by Vitaly Zykov
Elnir was ready for the most unimaginable news, but any patience has a limit. Pupils of the magician widened in surprise, the tips of his ears twitched, and he said:
– Condemned to the Forest Breath?!!
– Yes! Someone threw the star stones off the pillars…
– …And thereby destroyed the spell! – Finished Elnir, then asked: – How long?
– Three days ago. – Svearin lowered his eyes.
– And the fugitive was able to move? How he managed to escape from the forest, from our forest?!!
– He's gone down the river. We inspected the piers immediately, but all the boats were in place, and we forgot about that way. But a day later a body of an Elf was found in the water. – The captain sighed and continued: – The murderer dumped the body into the water, and the river flow brought him under the pier, but then the boys found a sheet of parchment with his poems on the shore…
– It was Arisak the Singing Creek? – Elnir asked dully, and his heart ached with sorrow – too many Elves had died from the villain's hands.
– Yes. We all grieve about him. – The guard put his hand to his heart. – You know, he loved to sail along the river, looking for inspiration, apparently that day he just came back… So the murderer took his boat…
– Is the chase sent after this hfurrg's bastard? – The troll swearword sounded particularly ugly in the mouth of a dainty elf. His dry lips and very white face revealed his excitement.
– We almost caught him, but it was too late… He reached the River Guardians and proceeded! – The captain's voice betrayed his regret about this fact.
The lord-magician blew air with a whistle through his teeth and asked:
– Did he survive?
A puzzled, almost human shrug was the answer.
– It's unknown. We found the fragments of the boat, a piece of a sail, that's all. The Guardians don't like to let victims escape their paws…
Elnir clenched his fist so that his knuckles turned white and barked:
– Search everything, can you hear me, everything! I want to know for sure that this creature is dead!
Tass was shining extremely bright today, and Yarik resisted an urge to start scratching his convalescing wounds hidden with rags. It seemed that thousands of various parasites were swarming there causing unbearable itching. But he could not scratch them, his wounds barely had begun to get better. Neither Yarik's the highest survivability nor his magic could cope with this disease, only herbal ointment reduced inflammation and helped to heal his monstrous wounds. The fugitive was very lucky to meet this wandering circus after all. Unimaginably lucky!
That time, in the boat, in the middle of the Elven river, which by the way was called Golden, he was gradually recovering. His endurant body and magic, supported with wonderful Elvish herbal bread, step by step pulled Yarik from the pool of death… And then there was that waterfall. Its roar echoed far away down the river, but Yarik did not realize what it meant. Such stupidity could only be excused by his not too sane state. Even Rual's anxiety had not aroused any emotion in Yarik's mind at first, and then it was too late.
The speed of the river course increased, and the boat was rushing forward, like an arrow from a bow. Yarik wanted to steer his sailboat to shore, but failed… Having failed, Yarik tried to keep the boat strictly in the middle of the river, the bow towards the approaching waterfall – gods forbid him to fly there sideways, this fact the unfortunate helmsman understood quite clearly. And then was, what seemed to be eternal, flight down to the cloud of weightless spray, with convulsive clinging to the side of the boat and thoughts about kaifat's unlucky fate… Then a blow, a hammer of water and the darkness…
Yarik did not know what gods had saved him in this hellish stone crusher. He woke up lying on a sandy beach, his body in water up to his waist. His hands were convulsively clutching a fragment of a board, Rual was sitting near and angrily cleaning his fur. Judging by the feelings, the animal had made sure that his master was alive, and now showed his displeasure about his participation in such an adventure.
Then was a new foot-borne march along the river. Heavily leaning on a bough, using it instead of crutches, Yarik barely moved forward, away from these places. A few days later he left this inhospitable forest. Rual provided their food and Yarik was becoming stronger and stronger until he threw away his already unnecessary crutch.
Leaving the forest, Yarik continued to move west, avoiding any human habitation. He smelled terribly and had no normal clothes – it was impossible to call some torn pants and a faded cloak with a hood which Yarik found at an abandoned farm «clothes». His face and hands were hidden under dirty rags, turning him into a scarecrow. Every evening Yarik used magic to burn the filth of disease from his body. He endured the infernal pain without a groan: the torture hardened him, having taught him a real patience.
These barbaric treatment methods gave some result, decreased temperature, but clearly it was not enough. Sometimes Yarik had visions, unreality of these visions wounded his tormented soul. One time Yarik saw himself at home on Earth reading a sci-fi book about adventures of a hero, savoring details and admiring imagination of the author, at other times he just went to work. A couple of times he saw his ex-girlfriend Lika with whom he had parted without any regret a year before his appearance on Toarn. She walked towards him wagging her finger at him, and then suddenly turned into the lady in veil with whom Yarik traveled on the air bubble. At some point she was making a movement with her hands as if intending to lift the veil, and his heart skipped a beat in anticipation of something incredibly beautiful and sensual… At these moments Yarik always awoke, with his face buried in the ground.
His existence on the edge of semi-delirium and semi-reality lasted for a long time, until one day Yarik saw a vision of people dressed in bright clothes and wrinkled women's face with sympathetic eyes and soft hands which gently washed his skin. He did not want to lose this vision, because with this vision the pain was disappearing somewhere and a cobweb of healing sleep was enveloping his mind.
One day Yarik woke up without fever. Looking around, he realized that he was lying in a covered wagon, similar to Gwonks wagon, and it was moving somewhere. He lay on a small bed in the corner, carefully wrapped in a colorful patchwork quilt. His whole body was covered with clean cloth dampened with ointments. Rual stirred near him, greeting his master with a squeak.
At this point, the curtain at the entrance moved aside, and a chesty female voice spoke to Yarik:
– Oh, you have woken, poor fellow! Hoymiga knows her job!
– Where am I? – Yarik asked hoarsely, turning toward the sound and seeing a mature black-haired woman in a long green dress with bare shoulders.
– You're a guest of a poor wandering circus. You're in the tent of Kurpal he's the circus owner and my husband. – The woman came up, flipped Rual's nose and touched Yarik's forehead. – It's like the temperature's normal, so you're recovering.
– But how…
– Our acrobats Galis and Chamis stumbled upon you. They rode on horseback a little ahead and saw a lying man in dirty rags. I'm sorry, but they were rags, indeed. A furry little animal was circling around the man squeaking as if asking for help. Galis loves animals, so he decided to do something. He called the others, and we decided to help you. I know a thing or two about diseases so I understood that you had nothing infectious. Some nightmarish wounds of strange kind and the river disease…
– W-w-what? – asked Yarik barely moving his lips.
– The river disease. The water of Golden contains some filth, which causes severe fever when it gets into your blood. One could die, to say nothing of you with your wounds… You know, I've never seen anything like that. – The woman paused, gleaming with her black eyes, but having received no answer, continued: – To be honest, you were to die, but you survived. I've never seen such a tough man. You lay ten days in delirium…
– I thank you for your care and treatment, – said Yarik hoarsely.
– Not at all! At first, my hubby was indignant, that I began heal you, but then he listened to what you were mumbling in delirium, and changed his mind immediately. He always respected people who know how to swear. I caught my youngest son when he was trying to write down what you were saying on a wax tablet, but I gave him a slap and took it away…
– And what was I saying? – The patient asked growing wary.
– Well, I'll not repeat such obscenity. I'm a decent woman! – Hoymiga got offended. – But I can tell you, I'd never heard such sophisticated swearing… Well, I'm chattering too much with you, when you need to sleep…
Thus Yarik found himself in a circus wandering through the expanses of Grold. Hoymiga turned to be a great healer, her art played an invaluable role in Yarik's recovery. Yarik spent nearly thirty days with the circus actors, gathering strength and questioning about the world around. Their small caravan of three wagons went from one city to another, giving circus shows to people and nonhumans.
They all treated Yarik cordially demanding no payment for saving his life. Moreover, the tender-hearted wife of the owner gave the rescued man clothes of her eldest son instead of his thrown rags. During the way Yarik tried not to be a freeloader and helped the best he could. Of course, he could not participate in show, he was hiding in the wagon, not to scare people by his appearance, but he taught Rual to perform all sorts of things on the stage. Audience liked it so much that Kurpal several times asked about selling Rual, but Yarik always politely rejected all these proposals.
Oddly enough, but exactly the conversations with Kurpal – an old experienced warrior, who had not been a circus owner all his life, made Yarik think about his fate. Despite the help of these wandering actors, which he was sincerely grateful to them for, he did not like their craft. The way to the stage was closed for him because of his terrific scars. Though, to be honest, Yarik did not aspire to that. It was not his mission to grimace to amuse the crowd, it did not match his character!
The circus headed into the lands of Free barons, hoping to get some gain there among the local feudal lords, when Yarik decided to go to the kingdom of Zelod. The owner of the circus told him about the only profession which does not require good appearance and in which there was always a need. This was a profession of mercenary soldier.
The most of all sellswords were needed in the army of Zelod, the army of this kingdom was composed almost totally of legionaries. The nearest recruiting center was in Yurhan city in a couple of miles from Zelod border with Sumat and Gulan – the little states, constantly fighting with each other and not skipping an opportunity to cross the border of the neighboring kingdom of Zelod and to plunder a village. The military units of sellswords was standing on their way, and Yarik was going to enroll in their ranks. The payment there was not too great, but not too little. And most importantly, nobody there asked you where you were from, and what sins you had committed before. If you enrolled into a detachment everything required from you was loyalty, and nothing more.
For some reason it was sad and painful to leave the caravan, maybe because here Yarik met the people who helped him without asking anything in return for the first time. Before parting, Hoymiga handed him a small sack, in which she put some bread and a jar with ointment, she also made Yarik memorize her recipe. As she promised, if he regularly anoints his still inflamed scars, his skin would become more or less clean again. At least, she hoped so, and advised Yarik to hope as well. Then he bid farewell to the rest of the circus actors, none of them asked him neither about his nor his wounds' origin and thus assisting him immensely and saving him from the need to lie…
They were good people! There are very few such people. With these thoughts Yarik stepped into his new way. Half of his face was hidden with a handkerchief, revealing only his eyes and forehead, his hands were in cheap linen gloves, which were commonly used by local fishermen, he was wearing a shirt of thick fabric and a cloth around his neck, tied like a scarf, coarse trousers and cheap wooden shoes. A wide-brimmed straw hat completed his appearance of a poor peasant. People in such a dress never attract attention. Now Yarik had only to cross the border and get into this Yurhan and he had no doubt about his success…
EPILOGUE
Magister of Punishers of Nold listened with disapproval the speech of Archimagus Vittor, his friend and colleague. The latter with his eyes blazing with fury was pacing from one corner to another in his office in The Law Palace, expressing his displeasure to the Magister.
– …Tell me, how could we foul up the job this much?! Tell me! To find such a valuable object and then miss it so shamefully! A snotty kid had gone from one of the most promising young magicians and where? To the Elves! To the Fair folk, these long-eared bastards who don't care about anyone but themselves… – Archimagus stopped and swore intricately. In his tirade, he mentioned gods, demons, mythical and real animals, humans and nonhumans, relationships between them all were described so tastefully, and if it appeared to be true, the horrified Creator would certainly destroy this world.
Bryms lazily clapped his hands, pretending that he was barely restraining a yawn. Lir Vittor almost choked with rage, and paused for a moment.
– So what? Well, he got to the Elves, and they executed him for the murder of their kinsman, and so what?! All the key figures of the game either have already revealed themselves, or are about to. We only have to wait a little longer and then solve all problems at once. My guys are already tired waiting for this moment. The reports of our agents brought so much useful information that Seekers are basically turning themselves inside out. Think of the worth of merely one steam ship with gunpowder cannons… This figure has already played its part, and so it could be thrown off the board. It's a pity, of course, that we could not work with the boy, but it's not so important… – Lir Bryms showed regret.
– But what if he's alive? – Lir Vittor asked calmly. – What then?
– Really, the boy is as lucky as a daemon of Abyss, but there is nothing to worry about. I don't know why, but Elves hate everything associated with the Ancients and their magic, and they never let out this Yarik from their enchanted dungeons. – Bryms went up to the window and sighed: – Although, you know, if he managed to escape from them, a wonderful new game is going to start…
– The Enemy from the prophecy – nodded Vittor. – People have not had a common Enemy for a long time already, so we should create one if he does not appear…
– And then, in the bloody chaos of a new war we'll be able to split the Elven blade, standing at the throat of Nold – drawled Bryms and then said firmly: – The dream of the dead Magisters will come true at last! Nothing should stand on the way to greatness for Nold.
– Let the shadows of the fallen get the vengeance! – Said Vittor in a muffled voice, as if completing a ritual with these words.
The mages froze like motionless statues, their heads bowed and eyes closed. Their lips continued to whisper some words silently, but an attentive man could read them, «The Scepter of Power will help us in that!» It was obvious that now they were talking about something else but the gold trinket serving as a symbol of Archimagus rank.
Trong, or corporal Trong, was sitting in a stuffy hall of recruiting point. He was obviously bored. It was terrible heat, and all thoughts of the grey-haired veteran were circling around a tankard of cold beer, or even two if possible. It was only four hours before the end of his work day, but he was already craving to leave. All the flies had been calculated long ago and then pointedly killed, a poster hanging on the wall with paintings by a local artist, depicting a goggle-eyed fellow with a beautiful girl on his lap and a purse full of gold in his hand and the banner of the King behind him, had been studied in smallest details, and Trong was bored.
Actually, the service in this hole called Yurhan was considered quite dangerous. The local bandits did not respect the King's power and often robbed recruiting points, not forgetting about the recruiters. During the last eight years four recruiters had cha
nged here, but then everything settled, more or less. After all these attacks came a selected hundred of battle-hardened soldiers and turned the whole town upside down looking for the culprits… Now the recruiters were respected here as representatives of the power and attacks stopped, but no one knew how long it would last. Therefore Trong always kept a small crossbow at ready, which was now lying on the table by the corporal's right hand. This veteran lived a long life, appreciated it and was not going to die ahead of time…
Quite suddenly, the door swung open and some shadow appeared in the doorway. Without thinking twice Trong snatched the crossbow and pulled the trigger. The locals never broke into the recruiting center and such aggressive strangers could bring any sort of troubles, easier settled with dead strangers.
The bowstring clanked, and with a loud thud, the crossbow bolt stuck into the door jamb where a moment ago stood the stranger. Trong did not even have time to amaze at such impressive reflexes, when the stranger, unabashed by such a welcome, in two steps reached the table and leaning on it with his hands, asked:
– Are you recruiting sellswords here?
The voice of the stranger was a little hoarse, a part of his face was covered with a bright scarf, his hands were in rough gloves. Apparently, the stranger had no complaints about the veteran's shot.
– Yes! – Trong said confidently, who already appreciated reflexes of the new rookie and now was looking for paper and writing accessories in the table drawer. – I hope you're not ill? – He said with a nod at the scarf.
– No, – the newcomer grinned, and pulling off his gloves, slowly opened his face.
– Well, what a mug you have, man. I see, you've been through a lot. – Trong said curiously, without hesitation looking at still inflamed wounds on the new candidate's face and hands. – I don't understand how you got that?
– Different ways – the man shrugged vaguely.
At this point a muzzle of a furry animal poked behind his head. The animal squealed looking around the interlocutor of his master. The stranger smiled, what made the scars on his face move like snakes, and stroked his four-legged friend.
