A Cruel Tale

by Alex Sapegin

  Hmm, now let’s see. What other trump cards do I have in my hand, besides the astral? The old elf’s guilt at what he did to Frida—definitely. Is he guilty for leaving his dragon allies in the lurch, the ones who destroyed the Great Forest? Well, that idea is not fresh, no sense in dredging it up again. Lanirra’s father said the elves and the Arians left what was left of the dragons just when they needed help most. There were only dozens of them left when there used to be hundreds. The elves were afraid of the winged tribe’s power. They were so afraid, they preferred to forget that they’d been on the same side, and close their eyes to the squadrons of hunters ransacking through the many hidden and secluded places, in hopes of finding a dragon. Now I just have to decide whether I need Miduel at this point or not? Is it worth taking the weight of the elves’ problems on my shoulders? In light of the fact that I’m planning to fly around to all the nests shown on the map, I do need the Rauu. In the long term, they can and should be lured to my side, but for now, too many people are looking at us dragons as if we were a valuable treasure, including some Rauu. What else? I’m having a brain fart… Oh yeah, I’m forgetting one small thing—monarchs really don’t like it when you say no to them, especially if you’re not a monarch of a neighboring country or an Archmage. I cannot directly refuse him. I’d better make up some excuse, like a pressing errand, or just direct him to the entire monastery archives. Let them clean the Augean stables themselves. Well, it’s time now, isn’t it? Arguing with the powers that be is a bit awkward…, but someone has to do it!

  ***

  Miduel, setting his cane aside and folding his hands behind his back, measured the tent with his wide steps. Everything’s going wrong. Kerrovitarr… He should have changed his name to Kerrovigarr long ago—meaning a giant hulk who doesn’t comply. What’s happened to him that he started displaying a noticeable coldness towards elves? Miduel took the little box that contained the kran from the table. He stared at it for a long while. Finding no acceptable answer, he put the artifact in his camisole pocket. The boy doesn’t want to hear anything. He took his vampire girl and asked the elves to leave as if to imply we’d have time for a long talk later on. And I have no choice but to put up with the young dragon’s whims. And where has he found a female with children? The former prisoners are saying nothing. Couldn’t get a word out of them. It would be easier to speak with a stone. The warrior Rauu, the griffon rider, who was freed by the dragon and the orcs, can’t say anything intelligible. However, the female dragon and the dragonlings are obviously taken under his wing. The children are one thing—okay. Dragons are always affectionate towards their own—but the female! Has he accepted her as a wife? On second thought, no; he’s too human.

  Miduel stopped, turned on his heels and took another step. His human nature’s having its effect. On the other hand, he’s becoming less and less human every day, and it’s very hard to determine his ancestry. The ancient kran doesn’t give any past memories. All images begin from the Incarnation. But if I’m to believe the word of the book shopkeeper from Ortag, Kerr visited him in the form of a Rauu, and that was not at all an active illusory mask. There’s no basis to suspect the Dawn-bringer of lying. Anything is possible. Jagirra seemed to have agreed to the Ritual painfully quickly. She probably wouldn’t have taken so much trouble over a simple human.

  The vampire…. Perhaps I made a mistake, taking her with me? She’s a very good girl, no doubt—smart and well-read, a first-rate swordsman, and as much a top-notch warrior as a seventeen-year-old could possibly be. Right now she’s up on the platform with Kerr, and I’m here, tearing my hair out wondering what they’re talking about!

  “Your Majesty,” one of the mages guarding the High Prince’s dwelling slipped into the tent. Miduel turned with eager interest. “May I present Kerrovitarr Dragon Gurd.”

  “Let him in!”

  “Good evening, Your Majesty,” Kerr stepped into the pavilion and bowed at the waist.

  “Oh stop,” the Rauu waved his hand dismissively and smiled warmly. “Oh, I see you’ve come with a whole mess of papers. May I ask what they are?”

  “Of course, but in just a minute. I’ll leave the papers with you. I don’t need them, and you and the dwarfs will, very much so.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Have a seat.” Miduel waved his hand towards a small furniture set made up of two light wicker chairs and a small round table with a teapot on it, steaming with hot, refreshing invigohol.

  “Thank you, master.”

  The Rauu nodded cordially.

  Obeying a subtle gesture, or some other form of command, two silent elves came forward from behind a curtain and quickly set the table with bowls of baked goods and fruits.

  Andy sat down in a chair, leaning against the comfortable back, observed the precise, measured movements of improvised waiters, who were actually the High Prince’s bodyguards, and wondered what direction the conversation would take.

  When the bodyguards left, Miduel pronounced a curtain of silence spell over them, poured the beverage into two deep porcelain cups, and took a sip. Andy, following tradition, took the first sip of the hot broth, enjoyed the delicious taste, held it in his mouth, and did not forget to lift the cup to eye level paying tribute to the old Rauu who had prepared it; only then did he swallow.

  For a few minutes, they enjoyed the superb beverage, surreptitiously observing one another.

  Miduel relaxed, leaned his cane against the chair and stretched his legs. Now the person sitting before Andy was not the all-powerful ruler of one of the main states of Alatar, but an elderly Snow Elf, constantly exhausted from the responsibilities heaped upon him. The Rauu, like an old man, sipped the hot broth and munched sugar cookies, from time to time fumbling with his hand in the bowl, searching by the only known methods for the sweetest and most crispy specimens of confectionery art. In those moments, he reminded Andy of a clever old man from a fairy tale, the mushroom king, who was ready to answer any question. Andy set his cup on the table.

  “More?”

  “Yes, please.” The High Prince poured a second helping of the invigohol.

  “Thank you.”

  “Take some cookies. Melima baked them, and these rolls.”

  “It’s hard to imagine her in an apron, in front of an oven.”

  “I agree. She’s a wild woman, but even so. No one makes sugar cookies and buns better. I guess there are more sides to her personality that we give her credit for.”

  Behind the meaningless small talk, an icy alienation stood between the old elf and the young were-dragon.

  “So, you’ve decided to turn me down?” Miduel said, abruptly interrupting the idle prattle.

  “Hm?” Andy almost choked on the roll he was eating. What a turn-around! The High Prince suddenly took off at a gallop, pulling the rug out from under his opponent and tossing Andy’s prepared words in the trash.

  “Do you want to know how I knew?” Andy nodded. “I’m too old. Humans’ and elves’ behavior is no secret to me. You were drinking the broth, and I was mentally evaluating your body language, gestures and such. Over a thousand years, one can learn to determine without a doubt a person’s mood, using those little signs that no one else notices, like the kind of pose a person assumes during a discussion. The tension of the muscles, the expression behind the eyes, the tone of voice, the level of perspiration, the body language, the color and glow of the aura. You were calm which said you’d made a decision. There wasn’t the slightest sparkle of doubt in your aura, or regret, which means you thought about it good and hard and added up all the pros and cons. But why? You haven’t even asked what I want to ask you or offer in exchange for your services and help?”

  “Master, I really did think hard. I thought about myself and about you. It all ended with me firmly deciding who I really am. I figured out what my priorities are. I have someone to care for, someone to protect. I have no desire to place my neck on the chopping block for some lofty cause, no matter how noble it may be or what motives
are included in striving towards that goal. You can call me selfish and cynical if you like.”

  “As far as I understand it, that’s not all. As far as I’ve been able to study you,” Miduel took the kran from his pocket and handed it to Andy, “you’ve never been selfish or cynical.”

  “Well, that’s not all. You’re correct. Master, you are responsible for your people and your country, while I’m responsible for those people who trust me. These people, dragons, and orcs, have become my family, and until I’ve lead them to a safe place, I can’t turn my attention to anything else. We both bear the weight of responsibilities, and you can’t say that one load is greater or lesser than the other. We each have our tasks.” Andy fell silent. Miduel stared straight ahead, his face like stone. Only his bushy gray eyebrows twitched to the beat of his thoughts. “I can’t take on your tasks.” The elf’s eyes flashed like two blue fires. “I came to you to ask many questions, but first just answer me two. Answer honestly. What I have to say next depends on it.”

  “Two?”

  “Yes, just two.”

  “Alright. I’ll try to be an open book,” Miduel said and closed his eyes. He’d gleaned a lot from his conversations with Rector Etran, including the fact that the young dragon sitting in front of him wasn’t as simple a being as he seemed. The youthful appearance hid a second essence, and this essence was extremely, to the point of paranoia, cautious. Before the Royal Informants asked all the Rauu to leave Orten and arrested Etran, the rector managed to show the old elf a selection of materials on the siege of four hundred years ago that the young man had collected, and to describe his actions, including his requirement to be provided with a way out of the Free Mages’ Guild. A short excursion through the papers created more questions than it answered, both about the history of the siege itself and about the former bookworm. His stated age of eighteen did not at all correspond to the conclusions one could draw from his work putting together the folder: everything was too exact and pithy. That hardened, cunning Etran wasn’t showing or telling all there was to show and tell, either. Miduel could sense she’d left a few aces up her sleeve. Saving them for a rainy day. Now all Miduel had to know was what she was hoping for? Kerr wouldn’t let himself be used as a puppet. He would listen to others’ advice, but he would act on his own. This the High Prince knew for sure. The Rauu had previously examined all the details of their upcoming meeting in his mind from every angle, for a few hours. He created various models of the dragon’s behavior, his own and Kerr’s questions, answers and… then threw all his work in the garbage. The psychological portrait did not correspond to the boy’s actions in Orten, Ortag, and on the forest trail. Why had the dragon gotten involved in someone else’s fight? What were the royal killers of the Steppe doing in Tantre? Who were they after? What wasn’t the Norseman, the unit commander in Ortag, telling him? And what really happened in that former monastery? What prompted Kerr to dive into the astral and pump energy into the world? Miduel involuntarily cringed. The density of the magical field in the region of the temple was fifty bell—three times higher than in the center of the Mellorny woods! The mages accompanying the elf were in shock. No one talked about the charging station. The wizards were crawling on their hands and knees from the magic of the destroyed temple, gathering crystals from some energy accumulator. The small fragments, the size of a pinky fingernail, were so saturated with energy that they could compete with the temple’s lesser mana collectors. The Rauu had completely forgotten about the power of a true blood. He had time to find and meet with them, many of which were stronger than Kerr, a lot stronger, but now he was the only one. His strength made Miduel’s heart beat faster. Soon they could expect a formidable landing party of specialists from the Royal Academy, the Orten School of Magic and the Center for Magical Arts of the Rauu Foothill Principality. It simply wasn’t realistic to think they could keep an event like this a secret. They would come after the boy with all they had. It was foolish to think the mages wouldn’t put two and two together, and it seemed Kerr understood the situation very well. Unbelievable! The boy, cornered by circumstances, wasn’t showing any signs of upset, as if he weren’t at all interested in magical and semi-magical whoop-de-doo and all their imminent consequences. One got the impression that Kerr thought about his actions one move in advance, and that he had certain raw materials and parts at his disposal. No matter how strange it sounds, the High Prince was nervous about his own complete personal lack or readiness for Kerr’s illogical behavior. The pile of papers he’d brought to their meeting suggested that they would become a bargaining chip, but what would they be bargaining for? What could he expect? Miduel was only now realizing his unpreparedness and inability to conduct political discussions and actions with one member of the Lords of the Sky. Kerr, it seemed, was full of surprises: you see a youth in front of you, then you close your eyes—and instead of a youth, there’s a grown man. The shapeshifter’s quiet voice interrupted the Rauu’s train of thought.

  “My first question is, why did you want to marry your great great grandson off to Frida? The second one is, what stopped you? Please understand, I don’t believe the idle talk that says my presence is what put an end to it, your unwillingness to compromise a possible ally. There’s got to be another explanation.”

  Miduel stood up. Idle talk? A several-hour-long preparation for the conversation? Ha! It was a good question and an excellent answer to what Miduel had asked about refusing to cooperate. The old elf felt as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. How had Kerr managed to isolate the main component? He had to answer, and tell the truth….

  Andy got the impression the years, the elixir of dragon’s blood had taken off Miduel, all suddenly came rushing back. His shoulders drooped; the wrinkles on his face got deeper. The High Prince leaned on his cane with all his weight and looked Andy in the eye:

  “Because I couldn’t… no, not like that. You’re right, it’s not about you. It’s about me. I didn’t want to cross the line that separates an ancient Snow Elf from becoming a monster. You’ve asked me the hardest questions. In part, I can’t answer them. I didn’t expect that from an eighteen year old boy, or… elf?” Andy shrugged, transforming into a Snow Elf. Miduel smiled sadly, shook his head and went on: “I didn’t expect questions with such weighty answers.” He sighed heavily, glanced at Andy again, and plopped down into a chair. “Ilanta is dying. The consequences of the war of the dragons and the Forest Elves are beginning to show. Two, maybe three thousand more years and the magic will be gone from this world. Do you know where mana comes from?” Miduel asked, and, not waiting for an answer, went on: “Mana comes from Mellornys, true bloods and dragons. Yes, dragons. They unconsciously draw energy from the astral, giving it away bit by bit. True bloods and the Lords of the Sky are the most magical creatures of all sentient beings that populate this world. Three thousand years ago, they were stripped of a future, their nesting grounds destroyed. In response they cursed the elves, burned the Great Forest, and put an anti-flowering spell on the Mellornys. Since then the trees have not borne fruit. The true bloods were killed even before that; those few who were left alive went to Nelita…. The Woodies are growing new trees by grafting, but it’s a drop in the ocean, since those ones won’t bear fruit either. A magical tree lives about five thousand years. Do you understand what I’m saying? The last young sapling was planted three thousand years ago. Soon the Forests will start dying out. Their agony will be prolonged. The Forest elves have not yet fully comprehended the catastrophe that awaits them. They hope they can plant millions of seedlings grown from young branches. It won’t work. The old trees’ death will strongly affect the young saplings. The dying network of roots will disturb the connections between the groves.” Miduel paused again and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. All was quiet in the tents for a few minutes, then the Rauu leaned towards Andy and looked him in the eyes again. “There’s another secret. The Mellornys won’t grow without the dragons. The Lords of the Sky and the trees are magi
cally connected and complement one another. I don’t know how the bond works, and most likely no one will ever know the answer to that question, but the fact remains. The dragons have kept their secret as sacred and would have taken it to the grave, if you hadn’t come along.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s an ancient artifact in the Marble Mountains, built to detect splashes of magical energy given off by true bloods. The force of the astral flows through it. Who installed it and why is not important now. The ancient device isolated your magic and your penetrating into the outer layers of the energy field. That’s where I ran off too as soon as I could.”