by Alex Sapegin
Having quenched his thirst, the traveler grabbed the club with both hands and headed towards a wide gap in the “fence” of forest giants. A few minutes later, he was standing on the edge of a wide clearing. Despite his fatigue, injuries, and the situation which did not encompass any beauty to admire, Andy was amazed at the view that opened before him. The glade was strewn with huge flowers with blossoms of the size of a dinner plate. Thousands of butterflies of all shapes, sizes, and colors circled over the open buds. Andy got the impression of a living carpet, individual elements of which broke away from the general composition and sought to occupy another place they thought was due to them.
Andy wasn’t able to admire the beauty for long. A light breeze carried the smell of a dog to his olfactory organs. Andy spun on the spot; a second whiff confirmed that his nose was not mistaken. A gloomy premonition played unpleasantly on his nerves. Everything would have been fine, except that the canine scent came from the direction he’d come from. They were tracking him! In a couple of seconds, he heard the yelping of more than one creature from the direction of the spring.
Is it Cerberus, come for my soul? Oh, legs, come on legs, get my butt out of here, fast! Andy ran towards a third “terrace.”
He didn’t make it. A pair of animals, similar to a cross between a wolverine and a porcupine, jumped out of the bushes across from him. For the most part, the beasts looked like wolverines. But they had bundles of long needles that grew between their shoulder blades. Their sleek paws, adapted to fast running, were another difference between the local fauna and the terrestrial beasts. The first animal, closest to Andy, stopped short and jerked its neck.
“Targ!” he yelled, when dozens of needles shot from the creatures and flew over his shoulder, literally a few centimeters from his nose as he turned his head to look back while fleeing. No need for a fortune teller—the needles were poisonous. The second animal barked loudly and tried to bite his heel. The club, crashing down on the base of the animal’s skull, guaranteed no further such attempts. The dead do not bite.
Three more wild beasts sprang out of the bushes. Fate did not let Andy escape from the fan of needles fired at him. His naked buttocks were soon decorated with some unusual ornaments. His head clouded. These animals were more dangerous than spiders. And what had he ever done to them? With a movement of his left hand, he tore out the needles; in the next instant, he flew up into the air with a mighty leap, club in hand, and landed next to the first beast that attacked him. The club broke its spine. The buzzing in Andy’s head was growing stronger and stronger; time was playing against him. Five more needles struck him in the right side. Andy’s vision began to cloud, along with the noise in his head. He ran with all possible speed away from the terrible enemies. “I should have scrammed right away when I had the chance,” he thought.
Where the giant bird came from, he didn’t see—his dull reactions and failing vision really did him a bad turn. A jolt from the powerful beak sent Andy flying several yards back. He flew through the air half way and plowed the earth with his behind the second half. The bird took three broad steps and squeezed Andy with its foot. After a couple of seconds the wild beasts came running and, furiously yowling, circled around.
“Oh Targ,” Andy hissed, when he was able to make out black collars on the animals’ necks. He realized that the person he saw on the bird’s back wasn’t an illusion or a fluke. The wolverines’ poison finally took its effect, sending the were-dragon into oblivion.
Nelita. Principality of Ora. Astal Ruigara. The catchers…
Farid jumped down off Guger. The trox, cawing loudly, released the fugitive from his paw. Behind him came the sound of Mirda’s heavy footsteps. She was Iriel’s trox, and Iriel and Farid were partners. The half-elf dismounted from the bird’s back, along with the mage assigned to this search group. The catcher squinted at the wizard. Ugh, have they really assigned this nonentity to me? The mage pounded his bottom with his fists for a long while, stepping around bow-legged in a circle. Interesting: what sins brought this upon me? What have I done to be sent to the Borderzone? Is this because of my handsome mug? Iriel, catching his friend’s look and grinning conspiratorially, pointed at the mage and made a naughty face. Farid returned the smile. The reason for the city-boy smart-alec’s strange gait became clear: prickly burrs under the saddle pillow would make anyone uncomfortable.
Farid extended his hand. The half-elf high-fived him. He should be glad that male troxes were smaller than females, and he could, therefore, ride Guger alone. Fitting two saddles on Guger’s back would have been problematic. The catcher glanced at the birds. Iriel’s female craned her neck playfully and very lightly pecked Farid’s trox. In a fiver, Mirda wouldn’t be able to carry the guards on duty. The feathers on her crest were red, which meant soon it would be mating time, and she would lay an egg. That’s why she’d been flirting with Guger half the fiver. She would guard her eggs for eight fivers, until the little chick or chicks hatch (troxes rarely lay more than two eggs at a time). It was unfortunate. During this time, Farid would have to work in another team or hole up in the village at the dugaria (transformation prison), and thereby cut costs. It would be great luck if Mirda chose Guger while in heat; then the catcher would get a third of the value of the hatch. Ugh, I hope Manyfaces doesn’t turn her gaze away from this humble border guard and his trox. I’m already sick of being a fugitive catcher…
“Not one of ours,” Iriel said, squatting. “He’s disgustingly thin.”
“He doesn’t look like a dugar. Their bodies grow quite thick in the cocoons, and their expressions are like that of dumb babies,” the mage butted into the conversation. The catcher frowned. Was it their place to discuss fundamental truths? “Look, does he have marks on his skin from the respiratory and waste tubes? He does have scars on his chest from the main concress, so, logically, there should be traces of the tubes.”
“Teg Zidon, you’re a mage; you’re holding all the cards. And we’re merely humble workers of the outskirts; we don’t dare infringe upon your domain.” Letting the mage go ahead, Farid stepped aside. For some reason, he had no desire to examine the prisoner’s crotch and anal areas. Iriel got out some vegetable gelatin from the bag strapped to Mirda’s right side and tied up the prisoner’s hands and feet. He poured with guava juice on the vegetable gelatin, which instantly hardened, cuffing the prisoner more securely than some shackles. “Be careful—what if he’s a mage?”
“It seems you may be right, Iriel, sir. This shkas isn’t our client,” the mage drawled, finishing his examination. “There are no marks from the tubes. Strange… I don’t sense any magic in him, so your suspicions are in vain.”
“You called him a shkas?” Farid said in surprise.
“Look at his eyes,” the mage answered.
“A freak.” Farid lifted up the prisoner’s right eyelid. “Anything else strange about him?”
“That tattoo. Imperialists from the special guard get tattoos like that.”
Iriel looked at teg Zidon skeptically. Pushing him aside, he leaned over the prisoner.
“You’re mistaken, teg Zidon, sir,” he turned to the mage. “The guards’ tattoos have a different shape of wings. But it does resemble the coat of arms of the Imperial line to some degree. It’s possible the shkas is one of the servants, and he stole something, which is why he was sent to the converter, plus, he’s sure tall enough for a human guard. But he’s too skinny. The Emperor doesn’t take featherweight humans into the special guard. Our friend here would need to gain some weight, fat and muscle. What are we going to do with him? The guy escaped from the converter. I can’t even imagine how he managed to get through the miurs’ woods? How far is it from here to the Empire?”
“Far, Iriel. We’ll hand the fugitive over to the prison warden.”
“There you have it.” Iriel looked at the wolverines. The half-elf’s gaze searched for the three animals. “Farid, did you send Drax and Riga after him?”
“No
, the rixes chased him straight to Guger. All five should be here somewhere.”
“They’re not. My heart tells me that this freak sent them to Manyfaces.” Iriel got into his bird’s saddle. “Let’s look a bit.”
“Careful, should you chance upon escaped dugars. Manyfaces only knows where these imbeciles can get to,” the mage said.
“You’re singing to the choir,” the half-elf said. “Hai-ah, let’s go, baby.”
Farid made his prancer get down on the ground. He too saddled up and took the reigns. Zidon used a levitation spell to set the naked man on the trox’s back. Passing the rope through the rings of the harness, the catcher secured his two-legged prey. Five minutes later, Iriel returned from his reconnaissance mission. Two dead rixes fell to the ground in front of his partner’s trox.
“That cur!” Farid’s fist hit the animal killer’s cheek at full force. Andy gave a barely audible moan. “Take that!” He hit him a second time.
“Careful!” The mage intercepted the fist that was ready for a third blow. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get compensated for delivering a LIVE criminal, not fined for delivering a corpse.”
The catcher looked angrily at the city dweller and spat.
“Don’t butt in, Zidon—it’s none of your business. These rixes cost two golden pounds each. The fee for a corpse is one!”
“You’re forgetting yourself, Farid!” The mage constructed some sort of interweave. A defensive shield grew up around him as he prepared to attack.
“Friend, it’s not worth it,” Iriel jumped down off of Mirda. “This scum will still get what’s coming to him,” the half-elf lightly kicked the shkas. “Let’s go home.”
* * *
“Who is this?” Teg Viged, warden at the border post and boss of the dugaria, examined the shkas caught by the catchers. “What are you looking at? It’s a freak. You’ll get ten jangs for this two-legged worm. And where, may I ask, are the three that got away? Who was it you were sent to retrieve, after all?”
“They’re not there. The dugars could have headed south. They haven’t lost their memories, right?” Iriel asked.
“No, plague take them!”
“They aren’t complete idiots. They wouldn’t head towards the miur mountains, even after the transformation. You need to send a couple of search regiments south and east.”
“You think you’re so smart—I’ve sent them already,” the warden said. “Where did you say you found this thing?” Teg Viged squeezed the thin shkas’ muscles.
“Half a crossing away from the miur territory.”
“This Imperialist is far from home.”
“Mr. warden, sir,” teg Zidon stood up. “May I say something?”
“Go ahead.” The warden turned to his colleague.
“I’ve checked this one,” Zidon glanced at the prisoner. “Allow me to share my observations. First of all, he doesn’t understand or speak our language, which is very strange, considering the fact that I can’t find evidence of tampering with his mind.” Iriel and Farid grinned. They remembered how hard they tried to get into the prisoner’s mind. “I didn’t sense any magic in the prisoner, but he is able to defend his thoughts most skillfully. Someone’s taught him control. I can’t understand what for? What else… when we intercepted him, I counted about ten marks on his back where the rixes’ needles pierced him. After such a huge dose of poison, he should have been unconscious for more than a day, but the shkas came to about five hours later.”
“What do you make of it?” The warden wanted the mage to get to the point.
“Someone has specially removed his knowledge of the language. It’s not at all possible to do that in the dugaria. I think it’s some sort of cunning set up.”
“Zidon, you’re making this way too complicated. Wonders like that happen, if the transformation process, once begun, was suddenly interrupted. With the breakdown of the neural connections of the temporal lobe and the central nervous system of the person, such muck is formed in the brain that even Manyfaces couldn’t sort it out. It’s a wonder the freak even kept his wits. However, his wits won’t help him.”
“You want to put him in a cocoon?”
“Yes. Let’s finish what the Imperialists started.”
“You’re not even going to try to find out how he managed to cross the cat people’s lands?”
“Zidon, how would I? You said yourself he doesn’t understand a word. Should I look for a sharp wit and teach him to speak? Is that even possible? The freak has such gunk in his head right now we’d have to heal the sharp wit later. All your attempts to pierce the defensive wall are the consequence of this. There’s nothing there—it’s empty. Understand? I don’t know what this shkas has been sentenced to the cocoon for, and I don’t want to know. But I have no desire to contact the ‘dark’ princes. It would not be worth disturbing them for no reason, not by a long shot. So the cocoon will be the most logical option.” Teg Viged snapped his fingers. Two strong creatures with hummocks of rolling muscles, sloping foreheads and a lack of any sign of intelligence on their faces stepped forward from a small nook in the wall. “Carry him to the reception platform,” the warden commanded the dugars. Zidon shook his head in disapproval. Bad form. The warden was making a big mistake. He was an excellent administrator, but a mediocre mage—even a poor one. A lot of personal experience can’t replace academic knowledge and intuition. “Let’s go,” the warden invited the three catchers to follow him.
The dugars dragged the desperately resisting shkas from the room. The freak turned out to be very strong indeed. The powerful dunces could barely manage the task of handling their future colleague.
“Who’s THAT?” Farid asked, pointing to a beautiful woman coming out of a cocoon. Some mages were wiping the mucus off her.
“That’s Farx Trigiv. Caught in the act of attempted rape. His intended victim was Madam Latirra’s protege. They sentenced him to three years as a woman, sold to a bordello. After three years, his memory will return, and so will his natural form. This is it. Mark, please take our client.” The warden patted the mage on the shoulder. Mark ran the “reception room.”
Mark nodded to his boss and closed his eyes. One of the branches of a gigantic tree with dozens of cocoons hanging from its branches lowered to the platform. One could see glimpses of the silhouettes of the people inside them. The nearest cocoon opened….
Andy quit struggling. It was pointless. The gorillas were holding him tightly. Better save his strength. If intuition served him right, he would need it. They carried him outside. The group of three human men and one elf was chatting about something as they moved towards an enormous tree with green shells hanging from its branches. At least, that’s what it seemed like from afar. The gorillas followed their masters silently. The closer they got to the tree, the stronger the shivers ran down Andy’s spine. That tree imbued him with an irrational fear.
“Almighty Twins!” his disobedient lips muttered. There were people in the shells! Andy craned his neck—his eyes weren’t deceiving him. About ten yards away from their group, the gorillas and a pair of mages retrieved a woman from one of the “shells” and wiped some sort of snot off her. There was a lifeless and obedient expression behind her eyes. A fat man in a red frock laughed deafeningly. The others didn’t. Apparently, the joke was known to him alone. In ten steps, the gorillas reached a small platform that led to the horrifying giant. The lowest branch bent down and touched the ground. Guessing what would happen next, Andy began to struggle even worse than before. The gorillas swung their arms and threw him at the open shell.
“Noooooooo!” Andy screamed at the top of his lungs.
Some disgusting green feelers protruded from the open shell to meet its prey. They wound around their victim’s arms and legs. As soon as the slime touched them, his fetters disintegrated. Andy tried to get out, but the feelers squeezed him tighter, pressing his arms to his body. The shell opened wider with a foul squirting sound. Th
e feeler began to drag him to the slime-drenched leaves. When he was a foot away from the “shell,” a few more feelers came out of it. The end of the thickest feeler divided into several parts, forming something like a flower with eight petals. The edge of each “petal” was covered in small hooks, and in the center coiled hundreds of whitish flagella. The “flower” struck him in the center of the chest. The hooks dug deep into his skin. Jerking with all his might, Andy managed to free his right hand. He couldn’t think of anything better than pulling the “flower” feeler towards his face with his free hand and biting into it. White mucus flowed from the shell. The feelers holding Andy went straight and released their victim. Andy tumbled onto the platform from a height of sixteen feet. (The tree branch had climbed back up). He did not have time to catch his breath before the gorillas piled on him…
* * *
“Hm.” The warden said, looking at the shkas being held by the dugars. “I wanted to make the best of the situation. We’ve got to get rid of him. Dugaria doesn’t take scum twice, and it would be too much trouble to take this freak somewhere else. I don’t have a stationary portal here. This is the outskirts, Tma take it.”
“Maybe we should just…?” Farid suggested, running his finger across his throat. “Problem solved.”
“Don’t even think about it!” Teg Viged stopped him. “Ruigar arrives this evening, and the first thing he’ll do is scan everyone, and if he detects the fluids of intention to kill, the cocoons aren’t far off. Even thinking about it is forbidden! The dragon said only he can execute anyone here. But why am I taking such pains for your sakes? You know the sovereign’s thing as well as I do: checking the memories of everyone who smells like death. Tma, it all started out so well. I would have written him down as a captured escapee; still identical idiots come out of the cocoons. And now what do we do? As soon as he starts reading our thoughts, several things will come to light, and this shkas along with them.”