by Vitaly Zykov
Oleg stared at the ground under his feet and cursed the day when he had accepted Irung's offer.
– Do not stop work with energies. All your skills need fixation. Tomorrow I'll give you a few books on the basics of the Art. The Force is waking up in you, now it is necessary not to stop cutting and polishing it. After the exam I'll ask you around…
At this moment Oleg felt that all his irritation had passed, and with startling clarity he realized that all his life had changed, that he was plunging with catastrophic speed into a morass of knowledge new for him, detaching him from everything else, forgetting the break-up with his girlfriend and newborn contacts like a bad dream. In general, this local world was a mirrored image of the Earth world with the same human relationships, passions and vices, but now Oleg was distancing from all that, linking his future life with the world of secrets and mysteries, with work over himself, requiring enormous effort of all his forces, and with the power that was tantalizingly shining somewhere unimaginably far ahead. Just now Oleg had realized that he had the goal and the way, and the movement along this way only depended on him. And he realized that he damn liked it!
CHAPTER 30
Zaur Garrakh woke up today with a sore head and a complete unwillingness to stand up. Yesterday dinner with merchants Lukeng and Vasilis had a hard effect. Well, who would have thought that these fat men could drink so much. Quiet and calm business dinner smoothly transformed into a grandiose booze. Zaur ruffled his hair and remembered Cali with a bad word. He had not drunk so much for ten years already – there was no need or desire, and there you go… Peaceful slow-paced life relaxed and prohibitively softened him.
– Skavr, bring me the Vivacity! Hurry up! – Zaur clasped his splitting head in his hands and called the servant. – Where are you?!
At this moment his eyes came upon a small bottle at the bedside. This was the much needed Vivacity, the best remedy after a heavy evening booze. The magician clung to the bottle and halved it at once.
– Did you call me, master? – Breathless Skavr flew into the room.
Zaur looked at the man, listened to his feelings and considering them quite acceptable, ordered:
– Arrange the breakfast, while I go up to the office!
Magic is a great thing all the same. The potion instantly cleared his head and raised appetite. But master Zaur still decided to hold off his breakfast. He recalled the main yesterday event – his man brought him a completely intact stone plate with the writing of the Ancients. A real Zuu'll'teck[8]! And it's in his hands now. Zaur could not wait just to sit down again and to admire the creation of the Ancients. As if he returned back to his childhood and yelled with excited impatience opening his bag with gifts on the Day of the end of winter.
Zaur draped an expensive robe on his shoulders and moved briskly toward the stairs that led to the office. How delighted was he yesterday when the material of the plate gave the positive answer on all the experiments conducted by master Zaur. However after them he could not breathe in the room…
In front of the stairs the magician held his hand in front of it, as if smoothing the rough surface, and uttered a few words in a low voice and drew an intricate symbol in the air. A soft sound came on the edge of hearing, and the hatch on the top opened. Zaur quickly lifted into the room, and immediately headed to the table where he had left the plate yesterday, and stopped as if rooted to the spot. Something was clearly wrong! He sat down on bent legs with arms spread aside, palms outward. The air rang with Force hobbled but ready to hit like hurricane of death.
– Damn me! – Zaur cursed angrily, having made sure that nobody was in the room, but he noticed something else.
The first thing that caught his eye was the partly closed window. Zaur remembered exactly that yesterday he had left only a narrow slit and draft could not open the window wider because the sash was pretty tight. But that was not the main thing. Someone had moved the Zuu'll'teck on the table! Zaur had a good memory, he remembered that he had left the plate just before his chair, but now it was turned at a slight angle. No draft could do that! Somebody had been fumbling here at night. A quick inspection confirmed that nothing was missing, but it was little solace.
The door alarm remained intact, the only way inside the room was the window with bars, with such narrow cells that Zaur could only wonder about the spy's identity. The magician went to the window, opened the sash, looked out surveying the roof. It was just like before. The traps that entangled the roof as a deadly web were still blindly waiting for a thief-loser…
That's right – waiting for a loser! But here was a professional magician. Zaur cursed himself for his weakness when he decided the defense sufficient and made up an excuse for himself as if that too strong magical aura could attract attention of observing-magicians. On the one hand it was certainly true, but if he overcame his doubts then, tonight's visit was not possible.
At this moment Zaur noticed a stranger that was moving slowly down the street. Something in his appearance startled the magician. Maybe the attentive gaze of this tirr rider when he examined plates with houses numbers or maybe a gloomy sickle that was hanging on his belt. Something spun in Zaur's mind, some recollection associated with this sickle and the people who wear it. This knowledge smelled a spicy scent of danger and mysterious power. Probably that was why Zaur Garrakh was not surprised when the man suddenly turned the tirr toward his house. With a curse the magician flew out of his office, did not forget, however, to shut the door.
– Skavr! Let this man in! I'll be down right now, – Zaur shouted taking off the robe and rushing to his room.
When he walked into the living room, the guest was standing in front of the wall with hanging weapons. This collection was the pride of master Zaur. There was no single widespread model. Small nations were always quite resourceful in creating albeit not too pretentious, but very effective weapon.
– If I am not mistaken, this is the palm of goblins supreme shaman spelled with ten spirits? And here is the Gha Bulga, which northern Orcs like to throw from under the water! Interesting, very interesting. – The guest clicked his tongue in admiration.
– Weapon is my passion, – Zaur said politely and gestured pointing to a couple of chairs in front of the window. – Who do I have the honor to speak to, in fact? – he asked when the guest had sat down and taken the glass in his hand.
– Avras Chismar, – the guest introduced himself rising and bowing his head. – A patrial of the King Ferdinand.
– Oh, from Tlantos! I thought so. I will not introduce myself. I think you knew where you went – Zaur drawled with a thin smile and sipped the wine from his glass. – And why am I required to the guest from whitening in the dark Tlantos at this early hour? Could my addiction to collect rare specimens of ancient weapons attracted attention of such a noble person from so far land?
Avras laughed softly accepting the joke.
– Excellent wine. Bouquet just delicious! One can feel master's touch of a gifted person, as they say the one who are talented are talented in everything. – The guest raised his glass as if saluting to the host.
– And which of my talents is the dear master Avras interested in? – Zaur asked and his eyes flashed.
– Well, once you had helped the people familiar to me, and they were very delighted. I'm a new man in this country, and I need help…
– And what kind of help are you interested in? – Zaur asked slowly plotting circles on the chair arm with his finger.
– I have to find a man, and as soon as possible. I need silent, responsible, highly professional people who love to hear a pleasant chink in their purses.
Zaur put down his glass and leaned his body towards the guest.
– Maybe I have misunderstood something, but you are a magician, are you? And the sickle says that you are a Reaper – the last words Zaur said, remembering this half-forgotten word literally just at this moment. – And the Reaper of the King could not find a man and detain him… I do not believe it!
– Oh-oh-oh, – Zaur drawled delightfully. – It would be hard work to force this person to do something against his will. As I understand, a peaceful way of purchasing this slave is not suitable, isn't it?
– I'll try, but something tells me that it will not work. It seems that this man has some weakness for his slave! – Drooping corners of his mouth were saying what Avras being a nobleman thought about such character traits. – So, if the purchase fails, the owner must be wounded. Mortally.
At first Zaur raised his eyebrows questioningly, being perfectly aware of the properties of the kords collars, but remembering the possibilities of the guest, with admiration and some cheerful horror he asked:
– A living zombie?! You're a terrible man!
Avras bowed his head and said apologetically:
– He left me no other choice!
Zaur clicked his tongue sympathetically and announced the price of a hundred farlongs. He paid no attention when eyes of Avras flashed with indignation.
– You said that he is a dangerous man, and professionals cost money. Besides that it is not easy to find them, especially to find quickly. Our capital is not a small city. – As for the last assertion, master Zaur was dissembling. He remembered perfectly the face of the young man whom he had seen a few days ago in the apothecary shop. Zaur smiled thinly and asked about the picture of wanted people.
– There is nothing easier! – And his companion ran his hand over the table. Some swirling fog immediately emerged from nowhere, a moment later two human figures were evolved on the table.
«It is him. Exactly!» – The host of the house contentedly leaned back in his chair.
– Could you wait while my artist sketches the portraits?
– When will he come?
– In five minutes. He is in the servant's room – said Zaur and called for Skavr.
While the host gave orders, the guest was entertaining himself forcing the figures on the table to do various tomfoolery.
– Maybe you will agree to have breakfast with me? – Zaur remembered about his perturbed stomach.
After the affirmative answer, Zaur led the guest into the dining room. There was a table already laid for two persons. The figures remained on the table, it did not require any effort from a mage of such level to support them.
At the table there was quite ordinary, meaningless conversation. About commodity prices, weather and women, the main topic was tacitly ignored.
– By the way, do the animals similar in appearance like kaifat dwell in your country? Small, nimble, with a sharp head and the wonderful fur – Avras asked suddenly.
– Like kaifat? Kaifat from the Forbidden Lands? No, – Zaur was amazed. – Why are you asking?
– I saw it on the streets of your city in a couple of blocks from here. It was just breaking dawn outside, and I noticed a strange animal that was running in the gutter. A very strange beast, really, – mused Avras.
Zaur became even more reflective. The narrow cells of the window bar and a snaky-flexible body of kaifat from engraving that he had seen one day stood before his eyes. Magician could not explain it in words, but he felt some connection between these two things. A very alarming connection.
Yarik was sweeping the chips that were scattered in all directions during the morning wood chopping in the courtyard. The cicatrizing scars from the whip strokes were itching on his back – the innkeeper was enraged because the servant had overslept. He already regarded Yarik as his personal property, and Darg already went to his fights in the early morning. It was good that Rual ran away on his own business and was unable to rush to rescue his master.
Yarik made an awkward movement and clenched his teeth from the sudden pain. Deep wounds had already healed, but still hurt. A squeaky sound caught his attention – Darg was coming into the open wicket. His face was black from bruises, his lips were broken, his shirt was bloody, but his eyes were beaming with happiness.
– Throw out this hfurrg's broom to marhuz. We're leaving! – Darg began to shout from the wicket – the overwhelming feelings required output. – I won thirty farlongs!
He shook the tight leather pouch, which he was clasping in his hand. Judging by how his wounded knuckles turned white, anyone who would try to snatch this pouch with wealth, would die on the spot.
– Get ready, I will take our belongings, get the money from the host, and we are leaving. – When Darg got close to Yarik, he saw the swollen bloody streaks on his back. – Who did it? The innkeeper? I hope he has a reason?
Yarik answered all the questions with short nods, shrugging only on the last one.
– Well! Wait here. We're leaving soon. – Darg ran up the steps of the back porch. The door slammed.
Yarik went to the barrel with water that stood near the corner of the house, and leaning the broom began to wash off dust and sweat.
There were heard shouts inside the tavern. Yarik did not listen, it was clear that Darg was knocking out a compensation for damage of his property. The slave grunted and went to the barn, where he slept and where all his stuff was kept. To pull on the shirt and pants and to pick up considerably thinner bag – that were all his arrangements. Doing all these actions, Yarik sent an urgent call to Rual. Yarik was already accustomed to this beast, and was afraid that Rual could lag behind the fast-moving carriage. Judging by a pretty clear answer, he was not far and would run here soon.
The back door of the tavern slammed, and the voices rattled angrily.
– …And be glad that I did not knocked the rest of your brains out!!! – Darg was furious. – Consider that three kelats is fair!
– What could happen to him?! As if he's made of snow. It'll only make his skin stronger! – The host's voice switched to squeal.
– Oh, shut up you… – What exactly Darg meant to say remained unclear, because the wicket creaked again and some new faces appeared in the backyard.
Yarik instinctively feeling a danger came out of the barn and walked up to the porch, to be close to his master. The fat innkeeper waved and hurried to hide inside the house, obviously thinking that his presence here was not necessary.
– What do the honorable men wish? – Darg's voice was calm and full of self-esteem, which seemed rather odd in combination with his beaten face.
Yarik looked at the newcomers and felt sick at his heart. There were five of them, and shifting his gaze from one face to another, Yarik felt that there were wild beasts in front of him. All the signs were talking about that – smoothness of their movements, their tenacious glances and how they surrounded the porch. And in the center of the chain was a magician. Yarik felt it immediately, when he saw the gloomy aura reflecting all nuances of the mighty Force of this man. On his belt was a frightening crescent with the black handle, designed for two-handed grip. Hands of the other men were lying on the sticks fastened to their belts, only one man with a yellowish skin and slanting eyes, was fumbling links of the short chain with weights on its ends.
– Would you like to sell your slave, good lord? – Asked the magician, – one hundred farlongs! You would not get such a good price even on the best markets of Grold! So what?
– I do not sell him, – said Darg becoming gloomy. His eyes never left the relaxed smiling face of the man with the chain.
– Dear Darg, son of Sohog. Your brother has already taken all the power in your tribe and now according to your old family tradition began to eliminate the contamination,
cutting out all his relatives. I think it makes no sense to remind about his passionate love to you… And this kord, as you understand, is a trail… A very bright trail! Think please, do you really need it?
Darg ran glance over all of them and he repeated:
– Not for sale! I do not like it when somebody puts pressure on me.
– Forbid us Dark Gods – laughed the magician, and the others echoed him. – Who is putting pressure on you?! You have a peaceful choice: either you are selling the slave or getting into trouble… from us or from your family – it does not matter!
– You have heard my answer already! – repeated Darg in calm and somehow estranged voice. – Or I have to explain it in other way?
Uttering the last words, he stood up in front of enemies, drew his sword from the sheath, throwing the sheath aside, and took the dagger in his left hand. Darg looked towards Yarik and nodded briefly. Yarik did not even understand what his master meant, but decided that at least one of these warriors would get trouble from him.
– I expected something like that – the mage with the sickle said with ostentatious sadness and turned to the warriors: – Do what you were hired for.
The sellswords answered him with discordant roar and insults addressed to Darg. Only the yellow-faced man was silent, he quietly began to spin the chain over his head, ready to fight, his slant eyes looked fixedly at Darg. The others grabbed their clubs and began to warm up their hands with short rotational movements. One of them had even two clubs and he posturing, span a scary mill cutting the air around him with dull rumble. The mage moved away behind his hirelings, as if getting ready for the role of a spectator. He even crossed his arms, showing his non-participation in the combat. But some feeling told Yarik, that was dissimulation.
At that moment Yarik took a step back, and his hand met the splitting axe that he had leaned against the house wall. His hand clutched comfortably the polished handle and Yarik without any hesitation obeying only his intuition threw the bulky axe at the man with the chain. Of course this tool was not originally intended for throwing or darting. A very heavy axe with a long handle was ideally suited for splitting firewood, but not for anything else. And even if Yarik had a handy throwing axe, that would not had helped him, he did not know how to use any weapon! The fact that this powerful projectile flew at least in the right direction, was only explained by the accurate eye of the forest inhabitant accustomed to jumping from tree to tree.
