by Vitaly Zykov
The magician apprentice leaned over the prostrated bodies. The ordinary, unremarkable people were lying in front of him. Only an iron-bound club in one man's hand and knuckles in another's confirmed that their intentions were not peaceful. They were trivial fans of knife and ax. Oleg straightened and hurried on – he did not want to call the Guard, so he left the robbers to wake themselves up…
When after half an hour he told about the incident to his mentor, the latter took it almost with joy.
– That's an extra reason for you to learn with greater eagerness. Next time there may be more robbers! And you can't even make a simple pulsar at once! It would be nice if they beat you a little…
Oleg, accustomed to such treatment, just nodded indifferently.
– Well, why have you come? It is not because of that stuff. Especially since you were already attacked on the way here… – Irung leaned on the carved back of his chair. Actually, it was a quite cozy apartment demonstrating the magician's high earnings. Considering the local competition it was an indicator.
– Yes, I saw the play on the square…
– Well, I understand. You have come to learn more about that battle. – Irung took two glasses from a locker and began to pour some red wine. Thick aroma spread around the room.
– Didn't you say you didn't attend events of that kind? – Oleg asked in surprise.
– Well, it's the same every time. Every time we beat the enemies. Of course, I should say that promotion of patriotism is a right thing, but they tell too many fibs just for entertainment, whereas the Wars of the Fall Age is a field where the richest harvest of hoaxes is grown. Besides, one Apprentice told me about the topic of the play. – Irung sipped from his glass.
– And?.. – Oleg was very interested.
– This battle is known as the Battle of Fior. In general, everything is correct: ten Masters of Magic, about five thousand soldiers of different races and the enemies. It's only that there were five times less enemies, while you were demonstrated mere double superiority. Ten magicians were Progius, Savaj, Grant, Girkam, Diras, Kuan, V'Aros, Elvias, Valorean and, of course, Ptolemy the Great. The mage who opposed them was Kee'l'doreg, his nicknamed was Breath of the Abyss, with the remnants of his army he retreated from the walls of the Tyrr city. They say that he had already been mortally wounded, but how can we reason about the wounds of those we know nothing about, not even the name of the race. It was for Ptolemy that Kee'l'doreg did not finish off all our army with the first strike. One historian wrote, that pitiful scraps of the spell that overcame defense of our magicians, were enough to kill hundreds of people…
Irung interrupted. Now he was sitting, staring at the ceiling. Oleg was turning his glass, trying not to miss a single nuance of the story.
– And of course, this magician was not waiting for the best moment to strike. When he realized the futility of magical duel, he threw all the forces for a breakthrough. Our strength was greater. And the dwarves did really save everything, stopping the breakthrough and they really perished as one. Only there was no fight between the leaders, according to the legends Ptolemy and Girkam never touched the cold steel. Kee'l'doreg stood in the center of his troops and died the last, when he had no soldiers, and chances to break through the blockade were equal to zero. He simply incinerated himself, and took with him a few dozen soldiers…
– You said that as if you admire this magician – Oleg chuckled.
– You're right, I admire him as a worthy adversary should be admired. The Great magician and warrior, he alone was worth a whole army. There were several warriors like him on the other side. Had we not had the Scepter of Power and other Great artifacts, we would have probably not withstood in that war. This battle was one of the last, in fact it was destruction of the fallen colossus. – Irung stood up and walked to the window. – I'm telling you all this because you should know: believe nobody and nothing, especially the official history. If you want to know something – look yourself!
– I understand. – Oleg paused. – Was Ptolemy really so strong?
– He was the greatest True magician in the history of Toarn. Do you hear me: the greatest! I think he could cope with Kee'l'doreg alone… – Irung rubbed his temples. – However I don't know… They tell a lot about Breath of the Abyss!
– But why was Ptolemy so inactive then? The people were dying, after all. – Oleg was genuinely perplexed.
– You still don't understand. Magicians are not people… At least mages of Ptolemy's level are not. – The young magician grinned, as if mentally he said a couple more names, after which he continued: – Lir Ptolemy was too clever even for a mage. You know, after war usually begins infighting between the winners, and Ptolemy had too much weight. But even the greatest magician is not immune to a stab into his back… That's why he never showed his true Power… If you remember, after that war the most prominent fighting magicians died too quickly… Well, but this is my personal speculation.
Oleg left Irung's house after an hour, and already at home, lying in his bed, he was thinking how sincere Irung himself was and what his real goals were. How much truth was in his words?
CHAPTER 35
Yarik was sitting in some dismal hole and chewing a piece of overroasted meat of either a rat, or some other creature. Previously he would not have even walked near those who eat something like this, but now he needed strength. This dirty, frayed piece was a source of vital forces which he craved so much. He was not ready to accept the situation, when the quagmire of urban robbery sucked him in, when he had to constantly hide from the local guards who worked quite professionally.
A whore sitting next to him was picking at the greasy tangled mop of her hair. «Whore» was the right word, his tongue refused to call this creature a woman. The smell that came from her, beat even the stench of this abandoned section of the city sewer. Several torches cast flickering shadows on the faces of people who were here, intensifying irritation in Yarik. It was impossible to express in words how Yarik despised and hated this mob of vermin!
«These still do not believe the rumors about me. It looks like the one-eyed freak has decided to check the Slave, – Yarik thought pumping rage inside him. – I'll show you the check up!»
– Get out, beast! Go t' your bastards! – snapped Yarik and slapped his neighbor with his open hand.
She rolled aside, but did it skillfully, and now she was standing on her knees, baring her teeth, a blade was gleaming in her fingers.
«Fool! – Yarik thought lazily. – And their ringleader is a double fool if he thinks that I'll buy this children's tricks».
Yarik was on his feet now bending a little. It was about a cubit up to the ceiling, but he did not want to risk, and this stance was convenient for him. Yarik felt the waves of mortal danger behind his back, he sneered and when the whore rushed at him, he stepped to the left and slashed with clenched fingers of his right hand. Something snapped under his hand, and he without stopping kicked back with a sharp discharge of energy. The attackers flew apart squealing.
– Kurgan, why did you send such sad sacks after me? The Master may be offended. He could think that you don't respect him. – Yarik spoke with an accent of a resident of Sarduor. It was very easy for him due to his absolute memory. After one and a half season of living with Darg in Gamzar, he learned the common language or Toarn perfectly, but he had to match the image. Half-man-half-beast from Sarduor just could not talk right!
Yarik bared his teeth like an animal, and two flashlights of kaifat's eyes lit up in the darkness, and a dozen people of another urban gang trembled in horror. The scary rumors about this man standing in front of them, which had seemed to be empty fairy-tales, proved to be true. Somebody just stood frozen, afraid to move, others on the contrary, began to crawl away from their ringleader who had made a slip. It was the seventh gang which Darg took under his control, and all inhabitants of the urban bottom were aware of his methods of submission. A revolt broken out against the Master one day, was nipped in t
he bud.
Master and Slave – as they were called here, a killer and his chain beast. The gangs that never knew a single power, now were gathered in a steel fist. Darg despised all – the night robbers, the city government, the mages. He built his power, the fourth force in the city, where money and vice dominated above all. Darg needed the money, and he required appropriate tools to get them.
That time on their arrival in the city when Yarik's master kidnapped the aristocrat, became the first stepping stone in construction of the pyramid of power in Lower Gamzar, on the top of which Darg was sitting now. That aristocrat was released for a ransom, and the beggars became the first soldiers of the nomadic chieftain's underground army. Producing horror in the hearts of his «wards» and sweetening the horror with rich spoils, he quickly gained power. Those who were disagreed with his methods were systematically destroyed. That is how the myth about the Master was born.
Generally, the world of urban catacombs was divided between groups of the local scum hostile to each other. Every gang consisted of thirty to forty people, the backbone of a gang included barely a dozen people with real power. It was necessary to subdue this backbone first of all. At first Darg did it himself with his new accomplices, then he delegated it to Yarik. Perhaps it was the first time when Yarik knew the taste of pain from the Dark collar. The slave refused to obey his master's order! Darg flared up and a few hours of incessant torture broke the will of the disobedient kord. That is the way Yarik became a hand of his Master the killer.
At first he was sent against singles – to gather experience! And there was a lot to gather. The world of criminals is like the world of animals. You may be an excellent master of martial arts, but a pack of teenagers could beat you to death. It because the main rule of survival in this world is no rules! You may knock down a bandit with one blow, and he without getting up from the ground would sink his teeth into your leg and tear your tendon… Such things had happened, and Yarik was not a master of martial arts after all! As far as Yarik understood, Darg used him as the owner of kaifat – the beast could find arguments against any opponent.
Yarik had to learn the art of fighting in catacombs, to learn on his own personal example, and he did. Now Yarik was permanently wearing the mask of the Beast, to which he had got used to in the unimaginably distant and even somehow native Death Forest. Yarik learned not to fight, but to kill, to kill people. Though these creatures could hardly be called people. The rapists, murderers, thieves who did not appreciate human life and respected only one law – the law of force. So Darg and his slave with an iron fist enforced respect and fear of their power. That is how Yarik got his nickname.
The only vent for him was Rual – a wordless beast and Taciturn – an old man from locals. On the outskirts of the city, right on a river bank was a cluster of karst caves – a real cave city. The local beggars settled there. It was relatively safe, at least in comparison with the world of the catacombs. One of these beggars was Taciturn. Yarik met him incidentally. Once his people and he were resting after some raids in the caves. Yarik, enraged by an order of his master and filled with hatred to the freaks around him, went to wander through the dark corridors of the dungeons, where he met an old man wrapped in rags. The first thing that struck Yarik then, was the absence of fear on the face of the old man. Despite the terrible rumors about the servant of the Master, this man was not frightened. He knew Yarik, but was not scared! Secondly, the absence of the stench of an unwashed body – the distinctive feature of local inhabitants. Yarik spoke to the old man… and he replied, thus their strange friendship arose.
The old man was amazingly educated. He knew how to read and write, knew history and geography, he could talk for hours about a politician who had lived a thousand years ago. Yarik rested with this old man. It was he who taught Yarik to write in the common language and told about the surrounding world: about the series of great wars, about Dwarves and Elves, Trolls and Goblins, about people… Taciturn died at the beginning of winter. Yarik buried him on a hill, offering an excellent view of Gamzar, which the old man loved despite all his miseries. Taciturn never told the Slave, who he was and why he lived here, but in Yarik's memory he remained just a good man…
Then were the raids and night clashes again. Darg was now engaged in planning attacks on houses of rich men and in sale loot to fences. The former nomadic leader was not afraid of persecution of his relatives now. For the first five hundred of farlongs confiscated from the aristocrat captured in the port, he ordered a replacement of his aura to a magician. The magician worked well. It was impossible to find Darg by his old features, and Yarik spent all his time in the catacombs, which extinguished any means of magical search.
Darg respected magic now. He even studied the common language with the help of magic – he bought an expensive teaching amulet. With his present money it was easy. Now the nomad was literally hung round with all sorts of magical amulets, both defensive and attacking. Fortunately for him he could afford it. Gold river flowed in Darg's account in dwarves' bank.
Sometimes Yarik was surprised his master's carelessness. Did he really not understand that such a mess could not last for a long time? The night robbers – the local thieves' guild did not tolerate competitors on their territory, neither did the Guard. The exhausted and completely terrified inhabitants of the catacombs could take revenge too. Though, Yarik had to admit, only here did he realize the genius of his master: in less than a season in a foreign country Darg organized a gang and successfully robbing people built a good fortune… Yarik did not know exactly, but he knew that it was a considerable amount of money.
Lately Yarik, was hiding from city Guard raids, who had lost their patience. He was constantly searching for new members for his master's gang, to replace those who retired because of natural for thieves and murderers reasons. He reminded himself of a royal recruiter, only the latter was luring with generous promises and strong wine, while Yarik was using human fears.
The total number of bandits in Darg's gang ranged from thirty to fifty people, it was quite enough to emerge through a loophole on the surface, to rob a rich house or a store, and hide again inside the labyrinth of caves, under the city. Yarik was not involved in operations on the surface, but under the ground, he experienced his hardships to the full. Blood, dirt and stench became his eternal companions. The time in this hell merged for Yarik into one endless nightmarish night. He lost track of time, all the events in his weary mind merged into one spot reeking with bitterness. He had not got out of the damned dungeons for about twelve weeks already…
The only event, that etched into his memory, happened near the end of the autumn, when Yarik already felt quite free in the cramped underground passages and expected troubles only from men – the most cunning and most brutal animal. This event showed the depth of his mistake. Darg had sent his slave with three other men to explore underground way to some rich man's house. Though the house was located in the suburbs, the idea to break inside directly was doomed to fail. It had a high stone wall, strong gates, two roarers running around the yard, five guards and all sorts of magical traps, all of which converted a banal robbery into a real assault of a fortress. Darg had no forces to perform such an assault, especially do it imperceptibly. So he got a map of the old city, almost from the Epoch of Wars and found there a scheme of karst passages. One of those passages Yarik and his comrades had to explore.
They had come through the sewer trenches, went out to an interweaving of karst caves and began to search. As Yarik expected, the interposition of caves had changed during the past centuries. Water, earth tremors, and human interference had made the new passages and buried the old ones. They had to throw away the map and continue exploration almost blindly. Yarik felt direction perfectly so he hoped to find a suitable passage among many possible ones. During the search he and his mates were forced to go down to the lower levels of this cave city. Judging by the feelings, the level of city sewage, and lower level of the old catacombs remained far behind, when
people came into a quite large cave. There was a strong smell of damp and the sound of water could be heard in a distance. Yarik got to an underground river. His companions, making the signs averting evil, whispered about the Waters of Cali. Yarik, skeptic to all sorts of underground horror stories, forced his mates to go further.
Rual scurried somewhere nearby, looking for a comfortable passage leading up, while people were carefully proceeding ahead. Soft light of magical lamps was scattering surrounding darkness. An unpleasant sound of teeth clatter affected Yarik's nerves badly – his comrades did not want to consider their beliefs to be foolish tales. After some time, Yarik began to worry too. It felt as if some tension thickened from darkness hung in the air. There was no feeling of threat or a direct danger – just a tension, but Yarik used to trust himself, ordered to stop. Suddenly, Rual ran up cheeping excitedly. Yarik listened to his four-legged friend, and started to hesitate even more. A confusion reigned in Rual's heart. The beast found something interesting, but at the same time he did not want to show it to his master, desiring to leave this place as quickly as possible. Yarik thought for a moment and having made a decision whispered to his companions to wait and followed his kaifat.
His ability to see in the dark did not work too well here. As if some fog covered everything around, his night vision sank in the darkness, and he saw distinctly enough only at a distance of twenty – thirty cubits. Yarik looked attentively down at his feet and saw a strange feature – the stone floor was unnaturally flat, something resembling carving revealed here and there. Some dark, heaving up bulks suddenly rose ahead. Yarik even flinched noticing them.
Having come closer, he saw in front of him some stone columns going to the very vault of the cave. It was clearly not a natural formation, they carried the feeling of man's hand in them, but were the unknown builders of human race?!
