Home at Last

by Alex Sapegin

  “And the fact that it’s a former helrats’ base doesn’t bother you?”

  “Should it?”

  “Not at all,” Kerrovitarr said, resigning himself. “Did you want something, Governor?”

  “Yes, I would not refuse some feasible aid in solving the issue with the threat from the Forest.”

  “The Forest has become a threat?” The were-dragon feigned surprise. The Governor bit her lower lip.

  “The Lordships have moved from threats to action. The city has been besieged by the Forest army.”

  “For some reason, it seems to me that we can point out to them the fallibility of their opinion. My magicians will need a beacon for setting up the portal. Can you do it?”

  “Yes, but for this, we will need to remove our protective screens and use the arc’s accumulators.”

  “I’m not asking what you need for a beacon.” Some real emotion flashed across Kerr’s face for the first time. “I’m interested in results.”

  “It will take us half an hour.”

  “I hope that in an hour we can meet in person and talk face to face. High Prince, Your Excellency…” And the image of the were-dragon melted away.

  Miduel smiled. “You say miracles do not happen, Etran?”

  “Nothing’s been decided yet.”

  The next hour lasted longer than infinity for Miduel; it seemed that time froze, testing the limits of his patience. But everything passes, and the hour Kerr had appointed eventually came, and the High Prince rose to the observation deck. Meanwhile, the woodies had managed to deal with the zombies and resumed their march to the city. Two uninjured columns of troops crossed the walls destroyed by vines and stormed the street barricades. A solid part of the citizens from the skilled tradesmen’s quarter refused to leave their houses, meeting the invaders with ordinary guns, knives, and magical weapons. Miduel got distracted and missed the characteristic clap of the opening portal. The dragons opened a portal three hundred yards above the ground.

  After looking at the city, he came to himself when the observation tower was covered by a large cross-shaped shadow. Miduel cocked his head up and gasped. The open mouth of the portal was spitting out combat threesomes of dragons. The Rauu began to count. Ten... fifty... two hundred... three hundred! Three hundred battle threesomes; nine hundred dragons. The old elf tried to imperceptibly wipe his suddenly sweaty palms on the lapels of his frock. Incredibly, the boy managed to bring the dragons! An impossible dream came true.

  The old elf glanced behind the fortress wall, where hundreds of dragons burned the balls of seeds and stormed the army of Forest Elves. The opened mouths spewed long streams of red-hot flame; unknown spells left deep funnels in the ground, and it didn’t look like the Lords of the Sky suffered from lack of mana. Miduel watched for several minutes as the winged race encircled the main group of woodies in a semicircle and drove the enemy army to the center.

  The elves could not oppose the enemy. The spells sent by the Forest sorcerers were powerless to break against the numerous shields that quietly withstood the onslaught of thousands of magical arrows and shells from fortress chuckers. The Rauu shook his gray head—the woodies had lost the battle. The dragons’ advantage was overwhelming, their power made one’s blood freeze in his veins. This last thought sent a wave of cold shivers down Miduel’s spine. The “beating of the babies,” which was arranged by the winged allies who came to the rescue (he would like to hope), highlighted the emerging problem of a new, independent pole of power. A power—wild and unchecked. It was unlikely the dragons were taking the role of slaves for themselves in this new/old world. What was now happening outside the walls of Orten was a very visual demonstration…

  Miduel turned to Etran. The former rector of the school of magic, with her arms crossed over her chest, frowned. She wasn’t stupid; she certainly came to the same conclusions. What can you say? They would have to deal with that power one way or another, even if that meant simply getting used to it. It wasn’t without reason the boy from the communication session arranged the whole representation—it was a transparent hint, and now it had taken on a visible form. The High Prince, folding his hands behind his back, began to calculate the options for future events and his best line of conduct with Kerrovitarr. The time for games had ended; the boy grew up. Hmm, it was unlikely His Highness would tolerate any nonchalance or rudeness in his address. That would be toxic…

  A large dragon with large scales of gold and black descended gently onto the landing. The dragon folded its wings and turned into a man.

  “Your Majesty…”

  * * *

  Governor Etran nervously bit her lower lip. She could not keep calm, no matter how hard she tried. Miduel could represent an icy statue that doesn’t melt even on the hottest day. You can learn anything in three thousand years, but he, too, was struck. Etran completely lost the thread of conversation between the former student and archivist and the ancient elf. The governor was much more occupied with the dragons landing on the private square and the riders jumping to the ground from their backs—tall creatures, covered from head to foot in armor. The dragons’ riders instantly cleared the area of all strangers and put up a magic shield. Two dozen huge warriors took positions at the entrance to the observation deck. Neither Vikings nor the city guard, reinforced by the best magicians, could provide the soldiers in strange shimmering armor any resistance. Switching to true vision, the Governor saw that all the newcomers had defensive amulets hanging on their persons, and that magical crystals—mana stores—were embedded in the armor of the enormous giants. It’s no wonder the city magicians were helpless before the foreign warriors.

  “Miur?” Miduel, distracted from the conversation with Kerrovitarr, looked at the armored warriors. “I’ve never had to see one, but I read about them.”

  “Yes. They came with me. Don’t worry, the Great Mother will not allow her daughters to create any mischief.”

  “The Great Mother?” Miduel asked. “Uuuuh, how many of them have moved over here?”

  Kerr, smiling with the corners of his mouth, let the question go unanswered. The frustrated Rauu clenched his fists till his knuckles turned white. The situation had gotten out of control. Miduel thought about many things and scrolled in his head several options for conversation and the development of events, but he was caught off guard. He didn’t expect a theatrical performance and demonstration of strength staged so skillfully. What finished off the governor and the old elf was the last ten dragons, who brought FOREST ELVES on their backs, but this was not the main thing. The elves bowed with respect and familiarity to Kerr, and he bowed to them. The dragons turned into people, some of them having elven hypostases. Noticeable among them was a tall, respectable looking man in a well-trimmed clothes of unusual cut, narrow trousers, and leather boots to the knees. The dragon dandy, pulling the hem of his jacket, took an elven girl by the hand and accompanied her to the viewing platform.

  “Your Highness,” the dragon said in pure Alat, bowing briefly to Kerr. The elf woman, smiling timidly, repeated his bow. According to the table of ranks, the Empress’ son stood higher than the supreme prince of the Rauu. Ruigar did not allow any liberties, in contrast to Andy, when he at the communication session was the first to bow to the old Rauu. Yes, indeed, it was the former governor on Nelita who acted as the part-time “chief director” of the Orten “theatrical production.” It would be foolish to give all the laurels to him, though. After all, almost all the old dragons worked on the performance, but the main coordinator of events was indeed the former governor.

  Ruigar glanced quickly at the frozen leaders, took a step forward, and honored the Prince with a short bow. The Governor got a slight nod. Miduel mentally snorted—that’s right, the dragons quickly put everything in their places. During the time of mutual bowing and much formal ado, the elf woman managed to approach Kerr and hide behind him. The High Prince and the Governor exchanged quick glances. Forest elves and dragons. Either they missed something, or something h
ad died somewhere.

  “The Great Mother Illusht!”

  A large red dragon descended to the square, from the back of which jumped three creatures resembling a cross between a human and a cat. The old elf stole forward. If he remembered correctly from the books read in his long-past youth, then the white-haired, blue-clad cat woman in the silk sari was the ruler of the mysterious miur. Her iron-clad tribesmen were synchronously moved to stand guard; the standard-bearers accompanying the ruler unfurled her personal standard. [S13]Miduel felt Etran’s puzzled look. She was, with a silent question, trying to understand what was happening on the small patch of land near the fortress wall of the upper city—Lailat. Half turned around so that his face could be seen, the Rauu slowly closed his eyes. Etran released the air between her tightly clenched teeth. With a gesture only understood by a few people, she let him know about the steepness of the excrement they were in. Something was coming… The elves outside the city walls had begun to throw weapons…

  Suddenly, the air over the square started to ripple and sparkle; in a moment, the clap of a portal was heard, but the new arrivals did not look worried. The Rauu, seeing that they were not upset, relaxed. As further events showed, it was too soon to relax. From the open mouth of the portal there appeared a column of miur and Forest Elves, after which appeared a wide platform loaded with a large rectangular stone block. As soon as the platform swam into the square, Miduel felt the perturbations of the magical field all over the surface of his body. Without losing a second, he switched to true vision and nearly fell down on the spot. The bodyguards jumped up and caught him. In magical terms, the huge stone sparkled like the sun. The old elf found it difficult to imagine how much mana was pumped into this miracle.

  “Your Highness.” Miduel shuddered and stared unseeing at the inquirer. Kerrovitarr smiled. Apparently, the situation amused him. “I would like to receive the coordinates of the monastery.”

  “Yes, yes,” the High Prince struggled with his shock. “Your Highness, my mages have already received instructions.”

  “Thank you.” Kerrovitarr slightly bowed his head. Turning to the dandy, he said something quickly in Edda. Despite the old elf’s high level of education and literacy, he only caught patches of what was said. After listening to Kerr’s short monologue, the dandy gave a short bow. “I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. Prince Ruigar.” At that the dandy’s brows crept upward, but stopped in time. Only something in the dragon’s eyes, something incomprehensible, was splashing about. Kerr smiled. “...has all the necessary powers, from making decisions to concluding contracts on my behalf. Your Majesty.” A half-bow to the old Snow Elf and the same half-bow in response. “Your Excellency.” A nod; the Governor bowed.

  “Lilliel,” Kerr said, breaking the official tone, raised the girl in his arms. “Will you fly with me to my mom?”

  “And it won’t be…”

  “It won’t. Take Mimiv with you, if you want.”

  Miduel coughed. The Governor barely kept her eyes in their sockets, and Ruigar, now titled prince, grit his teeth. Not once had the powerful figures seen such a disregard for and irresponsible attitude toward etiquette.

  Holding Lilly in his arms, Andy went down the stairs. The High Prince, the former rector, and Ruigar were far behind, but their glances continued to burn their backs.

  “Ruigar will give you a bashing,” Lilly said, settling comfortably. Andy smiled. “You run away, but what about the Great Mother and the negotiations?”

  “It’s okay. Call it my little revenge. Let them unravel.”

  “You can’t do that,” the girl said reproachfully.

  “I know.”

  He did not want to think about anything. They saw the brief twilight of the staircase and a bright light outside the door. Andy closed his eyes. Manyfaces! Twins almighty! How tired he was! He’d overstretched himself mentally and physically, and he simply didn’t have any strength left. Where could he find a quiet cozy cave and huddle in the darkest corner, curl up, and sleep for a couple of days. Dreams, dreams. He’d forgotten the last time he slept more than five or six hours. A quarter of a million immigrants demanded constant attention and care. Just moving from one planet to another wasn’t enough. He had to arrange the lives of the humans, miur, elves, and dragons. Every hour was scheduled literally by the minute; everyone demanded attention. All right, these were all just ordinary troubles. They could somehow be managed, smoothed, straightened.

  But the steel shackles of politics clung to his everyday life. The heads of the clans had it good; they’d been in politics since their young years, unlike him, who had to pick it up as he went along. Targ, why had it become a fad to ask him all the questions if they could handle things perfectly themselves? Take Lere for example. The duke grasped the hand of help more firmly than a drowning man held on to his rescuer. Negotiations were short. Just five hours later, the ruler of the northern lands in Rimm showed up at the refugee camp on a dragon. Andy had only just finished the conversation with Lolima and Vistamel and put them in a guest tent when his presence was required at another important meeting. With him, the Duke brought a package of documents and a treaty on full-scale alliance. When had he managed that?

  Apparently, his scribes did not sleep at night and worked twenty-five hours a day. He and the old dragons found each other. It seems that the translators who were brought in, priests of the Twins, who had studied Edda since childhood, were not required. The Duke was not in the least afraid of the Lords of the Sky (or so it seemed), fighting with the dragons over every little point and comma until his throat was sore. The Great Mother Illusht was ready to shave her tail, but after three hours, all parties were extremely pleased with the results achieved. In short, the Duke received a full-blooded regiment of miur with heavy weapons, and the Alliance of migrants received a parchment with a large round seal, on which the deed of gift of the north-western provinces was firmly established, as well as the refusal of any claims to the lands occupied by the Alliance located beyond the boundaries of the duchy.

  Along with the parchment, Andy received a dull headache and infinite joy from the fact that the new ally went home. The Empress’ heir was ready to howl at Helita from his own ignorance and impotence. No one ever taught him to be a manager. They took him for a prodigy. Some councilors they were, Targ take them! Okay, don’t fling around false accusations. If it weren’t for Ruigar, Illusht, and the old dragons, he would have long ago escaped or laid paws on himself. Although it was clearly too soon to think about the latter; Ania would dig him back up from under the earth and throttle him with her own tail. Ugh! And poop on Ruigar. That reptile somehow realized what kind of influence Ania’s gaze had on the crowned subject, and now he was always begging her to influence her husband on this or that issue. The slime.

  Andy looked around and giggled disgustingly. Lilly glanced at him and wrinkled her nose; she was unaware that her hero had long dreamed of doing something terribly wicked, something that went above and beyond, and today such an opportunity presented itself. Just a real load off, like a weight lifted from his shoulders. And derive a sick pleasure from it. It would be something not worthy of the title of His Highness, but, oh how pleasant.

  Andy went outside. A box of bodyguards instantly formed around him. Several dragons soared into the sky, covering the upper hemisphere. Helplessly looking back, Andy came across the sight of Miduel. The old elf looked at him from the height of the lookout tower and smiled. The Rauu was amused by the situation with the bodyguards.

  “On the portal platform,” Andy commanded, watching the maneuvers of a platform with one of the five megaliths transported to Ilanta. Ruigar would deal with the political nuances himself, all the more so since there was nothing big to catch, so to speak. The Governor would find the materials for building a prisoner of war camp himself. Nine hundred dragons, supported by a mobile source of mana, could outdo three armies of woodies without effort. There’s a reason they say that the army in action was the continuation of politic
al debates, only outside the offices. The opposite was equally true that the more the dragons’ military lever turned out to be extremely effective and powerful, the less he had to worry about unplanned movements on the part of the Rauu and the governor.

  “Sir,” the faithful Irran looked somewhat embarrassed. “I do not know where the portal site is located here. Maybe you can tell the magicians to build a frameless portal right here?”

  Andy rolled his eyes, beckoning one of the city guards. With the permission of the guard’s boss, he was released for one hour with the order to accompany the lords of the dragons to the rendezvous point.

  The portal site was not crowded. Apart from the mage operators, there were only four people in the hall and one black dragoness (Ania decided to follow her husband to the end). How she knew where the portal site was, having managed to get there faster than the condemned, remains a mystery. In addition to the mages and Andy’s wife, there were three griffins on the site, nervous from the dangerous surroundings, and three riders, worried about their pets. One of the riders seemed familiar to Andy. The rider gently stroked the griffon, black as coal, and whispered a soothing spell.

  “Rigaud?” afraid he was mistaken, Andy cautiously asked the griffon rider as he stood next to Ania.

  “Kerr?”

  * * *

  “And what did he do?” Andy asked.

  “He agreed to our necromancer’s offer,” Rigaud answered, in a deadly voice, with a glance at the dragon’s black carcass. The skinny guy couldn’t imagine that this toothy whopper was Kerr’s wife. “After the orcs turned into piles of charred bones, Timur was publicly declared a hero, but only a few people know that the hero is more like a vegetable.”

  Andy’s eyebrows shot up; clearly, he was shocked and grieved.