A Cruel Tale

by Alex Sapegin

  Climbing a mossy boulder lying on the lake shore, Andy looked into the black, still water. Why wasn’t he feeling anything unpleasant, such as a light aching in the bones and itchy skin that accompanied his last attempt to change his form? Why did he look like Jagirra, and his new face wasn’t causing any rejection? This wasn’t and couldn’t be because of the magic they’d used on him an hour ago. On the other hand, the pointy-eared form indeed came about as a direct result of that. Sorcery had stirred up yet another dormant form of being inside him. His thoughts, swirling like heavy pebbles in his head, lead to one conclusion, however illogical: Jagirra lied. She lied about how the Incarnation works. Exactly where the lie lay, he would find out as soon as he saw her again…. It was better to ask than to be lost in the grip of vague doubts.

  ***

  Two hours later, the dragon showed up at the fire. He popped up as if from underground. He’d just been missing, and then all of a sudden he was sitting there next to the others, looking at the fire. He was in completely human form. Ilnyrgu took her eyes off what she was doing and looked at him. She was surprised that not a single magical “spider web” had warned them of his approach.

  “I can see all magical interweaves. All, not just the ones that stand out,” Kerr made eye contact and answered her silent question. He didn’t seem like a boy to her anymore. His blue, piercing eyes looked at her and concealed within them the gray of a thousand years.

  The Wolf shook her head and removed the pot with the grub from the fire.

  “Slaisa, do you have a comb and a string, or a ribbon?” Kerr turned to the young lady. “Can I see them, please?”

  Berg followed Slaisa with his eyes only as she ran towards the saddlebags. At first, it seemed strange how Kerr singled the girl out from all the rest until Il noticed her resemblance to the vampire who had visited the fencing school.

  “I’m sorry if I’m sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong, but what happened to your girlfriend?” the half-orc couldn’t resist asking.

  “Frida died,” Kerr said without turning his head and poked at the coals with a dry stick. A sheaf of bright sparks shot up into the sky. Against the backdrop of the sparks, Berg could see how his shoulders and back drooped in despair. “My blood couldn’t save her. Nothing could.”

  What could have happened to the girl that dragon’s blood wouldn’t fix? Berg wanted to ask in more detail, but Ilnyrgu stuck her finger to her lips and shook her head as a sign to knock it off.

  The sparks, just like little stars, rose upward and went out high in the sky. The refugees sitting by the fire cast fantastic shadows behind them and were afraid to utter a word. Everyone realized the dragon had undergone a grievous loss and was very upset about it. The mythical beast turned out to be the holder of a wounded soul.

  “Many people died in that battle,” the dragon broke the silence. He kept staring at the dancing flames. “I regret one thing: I didn’t kill enough of those woody bastards on the School shooting range….”

  Berg and Ilnyrgu glanced at one another. At least this was one bit of clarity on what had happened at the School of Magic. The orcs waited for a further explanation, but they didn’t get it. Instead, Kerr scooped up a handful of hot coals with his bare hand and gently blew on them. Bright flames grew from the coals and turned into a red bird. It beat its fiery wings, releasing heat to all around. With a loud cry, the bird flew up into the sky. It circled around a few times, folded its wings, and dove like a meteor into the fire.

  “It’s a phoenix. It’s born from the flames and dies in the flames,” Kerr said, dropped the coals back into the fire and rubbed his palms together. “Thanks, Slaisa.” He took the comb and ribbon from her and tossed the long braid he’d grown specially for lessons with Ilnyrgu forward over his shoulder. At the wolves’ amicable sigh, he cut it off with a long, razor-sharp dagger that had appeared out of thin air. The severed maiden’s beauty flew into the fire. The glade was enveloped in the stench of the hair. Kerr quickly combed his hair, took all stray hairs out of the comb, chucked them into the fire as well, pulled back the thick ponytail that remained, and tied it with the ribbon. An icy mask seemed to come over his face, etching away all emotion. Ilnyrgu could physically feel the otherworldly cold emanating from the dragon. “I’m going to have a look at the armor and clean it up. Tomorrow we’ll be in Ortag by noon. Master Berg, would you help me please?”

  After the battle on the forest path, the orc ladies had pilfered the bodies of the “knives.” They took all the valuables, money, swords, and armor that was more or less in good shape. They sorted, packed, and loaded the metal onto the hasses they’d acquired as part of the spoil.

  “Let’s go. Maybe we’ll pick something out,” the half-orc answered. “Don’t forget, we still have low stances and attacks to work out today. What time are we going to sleep?”

  ***

  Their small company reached the city long after noon.

  The muscled hunk of a guard from the northern Vikings who stood at the eastern gates dexterously caught the silver coin that was tossed at him and, biting it to be sure, tucked it into his purse.

  “You picked the wrong moment to visit Ortag,” the giant buzzed. “I wouldn’t recommend a Snow Elf remove his hood in the city.”

  “We’re just passing through,” Berg answered, sitting on his horse and playing the role of a nobleman. The rest of the orcs were masked to play the part of his large family. Ilnyrgu was the wife; Tyigu and the she-wolves the daughters. Andy took the form of a Rauu and was playing the role of a bodyguard. The blue-eyed elf didn’t look as provocative as a non-human of unknown origin. “Just to the portal platform, and then we’ll get as far away from here as we can.”

  “The portal doesn’t work nowadays. The guild mages have gathered for some sort of Thing today,” the northerner enlightened and shocked the city visitors with the news. “You’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Be very careful around the city: there’s a lot of unrest here…. Things can get out of hand at any moment, and the magistrates don’t give a care.”

  “Would you be so kind as to tell us where we might stay,” Berg said, tossing another coin to him by his thumb like at a football game, sending it twirling into the air. “The best quiet, calm little nook… and somewhere they won’t ask too many questions.”

  “Why wouldn’t I tell you?” the northerner responded with a satisfied smile and shining eyes. “Go to Two Fountains street. At the third light from the magistracy, there’ll be a tavern called ‘the River Wolf.’ It’s quiet, calm, and no bedbugs.”

  The city was buzzing. It was buzzing like a swarm of angry bees in a hive. On the outside, everything looked fine, but as soon as you open the hatch, the angry bees would start stinging the careless lover of honey. Andy couldn’t stop sensing an impending threat. Everything looked calm on the surface. Traders were trading, peddlers were calling out to the crowds to advertise their goods, clerks were leaning in to shops and stores on the city streets. But he suddenly noticed that all the inhabitants seemed tense. He would often see small groups of people whispering to one another. There were a lot of elvish mixes. The city center was crawling with guards. The Viking was right—the situation could explode at any moment.

  People cast cautious glances at the dusty horsemen on the city streets, but no one attempted to pick a fight. The double swords behind Berg and Ilnyrgu’s backs had a sobering effect on all who looked their way. Their bodyguard, wrapped up in a long cloak from under which the tip of a dagger made of smoky steel could be seen, out of its sheath and ready for action, made the family even less approachable.

  They found the tavern quickly. The northerner had told them the right directions. The main room on the first floor was empty. It smelled pleasantly of food and pine needles, apparently from the pine walls. “The River Wolf” made a good first impression. The hardwood floor was clean, the ceiling was white, the tables were polished and shiny, there were curtains on the pointed windows that matched the carved walls, and there were
starched white bonnets and aprons on two pretty, rosy-cheeked girls standing near the entrance.

  They had a vacancy, too. You couldn’t call it a cheap tavern. It was one of those institutions chosen by guild merchants of the second or third ranks, well-off visitors to the city and members of the nobility not concerned with showing off their title. To compare it to Earth, it would be a hotel for the middle class. They kept horses and hasses at a sturdy stable in the back.

  The rooms provided to the guests also pleased the eye with cleanliness and white sheets on the beds. There were no vacant single rooms, and Andy, purposely or not, had to share his room with Slaisa, who blushed every time he even looked at her. Surprising. A professional killer, and she blushes like a tenth grader, caught kissing a boy. It begins….

  Changing out of his cloak, Andy decided to walk to the small bookshop he saw a sign for along the road. It was just three doors down from the tavern. He remembered that Nimr Belka, one of the guys from the dorm in Orten and an Ortag native, had recommended the book shop near the “River Wolf” tavern. He bragged that you could buy books there unlike any they had even in the School archives. It would be a shame not to visit the little gem of bookstores. He pulled his hood high over his head and set out.

  The bookshop smelled like all reputable business of that type do: like antiquity, dust, and mice. Although there wasn’t a speck of dust on the books’ jackets and spines or on the shelves. Order and cleanliness rules the whole place, but the ineradicable spirit of the archives lingered. The pages of strange folios in wooden frames and glass decorated the walls. Four magical lanterns hung from the ceiling, lighting the place evenly. At the sound of the silver bell that indicated a client had entered, the owner appeared. He was a Dawn-bringer.

  “My good sir, are you looking for anything in particular?” the owner bowed slightly, his pink braid falling onto the counter. The Dawn-bringers were distinct among elves for their pink hair, which gave them their name. The Dawn-bringers were a mix of Rauu and Forest Elves which, after thousands of years, became its own race. Their pink hair called to mind a sunrise. “What are you interested in?”

  Andy removed his hood. Not a muscle on the owner’s face moved, but his aura flashed, giving away the fact that he wasn’t very happy with this visit from a fellow tribesman from the Marble Mountains. The customer did not fail to notice this reaction, and he was pretty surprised by it. It was strange: the Viking at the city gates had warned him not to go about flaunting himself as a Snow Elf. It was worth uncovering the reasons behind this anti-Rauu sentiment before it led to a lethal outcome.

  “Hello. I’ve only been in the city for an hour, but I’ve already noticed a dislike for Snow Elves here. Could you by any chance explain to me where the sentiment comes from? You know, I wouldn’t like to run into difficulties just from being ignorant of the circumstances. I haven’t been in populated places for two weeks, and the changes I see since then are somewhat disturbing,” Andy asked, bowing his head politely.

  The shop owner sized him up with a long, suspicious look.

  “Are you aware of what happened in Orten?” he finally spit out.

  “I’ve been working as a bodyguard for the second month now for Baron von Berg,” Andy invoked the whole company’s agreed on the cover story. “I’ve been unable to keep abreast of the latest news for a couple weeks.”

  “The Rauu made a treacherous attempt on the life of the daughter of one of the Forest Lordships of the Light Forest. Almost killed her. She had arrived for study at the School of Magic. The Icicles even went so far as to drag a dragon from the mountains for them. The Forest is now threatening Tantre with war, all because of your tribesmen. Do you think that after what they’ve done, people are going to love the Rauu and be glad to meet you? Personally, I don’t believe the rumors, but everyone is talking about it, everywhere you go. Besides, there’s always some grain of truth to the gossip.”

  To say that Andy was surprised to hear this would be an understatement. He couldn’t have imagined such a perversion of the events of two weeks ago, even in his wildest dreams. Call him paranoid, call him what you will, but after hearing this, he couldn’t fail to consider the connection between rumors like this and the Woodies. They’d knocked the ground out from under the feet of their possible allies in the kingdom by creating the idea that the Rauu were to blame for the conflict, and now people would not be willing to subject themselves to the dishonor of accepting help from the unfaithful Rauu. They had also indirectly accused the king of befriending their centuries-old enemies. You better believe that the politics of Gil the Soft Spoken were presented in a negative light. People remembered and associated the king with the invitation of the Norsemen to the coastal regions, the confiscation of lands from landowners, and other existent and non-existent sins. There had always been a strong pro-Forest undercurrent in Orten. In the neighboring cities downstream along the Ort, many of the inhabitants were elvish half-bloods and humans with some elvish blood. The government’s reverence towards the north and the orcs did not suit many people. The society was divided. Some furiously supported the king; others hated him. Peace and tranquility in the kingdom were on their last legs. A barrel of discontent was filled with gunpowder and the wick was lit.

  “So, are you going to purchase anything?” the pink-haired elf said after an awkward pause.

  “I’m interested in ancient folios from the pre-imperial days. I would be most grateful if I could buy a book from the era of the dragons. The contents should be something like this….” Andy took a page from the ancient tome out of his cloak pocket and extended it to the Dawn-bringer.

  The elf turned the list in his hand, stopped short of sniffing it, and spread his hands to the side apologetically:

  “I can’t help you, sorry. I don’t have books that ancient,” he smiled, and Andy realized he was lying. He did have the books, possibly just what the were-dragon needed, but he decided not to catch the guy in his lie. Better come back at a later, more convenient time.

  “Might this help you remember?” a purse full of gold plopped down onto the counter. Although it was packed with gold coins, it did not change the situation.

  “If you think conjuring up gold will make the ancient books appear, you’re sorely mistaken. I do not have the books you’re looking for,” the elf repeated and indicated to the client that it might be better if he would leave. “I’m just being cautious. Your presence might affect my reputation.” Since when were salespeople concerned with who was buying what from whom? How could one person’s presence affect another’s reputation? The elf was probably saving his skin, afraid he might be accused of ties with the Rauu… And books burn so well….

  When he got back to the inn, Andy ordered dinner in his room and water be heated in a bath.

  “Do you need help?” the woman who took his request flirtatiously asked.

  “Thank you, I can manage,” Andy answered. Outright come-ons like that turned him off. He washed all the dirt off himself and went upstairs.

  The orcs had gathered in Berg’s room and were discussing the situation that was unfolding. They made a mutual decision to leave the city the next morning. If the mages weren’t going to fix the portal, no sense lying around in a place where things could go south at any minute. They decided to leave by the caravan road for Troid, a small city located in the foothills of the Rocky Ridge along a tributary of the Ort. Andy didn’t wait for the conversation to end and retired to his room, kicked his boots off, attached a naked blade to the headboard, and plopped onto the bed. They would be parting ways now. He was planning to stay in Ortag for another couple of days and revisit the bookstore—in the middle of a dark night.

  Half an hour later, Slaisa came in on tiptoe. The orc took all her clothes off and lay down next to Andy. He didn’t have time to let her know she’d gotten the wrong bed. The window exploded from the powerful blast in the town square below. The gust of wind brought the ring of iron to the dragon’s keen ear.

  ***

/>   Berg leaned his back up against the wall and looked at his former student. Kerr’s appearance did not betray his anxiousness over the coming battle. The dragon was sitting on the ground drawing some sort of convoluted figures with a stick. His blue eyes were like freezing mountain water. Not a single emotion was displayed on his familiar human face. Warriors wore those eyes as they went off to kill or be killed. As Kerr said, he wasn’t planning on dying. He had business in Ilanta. It’s worth feeling sorry for his enemies. The half-orc rested his head against the cold brick and closed his eyes….

  They didn’t have time to leave the city. That night, it “erupted.” The lords of the coastal regions, the elvish half-bloods, and the regents of the Free Mages’ Guild, taking advantage of the king’s absence (he was making a voyage to Mesaniya to attend the wedding of the son of the great prince to the daughter of the Duke of Taiir) had staged a revolt throughout the country. And Ortag was by no means sitting on the sidelines. The town square, arsenal, and barracks of the guards located in the southern and northern quarters were simultaneously attacked in the city. The rebels gained ground in two places. They took the town square, and the guard in the southern barracks was butchered. The surviving servants of the regime (loyal to the king) battled their way to the arsenal. It turned out that the backbone of those who were retreating under the pressure of the rebel guards were Norse Vikings, and the side street running from the barracks ran alongside the tavern.