by Alex Sapegin
“I know.”
“What do you know? You dropped your bombs and went through the portal.”
“Nimir blew up the arsenal. We had to take the warehouses by storm,” Timur said, but Rigaud wasn’t listening.
“I got hit by the spell as I was flying,” he said quietly, walked over to the window and with his large hand pushed the heavy portière aside. The room was filled with bright light. Against the background of the window and the merry, bright sunshine through the glass “watering” the world with its rays, the stooped figure of the young man looked like a black foreign body. It upset the harmony of the world. “Blackie flew me to the interim camp, all by himself. No one ever could have thought that a griffon would drag its rider in its claws, while the rider’s holding on for dear life to the bag with the crystal accumulator. It would have been better if I died, rather than be like this. The Life mages pulled me back out of Hel’s judgment, patched me up and sent me to Orten with a ‘white ticket.’ To get rid of the scars, I’ll need twenty thousand gold pounds. The army doesn’t have extra spending money, and they don’t need cripples in the ranks.” Turning away from the window, Rigaud opened the second bottle of wine and filled his glass to the very top.
Timur didn’t say anything. He understood that his friend needed to let it all out, share his grief with someone. It was scary when someone who’s started to feel like part of something, a part of a whole, who’s found a place in life, suddenly finds himself on the fringe and doesn’t have enough means to live on. The money the treasury of the commandant’s office had given him would last six months, a year at most if he were barely skimping by. Plus, he would have to spend a pretty penny on clothing and painkillers. No one could stay in a trance 24/7. Rigaud had been retired. His “white ticket” meant that he was grounded due to his health. It meant basically getting fired from active duty. Fifteen golden pounds was the maximum monthly pension for veterans leaving active duty at the rank of roi-dert. No, the army hadn’t forgotten about its former officer, who’d been given orders to train as a combat mage. In the future, it was possible the state would need the services of a burnt cripple, but for now, he was retired military with only a tiny hope of ever becoming a full-fledged mage and someday restore his health. Stronger men than Rigaud had been broken from the experience, let alone the boy from yesterday.
Having said his piece, Rigaud stood up near the open window and sadly looked out at the street. The party of life was no longer meant for him. Wine was the only joy he had left. Looking at his cup, he didn’t notice Timur approach him. A slight blow to the head sent the drunken retiree into unconsciousness.
“Here we go,” his attacker mumbled, pulling the guy’s pants off and taking the vial of dragon’s blood from his pockets. “Sorry, but I don’t have time or any desire for conversation. The first thing I have to do is rub you down….”
A few minutes later, the rubbing phase was finished. Timur took out a second vial and poured exactly half of it, to the drop, into the patient’s mouth. The other half he generously wiped over his friend’s face and neck.
“You look like a twig, but man, is that deceptive!” the “doctor” grunted from the strain of lifting the involuntarily patient from the floor. “To bed with you. Sleep, so you know, is the best medicine,” he went on, turning Rigaud’s faint into a deep sleep with a simple spell.
The path to the bedroom was strewn with various obstacles in the form of fruit rinds and empty wine bottles. Near the bed, the “porter” almost dove headlong onto the floor together with his load; only the fact that the crumpled bed with the stale laundry was next to him saved them. Snoring, the object of care fell on the bed. The “object” yawned, stretched his whole body and turned to his left side, the youth’s snoring made the walls quake.
The “doctor” stood by the bedside for a few minutes watching whole sheets of dead skin come off the patient’s right side. The elixir of dragon’s blood took its effect. Timur felt a slight tingling in the pads of his fingers and palms. He’d been wiped down with it too—the skin on his hands was peeling off and becoming soft and pink, like a baby’s. That wasn’t good… Next time he had to be more careful, or else…. One had to be super careful with dragon’s blood. In small doses, it facilitated the healing of deep wounds and cured the most inconceivable ailments. But, like any medicine, it had a downside. As soon as you overdosed, the miraculously powerful medicine became a miraculously powerful poison. Drinking of this “spring” more than two or three times would be fatal. Each use left its mark in the form of a building-up of this very poison. At some point, enough became too much, and the person would die. Everything came with a price. Timur rubbed his palms and was glad that the side effect wasn’t very big. He wouldn’t like to make a date with Hel at the very beginning of his life. He really should listen to Lanirra’s advice and instructions. The dragoness was very serious when she described the uses of the blood serum, all the while glancing sideways at Frida. The winged “donor” just couldn’t understand why the vampire girl hadn’t died? The amount of dragon’s blood she received was enough to make two or three full-grown barls lower their trunks for good.
“I have to get some groceries,” Timur thought, recalling the insane hunger the former prisoner felt after taking the miraculous elixir. It had twisted his insides into a tight ball. More than likely, this “retiree,” once he woke up, would want to eat, no less than a hungry sul. Timur covered the loudly snoring man and went into the hallway. “Call the maid,” he told the man on duty.
“One moment,” he said, looking at the junior officer and calling the maid by way of a communicator amulet.
Two young ladies answered the call.
“Tidy up, take the trash out, mop the floors. Don’t touch the officer. He’ll be sleeping for about three hours yet. Don’t be alarmed. The roi-dert’s been treated with a magical serum for burns that removes the old skin. It’s normal. Please get a set of clean sheets and blankets and air the room out. Iron the quilt. The room should be sparkling like a polished egg by the time I get back. Is that clear?” Timur gave his instructions in choppy phrases. The girls both nodded. “Let’s get to it!” With that, two gold coins worth three pounds each fell on the table. Yes, it was a lot, but now he could be sure that the maids would fulfill the task with all zeal and then some.
***
Marika sat down on the bench located at the far end of the school park and, by the peaceful sound of the fountains, flipped through the pages of her textbook. “Life Magic—Main Uses” was written on the cover in a pretty font. The pages quietly rustled under her thin fingers and softly laid down one on top of another. The occasional drop of waterborne on the wind from the fountains kissed the paper and, like tears, left a blurry imprint on it. The lonely fair-haired witch wasn’t crying. The days of squeezing her tear-stained pillow until her hands hurt were done.
The past month, which had flown by like an angry steppe hurricane, hadn’t brought anything pleasant. A battle on the School shooting range, her arrest and unending questioning in the School dungeon. The feigned politesse of the Informants and the punishing mages, the ostentatious participation in her fate, the investigators’ cold, soulless eyes. The tiny damp cell with disgusting spiders in the corners, which became her home for a whole week. The mysterious disappearance of Rigaud and Timur, which gave rise to a wave of gossip and rumors. The revolt and bloody massacre by the Norsemen rebels. The battles at the School and the seniors fighting the punishers. She had lost her only friend this past month, turned away from her and hid behind her fiancé and his father. Not once did Irma pay her a visit. Her former gal pal didn’t fit in with the new social group. She looked like a dumb backwoods lassy compared to the highborn society.
On the other hand, new visits from the investigators followed, and a whole delegation from the Rauu principalities, and hundreds of questions, which she’d had no choice but to answer. Questions that turned her soul inside-out. Questions about Kerr, the orc, the vampire and again about K
err. Artful, loaded questions, designed to throw her a curveball. Questions about habits, tastes, boudoir preferences…! How the heck could she know what the dragon preferred in bed if he’d slept with the vampire and with Irma?! No, she didn’t know anything else! Perhaps he’d slept with someone else too? Maybe so. But she had no idea. The Rauu made themselves scare, and Rector Etran’s trusted associates took over, had at her, and the questions began all over again. Who had Marika dated, who had Rigaud seen, what girls were seen most often in the company of Rigaud and Kerr, had they had any romances? Once Marika couldn’t take it anymore and went hysterical. The dragon hadn’t had any romances except Frida, she screamed at Etran’s investigator. What romances could there have been if he came back to the dorm after midnight, practiced and fell into bed? After that little outburst, they eased up a bit. But for how long?
The girl clapped the book shut and looked at the strings of falling water, sparkling brightly like a clear crystal in the sun. This past month she’d learned to live alone and rely only on herself.
“Marika, there you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Rita plopped down on the bench next to her. She was the sophomore they’d assigned to the empty dorm room next door after the Snow Elves had left. “I have a surprise for you!”
“What is it?” Marika didn’t like her neighbor, always sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.
“Mmm, a good one. Half the dorm’s already sauntering past your surprise, hehe.”
“What do you mean? Why are they sauntering?”
“Marika,” Rita capriciously blew up her cheeks with air, “do I have to spell it out for you? Well, come on, some military guy on duty’s waiting for you! Good looking, too!” the neighbor demonstratively licked her lips.
“Hello Marika,” as soon as Marika entered the hall, the officer jumped up from his chair. A gaggle of young pretty flirts hanging about the military man smoothly moved aside, but not one of them left the hall. Each was positively burning with curiosity….
“Timur?!” The book slipped out of her weakened hands and fell to the floor, landing open.
“What, don’t you recognize me?” From his sad smile, the white strips of small scars on the young man’s face formed into little facial rays, making the guest ten years older.
“Where’s Rigaud? Is he alive?”
“He’s alive.” A weight lifted from Marika’s heart. “Pack your things. I’ll tell you everything on the way.”
She grabbed the fallen book and ran to her room:
“I’ll just be a minute!” she called back.
The beauties at the far end of the hall, which included a few of Timur’s former groupmates, whispered to one another. They couldn’t believe that this stately officer and the bookworm who’d disappeared just over a month ago were one and the same. A uniform really changes a person. And he looks good in a brush cut….
***
“Move your hands.”
“...”
“As if I’ve never seen you naked before. Turn around, not this way! That way. Turn. Stop.”
“...”
“Mischief maker. You’d even be shy in front of Timur. Move your hands, now stop!”
“What am I to you, a stallion? And you’re spurring me on….”
“You’re a shameless gigolo, not a stallion. Don’t twist….”
Timur, closing his eyes, was lounging in a comfy chair nestled in the corner of the room. The old black armchair didn’t go at all with the rest of the room’s décor, which was neutrals, but was so comfortable that no one lifted a finger to change it or throw it away. Timur was grateful now more than ever for the staff’s laziness. From the bathroom, where Rigaud and Marika had gone to get the last of Rigaud’s dry skin off, he could hear muffled laughs. Let them laugh. Better than gorging themselves on wine. At least Rigaud’s back to his old self again….
“Turn your back towards me. I have to rinse off the soap root. You know, these scars are becoming on you, especially the ones on your face. They give you a sort of manly charm.”
Timur smiled. Good job, girl. It seemed she knew better than he did how to raise their burned friend’s self-esteem. The elixir had helped: Rigaud’s right arm and leg bent and unbent as they had before he was wounded. Only the biggest ugly worms of scars remained, which had turned into thin white lines. Four parallel scars, like the trail of a predator’s claws, crossed the guy’s face, about two centimeters apart from one another. The first started at his temple; the second crossed the outer corner of his right eye, which made it look like the young man was constantly squinting. The third scar went from his cheek to his ear, cutting into his hairline behind the upper lobe in a deep furrow. The fourth started at his chin, ran a bit crooked, “cut off” the tip of his earlobe, and sharply turned down onto his neck, where a few more healed ropes descended along his side and back as branching roots. It was entirely possible that the potion could have been more effective, but the amateur doctor was afraid to really rub the stuff into Rigaud’s face. All he could do now was to pray to the Twins and thank them for letting him meet Kerr and not letting Marika see the ugliness of his friend before he had used the dragon’s blood.
By the time they moved from the dorm into the military housing unit, the maids had imposed ideal cleanliness and order in the room. They had earned their gold twice over. The floors were clean and waxed, the dust was gone, his uniform was washed, dried, pressed, and put away in the closet. There wasn’t a trace of the bottles or the smell of wine. A large bouquet of flowers in a malachite vase made the whole place smell like a meadow. The girls had managed to change the bedding from under the sleeping Rigaud. They hadn’t forgotten to provide a change of bedding either, although, after the job they’d done, there really wasn’t any need. However, Timur smiled and scoffed to himself, he’ll probably need it, judging by the mood he’s in. They might tear the old ones in a fit of passion….
*****
“Nice,” Marika spoke up, swimming into the room in a dignified manner and gratefully nodding at Timur, who held the door for her.
“Yes, not bad,” he confirmed.
“What’s on the agenda?”
“First up: get someone who’s fallen into a deep, dark depression back on his feet.”
“Oh, and what’s happened to him?” she said, pointing at the black blotches on the sleeping Rigaud’s face.
“It’s trace of the elixir.”
“Well now that I get it, why we wake our hero up?”
By their combined effort, Rigaud was awakened, completely undressed and taken to the shower. Before that he tried to shout, protesting this violation of his rights, but upon seeing his girlfriend’s stern expression, he stopped, then straightened his right arm at the elbow, and froze for a while. The “retiree’s” brain couldn’t accept the miraculous healing without a good explanation.
“Dragon’s blood,” Timur answered his friend’s pressing look.
“Where’d you get it?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
“Go wash up first. Marika, will you help him? Otherwise … um….” Timur hesitated. The young woman batted her eyes at Rigaud smiling flirtatiously and nodded. Timur didn’t have to explain anything to her; she understood the situation for herself, whether by woman’s intuition or aggravated feminine flair. The “patient” blushed to the tips of his ears. Well well, one might think that no one knew about the secret visits to the women’s dorm and adroit entrances through the second-floor window that Marika had forgotten to shut. No, something else was going on here: Rigaud was ashamed of himself, of having forgotten about his friends and simply abandoned himself to drowning his sorrows in wine bottles, for falling off the radar. It wasn’t becoming of a man and a warrior. “Go on already.”
“You promised to tell me,” Timur heard from behind the closed bathroom door. “Don’t even think about trying to avoid it!”
“I won’t,” Timur answered, falling into the embrace o
f the black leather armchair.
To the peaceful sound of the running water, Timur almost fell asleep. He wasn’t bothered by the giggling or the loud exclamations of the bathers. Finally, the flow of water stopped, the door burst open, and the robed love-birds came out.
“Do tell,” Rigaud said, completely ignoring the delicious spread on the table and sitting down on the bed. Marika sat down beside him. Just one word, a disdainful look at the food, and all of a sudden Timur could believe the former smart-alec had returned, who valued information above all, even a full stomach. “I know you stormed the arsenal. There were a couple of guys in the hospital from our wing. I’m sorry, Tim, for what I said. Why don’t you tell me where the portal took you and where you can get your hands on some dragon’s blood. And tell me who’s kind enough to share some….”
