by Alex Sapegin
The second detachment escorting him resembled a group of special agents. In addition to swords and spears, all of its members wore masking armor. The number of magical-mechanical “machines” per person exceeded everything he’d previously seen, and the gunners made him a little proud of the importance of his person! They would not attach such a guard to an ordinary man.
What’s going on here? The whisker girls know something about me that I don’t! But what? Andy stopped paying attention to the road, focusing on the wide back of the Miur in front of him. What is there about me that the others don’t have? Think, Andy, think! How did the cats get the information? Andy nearly stumbled. Evael!
The guess made the gears in his head spin faster. Well, old man, well! What a scoundrel! You’ve played us all! The chief knew that the “princess” was looking for a way to the Great Mother, but pretended to be an old moth-eaten shoe. While no one was looking, he’s the one who spilled the beans! That old artful fart. He guessed that I was a dragon. He gave me that shaving kit with a whole flask of fragrant essence of swamp root to mask my real smell. He calculated everything. I tried so hard to blend in, but my ignorance of local custom didn’t just stand out, it gave me away completely. And my Younger Edda, which they call High, suggested an origin far from that of mere mortals. And why did you, Andy, decide that you were the cleverest? Evael was much more perspicacious. He and Miduel are two peas in a pod. Okay, now that I figured out all that, what conclusions and assumptions can I make? Those elven mages really made a big deal over my tattoo, so I can assume it has some important meaning. So important that it made Evael share information with the main cat lady. This is serious.
Moving behind the light-trotting warriors, he couldn’t shake the sensation of something amiss in the surrounding reality. It was like a speck in the corner of the eye—it didn’t interfere with your vision, but the discomfort it creates was constantly annoying. Just here, something in the “cats’” outfits made him uneasy. Andy racked his brains, trying to determine the source of irritation. He almost stumbled a second time; actually, he did stumble, but the Miur at his side caught him by the elbow in time.
“Thank you,” he said, but she did not honor him even with a turn of her head. Duty came first; the shkas came second.
A close inspection clarified his suspicions. The belligerent ladies’ “costumes” were a high-tech product. No forge or master could repeat the details of the material so finely and faithfully. The look of the gunners and fire-starters practically screamed that they were factory assembled. The “kitties” were not as wild as he thought. What other surprises would there be? He had no doubt there would be some more.
“Stop!” the commander called.
Andy obediently stopped and shook his feet a couple of times. An hour and a half of running through the forest and uphill left a slight tremor in his thighs. Waving his aching legs, he didn’t stop looking around. There was a vertical stone wall in front of them. A secret passage?
Resurrecting the tale of Ali Baba and the forty thieves, a wide gap appeared on the flat wall. Dust and small pebbles sprang up; behind the dust cloud giant gates appeared.
“Holy moly!” he thought, passing through the six-foot entrance of the slightly opened gate. The density of the concentrated magical interweaves heaped on the doors, the colors of which unambiguously indicated that they would destroy any uninvited guests, weighed heavily on Andy’s consciousness. Just let them dare to come here. At least ten tracking contours were on it. Powerful gunners hidden in the walls were ready to immediately evaporate their victims. It’s not nice to feel helpless. The commander of the detachment approached Andy and put a dark bandage over his eyes. The beauties were clearly taking precautions. He switched to true vision and quietly looked around. The piece of black cloth was, like everything with the Miur, not simple. It blocked the magical gaze. Dexterous hands freed him from his belt with his sword, removed the daggers from his boots, and deprived him of his hurling knives. Now I’m in it up to my ears. The cat woman took his hand and led him through twisting corridors, occasionally warning of steps and stairs. She gave short commands: “to the right,” “to the left,” and “stairs.” This went on for ten minutes. Twice Andy felt the minute “diaphragms” of portals on his skin. The whole way, he could hear the breath and the footsteps of the escort beside him. At last, they passed through a passageway, and the escorts remained on the other side of the ancient door.
“Sit down,” the main guard commanded, cut off the sleeves of Andy’s shirt with the sharpest knife, thereby exposing his shoulders, and removing the black bandage from his head. The light was blinding; he blinked for a moment. It was a pleasant room, soft pastel colors, a mountain of cushions, amazing stucco molding on the walls and ceilings. It was lit by several magical lamps hidden in niches and shining from the bottom up, which illuminated the room without irritating the eye. The chair he was asked to sit in was the only thing that did not match.
I’m not really tired, I can stand, Andy wanted to quip. He did not like the proposed seat. His butt was telling him: “Don’t sit down there, don’t do it!” But instead he obediently lowered his rear end to the proposed chair, which was designed for the figure and anatomy of humans. No sooner had the organ of apprehension squeezed onto the upholstery than an enormous weight fell on his body. Invisible bonds clasped his arms, legs, and squeezed his chest. A sixth sense suggested that it was pointless to twitch. There was something unpleasant about the armchair that immediately deprived him of his wits. Finita la commedia….
“Wait.” The Miur retreated behind the dastardly furnishing.
Who he was waiting for, she did not specify. Why should she? Andy didn’t have very many options. The precautionary measures indicated an upcoming visit by a person with power and the authority to make decisions. He had no idea how long the wait would last, so Andy, as far as the torturous chair would allow, tried to relax. Diving into the settage, he shortened his nervous impulses to massage the muscles of his legs and hands, then for the thousandth time strengthened his body’s energy channels and the connections between them.
From behind the door came the melodious ringing of bells. Andy’s sharpened ear picked up the light step of bare feet. At the threshold of audibility the door, unseen behind his back, creaked. The draft that burst into the room brought with it the smell of lavender and musk. Echoing the easy steps, the bells continued to sing, their clear sound flooding the temporary jail.
“Long years to you!” Skirting the chair, a slender Miura with short snow-white fur sat down on the ottoman in front of him.
“Straight roads,” Andy didn’t know how to greet the Great Mother, so he chose the usual greeting of the Forest Elves. He had no doubt he was being visited by a master of formidable soldiers. The aura of power surrounding the Miur could be felt almost on a physical level.
The Miur turned her triangular ears and shrugged her shoulders (the numerous silver bracelets with small bells let out a cheerful ringing). Andy wasn’t aware that among the cat people, this gesture is equivalent to a smile. She threw several pillows under her feet and, like mercury, flowed to the floor. All this time the Miur looked intently at Andy, and he, breaking the written and unwritten norms of behavior, stared at her.
The Great Mother was about eight feet tall. Her long hair, the same color as her fur, was braided into a complex braid, which dropped almost to her knees and was marked at regular intervals by bundles of jingling rings. Her arms and legs were decorated with dozens of bracelets with the finest engraving, while the movement of her adornments created a melodic chime. The bells strung on her long tail added musicality to her person as well. The Miur’s waist was encircled by a wide belt supporting a garment of the finest spider silk. Her light bloomers were white, opaque at the top and hiding something that should be hidden, but becoming transparent below the knees. Two pairs of rudimentary nipples protruded on her flat belly as dark spots among the snow-white wool; the upper, third pair loo
ked much more appetizing, representing a beautifully developed female breast. A light muslin thrown over the Great Mother’s shoulders did not hide the nipples.
The Great Mother, having given him a chance to size her up, flashed her yellow eyes with narrow vertical pupils, flowed back into a standing position, and glared at the shkas prisoner in her chair.
Feeling her powerful mental pressure, Andy immediately shut himself off by a mental brick wall and built thousands of spiny balls in his mind that revolved around his “I.” The pressure increased; it destroyed the erected wall, but came across the balls, behind which a new wall rose and dozens of thought-distracters floated. The Miur destroyed the balls and moved on, but the fragments of the wall and balls came to life, attacking her consciousness, striking from all sides. The other person’s thoughts turned into clouds of small gnats, creeping into all mental gaps and interfering with concentration.
Breaking off contact, the Miur looked away. The tip of her tail twitched nervously. The bells, reflecting the hostess’ mood, made a long, frustrated ringing sound.
“I respect you; I apologize,” the Miur said. The rings jingling in her braid sang with the movement of her head. Andy was sure that individual rings, bells or bracelets rang for every gesture she made or word she said. It was unusual and fascinating at the same time.
“I respect you; I accept your apology,” he answered in a flash.
“Show me that,” she half-ordered, half-asked, touching the runes on Andy’s shoulder with her polished claw, released from the pads.
He closed his eyes. A dangerous moment, but after the leader’s apology, he did not sense an enemy in her. Yes, he was bound in the armchair, but there was no danger from the cat. Something suggested that the Miur just wanted to receive confirmation of her long-standing conclusions, and the mental attack was a kind of checking for fleas.
The Miur, seeing his hesitation, waited patiently. As a gesture of goodwill, the magical chains disappeared. Andy appreciated it.
“Thank you,” he said, standing up and rubbing his wrists, and not forgetting to bow. The melodious ringing of the bracelets on the cat woman’s right hand was his answer. He had very few options now. A demonstration was practically unavoidable. He removed the deceptive aura and took down his will shields. The tattoo showed up brightly on his shoulder. The bells on the Great Mother’s tail rattled convulsively. Not noticing that she’d unleashed her claws, she grabbed Andy by the shoulder. He grimaced but bore the pain.
“Who gave you the sign of the ruling family?”
“My mother,” Andy answered. There was no point in lying. The Great Mother was such a powerful mage that she could see through lies without a polygraph.
“Your mother?” the Miur was taken aback. “That’s impossible. What is her name?”
Smelling the blood and feeling the moisture on her fingers, the Miur remembered and removed her claws. Her initial excitement changed to a business-like seriousness. There was no trace of her momentary confusion. An unshakable ruler was once again before Andy.
“Jagirra.”
“Jagirra?”
“My mother has been called Jagirra for three thousand years. I do not know of any other name for her.”
“Jagirra?” she repeated, confused. She was clearly hearing something of great importance to her. The whiskers on her face stood upright; the fur on her back rose. Shattering her mask of equanimity, her bright eyes sparkled. Her pupils became tiny stripes. A little bell rang at the end of her tail. “Are you saying that the real empress is alive? When was the last time you saw her?”
Now that’s not something you hear every day!
* * *
But how? Huh? He thought the storm howling inside him was in no way expressed externally, but the Great Mother would not be the ruler if she could not read souls and catch small nuances of behavior. The cat leader noticed the confusion on the dragon’s face and made the right conclusions.
“I will not leave you for long. Some state affairs require my presence.” The Miur purred, turning to the door. From the motion, a pleasant ringing came from her braid in a wave from top to bottom.
An air-tight pretext. The sovereign might have a pile of affairs higher than the roof, and everything, from the first to the last, of the utmost importance. But the furrow on the nape of her fur coat treacherously pointed to her extreme interest in just one of them. Andy nodded and bowed. The Miur stopped at the door, her triangular ears with tassels at the ends pressed against her head.
“At your first request, you will be escorted to me.” Prove it. Andy saw through her cunning. Although she mentioned affairs of state, she would be running on the ceiling and gnawing on the stucco, waiting for the “client” to ripen to the present conversation. The door closed with a muffled chime.
For a few minutes no one disturbed him, then the door flew open, and several elves brought trays of fruit and drinks. As if by a magic wand, a table materialized to hold the rich assortment. Andy watched the hustle and bustle as if from afar; his mind was occupied elsewhere. The real empress…. A picture came to life: a crystal dragoness descending to the lake shore… and a long cry of “Noooo.” All his assumptions and conjectures about Jagirra’s origin suddenly became reality. The world was much more vividly colored than he had imagined. Or maybe the cat woman was talking about another Jagirra? No, that one. His mother’s tattoo left no doubt about the ruler’s words. It turns out that my mother is the legitimate heiress of the old emperor, deceased three thousand years ago. My head’s spinning…. I need to calm down, I shouldn’t think about anything for a couple of minutes….
He occupied the ottoman the feline ruler had liked and pulled the table to him. What are they offering me and how will they treat me? Fruits, juices, sweet water, wine. The latter will do, but very little; I need to relax, not fall into nirvana. Andy reached for the jug of wine, held it for a few seconds, set it back down and with a determined gesture picked up the container of juice. Wine will not do; a little later, I’ll have a difficult conversation with the Great Mother. You need to keep your head sharp. One careless move and I could get my head bitten off. Right now, I’m a large fat mouse, and the Miur is a purring cat with her prey. She might devour me, but first play with me a little, and then break my spine with her paw, so to speak, using me for their own purposes. I can’t believe this will be a partnership… or will it? How should I behave?
Evael said that the cats don’t recognize the emperor-impostor and refused to help the princess who argued for the decision of loyalty to the legitimate heir. In fact, they gave both dragon camps the opportunity to lather each other’s spikes, while they sit on the sidelines, watching who would fail first. Perhaps I should remind the “momma” of her ancient words and step aside? What would come of that? Nothing good. In any case, the emperor, feeling the threat to his personal power, which he strengthened thoroughly for three thousand years, since no one else could get close to the throne, would go at the cat people with all his might and level Mount Lidar to the ground. Conclusion: the Miur don’t need him as a banner of resistance. With a banner like that, there will be hell to pay.
Targ! It’s a dirty thing, politics! No matter where you step, or if you don’t take any steps, you end up in a mud puddle, or a swamp. It’s a soulless machine, grinding entire peoples, wiping states off the face of the Earth. And if it can do all that, what can we say about individuals? Andy filled the glass. As it filled, the walls became transparent, showing the level of liquid inside. Interesting and entertaining. Oh, mother, mother, why didn’t you say anything? Is it because you had a really bad power trip three thousand years ago?
Andy took a sip of ice-cold, mouth-watering juice, got up from the ottoman, and walked around the room, tapping the pillows scattered on the floor. The glass in his hand pleasantly cooled his skin; his thoughts returned to Jagirra. What happened then, why did you renounce your power and choose life as an elf? Questions ...Who can answer them? I’ll have to return
to Ilanta for answers, but how can I if I’ve not yet recovered all my abilities? And another question: why did I lose them? It’s much easier to hold conversations when you’ve got a few lethal interweaves ready. An extra machine gun in the house doesn’t hurt. The textbooks I bought shed some light on the problem, but there was no one to ask whether it’s really like that or not. Andy finished the juice and returned to the table. My thoughts are heading in the wrong direction. I shouldn’t be thinking about why my magic disappeared; I should be thinking about how to get out of the impending doom. How can I interest and buy the cat peoples’ aid; how can I bait them? He poured a second glass of the ice cold drink and moved to the floor, blissfully stretching his legs and leaning his elbows on the pouf.
I need to look for a way of interacting with them where the political interests of the Miur and the Prince of Ora meet. Since I was stupid enough to get into a political millstone, I should try to become necessary to both political parties. You can bet your bottom dollar the Great Mother plans to use me to improve relations with the prince. Why not help her and myself at the same time? Hm, that’s already a warmer and much more pleasant approach. I can’t let them turn me into a faceless cog, better become a mechanic myself. If the “knots” option doesn’t work out, what can I put in as an alternative? He scratched his chest; his fingers caught on the tiny scars left by the key amulet. Hmm, is it worth taking this trump card out of your sleeve?
The second glass had been empty for a long time. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Andy continued to stare at a certain point on the wall. Targ, that’s it! Why shouldn’t I play my own game? Will it work out and how will it be met here and at home, my murky, not yet fully formed proposal?
Miduel stated outright that the magic on Ilanta will disappear in a few thousand years if the dragons don’t return to the planet. The dragons of the Principality of Ora will not survive a full-scale invasion by the Imperial legions. “Uncle,” that baddy, has the habit of destroying enemy clans down to the root. And if the prince offers resettlement? Way to kill two birds with one stone. The magic will not disappear, and the dragons will survive. Well, what about the fact that at the moment on Ilanta, no state can resist the combined power of several hundred Lords of the Sky? After all, the dragons will not be able to impose unconditional hegemony of the winged tribe on the world. The overall balance of forces will be only slightly upset. In fact, the emergence of another political pole will favorably affect the overall situation in the north of Alatar and stop the expansion of the Forest Elves. In thought, it looks great and everything goes well. What will it be like in reality? Will the prince agree to participate in the adventure? What position will the Great Mother take and will the emperor throw a wrench in the works? I should talk about this.