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

by Alexey Glushanovsky

  The old aristocrat told the story. His tale was unbelievable, smacking of make-believe, and if Oleg had been in his own world, he would not have believed him for anything. But he was in a different world with different laws, and any nonsense could be truth.

  The gist of the tale went as follows. Coming to the throne as a result of a conspiracy, Friedrich the First Kreghist was very concerned that one of his descendants might be overthrown as a result of a similar conspiracy. So, being a good magician, he cast a spell on his descendants and his country. According to this spell, only descendants of the Kreghist family could rule there. Precisely which calamities would befall the country if the throne should fall to anyone else, Oleg didn’t understand. But suffice to say the calamities would be severe, as in all this time no-one had ever tried to overthrow the royal dynasty.

  As soon as the next king had been enthroned, the enchantment itself chose his successor, and in a very simple manner. The heir would be the oldest child of the newly-crowned king. If there were no children, then it would be the nearest blood relative. Many problems and scandals often arose as a result of such an automatic selection of successors. It was all the same to the spell whether the heir was clever or a fool, a child of wedlock or a bastard born of a beautiful peasant girl. Nevertheless, the system worked.

  But that was just the beginning. The crux of the matter was that under the power of that same enchantment the dying king was unable to die without handing over his power to the rightful heir, the heir chosen by the enchantment. They suffered, tormented and agonized for weeks sometimes, but simply couldn’t die until the heir showed up and heard the secret word and took the crown, which became his own and was the fundamental symbol of royal power. No one but the king could wear it. And as for the heir, even if he felt the strongest revulsion to taking power, he could not refuse it, even if he decided to sacrifice his own life. In such cases, it was not the heir who appeared but his phantom, driven by the enchantment. And the phantom was crowned in accordance with all the customary protocols. And after that, a new successor, chased by that same enchantment, had to show up. There had been such precedence.

  Thus Ataletta’s uncle could easily play the role of a kind-hearted liberalist knowing that as soon as the king began to die his heir would be forced to show up anyway. He only had to keep an eye on the king, who – evidently with this in mind -- had been quartered in a fortified tower, in a room right at the top where there were no secret passageways.

  On hearing all this, Oleg fell to thinking. Letting the princess go into the palace now was out of the question. That would mean certain death. And not letting her – well, the enchantment would draw her--alive or dead. His musings were interrupted by the arrival of Ataletta. Pale, dressed in a new white tunic, her head held proudly high, she walked straight towards the exit, obviously preparing to die. And at that very moment, a thought flashed through Oleg’s head, a thought he reckoned was rather clever.

  ‘So you’re off, then?’ he remarked quietly to the girl as she passed. She nodded silently, obviously holding back tears.

  Oleg had been counting on the fact that the princess, who couldn’t bear to be addressed rudely, would get angry and lose her temper, but now he realized he’d have to raise the stakes at once. Not having much experience with people in deep depression, he nevertheless concluded that the easiest way would be simply to really wind the girl up. Let her be furious with a demon-lout rather than give in to mortal languor, burying herself alive.

  ‘So you can’t live without saying goodbye to darling daddykins, then?’ he continued in a deliberately boorish voice, paying no attention to the reproachful looks of Count de Vinei and his daughter.

  Ataletta spun round sharply, measuring him with raging eyes.

  ‘How dare you?’

  ‘Aha, that’s better,’ Oleg said in his usual tone, ignoring her fury. ‘But you’re not mad at the right person. I’m not Kreghist. And there’s no need to rush to your death. Can you bear the Summons for a while?’

  ‘Summons?’ Ataletta was at a loss.

  ‘You know, the thing which makes the heir hurry to the king. Such things are often called summons in magic.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Yes, I can bear it. It’s not strong at first. Until the Count told me that my father was dying, I hadn’t noticed it. I thought I was just missing him and the palace.’

  ‘And how long can you hold out for?’

  It was de Vinei who answered instead of the princess.

  ‘Judging from certain manuscripts and archive documents, the heir can easily withstand the Summons – as you rightly call it – for thirty-six hours, and in cases of extreme necessity, for forty-eight. It would appear that this time is set as aside for willing submission. Then the Summons becomes painful and…’

  ‘Thank you,’ Oleg interrupted him. ‘So in other words, she’ll be able to bear it till tomorrow?’

  ‘Er, yes, easily,’ the old aristocrat declared at a loss, unaccustomed to such unceremonious behaviour.

  The princess just gave a nod of confirmation.

  ‘Excellent!’ Oleg felt he was on a winning streak. He was being carried on a wave of inspiration. ‘Lir Noir, you said that minstrels usually stay at the palace. What do you think, how would it be if this evening another minstrel from a far-off land showed up at the palace with his page?’

  ‘Highly suspicious,’ de Vinei answered stoutly. ‘I have lived a long life but in all my years I have never once set eyes on a minstrel with a servant or a page. Either minstrels are not rich enough, or their code is such that they are not permitted to have them.’

  Oleg thought for a while, then came up with another variation:

  ‘And what about the minstrel’s young love? He threw a glance at the livid Ataletta standing by her chair and hurriedly went on. ‘Or lovely student girl?’

  Somewhat pacified by this speech, the princess remained standing nevertheless, gently toying with a heavy oak tray and eyeing Oleg suspiciously.

  De Vinei chortled. ‘Well, that variation could well work. A minstrel with a lovely‘ – he stressed the word – ‘student girl is run of the mill. And very often with more than one, I should say. Admittedly, usually the minstrel’s students stay at home, they don’t get taken with him, but that’s a matter of taste. But if the student girl is a lovely favourite, well, the minstrel could certainly take her with him.’

  Realizing what the men were talking about and more importantly who they meant by student girl, the princess blushed deeply, but kept quiet. Lermetta, who also understood full well, gave her a mocking, but at the same time rather jealous, glance. It seems she would not have been at all against becoming Oleg’s “favourite student girl“. Catching her glance, Noir silently shook his fist at her. She giggled but didn’t stop making eyes at Oleg. Oleg heroically didn’t succumb. With a perfectly oval face and a large chest, Lermetta was slightly heavy-boned; in short, not quite his type.

  ‘However,’ the Count went on, ‘The matter of just where you managed to get hold of a student girl the spitting image of the princess at such a time might rouse legitimate curiosity.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, she won’t really look that much like the princess.’

  ‘Can it be that I have the good fortune of meeting a person who has mastered the magic of illusion?’ De Vinei evidently found this prospect extremely exciting. His daughter, too, looked at Oleg with renewed interest.

  ‘I’m not so good with illusions...’ but before Oleg could continue, Lermetta interrupted him.

  ‘So you do have such powers! Please, show us something. After all, even among top graduates of the Valensian Academy there are very few who have mastered the magic of illusion!’

  Oleg grinned.

  ‘There are too many people here to show you anything on a large scale. But as for something small…’ He plucked a couple of hairs from his head and threw them down onto the table. ‘Only, don’t scream,’ he warned. Father and daughter nodded eagerly. Ataletta, imagining full wel
l what was about to happen, moved further away.

  Oleg waved his hand over the hairs, hiding them for a second with his palms and when he moved his hand away, there were a couple of little snakes on the table. De Vinei and his daughter gasped as one.

  Asking permission with his eyes – Oleg nodded magnanimously – the old Count put out his hand to touch the little snakes, but as soon as he had reached them, there were only two hairs on the table once more. (Oleg had had to try really hard to catch the right moment and turn the snakes back in time.)

  ‘I’m afraid that is the full extent of my modest abilities,’ Oleg shrugged, pre-empting any possible requests to show something else.

  The princess gave a most sceptical snort. Reading the snort correctly, the Count and his daughter stared at Oleg.

  ‘I mean, in the arena of illusion!’ he dodged, nudging the princes carefully with his foot to stop her from saying any more.

  ‘And do you have other talents?’ De Vinei enquired cautiously. His eyes were burning with the enthusiasm of a naturalist who had just discovered a new species of animal.

  ‘Well, just some little trifles. But we’ve got distracted,’ Oleg went on, blocking the Count’s attempts to further question his abilities. ‘Shall head for the palace? May I ask for your help?’

  The Count nodded in agreement. ‘Anything you wish. I never warmed to the Lord Chancellor.’

  ‘Nothing complicated. You often got to the palace, don’t you?’ Another nod. ‘Then please be there this evening and try to make sure that a new minstrel is received with respect. Then, when everyone is exhausted, invite him and his student to spend the night somewhere in the palace.’

  ‘I’ll do that, but really I think there is no need. After today’s performance your fame will spread throughout the city, if it has not already done so. Take a look around the hall. It’s absolutely full. These people have come to take a look at you and hear your songs. The whole town will be talking about you by evening. They shall be delighted to see you at the palace and shall of course offer you rooms.’

  ‘Excellent. In that case, we’ll get ready. Oh, by the way, you couldn’t tell me where I could hire a couple of trustworthy people who would be ready to accompany a minstrel and his student to the border of the kingdom, or perhaps a little further, for very good money, without asking stupid questions?’

  ‘Oh, that’s simple. Just look around and take your pick. This tavern is just the place for such things. If you can’t choose, ask the tavern keeper. Such deals make up his additional income.’

  Having thus cleared up all important matters, Oleg and Ataletta bade a fond farewell to the old Count and his daughter. Oleg then handed the princess a handsome sum of money and sent her to buy clothes, make-up and greasepaint, advising her to seek the latter from a troop of actors. Judging from the girl’s glowing eyes, that was right up her street. Oleg himself set off to negotiate with the tavern keeper.

  ***

  Towards evening two travellers rode up to the gates of the king’s palace. As soon as they set eyes on them, all the off-duty guards, a considerable part of the servants and a number of courtiers rushed up to them immediately. And indeed, there was certainly something to look at. No, it was not the newly-arrived minstrel - rumours of whom had already spread far and wide - who caught their eye, although he did arouse curiosity thanks to being taller than the local average, unusually dressed-- in a rather tatty leather jacket very reminiscent of Imperial Hunters of Unclean--and bearing arms.

  Extravagance was a characteristic of many of the minstrels who frequented the royal court of Fenrian, long-since favoured by them as a good source of sustenance. So the appearance of another, even a very unusual one, was not what roused such a reaction. But as for his student… People came streaming from all quarters of the palace just to get one glimpse of her. Arioch’s companion – that was how the newly-arrived minstrel introduced himself – was a real live elfin girl!

  Here it should be pointed out that the plan Oleg had come up with to get to the King had one vital flaw, which became clear as they were preparing to execute it.

  In order to bring the princess into the palace, where she was known to all—even the dogs knew her--without being captured by the guards, the girl’s appearance had to be radically altered.

  Oleg had originally thought of making her into a humble servant girl, shy of high society, who had been battered by the winds of fate and therefore shrank from everyone. However, this plan was met by blazing opposition from the princess, who categorically didn’t want to turn herself into a peasant wench. And anyway, Oleg soon discovered some serious defects in his plan himself. The most significant was that no minstrel would drag a peasant wench around since he had the possibility of collecting a limitless number of them wherever he went. Therefore his plan underwent some alterations.

  Remembering the well-known proverb that the darkest place is under a burning candle and the no less well-known saying of Edgar Alan Poe that one should hide in plain sight, Oleg made up his mind. In her new image Ataletta should attract attention, and as much attention as possible, so that no one, not even in a drunken reverie, would suspect her of being the princess.

  With this a new problem arose. The dye bought from a band of wandering comedians turned out to be beyond all expectations, in an instant transforming Ataletta’s hair from golden blonde to shiny black, the colour of raven’s wings. The rest of the make-up, alas, did not do its job at all, barely masking her telltale features so that an experienced eye would be able to recognize the princess even when she was plastered up to the limit. Undaunted, Oleg suggested an old psychological trick, namely baring everything below the neck to the maximum, a sure-fire way to distract attention from the girl’s face.

  After one glance at the costume he prepared, it took just over two hours of uninterrupted rows, shrieks and rummaging around in her things, Ataletta got used to this idea and no longer attempted to smash something heavy over Oleg’s head. The bottom half of her outfit consisted of a short leather mini-skirt just one and half palms wide (originally sold by the merchant as “knight’s belt, wide”). The second half of the “clothing” was a large, many-layered necklace made up of precious and semi-precious stones which Oleg was convinced “was perfectly able to cover the breast, if it were worn just a little lower”.

  After the princess had tried to use the above-mentioned necklace as a garrotte “to strangle one impudent, rotten, treacherous demon, who was trying to push a pure and innocent girl down the slippery path of sin and debauchery, forcing her to appear naked in front of everyone”, Oleg exchanged the “necklace of contention” for a wider belt totally bejewelled with precious stones (a pretty serious blood-letting operation was performed on the priest’s chest). This more-or-less fitted the princess in her role as “hostage stolen by the brave minstrel from the ruler of Seli’s harem”, but here, to Oleg’s pride, already savouring his appearance at the castle with such a stunning concubine, he found another solution.

  On the tavern keeper’s recommendation, Oleg had hired three hirelings, two lads and a girl, to accompany them to the Barony of Maidell. The first - a strapping, strong lad in heavy armour hung with weapons - was called Olaf and was a master swordsman. The second - a small, dry chap with brown hair by the name of Kendir armed with a light sable and a bow - was a good archer, according to the tavern keeper. The third was that same ginger-haired girl who had listened to Oleg’s songs sitting on one of the beams on the ceiling. As it turned out, Clairene was the best enchanter-hireling in Velmint, if not in all Fenrian.

  Clairene witnessed the scene of transformation, and when she’d finished laughing, offered her aid. For a small sum she could put a good magical semblance on the princess. Everyone liked the plan, especially Ataletta, although Oleg decided to introduce a few changes. After some prolonged bargaining, his suggestions were accepted and the hidden chest was once more subject to merciless plundering. As a result, Clairene came out of the room holding, with visible trepid
ation, a plump little bag in which gold coins clinked pleasantly, and Oleg learnt his first illusion-spell.

  The hireling assured him that it was extremely difficult even for qualified magicians to master such a spell. Admittedly, it required a lot of energy, almost depriving the ordinary magician of the power to do anything at all apart from maintaining the semblance. But this didn’t bother Oleg much. First of all, since he had met Heliona and had her “gift” in his blood, he had strength to spare, and secondly, he barely knew how to harness it.

  And that is precisely how the elf Lúthien was born. Oleg decided to use a familiar name as the cover story he had hastily thought up for their appearance based precisely on that Tolkienian tale--heavily edited, of course, seeing as Morgoth, Silmarils and the others were not present in this world.

  It was more than five hundred years since the elves had left their forest fortress, and only a very few magicians were allowed to visit their lands, as a result knowledge of their appearance remained very sketchy indeed. And Oleg made the most of this. Without trying to be too clever, he gave Ataletta the image of the only non-human girl he knew, making only the slightest unavoidable alterations, such as pointy ears and slanty eyes. Hesitatingly, he left out the auburn-coloured hair, leaving Ataletta’s own locks, died black. Then he stood back – not bad! In front of him stood a pointy-eared, slanty-eyed, black-haired, but nevertheless inexpressibly beautiful Heliona. Satisfied with his handiwork, he invited the princess to pass judgement on it. After a prolonged silence filled with a studious stare into the mirror, the princess asked in an icy tone: ‘How long do I have to look like this?’ Taken aback by this unexpected reaction, Oleg nevertheless answered that the semblance had been cast for tonight only; tomorrow her normal appearance would return. This was immediately followed by another question, and Oleg calmed down straightaway when he heard it. The princess asked if she could keep this appearance “for longer”, and where he had got it from. When she got the reply, “I copied if from the original”--Oleg was getting pretty fed up with all this explaining and wasn’t about to spell out that the model wasn’t actually an elf – Ataletta at once wanted to know if he was acquainted with elves.