by Vitaly Zykov
Several sailors began to lower the sail, the magic mover was turned off. The ship slowed and then fully stopped, swaying lazily on the waves. The terrible stranger stopped side by side with the kogg and a group of armed men in strange robes passed to the ship of Mad Vesemir. It felt like that all these men were just guards for a single person. He stepped onto the kogg's deck after them. A strong magical aura that hovered around him shouted about the importance of this man. That was a magician!
– Who's the captain? – The man marked by Yarik asked with a strong, authoritative voice.
His people encompassed him professionally. Yarik literally felt with his skin the tentacles of alien attention that were warily seeking through the every corner of the kogg. The strangers did not draw their weapons, but something told Yarik, that these sailors were maybe only slightly behind Darg in swordplay.
– He's asleep, I substitute him! – Guzak said with irritation and stepped forward. – I'm Guzak, the first officer. This ship is «The Evil Snail» and home port…
– …is New Givart and the captain is Mad Vesemir! – Continued the magician, pursing his lips in disgust. – I should have known that only such idiots as you would enter these waters alone.
Guzak blinked viciously and blowing his nostrils, hissed:
– And who am I honored to speak to?!
– Magician Bernard, captain of the sea hunter «Kiss of the Great Snake». – The captain who had saved their ship pulled his lips in a thin smile. – Port of origin is Nold.
Having finished speaking, magician Bernard stared coldly in Guzak's face and watched without taking his eyes off until the latter bowed his head, muttering something under his breath.
– Pass me the documents for your goods, while my boys are inspecting everything here, – said Bernard and came up to the broadside.
The four sailors from his entourage went quickly to the ship's hold. Yarik stirred restlessly in his hammock. After some time the dark figures entered into the crew's quarters. One of them had a small mysteriously gleaming wand. He weaved it from side to side then said a short phrase, and thunder of their feet began to move away. The inspectors paid absolutely no attention to Yarik lying in a hammock.
Having emerged out of the hold, the four men went to the aft superstructure. They stayed there even less time than in the hold, then came back and the man who had already hidden the wand in a bag on his shoulder, shook his head in disappointment.
– Well, this time you are very lucky – everything is clean! The last time when our hunter stopped you they found thirty bags of dried garlun. – Having received an affirmative nod, Bernard continued: – Now you don't carry any cargo besides passengers? Are you transporting dirty nomads now?
– We do not care whom to transfer, if they are good men and have paid the money… – frowned Guzak. – Thanks to the efforts of your hunters, we have no money for deposit even for a cheap cargo, and we have to do at least something.
– Of course, you have certainly bled this poor guy dry. Well, you are free this time. – Bernard saluted, jumped on his ship and shouted already from there: – I hope that your captain will find money for a new cargo by the next meeting!
After these words, the ship began to gradually move aside. Yarik was looking thoughtfully at the deck of another ship, where stood two shrouded cannons, which he at first thought were some turrets. This meeting with local fighters against piracy from mysterious Nold impressed him greatly. They apparently strictly disliked smugglers. They even waved hand at pirates, drove them away and that's all – it was more important to check a harmless ship for contraband. Especially if she could not resist that…
The port of Gamzar met the two fugitives from Sarduor with the same polyphony shouts as in the port of New Givart. The same smell of fish, rotting seaweed, the firm fragrance of spices from the pot-bellied merchant ships and constant breath of light madness of the hurrying crowd. The only difference was the size – this port was five times bigger than Givart's one, dozens of ships were in the harbor, the piers were overcrowded.
Their kogg with her insane name anchored somewhere in the suburbs near a berth stained with fish guts. A port clerk emerged like a gray mouse from somewhere, demanded a small fee of one kelat for using the parking place for a week and disappeared. Darg and Yarik ran down the ladder. Nobody obstructed them, but nobody was going to accompany them either. There was a feeling that the presence of the passengers was oppressing the sailors, even Guzak and Wolt was not particularly eager to continue the friendship. So Darg and Yarik hurrying after him, carefully rounding the smelly puddles, were leaving behind nothing to regret about.
They got on a road that was as muddy as the dilapidated berth, and winding like a mad snake between rectangular boxes of port warehouses. From time to time they met flocks of ragamuffins, who escorted them with appraising looks, but poor appearance and confident gait of Darg forced the port bandits to think better of a richer and less toothy prey.
– Master, where are we going, master? – Yarik dared to ask.
– Shut up! – Snapped Darg without turning around.
Yarik shrugged and continued his way in silence. According to his estimates, in Darg's purse there was supposed to be money for no more than a couple days of life in such a big and without any doubt expensive city. At this point the road turned particularly sharply and joined into a wide, stone-paved street. The street movement here was much busier. Darg froze and began to tenaciously scrutinize the walking people. Yarik shook his head in bewilderment. He just had no idea what Darg could look for. Just like a real bandit who is choosing his next victim! At this point, Yarik felt as if thunderstruck – of course, Darg was looking for a victim! The master found a much more rapid way of enrichment. Yarik could only wonder why the same idea had not come to his master even earlier, on Sarduor…
– Do you see that skinny man, with a disgusted face, next to the wall? – Darg turned suddenly to the slave. – There, in a white tunic and with three hulks behind him.
Yarik nodded. The selected man was standing now leaning against the wall of a stone building, giving way to a heavily laden wagon. Because of the dense crowd which had dammed the road, the wheels of the wagon could barely move. One of the guards of this richly dressed man shouted something furious to the driver, but the noise of the crowd drowned his voice. The driver's reply merged with unintelligible yells and cascade of obscene gestures.
– Now you run up to him and insult him hardly. So hard that he'll not only send the guards after you, but will run himself. Do you understand me? – Darg said with fierce conviction. – Then you will run, but so that they would have a chance to catch you. I'll be waiting for you behind that corner.
Yarik nodded for the last time, handed his master the bag and dived into the stream of people. It was quite hard to walk. People were shouting and swearing. A couple of times they tried to hit him, but Yarik paid no attention to the noise and single-mindedly screwed his body into the crowd.
«It would be quite difficult to run away – he thought absently. – And the people could turn out to be excessively active and will rush to catch the villain all together».
The local streets were not too wide, and pretty soon Yarik reached the illfated wagon, without thinking he ducked under it, then like a jack-in-the-box, jumped right in front of the rich man who was already red from irritation.
– A hfurrg for your snout, good lord, – yelled Yarik with unexpected joyful anger and spat profusely at the rich man's face. – You bastard of marhuz and water bittern!!!
Having shouted the last phrase, Yarik rushed back, for his luck the wagon just had driven past. Pushing through the crowd, he heard a furious wail and an illegible phrase in an unknown language, but due to the tone translation was not necessary. A moment later Yarik heard behind him the indignant cries of people being knocked down. Finally Yarik got out on the free space of an alley and looked around, and immediately he had to fall on his back and roll aside. One of the guards already t
ried to strike with a hefty black club and only Yarik's agility saved him from injury. The two other guards and their master were approaching too. Judging by his face distorted with rage, he was preparing to give Yarik a cruel death.
«This guy has good reflexes, he reacted very quickly!» – Yarik thought already running away. For Yarik's surprise there was no need to give in – the chase was literally breathing in his back. Yarik sped up a little, increased the gap between him and his pursuers and flew behind the corner. Darg was already waiting there with an unsheathed sword. A group of ragamuffins was watching the unfolding events standing at considerable distance.
The first guard flew behind the corner and stopped dead. The sight of Darg prepared for battle told him a lot, he yelled to warn the others, but it was too late. His master and other bodyguards had already run up too and froze on spot dazedly looking at a poorly dressed warrior. They had no chance to recover as Darg gave a low vibrating half-moan or half-howl and stabbed the first guard with the sword. He managed to recoil, defending with his club, but Darg as if having forgotten about him rushed at the men behind the first guard. A powerful kick under the knee of the second guard and the sword slashed at his carelessly outstretched hand while he was restoring his balance. No sooner had the severed hand dropped on the pavement and the wounded man cried from pain then Darg turned back and drove his dagger into the chest of the first guard. Another turn around and a kick smashed the facial bones of the bodyguard rising. He was now only to catch their master who was trying to escape. It merely took two giant leaps, after which the sword whistled and the flat side of the blade hit the head of the rich man. The latter waved his hands in a silly manner and fell with his face into dirt. The whole battle had taken no more than twenty seconds.
Yarik whistled. Daring! He tried not to think, that it was the most banal robbery. Despite the fact that he had lived in this world for a long time already and many times looked into the eyes of Death, risking his own life and taking other's lives, but he could not kill just for a purse of gold. He could not! He was of different nature.
Meanwhile Darg was not wasting any time. He jumped to the guard who was unsuccessfully trying to stop the fountain of blood and slammed him on the back of his head. The guard screamed and dove down with his face forward. Darg took a knife of the stunned guard, cut his belt and carefully put a tight bandage above the chopping wound. The flow of blood ceased.
– Why are you standing there?! Drag the bodies into a ditch! – Darg snapped roughly at his slave.
Yarik sighed heavily and began to work. It was difficult and nasty to drag the dead bodies. Each body left a bloody track behind it. He also had to pull out the master's dagger from one body. Yarik did not forget to ransack the corpses for presence of money.
Darg had already leaned securely tied captives to the wall of the house and now was attentively looking at the brisk gang of ragamuffins at the end of the street.
– Hey you! Come here! – He shouted finally.
No reaction. The local inhabitants of urban bottom exhilarated even more, but did not move, as if they did not understand the language. Darg spat angrily and remembering all the gods – the Dark and the Light ones shouted something again but in another language. Judging by the long pauses, slurred speech and too short, almost chopped phrases, Darg was not accustomed to this language.
This time the beggars exchanged their looks and slowly approached the place of slaughter. There were five of them, but they definitely did not feel confident. It was clear that the swift battle had impressed them. Darg, paying no attention to them, took his dagger and the wallets of the victims from Yarik. He ordered to hide the daggers of the dead men into the bag. Then thrust the knife of the wounded guard in his boot and returned the dagger and the sword to his belt.
Then he began a slow conversation with the locals. Despite the difficulties with the language, Darg spoke authoritatively and confidently. Obviously he was a man accustomed to obedience and knowing how to achieve it. After a short conversation, Darg gave two farlongs to a very big guy with a scar across his unshaven face and said something in authoritative voice. The latter nodded and barked at the others. The beggars trotted away. Yarik almost gritted his teeth in anger. Living in a local gang more over without knowing the language was definitely not his dream!
CHAPTER 34
Oleg was standing in front of a mirror trying to see the features of old Oleg in the reflection. Those of a lover of free life and noisy companies. Instead of the former playboy, a new strange man was looking straight into his eyes, skinny like a skeleton, with furious light burning in his eyes. There on Earth, he would have tried to keep away from a man like this – he resembled a crazy person, but it was a different world here.
The monstrous, back-breaking loads were the result of work with his mentor Irung. During the last six months, Oleg had known and learned more than within the whole previous year. His organism worked on the verge of his possibilities, but the result was obvious too. Oleg was becoming a magician. The knowledge gleaned from folios, did not lie like dead weight, but improved his Gift. For the first time did Oleg begin to feel the true power of magician, rather than illusory one. Oleg remembered one conversation with his young tutor.
– You know, your success impresses me! – Irung said with satisfaction after their regular practice session at the end of the week. It always lasted no less than twelve hours and consumed all the energy. – I talked with lir rector and he consented to cancel your winter exams, if you agree to pass the Rite of Merger with Elements[10] at the end of spring.
Oleg opened his eyes wide.
– But this is the fourth year! Of course, I understand that perhaps now I match with the level of the third year, but this is too much…
– Well! It is not so bad! – Irung laughed. – As for the main program, you proceed with enviable advance and your skills are really equal to an average third-year student already. It is very good, although you may think otherwise. But why do you think, is the Rite of Merger only suggested to carry out in the fourth year?
Oleg shrugged and stared at his tutor, waiting for explanations.
– Well, only by that time an average magician has mastered their Force, so that they don't have to fear the Rite! I'll answer your question: you are ready! – Irung said the last words quite pointedly, highlighting them with intonation. – Usually the first four years are only a preparation for the Rite.
– But I thought… – muttered Oleg who had lost his confidence, as he had heard a variety of horrors about those who did not pass the Rite.
– Thank Orris, for the time being is me who should be thinking for you. And stop sparkling with your eyes, next year I'm having a graduation qualifying work to apply for the third rank. After it I have to immediately move to a new place of service. – The magician paused and gave his student time to comprehend what was said. Oleg, who was distant from his former classmates and communicated only with Irung, was now faced with the perspective of staying alone without his tutor.
– I can only take a senior student with me. Do you understand me? By the end of next year, you have to reach the rank of senior student!
Oleg nodded dumbfoundedly. Agreeing to Irung's proposal to become his apprentice, he had no idea where it all could lead.
– Well, I see the news like this is too heavy for your young mind, junior student. Or honorable Lir in the future! – Irung laughed amiably and began to take off his coat. – You know, physical exercises are very useful, when your head is swollen with knowledge, everything unnecessary just flies away. So let's see what you have learned from our fencers…
Oleg had had a fantastic thrashing that time. He grinned to his reflection and stroked a lock of his hair. As it turned out, it was fashionable to have a thick mane of hair here. They said that this fashion originated in imitation of Elves whose thick manes had broken hearts of many ladies… So he was growing a long tail now, and his hair possessed an enviable density by nature.
Th
e magician's apprentice pulled once again his best jacket that had cost him a farlong and a half and finally left the house. Today was the Foundation Day, the day when the magicians gained in possession the island of Nold. The epoch of devastating wars had just ended then, and the winners shared the world. Even after two thousand years since that moment they continued to celebrate their state foundation day. In honor of this remarkable event Oleg broke his pupils' reclusion.
The city was buzzing with excitement. It seemed that the entire population of Seven Towers went outside. Magicians and nobles, merchants and craftsmen, even people of other races participated in the celebration. Oleg leaving the house almost knocked a burly robust fellow who turned to be a dwarf. The latter muttered something angrily into his beard, waved his fist before Oleg's face, and dived into the crowd. Bewildered Oleg just managed to see a bracelet with silver script of Dwarven runes on the stranger's wrist. When the dwarf shook his fist, the sleeve of his jacket slid down and opened the bracelet made of dark metal. Oleg grunted and walked to the town square, where the main events were to take place. The recollection of today's conversation with Irung unsettled him and he had to distract himself.
At this point, a short well-dressed boy stumbled upon him, shouted «I'm sorry!» to Oleg. Then the boy suddenly screamed and fell, then got up and ran down the street. Oleg smiled understandingly and looked at his belt: a little smoke was curling around the purse hanging on his belt. The spell that was imposed on the purse, was one of the first Oleg's independent achievements. A little lightning burned anyone who dared to snatch the purse which was sticking out so carelessly. However, in spite of the spell, Oleg hid his savings of fifteen kelats under his jacket lest somebody cut it down with a charmed knife. It was the city of mages after all!
It was not too far to go – Oleg lived nearby, and after a few minutes he already tried to get through the gathered people shouldering his way to the center of the square. Today the great masters of illusion – magicians Tsalis and Glim should give a performance. Talking about them, it must be added – the Great magicians. Every year, they and their students prepared a magnificent show picturing some events from the Wars of the Fall Age. The power of their magic unfolded the course of majestic battles of that time in the air above the square, when the new mountains heaved up and the old ones fell into the Abyss, when the Great magicians used such mighty spells that they shook the Reality itself, when the greatest empires were collapsing, and the enemies of all civilized nations summoned the hordes of demons from Underworld. It was the epoch of heroes and great battles, and the opportunity at least to glimpse at such grandiose events excited many people. They were looking forward and anticipating this day, and after the celebration they relished discussing every detail. Several magicians of instrumental magic recorded everything that was happening on the memory amulets. Then merchants were selling these records around all Toarn. Therefore, it was quite understandable why the citizens were very opposed when Oleg persistently attempted to get closer to the center.
