by Alex Sapegin
“Why didn’t you send for me right away?” Nirel looked at Hugo. The investigator blinked his pale eyelashes in surprise. “It’s a sharp-wit. Didn’t you know? You should be grateful he didn’t have time to work his mind magic! Who is he, and what are you keeping him for?”
“Alo Troi, an instructor at the school of magic. He’s been invited by the rector from Tantre,” the clerk roused himself from behind the desk.
“We now deal with instructors?” Nirel said in surprise.
“Yes, especially those who attract the interest of foreign reconnaissance representatives.”
“Tantre?” The clerk nodded.
Nirel wanted very badly to swear. They had no concept of discretion! They let simple clerks in on state secrets, then, later on, they would be pulling their hair out over leaked information!
“Master Hugo, I kindly ask all present to quit the premises and that Hurga the orc be summoned to aid me. I’ll have to crack him the hard way.”
The investigator nodded and with a wave of his hand ordered everyone to leave the torture chamber. He was partial to the idea of his journeyman guarding his little secrets with such great care. Nothing could be dragged out of the mute, dim-witted orc anyway.
“Call me when you’re finished,” Hugo added, closing the door.
Nirel roused the mage by dousing him with cold water from a barrel nestled in the corner of the chamber.
“Elvish dog,” Alo Troi pronounced in a hoarse voice, and spat on the floor, blood and bits of teeth flying out of his mouth along with it. “You won’t get anything!”
“Now, now,” Nirel slapped the mage on the cheeks and jerked his head up by the chin. “You’ll beg me to kill you. I’ll turn you into a whimpering dog and make you kiss my feet.”
It was very difficult to work with mages like Alo Troi, but the elf knew of a way to get to sharp-wits. The trick was not to give them a chance to block the pain and to thwart all attempts at suicide.
The iron door gave a shrill scrape, and an enormous orc entered the chamber.
***
The guards at the chamber door soon grew tired of recoiling at the piercing, inhuman cries. When the cries finally ended, the orc stepped into the corridor. He murmured something unintelligible and, with a slight bow, accompanied Hugo and the clerk into the torture chamber.
The investigator was delighted to see the mage, swimming in a cold sweat, trembling with fear and horror. Nirel has a knack for convincing the stubborn ones.
“I’ll tell you everything! Everything!” the victim cried, choking on his tears and glancing in horror at the smiling assistant.
***
The Northwestern border of the kingdom of Rimm, the Northern trade route, the Happy Horse Inn.
Yawning, Dorit descended the spiral staircase to the first floor. She was sleepy; the idea that gnomes were tougher than draft mules was a myth. Sleepless nights took their toll on them as much as they did on humans. The room was empty except for a boy—the waiter—sleeping behind the corner table with his shaggy head on the table’s chipped boards. Metallic tapping sounds came from the direction of the kitchen. The cooks had awoken and were preparing for a new day. They were scraping the old ash off the stoves and butchering fresh meat in the backyard. Geese cackled; a piglet squealed.
Dorit went to the stables where the boy had been left tied up in a cage in the corner. She had lacked the strength and desire to check on him during the night, and with Dimir’s permission, put off the task.
Cautiously stepping along the dirt floor, Dorit approached the cage. The prisoner came to. As soon as she walked up to the iron door, the boy bared his teeth and threw himself at the lattice door with a guttural growl. The gnome recoiled. Howling and snarling, the prisoner continued to throw himself up against the metal door, foaming at the mouth.
Dorit couldn’t believe that this had been a person. Discovering who he was and where he was from was apparently impossible. Who knew what had made him this way? A blow to the head or a death curse by the magician he had killed—perhaps both. In any case, in this cage before her was…a beast. A strong, intelligent beast, with active, budding magical powers, but a beast nonetheless. What a shame.
“How’s the boy?” Dimir met her with the inquiry as she returned to the inn. He was sitting at a table in the corner, sipping beer from a large mug. He looked collected and all business, his face freshly shaven, although he had gone to bed last night later than anyone else.
Dorit shook her head. “Not well. It’s as I feared.”
“He’s become a fool?” Dimir took a swig of the foamy beverage.
“Worse—an animal! We should have finished him off yesterday.”
“Who would have known? And I thought he might be a nobleman; he’s got the right stance for it. We could have made a killing for saving him. If he were an outsider or a peasant, we could have sold him to the merchants…”
Dimir placed an empty cup on the table and looked across it at the woman.
“I’ll have gabar,” Dorit replied.
“Another beer and a goblet of gabar,” Dimir said to the waiter who had just appeared. Taking the empty mug, the man disappeared into the kitchen. A junior waiter returned in a minute with a new portion of beer and a tall goblet of the thick gnomian booze.
The Watchmen took gulps in silence. Dimir let the lady quench her thirst first, and then, when she had put the goblet down, posed a question. “Can we sell him?”
“At the price of an animal,” she answered bluntly.
Dimir nodded in agreement.
“Why did you let Arist go?”
Dimir’s eyes glowed with a dark flame. His hands clenched into fists; he leaned over the table and fixed a heavy stare on the gnome. “He’ll die there, with no weapons, no riding animals… he can’t even light a fire. He will be food for the mrowns or the wolves.
“How long I’ve waited for this day! Now, I just have to find his little brother, Ludvir, and throw him in the woods naked. No, I’ll cover him in dung and tie him to a tree—leave him as a tasty morsel for the midges! I’ll never forget that Ludvir cast me, alone, into the Dark Impenetrable Forest when my error had caused a black sul to break from its cage and get away. I was just a boy; it was only my fifth hunt! No, their accursed family will answer for everything! I’ll tear the Rondors to pieces, all of them!” Dimir fell silent. His face was red; his eyes flashed.
Oh, merciful Gorn! Why have you sent me a commander obsessed with revenge? Dorit thought. I need to transfer to another squadron before this crazy man leads us to our deaths!
Dimir moved closer to the lady gnome and grabbed her by the shoulder. As if he read her mind, he whispered in her ear, “You can transfer to another squadron if you fear I’ve lost my head. But if you even think of talking, I’ll kill you!”
***
The rest of the watchmen woke up around lunch and came down to the dining room. Dorit dug around in her bowl with a spoon; she wasn’t hungry. Leaving her favorite pudding untouched, she went to the stables. The prisoner met her with a growl, but he no longer threw himself against the door of the cage. The little beast’s hands were bloody. Apparently, he hadn’t stopped trying to break the shackles.
She heard steps behind her. Den and Turin, young men who had signed up to be watchmen three weeks ago, walked into the stables. The little beast moved back into the corner and hissed at the Watchmen threateningly. Den kicked the cage. The predator in human guise instantly clamored to the cage door and grabbed the watchman’s foot with his hands, then sunk his teeth into the guy’s calf. Turin, punching the boy’s head, tried to extract him from his friend’s leg. Den wailed and swore like there was no tomorrow.
“Get away!” Dorit pushed Turin aside. A magical flame with a braided trail spread from the gnome’s open palm and struck the little beast in the chest. He let go of the watchman’s leg and went into convulsions. Den fell to the ground and clutched his leg, bitten to the bone.
“What’s going on here?” Dim
ir burst into the stables, throwing the gates open wide. Dorit pointed to Den.
“Our hero made the acquaintance of the little beast. The numbskull!”
“What an interesting case…” An elderly man with a long white beard appeared from behind Dimir. A medallion of the House of Mages of His Royal Majesty hung around the newcomer’s neck, sparkling with rubies. His right hand clutched a long staff topped with a mountain crystal. All present bowed low; the little beast growled threateningly. The mage turned to Dimir. “Are you selling him? I’ll pay you 15 golden pounds.”
“Sold!” Dimir agreed immediately. Fifteen pounds was an excellent price, ten times more than they had hoped for. “Let’s head toward the dining room; we’ll take care of the payment there and celebrate our transaction.”
***
The stables filled with people. Several folks from a caravan headed by the royal mage joined the Watchmen. They had been staying at the inn for a short repose. Now, cages with various animals were fastened to the caravan’s wagons. Five of them contained several dozen wild gray orcs, hunched up. Separate from the others, was a double-cage made of notrium. In the closest cell to the stables, lined with different colored cords and bits of leather, sat a small, wrinkled female shaman.
The watchmen and their willing helpers backed the snarling and scratching beast-boy into the corner of the cage with wooden rods. The members of the caravan grabbed the shackles by the chain and dragged him out. Then the unexpected happened. A horse harnessed to a wagon with a cage containing three long-maned wolves neighed and reared up on her hind legs; the cage turned upside down. As it hit the ground, the doors opened, and the wolves burst out.
Frightened, the caravan members dropped the load they were carrying and ran into the stables. The little beast darted off. The chain broke and slipped through the rings that attached it to the shackles. Sensing that he was free, the two-legged beast growled furiously and threw himself at the wolves. The wolves responded in kind with all they had, and the orcs began to whistle and cheer. After a while, one wolf fell away from the yelping ball; its neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. Its dead, unseeing eyes stared at the sky. After another minute, a second wolf followed, its head bashed in by the metal shackle the boy was wearing. The third wolf, with its tail between its legs, took to its heels from the bloody, horribly bitten up little beast.
The main doors of the inn flung open, and the mage darted out. Instantly assessing the situation, he lifted his staff. The crystal began to glow brightly, and a blue light emanated from it to touch the boy’s head. The little beast fell to the ground in a heap. Turin and the limping Den lifted the unfeeling body by the arms and legs and tossed him into a second cage made of notrium. A hefty man from the caravan quickly slapped a lock on the cage. The third wolf was long gone, off into the woods.
***
Dorit went back to the dining room. However, she wasn’t able to finish her pudding. The main entrance opened to reveal Trog, the commander of a second squadron of Watchmen in Duke Lere’s new lands. When he saw Dimir, Trog marched right up to the table the watchmen were sitting at. They greeted one another with short, firm handshakes, and Trog kissed Dorit’s hand. He then plopped down into an empty chair.
“There’s something going on,” he began right away. “Yesterday, we were at the bald hill—” Dimir and the others snickered.
“We killed a magician there,” Dimir interrupted Trog, smiling indulgently.
“He can go to Targ, that magician,” Trog waved his hand dismissively. The royal mage sat down at the adjoining table. “A wounded black dragon was caught in a shooting spider web set by poachers at the Southern Slopes! Its wing was broken! You’re a former hunter—”
“What!” the mage and Dimir exclaimed in unison. The mage moved over to their table.
“If you can catch that dragon alive at Raston, I’ll pay you 70,000 gold pounds! I’m coming with you!” the royal mage said.
The room went quiet. You could hear the sounds of a green fly knocking against the window. The Watchmen commanders exchanged glances.
A burning greed for profit lit up Dimir’s eyes. Had they turned the mage down, their own people would have torn them to pieces on the spot.
“You have a deal!” Dimir answered, swallowing, and shook the mage’s hand.
***
Dorit led her reptiloid out of the stables, but suddenly, felt someone looking at her from behind. It was a heavy, penetrating stare that made her shudder. The gnome turned, and her eyes met those of the little beast, who had come to. Holding on to the cage door with his hands, the boy looked at her with the gaze of a human. There was no trace of the beast-boy left; she was sure. The great hate behind his blue seemed almost palpable, and it frightened her. The former beast’s aura sparkled with all colors of the rainbow. The wounds on his arms and legs from the wolves were healed.
Trying not to turn her back to the cage, Dorit moved to the middle of the courtyard. The royal mage, who shared her observation and her efforts not to face away from the cage, had given back the boy’s mind. It almost would have been better if he’d remained a beast. Beasts don’t seek revenge, Dorit thought.
The drivers’ cries and the whistles of the whips forced the boy to turn away from the woman. The caravan’s first cartload left the courtyard headed south without the bearded mage.
***
Several large fires lit up the caravan as it stopped for the night in the middle of a field. The sentries quietly called to one another. In the sky, flooding the land with a ghostly glow, the nocturnal eyes of the twin goddesses twinkled. Gynug, unlike the human in the adjoining cage, couldn’t sleep. The old shaman was looking over a string of bone beads. She knew what fate lay in store for them as intelligent prey for the royal hunt. Neither she nor the best warriors of the tribes entrapped in the cages would survive. The human boy rolled over to his other side in a feverish sleep. He was a mage. Humans like him showed great promise for the future in their schools. But this one was still inexperienced and untrained. Spending his remaining reserves on the healing of wounds was utter folly for a mage in a cage of notrium!
The little human moaned and kicked in his sleep. His knuckles hitting the wooden floor, the strange boy’s hand lay palm-up before the orc shaman, having slipped between the bars of the cage. Gynug peered at the palm before her. How interesting this one’s life and fate lines are…
“He’ll avenge us! They don’t know who it is they’re trying to make into prey. Get back at them for us, boy. Your soul’s fire shines very brightly; may it light our way to the goddess’ judgment!”
The old shaman’s cackling laugh resounded through the camp.
***
Kingdom of Rimm, the northern trade route, Raston. Andy.
The wagon wheel bounced over another bump. The cage jerked to the side, and Andy was thrown against the bars for the hundredth time that day. He wanted to scream. Gynug muttered something guttural in the adjoining cell. Judging by her tone, it wasn’t a couplet by Saint Augustine. They had been moving along at the pace of a running turtle for the second day now.
Three guards rode by the cage on reptiloids. “Hasses,” as Gynug called them, were interesting lizards. From a distance, they looked something like horses, without their tails and with a flap of skin under their chins. But up close, they had long, powerful paws with retractable claws, strong, tight-knit scales, V-shaped heads on long necks and sharp teeth. There were no scales on their chests; instead, they had wide bone plates, freely stacking against one another and not interfering with their motion. Such plates could also be found on the animals’ backs, peeking out from under the riders’ saddles.
The last guard knocked on the cage with the shaft of his spear and laughed, seeing how Gynug recoiled. Andy spat after him and, as luck would have it, got him. It smeared down the laughing guy’s shield hanging on his back. His neighbor clapped the floor approvingly with her palm a couple of times.
The guards were dressed in what looked like
Japanese medieval armor of thick tanned leather. “O-yoroi.” Andy recalled the name, learned from the books he, Sam and Sasha used to read at Sergey’s house in his other life.
In my other life… The phrase forced him to freeze for a moment and look around. It was true; even if some unknown force carried him home this minute, that life would remain a thing of the past. He had died, surrendering his place to another creature, one with a wild beast inside, ready to kill people for his life and freedom, lacking in any regrets or emotional distress as a result of his actions. Andy hadn’t considered why such a dramatic change in his values had taken place. He hadn’t had time. If he didn’t shy away from the effort of thinking about it, then he would probably be horrified at this change. But his flexible adolescent brain flexed into a bow and circumvented the slippery question of universal values. When he thought of the way these jerks had whipped a gray-skinned slave to death the previous day, Andy’s hands clenched into fists, and a bestial roar bubbled in his chest.
Pushing all thoughts of his bright past and dark present out of his mind, he concentrated on the construction of the armor. The stomach was covered by four horizontal rows of plates, starting with the right side and going along the frontal surface of the torso to the left. The plates curved around the left side, and along the back, they went back the other way, not connecting to one another. A thin plate tied them together, fastened to the front and back edges by little hooks which were double silk threads. One pair had a loop on the end; the other had an oval-shaped bone button.
The chest and upper part of the back were covered with three rows of horizontal plates. A metal plate with a half-circle shape cut-out in the center provided extra protection to the upper chest. The cut-out allowed the wearers to move their necks freely. There was another one like it on the back. The spots where the hooks were fastened on—vulnerable to an enemy—were covered by two movable metal plates. The leather bits were decorated with designs of red diamonds. The armor’s wide shoulder pads and thigh pads lent it a distinctive look. The thigh pads also protected the wearer’s hips while seated on a hass. They were kept on by the string that ran throughout the suit of armor and covered both saddle-bows. The way the wide shoulder pads were fastened on, allowed the wearer to freely shoot from a bow despite the pads’ bulky look, which was especially important given the fact that they faced the constant possibility of being attacked by bandits. When the guard raised his arm with a bow, the shoulder pad “curled” over to his back, not hindering his movement. As soon as he lowered the bow and began to take the reins, the pads would move back to their former places, covering the arms up to the elbow.