My Path to Magic 2: A Combat Alchemist

by Irina Syromyatnikova

  I looked at the piles of documents with a sense of incommunicable discomfort. If my father, one of the greatest dark magicians of his time, the head of the law enforcement agencies of the entire Northwestern region, had lost his life in a clash with artisans, would I survive? I messed up their plans in Redstone, Ho-Carg and Illsill - sectarians used to kill dark mages for much smaller sins. I already had under my belt two cases of near-death experience, hence the moral was: I had to be prepared round-the-clock to repulse attempts on my life. I did not need to chase my enemies around Ingernika - sooner or later they would come to me. So the most inconvenient of my goals - retaliation for my father's death - began to fulfill itself.

  Chapter 39

  Pete Breno worked for the army intelligence for seven years, but nothing he had experienced before was comparable to his suffering now…He had to spend day after day in a tiny hut at the cemetery in the company of NZAMIPS stormtroopers. There were five of the lower ranks, one white, and one combat mage, and the white magician became a source of trouble. The reason was funny: Mr. Darsino feared corpses in graves. His phobia was childish and totally irrational. The panicking mage constantly nagged: "Please let's go to any other place."

  The combat magician, introduced to all as "Master Dan", neither quarreled nor swore, nor did anything that people subconsciously expected from a dark. He slept all day and walked around the cemetery at night. Pete sensed his pent-up aggression and felt sick from it. Klyamski was also eyeing the combat mage all the time - Pete wondered if the captain was able to control his formal subordinate.

  A long and intense waiting period for the right moment to intervene was a nerve-racking experience for all; no wonder the white started showing signs of mental disorder: his eyes shone feverishly, his hands shook, and he didn't sleep at all.

  "Do you want me to make you a protective amulet?" the combat mage generously offered to Mr. Darsino.

  "Will it work?"

  "A top notch dark magic spell against corpses? Of course, it will!"

  "We must not alert local NZAMIPS," Klyamski reminded.

  "It won't be a problem. I found one crypt, which is out of reach for the instrumental control."

  Pete doubted that there was such a crypt, but something had to be done, the dark was right. Master Dan brought Darsino to an old crypt, and half an hour later the white mage came back happy and radiant, wearing around his neck a chain from a copper wire. Later Pete found a handful of matches stripped of sulfur behind one of the graves: the dark seemed to cheat the white in a most vulgar manner. Nonetheless, he achieved the intended result!

  "Thanks!" Klyamski said when the appeased white fell asleep.

  "No problem!" Master Dan replied. "I don't have much experience in fighting white mages, so Darsino will come in handy."

  Pete recalled that lately the army intelligence raised the issue of counterattacking white magic. Was it possible to train such a skill in the dark?

  Meanwhile, the denouement was approaching. A rumor about the nearing opening of the textile factory began circulating around town. The stormtroopers around Pete were readying for battle, and he decided to participate in it, too, though it wasn't in the scouts' original plan. No doubts remained where and when the forbidden ritual would take place. Pete was glad that the group didn't bring an extra armor set, so without a twinge of conscience Pete decided to stay in the rear, helping to carry ammunition.

  "What am I supposed to do with this?" Pete squeezed a rustling bag. "To chew? Sniff?"

  "Don't you dare!" Darsino snapped.

  Klyamski smiled rapaciously. "This is a new weapon. Especially suited for storming buildings with no hostages. It should be dispersed in the air. If you eat it, you'll kick the bucket. Be careful - our masks don't fully protect from the potion. Drop the bomb and wait for a while before entering the place."

  Now Pete understood the ground for the group's self-confidence in a fight against hundreds of people. It made sense: the dark and the white together were able to remove any defense perimeters, the bulk of the enemies would be neutralized by the potion, and the troopers would apprehend the rest still remaining on their feet. Pete pondered on the enemies' most likely counter-tactics and decided that the dark traitor and artisan crossbowmen would try to shoot out the troopers. And if the traitor was on par with Master Dan, they would succeed. An hour before dawn their group approached the factory fence, just in time to see a van driving out of the gate.

  "We have to finish our operation before they come back. They are heading to the orphanage, for victims for their bloody ritual," the captain clenched his teeth. "We don't want to mess around with innocent victims!"

  Pete nodded and let the fighters go forward. He finally came to his senses: six fools (including him) against the artisans' mages and a crowd of fanatics! He feared most of the hostile dark mages; he had seen the results of combat curses, and these memories made him feel depressed.

  For an outsider, civil stormtroopers in action probably looked funny: seven gloomy men with broadswords and crossbows stealthily climbed the rotten fence and crawled on all fours into the bushes. The outsider wouldn't see the huge effort it took from the group to break through the artisans' defense spells unnoticed.

  Pete wondered if they made a mistake and there were no artisans, but honest businessmen trying to make the factory profitable. He almost said it out loud, but a wave of shivers, which suddenly pierced his body, saved him from embarrassment.

  The magicians looked at each other.

  "The perimeter is off!" Darsino sighed. "They have started."

  Pete envisioned that bewitched migrants, pulled out of their beds by a powerful call, would begin gathering at the gate of the factory in half an hour, as the blazing sensors of instrumental controls would awaken local "cleaners" and make them rush to their trucks. The artisans acted openly, signifying that they came up with a way to block local law enforcement.

  "Wiggle your hoofs, goats!" the captain whispered. "You two go round the building. Neutralize everything that breathes! We'll meet at the boiler room."

  The men disappeared in the darkness. Master Dan went ahead of the others, smiling unkindly. Pete walked in the footsteps of Master Dan; the scout's task was to guard Darsino, who followed him.

  The captain's reliance on modern alchemical weaponry proved to be effective: the powdered bomb struck down both ordinary people and white mages, driving them into a deep sleep. Pete looked around: nearly the entire building was occupied by huge construction of unknown functionality. Its fragments, covered with magic symbols, lay on the floor, hung on slender strings, and were mounted on the walls; air trembled from the abundance of white magic - the construction performed some work. In a rainbow haze Pete discerned the frames of iron beds screwed to the floor and winced.

  "Can you shut it off?" Klyamski grimly asked Darsino.

  "I'll need time," the white magician sighed.

  Darsino unpacked his tool bag and started wandering among the artisans' creations, occasionally making written notes. Pete frowned: they were losing speed and switching to the defense. With so few people at their disposal it signified a defeat. It would be better to set the artisans' construction on fire, but nobody knew how it would react to heat - it could explode and kill everybody inside.

  Captain Klyamski painted the faces of the unconscious captives with a special marker and inspected conspirators' pockets. Master Dan busily rummaged through the sect's belongings. The sky in the windows brightened; the longest day of the year began. Traces of alchemical powder in the air affected Pete - he felt like falling asleep. The scout moved closer to the windows, perched on a windowsill, blinked, and, discerned through murky glass the gray board of the covered van.

  "The van is back!"

  "Hostages…" Klyamski hissed.

  "He won't dare to use boys now. Alive, they are unpredictable. Unless he will make them unconscious." Master Dan commented, partially relieving tension that had thickened between them after the news about the retur
n of the van with children.

  Pete thought that at least one thing was good about dark kids - they weren't useful as hostages!

  And then they heard a bang - the dark traitor knocked the entrance door down. A figure in a long cloak with a barely glowing symbol of NZAMIPS came out of the pre-dawn shadows toward Master Dan. The scout realized that he was right between the combat magicians and darted aside. Darsino crouched into the corner; he shut his eyes tightly and covered his head with his hands. The Klyamski's fighters, with crossbows, lined up behind Master Dan.

  Air started trembling from curses; dazzling crimson patterns blossomed, visibly manifesting the collision of dark Sources; crossbows sounded in Pete's direction: he cringed involuntarily, expecting a blow and instant pain. Instead, the bolts gracefully slowed their flight and disintegrated into small chips in front of his eyes - Master Dan formed two curses to protect his people from both: crossbow bolts and dark magic, and the fact he managed to combine heterogeneous weavings signified that he had reached the height of excellence for a dark mage.

  Chips flew in all directions; crushed metal creaked; a couple of shooters fell from the steam pipes' arch straight into the center of raging magic.

  The traitor-mage was defeated before their battle began; the skill level of his enemy was too high. Master Dan was vulgarly finishing off the other dark, hammering him with blows and forcing him to pump his power into his enemy's weavings. The traitor's fate was decided.

  "Follow me!" Klyamski roared and rushed to attack the artisans' crossbowmen.

  With shouts that were more frightened than raging, the troopers followed their commander; the captain's order gave them a chance to run from the deadly curses of Master Dan that dangerously glittered behind their backs. The artisans came to their senses and began a counter-attack - their homemade swords and clubs met with the enchanted armor and weapons of the stormtroopers. Pete lagged behind.

  The van with the children in it was left unguarded. Dark kids with all their childish enthusiasm pounded on the doors from inside the car. Klyamski rushed to free the children, but Pete didn't let him unlock the van. The scout was afraid that the kids would run around among the combatants.

  Meanwhile the artisans received a reinforcement of three dozen enchanted folks from the migrants. Against five NZAMIPS troopers…Pete stepped forward with the leftovers of alchemical bombs, and the supporters quickly became useless for the artisans, except as a barricade of bodies.

  The colored sparks of spells flew over the factory's fence from the outside: the local law enforcement unsuccessfully tried to break through the crowd, blocking approaches to the factory. Chaos grew stronger.

  The end came swiftly: purple lightning dabbed the sky, and a thunderclap drowned the cry of the overpowered traitor. Master Dan appeared from around the corner, dragging the unconscious body of his foe by the legs. Passing by a fire safety barrel with water, he checked the level of liquid inside, and slashed the barrel in halves by a quick gesture, so that the water poured on the defeated mage and vaporized instantly. Seeing this, the artisans hurried to surrender. Klyamski laid them on the ground with hands behind their heads.

  The crowd at the factory gates quickly dissipated; policemen and gallant lads in the uniform of the "cleaners" climbed over the fence. Pete wandered among the defeated; the poor guys heavily vomited. Something didn't let him believe in the happy ending; the victory was achieved too…cheap, maybe. Suddenly he noticed Master Dan - the mage pulled off a silver ring from his enemy's finger. Healers carried away his half-dead foe.

  "My sixth duel!" the dark mage boasted.

  "What?"

  "The adversary's ring is a trophy for the duel's winner," he explained. "Axel has twelve, but he is older, and he won them during the Reformation."

  "How did they incite you to participate in this?" Pete was curious.

  Master Dan's face became gloomy, "These assholes kidnapped my sons."

  Pete nodded. Only artisans could dare to hurt the family of a combat mage.

  Klyamski's group slowly gathered around Pete, loudly dreaming of hot grub and normal beds. Darsino came last.

  "We are in situation 'Z,' " he whispered tragically to all.

  "What's this?" Pete started worrying - he had not seen Lavender yet.

  "A few leaders with important artifacts have escaped," the white politely explained.

  After a moment of silence people burst into curses.

  "We'll have to start all over!" Klyamski almost spat.

  Master Dan grinned, "Did anybody promise it would be easy to finish them off? Perhaps, Pete, your adventurous companion will be our only hook."

  Lavender Kilozo watched the assault from a safe distance and was in no hurry to get out of the bushes. She planned to reveal her presence when the stormtroopers put enchanted chains on all of the sectarians.

  "Do not go there," someone grabbed her arm and pulled her deeper into the bushes. "Come with me!"

  Lavender noted that Derik looked strained, but not scared. The scout understood that the stormtroopers didn't catch the leaders of the sect. The NZAMIPS group was too small to control the entire factory's perimeter, and they focused their blow at the venue of the ritual, leaving the artisans plenty of opportunities for escape.

  Lavender pondered how many sectarians had fled. Later she figured out that just three artisans managed to escape police attention. Though, given the circumstances, three was also too many. Derik was skilled enough to rebuild the organization from nothing.

  "No, it's not the end, but we must immediately leave town!" the artisan sternly declared to his confused followers.

  Lavender clasped her hands, "My cat! How can I leave my kitty alone?"

  "Our friends will take care of your cat," Derik smiled falsely, and Lavender concluded that no other artisans remained in Septonville. "The Teacher should learn what happened as soon as possible!"

  So the leader of the sect wasn't in Septonville! Lavender stopped complaining - her plans changed: now she would grab Derik with both hands and not let him loose - he would bring her to the core of their organization. The scout sent an encouraging smile to Derik and prepared to work in earnest.

  Epilogue

  Midsummer in Ingernika was marked with the arrest of a group of artisans in a small town not far from Redstone. I browsed newspapers, trying to figure out who kicked my enemies' asses. To my surprise, newsboys, who should have discussed such a sensation at every corner, just copied the official press release with minimal comments and stupid reservations, such as, "the communiqué stated…"

  When I shared my astonishment with Johan, he said, "You do not understand, Thomas, how dangerous it is to talk about artisans! They won't forgive their foes for the disruption of their plans. We will see some horrible events soon."

  "So the sassy scribblers were AFRAID to say more?! I guess only NZAMIPS has the courage to confront the artisans!"

  "Violence leads to counter-violence!" Johan stuck to his guns.

  "It is easy for you to call for peace," I chuckled. "You, the white, are not affected."

  Johan became embarrassed and shut up. The white mage urged me to reconcile, but the victims of the artisans were the dark; naturally, our positions did not coincide. From my point of view, our world was too small to host both the dark and the artisans.

  Six white magicians, who were caught red-handed in Septonville, were sent to the scaffold. Political opposition loudly and boldly shouted about a "barbaric sentence". By the way, they never argued when the dark were condemned to death by fire.

  Minister Michelson in his interview declared the artisan sect an ideological gang of extortionists. I recalled that Michelson was my top boss and became proud of him: I worked for the organization that feared no one!

  A quiet whisper in my head spoiled my mood; I suspected it came from Messina Fowler's personality. The artisans' sect was organized, perhaps better than NZAMIPS. I pondered how long I would last, if I decided to challenge NZAMIPS. Not for long, real
ly. And the white are generally more persistent than the dark. Would they get back at me sooner than I at them?

  However, such thoughts didn't linger in my mind.