The Nameless Slave

by Vitaly Zykov

  The world of Toarn is old, very old! Under a ruthless wind of time civilizations were disappearing, great races were being overthrown into Abyss…

  By magic and sword new people founded an order. The balance was established.

  In this time some earthmen fell into Toarn, not at their will. The bowls of scales became unsteady again, followers of the forgotten cults began to move, became dissatisfied with authority, words of ancient prophecies began to sound, and special services started a new game… Above everything, are the puppeteers, indifferent to destiny of a handful of people expelled from the Earth, so now only earthmen themselves decide what their life will be like. So one of them chose the way of a magician, and the second was destined to the way of a slave, the way leading to freedom, despite anything!

  Vitaly Zykov

  THE NAMELESS SLAVE - 1

  The Way to Home

  Book 1

  Poetry of Nikolay Gumilev was used in this novel

  …when the Red Star will shine in the sky, as a herald of disasters and misfortunes, a hope for doomed and death for damned, the Enemy will come, bringing death, famine and darkness upon the long-suffering world of Toarn[1].

  Wartags[2], be ready! We shall meet the Enemy well-armed…

  Fragment of Fior prophecy (also known as Horror Lists), partially deciphered

  under the order of the Academy of General Magic

  PROLOGUE

  The water was murmuring quietly in a marble pool in the middle of a platform for meditations. Small golden fishes were opening their mouths lazily, failing in their attempts to say something. Their fins were hardly moving, like a fan in an old slave's hands. Even small bronze dragons with silver jets of water beating from their opened mouths looked relaxed. The bright sun and easy breeze from the bay mixed up in some viscous cocktail causing somnolence. The blissful comfort was mind-obscuring. There was absolutely no desire to sleep, but to lie down in delightful motionlessness in this silent nook. There was nobody on the small platform for meditations, except a young handsome man of about thirty two years old. He was reclining on a portable wooden pillowed couch in the shadow of a stone wall protecting the platform. He was lounging here.

  His name was Irung. A member of the Magicians Lodge at the Academy of General Magic, he was dressed in a loose grey chlamys and was similar to many other young men. Only a ruby earring in his left ear and a silver ring on his right little finger distinguished him. But just these details of clothes allowed him to luxuriate in silence and have a rest in this lonely corner. Who will dare to disturb a person with a True magician[3] earring, even of a low rank, which was unambiguously specified by runic number «4» on the ring? But not even this fact was the most important. The rumors about a promising favorite of Archimagus Vittor, had been inhabiting the Academy hallways for a long time already. So lir[4] Irung could afford much to himself. Today he escaped from the assembly of old downers, as he called the usual magicians[5] even of the first rank, who had gathered for debates.

  – Hairsplitters, not a single True magician there! As though they can reveal something important. Just sitting there, shaking their beards, knocking their staves. The young True magician spitted angrily – a drop of Force and a little knowledge, but gossiping about needs of the world! Thieves! These ideas wiped out a pleasant condition of relaxation and tranquility, and returned the captain-magician to stern everyday life.

  «It would be good now to get out to the sea, to Snake archipelago, closer to the Head, and do a couple boardings… What a beauty!»

  – Dreaming? The boy you were, the boy you are. – An imperious unpleasant voice above his ear sounded like a steel needle gnashing on glass.

  Irung shuddered and quickly jumped stretching at attention: «Missed again! How is he stealing up so imperceptibly?!»

  – Imperceptible, because I am Master of Punishers, not a milksop dreaming about silly battles! – the incomer easily got to the core of ideas of the young magician. The last words were said with concealed fury, though it looked comically from the outside. The imperceptibly approaching person seemed no older than twenty, and it was very difficult at his three hundred fifty one. A very few people could do so, but he was the Master of Punishers!

  – Lir Bryms. – Irung bowed his head respectfully. Despite all his independence and confidence, Irung was afraid of Bryms, as well as absolutely everybody. Even the Archimagus, besides how could one fear him not, if he has been the best fighting magician of Toarn for the last three centuries, presented not only the monstrous Gift of Force, but also the sharpest mind and ability for applying this mind. In only hundred and five years Bryms became the Master of Punishers, having headed the most secret service in all Nold and having transformed it into ideal tool, holding in fear all Toarn from Suud up to Sarduor. The tool, forcing governors to wake up in cold sweat. Lir Bryms was a terrible person who could easily accept the Archimagus' Scepter of Power, but considered it as his duty to hold his present position. Nobody knew, why it was necessary for him. He was rather a canny person, if one can say that about a magician who had already lived for more than three centuries.

  – Yes, I have been lir Bryms for a long time, already. – It seemed that, Bryms had decided to play an old grumbler today. – But you are young and hot-temper. Dreaming about campaigns, whereas what you really must think of is your career! Vittor allowed you to order, too early. Too early! If you were under my command, I would damp your ardor! Quickly!

  Irung shivered fearfully. The flaxen-haired guy, standing opposite and permanently hiding his eyes, dressed in dazzling white trousers, a shirt and soft half-boots of the same color, belted with a snow-white baldric with a sword, produced deceptive impression of being soft. However the glory of the furious dictator ran far ahead of him, and only few people could dare to call the Archimagus by name.

  – Nervous now?! What have you been told? To loaf among usual magicians, listen to them, talk with them. Learn to win people! Otherwise you will never become a member of the Masters Council. And your father will not help! – Saying all that, Bryms stared at Irung to complete the impression, and it became clear at once, why he avoided to look in the face of the interlocutor. As if a sack with sand was pressed down on the young magician shoulders, his heart was beating frequently. It was bad to make jokes with the Master. – Why are you silent?

  – Lir, I have nothing to say. I am really guilty. The weather is excellent today, and these old men were so tedious, that I could not resist a temptation… I regret it and I am ready to expiate the fault. – Irung was staring at his commander open-eyed.

  Bryms sighed – a greenhorn! All right, I've come not for that reason. The Council of Masters decided to charge you with a very important job… As you like. – A thin weightless smile flashed in reply to joyful shine in Irung's eyes. – I'm talking about expedition to the Forbidden Land[6]!

  – When?! – The question sounded like an exhalation.

  – In three days. You will take your ship and pass across Dark Ocean to Sarduor. There you will move along the coast, doing gauging. Take the list of necessary requisite and the map of the route from my secretary… You wish to ask, actually, why the marhuz, has the Master of Punishers come to inform you personally when a usual boy could cope with it?

  – Well, I do not know… Of course, yes!

  – Because it will not be usual patrolling for Forbidden magic. Irung moved forward, as a hound before a throw. It seems that a secret was enveloping him like soft coverlet. Bryms saw all that and grinned knowingly.

  – How young and curious… M-m-m, where was I? Ah yes, we were talking about the Forbidden Land, we are registering a strange pressure there… Not far from Guurr'o'demy…

  – What?! Zaarr'h'dorr[7] has woken up?! – Iru
ng exclaimed with agitation in his voice.

  – Hush, hush. Certainly not. There is some tension of the substance of Reality high in the sky…

  – Bryms kept silent for a while and then stamped the matter with the following words. – The Break is coming. As in Ptolomey's[8] time.

  – It cannot be. Nobody can open a portal outside the World…

  – Are you an idiot?! Have I told, that it is opening from our side? The reality substance is trembling and slowly exfoliating. It is very similar to one natural phenomenon described in the old chronicles.

  – I have not heard about anything like this, – Irung drawled. Bryms looked derisively at the magician:

  – Certainly, who is interested now in the ancient fairy tales about wartags, except for old men like me. The scraps of legends about their traditions and holidays, myths about old, as the world itself, Guurr'o'demy and ceremonies that happen once in a millennium there.

  – What?! Wartags are not a fairy tale? – Irung was surprised so much, that he had forgotten, who he was talking to, but his interlocutor did not concentrate attention on the disrespectful tone. Bryms stood and looked somewhere into the boundless blue sky. Irung looked there but saw nothing.

  The young magician tugged his shoulder perplexedly, but the Master of Punishers started to talk again, as if drawing an invisible line:

  – And that is what you should clarify!

  …At this time in hundreds of leagues from Nold, in the Heathland[9], that was in the Forbidden Land, Puas the shaman of Urgs[10] was lying near a furiously blazing fire and trembling with his whole body. The dialogue with the spirits of ancestors had passed very roughly today. Even more than just roughly. Zarhr, the brother of aggressive Jurga, was extraordinarily verbose today. Even being one of the strongest shamans of Urgs, Puas had conducted the ceremony of Calling with much difficulty. Very few shamans could cope with that.

  «Not very few, nobody could not do that!» – Despite the weariness and the strongest shock, pride overfilled his breast. But there was no time to relax and enjoy. The Great Father presented Puas with a chance that could not be missed. A chance to tower above the others. Usually the Father spoke with unclear images which were hard to decode. More often, it was possible to understand the sense of the message only after the event had occurred, but it was a totally different case today. The Father was as clear as never. Before Puas's internal look there was a two-faced image of the mighty force of Destroyer and Crusher. That dreadful essence that had been sung by prophets and seers of antiquity at the dawn of the epoch. And only rallied Urgs could survive in the approaching chaos, and Puas would become the leader of the future union! It was only necessary to convince the other Urgs in that, especially the shamans.

  With such ideas Puas jumped resolutely and leaning on the spear with leaf-like tip, or, in other words, the palm, began to convoke with confident voice the soldiers who were his subordinates. He had much to do now…

  The gloomy enormous three-stage pyramid of the old palace was snow-white, as a sneer of destiny. It was erected of white marble and towered for about one hundred yards over surrounding green magnificence of well-known park of Talak. Nothing spoiled severe beauty of the stone. No sculptures or intricate fretwork, only complicated patterns of marble and nothing else. There was not heard the noise peculiar to capitals of the other states. There was unnatural silence, people were sliding like shadows, greens of trees and white stone. Usually such a setting would present sensation of tranquility and calmness, but that case was not usual. The majestic beauty of that place could not distract from oppressive feeling of fear and the ruined lives. Talak was the capital of mysterious Tlantos, which had been founded on the place of Necrond – another capital, but already of an ancient kingdom of magicians. Black magicians. And this land still remembered, despite last centuries, the times of their bloody reign.

  Nevertheless present governors had no intention of changing their residence. Ferdinand dressed in a green royal cloak, was standing near the window and looking far away, where Sarduor was lying hidden in fog. His right hand was idly stroking a bone medallion hanging on his neck. Ferdinand heard soft steps behind his back. The man who entered into the hall came nearer to the governor and stopped in some distance, and silence settled in dark corners again. Ferdinand paused for a while as it was befitted to his position, then ordered imperiously:

  – Speak!

  – Yes, my lord! – Plain leather clothes, fair-hair, calm and open snub-nosed face, kind eyes and the medallion of Admitted to the Court constituted the habitual image of lord Markus, the chief of intelligence service.

  – I received the reports from our spies in Nold and Gartash.

  Ferdinand turned slowly to his servant:

  – So what?! – At these words his right eyebrow shot up curving into a predatory arch.

  – The sea hunter known to your Majesty as «Kiss of the Great Snake» headed from Nold towards Sarduor – the voice of the speaker was quiet and confident.

  – The one, commanded by… this… – The King clicked his fingers.

  – Irung, lir Irung, – prompted Markus.

  – Who is considered to be a son of Archimagus Vittor? – a sarcastic grin appeared on the King's face.

  – That's right, my King. Exactly. The intelligence services of Gartash and Zelod began stirring too.

  – Nothing has changed there? They are watching one another and Nold, and understanding nothing?

  – Yes, my King. Elves and Orcs are silent, others do not worry about anything at all… – Markus stopped for a second and cleared his throat. – I sent our agents in Guurr, Sarma and the land of Steward. They have orders from the list of prime actions that was approved by your Majesty before.

  – Perfect, just perfect. – King Ferdinand turned to the window again and rubbed his hands, and then with triumph in his voice continued: – It looks like the game has begun, Markus. Has it in fact?!

  – Yes, your Majesty, it has! – The eyes of the intelligence chief were gleaming with the same gloomy triumph, as the eyes of his King.

  …The forces motionless before began to move. Orders and cliques of magicians that had been forgotten for a long time began to evolve again. Special services started to work feverishly. The Red Star of the prophecy that was now shining in the sky, woke up many beings, awfully many, but not all of them, praise to the Creator. It was not said in vain among the Ancients: do not awake the Evil while it is sleeping silently.

  The shapeless beings of former horror forgotten by all races, the beings that survived when their winners had already gone, prevailed invisibly over the world. The dark shadows of fallen Greatness were continuing to watch their dreadful dreams, not waking up for millenniums under oppression of the greatest charms of their enemies. The dark depths of the Abyss of the Bottom world were motionless… For the time being.

  Part 1

  ARRIVAL

  …The Original cause of the events which happened in that period are often compared to a clod of snow, caused an avalanche wiping all on its way, but this approach is radically incorrect. It is wrong to compare Destiny and blind elements… It is an error. In this case, speaking about chaos after the occurred cataclysms, it is better to use a comparison to a boy who just for fun came up to an ant hill and poked it with a thin twig, destroying the order existing there. The role of the ant hill belongs to the whole Toarn, and the role of the hooligan boy – to The Fate that likes such jokes…

  A fragment of text on a burnt sheet found in ashes of Sarduor library

  Talents of a real leader are extensive and various. But alongside such important things as military skill, wisdom, foresight and a set of other necessary skills and abilities, exists something else, that sometimes not only enhances the ones listed above, but also outweighs all others. This factor that more often could be defined only by indirect attributes is luck.

  From memoirs of Hrabr Zagorsky, the commander of Sarduor Empire.

  CHAPTER 1

  Man i
s a creature that is lazy to do absolutely anything: to study, to cook, to throw out garbage, to work, to get ready for work… Especially to get ready for work. Yaroslav hated these predawn hours when it was necessary, to search with hardly opened eyes for the shouting alarm clock, guided only by the sound, with melancholically rage trying to remember for why the hell, actually, he had set this dreadful achievement of human genius for six o'clock in the morning. In general, it seemed that two different persons lived in Yaroslav. The evening Yaroslav was an example of purposefulness in the field of planning the next day, and this Yaroslav always put the alarm clock on the highest book shelf where the morning Yaroslav would never place such an annoying thing. The high shelf guaranteed that on the way between the bed and the alarm clock the morning Yaroslav, would at least find the power to reach the shower if not wake up. As it had been repeating the whole year already, with enviable constancy, this trick worked – having taken the shower, Yaroslav was quite ready for the workday coming.

  Having set the kettle to boil, Yaroslav or Yarik as his numerous friends called him, opened the cupboard searching the pills for headache. The second week already he could not sleep normally. It was very strange, and moreover, it was terribly unpleasant, because if he did not sleep his lawful eight hours, his head was aching the whole day, and his eyes hurt too. He was accustomed to the night vigils behind computer, and usually could compensate his hours in daytime, but this morning it was necessary to go to the university where he worked as a substitute for whole year. The most strange thing was that he did not work at night for a long time already and usually he slept sound, but for many nights in a row he awoke at midnight and couldn't close his eyes. Of course, he slept, but slept by fits and starts of about ten-fifteen minutes then woke up in sticky cold sweat and was lying motionlessly, looking at the ceiling and trying to calm down his raging nervous system. After all how could he not wake up in sweat when he had dreams which made him doubt his mental health and he began to desire to visit a psychiatrist.