A Cruel Tale

by Alex Sapegin

  Frida continued to suffer from a splitting headache all day. Near the cave it became unbearable. Miduel noticed the young woman’s condition.

  “Try going off a ways,” he suggested. At one hundred yards from the camp, her head stopped hurting. At the old Prince’s command, they set up a separate camp for Frida. The scouts brought her scales an hour later. The girl took a few golden half-circles for herself.

  They measured the magical background near the cave. In thirty seconds, the frame spun around twenty five times: the mages could not hold back at expressing their emotions—they gasped, gawked, whistled, patted one another on the shoulders, and spoke in superlative tones. They measured again, for good measure. The number of complete rotations was no less. It was unbelievable. The density of the magical field in one isolated place was higher than the average for Mellorny Tree Crowns by eleven bell!

  The Tantrian mages immediately contacted the Royal Academy of Magic, indicating the coordinates so that they could install an amulet charging station here. The mana was draining only slowly; the station could function up to three full months.

  The next day the expedition followed the trail of the small caravan. Frida hadn’t yet gone to the main camp when her headache came back with a vengeance. Her unpleasant symptoms made the heart ache anxiously…. It was turning out that the whole trip, from the cave to Ortag, Rur stayed near the vampire, helped her when she was having a tough time and didn’t let her spirits fall.

  Kerr was not in Ortag, but they found out that he fought on the side of the king’s guard during the battle with the rebel elvish half-bloods and Lord Worx’s soldiers. Kerr caught the enemy mages in a fiery trap. The method by which he did away with them horrified many. All that was left of them was a small mountain of molten rock. Only a group of ten powerful combat mages could do such a thing. It was hard to believe that one single person had done it on his own.

  The active search led the Rauu to the bookstore, where the pink-haired elf told them about his desire to send all the importunate guests to the halls of Targ; they could take with them the vile blue-eyed fellow tribesman from the northern mountains and never again show up near his shop. As soon as Miduel went into the shop, the second-hand bookseller’s verbal diarrhea abruptly stopped. The Dawn-bringer told the High Prince, in detail and at length, what he and Kerr had spoken of and what books he bought. The old elf listened to the merchant, thanked him for the valuable information, and hinted that raising his voice at clients was not a good idea.

  Miduel, Frida, and Melima, were shocked to find out what Kerr looked like when he was in the city, and who he was with. The Norseman guards were very sure that six full-blooded orcs were with the Rauu half-blood; two of them perished as heroes in the battle. At the Big Thing the Vikings decided to bury the orc master swordsman and the fanged Valkyrie with their warriors, according to the customs of the northerners.

  Every description of the orc master sounded just like Berg to Frida…. Cornered by the incontestable facts, the unit commander of the guards informed them that he was the one who helped the valiant assistants of the guards to escape—where they went, he would never tell. His word of honor was before all else. They had hired Frida instead of a hound dog. Her head started hurting at the southern gates…. And once again they took to the exhausting road, accompanied by her headache.

  ***

  The noise in the main camp made the vampire lift her head from the rolled-up blanket she was using as a pillow. She did manage to fall asleep eventually. Frida pulled on her suit and crawled out of the tent.

  “What happened?” she caught Melima in the midst of the chaos.

  “The mages spotted a strong magical flash, two days’ travel from here. They say it lit up half the sky. I don’t know; I was already snoozing by then. The maps all show an abandoned monastery there. Miduel believes it was Kerr’s magic. He did not want to wait to catch up. He contacted the army and requested winged transport.”

  “I see. I don’t understand. Why would Kerr use powerful magic in an empty monastery?” Frida straightened her jacket, pulled the lacing on her sleeves and checked the ability of the combat knives strapped around her stomach to pop out of the sheaths. Just in case. Anyone who would use magic with such a huge amount of energy sure had a reason for it. It would be stupid to spend a monstrous amount of mana to create a simple optic effect.

  “I don’t need griffons tomorrow morning—I need them this evening, tonight at the latest. What? I don’t know how! Send them through a portal to Ortag, and from there to the camp. It’s only an hour and a half’s flight. The mages will set up beacons. I’m waiting.” Choice words could be heard from the High Prince’s tent. If some cargo loaders had been standing nearby, they would have gotten a kick out of it. Many interesting words and phrases were included in the stream of obscenities that came from the old Rauu’s mouth. Frida blushed. Along with the blush, which covered her face, ears, and neck, her memory kicked in, and she recorded Miduel’s most valuable verbal pearls for the archives. Who knows, they might come in handy, no—they’d be for the general edification of all the students.

  The camp looked like a knocked over an anthill. Humans and elves went in all different directions, each pursuing his own goals or at least trying to look busy. The mages gathered their suitcases and in whispers discussed how much energy must have flown through the chimney in the area of the monastery, and whether it were possible after such a doomsday that a localized, regional mana source might appear, something like what they discovered near the dragon’s cave. The guards, in the light of magical lanterns, packed up the pavilions and tents. Separate warriors checked the equipment. Several investigator rangers looked at the mess going on in the horse tethering station and went to sleep in the forest. They’d had more than enough commotion for now. They carried all their own belongings in their backpacks on their backs and were ready to leave—a minute to relieve themselves after the ascent, and since nobody was going to go outside the guarded magical perimeter, it wasn’t worth making a fuss. Frida looked at the investigators and decided to follow their example, but it didn’t work out. She did not have time to lay her head on her rolled-up blanket before Melima appeared at the tent.

  “Miduel summons you.” Once again, not so much as a how-do-you-do.

  “What does he need?” the vampire yawned.

  “What am I, your messenger girl?” the elf snapped in sincere frustration.

  “No, but you sure seem like one,” the vampire teased the pointy-eared elf. A good portion of anger was the response to the harmless words. “Let’s go, errand girl!”

  The High Prince’s pavilion was lit up like Orten’s central boulevard. The fuss in the camp had calmed down somewhat; a good half of the expedition members had packed up their stuff and were cooking an early breakfast or a late dinner. The hasses, awakened by the hustle and bustle, occasionally snarled near the farthest tent.

  “Get ready, granddaughter. You’ll fly with us,” the elf said to the vampire. “How many times do I have to tell you there’s no need to bow?”

  “You’re my senior,” Frida answered, curtsying again. Miduel waved his hand.

  “The griffons will be here in forty minutes.” Wow, so soon? “The combat mages will build the portal according to our beacon coordinates. It’s a pity that we don’t have the coordinates for the monastery, but it’s alright. I think the first griffon riders will put beacons by the walls.”

  “I can come?”

  “Hold on a second. What do you feel now?” Miduel asked.

  “I’m waiting and I’m afraid,” Frida answered, carefully rubbing her sweaty palms on her suit. “I’m waiting for the moment when I can see Kerr, and I’m afraid we can’t be together.” The High Prince took his eyes off the maps and looked at the girl.

  “Let’s hope everything turns out alright.”

  “I do hope so. May I go?”

  “Go,” the old Rauu said dryly.

  Frida left Miduel’s pavilion and in three minut
es was near her tent. What was he so worried about? The whole way, she acted as a bloodhound. That whole time, he’d called her granddaughter a couple of times—no, four, twice in Ortag. She understood that she was just baggage—Kerr had been found; he no longer needed her. They had crossed her off the list. An enviable bride—ha! A bad feeling tormented Frida. The headache that gripped her every time she stood where her beloved had been did not allow any chance for a favorable outcome. The old elf was excellent at forwarding his hidden motives; he had figured everything out—she and Kerr could not be together. The wedding scheme was now kablooey. The High Prince wasn’t going to offer her a way back. Going back on his word would be dishonorable. Frida wasn’t stupid. She understood what was what and the sudden decision to cancel her wedding to the elf prince—Miduel did not want to expose himself to a possible ally. And the fact that Kerr, if hurt, could make a boo-boo, well, she’d witnessed that in Ortag. The destroyed street was a scary sight. According to the High Prince, this was nothing compared to what a dragon could do. Several hundred dragons in one hour had turned the Great Forest into a lifeless wasteland.

  The Rauu had placed Melima in the line of fire, so to speak, by tasking her with advertising the prince to Frida. Melima, who had been trying for a week to establish some sort of relationship with the vampire and telling funny stories about her brother, stepped aside as soon as Frida welcomed Rur. Frida sensed a slight contempt for the idiot who preferred this purple half-blood to her brother the prince and heir creep into Melima’s feelings. Alas! All she could do now was to convince her beloved Kerr to help the Icicles. The Icicles had good and noble goals. They weren’t deceiving anyone. The future of the whole world really did depend on the success of their mission, but for some reason, Frida wished the elves would just go away and was going to beg Kerr to send them down that path. She understood that it was base and dishonorable, but she couldn’t do anything else. She couldn’t forgive them for calmly making her a victim of circumstance. And there was another little worm eating at her as well—these long-ears had really gotten on her nerves with their snobbishness. Miduel was the only one who didn’t suffer from that flaw. The rest of them talked down to her. Besides the old High Prince, Melima stood out from the others, but the girls still hadn’t become friends. The elf couldn’t forgive Frida’s rejection of her brother. Rur was yet another story, a whole ‘nother story, that Rur….

  The tent was packed and loaded onto a hass in ten minutes. Frida got her chainmail out from her traveling bag, along with the defensive amulets. She considered for a long time what to put on. In the end, she put the mail back, and a bunch of amulets took their place around her neck.

  The crackling and bright glow of the portal told her the wait was over. Two full feathers of golden griffons landed on the platform near Miduel’s pavilion.

  “Go on. I’ll fly off with the second griffon and collect the rest of the things.” Rur, as always, approached silently. He brought sadness and boredom with him.

  “I’ll get the things. You fly on the first flight out.” A royal guard came out from the darkness of the night. “High Prince’s orders. Mages and the top warriors will fly in the second saddles. Five minutes to take-off.”

  ***

  Frida looked out from behind the first-in-saddle’s shoulder—with every flap of the griffon’s wings, the monastery got closer.

  “We’ve crossed a ‘spider web’ set up over the perimeter,” the first-in-saddle shouted, pointing at a stone with a blinking red light. Vague shadows flashed on the upper flat area of the monastery complex. Her temples began to tingle. Miduel was right—Kerr was here.

  “Holy twins, intercessor for the One God! Look!” the pilot pointed ahead. “Dragons!”

  Her headache got stronger. Squinting, Frida saw two grown dragons on the platform, a red one and a gold one, and two small ones. People were standing near the dragons, seeming so small compared to the ancient monsters. The humongous dragon bowed its head. The children, as if on command, darted under its wide wings, which it spread out for cover. Interesting—was this golden handsome fellow… Kerr?

  A little below the platform she could make out the main buildings of the monastery—a temple to the One God, flickering in the first rays of the rising sun. It had melted walls and a cupola that had fallen through into the interior. The girl looked with true vision. If it weren’t for the safety belts, she would have fallen off the saddle. Frida never saw such a riot of energy. The great dragon wove an attack spell of such power that she was struck by a chill. Two griffon feathers and ten mages were to the ancient monster like flies to humans. He could bat them all away with one swing of his wing or strike with his paw. Her temples felt like they were squeezed in a vice….

  One griffon flew ahead; its rider shouted something. Without waiting for an answer or taking the ancient beast’s silence for consent, three griffons, including the vampire’s, flew over and landed. Unfastening her belts, Frida jumped to the ground. She was struck by the dragons’ feelings—vivid, complex… there was interest, curiosity, caution, and a readiness to kill all the newcomers if they even thought about one fast move. Swinging her head from side to side with the intense ache, the vampire stepped forward.

  The emotional blow almost knocked her off her feet. Surprise, disbelief, joy, fear that what he was seeing wasn’t real—all these emotions rushed over her from head to toe. A sharp ache came along with the foreign emotions. The handsome golden dragon folded his wings and took a step forward.

  “Frida?!”

  “Kerr?”

  The dragon turned into a person. The red-headed Norseman standing next to him tossed him a long robe.

  “Frida….”

  Tantre. Foothills of the Southern Rocky Ridge. The former monastery…

  “May the grace of the goddesses be with you, master Miduel,” Andy said respectfully and bowed to the old elf without losing his own dignity, keeping his back straight. “I gather you made use of my gift.”

  The Rauu smiled slightly, with composure and restraint, but showing his even white teeth. Wrinkles appeared around the corners of his eyes. Looking at him, it was hard to believe this was the weak old elf from the School basement. He now appeared to be a lively old elf of about sixty.

  “And greetings to you,” the elf returned his greeting with a bow of the head. He glanced at Frida, who was being supported under the arms by two tall orc women with a full complex of weapons typical to the she-wolves. They led her towards the tents. They were interesting, these orcs. There was an unusual mix of attack and defensive amulets hanging around their necks. And everything was chosen so carefully: not a single extra detail or amulet mismatched with the effect of the others. You could tell that whoever put the group of artifacts together was a master of his craft—a very good master.

  Turning his attention away from the she-wolves, the elf glanced at Andy and the third orc woman standing behind him. The woman seemed bored. A total indifference to everything that was happening was written on her face. But her attentive gaze, keeping their entire surroundings under its strict watch, involuntarily made him cautious. The Rauu had had dealings with the elite warriors of the Steppe who surpassed the mastery of the swordsmen of the mountains and the Forest. The orcs were warriors from age to age; their martial arts schools were legendary throughout all Alatar. True, only a small circle of people knew of these schools, but that was enough to create a certain opinion among experts. The other states do themselves a discredit to consider the orcs barbarians. The children of the Steppes were no longer the dirty animals they were three thousand years ago. The kingdom of the “white” orcs in the east was much more developed than many and had long since been creeping up on the eastern borders of the Patskoi Empire. And what of Shanyu Hygyn’s infantry? The elite regiments of the “white shields” were considered the best units of all the known armies and inspired terror when they showed up in armor on the battlefield. Humans, Rauu, and dwarfs ought to give thanks to the Twins and the One God that the pe
aceful gray orcs also are content to simply shepherd cattle on their vast plains. The “greenies” remained barbarous, but this too was only for the time being: if someone steps up and is able to unite them under one flag, the entire north will be quaking with fear. Miduel turned his gaze away from the beautiful orc and looked at the camp Kerr’s friends had set up on the platform. Mmm-hm. Yet another surprise that was putting to rest his thoughts of careless or unplanned action. Just beyond the tents, in the shade of a wide-branching tree that hid him from being spotted from above, sat a red-haired Norseman with his bow in his hands. The bowstring was armed with an arrow, glowing with a clear light, which made Miduel keep his shield spell interweave handy. He involuntarily cringed—Kerr had found himself some paranoid friends who suspected everyone of evil intent. Hm, what about the were-dragon himself? How much has he changed since we last met, and in what way? Life hasn’t been kind to the dragon, constantly tossing various trials his way. What has he become? Humans and elves are sometimes forever changed after one major battle or harsh ordeal. They become their own shadows or become proud. Who and what is Kerr now?

  There he stands. A cold look and complete calm. His aura glows with even, pure colors. Even so, the fingers of his right hand are in a certain pose. One quick movement and a magical attack will wipe all the griffons off the platform, along with their riders and the mages. The monastery is literally full of mana. The elf relaxed, calculating the density of the field. All signs indicated over thirty bell. What could have happened here that would allow the boy to splash such a quantity of mana out into the world? The decimated temple to the One God… perhaps it contains the answer?

  Andy, his eyes half closed, observed the old elf. Miduel was puzzled. This wasn’t the reaction or welcoming he’d expected. So what did he have in mind? Earlier, Andy was alone. He was looking for allies and a protector, and now he had eight souls in his charge. He had to step up.