by Alex Sapegin
He put his left leg forward, threw the lid off the quiver and steadied his breath. He lifted “Hole Puncher.” Puffed his chest out and held his stomach in. The arrow lay on the bowstring. Thwish, thwish, thwish, thwish, thwish. His right hand flashed like a machine back and forth from the quiver to the bowstring. Five arrows dug into the target, drawing a line as they did. Frida, how can I explain myself to you? The invitation to the ball just made the whole thing more pressing. The girl wasn’t backing down. She would want an answer tomorrow. Should he tell her the truth? Telling the truth would be the right thing to do, but he would have to insist that she take a blood oath. If she didn’t want to, he couldn’t spill the beans. As to whether they would still date after that, no one could tell, but the truth would ease the tension in their relationship. The bullseye grew full of arrows, like a hedgehog with his spikes sticking up. The boy’s lower jaw fell to his chest. Not bad—a crow could make a nest on the arrows. With the clatter of teeth, the jaw once again fell into place, but the boy wasn’t about to let the birds make a nest there. Good choice. Birds poop everywhere.
Okay, the sun’s moving to the mountains. It’ll start getting dark soon. I’m still planning to talk with Rigaud and Timur. I should talk to the guys. Andy removed the bowstring from the bow and laid his treasure in his bow case. Another advantage over elven bows was that they didn’t have cases for them. The worker brought the arrows he had pulled from the target. After inspecting them, Andy put six of them in his quiver out of fifteen. He took the tips off the rest and threw out the shafts. He stretched his right arm to the side and let go of the belts of the case and the quiver. The boy gasped when he was both items disappear into thin air. Andy had sent them into the “pocket.” The boy’s jaw followed the same familiar route, presenting an excellent spot for a bird’s nest. You’re not the only one who can do tricks! Winking at the boy and throwing his camisole over his shoulder, Andy headed towards the exit. The subtle odor of violets made him stop in his tracks.
On a marble staircase, from the direction of the guest houses, an ethereal fairy was coming towards Andy. Eliel, Andy guessed, the daughter of Lordship Ratel. Poets praised elven beauties like these. The creator of the Lord of the Rings films would have sold his soul to the devil for such an image. Eliel was immaculate. The elf’s friend and accompanying maids faded into the background against such beauty. Andy watched her. The memory of blood was silent. Even she didn’t awaken his desire to kill. Waiting until the elf princess’ entourage and bodyguards went by, he went back to the staircase. Surprisingly, the desire to send the Woodies six feet under didn’t rear its ugly head. Let them live on as they’ve lived. I guess I’ve gotten over my wish for revenge, forgotten about the blood. The procession stopped near the edge of the shooting range. The worker ran off to set out the targets. It was a good thing the elves came after his session. It would have been impossible to avoid a conflict otherwise.
Andy turned his back on the group and took a step down—what was this? Ten figures in green elvish cloaks, as if instantly growing up from the ground, blocked his way. Another five cut off his way back. The figure in the center of the ten took a step forward.
“Hello, slave. Did you think you could run from me forever?” The scars on Andy’s back exploded with pain and popped open. White oozing pus mixed with red blood. The delayed-action spell sprung into action by the command of the one who had cast it. “Remember me?” The figure threw off his hood to reveal a human face, marred by scars. But his aura, which Andy could now distinguish, was clearly that of a pure-blooded Forest Elf. It was an elf, changed in form, masked as a human, the Forest’s secret weapon, a “rarity,” in the flesh. Now everything was in place. It was Nirel, king Hudd’s assistant executioner. Interesting—what had the elf been doing in Rimm, collecting reconnaissance? “I remember you very well. You could say I keep the presents you gave me.” The elf touched the scars on his face and took a whip from his belt. “And you owe me big time. Time to pay your debts!”
“A piece of scum like yourself isn’t something one easily forgets. I regret not killing you then, Nir,” Andy answered, getting a handle on the pain and stopping the bleeding by the power of his will. It would be easier now. He just had to survive. A major blast from the past. He now knew why his scars had been hurting the past several days. The person who cast the spell can always see and feel the results of his work. Nir was standing next to Andy and could certainly feel his “gift.” The woody scum had thought of an excellent cover as the official delegation. They’d crammed fifty “bodyguards” under this moniker. They’d pinned down his whereabouts using the “gift”—the delayed-action spell. His gut response could be explained now; he felt danger and adventure, only his brain hadn’t taken the gut feeling into account. There was no doubt they were on a mission to kill him. “So the truth comes out now. I thought you were a human before.”
“It’s Nirel to you, cur. But oh well, what can one expect from a dirty slave. In Tantre do people know king Hudd’s put a price of two hundred golden pounds on your head? You’re a criminal against the state. Tantre has to hand you over to Rimm. The School of Magic doesn’t have the right to harbor and teach criminals, but since that error has already been made, I’ll personally make sure your head’s delivered to that human despot.” The elf did not seem to react to the human at all and began to unwind the whip. The rest of the party drew their swords and activated their defense amulets. Nirel warned them the boy was a mage. A defense cloud sparkled around the landing. It was the effort of two elf mages standing behind Andy. What a turd—he’d thought of everything. He probably waited until Rimm sent an official rescript and order to hand me over as a criminal. He wouldn’t attack a student of the School and a member of the Guild just like that. “The rector has already received a diplomatic letter from Rimm and is considering what to do,” the elf confirmed Andy’s speculation.
“And little errand boy Nir’s hurrying to fulfill his master’s orders. You were such a looker—king Hudd always did like pretty boys. He misses you so much. And you miss him too, I see.” Andy imbued the rune beacon of his sword with magic and waited for the right moment to retrieve the weapon from his “pocket.” The elves are about to get a surprise—they see an unarmed dirty human boy. I’ll show them. Andyi felt no fear at all. A strange, uncharacteristic icy calm took him over. He stretched towards the astral and melded with the image of the golden dragon, as he was so used to doing. Strong bonds tied him to an endless ocean of energy. His body was literally bursting from the excess energy. It was a dragon’s wrath taken under brutal control. Three months in the fencing school and the School of Magic had greatly increased his ability to control himself and his will. He had thoroughly analyzed the incident today at his training lesson and drawn the appropriate conclusions from it. He recalled the interweaves of the “firestorm” and “ice arrow” spells from the ancient tome. “The time to make use of them has come. And I get to see whether they’re as brutal as the book says they are,” Andy thought, and began to form a framework for his interweaves and imbuing the runes with power. He had ticked Nir off on purpose. Rage isn’t a helper on the battlefield, even less so in one-on-one combat. It distracts you and makes you make mistakes. “Do your friends in the green cloaks know that Hudd’s a pervert, and you lived in the neighboring apartment to the king’s chambers?”
It was just a little fib, a debauched implication, a low blow, but, boy, was it effective. You should have seen the look on Nirel’s face. His scars became engorged with blood and looked as if they were about to pop open, as Andy’s had. If Andy could have waved a red flag in front of his face, he would have charged like a bull.
“I’ll gut you with my bare hands!” the Woody hissed. The poison of the lie had taken its toll.
What did they say in Westerns? Shoot first, ask questions later! Andy jutted his left hand forward and let his “ice arrows” fly, then hit them with the firestorm without a pause. With his right hand, he grabbed his sword from the “pocket.�
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The cloaked elves managed to react in time, but it didn’t help all of them. A couple of them weren’t holding defense amulets. The guy in charge of artifacts must’ve screwed up. One got impaled by the Icicles; another went up in flames like a living torch. Two down, one in front, the other behind. There was an instantaneous flash—danger from the left side. He struck the sword out of his opponent’s hand and stepped aside. How would you like to try the “snowy battering ram” and the “wall of air?” Andy attacked the ones standing behind him. He needed to gain the upper hand and quickly change his disposition before the long-ears’ stun from the first magical attack wore off. They were cramping him in on the staircase and no magic could help; the elves, too, were mages and top-notch warriors. Andy was no match for them if he couldn’t find a way to procure more freedom of movement, room to maneuver, or somehow lessen the number of enemies. Keep this up and they would cut him into leather shoelaces in three seconds flat. Their commander’s desire to mock a former slave only worked into the slave’s hand, who had managed to recover from the unexpected appearance of the head hunters that were after him. The elves didn’t know or hadn’t taken into account the fact that he was a universal mage, or even if they had, they certainly didn’t know anything about the secrets contained in a certain ancient collection of magical spells. What a great book that was! It sure helped a guy survive in tough situations! Fifty more spells lay on the shelves of his memory. If only he could learn all five hundred! Time: as always, not enough of it. If he got killed now, he wondered, would the book reappear from his “pocket” or always remain on the “reverse side?”
The defense amulets of the four still standing behind him withstood his “battering ram,” although the “wall of air” did knock the elves to the ground. With one giant leap, Andy freed himself from the clutches of Nirel and company and dashed up the staircase at full speed. Three down. One more elf had said the big goodbye—he lost his head. And there was no point in lying on the ground. The remaining three survived and stood up. If you’re sleeping on the job—tough luck. Darting onto the shooting range, Andy cursed passionately: another two dozen long-ears were headed his way from the Lordship’s entourage. And all the elves seemed most unfriendly towards him; no one was playing the pacifist. They chased after him. Now he wouldn’t be able to transform and fly away. They would all gang up on him and kill him as he tried to take flight. He would have to pick them off one by one, decreasing the elven population, and stall for time as much as he could, slowly draining them of strength. A man’s not a dragon—they won’t all jump on me at once. Then again, who knows? See how they’re getting on quite nicely there moving along! And no one’s even stumbling, a pox upon them! The rest of them turned their attention away from the target and began to take aim at his precious carcass. Well, now you’ve really crossed the line! Zipping back and forth like a hare, he ran to the heaps of boulders at the eastern edge of the shooting range. You can jump really well among boulders; many enemies can’t set upon you at once, a maximum of two, and two opponents was something he could deal with. Woosh! feathered death sang at his left ear. Thunk! a second one cracked on the stones. Zing! the third arrow shot through his left shoulder; praise to the gods it didn’t touch the bone.
So painful! God that hurts! You scum—you’ll be bathing in blood! The world cracked. The all-consuming wrath of the dragon took over Andy’s consciousness. He became Kerr in human form. Strained breathing behind him—Targ take it! They were closing in. Kerr glanced around. A young elf was running ten steps behind him with a blade in his hand. He wasn’t one of the four who went down with the wall of air—apparently, he was a Life Mage. They could make their bodies handle insane loads. What are you in such a hurry for? You want those two hundred golden pounds so bad? You’re young and stupid, now you’re gonna be dead, too. Kerr treated the Life Mage to some lightning with relish. They don’t teach that to ordinary Death Mages—it’s my personal know-how. The elf ran another couple of steps until a sword stopped him. Even chickens don’t run long with their heads off! Andy-Kerr didn’t feel a drop of regret that he had just killed a young, maybe thirty- or forty-year-old, elf. The long-ear had chosen his fate himself. He knew who he was chasing after. Now Andy should look out for the fate of the other wing-less creatures. The elves let out a wail…
*****
“… Therefore, according to paragraph 3, sub-paragraph 5 of the Intergovernmental Legal Code, you must arrest the freshman student Kerrovitarr Dragon, known in the kingdom of Rimm as A-rei, who is a criminal against the state, and hand him over to law enforcement agents for further extradition to the kingdom of Rimm.” When the government official from the embassy department had finished reading, he looked at the head of the Orten Division of the Royal Informants’ Service.
“You have one day to fulfill the orderㅡuntil tomorrow morning, to be exact. Tomorrow morning, the former student must be escorted to us. A notrium* cage has been provided. I hope you, madame rector, have no issues with the foregoing, then?” the informant added. The official from the Court of Justice of Rimm standing next to the informant smiled victoriously. Kord D’Ramon didn’t like mages, neither their own nor Tantre’s. The opportunity to do a nasty deed to the Orten School of Magic put him in a highly satisfied mood.
Rector Etran once again re-read the documents provided by the overseas official and the official reply from His Highness Gil II. There was no hope. What have you done, boy, to become a criminal against the state at such a young age? Etran understood very well what was going on, but her hands were tied. An attempt to appeal to the Free Mages’ Guild had yielded no results. The informant waved a paper in front of them with the signatures and seals of the bosses of the guild. The paper said in no uncertain terms that “due to the circumstances that have come to
* Notrium — A conjoined alloy of several metals, blocks the use of magic.
light, Kerrovitarr grall Dragon is hereby excluded from the membership of the Free Mages’ Guild.” The rector made a mental note of who signed the document. She would find a way to get even. The old farts would sorely regret meddling in her domain. She did not believe the boy was guilty of anything. The whole thing was tied up with white strings and long elven ears lay between all the pages as bookmarks. The Woodies couldn’t have found a better way to strike directly at the School rector. Harboring the criminal could very well lead to losing her position as rector. Obstruction of justice, should she choose that route, would lead to imprisonment. However, no matter the outcome of this ordeal, the School would lose an enormous portion of its influence in Orten. The officials from the magistrate would clamp down on the liberties and tax breaks the School enjoyed. The Guild would gladly help them. Handing him over was a political necessity. Targ take the politics! How could they not understand that mages like that were born only once every century? No, apparently, they didn’t get it since they were planning on giving up the School’s prestige for the sake of tranquility in the mountain passes.
“You mongrel, Hudd! Fat pig. Just burning your castle down wasn’t enough!” the rector thought to herself, and her train of thought after the word “castle” continued. She could guess who the talented mage was who’d committed this deed, but her guess didn’t bring her any peace. She wanted even less to send the boy to Rimm’s executioners. Her last hope—a personal appeal to the king himself—was all that remained. His Highness should help. Like a count, the rector had the right to personally address the head of state, and this situation called for her taking advantage of that right.
“There’s just one small problem,” Etran said. The informant lifted his brows questioningly. He had already considered it a done deal. “As a noblewoman and Orlem countess, I have the right to personally address His Highness, and I seek an audience with him. According to the requirement of the Royal Informants’ Service, Kerrovitarr Dragon will be arrested and incarcerated in an isolated School dungeon. The transfer of the prisoner to your care will take place only after my audience with the
king.”
“That is your right,” the informant answered scornfully. “Be aware that, should the prisoner escape your watch, it would not only speak of his guilt, it would result in your resignation!”
“I will most certainly keep it in mind!”
The illusion of Verona appeared on the desk.
“I asked not to be disturbed!” Etran said in annoyance, but the illusion did not go away.
“Veiro-Prince of the Rauu Miduel the Great and his companions would like to speak with you, ma’am!” Verona’s velvety alto pronounced.
“When did that old elf wake up? Veiro? Prince? Miduel’s a Veiro-Prince?!” the rector thought in an intense inner monologue. Judging by the others’ faces, it was safe to say the same thought had assailed them all. Truly, the goddesses had decided to stun all present with this fateful news. Oh, you old, ancient elf! Oh, Miduel! How many years now had he been sitting in the archives? That whole time, no one knew or guessed that the highest monarch of the Rauu was working in the library as a common librarian/archivist. And what about the Rauu bookworms at the School? They weren’t aware? Humans’ amazing carelessness had repeatedly come back to haunt them. Where were the “bloodhound-punishers?” Where were the reconnaissance agents and the Secret Chancellery? How was it possible to miss such a thing? The only excuse might be the fact that in the last thousand years, the Veiro-Prince had only been mentioned once: four hundred years ago, to be precise, when the Rauu army was blocking the passages to the Marble Mountains and preventing Grodd the Radiant of Rimm from invading Tantre. The decision to help the state torn apart by the civil war had been made by none other than the prince of the Snow Elves—Miduel.