Wings on my Back

by Alex Sapegin

  Andy bowed politely, revealing his previous dance lessons, and poured all his dignity and calm into that bow. He glanced at the elfettes, clicked his heels, and slowly retreated around the corner of the building.

  Once around the corner that was located near the square, he looked for his wards to join him. The group he had taken under his tutelage was leaning against the building and laughing hysterically. They had quickly gotten over their starstruck attitude towards the elves, even big-eyed Irma!

  Irma threw her arms around him in a hug. Her eyes showed rapture and delight. She adored him. The elves had been momentarily forgotten.

  “You showed them! And he…, oh! And they…, well, ha!” she kept tripping over her words swept by continuous bouts of laughter.

  They thought it was funny. The Rauu actually did look amusing, having been dished a thorough dose of manners lessons from Andy. They were indeed worthy members of their race and overall not bad people. They walled themselves off from humans behind a mask of arrogance. All you had to do was make them come to their senses and peel off the masks, and suddenly, their normal true selves would appear. The thing is… What would this “lesson” lead to for Andy? For the hundredth time today, his mood changed again. Why had he provoked the Icicles? Rauu do not forget offenses. What was he thinking? Yet again he had given in to his animal instincts.

  He had to put those guys in their place, bring them back down to the ground. Under his serious gaze, they stopped laughing and stood at attention. Just like new recruits before an old drill Sergeant.

  “What’s so funny?” Andy asked the three of them. “Did I say something amusing to the Icicle?”

  The gang looked confused.

  “You should think of my conversation with count Staro as a lesson that the three of you need to learn as well. You wouldn’t want to get into the same awkward situation, would you? The Rauu consider themselves the highest form of being, which is why I let ‘em have it. They probably won’t be surprised now if they get spit on in the streets. How’s it possible? We’re so perfect and yet they don’t like us? That’s why they don’t like you! Get it? Do you want to be like them? Look around! There are so many examples of it before your eyes.” Andy gestured towards the high-born nobles, surrounded by servants on the square and sniffing their scented handkerchiefs each time a serf or a skilled worker walked by. If an orc or a mix came near, they had a full-blown asthma attack. “Aren’t they great? Aren’t they just better than everyone else? Why aren’t you staring?” his anger flared again. “You don’t think for yourselves; all you’ve got is your mommy and daddy’s fancy title, you can’t even wipe your own butts! Already forgotten which side of your belt a sword rests on! And you’re supposed to be the servicemen class? It’s a shame! Any mechanic knows more and can do more. Leave him alone in the woods and he’ll survive, but a noble like that would rot in a couple of hours! Look at them sniffing their little fists. Yes, us simple folk might smell bad after a hard day’s work, but they’re forgetting that we make up the basis of their fortune!”

  A glare from the sun reflecting off someone’s polished armor hit him right in the eye, making him squint and flinch for a second and cut the rant short. Andy noticed Irma recoil from him and step away, looking at him in horror, which had now replaced her so recent delight. Was he really that ugly? Rigaud and Marika stood holding on to one another and silently listening to Andy’s passionate speech, occasionally blinking and swallowing. A small crowd consisting of nobles, locals, and a couple of merchants, and peasants stopped nearby. Was it interesting to hear? Please don’t get angry with the truth he was telling! Now the feces hit the fan, so to speak. Someone unleashed the dogs, as they say. From somewhere under the heavenly blue came the sound, loud and clear, of someone shouting: “Oy, you idiot!”

  “And what exactly is the basis of wealth of the high-born nobles?” an elderly man in an austere camisole with flared sleeves, a long broadsword at his waist and an oak cane inlaid with silver in his right hand asked. He had been standing not far from Andy when he let the Rauu have it and was now listening to the new lesson in morality with interest.

  “Simple serfs and skilled laborers—that’s their main source of wealth! People who make something, grow grain, mine ore, and forge iron. They serve the nobility, they do all the washing, they feed them, dress them, arm them…! Any sovereign’s purse is full only from the sweat of these people. They cultivate the grain, mill it, sell it, and make a profit—money to feed the master. And the master treats the peasant like cattle. A serf for him is a beast of burden, nothing more! Look, if the peasants didn’t live under such masters, they would only live better, but what would happen to the masters without the peasants? Many of the princes, counts, and others keep private guards, not so much to protect the land from ill-willed neighbors, but for keeping the common people in fear and obedience. Yes, sometimes the personal armies defend their masters from a revolt by the poor servants. Sorry, but the masters had already been so persistent robbing the poor to the last penny. But that’s all details, right? A good land owner will take care of his peasants first providing for their needs. A strong serf means a strong master. A peasant like that would be willing to defend his master’s land himself from someone’s army, to protect the land and master that treats him so well! Get it?”

  Andy loomed over Irma, Marika, and Rigaud like a grizzly over its prey. The man in the crowd snorted approvingly and gave a young man standing next to him who was his spitting image a friendly slap on the back of the head. “Understand? Listen. Learn.” The three nodded obediently. Alright then. Good for you. Now I just hope that once you become mages, you won’t turn into unapproachable celestial beings looking down your noses at mere mortals.

  A quiet rustling made Andy look around. The white cape of one of the elf bodyguards flashed from around the corner of the building. It was clear he had listened to the whole thing and was off to give his report.

  “I’m good at making enemies,” Andy thought. A whole school of shivers ran down his spine as a result of a foreboding feeling. “The Rauu are probably plotting a horrible revenge against this fanged upstart.”

  While the elf hadn’t yet gotten too far, Andy was able to cast an “eavesdropper” spell on his cape. There was enough energy in the magical interweave for it to last a couple of minutes, but he heard several interesting phrases in just that time.

  “Mentor, will you leave that mongrel’s words unanswered?” he heard a charming female voice say through the “eavesdropper” spell.

  “Yes Melima, I will. It’s a good lesson for me and for you. Remember it and try not to repeat our mistakes,” Vilomiel answered.

  “But he insulted us!” one of the young people said.

  “Vistamel, you’re the smartest one in this group, but you’re speaking nonsense. Tell me, what exactly did he say that was an insult? He provoked our indignation, shocking us with his contempt and arrogance, and trampled us in the mud like insects, but he did all this because he sensed our attitude towards him! A formidable enemy, correct? Don’t you find, we were struck as by a ‘mirror shield?’ Personally, it wasn’t to my liking. Not at all to my liking. Now do you understand how we made him and others feel?” Vilomiel addressed the young Rauu. Wow, what a respectable guy! He must’ve made an impression on them. Silence ensued. They were probably nodding to their teacher.

  “Sir!” a bodyguard put a word in. “Our ward, Kerrovitarr (wow, he remembered!) is giving a lesson to his friends!”

  What an observant bodyguard. I really am giving lessons. For free. Should I start making money on the side as a tutor?

  “Speak,” Vilomiel said. Vilomiel, you mustn’t capture so much interest with just one word! What just happened really affected you, didn’t it? “We’re listening.”

  “Sir, the mix reprimanded his friends for laughing at you!”

  “Praiseworthy. Is that all?”

  “No, that’s not all. I recorded everything in a crystal; you can watch it yourself later.
It’s rather interesting,” the bodyguard paused, “… and edifying.”

  “Were you able to notice his aura? He hates Woodies. Despises them!” What a nice voice Melima has, have to admit! I’d like to meet the owner of that voice, if she doesn’t tell me off… might be an interesting girl.

  There was a quiet peep. The magic spell on the fabric of the bodyguard’s cloak fizzled and the voices fell away.

  “?” Andy snapped back into the here and now and those around him.

  “Would you allow me to introduce myself?” Before him, with his son, stood the man with the silver cane. Andy looked at him with attention and respect in reply. “Teg Michael Soto, Count Soto, at your service,” the count nudged his son in the back. “Teg Timur Soto, my son.”

  The young man had an air of childlike innocence about him. He blushed and looked reproachfully at his father. Then Andy got a surprise. Dang it all! Who do they take me for?

  The count was introducing his son to him… no words for that. Only swear words. The boy, apparently, was the heir, and to whom does one introduce heirs? As a rule, to those whose title or rank is higher! The gang from the backwoods was glancing alternately at Andy and Timur. Can’t understand what’s the catch? Although, although, his rating in the young women’s eyes, no sense denying it, in Rigaud’s, and in his very own had gone up a couple dozen points. They know the protocols very well, better than Andy. They had been born into the nobility. They didn’t understand the count, who had introduced his son to the non-human first! Andy didn’t understand it either. Today had already left so many impressions on him, the most there had been in one day over the course of the whole last year. It seemed if he got a couple more surprises like these, he would lose the ability to be surprised once and for all.

  “My lady, permit me, if you will, to deprive you of the company of your cavalier for a few minutes?” Michael winked conspiratorially at the baronesses and led the dumbfounded Andy away by the elbow. The girls gawked in silence. It seemed today was a day of surprises and unexpected discoveries for the baronesses, too!

  “Kerrovitarr, allow me to address you by the shorter version, Kerr.” Andy bowed to the count as one would to an equal, with a slight nod of the head. He had to be polite and stuff his molting irritation down deep inside him. An interesting conversation was about to ensue. The gesture didn’t escape the count’s notice, causing but a knowing smirk and only confirming certain conclusions he had made earlier.

  “Count, let’s not stand on ceremony. You’re a serious man, I see, and you obviously have some sort of business with me. I presume it has to do with your son?”

  “It’s nice to meet an intelligent fellow,” the count lifted his hands, glancing at Andy’s firmly set brows. “Alright! Excellent, we won’t stand on ceremony then. You’re right, it’s about Timur.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I am the matter, as is Timur. Timur is not fit for independent living, and I do not wish to leave him here alone, as he wishes. May I…”

  “Are you looking for accommodation?” Andy smiled skeptically. Here comes another ward. Let’s pile them on!

  “I’ve already found some. Kerr, look after him, I beg you! You’re very compelling. I understand he can’t be shielded from everything in the wide world and that Timur ought to have his own experiences in life, but as a father I’d be so much more at ease if someone were looking out for him, pointing out his errors and pointing him in the right direction. I’m a stranger here in Orten. When I saw and heard your interaction with the Rauu, and your speech to your friends just now, I concluded that you’re a trustworthy fellow and true to your word.” Michael said all this in one breath, with such a compelling and imploring look on his face that Andy thought he might shed a tear. What an artist! It stirs one to pity. A real homegrown psychologist.

  “Count, I understand your concern, but let’s speak frankly to one another. Do I really need that? I’ve already taken those naive three under my wing, and now you want to add to my cares? You live for free, sir. And I don’t like your decision regarding my person. Or can you not see clearly? Ask your son what I look like; he’ll describe it.”

  “I’m not complaining about your eyes. I examined you thoroughly. A bird can be judged by its flight,” Count Soto brushed it aside.

  “And it really doesn’t bother you that I’m not human?” Andy couldn’t believe it. “What kind of bird am I flying like? Be candid.”

  “Alright, candidly then. Teg Kerrovitarr,” he now stopped looking at the eyebrows and looked directly into Andy’s eyes. “Show your performance to the children, and I’ll play the role of the old theater critic. In my… unsophisticated opinion, a couple of things have given you away: your straight back and even posture, first of all, and your correct manner of speaking, with proper pronunciation, grammar and so forth, and the use of vocabulary unknown to serfs, secondly. Thirdly, the ability to consider oneself equal to members of other races. Fourth, your smooth, sparing movements. Fifth, your knowledge of the basic principles of managing a household and its farms; perhaps, you’ve managed an estate before. Your sharp teeth and non-human eyes, Teg Kerr, don’t mean anything to me. I see a young man who has received an excellent education,” …Count, not so loud! People are listening and starting to look askance at us! “… the level of which, I think, far surpasses that of some princes and dukes.” Well thank you 11th grade, plus Karegar and Jagirra’s tutoring! The guy hit it on the nose. And yes, I suppose I do have some management experience… well, my mom’s an economist. “A short analysis of all the facts leads one to a startling result!” The three friends he had taken on were now squeezing in closer and closer, sideways, steadily, super interested in the conversation. “You’re not what you’re trying to pass yourself off as. I don’t know the reasons for your change in form, Teg Kerr, but I can say with relative certainty that you, by origin and according to your attributes, stand no lower than a ducal throne.”

  *****

  If the count had taken a sledgehammer to Andy’s forehead, or had he dropped a ten-pound dumbbell on his foot, the effect would not have been so severe. Count, count, you should work in the ministry of finance, such a detective you are! You would make a great long-term prognosis analyst. Andy now looked like the Rauu en grall Vilomiel looked fifteen minutes ago. His eyes popped out of his head, his mouth hung open… a carp flopping on land, and that was all. He had been sent to the ducal throne. A high-born, uppity mutant pretending to have a title. Pretty cool, actually! The logical conclusion followed—the young duke was playing with magic. It was possible to be so spoiled with forbidden magic that it would end in tragic results of his experiments. His teeth, fangs, blue eyes, and his head sprinkled with ash gray,… such is the harsh fate of those who’ve wandered into the forbidden art form. Andy imagined the reality of where the count’s detective skills might lead him and shuttered. A cold shiver ran between his shoulder blades, signaling that he had become the object of the cold stares of those around him. Oh, momma mia! Everyone in a twenty-yard radius was staring at him. The young ladies seemed to drill holes in him with their harsh gaze. Ok, he had to get a handle on himself. Close your mouth and take a deep breath. To heck with you all and go stick your nose in a rubber hose. Am I a duke or what? I might be a sham duke, but so what? He he. Andy soon felt totally calm.

  *****

  Michael carefully observed the young man. He had just to wait for the result of his highly “accusatory” speech. What would his reaction be? He gave him a moment to come to terms with everything he had said. He had seen a lot in his long life and his interlocutor’s non-human appearance didn’t phase him.

  The young man carried himself and spoke in such a way that Michael’s ideas of his origin had simply formed of their own accord. But his conversation with the Rauu didn’t fit with this idea. Michael had noticed how Kerrovitarr’s face turned to stone at that moment, how a look of absolute superiority over others, including the elves, came upon him, as if he were looking down fr
om the balcony of his palace at chickens running around in the dust. One dose of Kerr’s brutal look with those blue eyes and the cicles” melted. No, nobles weren’t taught to act like that. But high-borns, even more distinguished than they were,—oh yes!

  Michael was just a bit surprised—a high-born disguising himself as a petty noble, or even lower than that, as a peasant. But if he believed his theory that the young man’s exotic appearance was due to magic, the magical skills he possessed, that it was perhaps the result of a failed magical experiment, then it was quite understandable why he became ostracized from high society. And now Michael had a fortunate chance. Even if he couldn’t set Timur up with a powerful person, he could at least leave his son under the tutelage of an experienced person. Once a high-born, always a high-born. Otherwise, there’s no telling what could happen.

  The count loved his sole heir very much. He had five daughters, and his son was the last child, but such a long-awaited boy was a ray of sunlight for him. And when Timur was three, a wandering mage came to their estate. The mage, upon the count’s request, examined the boy and gave his verdict: he has a magical gift with a lot of potential. He didn’t say which element Timur was capable of working with, explaining that he wasn’t a “seer” and could not distinguish the colors of the elements. From then on, a large portion of the count’s funds, collected in the form of taxes from his modest county, was spent on lessons for his son. The county estate was located in an out-of-the-way corner of Tantre and quite small. For his care, Michael forfeited the opportunity to give Timur a military upbringing; the boy couldn’t boast any military talents. He preferred books.