The Road to Magic (Book 1 of the Way of the Demon Series)

by Alexey Glushanovsky

‘Peasants.’

  ‘And what kind of clothes do you have? From which class?’

  ‘A noble city lady. An aristocratic lady, not a rich one.’ Ataletta obviously knew this subject inside out.

  ‘And about how much do they usually carry?’

  ‘Well, maybe a little bag or a parcel. Not more. If need be, the servants carry the rest behind them.’

  ‘Well, you see, there are no servants here. So all you can take is a little bag or a parcel.’

  ‘Well, you could…’ the princess started to say but stopped herself, catching Oleg’s cold glance. Hemming and hawing, she bent down and took a small box from the bundle. Having put it in a bag which was hanging from her elbow – obviously the local equivalent to a ladies’ handbag – Ataletta turned to Oleg. ‘I’m ready. Let’s go.’

  The secret passage led them to a small alley. They followed it and came out onto a square teaming with poorly-dressed people. They immediately drew attention. And that was not surprising. In his silver-studded leather jacket and his jeans, with his guitar over his shoulders, and a head taller than those around him, Oleg stood out markedly from the local men whose average height, according to Oleg’s estimate, was around 5 foot, 3 inches, and wore short tunics with daggers or short swords hanging from their belts. Ataletta, too, in her rather crumpled but clean and light tunic of good quality material and well-cared for skin, really stood out among the local women.

  ‘I reckon we need to find a hotel urgently,’ Oleg turned to his travelling companion. ‘Do you know anywhere suitable?’

  ‘Yes. We should go that way,’ the girl waved her hand to show the direction.

  The hotel turned out to be a smallish tavern which went under the name of “The Green Dragon”, as was evident from the sign outside showing a smallish dragon with its body elongated in Chinese style, crawling out from a bottle of some local alcoholic beverage.

  The rooms turned out to be clean and light, although they were rather modestly furnished. Having eaten his fill and cheered up, Oleg turned his attention to the princess, who had fallen into despondency.

  ‘What’s up? You look upset.’

  Ataletta nodded her head and touched the purse hanging on her belt.

  ‘It’s not so bad really. It’s just that we’re running out of money. We won’t have enough for the journey, and we still have to buy you some clothes and weapons. Looks like I’ll have to sell my jewellery after all. I’d hoped we could have managed without that. They’re family heirlooms and quite well-known. People will realize at once that I’m on the run, and in this town.’

  ‘Well, they know that anyway. You’ve only just disappeared, so you’d hardly have been able to get out of town yet. The guards at the gates have probably already been warned and are carefully looking for girls who look like you,’ Oleg answered. He could clearly see the princess didn’t want to part with the last keepsakes of her past, and besides, it irked him that a girl had to pay for him. Of course, it was “within the terms of the contract”, but still… Oleg urgently needed his own money. And so far he could only see one way of getting it. Today, unlike yesterday, that way didn’t appeal to him so much. But it looked as though there were no other choice.

  ‘You don’t have to sell your jewellery. Apart from all the inconvenience associated with selling it, it’ll cause you a lot of trouble when you take up your throne. It’ll be a lot of hassle to buy it all back... I know where to get money.’

  ‘Where?’ The girl’s face lit up with hope and the expectation of a miracle. It seemed she’d decided that Oleg was now going to conjure money up out of thin air or in some other magical way. He had to disappoint her.

  ‘If my memory serves me well, yesterday evening one of your acquaintances, a certain Albert, indebted himself to me to the tune of two thousand gold pieces. I reckon that should cover clothes and weapons, with some left over for the road, too. By the way, where are we heading?’

  ‘To the Iron Baronies. My godfather, Baron Maidell, warned me of possible treason when my father first fell ill and told me I could go straight to him. He won’t turn his back on me,’ the princess answered lightly. It was clear that she had thought this matter through.

  Then it dawned on her just exactly where Oleg intended to get the money for the journey, and once again she grew visibly upset. In general, Oleg noticed that this girl’s mood changed extremely easily.

  ‘Maybe you’d better not? The money we can get in exchange for my jewellery should be ample for us. I feel really awkward about fleecing Albert. We grew up together and he’s one of the very few who have remained faithful even now when everyone has turned against me. After all, it was him who thought up the plan of invoking a demon…’ but she saw how Oleg’s eyes darkened and fell silent at once.

  ‘Exactly! He thought up the plan of invoking and enslaving a demon. And he shall pay for it! And a lot less than he should, I’ll say. In any event, his father is the one who’ll give us the money. What’s his name by the way? And don’t worry, you won’t have to “fleece” your friend. I’ll undertake that operation myself. You just show me where he lives, and then wait somewhere out of the way.’

  The girl got up from her chair with a heavy sigh.

  ‘Let’s go. It’s not far from here. Albert’s father is called Petronii. As you probably know already, he’s the High Priest of Orchis the Light Bearer. And apart from anything else, that means that there are over fifty guards of the main municipal temple and squads from dozens of other smaller temples on his land. And it also means that magic won’t work on either him or his servants. Do you still want to go and see him about money?’

  ‘Of course! I have to go and get my little snake. I can’t let her poison herself on Albert’s tough flesh. And if Petronii decides to unleash his guards on me, all the better! I could do with a little exercise.’ And Oleg allowed his eyes to turn into lakes full of darkness for an instant.

  The princess frowned and turned away.

  ‘You know, for a time there I’d forgotten you were a demon. You were just like a human!’

  ‘That’s as it should be, my girl,’ Oleg said softly. ‘I am a human…’ and remembering his cover story he added ‘… half.’

  Then it entered Oleg’s head to dramatize the situation a bit; girls like romantic heroes, and Oleg suddenly wanted Ataletta to like him.

  ‘Some day I’ll have to decide once and for all whether to become a demon or a human and lose everything which makes up the other half of my soul…’ Oleg tried hard to put on a suffering expression.

  Of course, this would hardly have worked on anyone back in his own world, but here “a complex, conflicting and suffering personality” should be quite a new approach. It was highly doubtful that the local simple folk would known the works of Rafael Sabatini or any of the other writers of Earth’s Romantic era.

  The gamble paid off. Ataletta’s gaze no longer held any disgust for the “cruel demon” that the winds of fate had made into a bodyguard. Now other feelings flickered in that gaze. Oleg even felt a bit ashamed for stooping to such an underhand trick, over-used by psychologists and writers of women’s novels for many a generation. But at least the climate had improved, and with that he soothed his conscience.

  ‘OK. I hope that answers all your questions. Show us the way to this Petronii of yours.’

  ‘He’s not mine at all,’ the princess mumbled, going out the door.

  It was indeed not far. As it turned out, Ataletta knew her city superbly well. After half an hour of looping through various back alleys, they came out onto one of the central streets of a wealthy part of the city.

  ‘There it is,’ Ataletta whispered, pointing to a two-story wooden house surrounded by a high stone wall. A guard was lounging in front of the gates dressed in grey-white chlamys with a simplistic design on the chest – the same triangle in a circle which Oleg had seen on the amulet belonging to the lieutenant who had tried to detain the princess.

  With great concentration, the guard was ex
cavating treasure from his nose; his menacing weapon – a huge though slightly rusty halberd, obviously extremely heavy – leant against the gate post. Observing this, Oleg gave a sceptical snort.

  ‘Are all the temple guards like that, I wonder?’ ‘That’s one of the best,’ Ataletta pulled a wry face. ‘Look, he even carries his halberd with him. Most of them don’t usually carry anything heavier than a tankard.’

  ‘And they are guards? Warriors?’ Oleg was quite astonished.

  ‘What sort of warriors? Who would they fight? First sign of trouble, out comes their little Orchis amulet, the opponent’s paralyzed, and there you are!’

  ‘But what if the amulet doesn’t work? For instance, what if they wave it about in front of a warrior, not a magician?’

  ‘Magician, warrior, what’s the difference? It paralyzes all of them. It knocks out the magician’s magical powers, too. You’re the only phenomenon that the amulet doesn’t have any effect on. When I saw it yesterday I couldn’t believe my eyes at first. But I don’t think they have any inkling of your abilities…yet’

  And with those words the princess suddenly gave Oleg a most conspiratorial wink. She’d obviously come to terms with the fact that the priest would be robbed in any case, and had decided that, seeing as she could do nothing about it, she might as well “sit back, relax and enjoy the show”.

  ‘Good girl, keep it up,’ Oleg muttered, and coming out of hiding, he swaggered towards the so-called guard, having made up his mind to turn up the heat. After all, the amulets had no effect on him, there were no magicians here, and if they tried to pin him down with brute force… Meanwhile, the guard-doorkeeper had successfully completed his naso-geological enterprise. After examining his bounty, he wiped his hands on his ample paunch and, with his hand on his halberd, was leaning against the gate post with the clear intention of having a little snooze in the shade.

  This intention didn’t really fit in with Oleg’s little plan, and he quickened his steps. But by the time he reached the guard, the watchman was already sound asleep.

  ‘Hey, soldier!’ Oleg called. In the depths of the gateway Ataletta bit her lip. Never, ever had anyone dared to address a holy guard of Orchis in such a familiar way. Anyone with the cheek to address a guard other than “most respected holy guard” was immediately paralyzed with the help of the amulet and taken to the nearest court where they received a hefty fine, most of which went to the church, a small part going to the pockets of “the injured party”.

  Unaware of these subtleties, Oleg, who had been ignored, repeated his call to the guard and gave him a nice little kick. In reply he got a tuneless snore accompanied by a strong stench of alcohol.

  Oleg thought for a moment and decided to alter his plan somewhat. It would be cruel to wake this poor fellow now. He knocked the guard out with a well-aimed punch and rummaged around in the guard’s inside pockets. Oleg unearthed a bottle of “sleep-inducing liquor” and a bunch of keys. Then he hauled him out of his chlamys and put it on. Oleg dragged the guard to a ditch and, covering him with rags, gave the “sleep inducing liquor” a sniff and took a couple of good gulps.

  ‘A drunkard, too! What have I done to deserve him, O Immaculate Orchis?’ the princess piped up bitterly.

  And as if in reply, a booming burp rang out. Then Oleg opened the gate and boldly went into the courtyard of the Great Pontiff and High Priest of Orchis the Light Bearer, Petronii.

  ***

  The first week of June had been very stressful for Petronii Krozeltz. The old king was living out his last days, his already close and inevitable death causing the strongest shockwaves on the political horizon. The High Priest had to constantly tack between carrying out the wishes of the old king - who was dying yet still powerful enough to bring down all sorts of trouble on a fool who might cease to do his bidding - and expressions of devotion to the future ruler, the mighty Lord Chancellor. And amongst it all he had to remember to keep an eye on the pack of senior priests under him. They were straining at the leash to take his place and he constantly had to rein in the most zealous, showing that their leader hadn’t lost his grip yet. And now his son had gone and got into trouble.

  That blockhead had somehow managed to fall in love with the crown princess. As if there weren’t enough tempting servant girls slipping around the house! Choose any one of them, and if that’s not enough, take two or three! Distracted for a second, the middle-aged priest smacked his lips, but his thoughts soon returned to his son.

  When Albert had first come to him to confess his inappropriate love and even ask for help and advice, he had simply rejoiced in his son’s passion. The King was healthy, he had only just brought another magician as a sacrifice, what was his name…? forgotten, well, never mind.

  And there it was. His son had fallen in love with the only daughter of this wise governor. And she, too, it would appear, did not find him repulsive. And no wonder, they had been friends from early childhood. So Albert was in with a chance and Petronii had been inclined to help him in any way he could.

  Yes, he had been. And that inclination lasted precisely up until the royal medic gave his report on the magical nature of the King’s illness, saying that without the help of a highly qualified magician the King would not live to see the next summer. There were no magicians. Neither highly qualified nor poorly qualified. None at all. They had learnt well the lesson of Valdes, who had trusted the promises of an old friend and had been brought to the altar of state necessity. Or rather, to the altar of Orchis, to be precise, though state necessity was still present. And neither money nor honour could persuade them to set foot on Fenrian soil. And the powers of those medicine women, witches and conjurers who were not afraid to enter the kingdom because their powers were too insignificant to be of interest to Orchis were completely insufficient to cure the King.

  The King had resigned himself to his fate. It had been harder to come to terms with the inevitability of his daughter’s death, but he had to. Even during her life Ataletta had been a princess sacrificed to that same state necessity. She would live just as long as her father. Everyone understood that, and came to terms with it.

  Everyone but one young idiot! And he had to go and invoke a demon, trying to save the princess! Well, all’s well that ends well. And this story, would end not merely well but splendidly. Fortune favours fools. His son had managed to drag some teleporting magician into his circle, evidently first and foremost a Sovereign of Beasts and an Illusionist as his additional speciality. But anyhow, what difference did it make? Any powerful magician would make a suitable sacrifice for Orchis. The main thing was to convince him to take the snake from his son’s neck – the priest glanced at the weighty little chest with the ransom at his feet--and then the guards will overpower him. And just in case of emergency, he had another surprise: arbalesters were hiding behind the wall, ready to shoot anywhere in the room, aiming through specially made slits. No, the magician wouldn’t be able to get away.

  Petronii gave a satisfied sigh. Not for a second did he entertain the thought that the “demon” his son had invoked might be a real one. He knew only too well what it cost a magician - a true, powerful magician, well-versed in demonology – to invoke and tame even a rather shabby, weak demon. His childhood friendship with Valdes had left its mark, and now Petronii possessed certain knowledge not exactly typical for a devout priest.

  Just then a desperate knocking was heard at the door. At the High Priest’s disgruntled ‘Come in!’ an agitated guard flew into the room. His dishevelled fair hair fell into his eyes and his tunic was too short for him, yet too wide for this tall but thin lad. Petronii frowned: Father Kelarii the Guest Master was skimping again, giving the new recruits second-hand garments. He’d have to give him a good talking to. Ten lashes would probably do the trick… no, better twenty – it would help him remember.

  ‘What is wrong, my child?’

  ‘There’s … a fire…your son…the whole wing where he’s housed!’ The last words were pronounced as the gu
ard hurried after the priest who was rushing off to his son’s wing.

  Happily, everything turned out alright. Albert was alive and well. And most importantly – that horrid collar had disappeared from around his neck! Evidently the snake had been unable to bear the heat and had slithered off. It looked as though Orchis was well disposed to his priest. Now there was no need to fear for his son’s life and he could catch the “demon” at once, as soon as he poked his sly nose into the courtyard. And the money could be returned to the treasury immediately. It was a shame, though, that because of his fright Albert had taken on a terrible stutter; it was impossible to understand a single phrase. It would have been interesting to know what had caused the fire in that wing. Like all the buildings in Petronii’s courtyard, it was made of wood soaked in a cunning solution which was highly non-flammable… But he could deal with his son’s stuttering and the mysterious fire later.

  It didn’t take him long to get an explanation from the guards. The wing had caught fire quickly and completely—he would have to look into this… Just then, that very same new guard came up to him.

  ‘Your Holiness,’ he addressed Petronii. ‘The wind is blowing towards your house! Will you give the order to evacuate your things? What if it catches fire?’

  Petronii gave the new guard a searching look.

  ‘Evacuate my things? What for?’

  ‘Why, what if your house catches fire? Then everything will be burnt! The gold and silver will melt in the heat, then boil and evaporate, all the fabrics with be burnt, the weapons ruined.’

  ‘And how do you know all that?’ asked the priest.

  ‘From my brother,’ the young guard looked at him with simple, honest eyes. ‘He’s a smith in our village. And he told me that…’

  And at that moment he dashed nimbly to the house and began beating the flames on the burning walls. Without thinking, the priest ordered the guards to help him.

  In five minutes the heart of the fire was extinguished and the new lad came up to him, panting heavily.