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

by Alexey Glushanovsky

  An envious ‘Aahh’ came from the male hirelings.

  During this jovial banter the things were packed, the fire put out and the horses saddled. Oleg and Ataletta were soon mounted on their steeds and the company trotted off.

  In order to throw any possible hunt off their trail, they decided not to take the direct route, the Gnome’s High Road (so-called because most of the trade with the gnomes of the Red Mountain Ridge took place along it) but to alternate the high road with the Black River, following its right bank for a while. Then, if all was quiet, they could go back to the high road and take it right up to the Iron Baronies, the lands of the free barons, one of whom was the afore-mentioned Baron Maidell, Ataletta’s godfather, from whom she hoped to receive assistance.

  Bumping along in the uncomfortable saddle, Oleg closed his eyes, tired. He hadn’t managed to sleep that night again, either. The sun was just rising, birds were singing, Clairene was gaily egging Kendir on, and Ataletta, her semblance already starting to slip, was only longing for the chance to rest a bit. If Oleg - a student used to prowling the night and then having to pop in for “a double lesson” - could somehow manage to stay in his saddle and keep up the tempo they’d set, then it was pride alone which kept the princess in her saddle. After three hours on the road, once they’d ridden a fair distance from the city, Oleg noticed the state she was in and called for a break.

  After a little rest and a bite to eat, Ataletta cheered up and just then Olaf and Kendir returned from scouting. They were alarmed.

  Kendir, who had checked the place for pursuers, went first. ‘I’ve got two bits of news, one good and one bad. I’ll start with the good news: no-one is tailing us. I don’t know how you managed to get out of the palace, but however you did it, you didn’t leave any tracks so there’s no-one on our heels. And now for the bad news. The Regent has sent out hoards of people. Huntsmen with dogs are circling all quarters of the city looking for tracks. They’ve not found any yet, but it’s just a matter of time. And there are more groups of searchers out, especially in our direction. I managed to exchange a few words with my mate, he serves with the huntsmen and according to him, the Lord Chancellor is in a wild rage, hurriedly putting together a Regiment with not only guardsmen and huntsmen, but also a few high class henchmen. He’ll personally lead that regiment himself and will search using all the magic within his reach.’

  Everyone grew glum. That was really bad news.

  ‘What’s the official version of events?’ Oleg asked.

  ‘Oh, that’s really interesting. It turns out that the princess has either been killed or kidnapped by a group of conspirators who decided to replace her with a double. And that double, having successfully completed the ritual of succession…’ he didn’t manage to finish. A roar of laughter was heard from Clairene, and Ataletta, who’d seemed to be dozing. When they’d laughed their fill, the girls deigned to explain that the ritual had been specifically set up in such a way that if anyone apart from the one true heir – even a very close relative of the king – tried to carry it out, it would kill them. A lot of people knew that and that’s preciously what forced Lord Kreghist’s hand, not letting him just proclaim himself king by-passing Ataletta. So the lie about the double didn’t hold water.

  After listening to this commentary, Kendir continued: ‘Having successfully completed the ritual of succession, the double fled, after killing the king. So the deeply-grieving Regent was forced to take power into his own hands and lead the hunt for the conspirators.’

  Laughing heartily, but at the same time pondering over this news, Oleg turned to Olaf, who had been riding along the high road.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve got nothing to cheer you up, either,’ he informed them straightaway. ‘There are mounted patrols all over the place, like fleas on a stray dog. Everyone has to undergo a really thorough search, not even a mouse could slip by.’

  Despondency reigned after these words. Oleg was the first to break the gloomy silence.

  ‘OK, enough moping. Let’s go up onto the high road and take a look at these mounted patrols. I have a little idea. After all, we don’t have to ride along the high road, we only have to cross it.’

  When the group arrived, Oleg saw the swordsman had been right. All along both sides of the road, spaced out such that they were within sight of one another, stood groups of mounted men, around six in each group.

  Sitting in a little copse, Oleg and his companions discussed what they’d seen and looked for a suitable solution. Olaf’s suggestion –attack the nearest group of soldiers, quickly slit their throats and then run off before the others came – was kept as an emergency plan for a worst-case scenario; their tracks would be too easy to follow. And what’s more, they might not manage to kill all the soldiers. There were six men in the nearest patrol whereas in Oleg’s team there were only four warriors, counting himself, but not Ataletta.

  Kendir came up with a slightly better variation, proposing to attract the patrol’s attention himself and then while they were chasing him, the others could pass by. Oleg turned this plan down; the risk was too great.

  Oleg suggested putting a semblance on the whole party, turning them into flies or some other small things. As a result, virtually invisible, they could cross the high road without difficulty, absolutely unnoticed. The main thing would be to try to move noiselessly. A fly which snorted, clopped its hooves, clinked its weapons or swore if it stumbled awkwardly was capable of rousing the highest suspicion.

  Clairene pointed out a few other failings in this plan. The main one was that maintaining such a colossal semblance would demand a great deal of energy. She explained that the more the illusion cast differs in size from the original, the more energy it demands. As an example she informed them that she would be able to keep up the illusion Oleg had suggested, but only on herself, and not for more than ten minutes. She wouldn’t even try to “turn” a horse “into” a fly. She wouldn’t be able to keep up such a semblance for more than a moment.

  After hearing her out, Oleg tried to cast a semblance over the whole party, one by one, but as soon as he had cast the spell, he hurried to undo it. It was really hard! Maybe, if he really strained himself, he would be able to hide the whole party including the horses for three minutes… or maybe five. But after that his powers would weaken. They had to find another solution. And one was found! The new plan was a variation on Oleg’s, but it demanded far less energy expenditure. The combined force of Clairene and Oleg should be enough.

  ***

  Half an hour after our heroes had thought of a way to avoid the mounted patrol, a herd of deer flew out of a copse near the high road. They quickly crossed the road at the distance of about one arrow shot from the nearest patrol and, ignoring the arrows flying after them, bounded on towards the Black River. They swam across and hid themselves in the wood. Many of the soldiers let out a rain of half-whispered curses--at the sergeant commanding their patrol, who would not permit them to abandon their post to kill a deer, at the strict orders which forbade the sergeant to let anyone leave and most of all, at the Lord Chancellor, who had given that idiotic order. This muttering went on for about four hours, until the party led by the Lord Chancellor rode up to the mounted patrol. After the sergeant’s report on the absence of events or suspicious travellers, the patrol headed back to the barracks, relieved. Ataletta’s trail had gone cold and after rushing around on the high road for six hours, Victor Kreghist, Regent of Fenrian and heir to the throne, was forced to admit she had made good her escape.

  He was very curious as to how she had managed to penetrate the well-guarded palace and kill the watchmen with a blow from behind. (Oleg, still not used to his demonic form and its capabilities, had misjudged the strength of his blows after all. Luckily, Oleg knew nothing about this. Not having been too worried about murdering Morron, he would have been very upset to know that he had killed innocent people who were merely following orders.) Then Ataletta had disappeared again, as though she had simply vanished into thin
air, without leaving any trace of magic which the Lord Chancellor could see.

  He returned to his castle in the evening, not having found any traces of his niece and having come to terms with the fact that he had let her slip. Another disappointment was waiting for him at home. It turned out that the minstrel and the elfin girl – whom he was already counting as his own – had used the confusion of the hunt for the princess and run off, taking with them all hopes of youth and long life. He didn’t dare declare a search for them, wary of elfish magic, so he turned his anger on the courtiers who hadn’t been able to hold them till his return. They defended themselves, blaming elfish magic which the couple had obviously used to conceal themselves. For a second the Lord Chancellor pondered the coincidence of two disappearances, but then immediately pushed such thoughts away with a vexed frown. The married couple could have nothing in common with his niece.

  Had he conferred with the High Priest, and found out what had happened to him and his son, then Victor would not have been so sure of this. Who knows, perhaps he would have found the answer to the puzzle which tortured him so. Petronii had his suspicions but kept his disgrace quiet, having decided that it was better to have sacrificed money than his reputation. Moreover, after weighing up the abilities of the magician who had robbed him, he considered it wise not to meddle in his affairs. Who knows… And if that magician managed to miraculously put Ataletta on the throne, then some interesting possibilities might arise, taking into account the mutual attraction between his son and the princess.

  And so Petronii kept quiet and the Regent didn’t suspect anything. Towards evening, coming to terms with his lost opportunities, Victor took the guards from the road leaving only mounted patrols and some hidden outposts of huntsmen. The flight of the party led by Oleg had been a complete success.

  ***

  After riding into the forest and hiding from the guards, Oleg leapt off his horse and took off his part of the semblance with a sigh of relief. Clairene collapsed beside him. Maintaining the semblance had cost them dearly. The conjuress was completely exhausted and although Oleg still had some strength left, he, too, was unable to ride any further. Olaf examined a new scratch one of the arrows had made on his armour. Luckily, the guards had hit with wide-tipped blunt arrows which hadn’t punctured his breastplate. Ataletta, who was finding the journey arduous, sat, eyes closed.

  Like it or not, a rest was indispensible. They buried themselves deeper in the forest and even decided to light a campfire. Kendir and Clairene assured them they could make one with almost no smoke. Nevertheless, all their attempts were unsuccessful. Their flints and tinder had got soaked when they had crossed the river and refused to bring the fire to life. Oleg’s lighter had suffered the same fate, so he had no choice but to gather the remains of his strength and use Heliona’s lessons.

  Oleg spread out his hands and concentrated. It didn’t work very well - his extreme exhaustion after the semblance was taking its toll - but after a minute a blue flame flickered between his fingers nevertheless, and the pile of wood burst into bright flames.

  That had taken his last strength; Oleg’s head was spinning and with a soft grunt, he threw himself onto his back.

  Oleg came round at the smell of food. It had got dark. The campfire was flickering cosily and the appetizing smell of boiling meat was wafting in the air. Oleg was lying in a smallish two-man tent and Clairene, curled up in a ball, was sleeping next to him. The voices of the hirelings came from near the fire, occasionally interrupted by Ataletta’s ringing exclamations. They were discussing their further route.

  ‘Along the river we’ll go for three days, then we can go back to the high road and ride into the Barony,’ Olaf said. ‘And – no unnecessary suffering, it leads us precisely where we need to go.’

  ‘Well, it’s not exactly direct,’ Kendir remarked sceptically. ‘The direct route does go right through the Black Marshes, but why should we loop about needlessly?’

  ‘Aha, and next you’ll be telling me you intend to take this direct route of yours! You want to ride along the old high road, right into Dead Oner. Cheer up some local Undead, you will, otherwise they have nothing to eat, the poor fellows.’ Olaf clearly didn’t like the idea of going through the mysterious Black Marshes.

  ‘Well, we might have to. You saw how many patrols there were on the high road. How do you intend to ride past them? If pressed, then we can try to go through the marshes. We’ve got two enchanters with us, with luck we’ll manage to sneak through. I know Clairene well. We’ve worked together more than once. She’s a capable conjuress. And they say that there’s a lot of loot still left in Oner. It might be worth our while to have a look.’

  ‘Well what of the patrols? You said yourself, we’ve got two enchanters. They cast a semblance spell and off we go, right through the patrols. That is, if they haven’t got rid of them altogether in three days. I reckon it’s far less dangerous to go through them than to try to find our way through the marshes. At least the patrols are made up of humans and not Undead, like there are in the marshes.’

  ‘That’s as may be, but where are you going to hide your weapons and armour if our sorcerers only cast a partial semblance? And if they cast a full one, well you can see for yourself, they’re flat out resting after less than an hour. And anyway, then how would you go, I’d like to know? Ride through Orvalen under a semblance? There are amulet-gates there – they may be old, but they’re still effective. They’d start wailing when they sensed the semblance. And if you go round, it’s through those same marshes. So wouldn’t it be easier just to go through the marshes in the first place?’

  The argument had evidently been going on for some time and Oleg, unable to bear the appetizing smell any longer, decided it was time to get up. No sooner had he approached the fire than they roped him in as arbitrator, justifying this with the fact that he was their employer and he should select the route. They explained that Oner was a city which had, until the advent of the cult of Orchis the Light-Bearer in Fenrian, been one of the magical centres of that world. But when Orchis had decreed his rights over the land of Fenrian, the town had come under continuous attack from his followers. Finally, the light magicians abandoned it, heading for Valensia, while the dark magicians took up a defence. The city fell, but before they perished, the doomed dark magicians managed to lay a curse, not wishing Oner’s riches to fall into the hands of enemies. As a result, the Black Marshes sprang up around the city, inhabited by the Undead and the Unclean. The spirits of magicians who had lived there and loved the city more than their own life stayed in Oner, along with other Undead, and the city became known as Dead Oner. Once he heard this, Oleg said, ‘First we’ll try and go along the high road, and if that doesn’t work then we’ll check out the marshes. I reckon that even if they renew the pursuit, they won’t follow is in there.’

  Soon Clairene came out of the tent, too. Asked to give her opinion on which way they should go, she tended towards Olaf’s view that they should leave the path through the marshes as a last resort.

  Thus having eaten well and resolved all their problems – at least theoretically – they allocated watches and lay down to sleep. Oleg and Clairene, as the most exhausted, were given the last and the second-last watches to give them a chance to rest properly. Ataletta, as the youngest and least experienced, was given the first.

  The next day they swiftly broke camp and set off. They tried to keep to woods and thickets, avoiding open ground wherever possible and giving villages a wide berth. Nevertheless, they didn’t particularly try to hide.

  During their breaks, Oleg sang songs not known in that world, and learnt how to use a bow and arrow. He wasn’t too bad at it--harnessing the great strength and accurate eyes of a demon. Admittedly, he always had to be in a state of partial transformation to do so; when he tried to shoot with Kendir’s bow as a complete human, he could hardly draw back the string. The bow was incredibly taut. After that attempt, Oleg had the highest respect for the archer. Having weighed the po
ssibilities of this weapon, Oleg promised himself that as soon as he had the chance, he would get himself a good bow.

  And so three days went by. On the fourth day they turned onto the high road. Kendir, who’d been sent as a scout, informed them that he hadn’t seen any mounted patrols ahead. Forging the Black River once more, they rode the high road again.

  The road was deserted. Not only were there no mounted patrols to be seen, there were no other travellers, either, which as Ataletta pointed out, was very odd indeed. Clairene remembered a couple of cases when a particularly large horde of the Unclean had come out of the Black Marshes and the merchants had kept off the high road till they’d been exterminated. Whatever the reason, the empty high road seemed to be in the hands of our travellers, allowing them to significantly increase their progress.

  After about six hours on the road they passed a little stone bridge thrown over a largish brook with unusually dark, almost black water. Nodding towards it, Kendir said to Oleg: ‘That’s the source of the Black River we crossed. Now do you see how it got its name?’ Then he waved his hand upstream, to the right of the travellers. ‘And the Black Marshes it flows out of are over there. Soon there’ll be the fork with the Old High Road which once led to Oner, and then on to Irinia. They say you could still ride it if it weren’t for the Unclean and the inhabitants of the Dead City.’

  Just then they heard a desperate cry from Clairene, riding ahead: ‘An ambush!!!’

  Everyone grabbed their weapons, but it was too late.

  Six people in green tunics emerged from the high bushes. Three of them were holding arbalests at the ready. Their blunt snouts were aimed at Oleg, Olaf and the retreating Clairene. The other three were armed with swords. One of them, obviously the leader, took a slight step forward:

  ‘Forest Guard of Orvalen. In the name of the Regent, you are under arrest.’ As he said this, he put himself between Olaf and the archer aiming at him, blocking his line of fire.