A Cruel Tale

by Alex Sapegin

  Overhead, arrows whistled and swelled in the crowd with fiery explosions. On the wall of the fortress, Andy could see the silhouettes of Slaisa and Lista with light, simple bows beginning to fire deadly shots at their enemies. Ten minutes later, the battle was over. The Norsemen had broken through other side streets, surrounded the remnants of the rebels and forced them to surrender.

  They still had to shake all the residents of Ortag out of their houses and send them to fight the fires. In all the hustle and hassle, they kind of didn’t have time to mourn Berg….

  At nine o’clock in the morning, a portal opened at the city gates that spat five hundred warriors out carrying royal banners on long staffs. “They’re a little late!” Andy thought. It seems their rousing bugle call came after the fact. The unit commander handed over full command to the military administration and got to work organizing burials. Andy, during all the ado, slipped into the bookstore. No one said anything to him about the half-orc.

  “What do you want?” the owner of the store popped out from behind a curtain and stared at the door, which was torn off the hinges. No one had answered Andy’s persistent knocking. “Get out of here, now, or I’ll call the guard!”

  “Go ahead and call,” Andy leaned lazily on the shop counter. The Dawn-bringer was startled. Just like the first time they had met, he stared at Andy’s blue eyes.

  “You again?! Throw on a disguise so they wouldn’t recognize you as a Rauu?”

  “You’re mistaken. This is my true form,” Andy responded and squinted at the shop owner. “The books!” His fist hit the counter with a boom.

  “I don’t have them!” The elf’s back went up against the wall.

  Andy grabbed his blade from his “pocket” and laid it in front of him on the counter. The elf stared at the sword. The words on the sword’s handle made his eyes open wide.

  “A tribal sword of the house of Ok’late,” the shopkeeper mumbled. “How did you get this? You must be quite a risk taker, or who are you? You must be completely stupid to risk incurring the wrath of one of the most powerful houses of the Forest.”

  “I couldn’t care less about the Forest.”

  “Then why are you showing me this sword?” The fact that the sword had appeared out of nowhere made an impression on the long-ear.

  “To show you that if I don’t see those books in five minutes, Ortag’s going to lose one book shopkeeper.”

  The shopkeeper went pale.

  Andy had no intention of killing the shop owner, of course, but he had to make him part with the books somehow. By hook or by crook, he’d take the book. If you won’t come along quietly….

  “I’m not afraid to die,” the elf said bravely. “I’ve lived a long life, and I don’t fear Hel’s judgment.”

  “You do fear,” Andy loomed over him. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have lied and told me you don’t have the books or turn white as a ghost when I threatened you.”

  The elf did not know what a ghost was, but judging by Andy’s tone, it wasn’t a very flattering comparison. He was offended. He breathed in, preparing to let loose a formidable come-back, then… breathed out through his teeth without a word. Yellow vertical pupils appeared in the sassy non-human’s eyes. The Dawn-bringer made an attempt to grow into the wooden partition behind him and hide from the scary sight. However, this didn’t work out for him; the magic he’d studied didn’t include techniques like that. The shop owner grabbed a protective charm. He’d read of such things in one manuscript, but never seen anything like it so far in a few thousand years….

  “It can’t be,” the elf whispered with his pale lips. The pupils disappeared. The uninvited guest grabbed his blade.

  “I’m going to count to ten. Either I’ll get a ‘yes’ from you, or I’ll burn this flea-bitten dive to cinders.” Andy’s left hand lit up with a bright flame. (What could he do? No choice but to resort to outright extortion and threats.) “Defensive spells won’t save you from me.”

  “A curse on you!” the elf snapped. “I’ll bring the book!”

  “You should have done so right away instead of trying to mess with my head.” The hot flame went out.

  The owner un-stuck himself from the wall and disappeared into an ancillary room. Andy put his blade back into his “pocket” and sat down on a narrow chair for customers. His sleepless night and crazy morning were starting to make themselves felt through his building exhaustion. He was tired and hungry. Sleep could wait a bit; he had to find Berg and clear up a couple of questions… but boy could he use a snack….

  “Here,” the Dawn-bringer slapped a few folios and two folders tied with string onto the counter near the chair.

  “Thanks. Let’s see what we have here….” Andy picked up the first folio.

  Two of the three folios were fakes. The three-dimensional schemes in the drawings were not visible at all. The rest was not distinguishable from the original ancient book; people worked on conscience. In the third volume, there were many articles on the theory of magic, and two dozen rune schemes were given. He set the book aside. The elf watched Andy closely, how he inspected the goods he’d given him. The folders contained pieces of books and separate pages, torn out from who-knows-where. Of the whole pile of papers, Andy selected no more than ten pages and one piece of one book.

  “I’ll take this. How much do I owe you?”

  “?!” The shop owner practically choked on his spit. Andy grabbed one purse full of gold from his “pocket” and tossed it on the counter. “The folio and the pages cost three times more!” the shocked elf overcame his momentary muteness.

  “We’re going to say we’ve agreed on my price, or do you want to bargain some more?”

  The shopkeeper waved his hands to signal “negative.”

  “And what about this?” the ever bolder elf’s palm lay on the parts of a book Andy hadn’t looked at.

  “Fakes. The rune schemes in them are just scribbles, unreadable. I hope you’ll keep my visit a secret?” Andy spat back at the old elf on his way out. “I really wouldn’t like to kill such a helpful elf.”

  The shopkeeper nodded a little; he too did not want Andy to kill him.

  Once he left the elf’s shop, Andy headed towards the arsenal, where the Norsemen and the warriors they’d selected to help had carried the bodies of the fallen guards and hired soldiers. The disarmed rebels, under the watchful eye of dozens of mages and fifty soldiers, rattling their chains, dismantled the debris and ruins in the nearby streets.

  He noticed the orc women right near the gates of the fortress, kneeling over the bodies on the ground. Ilnyrgu hugged Tyigu to herself. When she saw Andy, the girl broke free of the Wolf’s embrace and threw herself at him. Andy picked the crying girl up and stayed where he was. He already knew whose body was lying on the ground. The half-orc’s face was peaceful. Looking at him, you might think the mentor had gone into a trance and would open his eyes at any moment. But the sickly white color of his skin ruined the picture. Not a drop of blood was left in his complexion and a deathly cold had set in. Barely noticeable dark dots showed up on the eyelids and lips. Berg’s death hadn’t hit him yet—he couldn’t get it through his head. Like a freezing chunk of ice in his chest, it ruined all his plans. Not long ago, he had called Tyigu his goddaughter or, as they say in the local jargon, overshadowed all around. Now he was responsible for her. On Ilanta, words aren’t thrown around just like that. Even less so words like that. Master, master, what have you done, Berg?

  Ilnyrgu got up and went over to Andy. He could read an unspoken question in the Wolf’s eyes.

  “We’re changing our route,” Andy answered her without her having to ask, and hugged the girl close. “We’ll leave right after the funeral. First, we’ll go to Troid, as we planned, and from there by portal, we can get to Kion. We’ll take the foothills to Troid. There could be elvish survivors and robbers on the caravan road.”

  “I don’t get where we’re ultimately headed?” Il interrupted him.

  “To the val
ley, to my parents.”

  “Why not wait until they repair the portal in Ortag?”

  “Because combat mages are rebuilding it, and they’re only going to send active-duty soldiers and army cargo through. I already asked.”

  “Targ! Is there another reason?”

  “Another reason? Olaf the red-haired whispered in my ear that the army warriors and commandant were very stubbornly asking one question: who gave the mages away, and how? A couple of them were very unrestrained in their answer. Now the guys in uniform want to meet the guy—he’s a natural, they say! You know very well what close friendships with military lead to. At first, it’s all flattery and chatting, then threats and a sword to your throat. Do I need that?”

  “Where are you getting this from?”

  “An inheritance from Alo Troi. I don’t want to know, but I know. Let’s go get our things together.”

  The orc looked at Andy in disbelief but didn’t oppose him. She recognized him as the commander of the group. He had told the orcs about Alo Troi during one of the stops along the way to Ortag. He skipped the details of how they met.

  They left the funeral feast as it began to get dark and the Norsemen were pretty buzzed. Ilnyrgu and the unit commander exchanged glances; he nodded. The old veteran was as sober as a judge. The Wolf had taken him aside that day and, in a small nook hidden from the army mages, had a conversation about the possibility of quietly leaving the most hospitable city of Ortag. To the unit commander’s credit, he didn’t ask unnecessary questions, just looked at Andy and raised one eyebrow.

  “Yes,” the orc whispered in response.

  “And the girl? What does she have to do with it?” the warrior let slip. A sharp dagger touched the throat of the observant and too smart for his own good northerner. “I get it. I’m not an idiot. Lower your blade, or you might cut me by accident. Half my people and I owe you our lives, and we won’t talk. After the evening bells chime….” The unit commander pushed the orc’s hand away, turned and walked back to his men. He stopped suddenly. “At the Thing, it was decided to bury Master Berg according to the customs of the Norsemen. Is that alright with you?”

  “We’ll consider it an honor,” Ilnyrgu bowed.

  Olaf met them as they exited the funeral house.

  “Quiet. Your horses and hasses are here. Come with me.”

  The Viking led them through the narrow winding streets to the southern gates and knocked three times on the window of the guard house.

  “Halt!” A Viking who resembled Olaf came out from the house. “Let’s go. I slipped the soldiers a ‘quicksleep’ potion. They’ll sleep more soundly than the dead for twenty minutes. Your horses.” Olaf held the rein of a bay stallion in his hand; they heard the sound of horseshoes clicking on the pavement as a second horse followed.

  “I’m coming with you,” the northerner explained.

  “The boy is mine. Aren’t you a little confused?” Ilnyrgu’s vicious voice sounded from the darkness.

  “No,” the Viking knit his brows.

  Andy raised his hand in a conflict-stopping gesture and approached Olaf, who was saddling up.

  “Are you certain?” A nod. “You’ll have to swear an oath of loyalty and a blood oath.” A second nod. “Alright, you decided yourself. He’s coming with us. I have spoken.”

  The gatekeeper lowered the bridge and opened the wicket gate. The orc women, hidden by cloaks of invisibility and a curtain of silence, dismounted and walked through the gates single file. Outside the city military secrets lurked; it would have been very awkward to call attention to themselves.

  “A good girl! Mess it up, and I’ll cut off your balls myself!” Andy heard the guard’s intense whisper, addressed to Olaf. “Sorry. Come back alive.”

  “Your brother?” Andy asked the newest red-headed member of their hodge-podge group, riding up to him by orienting himself on a special beacon and standing in the stirrups. They were all covered with invisibility cloaks, so they used the beacon to keep track of one another.

  “Uncle.”

  “So, who is it you’re pining for?” he asked directly.

  The Viking’s eyes sparkled from under his ruddy forelock. He bit his lip, annoyed that his secret was discovered so soon, and quietly answered:

  “Slaisa’s lit a fire in my heart,” he said, bowing his head contritely. “I wanted to steal her, but a woman like that won’t live with a husband against her will. Hit me if you like, but hear me out, I...”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Andy interrupted him and slapped him on the shoulder. One problem solved—someone for Slaisa. The Viking stopped short, apparently digesting what this could mean—don’t worry? “Slaisa’s a warrior and,” Andy paused for a spellbinding split second, “not indifferent to me. But don’t worry, I won’t get in your way. So it all depends on you. She really is a good girl.” The red-head smiled. “You’ll take your vow in the morning,” Andy finished, suddenly serious.

  ***

  They’d been making their way through the bald hills for five days now. Every day their path got higher and higher. The mountains on the horizon became clearer and clearer. The white snow-capped peaks were shining ever brighter in their view. For the first time, after having galloped through the night and most of the day, the small caravan arranged an overnight stay in a small village. The locals, hungry for news, provided the travelers with a hefty hayloft at their disposal. In exchange, they demanded they tell them what was happening in the kingdom. The stories were bleak. The peasants shook their heads in disbelief; the women gasped. Andy asked the local hunters about the paths.

  “Keep going about one more day, but by tomorrow’s twilight you’ll have to either abandon your horses or sell ‘em in Tront, they won’t go any further. Up until Tront, em, ‘bout a day’s journey through the gullies and river valleys,” a short, stocky peasant with a big beard right up to his most roguish eyes told Andy, rubbing his hair back as he spoke. “You gotta go huggin’ to the peak of the Nose stone, then you won’t get lost.”

  The next morning, saying goodbye to the villagers and buying freshly baked bread and fresh milk on the road, the group moved along the indicated landmarks.

  “Aren’t you getting off the path?” Ilnyrgu asked him when the last wooden wattle was far behind them.

  “No,” Andy answered. “I see a magnetic line.”

  “What?” Olaf butt in and got a slap on the back of the head from the Wolf. The Viking cursed mildly and drove away from the chatting couple.

  “Let’s just say I can see the birds’ path in the sky, and they fly directly from south to north. I’m flying by that,” he added, lowering his voice. “Get it?”

  “I get it. Tell me, did anything happen between you and Slaisa?” Ilnyrgu turned towards him.

  “Nothing happened, and nothing can happen.”

  “Could happen, and it would be for the best.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Your red-haired friend is looking at Slaisa like a cat looks at cream, just short of licking his lips. He’ll probably bore a hole in her back with that gaze.”

  “Olaf’s a good guy. Brave when he has to be, not empty-headed, and he’s a good warrior. He doesn’t take hot-headed foolish risks, and he doesn’t hide behind anyone’s back. He wanted to kidnap Slaisa, but he realized that the warrior orc wouldn’t take a liking to that approach,” Andy continued his advertisement.

  “He’s right about that. Slaisa would have gutted him like a chicken. But about courage you overestimate him. If he likes her and loves her, he should go right up to her and say so.”

  “Is that the Viking way?” Andy asked, surprised.

  “I don’t know how Norsemen do it, but that’s how we do it. Can’t you see the girl’s torn between the two of you? She definitely has feelings for you, and the Viking’s to her liking too. You think she hasn’t noticed how he looks at her? She may be a warrior—true, but Khirud created her without a spear between her legs.” Andy grinned. “But the n
ature of Taili-Mother manifests itself in her.” Ilnyrgu slapped her hass on the rump and rode away to the end of the caravan line. Andy waved his hand at the northerner and briefly filled him in on the latest development in this soap opera. The Viking blushed to his ears and cast a quick glance at the girl, who was galloping along at the head of the patrol.

  In Troid, they sold the horses and spent the night in a new hayloft. That evening Olaf gathered his courage and approached the orc. Ilnyrgu turned away and hid her smile. Andy pretended he had to go to the bathroom; Lista walked away and coughed loudly into her fist; Tyigu was already sleeping like a log.

  “Kerr, thanks,” Olaf took him aside the next morning and bowed low at the waist. That night he and Slaisa quietly slipped away from the hayloft.

  “Wipe that grin off your face, man!” Andy grumbled. “You’re shining like a polished teapot on a sunny day. Hurts my eyes to look at you.”

  The redhead’s grin widened till it was ear to ear, displaying all thirty-two teeth. Judging by the orc warrior women’s laughter, Slaisa was getting a bit of friendly teasing too.

  The Viking and the she-wolf left the village side by side. The northerner’s shining woven silver necklace hung around the orc’s neck.

  “Slaisa and Olaf, sittin’ in a tree!” Tyigu called, who’d learned from Andy. The young couple blushed to the color of lobsters.

  The third night, they stopped in the woods. The Viking and the orc shared a horse blanket. Andy decided to show off his culinary talents and made plov, a Russian rice dish, for dinner. Rice and carrots were known in this world, but the gang was trying them with meat and spices for the first time. Tyigu, who climbed up onto her godfather’s lap, asked for a story, and then another one. The storytelling ended on “The Golden Antelope,” towards the end of which the girl calmly fell asleep in the arms of the small group’s commander.

  “How are we going to proceed?” The hasses with our things loaded on them might not get through here,” Olaf said, scratching his neck, looking at their surroundings from the height of the bald hills and trying to figure out their next move.