Home at Last

by Alex Sapegin

  “Hello.” The elf nodded. “I haven’t heard any news of you for a long time.”

  The corners of the were-dragon’s lips raised into a kind of smile.

  “What whim of Fate brought you to the north?” Vistamel asked cautiously.

  Kerr once again indicated a semblance of a smile and tilted his head to the right. His absent expression indicated that he was mentally somewhere else.

  “I’ll ask the questions, and later, not now,” he said. “You and I need rest. It was another pleasure to drag you here in a trap. I ordered them to prepare a guest tent for you.”

  Lolima shook her head in disbelief and jumped upright when the three trees around them started rippling and melted away, revealing the top of a high hill with a huge camp stretching a few leagues from the foot to the river. But that’s not what struck the elf. The proud Rauu, opening her mouth and losing all the arrogance inherent in Snow Elves, looked at the dragons. Hundreds and hundreds of dragons…

  * * *

  “Vist, wake up!”

  Vistamel waved his hand lazily, tried to cover himself with the quilted blanket, and dug deeper into the pile of soft skins which replaced both the bed and the mattress.

  “Vist!” Lolima’s voice, like a drill, penetrated his skull.

  The elf, with a depressed moaning, throwing back the blanket, tried to sit up on the bed provided by the good hosts. His body was racked with fatigue. A short rest did not do the trick; he wanted to sleep incredibly.

  “Lo, why don’t you go north!” Vistamel yawned and added, “Or far away! I didn’t sleep well.”

  “You’ll have time to sleep!” his teammate countered. “Twins almighty, how can you sleep in such a situation?” Lolima raised her eyes to the mountain.

  “And what do you suggest? Running around the tent and beating your head on furniture?” the guy [S4]answered.

  Lolima’s gaze rested on a wicker table and three light armchairs made of unknown wood. The furnishings didn’t fit very well with the idea.

  “I suggest thinking.”

  “Think, don’t think, as you like.” Vistamel got up from the skins, went to the table, and sucked on a jug of water their prudent hosts had left them. Lolima winced. Sometimes she was irritated by her partner’s manners. He acted more like a human village bumpkin than an elf. If she only knew that the “bumpkin” was deliberately annoying her with his behavior, unworthy of a Snow Elf. What could he say? Vistamel liked getting the dignified aristocrat’s goat. [S5]Smart, aggressive, proud to be sure, but he had a silly side he only revealed to his close friends. “We can only wait for the hosts of this institution to show us their favor or make some other decision. We are stuck here until the end of the ceremony, as my friend said.”

  “Your friend?”

  “Classmate. Former classmate… The farewell ceremony. And after the ceremony, as I suppose,” the elf went on, “we will be very busy and will go into hyper mode. My classmate, um, former classmate,” Vistamel stuttered. Lolima grinned sadly and somewhat angrily. She was aware of the history of the school adventures of her partner. “…turned out to be a high-flying birdie. I hope he does not take offense at my calling him birdie? Judging by the reverence with which the other dragons and these…” The elf involuntarily shrugged. “eight-foot-tall monsters in masking armor are paying him, he plays a leading role in the local three-ring circus. Oh! It’s begun!” Vistamel cut off his monologue for a few seconds and listened. Lolima looked at him and went off to the curtain covering the tent opening; he followed her.

  The Rauu wavered uncertainly for a few moments before leaving, then at the same time looked at one another and resolutely stepped outside—curiosity won.

  The Snow Elves walked a few yards from the tent. No one prevented them. The tall guardians standing in front of the tent, taller than the elves by a good two feet at least, resembled statues. Lolima thought it was a strange way of guarding them, but then she felt some sort of invisible viscous substance that cautiously pushed her back into the tent. The deceptively soft watchdog magical shield did not miss them, so the guards didn’t even jerk. They knew, the cunning cats, that either the guests or prisoners, could not break the shield. Lolima wanted to explore the magical barrier, but was stopped by Vistamel’s cry.

  “Lo, look!” The elf pointed furiously towards the ancient burial ground.

  The elf woman turned towards the shout and froze with her mouth open. Moving towards the hill, in the light of giant magical lanterns hanging over the camp, there was a long line of people of several races. She heard the measured thunderous blows of huge drums and guttural, oddly melodic hymns. The column was headed by several dragons with white wings, followed by platforms with bodies flying above the earth. She counted eleven platforms with dragons; there were two more with some creatures lying on top dressed in white dresses—a cross between humans and cats. Vistamel appreciated the height of the cats and glanced at the guards. It seemed the two giant “monsters” in heavy closed armor were members of a previously unknown race. Behind the platforms with human cats came four platforms with people and Forest Elves, swaying rhythmically from side to side. One of the platforms, on which the elves’ bodies lay, contained a large tub with the seedling of Mellorny.

  Lolima approached Vistamel.

  “A funeral…”

  “Looks like it,” he replied. “The farewell ceremony. Their native Mellornys. Their ashes are buried under its roots…”

  Behind the platforms came humans, elves, cat-people, and dragons. Many Lords of the sky were not concerned with such petty things as pride in a moment like this. They carried the bipedal members of different races on their backs, like rideable animals.

  Each member of the mournful procession carried either poles or a thick dry branch. Neither Vistamel nor Lolima took to counting how many people were in the column. Definitely a lot. Fifteen thousand, if not more. The dragons alone were more than five hundred. The procession stretched and stretched like a snake, but it was not infinite. Soon thousands of lights lit up on the hill. The Rauu watched as the platforms climbed to the top of the hill and the dragons unloaded the bodies from them. Then a pyramid of firewood grew around the bodies. Each person put down his branch. The hymns stopped; the drums continued in a solemn rhythm.

  The funeral procession descended to the foot of the hill, and the dragons with white wings flew into the sky. Long tongues of living flame from their mouths burned the giant pyramid of firewood. The mages at the foot of the hill intensified the burning process. The flame roared like a hundred roaring suls. Its tongues jerked into the dark sky and completely covered the ascending disc of Nelita. Fifteen minutes later it was all over. Only the rapidly extinguishing sparks of hot coals remained of the giant fire. Vistamel, embracing Lolima by the shoulders, watched the platform with the Mellorny rising up to the top of the cemetery. The mages apparently cooled the coals, because the elves and humans who jumped off the platform behaved as if they did not feel the heat at all. Most likely it was so. A few minutes later, the tub with a Mellorny seedling was planted in the middle of the burnt-out fireplace.

  “Vissst,” Lolima hissed in shock. “Twins almighty, what is that?”

  Vistamel switched to true vision and gasped in amazement. He had never seen such a whirlpool of magical energy in his life and was unlikely to ever see one again. All the mages who participated in the farewell ceremony gave mana to the sacred tree.

  “Twins…” The nails of the elf, her hand trembling like a reed in the wind, painfully dug into Vistamel’s shoulder. “It can’t be…”

  The Mellorny grew in front of their eyes. A few minutes passed, and the thin seedling turned into a giant tree that covered the entire hill with its branches. Thick roots overhung the slopes of the burial ground and penetrated deep into the ground. The dazed Rauu missed the moment when the drums stopped beating and silence ensued…

  * * *

  Andy, covering Ania with his wing, looked at the Mellorny growing up, not by the year,
hour, or minute, but by the second. Soon a real forest would grow on the portal site. For the first time in thirty thousand years, dragons gave life to the elven forest. He gave it life by directly connecting the tree with the astral.

  Not everyone left Nelita. He had only to close his eyes and memories flooded his mind. He held the portal open, hovering a hundred yards above the ground, trying not to be distracted from managing the key. But now and then, he snatched glances, individual pictures of the migration or, more precisely, evacuation. Long columns of refugees, driven by the shouts of hovering dragons, thousands of miur on horsebacks and troxes, hundreds of platforms with males and kittens. Elves, humans, the whistles of whips and claps of reins on the backs of animals harnessed to carts, the crying of children and the heart-rending howl of domestic rixes. They were in a hurry. The emperor could send reinforcements at any moment. The entire operation to seize the portal was built on a quick attack and no less rapid evacuation. There was little hope that the imperial military leaders would be definitively outdone. Hazgar had enough legions in the central provinces of the empire. The abolition of the border legion by the Great Mother greatly weakened the emperor, but not so much that he could not organize an opposition.

  “Grab the carts with power traps! We do not have much time!” Ruigar’s voice reached Andy as if through a thick layer of insulation.

  Dozens of dragons rushed to the carts loaded with humans and elves. The traps cracked, and they were now flying towards the portal, with their “cargo” in translucent spheres. They crossed over, and after a couple of minutes, the dragons came back. New traps cracked…

  A bright light flashed on the eastern outskirts of the valley; several portals opened. The emperor had sent reinforcements. Andy watched as the “white hundreds”[1] went to their deaths. There were several dozen dragons, a regiment of humans and elves, and two thousand miur with heavy weapons. Their task was to keep the position until the end of the evacuation and to prevent the imperial vultures from reaching the portals at a distance sufficient for forced collapse. It was their voluntary choice; it was the price that the leaders of the settlers were willing to pay, which was added to the sacrifices made during the capture of the interplanetary portal.

  Andy would never in his life forget the blood pact when thousands of elves and humans from the “white hundreds” cut their palms and sprinkled their blood on the royal Mellorny seedling in a large tub. What a pity the cause for fraternization was the oncoming war and common grief. Everyone, until the very last moment, was hoping the “white hundreds” would not be needed, and the soldiers would leave in the rear, but their hopes were not to come true. The sky in the east was lit up by bright flashes and covered with a multicolored ripple of magical shields; the earth trembled with explosions. They got the impression invisible giants were jamming giant spears into the ground and tearing them back up again with force. Two of the cats’ portals collapsed from a powerful explosion. The flow of refugees and Andy’s strength quickly dried up.

  Illusht was the last of the miur to cross. The feline took her standard[S6] from the hands of the standard bearer, laid it on the ground, and knelt, thus paying tribute to the dying on the outskirts of the valley. A sharp wave of her hand and the standard of the tailed princess flared with a bright, smokeless flame, and the broad-shouldered standard-bearer unfolded a new personal banner: the standard of the Great Mother.

  That’s right, Andy thought. A new world, a new queen.

  “Quickly, quickly!” cried the dragons. Many humans and elves began to throw away their possessions and jump on the carts, which were immediately picked up by power traps.

  “That’s it!” shouted Ruigar. “Kerr, you’re the last one!”

  Finally, Andy thought, somehow distantly, breaking the connection with the astral. Another couple of minutes, and it would be the end of me.

  Activating the self-destruction runes of all the portals (the key allowed him to control the whole network), and without looking back, he dove into the silvery haze. As soon as he crossed the hyperspace transition, the space dividing the planets, all the interplanetary portals of Nelita ceased to exist. They did not intend to return or let their enemies follow them. A series of powerful simultaneous explosions deprived Uncle Hazgar of six full-fledged legions. The artificial hills morphed into deep funnels. One good thing was that the portals were located away from the cities; otherwise, the amount of victims could have been several orders of magnitude more.

  Neither Andy nor any of his associates knew that two hours after the end of the evacuation, the battlefield was visited by His Imperial Majesty. Hazgar flew past the former positions of the “white hundreds,” peering until his eyes hurt at the bodies of those who had defended the portal to the last, many of which lay on once white, now red with blood ritual rugs. After the portal collapsed, the survivors killed themselves. The emperor landed on the edge of the flat top of a small rock that towered near the place where the deadly battle had unfolded a few hours ago. He became human.

  “The boy burnt the bridges,” he said pensively, looking around at the field full of holes. “Perhaps, it is for the best, maybe… We need to give the university rats an assignment to work in this area. Bury them with honors!” he gave the order to the valet who landed near him.

  “All of them?” the dragon said in surprise.

  “EVERYBODY!” the Emperor cut him off, pointing at the field. “Everyone,” he added softly, changing his hypostasis and moving his wings to the portal to the capital.

  * * *

  The Rauu did not wait for the mourning procession to go back. They returned to their tent in order to calmly reflect on what they had seen. About an hour later, two elves brought them food. They set the trays on the table silently and left. The Rauu didn’t even try to talk to them. The newcomers’ language was unknown to the Snow Elf scouts, and neither Lolima nor Vistamel bothered to learn Dragon Edda. When Kerrovitarr led them to this tent, he spoke to the people around him either in Younger Edda or in an unknown language. Vistamel, of course, could form a couple of simple sentences, but that was where his abilities ended. The Snow Elf never dreamed of becoming a Templar — it was the servants of the goddesses who were supposed to study the dead dialect.

  Lolima got up from the couch and skeptically inspected the dishes they’d been offered. Porridge with pieces of meat and a pleasant, inviting meaty smell, fruit, and jugs of red wine. Thumbs up.

  “Join me,” she said to her partner, wiping her hands with a wet towel brought by the silent servants along with the tray.

  “You don’t think it’s poisoned?” picking up the second towel, asked Vistamel.

  “It’s not poisoned,” someone said from the entrance. It was a tall man in dandy clothes who looked like a lady’s heartthrob. The speaker eyed the elves with an attentive glance, stopping for a moment on Lolima, then continued, “Do not insult His Highness with unfounded suspicions. Eat. After eating you will be taken to him.”

  After this brief announcement, the man left. Lolima coughed.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she said to Vistamel.

  “You’re right,” he replied. “There was just another were-dragon before us. The aura was too big to be anything else. And I suspect he’s not the only one in the camp. And… you know, I’m scared.”

  “Don’t worry. If your ‘former classmate’ wanted our death, he would have made it so long ago; he wouldn’t be feeding us poison meat porridge.”

  “It’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who plotted against him. Targ, who knew that he…”

  “...Was of royal and draconian blood?”

  “I learned about his dragon’s blood at the school firing range.” Vistamel desperately scratched his arm.

  “Eat!” Lolima interrupted his self-flagellation. She, too, was impressed, but did not lose her appetite.

  Thirty minutes later, when the elves were weary of waiting, a were-dragon came into the tent and ordered them to follow him. They ha
d to follow; the Icicles who had lost their cold had no other choice. And to emphasize the importance of the visit and the stature of the host, a dozen tall guards in mimicry armor joined the small delegation. Just the look of the escort repelled all desire to disobey.

  His Highness’ tent neither externally nor internally differed from that given to the Snow Elves. The only difference was it contained a little more furniture, and the security around it was “maximum.” Theirs, which they’d previously thought very tight, paled by comparison.

  “Your Highness!” The Rauu bowed low. The men’s clothes on Lolima prevented her from curtsying.

  Kerrovitarr, eyes flashing dangerously, cast a quick glance at the were-dragon accompanying the elves.

  “Sit down.” Kerr indicated the chairs to the guests. “Ruigar, stay. While the Great Mother Illusht is out, I want to ask you, Vistamel, a couple of personal questions. Perhaps you can tell us what happened to the dragons and residents from Karegar’s Valley?”

  “I do not know, Your Highness.” Vistamel rose from his chair. “The only one who can know for certain where the dragons are is High Prince Miduel.”

  “I expected as much. Then I have another question: where can we find Miduel?”

  Russia. N-ville.

  “Mr. Kerimov, calm down!” The curator of the state security authorities slapped his hand on the tabletop.

  “Calm down? You’re telling me to calm down?” Kerimov stopped stepping from corner to corner of the general’s office and turned sharply to its owner. “What sick games are you playing with me?”

  “I’m serious enough not to play games, especially those. If I decided to set you up, then I would’ve chosen a more elegant solution. You wouldn’t know it’s my doing! You wouldn’t understand anything at all!”

  “Thank you, I’m so reassured now! A farce! Theater of the absurd! A kindergarten!”