by Alex Sapegin
The previous evening, Andy had come to his first result in this field. The little lightning that came from his finger singed a fat mosquito that was sucking his blood. All the accumulated mana was spent in order to finalize the skill. Another dozen bugs were zapped. He impressed even his black friend in the adjacent cage.
The street sweepers crossed over to the center of the square, collecting garbage near the enclosure.
“Oh! It happened faster today,” Andy commented to the dragon, breaking the muteness spell. The dragon blinked in agreement.
“No talking!” the smelly supervisor cried, leaning over the railing.
“Cut it out, scumbag! If you squawk, I’ll yell and tell them you’re robbing the treasury!” Andy answered lazily. He was tired of their nightly bickering with this thieving miser. The vendors constantly complained that the supervisor wasn’t giving them their cut, and he was a royal civil servant.
“Quiet, speak more softly!” the supervisor waved his hands in a quieting gesture.
“Get out of here, don’t bother us!” Andy finished his apple and threw the core at the annoying eavesdropper. His shackles didn’t allow him to fully chuck it, so it didn’t reach the man, but the two-legged rat flinched all the same.
“So, what were you saying?” Andy teased the dragon, making big innocent eyes. The gargantuan creature beat his tail in protest. “Okay, okay, don’t get upset. Why don’t you tell me, can your chains be removed by magic?”
The dragon shook his head from side to side, meaning no.
“Okay. And you can’t break them…”
The dragon tugged with his right front paw, rattling the thick chains.
“And what if you just get one foot free?”
There were energetic nods and blinks. He’d settle for that. They were discussing and working out their escape plan for the third day already.
“And can you fly away?”
The dragon rustled the ends of his wings and blinked in affirmation. Then he stopped blinking and growled, staring off somewhere behind the phony freak of nature. Andy turned around. Surrounded by a whole crowd of admirers, the green-eyed woman from the orc hunt approached the cages.
***
Raston. Andy.
Andy’s chest swelled with hatred and rage. Just let me get at you, you lowlife…
“Two weeks have gone by, and nothing has changed. The same words. Remove the mongrel’s chains and deliver him in one hour to the executioner’s chambers,” the dandy turned to the obsequious caretaker.
The pungent man rushed to the guards’ booth. The other man turned to Andy and smiling, said, “It’s time to teach you submission. I’ll see you at the chambers, wolf-boy.”
He turned sharply, the tails of his cloak whipping at Andy’s face, and left the enclosure.
“He seems really mad,” Andy told the dragon. The giant nodded. His eyes showed compassion. He knew very well how visits to the executioner’s chambers ended.
“It’s okay. We’ll break through.”
The supervisor came back, bringing with him five chain mail-clad guards and the burly blacksmith. A few sturdy hits with the hammer and chisel, and the first rivet came undone. The second one followed equally quickly. The guards pulled the chains, freeing Andy from his tether. Perhaps, he hoped, they would take off the shackles on his wrists and ankles as well. but no such luck. The blacksmith caught the silver coin the supervisor tossed at him and walked away, mumbling into his beard and spitting. The petty miser was again showing his greed.
“Don’t pull!” the head guard warned; Andy didn’t pull. What is the point in digging in my heels like a mule? I can’t best five guys, and I will yet need my strength.
The guard poked him in the back with the tip of his spear. “Move!”
Andy got an aching, foreboding feeling. He felt he certain he might die. He heard the loud clamor of chains behind him and glanced back. The dragon was standing in his cage looking at him.
“I’m with you!” the black winged creature’s eyes seemed to say.
“Thank you,” Andy whispered. He felt a bit better.
“What are you waiting for? Get going!” A new prick with a spear head made him walk faster.
***
“Where is he?” a voice came from the street. The dandy appeared just then.
“In the third cell. He was delivered a half hour ago!”
Andy was always surprised by how loudly and clearly the guards spoke, shouting out their answers as if reporting at a parade.
“Get that barbarian to the gallows in the smaller courtyard in fifteen minutes.” There was a silence, and in a few seconds, the dandy’s voice spoke again, “Why the bulging eyes? I said let’s go!”
“Yes, sir!”
Why does he have to yell like that?
The guards burst into the cell. Four to one—apparently, they respected and feared this Nirel character. In a moment, they tied Andy up and dragged him to the smaller courtyard where Alo Troi had taught him, and where he met the king. A pair of sullen workers—the ones who had taken away Alo’s body ten days before—looked at the sky with cold eyes before extracting a couple of special racks from a barn.
“Nir, the whips?” a broad-shouldered guy with a protruding brow asked the dandy. “Perhaps you should herd the little wolf first with the whips?”
“I’m feeling fatigued, today, Migur.” Nirel sat down on the steps of the platform and extended his long legs. “As the royal executioner, I have to deal with all kinds of riff raff.”
“Can I do it?”
“Do you need that, Migur? You’re an apprentice! Sanchez is just as capable of waving a whip around.” Nirel pointed at the guard.
Andy followed the direction he was indicating and saw a barrel on two legs with a conical helmet on top. The guard was sitting on a small bench drinking beer from a large mug.
Migur frowned skeptically.
“But if you’re just itching to, I’ll let you get some practice,” Nirel said.
Upon Migur’s command, the gloomy men threaded a long chain into the rings on Andy’s shackles and tied him to a tall post that was impounded in the ground in the middle of the courtyard. Like a dog on a chain, Andy thought, glancing at his fifteen-foot-long leash.
Migur undressed to the waist and took the light whip in his hand; the assistant planned to amuse himself a bit, but not beat Andy to death. The lashing began. Strike, recoil, strike, recoil. Andy covered himself with his hands and dodged, jumping to the side as much as possible with the chain and the shackles on his ankles. The burning blows from the whip rained down on him, and the guards began to bet out loud on whether the little beast would be able to dodge or not and where Migur would strike next.
Rage bubbled inside Andy. He hit his left side on the post and wasn’t able to jump out of the way of a biting blow to his shoulder. Migur darted one way; Andy ran the other.
A plan in mind, he retreated to the post. The apprentice, who had been dashing here and there, lowered his guard. Closer, closer now… He needed an abundance of chain. The whip whistled and Andy, instead of dodging, jumped forward. Migur had gotten carried away with beating his defenseless victim and therefore had no time to react to the lunge. A loop of the chain encircled his thick neck. Andy’s body fired forward and sharply downward. The leash didn’t let him get very far away, but he wasn’t really trying. He lay on the trampled dirt and looked at the dead apprentice.
The guards, Nirel, and the gloomy men leaped to their feet and stared at the dead body in stunned silence. “Grab that boy! Put him on the racks! Look alive!” Nirel’s sharp cry broke the silence. The frozen people sprang into action.
They lifted Andy up by kicking him, took the chain off, and in less than three minutes, he was lying on a rack. The guards brought a ramp on wheels and removed the apprentice’s body. Tough luck, Migur.
“Tear the wolf’s fur off of him.”
Someone’s hands ripped the fur off of Andy, making him cry out in pain; the glue was
quite strong.
“To my chambers, NOW!” Nirel ordered, causing the skinny guard to bolt upright. “Bring that valise. Find the blacksmith, I need him to remove the shackles. Notrium dulls the effects of the spell.”
***
The executioner’s chambers were a flurry of activity. The blacksmith appeared—the same bearded man from the enclosure. “First cuff him, then uncuff him…,” he said, mumbling into his beard and swearing. He began to beat at the rivets. He held out his hand when he had finished the job.
“Get out of here!” Nirel exploded at him. A pair of guards practically kicked the hammer-and-anvil-wielding man off the premises.
“I hope everything goes wrong for you!” he yelled back from beyond the fence.
They tied Andy down by his arms and legs. What a relief now that the notrium had been removed. The world, full of energy, opened up before him. Latching on to the external replenishment, he missed it when Hurga the orc appeared, and the enraged executioner began his witchcraft. Nirel grabbed a small box from inside his valise and handed it to the humongous orc.
“Put the powder from the black mushroom spores here, and the dried poisonous Birim flies. I’ll beat, you pour!” he explained after Hurga’s questioning moo. The orc’s eyebrows crawled upward. A whip with a black handle made of bone appeared in Nirel’s hands. Runes decorated the handle all around. He whispered quietly, and the whip blazed with a living flame. There was a quick whistle, and Andy’s back burned with unbearable pain.
“Pour it!” Nirel cried. Andy’s scream of insane pain could be heard in the yard outside. Another blow. “Pour! I’ll teach you, wolf-scum, to obey! Does it hurt? Pour!”
The orc held out the empty box, and Nirel stopped, grabbed Andy by the chin, bloody from biting his lip, and smiled a shark’s smile. “Well, didn’t pass out. A strong little wolf you are.”
“I’m a wolf, and you’re a dog. That’s a good name for you. Nir-Nir, come ‘ere, boy, lick the king’s boot. I’ll die a wolf, free at heart, but you’ll croak like a dog on a chain,” Andy wheezed, turning his head toward the cloudy dark stain on his blood-red back.
“And they’ll bury you in the backyard, spitting in the grave. The king has lots of dogs on chains! No one’ll notice one less flea-bitten mutt in the pack.” Andy wasn’t afraid. He mentally prepared himself to die as his torturer laughed mockingly.
“Do you know what a delayed-action spell is? No? You will! Tomorrow, I’ll start opening your scabs and scars. Slowly, one scar a day. I don’t need you to die right away! I won’t even have to touch you. Magic is a terrifying thing in capable hands.”
Andy said nothing. If he guessed correctly, this process would be long and torturous. The black dust and fiery whip have to mean something, but what? The orc, when he was told about the flies, widened his eyes. That meant his future sessions would be linked to today’s mutilation.
***
Irina had liked to read all kinds of fantasy fiction. Sometimes, for Andy, she would print out some of the books she dug up online and liked. He had read one once; he didn’t remember the name or most of the plot, but he remembered that there was a part where the main heroine had to undergo some peculiar psychological training in which she was humiliated, abused and pushed down to the very rock bottom, then brought back up to a normal human state. When he read it, Andy found it truly fantastic.
Once broken, people don’t become normal people again. Fear remains in their eyes to the end of their lives. Once they let themselves go there, there was no coming back; the human person was gone. He had seen enough of those whining creatures in the cells with him to know.
A breeze of fresh air blew by, bringing with it the booming sound of thunder. A storm was coming.
Nirel patted the silent Andy on the head and laughed a satisfied laugh. “I see you’ve realized what’s going on. You understand what’ll become of you?”
He squatted in front of Andy, who spat in his sneering face. Andy got a punch in response that knocked out a couple of teeth before Nirel extracted a batiste handkerchief from the cuff of his coat and wiped the blood spatter from his cheek. Then he hit Andy again; Andy spat again, with more bits of teeth.
“I see you don’t get it yet!” Nirel said. “No matter! We have a lot of time. You’ll understand yet. Why are you jerking like that?”
***
Raston. Nirel.
Nirel noticed how the little wolf jerked on the rack when the lightning struck. Next to him, Hurga the orc covered his head with his hands. Afraid of the storm, the orc bellowed and ran to the inner chambers. What do they call that orc god of the sky and of rage, with arms of lightning, the one gray orcs are afraid of? The name was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn’t think of it. Targ take it. The little wolf, raised by orcs, is afraid of lightning? I’ll arrange for him to meet this feared heathen god of his!
Nirel called the guards and ordered them to drag the boy to the observation deck of the Mages’ Tower in the royal palace. There’s a cage there, and he’d be closer to the sky. If their god of lightning killed him, then that would be his fate. Nirel could tell the King and the Princess it was the goddesses’ will.
The guards removed his body, riddled with black scars, from the rack and took Andy toward the palace complex. The Mages’ Tower made up part of the same architectural composition as the palace, although it stood off to the side a bit from the main buildings.
Nirel gave his last orders, packed his valise and went to the stables, deciding he’d had enough for the day.
***
The doorman at the gates of his villa bowed low and took the reins. The whole way home, the elf had been bothered by doubts over whether he had made good decisions that day. Something’s off. But what? He didn’t grieve Migur; he died like a dog, but that was one less human in the world, and they were still multiplying like rabbits. Why was it such an emotional shock then?
He began to sort out the events one by one. He might have been in Migur’s place if he had agreed to the apprentice’s first suggestion. It would have been a stupid way to die, and the orc’s brat had earned some respect. He was only a boy, but he held his own like a man. He is straight as an arrow, more worthy than all my acquaintances from Rimm, with pure and unadulterated rage and contempt. It’s a shame to break him, but I have to for Taliza’s sake.
“Your brother is here to see you, sir.” The old housekeeper met Nirel on the front steps.
Brother? I don’t have a brother, Nirel thought. Targ take me, Radel? Radel’s here? Has he picked up on Nim’s trail?
“Is he in the parlor, Eliz?”
“In the fireplace room, sir. I told the cook to heat some wine and make your brother a fruit salad. Let me remind you that dinner is in an hour, please don’t be late.” Eliz cast Nirel a strict glance, but changed the subject, “Something’s going to happen. A dry thunderstorm at the end of the week is a bad sign.”
Nirel, running up the stairs two-by-two, hurried to the second floor and stopped in front of an oak door to the fireplace room. His heart beat fast, his mouth was dry. Taking a deep breath and calming his upset nerves, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, activating a curtain of silence with a slight wave of his hand.
Radel leaped from his deep comfy armchair and took two steps to meet Nirel. His unfinished glass of wine rested on the mantle.
“Rad!”
“Nir!”
The brothers managed a choppy embrace.
“Something big has happened. Have you found a trace of Nim?” Nirel immediately switched to the matter that troubled him.
Rad didn’t say anything, staring at the wall. But then Nirel noticed bags under his eyes and the gray, earthy hue of his guest’s skin. With a foreboding feeling, his heart began to pound and ache in his chest. “What happened?”
“I found Nim.” Rad’s tone of voice as he said this was so full of bitterness that Nirel felt no joy at the news of his sister’s discovery.
“She’s…dead?”
Nirel’s legs turned to jelly beneath him. The executioner dropped to the floor. A sharp, three-sided blade had struck at the chink in his armor.
Elves always take great care when it comes to their relatives; their long lives and the rare birth of children forced them to hold onto their family. No one had ever been closer to him than his sister. They were twins, such an incredibly rare phenomenon; their birth was quite the event. But it wasn’t celebrated anywhere. No one would celebrate the birth of changelings.
Changeling babies, from inside their mother’s womb, could appear human. They never knew love or care from their parents but were raised in a closed center deep in the Forest. They were brought up to be a secret weapon—spies, managing the interests of the perpetually green canopy. He and his sister knew no other life and believed everything that was taught to them as the sacred truth. They liked the same things and the same books, they never fought, and they understood one another without words.
Thirty years had gone by in the blink of an eye. They learned to be human but to remain elves faithful to the Forest, and they were sent out into a foreign world. Radel and Nim, playing the roles of newlyweds, were sent to the Patskoi Empire, while Nirel settled down in Meriya.
Ten years went by, and Rad and his sister had gotten married for real. Later, Nirel was sent to Rimm, and one year ago, Nim went missing. She had traveled to Ronmir, a city in the North of the empire. She was traveling along the passenger’s diligence road when bandits seized the carriage. Rad organized search parties… Nirel lived in expectation of good news for a whole year, fostering hope that Nim was alive, that she was being held in a prison, and her captors were waiting for a ransom to be paid by her relatives, or—he tried to cast the thought out—she had been sold into a harem. It was his daily personal torture that made him bitter and hate-filled toward humans.
