by Vitaly Zykov
– A rollback could come now – Irung muttered more quietly, looking at the collar. – Throw it on the ground.
Oleg threw the piece of skin off, like a poisonous viper. The black streak was lying helplessly on the road, and a puddle of blood began to gather around it. A few moments later some greenish sparkles started to run over the collar, resembling constantly scurrying forest ants. When they became too numerous, there came a bright flash which instantly burned the accumulated blood. At the same time, something thundered far ahead, and the magicians felt a strong outburst of Force.
– That's all, we have no collar now, – Irung said glumly, carefully inspecting the withered leather. – Now quickly move there. Something tells me that it is our ward who plays pranks there.
The squad resumed its movement. After a while one of the rangers reported that quite a numerous squadron had ridden here recently. Hearing this, Irung and Oleg looked at each other and spurred their horses.
In half an hour they approached the edge of the forest, where a relatively large cavalry detachment was already standing. People in rangers uniform, were unloading their horses briskly, apparently, preparing for raid. Not far, at the very edge of the forest, among the green grass a giant scorched patch was visible.
Three men with auras of magicians came out from the crowd, and one of them asked imperiously:
– Who are you and what…
He did not finish. Irung dismounted and introduced himself with confidence:
– The Special representative of the Masters Council of Nold on the case about forbidden magic. We are chasing a dangerous criminal, but what are you doing here? Aren't you by any chance intending to interfere with us doing our job?
Irung's interlocutor lost his arrogance and stopped but the second magician continued:
– We are here on the order of Hopper, the Guild Master. We are also looking for a dangerous criminal, helping our distinguished ally. – The magician smiled and introduced himself and his companions: – Magician Avenus of third rank and magicians of fourth rank Napir and Ghork.
Irung nodded in greeting and also introduced Oleg and himself, then asked:
– Let's put aside equivocations and dot the i's now: you were looking for the slave by his blood sample, weren't you?
Pupils of Avenus blue eyes widened slightly, and after some thought, he nodded.
– Do you have it now? – the magician from Nold continued to question.
– No. – Avenus finally opened his mouth. – Ghork, show them.
Ghork held out his tightly bandaged hand.
– It flashed in his hand, – Irung nodded understandingly. – We were more fortunate.
Foreseeing the next question Avenus continued:
– We were a little behind, and he was met by five people, whom I had sent here in advance… This burnt spot is where they encountered the fugitive. Two rangers were killed before, and two other were killed by the explosion.
– Have you identified what exploded? – Irung asked busily.
– Magician Lapeer was in this group of five men. Apparently, he set the Curtain of Light but the slave broke through it, – Avenus snorted and gestured at the burnt spot. – This is the result of the impact.
– Is Lapeer alive?
– He is unconscious and badly burned. He was only saved by his protective amulet, this is what left of it. – Avenus handed a piece of molten metal, it looked as if a part of this amulet had simply evaporated. – We are setting off in five minutes. We shall catch this bastard, until he gets to Elves… It will be a great honor for us, if you join us in this raid.
Strong sarcasm sounded in the magician's last words, but Irung pretended not to notice, he just nodded as if he was doing the highest favor by giving his consent…
The chase continued. They had to leave their horses and the hike through the pristine forest made Oleg think about horse riding wistfully. Branches, last year's leaves, thorns – all that hampered their movement most bad. The rangers sliding like green shadows felt like a fish in the water, only mages were stumbling and falling, getting their clothes caught on all kinds of snags, hardly making their way through the forest, but no one complained – they had no time to whine or ask for rest. The rangers walking in the squad head, cutting the way in particularly difficult places, changed from time to time. A wrinkled pathfinder literally dug the earth with his nose searching for traces. Judging by his fragmentary remarks, there were surprisingly few traces, as if an experienced walker, a man of forest had passed there.
This nightmarish run through the forest had been lasting for about two hours, when one of the rangers held up his hand and disappeared in the bushes ahead. Two other rangers followed him, and almost immediately came back. Their faces were heavily darkened, their eyes expressed concern.
– He has either killed or seriously wounded an elf – said a stout guy with a horn on his belt and handed a broken feather of some forest bird stained red to Avenus and Irung.
– Are you sure? – Irung looked shrewdly in huntsman's eyes.
– All the grass there is flattened, as if a body had been lying there, and the branches on the nearby tree are broken off. It happens when a body collapses from a tree. And there is a spot of dry blood at the roots. – Saying all that, the ranger was shifting from foot to foot.
– So, stick together, and Orris save you from shooting from these damn bows – Avenus ordered to his men. – We are still on our land, but we will approach Elves land soon.
The squad continued moving, but now it did not like the chase at all. People were proceeding very carefully wincing at every rustle and frantically squeezing the hilts of their swords. Elves were obviously very respected here! Oleg, who had read about them in books on history and geography of the world, was nevertheless not familiar with such attitude to these allies of the Wars of the Dusk.
In a few dozen of yards they found three notches on a tree, like those left by arrowheads. At the foot of the tree lay broken arrow shafts with bright fletching, but the tips were not found in the tree or nearby it. The drops of blood on the tree bark and on the ground showed that these arrows had hit the target, but the absence of the tips meant that they had remained in the body of the victim.
– Curiously, the blood is not humanlike, – said the ranger, sniffing traces of clotted blood. – And it is not like Elven too. Very strange.
– The blood tracks lead there – one of the rangers showed to the left of their way.
– Later! At first, we should get the slave! – Barked Avenus.
Doubling their discreetness, people resumed their movement. Forty minutes later they came to a small clearing in the middle of which was dug in a tall, almost ten cubits high, boundary post covered with intricate carvings and shining with magical aura.
– That's all – a ranger standing next to Oleg muttered to himself and sat on the ground.
– Greetings to our senior brothers – Irung said in a soft voice turning to the opposite side of the clearing.
Oleg turned his head right and left, searching for the person his teacher had been talking to and shuddered – at the place which was empty a few moments ago now stood a figure dressed in a jacket and pants shimmering with different shades of green. The long mane of dark with blue-ish shade hair, almond-shaped eyes, pointed tips of long ears, thin facial features were clearly speaking of nonhuman origin of the stranger. Images of eagle heads were painted on the cheeks and around the eyes of the Elf, a variety of decorations made of bones hung in his earlobes and on his neck.
The Elf's glance ran over human figures, his thin lips twisted and he said in a singsong voice:
– Greetings for you, the True One… And for you, Juniors. If you esteem the old agreements, you will not move forward. Though, you can try.
Judging by last sentence, one might have thought that the Elf was just craving the events to unfold that way.
– Elder brother, we are pursuing a culprit, the murderer and violator of the Forbiddanc
e… – Irung calmly continued the negotiation.
The Elf interrupted him:
– The man who had crossed the border and killed one of my kinsman, was already captured and will get deserved punishment. You can go back and report it to the commanders who have sent you here… This decision is final and there is not a subject for discussion. You have half an hour to leave the land of Mallorean…
Only going back and constantly looking back, Oleg heard the ranger wandering near muttering under his breath:
– Land of Mallorean, aha… we have not even entered yet! Forest geeks! Firstborn bastards! Elves got immortality by an oversight of gods, and don't respect other races at all. Dwarves are right…
Oleg did not hear what exactly Dwarves say, because the ranger stumbled upon a root covered with leaves and now was swearing loudly. At this point, Oleg remembered about Yarik for some reason, but he felt no remorse about his former countryman's future. Fate placed them on different sides of barricades, and the junior student of the Academy of General Magic had to think about his own career, but not about this loser. Each stands for themselves – this is the basic law of survival in all worlds!
CHAPTER 41
For a couple of hours Yarik had been hanging on a horizontal pole, tied to it by his arms and legs, which had already lost sensitivity because of the ropes cutting into his body. Two warriors were carrying the pole, their green cloaks were continually changing color, adapting to the surrounding vegetation. Despite their thinness and almost girly fragility, the warriors did not show any signs of fatigue.
At the beginning Yarik tried to look at his captors attentively, but then stopped – his beaten body was aching too much and swarms of flickering sparks flashing before his eyes were interfering as well. With great difficulty, he managed to focus only on most simple thoughts. Two other forest dwellers with wands full of Force were walking on either side of Yarik swaying on the pole. From time to time they lightly touched the captive's head with their wands increasing the swarm of the sparks. The damn mages!
Yarik grinned mirthlessly, remembering how he had begun his run through this damned forest. He ran easily, without even noticing dangers that threaten every man in primordial forest. He looked like a beast, accustomed to live exactly this way.
Continuing moving to the east, without a definite destination, about an hour later, he felt someone's attention. Suddenly Rual began to worry too, Yarik remembered some rumors about these places he had vaguely heard, and he decided to turn to the south. But before he could run a few yards an arrow flew from a tree blocking his way. Twisting so that his bones cracked, Yarik immediately counter-punched the shooter: you should not be too soft with those having bow and arrows and using them without warning. Perhaps this thought turned out to be a fatal mistake. Yarik instantly created a small ball the size of a walnut and sent it into the tree crown, from which the arrow had flown. There was a short burst and a body collapsed from the tree…
New arrows began to whistle around at once. Without hesitation Yarik darted away and like a hare ran to the east. This direction seemed the one where density of the fire was less. A pair of arrows scratched him, but he did not react, completely devoting himself to run. The main goal was to get out of the blow, he could do everything afterwards. If he was to survive, that is!
But he failed. Rual screamed resentfully and Yarik saw his faithful friend pinned to a tree by three arrows. The blurry silhouettes of the pursuers were flashing behind, and the fugitive slashed briefly with magic across the arrows shafts, shortening them. Kaifat twitched and filling all around with his blood, hobbled over the grass away from his owner. Yarik only managed to send a portion of energy to the animal, giving him additional strength as he had to flee again…
However, he did not run too far. The new hunters were the real masters of their craft. Arrows were whistling again, and Yarik spun like a humming-top saving his life. He could reply only once – he hit a hunter who approached too close with the whip of Nergal. And the faithful weapon failed for the first time. The energy whip slashed the body of the enemy and exploded in powerless green splashes, making the hunter only to wince a little. Only when already caught, Yarik learned that this warrior had received some light burns of his skin. But at that moment the forest dweller did not retreated, but snatched his thin sword and whirled it around. Bemused, Yarik took a step back, then another one, but the damn Elf continued to advance, taking away all hope for flee. At this point Yarik realized that his enemies were not humans – people never had such facial features. Rumors about «damned Elves» were not just rumors.
The archers had stopped firing long before, allowing the warrior to capture the killer of their kinsman. Some of them even lowered their bows. Though it did not make matters easier for Yarik – his enemy wielded the sword like a god. After a few moments of this unequal fight when one opponent was swinging his sword and the other was trying to dodge, Yarik realized that the Elf was playing with him. Like a cat plays with a mouse, enjoying its own superiority and amusing itself with silly fluttering of the doomed victim. Realizing this fact, Yarik became detached and calm, he decided not to surrender and jumped on the enemy with suicide despair. At the same moment the world seemed turned off, and the fugitive woke up already being a prisoner of Elves, hanging on a long pole.
As Yarik understood, the forest dwellers who had captured him were Elves. They were talking in some complex melodious language, foreign for human ear. Although, in spite of its melodious flow it fully revealed the attitude of the Elves to their prisoner. Yarik never experienced such icy disdain to a lower creature, consisting of disgust mixed with revulsion, even in the years of his slavery. They looked at him like at a rabid animal sitting on a chain in a cage behind thick bars.
The Elves spent the night on a small clearing. They made a small fire, on which they warmed up narrow strips of meat, seasoned with some sort of spices. Yarik could judge about that only by the scent which made his nostrils quiver longingly and caused a fit of joy in his stomach. But nobody intended to feed the prisoner. Having finished the meal, some Elves began to sing in pure high-pitched voices. Even suffering from thirst and pain in his numb limbs Yarik appreciated the beauty of their songs. It was curious, but the body of the dead Elf lying at the roots of a tree, whom they carried home, did not bother the singers. Though, maybe the words of the song were addressed to him.
The next morning Yarik was woken up by a rough kick, though there was no real necessary in that. The warriors shouldered the pole with the prisoner, and the movement resumed. After a few hours some muffled roar appeared in a distance and soon turned out to be the sound of a river. The surrounding forest changed too. Whereas earlier it used to differ with density and wildness, now it became well-kept and well-groomed. The group was approaching their home. After some time, they began to see some squat green houses with artfully curved roofs. Every such house was closely pressed against a tree trunk, and openwork ladders were leading up from them. Yarik's way of moving provided him a good opportunity to observe what was going on above. It turned out that there, in the trees, were stretched pedestrian passages, small stepped gardens and small squares. The city of Elves was multilevel and intertwining with live nature.
Their squad went farther without stopping, only the warriors carrying the dead body turned to the side and lost among some neat bushes. Other Elves meeting the squad slowed their pace and followed them with their looks. Finally, the trees parted and opened a clearing in the center of which two pillars carved with some symbols were dug into the ground. Yarik tried to disperse the haze before his eyes once again, stared at these symbols and closed his eyes. The magic filling them burnt his eyes.
Suddenly, the pole with the prisoner was thrown to the ground, forcing Yarik to gasp in pain. The warriors who had carried him drew their knives and deftly cut the ropes holding the prisoner. Then they picked him up by his arms, dragged him to the poles and tied to the dangling straps. A few minutes later all Yarik's hands and feet were w
idely stretched to the sides, and his body froze hanging in a couple of cubits above the ground. Almost all the Elves turned around and went away, there were only two guards with magic wands. Yarik felt that he will remain alive not too long. Everything what had happened looked like a prelude to some particularly perverse way of execution. Little claws of fear began to scratch in his soul stubbornly obstructing attempts of his mind to remain calm and tranquil.
Nothing happened until the evening. Yarik remained alone with his pain and fear (apart from the petrified guards). When Tass touched the edge of the horizon, a group of Elves approached the prisoner. The aura of might and antiquity demonstrating power rather than old age and frailty enveloped the newcomers. The eight Elves, the eight most powerful persons, who surely knew about the Wars Age firsthand, met together to decide the fate of the captured man. Five men and three women began closely examine Yarik, whose consciousness was writhing under the whips of pain. His disciplined mind, accustomed to control every part of his body, retreated under the pressure of the sophisticated magic of the Elves. The two Elven guards with perfect mastership of their wands magic, suppressed all Yarik's attempts to focus on his own Force by inflicting pain. Their method differed fundamentally from the method of Gwonks shamans, but it was not less effective.
Yarik's hoarse breathing resounded across the clearing, the smell of his own sweat stung his nostrils. With the arrival of these eight elders everything became even worse, the guards obviously decided not to risk and increased the pressure. Yarik, stifling a cry, looked at the newcomers, trying to distract his exhausted mind, though details were escaping his eyes. Colors were blurred, the faces floated before his eyes. Only two things were literally etched into his consciousness: the medallions on the necks of the Elven lords and their smell. Yarik could not understand anything clearly, he could just remember, imprint everything firmly in his memory, giving himself a vow to forget nothing! A silver flower looking like a lotus, a purple upturned drop resembling a fang, a blue eye framed with black silver, a green snake, a golden goblet or cup, some three quills made of an unknown metal, a blood-red frog with black eyes, and a dark blue stingray – all these images immersed into the depths of his mind in all their brightness in every detail.
