by Alex Sapegin
Taller than his dad at fourteen and broader in the shoulders, Timur remained a calm and timid fellow. When his peers started taking an interest in girls and trying to get them alone in isolated corners, Timur would go off to be alone with a book. A year ago, he had announced to his father that he was preparing to go study at the School of Magic. No arguments, promises, or bribes could change the young man’s mind. Despite everything, Michael secretly rejoiced at his son’s decision. Timur showed unexpected tenacity and character in his resolve. He ignored all of his mother’s objections, continuing to study stubbornly and to exhaust his tutors with questions. But one nuance consistently and increasingly bothered the count: Timur, with his bookworm existence, didn’t know anything about real life. In real life, everything is much simpler and at the same time much more complex.
Timur looked out the carriage window at the world around him with puppy-like delight. He drank in the beauty of the scenery, not noticing the layer of dust, dirt, and filth below. He had traversed the borders of his home county for the first time. The count observed his son and only became more convinced that he must find him a patron, someone to protect and guide him, if even just for the first semester. Otherwise, the boy would get used there, among the others. And now his chance had come—here was a young noble who had had some experiences in life and knew his own worth. Not just anyone would take it upon himself to put elves in their place! Very few people, indeed! The young man came from high-borns and he could be the anchor that would prevent Timur’s ship from drifting away in a sea of real-life troubles.
The count decided to act swiftly and directly. No beating about the bush necessary here; the high-born could sniff out any nonsense right away anyway. He called his attention. After a short introduction, he pulled Kerrovitarr off to the side and laid down his cards, as it were. He then simply observed the results of his conclusions, actions, and efforts. All he had to do was look at Kerr’s face: what a bright palette of emotions and how he copes with them instantly! A little glance to each side, and the mask of impartiality was again on this young man’s face. Kerr calmed his breath and rid his expression of any trace of surprise. The count envied his self-restraint and control and mentally applauded his teachers. They had raised him right!
*****
Andy silently counted to ten, weighed all the thoughts in his head. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. This mother hen’s already taken on three “chicks;” why not add one more? He answered the count calmly:
“Count, are you always this forward, or only on certain days? You must be more careful with your words.” The count lowered his head. A small fire of worry kindled in his eyes. Is he guessing what will happen? “Let’s say you’ve convinced me. I’ll look after your heir. But please explain to him right away: if I say stand up, he’ll have to stand at attention. If I say jump out the window, he’ll have to ask which one. Got it?” The count blossomed like a rose. It doesn’t take a lot to make him happy!
“Teg Michael, don’t expect me to cluck over your little one like mama bear. I may have my own plans. But for two or three months, I’ll try not to let anything happen to him. If nothing happens to me first, that is! Someone might have a problem with me, the Rauu for example! I have spoken!”
“As you wish.” The count bowed low. “I won’t hide my happiness at your decision. Let’s go.”
Andy heaved a sigh and followed the count, despite the rules of etiquette. Actually, the person with a higher title should go first! Well, whatever. The count would get it. He would support their little game, so to speak.
“Well, they really are my little cubs!” Andy thought glancing at the way the group was standing huddled together. Timur, the count’s son, had seamlessly worked his way into the group, creating a second male “pole” opposite the thin and ungainly Rigaud. Andy was already thinking of nicknames for each of them. The nicknames “Slim” and “Hefty” would work until they earned new ones. The girls had positioned themselves to Andy’s right and left. They had seen the count bending his back and had drawn certain conclusions. Irma’s eyes were gleaming mischievously looking at Andy and glancing possessively at Marika, as if to say she had grabbed this trophy first and was not about to give it up. Andy secretly grinned—a friend is okay when she doesn’t get in the way.
They moved towards the closest school gates: And first, with the baronesses at his side and Rigaud and Timur following in their wake. Count Michael tapped rhythmically with his cane on the white marble pavement off to the side a bit. They began to meet unfortunate applicants coming the other way, those who hadn’t made it. Many weren’t hiding their tears. The nobles’ servants lowered their eyes and pursed their lips nervously. Their friends and relatives either walked on in silence with somber faces or tried awkwardly to cheer them up. The simple folk who hadn’t made it in were behaving in a way that was so much simpler and more dignified. “Well, I didn’t get in. So be it! I’ve been living without magic for a while, I can keep on like that, especially since there is so much I can do with my hands. I’ll be alright!”
“Stop trembling, I’m right here. We’ll get through!” Andy encouraged his timid crowd. The count smiled with just the corners of his mouth. I have to do something, and soon—Marika’s gone white as a sheet. Being nervous doesn’t help anything, it just makes things worse for you. You lose your appetite, or on the contrary, feel you could eat a horse. Hm, what can I do…?
“Shall we dance? Let’s take up the rhythm of orcish rugga. We’ll clap and stomp out the beat.”
Their faces were void. Didn’t they understand? I’ll help you. If you don’t want to, I’ll make you. You got a command from your commander. Too late to hem and haw.
Andy stopped, the rest stood by him, and in a couple of movements he showed them the basic steps of the military orc dance.
“The rhythm is simple. Watch me and repeat. Marika, Irma! Do you need a gold-encrusted invitation? Come one. Aaaand… one, two. First your right foot, step. Fold your arms across your chest. Can you hear the battle drums and regiment bells? Right foot—step to the side, left foot, step, and hands apart. Now in a square. Half bow. You’re the heavy ‘white shields’ of a gray orc’s infantry unit! A closed formation, pikemen—to the front, to the battlefield! What’s our battle cry? I can’t HEAR you!!”
Andy turned to his cubs. They were dumbstruck. First, he makes them dance, then shout a battle cry? They didn’t know what to do or what to expect. The count blinked and looked on approvingly; he had caught Andy’s drift, his plan was to whip the young people into shape like a military squad, providing them with motivation and confidence. There was no better tool for doing so than a common goal and a battle cry that unites them. The goal was the School gates, the battle cry…
“‘Nothing is impossible!’ WELL?”
“Nothing is impossible!” they repeated in unison.
“Louder!”
“NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE!” the cubs cried like cheerleaders. Now they just needed pom poms.
It seemed that the entire square was looking at the crazy four and their teacher. Many looked at them judgmentally, a couple people made a cuckoo sign by making a circular motion of the index finger at the the temple. The high-borns and the gentry scowled, idiots with their tom-foolery!, but there were those who smiled approvingly and supported the young people by applauding. The count was smiling so fully his white teeth might had blinded someone. The anxiety at the School gates was getting to a lot of them, but they were all witnessing this method of combating one’s fear for the first time.
“Alright then, we could take a fortress with soldiers like you! What are a couple of gates to us? To the front! Hooray!!” Andy swung an imaginary sword and quickly headed towards the white gates.
“Hooray!” Irma, Marika, Timur and Rigaud shouted and followed him with a friendly laugh. Now this was a whole new ball game: their faces were blushing and smiling; their eyes were shining with ardor. The fear had been defeated. Amen.
“Way to go, Kerr!
”
Catching up to Andy, the young people linked elbows and stepped up to the “white gates” together, five in a row. Count Michael stayed on the other side of the School walls to wait for the results.
“Nothing is impossible, you say?” the school master-manager met them with a smile just beyond the gates. She had seen the whole scene from start to finish. “That’s right. Then you should, first of all, step to the left and follow the path to the ‘smoky veil.’ Once you make it past the veil, welcome to the School, where you can achieve the impossible.”
“NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE!” the five cried.
“This is my school!” Andy thought. Everyone’s crazy in some way.
“Go on, blockheads. I’ll go deaf here with you shouting like that,” the master grinned from ear to ear.
“Kerr, do you know anything about the ‘smoky veil’?” Rigaud asked nervously. The girls also wanted to know, but Timur unexpectedly answered.
“It’s an artifact dating back to before the empire. Nothing like it in other schools. The book didn’t describe how it worked, but it’s intended for determining the subject’s magical abilities,” Timur said in a soft flowing bass. What would happen once he grew up a little more? The Jericho pipe would go wild with envy!
“What do you mean?” Marika interrupted. “What does it involve?”
“It’s like an arch made of black marble. The entrance is all covered tightly in smoke, or a veil, doesn’t matter. It only works one day a year, and even then, not completely, just until the mana runs out. And the crystal basins that act as energy collectors are as big as a bull’s head! Then they ‘charge’ for another year. And boy does it take a lot of energy!! An applicant to the School should be able to pass through the ‘smoke.’ If the magical potential is less than the necessary amount, you can’t pass; you’ll get a bloody nose or hit your head as if walking into a wall. A mage with a lot of potential will pass through the obstacle just as if walking through a morning fog. The artifact also determines one’s ability to work with the elements and the magical directions of ‘Life’ and ‘Death,’ as well as any tendencies towards light or dark magic. The ancients knew the power in these magical toys. They don’t make them like this anymore. They’ve forgotten how.”
While conversing, they came to the end of a long line of young humans, some orcs, a couple of mountain vampires and a dozen dwarfs. The Rauu they were so familiar with were standing in a tight group about fifty people ahead of them. The line was moving relatively quickly. It moved ahead roughly every two or three seconds, sometimes stopping for ten or fifteen, reminding Andy of a car factory conveyor belt. Go, stop—add a part, go, stop—the next part’s on. A fairly good line of new candidates had formed behind them. It seemed the flow of applicants would never end. Finally, around a bend in the road, the arch of the artifact appeared, hemmed in by tightly, carefully trimmed decorative bushes.
Andy looked at it with true vision. Wow! What a sight! It was radiating ring-shaped energy. It wasn’t surprising then that the giant crystal energy basins would run out of mana by five in the evening. The smoke under the arch suddenly glowed with a greenish hue and a non-passing candidate was thrown back from the veil. A sophomore student immediately ran over to him. He was dressed in a School uniform with a green student’s uniform with the number “2” on the left sleeve. He led the unlucky candidate off to the side and back to the School gates. The conveyor belt moved forward again. Those who made it past the “veil” proceeded straight on to the large administrative corpus, accompanied by the envious gaze of those still standing in line. Stop. Another unlucky one. The befuddled noblewoman rubbed her nose and walked to the exit, accompanied by the student. She was wiping away tears with a wrinkled handkerchief. Stop. Five fails in a row, four nobles and a commoner. Go. Stop. A female dwarf, short even for a dwarf, left the line. Go. Stop. Six more dwarfs, one after another, didn’t make it through. The Rauu had made it through like a knife cutting through butter, of course. The arch was getting close. There was another ten failures. The vampires made it through. They were probably “mortals” or necromancers. The line continued, then there were another three failures, high-borns. Shaking their fists, they impressed everyone with not so noble vocabulary. They were dragged away by the school guards, relatively gently, although the guards’ faces revealed that they gladly would have kicked them out if necessary.
They could already start to hear the mages’ voices sending people to the “smoky veil.” Stop. Four humans and one orc were sent down the side path. The mages that were proctoring the exam came into view. This very much reminded Andy of holographic images from sci-fi movies such as George Lucas’ Star Wars. It was an active illusion. The outline of a person sunk into the arch’s smoke, glimmered red and green, and came out on the other side.
“The elements of earth and fire. A fire mage. Here’s your token. Go to the administrative corpus. Don’t hold up the line. Next!”
“A mortal, the element of earth. Proceed.”
“The element of air. Next.”
“Water. Earth. Next.”
“The magic of life. Fire. Next.”
Stop. The line was wiped out as if shot down by a machine gun—twenty fails in a row. Not bad! Then water. Fire. A necromancer. Stop. Five more fails. Those candidates were frail—!
That’s it, our turn. It’s all happening so fast! Rigaud, go!
“Air. Fire. Warrior. Next!”
Warrior? Who would’ve thought, just by looking at him!
Timur, don’t fail. Go!
“Water, fire. Hm, a rare combination. The magic of Life. Next.”
Timur’s a big guy, got more life than you can shake a stick at, and the fire of perseverance. He stubbornly loves to eat. You don’t shoot up like that on paltry grub.
Marika, you can do it! I know you can! Go on!
“Earth. Water. Light magic. Next.”
Light magic. She’s a blonde with light hair, and light magic. Perfect. She’s only interested in earthly things. Well, she’s pretty anyway. Can’t take that away from her.
Irma. Everyone here believes in you. A kiss on the cheek and off you go.
“Fire. Earth. Dark magic. What are you crowding around here for? Go to the administrative corpus.”
A witch, of course. She’s a hot brunette, that goes well with the dark magic!
“Next! Step lively!”
It was Andy’s turn. He suddenly went weak in the knees and his heart started fluttering. His vision went dark. Breathe out, put up your “will shields.” Now, take a step.
There was a flash. Energy vortexes flew. There were crashes and pounding everywhere. He saw stars. He felt a monumental pressure on his head as if it were in a vice. It all ceased. Silence. It was over. Thank the gods! Andy emerged from the arch’s foggy haze. Uuuuum, I don’t get it. Where are all the elements and so forth? Why are everyone’s eyes popping out of their heads? He might not survive one more crossing like that. Had he grown another head or something?
“A universal mage, all the elements,” one of the operator mages blurted out finally. “Magic of Life and Death. I’ll be a goat’s teat! First in fifty years! You may proceed, young man, to the administrative corpus!”
Is this good or bad? Is it a bonus, and if so, how do I handle it? What’ll happen now? Those mages’ and sophomore students’ eyes were bulging. Conclusion: expect trouble. Not from the mages, from the students. It was the military law of seniority. A lot of willing trainers can be found for this talented upstart, and a lot of people who’ll want to subjugate him as well. Okay, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now…
“Dearly esteemed bookworms of the Orten School of Magic,” Andy said with a bow to Slim and Timur and a broad welcoming gesture to the baronesses. “Marika, Irma, your hands please. Let’s go conquer the administration. The mages operating the arch said they’re waiting for us with great expectation….”
The gang giggled and set off.
Part 3.
Archivist.
The Northern Sea. Waters near the Wolf islands…
Sigurd crouched, rubbed his right cheek, that had a hirdman’s tattoo on it, against his shoulder and glanced at his partner in the crow’s nest, Olaf Beluks. Now that was a man: the cold, fog, and damp were nothing to him. They had been sitting in the crow’s nest for two hours now, staring into the freezing white mist shrouding all the coastal waters and hiding the rocks and reefs. Sigurd was frozen to the bone, but Olaf continued to chew on his tree resin, periodically spitting well beyond the ship and watching every loogie fall all the way down to sea. The oarlocks from the oars and the rigging quietly creaked below. The drekkar “Sea Monster” slid silently with its sails raisedby virtue of the careful rowing by twenty pairs of men.. The lookouts peered at the dark water and white wall intensely, to the point of hurting their eyes, ready at any moment to give the command to pull back. But, thank the gods, for now they carried on.
“We’re skulking like thieves,” Olaf suddenly blurted in a raspy voice, and spit again, following it with his eyes all the way down.
“We’ll lower the sails as soon as we get out to sea,” Sigurd assured him.
“That’s not what I’m not talking about…”
“I know,” Sigurd correctly understood Olaf’s words. “We need to quietly get to open water, and then on to Dalhomburg. You know very well what we’re after!”
“Which is disgusting…”
Sigurd silently agreed and supported his friend. It was disgusting. Just a couple of years ago they were sailing here with a pennant raised high on the mast, chasing ships of gray orcs. The orcs would chase them, too, in response. Now they were skulking… like thieves. The Arian commanders scrupulously monitored the coastal waters. They were harder to spot with the sails up; they could move forward either way. They had to deliver the reconnaissance to the city before the start of the Great Thing, the Norse meeting of the heads of the clans and the sea-kings. It was bad news. Sigurd closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, pushing the invasive memories out of his mind.