by Vitaly Zykov
All that determined further relations between Yaroslav and the Urgs. How can you seriously fight with such ridiculous, though very warlike, shorties? Even if these green creatures were very aggressive, which Yaroslav felt almost immediately. Interested in observation of their life, Yaroslav almost lost his own. He watched the Urgs pitching their tents, something was rustling, beating, some orders were shouted; then Yaroslav felt a threat to his precious life. There was no time for reflection. He darted to the left, escaping from a strike. Something hissed in the air about an inch from his body and hit into the stone, on which Yaroslav had just been lying. He threw a quick glance there: it was an arrow, shattered on the stone.
Without hesitation, Yaroslav jumped again to his previous position. And again he cheated the archer – an arrow hit an empty place. But now Yaroslav was face to face with the attacker, and that was a little greenskinned shorty. The Urg, with a vile grin, showing his fangs, was setting a new arrow on the bow. Yaroslav rapidly hurled a stone to the archer, the Urg ducked, but Yaroslav jumped up and his fist flew into the freak's chin with full force. Green blood spurted from the split lip, and the shorty rolled over the rocks. But the camp began to seethe like a boiling cauldron.
Yaroslav, as if he had made that before, shouldered the lifeless shorty and ran. The chase was long that time, but longer legs gave him significant advantage in their dispute of running speed. Having broken away from the pursuit and having made a giant hook away from his previous direction of movement, Yaroslav threw the captive on the ground and fell himself next to him. Stretching on the ground, Yaroslav was gasping for the air. Finally, having caught his breath, he said thoughtfully:
– Well… It turns out that my form is not as good as I had supposed!
As if in answer to his words, the greenskinned prisoner groaned.
– Oh yeah, my green pigeon, what do I do with you? Why, by the hell, did I steal you?!
The shorty opened his eyes, dazedly blinked looking at Yaroslav and attempted to escape, which was successfully thwarted by a weak stroke into his nape. Angry tears of feebleness glistened in his eyes. He muttered something furiously.
– No, it would not work. I do not understand you! I am certainly longing for speech since the Forest, but I am not trained to talk with foreigners. So this is your purpose: you will teach me your mumbling… Kapish?
The prisoner understood nothing, he snuffled wildly in response, clenching and unclenching his fists. The wounded lip was not bleeding, but it was swollen impressively. In general, the greenskinned shorty was a pitiful sight.
– Well, well. This is a finger, – said Yaroslav, showing his finger to the prisoner. – Fin-ger! Finger… Come on! Repeat!
The dialog was accompanied by tempestuous gesticulation. But the prisoner did not understand, or pretended not to. He just kept silence with a proud look of a captive chief of the entire planet.
– Arrhhhh shit! Finger! Fin-ger! – Yaroslav waved his hand in front of the green face. – This is a fist! Fist! And now it can strike someone's face! Someone's impudent green face!
In response to that, the shorty mockingly grinned and spat under Yaroslav's feet. Wave of anger swept over Yaroslav from head to toe, but he did not want to beat anyone, or to kill. He concentrated magic in his fingertips and poked into the forehead of the green scum. The prisoner lost consciousness and gently fell into the dust. Yaroslav sat back and slid into Sat'tor. He had some creative work to do. It was necessary to explore with Inner eye the flows of forces in the greenskinned body.
That turned out to be extremely simple. The overall energy structure of the shorty's organism differed from human. The channels of vital force flow were quite different, as well as the points of energy concentration. The structure of viscera was unlike human's. Finally Yaroslav understood, in general, the inner structure of this long-eared dwarf. The only thing was that he could not only enter into the dormant consciousness of the long-eared prisoner, as if an invisible barrier protected his sleeping mind. Yaroslav decided not to crack it but to try a different approach. Yaroslav brought the prisoner to life by a hefty slap, his head jerked and muffled voice said something. Clearly, it was a curse. At least, Yaroslav, on his place would have said a curse, the dirtiest one.
– Well, let's go! Patient, look here…
Yaroslav grabbed the prisoner's ears and forced him to look eyes to eyes. As soon as their eyes met, he threw his mind into attack. His mind, hardened in battles with powerful creatures, like a battering ram, smashed the alien gates of will. Yaroslav's will intercepted control over sensory organs of the captive and imperiously threw him aside. Finally, the mind of the unfortunate shorty was entirety under Yaroslav's power. The captive's consciousness was panically tossing in the darkness, and only horror was its neighbor. Yaroslav came close to the alien mind.
– Name?! – A thought-question flew to shorty's mind.
– Where am I?! What's wrong with me?! I'll not give you my soul, demon Ryrga!!! – Panic splattered from the prisoner.
Yaroslav was talking with the prisoner not in a language, but with images, with thoughts-images. In such manner it was possible to talk about a lot of things, but it was very exhausting. And though Yaroslav could be in that state for a long time, but the greenskinned being cut off from lifeblood of his body, soon started to weaken, and his mind would be extinguished like a candle in the wind.
– Listen to me! You must teach me your language, otherwise you will stay forever in the palace of darkness. – Yaroslav decided that a small lie would be useful. – And Devourers of souls will gobble you!
Let's send to him now a brief thought-recollection of a barbed ball. Of course, a little modified recollection and, of course, modified to scare more. He added horns (ball with horns!), and a toothy maw, and, of course, as a final touch, the flames of dark fire! M… yes, the beast turned out to be very remarkable! The spark of consciousness of the eared prisoner became to shimmer like under a gust of wind.
– No-o-o-o!!! No! – There was such pain in the howl, that Yaroslav was ashamed. But what else could he do?…
– Will you teach me your language?!
– Yes, yes! I will! Have mercy on me, Ryrga the Great!!!
Yaroslav still had a lot of questions, but the spark of alien consciousness was rapidly weakening. It was time to withdraw the greenskinned from trance. Yaroslav removed the probe of his mind and came out from trance. He looked with normal vision over the prisoner. The latter was breathing hoarsely, his previously green skin acquired some gray tone, his dazed eyes were blindly groping around.
– You're a warrior! – Yaroslav patted the prisoner's cheek. – You should keep your head up. I still did nothing wrong to you, although you wanted to kill me.
The man's voice was calm and even affectionate. Though the unlucky captive realized that, behind this meretricious softness, brutal force was lying, which the man could use any moment. He sighed, wiped the sweat from his forehead and started to teach. The greenskinned prisoner showed through facial expressions and gestures some certain actions or objects and called them in his own language. He did not understand meaning of that. It was impossible to learn a language in such short time. But Ryrga coped. He absorbed knowledge like a sponge. The lesson continued at the night in the light of fire, lit by Ryrga's eyes. The ancient prophecy told by soldiers in camps, came to life.
Yaroslav remembered his first prisoner with a grin. That Urg was so afraid of him. He even called Yaroslav a strange name Ryrga. Yaroslav got offended at first, but then changed his mind. What is the point of taking offense with a greenskinned? A savage! And what was his admiration with his own success at the time?! Hisser in the ancient temple had taught him greatly. His memory became absolute and he could simply fill its pages with new words, as a dictionary of a foreign language: pronunciation of the word and translation, pronunciation and translation. Now his vocabulary was about three thousand words. The first prisoner could not tell him much. He quickly got exhausted and Yaroslav let h
im rest. After only a thousand of words! Although even Yaroslav got hellish headache because of weariness, and he could not relieve it. It turned out that he could not resume training with the first teacher. The chase, that he thought had lost his track, suddenly reappeared. The squad which was small at the beginning, had grown greatly. And there were shamans besides ordinary soldiers. Yaroslav felt threat coming from them and decided to flee. He left the prisoner sleeping on the ground. There was no reason to kill him.
The first kidnapping was followed by a few more. Yaroslav expanded his vocabulary, practiced in speaking and learned a lot of useful information. It turned out that they were the folk of Urgs, The Great Warriors of the Stone Plains. Each word with a capital letter! That countless mighty tribes of their folk roamed in these plains, and that he, Ryrga, would be caught, gutted, dried and torn into forty small Ryrgas and each of them would be crushed under the heel of the Great Shaman! The details of scourges were different every time, but the end was the same: Ryrga is defeated, and steady columns of Urgs are marching towards prosperity. When Yaroslav asked who is this Ryrga and why they hate him so much, in response he heard some vague hints and teeth clatter of his captives.
Yaroslav learned from all the questionings that Urgs – was a nomadic folk. But unlike nomads on Earth they had no herds of animals. They wandered in small groups through the plains, hunting shushas[20](this is what they called rock rats) and byhdurks[21] (Yaroslav could not figure out what those animals were). However, the last were a delicacy and Urgs met them very rarely. Every time the captives started thinking about byhdurks it resulted in rumble in their stomachs and dripping saliva. Urgs had their camps too. There lived women, children and old people with soldiers guarding them. But all the camps were located far to the north, in hidden places. Life was richer there. There was some big water (most likely a sea or an ocean) full of wildlife near those places.
All Urgs, when they were asked about the river flowing through the steppe, began to shiver and make gestures to fence off the Evil. A bad river! Evil! Many, many evil creatures lived there. Spirits of the dead guard its peace. The riverbed was paved with bones of living things having died an evil death. Therefore the name of the river was the Bone River. It fell into that big water, where it became quite safe. In response to the question why on Earth men of Urgs were wandering so far from home, they immediately began to chatter some nonsense about Ryrga, whose coming they had already expected and how they would pounce with all their crowd over this Ryrga, and although innumerable many of them would die, the nasty blonde freak (i.e. Yaroslav) would be defeated.
Yaroslav let go all the caught Urgs after questioning. He liked this deadly game: stealing an Urg in the face of the whole tribe. In very short time news about him spread through all the Urg's camps. And they began hunting on him. It was very nice to pull the very whiskers of Death. The risk was so exciting, that for a while he forgot his dreary loneliness.
Now Urgs set up innumerable ambushes for him, reinforced with powerful shamans. However, every time it ended in the same way: a capture of a prisoner and a fascinating pursuit. Wonderful!
Finally Yaroslav got a new plan. All the captured Urgs were ordinary soldiers. And what can you expect from an ordinary warrior? Not a general, not a colonel, he knows just what he is allowed to know, no more! But shamans – they were very informed beings. Especially when you consider how competently they ransacked the whole steppe with magical probes. So he should steal a shaman. And it should be better to start with someone not too strong, just in case! Thus was chosen this unfortunate shaman's assistant. Now Yaroslav was lugging him towards a vast cluster of rocks, chosen long ago. There were many places where he could hide!
CHAPTER 12
Yaroslav spent almost all the night to double his trail, he dodged in steppe like a hare fleeing from the hunter. He trampled through several small hills pitted with caves before going to the previously prepared shelter.
That was a group of rocks, occupying an impressive area, and carved with caves like with wormholes. Not far away from these rocks, in about three hundred yards there was the Bone River, Yaroslav used Urg's fears to cover his weak points. From other sides it was impossible to get close secretly because of the extreme complexity of local terrain. One could climb to the top of the rock, chosen by Yaroslav from all the group, only in two ways, and one of them could only be used by someone who had the same height and strength as Yaroslav. Urgs were simply unable to climb on this steep rock, with such convenient steps-like deepenings. Convenient in the meaning of «difficult to use». You could grab a handhold or set foot only with constant risk for your life. Yaroslav regretted that he had no tail. He got an impression that this so-called ladder was created by some intelligent beings, but with the number of limbs not less than five.
Therefore, there was left only one trail for more or less convenient climbing on this thirty-yard rock. The trail, which Yaroslav used for climbing with the prisoner on his shoulders, who had become extremely heavy during the night. How light he was at first! Yaroslav thought that he could carry the young Urg as long as he pleased! But now, after running over the hills Yaroslav could barely climb the rock.
There was enough space at the top: there was a platform about ten yards long and wide. It was a completely smooth area, with only one hollow in the center. In this hollow Yaroslav kept his food supply and a leather goatskin with water. Of course, all that was stolen from Urgs. However, Yaroslav called it in a bit more noble way: the spoils of war.
Now, after climbing this platform, Yaroslav put the bound prisoner to the ground and collapsed nearby. It was very difficult to recover after the hard work he had done. The only thing pleased him was his idea to take a break and tie the prisoner using another trophy, a wonderful strong leather rope. So he could tie the prisoner to a heavy boulder now and sleep safely for a couple of hours. Yaroslav had a lot of work to do in near future, so some rest should be very useful for him. To make sure that the violently snuffling young Urg would not give the alarm, Yaroslav stunned him with magic once again. And lay down to sleep; such things as cold stones, bright sun and biting wind were not bothering him for a long time already.
He woke up just in time. The struggle for life weaned him from gullibility, laziness and a long sleep. Who sleeps long and eats a lot, finishes his days in a beast's stomach or on the tip of Urg's spear! Yaroslav did not like such an end. As soon as his mind shook off the veil of sleepy haze, he with his eyes still closed, searched the surrounding area with all his feelings. There was no danger or someone else's presence, he felt only the echo of fighting: the young shaman was struggling nearby with Yaroslav's magic. It was strange, but he had almost relieved his mind.
– Wow, bro, you are strong! An advantage of education! – Said Yaroslav respectfully looking at the Urg. – I personally did not have a chance, only some preparatory courses.
Having finished the sentence, Yaroslav launched tentacles of his consciousness into the captive's mind. And again, incomprehensible wall defended the mind of his opponent. But this time it was more complicated. The alien protection was burning, it forced him to withdraw his tentacles. A feeling of light envy breached the calm concentration of Yaroslav. He wanted to have something like that! The envy was replaced by irritation with himself, because the very first caught warrior used to have a similar shield, but a weaker one, and Yaroslav had been too lazy to understand it and broke into his mind directly. After that he communicated with the other prisoners already in their language, without even getting into their minds. Good knowledge of weak points of their bodies and newly acquired ability to distinguish lies by changes in aura greatly helped him in the interrogations. Yaroslav did not torture them brutally, he used only some points and his authority of Ryrga from the prophecy. It turned out that now it was necessary to deal with much more complex defense, because something prompted Yaroslav: he would not have luck to easily break into the alien mind this time. When Force opposes Art, the last usually wins.
With a sigh, Yaroslav began to carefully inspect the alien defense. His own defense consisted of powerful shields of will constantly held by his consciousness, even in sleep. Here it was much more complex and more elegant. A complex interweaving of magical streams of different colors. Yaroslav got an impression that three types of magic were used there, and none of them was similar to his own emerald magic.
Suddenly a new feeling appeared. Apparently, the young Urg overcame Yaroslav's magic and now he was watching Yaroslav's actions from behind the protective bastions of his consciousness. And his defense seemed to have become stronger. Straining all his senses, Yaroslav plunged into research. After a while he was able to identify some of the weavings. They were based on Urg's own magic, on one unfamiliar spell and on a strange thin join with some magical substance.
Yaroslav decided to replicate a part of these weavings for his own shield. He tried to fasten the barriers of his will together with an emerald weaving. At first, the new weave did not want to hold together, but experimenting, using different approaches, inventing and devising new methods (they all were new for him), Yaroslav finally built some structure. He chuckled: the resulting construction was not like the alien defense at all. Alloy of magic and barriers of his will generate something strange, trembling and ephemeral, but carrying danger for any aggressor. Yaroslav knew all that from his intuition, which he had learned to trust. But it was also talking about some incompleteness of the weaving. It lacked some detail, a finishing touch. The hieroglyph of his True name suddenly arose in his memory, the sign that adorned his right hand. Its image was unimaginably clear, it swam in the darkness of his consciousness, as if asking to use it. Yaroslav tried to fill it with Force. A thin stream of emerald fire filled the sign with Force, and it began to tremble. Warm waves went through his body. It was very difficult to keep control over the magic, but Yaroslav endured. The trembling increased. Filled with Force, the sign of his True name strove to escape, like a caught bird. Even not a bird, Yaroslav began to feel that he was trying to put a tornado on a chain. And he decided to impose the sign on the protective weave. The sign, shining with emerald glow, grew, filling all around, displacing thoughts and feelings. There was only the sign and the constructing defense. Then all edges of the sign, which had gained volume, met the magical weave. The waves went through the protective barriers. No one knew, what it cost Yaroslav to keep his magic under control. Only that could explain the fact that no single part of the weaving was broken, no single barrier was destroyed.