A Cruel Tale

by Alex Sapegin

  “Master, perhaps we cannot stand around in the middle of the field?” Andy broke the awkward silence.

  “Yes, perhaps we can find an isolated nook to calmly chat?” the Rauu responded.

  “I think you need to rest from your journey. Flying on griffons drains you. I swear that I won’t go anywhere without talking to you. I hope you won’t disappear either?” Andy bowed shortly to Miduel. His last phrase struck a chord in the old elf’s soul. The Rauu’s face betrayed a hint of annoyance and regret.

  “You’re right, it’s tiring. We’re prepared to wait as long as it takes. I think you’re quite anxious to speak with someone else besides me, and I completely understand you. I was young once too.” The old politician transitioned the conversation to personal relationships, pointing out his opponent’s youth. Andy grunted.

  “Master, I do have one small request. Please remove the humans and griffons from the platform. The children are frightened.” Andy pointed to the little dragons, whose faces showed no trace of worry. Their red-scaled mamma wasn’t displaying any signs of fear either, lounging on a load of blankets taken from several cargo griffins. What were a few puny people to her, when she had such a protector nearby? “May the Twins constantly bless you. I’ll see you this evening.” Andy turned his head towards his right shoulder and with a barely noticeable gesture, signaled Olaf to stand down. He ran his glance over Melima’s imperturbable face and master Miduel’s vexed face, and headed towards the tents. Behind him he could hear the elf woman’s boots’ leather creaking, the clatter of heels mixed with the tap of a cane hitting the pavement, and various muffled commands. The elves’ camp was removed.

  ***

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be so abrupt with the old elf?” Il sat down on a wide log, glancing at Andy questioningly.

  “Maybe you’re right. Who knows. I think it’s worth keeping a little distance from the Icicles. I’ve thought a lot about the Rauu and rebuilding bridges with them, but now they’ll only get in the way. What I have in mind, many will not like. Miduel impresses me. He’s not snobby like many Rauu. But he’s not the whole people. The master is a walking history of Northern Alatar. He remembers dragons.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “Miduel is a politician. He’s used to thinking in terms of slightly different categories. For him, not just individual people are petty cash. In politics, they make bets that affect thousands, tens and hundreds of thousands of lives of humans, elves, and dwarfs. Miduel’s thinking in the grandest terms, the size of whole states.”

  Ilnyrgu stood up, sat down next to Andy, took his hand and squeezed his hot dragon’s hand between her cool palms.

  “Where did you get the idea that the elf’s a politician and he’s got an agenda?”

  Andy gratefully covered Il’s hands with his right palm.

  “Il, I’m not blind. Notice the humans, elves, and griffons—they’re army units. The royal guards and mountain ranger investigators. Do you think they’d give command of soldiers from elite parts of various states to a simple Rauu? And how they bow before him and run to carry out his every command?? Il, I don’t want to be ground in the gears of state machinery.”

  “I get that,” the orc smiled sadly and turned away. “Are you afraid of repeating Berg’s and my fate?”

  Andy stood up and shook the dirt and dust from his robe, looked at the orc and shook his head. Was he afraid? He was—who wouldn’t be? More than anything, he was afraid of breaking.

  I’ve already come under the wrath of a state. The reasons for it and the consequences were somewhat different, but the outcome was the same. I’m prey in the royal hunt. I don’t know the reasons that brought Miduel here, but I can say who he needs.”

  “Who?”

  “Me. He needs me. I’m a dragon. The prey has gotten bigger, and the stakes in the hunt are higher.”

  “Aren’t you taking a bit too much on yourself?”

  “You know, I’m not taking anything on myself. It’s all just piling up on me of its own accord, like from a cornucopia.”

  “A what?”

  “From Hel’s bottomless purse. For the first time, I have something that’s valuable to me and I love, something worth fighting for, and I don’t want to lose it.” The orc said nothing. She realized Kerr was talking about them. And her expectations and feelings turned out to be right. He went on: “It’s you: Tyigu, Olaf, even Lanirra and the kids. Miduel will try to take all that away from me, no matter what noble goal he’s pursuing.”

  “And Frida?”

  “Frida….” Andy waved his hands as if they were wings. He then caught himself doing something much more characteristic for a dragon than a person and got embarrassed. “I lost her once. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

  ***

  Lani, closing her eyes and resting her head comfortably on the soft bags the elves had unloaded from the griffons and were now afraid to take away from the dragoness who was casually lounging on them, pretended to be asleep. In fact, she kept listening carefully to Kerr’s conversation with the girl and was jealous. She opened her eyes for an instant, removed the membrane, looked at the were-dragon and immediately went back to pretending to be a sleeping log who could not care less about his business. At some point, she felt sorry for both of them—no matter what, the mental connection established between them beat hard at both parties. The one good thing was that its working radius was small, about a quarter of a mile. Was Kerr completely out of his mind to use magic and intermingle himself with human blood? Or wasn’t he aware of the consequences? When she thought about it, it had to be that. But geez, for a grown dragon and a mage to be so naive…. Lanirra stopped her train of thought. The old Rauu, by the look of things, knew that the little human could determine whether Kerr had been somewhere or not. He probably didn’t know all the details; otherwise, he would not have allowed the girl to implement the “melding of the elements” and attach herself to the dragon. In order to follow the trail, the “blood summons” would have sufficed. It would be stupid to stir up dragon’s blood and whip up changes in the aura using the “elements.” The effect of the dragon’s blood would wear off by itself after seven or eight weeks; in this girl’s case, she’d have to wait over half a year. But what if…. Lani imperceptibly surrounded herself with a cocoon of will shields, erecting multi-layered protection for herself, and tried to stave off her trembling. Rary and Rury, who were lying under her folded wing, noticed her state and began to rub their snouts on their mother’s cheek. Lani calmed down, jerked her tail, folded her other wing, which was reflecting the sun’s warm rays through the membrane, yawned, and opened her eyes. Something crunched lamentably in the luggage bags….

  “...That’s when I felt the pain for the first time.” The dragoness quietly snorted. Of course, you felt it. Blood strives towards blood; that’s what causes the hyper-exaggerated sensitivity in the temples; that’s what caused you to strive towards the dragon. Uhh… the Rauu! That old elf is cunning! The little human grabbed her temples. Kerr tried embracing her, but she gently pushed him away.

  “I’m sorry….”

  “I know. I never thought someone else’s blood would tear me apart, and I wouldn’t be able to tell if a feeling is mine or not….” The were-dragon’s flame tried to smile, but tears came to her eyes.

  “Don’t cry.” Kerr, taking a step forward, hugged Frida. The human girl froze in his arms just like a little bird. “Frida, I swear, I’ll do everything I can to ease your pain.”

  The dragoness covered her eyes with the translucent membrane. Yes, he will! I saw how his aura flashed right through the shields. Lanirra heaved a sigh. She’d weaved such rosy plans in her head. Now her hopes were dashed. Incredible—that strange little human only wields two elements, but she was able to obtain a mental attachment to a full mage—inconceivable! I guess she really loves him—Hel take her!

  Hmm, perhaps I should give him a hint at the solution? No, I won’t say anything. If Kerr removes the bond, nothing wil
l work out for her, and that way not all’s lost. He hasn’t made her his wife, but she’s not planning on letting her happiness slip away. I can’t kill the girl; he’s too attached to her. I have to think of something else. I do have one advantage over the humans—time. A dragon can wait a couple of hundred years if necessary; humans and elves won’t last that long. Lanirra was not afraid to admit to herself that she had really taken a shine to the “individual” and wasn’t planning on sharing him with anyone. Trysts on the side were one thing—so what, even with the humans, but not as serious as this. He should have one wife—and not a human female! No dragoness would ever put up with a second mistress in her nest.

  The little human girl is enjoying her temporary victory for now. Lani would do everything she could to turn Kerr away from her. He took in her children and would be taking care of them, and their mother would be right there for that…. The dragoness wasn’t kidding when she had made her subtle marriage offer. As far as Norigar went, she’d finished mourning him a year ago. She knew that no dragon ever escaped from the clutches of the Forest elves alive. According to the stormy words of the abbot killed by Kerr, which he’d thrown in the locked-up dragoness’s face, she was lucky to end up in the monastery. She would live a while at least, while the elves couldn’t wait till sundown, they were so eager. And the children, Rary and Rury, they see him as a father. They might get brothers and sisters out of the deal, while the little human could never bear the were-dragon any offspring. That pair was sterile.

  ***

  “Uncle Kerr, the little human’s awake!” Frida heard the small dragonling’s sonorous voice. The sleepless night in the griffon saddle brought her to her knees immediately after her conversation with Kerr. She opened her eyes, sat up to resting on her elbows and immediately fell back again. The pounding headache just wouldn’t leave her alone. She gathered her strength for a minute, tried to control her condition in various ways…, but the proximity of her beloved smashed to smithereens all attempts to get rid of the drills in her temples.

  Frida lay there a while with her eyes closed, steadied her breath, chased the ache drilling at her head to the edge of her consciousness, counted to one hundred, and decidedly stood up. She had to check with the winged baby—how long had she been sleeping? Judging by the tents of the stationary camp on the platform near the former temple to the One God, which she could see from her tent, a long time. That is, she could remember well that before she laid down to sleep, there were no tents in that spot.

  The large golden dragon walked up to the improvised sleeping quarters. He was emanating cold, covered in the most powerful will shields as he was. Frida had read about something called the “icy silence,” but she’d never seen it in real life before. It was sad that the person she loved (something strange about calling him a dragon) had to put up the most powerful and fierce magical mental defense between them. The “icy silence” froze absolutely all feelings for a while; the emotional background goes blank and it seems like there’s a block of ice standing in front of you. Timur was walking along beside the dragon. Now there’s the last person Frida expected to see here. It was very nice to meet her old friend. Timur was sporting a new uniform with the stripes of roi-dert on his shoulder. He’d bought the uniform for two golden pounds from one of the griffon riders. The lucky sergeant just happened to have an extra set with him. Now he’d unexpectedly come into a small fortune.

  Kerr changed hypostasis and changed into the clothes he’d prepared for himself beforehand.

  “Frida, can you tell me why Miduel came here? Maybe you overheard some conversations or rumors?”

  “Long story short—he’s here for your soul!”

  Kerr nodded. This wasn’t news to him.

  “I guessed as much. The master probably wasn’t going to pay me a visit just for kicks.”

  “The High Prince is the superior governor of the principalities of the Snow Elves. I thought you knew.”

  “Woah! So that’s why the elves are running around as if they’ve been stung in the butt—and I’m acting towards him like he’s some librarian! I almost made myself on equal footing with the highest monarch of their people! Well, I guess he really needs me, since he let my casual attitude slide. Tell me please, how did he get to your town, what did he say, who did he see?”

  “I can only guess who the High Prince saw in my town. It’s not every day the ruler of a neighboring state comes to a nondescript little town in the vampire’s enclave. I can only tell you what I know or what I think, or what I suspect.” Frida rubbed her chin and glanced at Kerr questioningly. He nodded encouragingly. There was a sincere interest written all over the were-dragon’s face, but all the empath’s feelings were bemoaning the deathly cold that reigned inside him. Kerr’s burning cold and Timur’s fiery interest were in such contrast to one another that Frida got the impression she was sitting in front of a fire on a cold winter evening—the fire warming her on one side, the frost’s cold breath making the other side numb. Though it was difficult, the vampire tore her gaze away from the blue eyes boring holes in her. Her eyes fell on the tight, dusty socks sticking out of Timur’s flying boots. For a few seconds, she stupidly stared at her own shoes, then a detached look came over her face, and she began telling them everything that happened to her from the moment she woke up in her parents’ home. During the second half of the story, she began to include her observations or guesses regarding the elves’ or Miduel’s actions in particular. She did not skip the part about the wedding that never took place, or the supposed reasons it was cancelled. She indicated that they were due to the High Prince’s desire not to spoil relations with a certain well-known dragon.

  “Still, it’s all underway,” Kerr said, plopping down onto a wide boulder and leaning his back up against a pedestal sticking out of the ground. “It’s getting interesting. My wish to meet with Miduel is starting to fade. I was right: he’s a politician.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing. You don’t want to meet with him?”

  “We can chat, but I realized from Melima’s careful words that the High Prince is here to request aid. Helping him, granting his request means placing my life and freedom in the line of fire for some cause. I don’t intend to die for someone else’s cause and I will not help the Rauu.”

  “What do you mean?” Timur joined the conversation.

  “I have a couple questions for my former allies,” Kerr answered obscurely. Timur and Frida glanced at one another. “Can we be done here? My ‘icy silence’ spell is wearing off. I really don’t feel like recharging it—it makes you feel like a wooden dummy, like everything inside’s been burned out, a piece of ice has been put in place of your head, and your body’s been changed to a wooden log.” Once he said this, Kerr looked at Frida and the vampire drowned in the boundless blue of his eyes. “Go to sleep. I’ll be nearby. Timur, please don’t follow me. I need to think.”

  ***

  “To be or not to be: that is the question.” Shakespeare’s characters probably never faced situations like this—when your head could become at any moment as empty, white, and smooth as the skull of poor Yorick, and the whole action takes place against the backdrop of a flaring war comparable in scale to the First World War.

  Andy lay on the far edge of the platform and admired the beauty of the mountains. He changed hypostasis and was catching some warm sunrays with his outspread wings. He could think easier as a dragon. The world was always brighter; the logical and not-so-logical connections between humans, objects and events were clearer. Andy stared into the distance—what a view. The mountains in the south crowded upon one another, like soldiers in the ranks, reflecting with their hills the bright rays of the star above them. Just like the words of that Russian song, “the only thing better than a mountain is mountains.” The bluish-white caps of the nearest peaks, wearing their green skirts, the foothills, were surrounded by veils of gray clouds, set to the lyrical mode. The quiet whistle of the drifting snow and the drawn-out buzzing of the wi
nd in the crowns of the mountainous trees helped him abandon the world and build a harmonious train of thought:

  What do we have at our disposal here and now? We have no more, no less than the superior governor of the Snow Elves, in the flesh. He’s extremely interested in a certain dragon. So interested, in fact, he left the underground library of the Orten School of Magic and, instead of letting his cheeks get numb sitting on the throne of the High Principality, rushed out in pursuit of the fleeing monster. Not just rushed—headed an expedition, disturbing the wedding of his own great great grandson to Frida along the way, who has become, thanks to dragon’s blood, an enviable bride and possible mother to strong mages. Isn’t that so? Yes, that’s so. Why were the nuptial preparations ceased? Why would Miduel of all people, no one else, despite all the benefits of his descendant’s wedding, decide not to impose upon the were-dragon and gently beat his own grandchildren in the face instead—as if to say, you’re not biting? Well, that’s not what I meant…. Hmmm…. So, that’s it then? That’s it. But what could have been so fascinating as to attract the old elf? My being able to change form? No, that’s not it… something else. Why aren’t the Rauu interested in Lanirra? She’s a mage, she can wield all the elements, but still—not interested. How am I different than Lani? My size, my color, my strength, my magic? Stop. Magic. I’m getting warmer…. The astral. Yeah, that’s it. My ability to work with the astral. Although…, the book said that astral mages weren’t as uncommon as fully universal mages. One in three hundred has the ability to take mana from the astral, or something like that. Hmm, “to take from,” okay, but how much? Lani was very surprised I could get out of the helrats’ trap by “feeding” them mana up to their eyeballs. She may be a naive dragoness, but she’s not stupid. Her father raised her for five centuries, taught her magic. I’m sure he wasn’t stupid or a fool. And neither is she. The ancient winged beasts studied in the universities of Nelita and were such powerful mages, their bipedal followers had a lot to learn to catch up to their level. ...So, that only leaves the astral. What does it have to do with me? What’s unusual? Frida said the mages were surprised and discouraged at the density of the magical field near the cave. As I recall, she said they decided to install an amulet charging station on the spot where I entered the astral and let energy into the world…. I think I’ve got it! The puzzle comes together into a clear picture—that’s the last piece! Wow, I’m one smart cookie! Just like my aunt Sonya from Odessa. Now they’re going to chop that smart cookie up into pieces and share me, or ask me to provide mana. But do I need that? No. But just one small question left—would Miduel let the goose that lays the golden eggs go, just like that? What a heavy question…. Where in the world did that old guy get the idea that I’m special? He couldn’t have just thought it up out of nowhere. Either someone told him, or I’m the one who gave it away with what I said or did. What could the elf have clung to? I remember he almost miraculously recovered his sight when I said Karegar’s my dad. Miduel didn’t believe I underwent the Ritual at sixteen. That’s it! He didn’t believe me so he checked; after checking he found that it was true, and so he sent all the warriors and bookworms he had at his disposal into battle for my sake. Well, Miduel, for that you’ve got my respect and major props.”