Wings on my Back

by Alex Sapegin

  All oddities aside, one thing was for sure: the old elf’s influence could be seen in all key or turning point historical events. The rest of the time, he simply dropped out of political life and disappeared who knows where, leaving full power to the Ruling Houses. Cunningly, he had resided in the School archives for the past four hundred years having become somewhat of a legend and a tourist attraction of the educational institution. They say there’s no such thing as a former prince, but why had Miduel decided to use his authority and blow his cover now? (And it would be no less interesting to find out the reason for his voluntary confinement to the School basement, but that was another story…).

  The office door burst open. All present jumped from their chairs and bowed low. Two young, heavily armed elves walked in first and established the “temporary” princely throne. Next came Miduel tapping his carved cane against the parquet. Miliberilem followed, two steps behind the old one.

  The Veiro or HIGH PRINCE of all the Rauu. The High Prince was not a purely symbolic title. He held unlimited power over the Rauu Principalities. One word from the prince was enough to declare war on any state….

  Miduel ceremoniously sat down on the temporary throne. The rest of the party remained standing. All rose in the monarch’s presence. Even though it was someone else’s monarch, the same rule applied to all.

  Miliberilem winked subtly at the rector and pointed at the guest from Rimm. They knew! The Rauu’s intelligence was always on top. Wasn’t that the cause of all the ado? Well, there was no reason to guess anyway. All would soon be made clear.

  “It is fortunate that here we have an official from the embassy department of Tantre and a representative of the kingdom of Rimm. Everything I am about to say must be reported to your monarch, word for word,” Miduel creaked. “I won’t raise controversies or pour water in mortar. I’ll keep it brief: the student Kerrovitarr Dragon of the School of Mages is a Snow Elf and is subject to the personal protection of the Ruling Houses of the principality of the Rauu and my protection!” The old elf coughed. Beriem snapped his fingers and a body guard removed a diamond-encrusted flask from his belt and filled a crystal goblet from it. Beriem extended the goblet to the old elf.

  “Wow! So simple! The boy received diplomatic immunity from any kind of persecution. Nothing less, nothing more. Interesting—what for? Clearly not everything has been said that the Rauu have in store.” Rector Etran was in shock. And she wasn’t the only one brought to a stupor by Miduel’s words. The informant’s jaw had dropped. His cheek was twitching with a nervous tick. But the best sight of all was the pencil-pusher from Rimm. Kord D’Ramon’s face looked as if he’d just sucked a lemon. His victorious smile was gone, replaced by a breathless grimace. “Your fun’s come to an end, you…,” Etran thought. The ambassador was standing with his mouth open, swallowing air, impersonating a fish on the shore.

  Meanwhile, a rumbling sound and explosions came from the School’s shooting range. The rector looked at the clock: classes had long-since been dismissed. Who could be doing exercises there at this hour?

  “Any violent action against the Rauu Kerrovitarr Dragon— …” Miduel managed after taking a sip from the goblet, “shall be equated with…”

  They did not find out what violent action against the newly declared Snow Elf would be equated with. An explosion sounded on the shooting range so intensely that the windows of the office shook. Everyone shuttered. The door burst open again and master Valett appeared, threw the guards to the side and dashed in:

  “The Woodies are attacking your protege! There have been elven fatalities!”

  “Beriem, don’t let him kill anyone. That’s very important for us all!” Miduel said in a strained voice.

  Valett and Beriem ran out of the room.

  *****

  Carefully holding a large box to her chest, Frida tried to open the dorm door. Her attempt was not crowned with success—the stubborn handle did not want to give. Setting the box on the ground, she was about to tug on the door with both hands when it opened towards her from a strong push from the other side. Several female Rauu seniors ran out, almost knocking the vampire down as they did. All the girls were wearing double-weave armor and had swords belted on. Their arms and legs were covered with chausses and arm guards. A multitude of defense amulets shone with all colors of the rainbow. Frida sensed a cascade of emotions: annoyance and anger at the cow blocking their way, contempt and at the same time the desire for a battle and to show what they could do. “Slugs!” Frida thought, looking at the elves all dressed up as if going off to war. She bent over her box and barely managed to jump to the side from a new barrage of agitated Rauu running out of the dorm. The box containing her gorgeous green silk dress, bought especially for the ball, had been trampled on.

  “Are you crazy??” she hissed like a cat. She was almost to the point of tears and at the same time seething mad. The dress worth five golden pounds was now garbage. Frida ran towards the elf girls and met Melima’s icy glare.

  “You won’t need it. The ball’s been cancelled!” Frida stopped in her tracks. She could feel the calm and confidence in the elf’s voice.

  “What?”

  “To the small portal platform! Quickly now!” a male voice called from around the corner of the dorm cutting the conversation short.

  “The Woodies are killing your freak at the shooting range right now. And we have to risk our butts to save him.” Now Melima’s voice radiated hatred for the mixed-race guy and contempt for the vampire who had besmirched herself by association with him. Melima turned around and ran to the portals.

  What?! She forgot about the dress—who needs it now! Frida threw herself towards her room in the dorm. She believed the tow-headed elf. She flung the door to the living quarters wide open, practically knocking it off the hinges. Throwing back the lid of her trunk, which was bound with metal hoops, she snatched out her chain mail and a sling with a sword and throwing knives. No time left for the chausses and arm guards, and the helmet also remained at the bottom of the trunk. She was born in a family of warriors. She picked up her first wooden training sword at the age of four and could not imagine herself without a weapon. That’s why she had brought a whole arsenal with her to the School.

  “Wh-where are you off to?” A huge Viking was in Frida’s way, but once he saw her red eyes and long fangs jutting out from her upper lip, he let her pass. “Let’s get to the third portal!” He followed.

  Several dozen armed people had gathered at the third portal. The operator mages could not manage to install the exit window to the school shooting range.

  “What are you doing, giving birth?” someone said from the portal.

  “The wretches, the woody jerks—they’re blocking the shooting range and they’ve put up active interference. I can’t lock down an output point!”

  “Break through the interference and get your output point, idiot!” the same bulky northerner said. “You dumb crowd of mages—help him, you oafs!” he called to the crowd. “While he’s breaking the interference, listen to me! Everyone activate your personal amulets right away! First, we’ll send three dozen guards with body-length shields. Magicians will put up magic shields on the front line, then the archers. Get your bows and arrows ready ahead of time. When you’re ready for the salvo, mages, lift the outer shields. The rest of you will come out as a third wave. I’ll strangle anyone who breaks formation with my own hands!” The Viking lifted his hands. His shovels, by mistake technically known as palms, could have not only strangled someone, but tied a sul in a knot. “The second group will now go to attack from the staircase. Be sure not to send someone over the edge by accident!”

  “Get ready!” the operating mage shouted. “We’ve broken in!” He immediately waved his hand and shouted with all his might: “Come on, come on!”

  The rumble of explosions could be heard from the open mouth of the portal. Dust spilled through. The guards, with their shields up and bristling with spears, started entering through the arch in
rows of five across. The mages and the Rauu seniors then formed a cover of shields. And just in time. A few red fireballs immediately tested their shields’ integrity. The shields held. Frida stepped through the portal after the archers.

  *****

  Andy grabbed the sword that fell from the hands of the young headless elf and dashed towards the boulders as fast as he could. The blade was a good one: it was made of smoke-colored steel, it was balanced and it felt comfortable in his hand. The distance between him and his pursuers increased to about fifty paces. No one wanted to repeat the sad fate of the last opponent. They knew he wouldn’t run too far off—steep walls blocked Andy’s way to the plateau, and the princess’s entourage cut off the drop to the river.

  A sense of danger set his internal siren roaring, forcing him to throw himself to the ground. A huge pulsar ball flew above his head—wow, what a gift! It had been a joint effort by several elvish mages who decided not to mess around with small talk. Go big or go home. A second magical treat hit the ground right behind him. The shockwave of the impact sent Andy flying from his chosen spot and into the nearest giant boulder, then sending a shower of sharp debris to top it all off. He got the wind knocked out of him and saw stars. His amnesia was short; no time to recover. The Woodies who were quite angry with him were getting closer and made him quickly re-orient himself. They weren’t at all planning on giving him a “time out.” Some sort of magical creation was heading towards him with a vengeance. “Oh, legs, my legs, please move my butt faster!” he thought in a panic. His hands made a defensive gesture all on their own, and the “voluminous shield” pattern popped into his head. He enacted it and a magical barrier grew up between him and the elves. The magic heading his way crashed into it with a bang. That came off marvelously! They say people can’t fly—don’t believe it! With enough speed, even a suitcase full of bricks will fly. With the help of the shield explosion, he had enough momentum to fly twenty feet and land on a scraggly bush behind a group of large boulders that hid him from the chase. The elves who had come closest to him soared in the opposite direction. The rest of them were plowing the stony ground with their bodies, some face-first, some butt-first. The bushes didn’t cushion Andy’s fall very much. The landing was hard; the blow knocked his breath out of him again, and he became confused. At the very last second before impact, Andy had managed to create an “air cushion” that saved him from fractures and other injuries. His swords were in his “pocket.” He took a quick glance through a crevice between boulders. They weren’t in any hurry, the butt-wipes. The mages pulled themselves together, got back in pursuit, and became a compact unit. Six long-eared mages against him alone. Wasn’t it a bit much? He needed his bow now. He had to “weed the garden.” Andy extracted his quiver and bow case from the “pocket,” put the bowstring on and got the bow ready to fire. He had never gone through this process faster than now! He had to be careful when he put the bowstring on: a battle bow that snapped back suddenly could maim him. He remembered a scene from the Russian comedy “Peculiarities of the National Hunt” in which a cow straddled her legs wide in an impossible yet hilarious way. Andy’s desire to survive made him do a split to stay out of harm’s way.

  What do we have here? He took a careful look at the battlefield from the edge of the boulder. During this time he was pumping three arrows held in a tight fist with pure energy pumped directly from the astral. Not too much to look at and not brand-name artifacts, but for lack of anything else he’d have to make do with improvised means. But even these hand-made crafts probably wouldn’t be too much to the elvish mages’ liking. Or maybe they’d take them “to heart;” he’d have to wait and see…. The Woodies recovered and, taking cover under defense fields, moved towards the fugitive’s temporary shelter in a half-circle formation. The mages stayed towards the back—they had no reason to hurry. The steep cliff walls of the mountain plateau wouldn’t let him run off anywhere. Oooh you, meanies! What did I ever do to you? Another elf is apparently in a better place—poor jerk. Got caught under the shrapnel of the stone fragments, making mincemeat out of him. Five down. Ok, let’s put the arrows back in the quiver. I’ve tried too hard. I could be blown away by the magic they’re working—they’re glowing like a phoenix! It was time to make his move.

  Dashing out from under the boulder, in the blink of an eye Andy let three arrows fly at the mages, each with a surprise. The mages didn’t expect that. They had thought it was a done deal. They left themselves wide open to it. The first two arrows exploded against the dome of their magical shield and took out their defenses. The third killed both of them, tearing them to shreds and splashing bloody scraps on the survivors. There were only four of the six mages left. His arrows were indeed deadly; he’d pierced a complex magical defense dome with just a couple of whipped up artifacts. He should remember the recipe: three simple arrows with faceted awls for tips, adrenaline in the blood as needed, depending on the circumstances—for example, enemies in close pursuit. In this case, no blood left in his adrenaline. That’s seven down.

  A quick change of position and the next attack was on the elvish archers. That’s for my wounded shoulder! THWISH, THWISH, THWISH. A change of vantage point and THWISH, THWISH, THWISH. One was hit bad, one wounded, the rest had taken cover on the ground. Weren’t expecting that? Pin-point accurate firing at two hundred and fifty paces is far for you? There’s the advantage of a complex compound bow, poop turds! One of the members of the entourage was writhing on the ground with an arrow in his stomach. A thousand apologies; I didn’t have any time to sort out who’s who. Three of the princess’s ladies were convulsively ridding themselves of the contents of their stomachs. How delicate we are! Yes, it’s strange, when someone’s standing next to you, and all of a sudden he gets torn from the ground and thrown back with an arrow in his eye. It was purely by chance—Andy hadn’t been aiming for his eye, but just try telling that to the guy bearing this unwanted face jewelry. Eight and a half down; we won’t count the slug from the royal entourage. He wasn’t lowering the number of elf shooters. The bows released from the dead elves’ hands were picked up by other elves. However, he was creating a stir and earning their respect, like it or not.

  Protective fields flickered over the entourage. Next, a lace of complex multi-component spells grew up around him. The power lines that appeared lit up like rays of anti-aircraft searchlights. Not only slugs were in the entourage. Five mages of the ten personal bodyguards guarding the Lordship’s daughter began to build some sort of magical construction. Something out to get him? No, they weren’t after him. The arrangement of lace and interweaves was that of a portal spell. That’s it—they were building a portal!

  Move it! The elves had walked out of his solo performance too quickly. Now they would treat him to his very own radio special request program. The next several minutes can be described in one pithy phrase: BOOM! The elves struck at the cluster of boulders with their entire magical arsenal; every trick possible was put to good use. The princess’s entourage actively took part in the bombardment, which Andy hadn’t counted on. Amateurs! You could at least strike at the aura mold! At least, the real big-wigs are busy building the portal—otherwise, I don’t think I could stand it. But even without their participation it’s pretty bad. “Mom, can I come back in?!” Andy thought as he cowered close to the trembling ground. His whole body down to the very last inch was covered in cuts, bruises from splinters and stones, or burns from splashing molten rock lava fireballs. He got the feeling the long-ears decided to re-do the landscape of the shooting range so that it matched a flat countertop. Soon the earth stopped shaking, but the lull didn’t last long. A mage, one of the four he’d leveled, swung his arm and let something fly in Andy’s direction. “What the—?!” Andy cried, when killer creeping vines began to spring up from the ground all around him. Writhing like a snake and waving his sword at the vines that were pushing their hungry tentacles towards him, he crawled deep into the stone labyrinth. “It’s the end—the bitter end!” Andy thought
. “There goes the neighborhood.” The evil elvish mage destroyed a portion of the vines, creating a “safe” spot. A squadron of pursuers set foot on the cleared sector, and then a new batch of seeds flew deeper into the stone debris.

  The situation was getting critical. No two ways about it. Try as he might, nothing was working. He had to do something extraordinary—but what? Play any game with death and death always wins. Moving his tail as fast as he could from the new batch of green growths, Andy bumped his head on a queer boulder that looked like a stalagmite or a dagger jutting up from the ground. The cogs responsible for the thought process began to twirl in his head with a creak. I guess my brains haven’t been knocked entirely senseless. What if I turn the “air knives” interweave into an “earth” element interweave? I can switch the air rune for the earth rune and turn the direction vector around for the use of force and the blow of the knives. Should I form the control arm and the lever at about seven feet below the surface? But I’ll have to put ten times more force into the interweave than if I were doing it with air. Earth’s not air, and I don’t know if this plan will work. What do I have to lose except my life? His plan of action was born from contemplating a funny stone formed by nature’s whim. I’m still just improvising—how long can I keep this up?

  Once he had formed the construction for the transformed interweave, Andy began pumping the earth rune with energy. He felt dizzy from the torrent of astral power flowing through him. It was a catch 22—he needed energy to pump energy which came from his personal reserves, which were anything but limitless. The group of pursuers entered the third cleared sector when Andy laid hands on a rough stone, “We say a prayer and we begin!” At first, nothing happened. He had already decided it wasn’t working out when hundreds of stalagmites, sharp as knives and thin as needles, sprung up from the ground, breaking up the surface. The mages’ amulets and other defense mechanisms weren’t set to take this kind of action into account. The force field burst. The group of pursuers shrunk by another three elves, whose personal amulets were drained of power by the recent artful manipulations by their shrewd prey. Hot diggety! I pulled it off! Read books, gentlemen, and you’ll be happy! No pain, no gain! The sight of the mage who had thrown the killer vine seeds at him impaled on a needle like a butterfly served as a balm for his wounds. The last pinch of seeds fell from his open palm and a green field grew up around him. The vines grew into the bodies of the victims hanging on the stalagmites. Eleven down. The one wounded by the arrow had already been cleared, healed, and put back in the formation. Say what you will, elven Life mages were impeccable.