by Alex Sapegin
“Let it be so. Take the caravan and pay the slave traders for the goods. The ships should disappear on the way back. I command you to destroy all middlemen. Kill them and their families too. There mustn’t be any traces left,” his Lordship ordered.
“That’s not the only news, your Lordship.” Iruel folded his hands. “Yesterday they consulted the oracles…,” he fell silent not knowing what to say next.
“Go on,” his Lordship couldn’t stand pauses in the conversation.
“The oracles spoke as one. The ancient horror will return, come to our land, and…”
“Enough, Iruel!” his Lordship stopped the messenger with a wave of his hand. “The oracles have been harping on about the ancient horror for two thousand years now. I’ll most likely become a human, fighting the human threat, but in my six hundred years of life, the oracles have predicted the return of the horror more than ten times. Leave these fairy tales to children. Humans are our main threat! They’ve come too close to our borders. They’re starting to feel crowded and soon they’ll splash over them. Like a flood, like an avalanche. If we don’t stop them now, it will soon be too late.”
“Yes, your Lordship. As you wish.”
Light footsteps interrupted the elves’ conversation. At the edge of the clearing, a graceful elf in a green tunic parted the green vines and approached them.
“Father!” the girl bowed her head and got down on one knee spilling long brown hair onto the ground.
His Lordship frowned.
“Eliel, leave us for ten minutes!” Ratel’s voice clanged like metal. The young Forest nymph—Iruel could think of no other fitting designation for her—popped back up as if she were lighter than air and quickly disappeared into the shadow of the Mellornys.
His Lordship watched her leave with a pensive expression. He sat and thought about something for three or four minutes. His adviser Iruel decided not to interrupt his thoughts.
“Iruel, the Orten School of Magic hasn’t yet refused us the right to send young representatives of the Forest to them for education, have they?” Iruel tensed up. His Lordship had come up with something.
“No, Your Lordship. Allow me to remind you that the last envoy was five years ago.”
“What do you think? Will the Secret Royal Chancellery and the Rauu’s agents be seriously alarmed if the daughter of a Forest Lordship comes to the School with her entourage and other eager students?” Ratel continued to ask. His adviser caught his drift and gave a hasty reply:
“I think there will be so many Rauu security agents and spies in that School, there’ll be no way to avoid them! If there aren’t too many, they’ll bring more in. It’s imperative that the students we send are quite noticeable… and, to some degree, famous….”
“Take care of that. Make Eliel the head of the delegation. Before she leaves, prepare spies and humans faithful to us elves in Tantre. The pupils will distract the guards, and while the dust is settling from the bustle surrounding the dignitaries and their presence, our spies should dig up the roots of Gil II’s policy aspirations.” His Lordship had spoken. “And now go and fetch Eliel here. We have much to discuss. May the Forest’s blessing be upon you.”
“And upon you,” Iruel bowed briefly and left the clearing.
The subtle odor of forest violets surrounded his Lordship in a pleasant wave. The girl’s airy steps appeared from the other side of the clearing now which he hadn’t expected.
“Father, you’re sending me to the humans?”
Orten. The Orten School of Magic. Andy…
Leaving the chancellery with a copy of the employment contact in his bag, Andy headed to the dorm. His next fencing lesson would begin soon. He had to change and bring a change of clothes with him. Berg worked his trainees to the bitter end, in every way imaginable. After the intense lessons, the clothes you were wearing could have been donated to the salt factory. You could probably squeeze a pound of salt out of them. But he wasn’t able to make his way to the dorm unhindered.
Rigaud loudly burst out of the bushes growing along the path. A rabid rhino would have been quieter and more graceful. Catching his breath, his friend started walking along with him to the right, trying to match the rhythm of his steps with Andy’s.
“What did the rector want?” His curiosity was killing him. “Let your good friend Rigaud in on the news, please! Half the School saw you walking in the park. It’s a shame I missed that. They say you were cooing back and forth like two pigeons.”
“Well, why don’t you ask those who are talking!” Andy snapped. Rigaud now flanked him on the other side and poked him in the side with his fist.
“Come on, Kerr. I won’t be able to sleep until I know, and my eyes will get all red! And for what? Just because one person was talking with another. Don’t you feel sorry for me? Frida the vampire won’t leave me alone; she’s been making passes at me left and right, and each time I’ve got to explain myself to Marika…,” Andy snorted. Uh-huh. And after your wild nights out with Timur, you weren’t really able to explain anything to her, and you return Frida’s flirts right back at her! No, why don’t you let me have Frida then? “She’ll think I’m one of their kind if she sees me with red eyes. She’ll start biting me she’ll be so happy. And whose fault will that be? Yours! You’ve got a heart of stone. A friend’s worrying about you, wasting away with concern, and you couldn’t care less….” Rigaud couldn’t contain his grin at this point.
“Chill out! Geeze!” Andy pulled the paper out of his bag and held it under Rigaud’s nose. You can’t keep a cat in a bag for long. The chancellery’s rats would find out about it sooner or later. “Here, read it.”
Rigaud dove into the text with unfettered interest, like a tick into a vein. Once he had read it through, he scratched his dome, and began to read it a second time. Apparently, he was missing something. He started it over a third time. Guess the memory-strengthening classes haven’t kicked in yet.
“Mister archivist!” Rigaud bent over in a mocking bow and got a kick in the butt. “Well-well-well! I’m showing my respect, and you kick me for it! Is that how state civil servants ought to behave? Huh?”
Andy shook his head. Can a leopard change his spots?
“You mock me, foe, and have no respect, and for that I’ll not tell you the second piece of news!” Andy said pulling the trump card from his sleeve.
“What’s that now? More news?” Rigaud instantly stopped fooling around. There was a questioning look in his eyes. The same look in a dog’s eyes when it’s asking for a nice juicy piece of meat from its masters’ table. Staring sweetly into his friend’s eyes, Rigaud tried to arouse his pity. Take a walk, buster! The staring—begging—went on another minute. Andy put on an “à la brick” expression and kept on walking towards the dorm. In another minute, Rigaud couldn’t stand it anymore. “Kerr, come on, let’s have it. I swear, I won’t tell anyone!”
The foremost magpie had promised to keep a lid on it. Now the earth and sky really were switching places! Rigaud, the “newspaper boy” of their group—always yelling “extra, extra! Come hear all about it!” — kept eternally abreast of all news and gossip about the School. Where did he find it all out? That was a secret that remained buried—he was out here bothering everyone all the time anyway! A chatterbox and buffoon, he became the bridge that connected Andy with the rest of the group, filling the gap of estrangement that might have separated Andy from others with his easy-going manner. The interpersonal connections excluded the “Icicles,” naturally. Although, three months in the company of humans and immersed in the brazen, rowdy community of bookworms had toppled the Rauu’s pride and arrogant attitude to some degree. On one occasion, a couple of “Icicles” came to class positively glowing with poorly-masked dark circles under their eyes. Their mentor knew what he was doing. The bruises lingered, not giving in easily even to magic. Rigaud immediately understood the whole story and recounted it to the rest of them. The night before, five Rauu had gone out in the Middle and happened upon fou
r junior students of the School celebrating someone’s birthday. The party was already in full swing. The bookworms took a liking to the attractive female Rauu and invited her to drink to the health of the birthday boy. As you’ve probably guessed, the “Icicles” refused. Andy could easily imagine how they would have rejected this proposal. One thing led to another and the dispute escalated. The result was not a challenge to a duel, but a simple street fight between the four male elves and the four buzzed young humans. During the course of the affair, the Icicles got their bottoms handed to them in the form of black eyes and bruises all over the ribs. The bookworms promised to let them have some more if they threatened a duel and went off to celebrate their victory with a round for all. The only losses the humans had taken were a bloody nose and lip and two less teeth. The Rauu hadn’t given up without a fight, and no one had crossed the line by using magic. It is through rumors such as these that the myth of the long-eared tribe’s coolness crumbles. It is destroyed by simple human fists. After this incident, many students in their group stopped fearing the elves and the social “wall” they had built around themselves was finally wiped away. Andy, for his part, kept his ears to the ground as before and didn’t stop glancing behind himself every now and then. He regretted not having a rear-view mirror and attended his fencing lessons religiously. God helps those who help themselves.
“Well, Kerr, out with it. Hm?” Rigaud kept prodding.
“Slim, you could wake the dead with your persistence!”
“Nooo… I’m not a necromancer, and too bad I’m not! A little whack on the noggin, and then I’d raise you back up while you’re still warm. You’d tell me everything, but the One God didn’t give me that talent. Which is why I’ll have to get it out of you while you’re alive!” The “newspaper boy” kept on bugging his opponent. “Kerr, if you don’t tell me, I’ll shut up of course, but the paper worms from the chancellery will still spread the news, but just think how they’ll twist it! I can present you in a good light. You’ll come out smelling like a rose, no matter what the news are!” (This man who had just promised to keep quiet had now forgotten all about that, by the way.) “All the girls will go ape for you, if it’s that kind of news.” At the end of the monologue, Rigaud employed his most powerful argument: “I promise, I even swear to leave Frida alone and point her to your capable hands!”
Leave Frida alone, that dark-haired vixen of a vampire with delightfully sharp white teeth, who had more than once shot Andy a glance from under those long eyelashes? This was worth considering. Hm, there was something about her… Rigaud, say “goodbye” to Frida.
“For the time I’ll be working as an archivist, I’ll temporarily become a member of the Guild and I’ll have to wear their badge!” Andy finally gave in.
“Oooh, wow!” Rigaud’s eyes opened wide, and he was suddenly speechless. The magpie was beaten for the moment. It would come back to life shortly, of course, and review this new morsel from all sides. It would drink in the juices, savoring every detail, then spread the news far and wide. But for now, five minutes of peace and quiet had been secured. They reached the dorm door.
“In twenty minutes, we’re off to training with Berg. Get Timur,” Andy said and slammed the door to his room in Rigaud’s face. The magpie started to show signs of life, and Andy had no desire whatsoever to hear its never-ending chirp.
Twenty minutes later, Rigaud and Timur were waiting for Andy near the dorm doors.
“Is it true?” Timur asked in place of a greeting. Rigaud hadn’t lost any time. He had already enlightened someone, and perhaps Timur wasn’t the first. Tomorrow morning the number of people in the know would grow exponentially. Andy just nodded.
“Let’s make tracks. Berg doesn’t like people showing up late.”
The guard at the School gates warned the bookworms as they were leaving to go into the city that the gates closed at 11 p.m. and if they were late they would have to spend the night on the benches around the perimeter of the square. They wouldn’t hold the gates open even an extra five minutes. We’ll take that into account. Thanks man.
Berg, the half-orc, was the only mixed-race individual in the city who enjoyed a spotless reputation and the complete trust of the local authorities. How and why he occupied this position, none of the simple folk knew, and Berg wasn’t telling. He had founded his fencing school not through popularity with the gentry but through the merits of the skills he taught as judged by the masters. He didn’t teach his students how to fence; he taught them how to kill. By the sword, ax, spear, knife, or dagger—everything that cuts, chops, pierces, or slashes. One could only procure lessons with him take a class or two through special written recommendation, so Andy and his friends didn’t have any particular chance. To make matters worse, molting started the day of Berg’s entrance exams.
A week and a half of the school year had gone by and Andy was desperate to find a tutor or a self-defense school that would agree to teach a non-human of mixed race how to wield a weapon. Everywhere he went he was flatly refused. Even being a student at the School of Magic didn’t help. His student’s badge wasn’t a guaranteed pass into the fencing schools of masters Trego, Fillo, Radstendgrad and several others that sent him packing. Your friends may stay, if they wish. However, we regret to inform you we don’t work with non-humans! As a matter of principle. The wording of the rejections of all the schools was so similar, Andy got the impression they had all been composed by the same person.
After getting rejected a dozen of times (who would have guessed there were so many fencing schools in one city?), Andy spat in frustration and decided to give it a rest for a while and listen to the small voice that had been gnawing at his conscience. Time to visit the address that had been given to him over a year ago, and in doing so, make good on an old promise. The family of Alo teg grall Troi deserved to know how he died. He had time. He could take a detour.
He hired a taxi. He didn’t feel like trying to make his way there on foot. In ten minutes, he arrived at the address after going up and down the same street a couple of times. There’s taxi drivers for you.
The long conversation with Alo Troi’s daughter and widow was emotionally exhausting. Feminine tears had always had a great effect on Andy, and on this day he was fated to see quite a lot of them. Though he told of Alo’s heroism, Andy couldn’t bring him back to them. He hoped they could at least be proud of him and get some closure knowing what happened.
He politely refused staying for dinner and hurried to take his leave. He had no desire to dive any deeper into the story of that day. Unpleasant memories made the “decorations” on his back hurt. He had to use all his willpower to mitigate the pain.
The street was empty. There wasn’t a single carriage. He had to use the age-old transportation method and move his feet across the bridge. Orten wasn’t the middle of nowhere. It was pretty difficult to get lost. The streets were lit with street lamps which gave off a soft magical light. There were signs at every intersection and many pedestrians walking about. The guards stationed three blocks away could give him directions. In five minutes, Andy reached the Golden bridge, which united Lailat and the Middle, and after that he was oriented and knew the way home no problem.
A carriage raced across the bridge from the Lailat side drawn by four wheezing horses. You could tell from a glance that the horses had bolted out of control. The runaway carriage flew into the street full of people. The coachman yelled to bystanders, who pressed against walls or jumped out of the way. Andy, too, jumped to the side. He had no wish whatsoever to be a hero and try to stop the four horses. In movies, the main character can always come to the rescue in this situation, smoothly and quickly calming the horses. But in real life, if anyone tries it, he’ll probably just get trampled and the horses will bolt on. A shot from the carriage’s broken wheel, just like the sound of a gun firing, made him turn his head. With only three wheels, the carriage skidded and crashed into the corner of a house with stupid force. Fragments flew in every direction. Peopl
e flocked to the scene of the accident. Caught up in the mass panic and curious, Andy ran over as well.
Now that their sad deed had been accomplished, the four horses stood unharmed by the corner of the house. The coachman sat on the edge of the pavement in a green cloak nursing his arm. When the carriage hit, he had been thrown from the driver’s seat onto the roadway. As a result, he had broken his left arm and his cloak had been torn to ribbons. The man and woman inside the carriage were in shock and had sustained many scrapes on their faces and arms. Nothing a Life mage couldn’t fix in a jiffy. The lady and knight were practically unharmed, except for having a good scare and the fact that their clothes now had to be thrown out. It simply wasn’t worth it to try to clean and repair them. Only one person had been seriously hurt. A boy of five or six had been walking in the street with his nanny when the carriage hit and was just at the wrong place at that moment, under a hail of flying debris. A piece of the bow spring had pierced his chest through.
The boy was lying on the bridge shaking slightly. A pool of blood was collecting under his back. There was a bit of red foam on his lips. Andy realized his lung had been punctured. A small piece of the spring was protruding from his chest.
“Taychi!”
A second-floor window of the house that had been hit by the carriage opened and a man jumped out. It was quite obvious that this was not a human, but some sort of mix. The grayish tone of his skin and slightly protruding upper fangs spoke of his orcish blood.
“Taychi! Tyigu! My girl! Someone call a Life mage—she’s dying!” he called to the onlookers.
A short, robust fellow with straw-colored hair made his way through the crowd. His face seemed vaguely familiar to Andy.
“What happened, Berg?” he asked the half-orc. As if it weren’t obvious! The robust fellow closed his eyes and extended his right arm over the girl. He was a mage. A weak one, but still stronger than a conjurer. “Berg, the mage will be too late. She’s lost a lot of blood and has too little strength left.”
