis of life in this world, in order not to look like a stranger. Oleg swore once again, remembering Irung's answer about the reasons of such blatant discrimination. Oleg thought, that state should be interested in supporting talented students, but it was quite the opposite… The answer was simple and unclear at the same time. Here was an opinion that a real talent should fight his way on his own, and harsh conditions such as abandonment of scholarships and mortal danger during each practice exam should make a beginner magician to assess his power realistically. As Irung said once, a thousand years ago every second student of the Academy died during the studies and every third among the survivors became crippled. But what magnificent magicians they were! Now, everything became much more humane, but for talented individuals ancient tough laws remained unchanged.
Oleg took another look at the wall clock, and slammed a worn-out folio. It's time! For three nights already, he worked as a guard of a small warehouse on the outskirts of Seven Towers. He was hired surprisingly easily, it was enough to show some simple tricks of manipulation with Force, like breaking of boulders with invisible hammer and lifting large objects into the air. Now he was a night watchman with a salary of one gold farlong per week. Of course it was not too great, but with proper saving he will not die of hunger. However, he had to sleep in snatches, not more than five hours a day. But what else could he do? Only senior students could work in their specialty… They made it clear for Oleg that this fact should be another incentive to learn.
Exiting the library, he threw on a shabby raincoat and walked along the pavement, trying to get round the biggest puddles. All his clothing was bought on sale, but even so he would afford to change it not too soon.
Bright light of lanterns penetrated the evening mist. Balls of thick glass poured waterfalls of light. Oleg tensed slightly and saw the shimmering aura of magic. For a few days he performed a complex of meditation exercises, described in details in one book on the basics of practical magic. This subject imperceptibly become his favorite and established firmly in his life. Now, Oleg even made some housework with the help of magical impulses, and there was a result. With each
passing day he got closer and closer to that line where begins the real magic – the magic of runes and spells, of words and gestures…
The streets were pretty quiet. Oleg met from time to time trios of city guards that cruised around the city, ensuring the safety of citizens. He had to walk for about an hour to the warehouse where he worked through the different city districts. There were districts of mages and nobles, of merchants and craftsmen, and residential areas of middle class.
– You are almost late – growled the day guard passing keys to the magician-student.
– But I'm not late, after all! – Oleg replied dryly, he strongly disliked his colleague – that was a shifty character with boorish, criminal manners.
The door slammed behind Oleg, and he pushed the bolt. Now he had to walk over two floors and the basement, and then he could take a nap.
Sticky silence spread through the gloomy corridors of the warehouse, but he still should not relax. This district had a bad reputation. The poor area of the city directly adjacent to the warehouses, and gangs of thieves raided from there periodically. Therefore, the guard could sleep only with his one eye open. Of course, if he valued his life, various precedents had happened before…
Everything was quiet now. Doors and windows were closed tightly, there was no signs of in-break. Oleg sighed and lay down on a bench in a little room near the entrance. He ordered himself to wake up after half an hour and fell asleep.
He emerged from sleep as a swimmer comes out of the clutches of a dark whirlpool, shaking off the muddy snare of a dream. Oleg sat up right and shook his head. He dreamed of something nasty, but he could not remember what exactly. A strange outside sound attracted his attention, it was like something was scratching on a board. A thought about mice was dismissed immediately and Oleg jumped on his feet ready to fight.
He went up carefully to the door and listened. Judging by the voices a few people quietly swearing were attempting to unlock the bolt with a long metal strip. Oleg did not manage to stop this attempt, the bar of the bolt collapsed with a crash and the door swung open at its full width.
Oleg struck with a «hammer» directly at the figure in the doorway. There was a short scream which stopped almost immediately, bones crackled and the figure was swept into the night… A throwing knife like a shimmering fish flew in onto the light of the lone lantern in response. The apprentice of the magician survived only due to the thrower's disadvantageous position and events unfolding too rapidly for the bandits. Oleg belatedly jerked aside and saw a sinewy figure that flew into the warehouse. His eyes immediately caught a shiny knife in the robber's hand. Oleg panicked, but picked up the remnants of his forces and hit with a new «hammer» waiting for the next bones crackling in evil anticipation. But he heard only laughter in response:
– You made a mistake, student. It does not work with me!!!
The robber came close and stabbed Oleg with the knife into the stomach, or rather, tried to stab. Oleg's body worked without participation of his consciousness. Two years in the army on so infinitely distant Earth had not been spent in vain. A hold of attacking arm, then a turn and an armlock, and a holler of pain from the night thief. Now he had only to knock out the knife, to kick under enemy's knee, and clutching his hair imprint his face into the closet which incidentally was near. There was a crack. Oleg did not realize what cracked – the head or a board and repeated the blow. The corner of his eye caught a rapidly approaching shadow. Oleg realized that being hopelessly late and fended off with his shoulder, taking the club blow on it. The pain exploded like a grenade in his head, and Oleg without understanding what he was doing, poked into the face of his new enemy with his right hand. Judging by the savage yelp of the robber he could understand that he got into the right place.
Oleg jumped to the wall. Every movement caused a sharp pain, but he had to endure. His leg stumbled on something. Oleg crouched down gritting his teeth and fumbled with his hand. There was the knife knocked out from one of the bandits. Oleg gritted the knife comfortably, preparing for new attacks, he already cursed himself mentally a thousand times for decision to not turn on the lights. He could see only the pass onto the street and the loudly groaning shadow that was lying there.
Something rattled from the right and then curses came from there. Oleg suddenly embittered, jumped to the defeated enemy and hit him several times with the handle of his knife. The latter stopped stirring. A clatter of footsteps came from the street and a group of guards flew under the light of the lone lantern. Oleg appreciated their speed and smiled grimly.
– Don't move!!! Council Guard! Stop moving!!! – The guards shouts were bubbling with rage.
One of the guards switched on a powerful flashlight and illuminated the scene of the battle. The flashlight ray highlighted a man lying with his face in blood, the knocked door jamb (Oleg aimed his «hammer» not too accurately), the broken closet, a man in a dark jacket and trousers lying next to the closet, and Oleg leaning against the wall.
– Who are you?! – barked the guard with the lantern, a crossbow of the second guard was looking at the magician student at this time. The third guard with a halberd had gone into the darkness already.
– Oleg, junior student of magician, I'm working here as a night watchman. This warehouse was attacked, and I've…
– Chopped all the robbers to marhuz?! – Finished for him the guard with the lantern becoming a little calmer.
– No, I've just beaten them! – Explained Oleg, the battle fever began to subside, and he was now experiencing unforgettable hellish pain in his shoulder.
– There's one more! – The third guard shouted from the street. – All bones are crushed. This is not a man but a bag of bones.
At the same time one of the guards dragged the wailing bandit out and tied him up with a strong rope.
– Light! – Ordered another guard, and the ball of a lamp began to flare up slowly in the room. – Why did you not turn on the light before? – The guard asked with genuine bewilderment turning off his own lantern.
Oleg felt ashamed:
– I forgot. Then the events rushed ahead too fast…
– It happens. Are you injured?
– My arm, – said Oleg with a grimace.
– Lopar will call a prison carriage and a doctor. So be patient for a while, – muttered the guard, deftly tying the bandit who had not regained his consciousness yet. – Why did not you conjure the others? – Sincere curiosity sounded in the question.
– I don't know. It did not work, – said Oleg in annoyance.
– Did not work, you are saying. Well, well. – Muttering under his breath, the guard turned the thief's body on his back and began to rip the clothes on his chest with a short dagger. – Oh, of course, he has a Mirt's amulet. – The guard showed Oleg a rope with some disk. – An expensive trifle! – He was thinking aloud. – Maybe someone from the Guild?
But Oleg did not listen, he just slid down along the wall to the floor and closed his eyes, trying to insulate himself from the pain twitching his shoulder…
Early in the next morning he stumbled into Irung's apartment, scaring his hostess with the bandaged arm and forcing the young magician to get up.
– What the abyss is wrong with you?! – grunted Irung furiously rubbing his sleepy eyes.
– This? Nothing important, – Oleg nodded at his gypsum. – Someone tried to rob the warehouse, and I defended it. I have another question… – He hesitated, not knowing how to start, but then blurted out: – You know, I hit the thief with a «hammer», but he just laughed… The guard then said that he had a Mirt's amulet…
– What a competent Guard we have – muttered the magician under his breath. – Well, I understand. You are concerned now, that all your study might be pointless, now that any beggar could protect themselves from your magic?
Irung continued after a confirmation nod:
– Amulets like this one protect from the simplest forms of magic, I would say, from the emissions of raw Force, but
they can't save their owner from something more cunning… Of course, there are very powerful artifacts, protecting against more mightier magic, but even before Ptolemy a theory of artifacts describing how to destroy them in battle was developed. Therefore, remember: no artifact could provide absolute protection, their usage only relaxes a magician and makes him vulnerable.
– So you're saying that this amulet would not stop you? – Asked Oleg with a strange intonation.
– Not only me, after a couple of years it will not stop you! – Said the young tutor with a grin. – I'm just interested how you coped without magic.
– I was taught to fight in the army long ago… – the student waved his hand.
– Then you should deepen this skill. I'll talk with the teacher of fencing, and he will work with you. These are very useful lessons!
Oleg could only nod, calling himself a fool. After all, it was expected that Irung would welcome an opportunity to increase the load.
CHAPTER 33
Yarik exhaled with an effort, trying to clear his lungs from the stench of fish offal. They fled to the piers along some back streets, weaving between heaps of rubbish and jumping over ditches. Just like elsewhere, the rich city had its underside.
– Hey you, on the ship!!! – Darg yelled for the umpteenth time. – Where's the captain?!! Oh, children of the Abyss!!!
Yarik shifted nervously from foot to foot. His feelings were just shouting that the chase will be here soon. These wanderings among scrapyards drenched with the early sun left them a too little credit.
– Now I'll get on this trough, and make somebody regret a lot – promised Darg with a gloomy voice. – The third berth, «The Evil Snail»… – The nomad said the last phrase, having made a mocking face. After meeting with his tribesmen, Darg lost his coolness.
– Maybe she is not «The Evil Snail»… – Yarik suggested indifferently. – Hfurrg knows, maybe she is that ship.