by Alex Sapegin
“Please!” she pleaded. “Father may wake up not!”
“Not wake up?”
“Yes, I bad speak High.”
“Terrific!” Andy thought, plopping the elf’s body up higher as it had slid down. The elf moaned.
The girl stopped for a second, looked at the tired rescuer and waved her hand encouragingly as if to say “follow me.” Andy had no choice; they walked on. Suddenly, it got incredibly hot. Sweat streamed down his back and poured over his face. The elf grew heavier with each step. The girl’s heels, by which he had to navigate so as not to get lost, flashed about five yards ahead of him. After about ten minutes, Andy realized that if he did not get rid of the burden, the girl would have to save two limp bodies. A large insect buzzed past his ear.
“Na vamii ma!” the elf girl cried. Andy looked up from contemplating the girl’s hem and raised his head. Help had come; he ought to be pleased, but the amount of iron staring him in the face did not inspire joy and optimism. Without straining his brains, two explicit conclusions could be drawn: one—they were not happy to make his acquaintance, and two—he wouldn’t be able to run away. The insect, which turned out to be a feathered arrow, vibrated slightly in the trunk of a nearby tree.
A dozen long-eared Aborigines in light green cloaks kept him in their sights. Three of the pointy-ears showed off their bows with drawn strings and loaded arrows. The semicircle of their tribesmen pressed impressive arbalests with short thick bolts to their shoulders. Very nice. The elf girl jumped in front of the stern armed men and waved her hands like a windmill and tried to explain something to them. The man on his back was hanging like a sack of potatoes. The surrounding situation was far from understanding. The aborigines listened attentively to the incoherent speech, but they kept their eyes on the stranger. Silently walking on the low grass, three more Forest people came to Andy. One of them was clearly a mage. Obeying an imperative gesture, Andy carefully put the rescued elf on the ground. The wizard waved his hand. Targ! Invisible bonds tied the volunteer savior from head to toe. Unable to restrain himself, he fell flat to the ground, smashing his face and bloodying it. The archers removed the arrows from their bows and ran to the fallen man; they immediately rolled him up in a wide cut of cloth. A bag of sand dropped over his head, knocking him out. Hello, stars and darkness.
Consciousness came back on as from a light switch—click, and the lights were on. He felt a dull pain in the nape of his neck and a slight nausea. He was not bound. Having come to himself, Andy looked around. It wasn’t a mansion, more like the office of an ascetic: floor, ceiling, wide bench and that was all. Oh yes, the scene was complemented by a strong old man in a light linen shirt and faded linen pants. The old elf occupied a wide log near the door that was hung with a curtain. He sat and looked at Andy. He was an old man of breeding, similar to Miduel. What conclusion could Andy draw from this? If he was similar to the ancient Rauu not only externally, he’d best be on his guard. Old guys like that resemble dandelions only in appearance. In reality, they were more dangerous than snakes. Let your guard down for a second, and you’re theirs.
Andy, swinging his drooping arms and legs, got up and sat down on the bench facing the old man. The elf was silent; the guest did not know where to start the conversation, and so he forfeited the right to the first word to the master of the house. Why hurry? Judging by the lack of windows in the walls of this place, he would be here for a long time.
The pause went on for a while. The “woodsman” grunted. His thick eyebrows executed a short, intricate dance. Not a single muscle twitched on Andy’s face. After waiting for another ten seconds, the elf spoke up, then, noticing the boy’s complete lack of understanding, he broke off the conversation. It wasn’t working.
“Maybe you are speaking High?” the elf switched to Edda.
“A little. This language is called High?”
“As far as I know, the language of the dragons always is called such. You did not know?” The old elf bowed his head to one side. His voice and intonation had a distinctly provocative character. Here it was: the old man turned out to be similar to Miduel not only in appearance. How to proceed? There was nothing he could do.
“Maybe I did.” Andy shrugged indifferently. “Maybe not. I do not know. I have such a mess in my head right now, you wouldn’t wish it on your enemies. I am surprised that I even remember my name.” It was a short step away from the possible direct attack on the topic “who are you and where did you come from.” Let’s give the old elf a tasty little snack in the form of amnesia. Would he buy it?
He bought it. The elf nodded understandingly.
“After the dugar worse happens.”
Stop: what was a “dugar?” The elf comprehended the guest’s unspoken question.
“Do not tell me you do not know about dugars and the dugaria?”
“No,” Andy laid his cards on the table.
“Unlikely. The scars on your chest tell the other story. You had a very close acquaintance with the dugaria.”
Andy realized what he was talking about.
“That snotty tree with feelers and toothy shells?”
“It can be called that,” the elf smiled. “A precise wording. A man escaped from a cocoon has every right to call the tree snotty. How long did you spend in the cocoon?”
“I do not know,” the amnesia game continued.
“Hmm, and why did they sentence you to it?”
An indifferent shrug of the shoulders and gesture of the chin from side to side.
“I do not remember my past.”
“A rash claim for a shkas who killed three dangerous beasts with his bare hands.” Ugh, what a horrible word, “shkas.” Leaves a bad taste in my mouth. “I do not consider your poor blade a weapon. You have not forgotten how to battle.”
“An art practiced to the level of reflexes is difficult to forget.”
“Exactly.”
“I know how to pick up a blade, but where this knowledge came from—I do not have the faintest idea.”
“You have forgotten the events of your past, but you speak High splendidly. You must have some kind of selective amnesia.” The old man got up from the log. “Who are you trying to fool?”
“You know, maybe it sounds provocative on my part, but I really do not remember anything from my past. All my memories start from the shores of the forest lake in two days’ walk from the clearing where I killed the rixes!”
Andy flared up, expressing indignation at the lack of trust with all his being. He played perfectly. If the elves want, let them go and check. The turtle shells would serve as evidence of staying on the shores forgotten by the gods.
“I do not remember and do not know the general events. I do not remember how old I am or why they put me in the cocoon.”
“And your name? You remember your name?”
“Kerrovitarr.”
The elf coughed.
“That is a bad joke.”
“I am not joking.”
“I believe only a fool would joke about dragons’ names. Do not even think about saying that to anyone else. Manyfaces save you from using that name in front of the dragons. They will tear you to pieces without a second thought. Perhaps, your parents gave you another name?”
“Andy.”
“It means strong. An unusual name, but still better than Kerrovitarr.”
“It is a fine name. May I ask a question?”
“You may.”
“How does, eh, that man feel?”
“You were just in time. Atrael feels fine.” The old elf realized who Andy was talking about and decided to help: “Please excuse me for the cold reception. If it were not for Lilly, we could have killed you. Strangers with good intentions do not walk about in our woods.”
“I understand.”
“That is the answer to that question. What requests do you have? I am in your debt. Atrael is my son. Lilliel is my granddaughter.”
“I need th
is old man as a debtor like I need a hole in the head!” Andy thought to himself, and said:
“Will I be allowed to stay in your village for a while, learn the language and some customs?”
“The council will consider your request. I cannot promise anything. The fact that you are alive is already a miracle.”
“When will I know the council’s decision?”
“In the morning,” the elf answered, heading towards the curtain. “You will be brought food in an hour. I hope you will not do anything stupid. As for satisfying all your natural needs, if you have never visited a tiv or don’t recall, you may use white moss to clean up after yourself.” The elf pulled the curtain aside and walked out.
What did he mean by “something stupid?” What possibilities are there? Andy would be as good as gold. Where would he go—without knowing the language, customs, or norms of behavior here? The old elf just didn’t know what he’d almost gotten himself into. Now Andy just had to cross the invisible border of “almost.”
In exactly an hour, he was brought a simple dinner. Andy lazily took a couple of bites of something like meat and returned the ceramic plate to the guard.
After dinner, a large cat came to visit him. The animal’s short coat was a light brown color with broad black stripes. The length of the master’s favorite pet was no less than a yard. Judging by her eyes alone her weight, she must be thirty pounds.
The cat yawned wide and stoically approached the intruder. Andy reached out and gingerly stroked the beautiful animal. The petting was accepted with all the dignity of a proud and independent animal. Following the cat’s lead, he yawned too and stretched his whole body. Fatigue took its toll. He wanted to sleep. On the wide bench, there was enough room for him and for the tailed mistress, in whose spot, it seemed, he’d been assigned to sleep. Andy blissfully stretched out to his full height. The cat jumped on his chest, slightly trampled its paws and lay down, cracking like a tractor. Stroking the kitty, he did not know that her good disposition towards him decided his fate.
The council, consisting of the most respected residents of the settlement, debated how to proceed for a long time. Some hotheads offered not to even bother and strip the stranger of his head. Maybe he was specially sent by the enemy, and the rixes were not wild. Magic can do many things, including changing shape and color. Others, bearing in mind that he saved two of their relatives from imminent death by destroying wild rixes that penetrated to the village by some unknown circumstance, were for expelling the stranger. You did a good deed—thank you, and now get out and pray to Manyfaces to take you far from here. The eldest elf, listening to the speeches of the parties, frowned. Evael did not hide his emotions. He did not like the first or second options. Andy had asked them to help him remember the language, which was not such a big request. Did no one realize that the soldiers of the village could now receive substantial reinforcement in the form of the stranger?
In the midst of the dispute, Lilliel glanced into the hall of the council. She could not find Mimiv, her favorite pet anywhere. Evael stepped outside with Lilly. Three minutes later, the missing animal found in the guarded “guest’s quarters.”
“The stranger will remain in the village,” Evael said, returning to the council.
“Bring forth at least one argument,” Vadel, the commander of the squad of sorcerers, turned to him.
“You all know that Mimiv would not let a bad person near her.”
“What has Mimiv to do with your decision to leave a stranger in the valley?” Vadel piped up.
“The cat came to him and is now lying curled up at his headboard. The stranger has no evil intentions, let him stay.”
“You’ve decided to trust the instinct of the beast?”
“I have. Animals are not mistaken.”
* * *
“Mimiv, up you go!” Andy carefully removed the front half and head of the rather big cat from his shoulder. The tawny striped favorite of the hostess opened her yellow eyes, yawned wide, and jumped off the couch. Moving away from the place of lodging for a couple of feet, she gracefully bent down and stretched her back and paws. Bayuk, who wanted to enter under the mat, got a pawful of claws in the muzzle, squeaked in protest and ran away to complain to Lilly. “Mimiv,” Andy stroked the fighter, “why did you hurt Bayuk?”
The cat sniffed scornfully and lay down on the threshold. As if to say, this is my territory, and no arachno-like creatures ought to dare enter here.
“Will you come with me?” This question, which had become a ritual for the past month, as always, went unanswered. The cat’s yellow eyes sparkled. Cats are independent creatures. Besides, soon Lilly would summon her for her morning bowl of milk, and swimming in ice water did not fit with breakfast or with a cat’s nature. “I need to wash with my tongue,” she seemed to say and, without delaying the matter any further, Mimiv started hygienic procedures. “You go where you please. Don’t interfere with my licking.”
“Some cats eat mice, you know.” Picking up a piece of thick cloth which he used instead of a towel, and a belt with a sword, Andy left his “apartment.”
“Mrrr, moir-r,” the jaws chomped loudly.
Gently, the mat woven from thin vines dropped into place. Andy mechanically stroked the wall of the living house with his hand. The wide, thick leaves that formed its base creaked. It seemed that the temporary housing didn’t want to let the lodger go.
Between the quaintly interwoven roots of Mellorny Atrael appeared. In the settlement they get up early; the local residents do not approve of laziness.
“Easy trails,” he greeted Andy.
“Straight roads,” he replied.
“Andy, wait.” The elf put a small box at his feet. Judging by the way the straps were stretching, it weighed a lot. “I, uh,” he said, embarrassed, “made you some bracelets and a belt.”
“Thank you, Atrael!” Andy was delighted with the gift. “May I?”
“Sure.” He smiled warmly. “Let me help you.”
Atrael pulled out from the box shoulder pads and a few wide cloth bracelets for feet and hands on a leather backing with fabric-stitched lead plates.
“Move your arms, all right. Now jump. Do they rub on you?” fixing the metal, asked the elf. “Do not rush. Let us try on the belt.”
That was better. Now Andy could train in his usual training equipment. The bracelets and belt were what he’d been missing this past month. When he worked at the half-orc’s gym, he always wore extra weights on his wrists and ankles, and without them, practicing at the lake shore, he felt like a lizard without a tail. Force of habit.
“Berg, may you have a light afterlife, teacher.”
“Has something happened?” asked Atrael, noticing a cloud of doom on Andy’s face.
“No, everything is okay. Thanks again. I will run; the “leaves” have long since gathered.”
“I’ll put the box in your tiv,” the elf shouted in the direction of his retreating back.
“Thank you.”
Andy ran a light, skipping jog towards the broad forest lake, into which ran the river that was associated with his memorable encounter with the rixes. Here was the trail creeping toward the mountain. He increased his pace. Now he would see an obstruction along the edge of the path and a fork where, he recalled each time he passed it, the village rangers had greeted him as he carried a poisoned elf on his back. The guards had rushed to the aid of their troubled fellow, who had activated the emergency magical beacon. It can not be said that the meeting was friendly. Had it not been for Lilly, he would have been struck dead by their arrows or stripped of his dull little head. He didn’t know whether the violent pointy-ears would ever have figured out his mysteries: who, where, why? The dead usually keep their secrets. It was entirely possible that in order to get answers from the village “porcupine” Atrael, they would have invited the nearest necromancer. The right move, theoretically. The no man’s lands (they were called that, but everyone for some reason
preferred to forget about the miur), which did not belong to any state of the world, forced the locals to treat uninvited guests with a certain degree of suspicion.
The borderlands, the frontier, a huge territory on the slopes of the great mountain Lidar; a place where various adventurers and others, sick and totally crazy, go to have a good time. Often walks of merry men ended in the stomachs of predatory, constantly hungry creatures. Quite often their lives were interrupted by other adventurers or local residents who for some reason treated the various guests negatively. Someone’s head was swept off by the swords of the miur, who considered these lands their own, but endured the rare settlements of elves and people. Settlers also believed that the nearby forests and fields around the townships belong to them, but kept their personal opinion to themselves. Why anger their warlike neighbors in vain? The dragons of the Celestial Empire and the Principality of Ora preferred to leave everything as is, because the buffer with the northern neighbor was advantageous for Ora, and the dragons had once painfully taken a beating from the Great Mother’s mages, the ruler of the cat people. Since then, miur rulers had always kept their nose to the wind, catching the slightest political hesitation. The empire grew stronger from century to century, and its rulers never suffered from lack of memory. Who knew when they would decide to punish the abusers? Realizing that their free life could someday end, the miur did not touch the elves’ Mellorny groves and the border villages of humans, who created a peculiar cushion between them and their terrible neighbors and were, in fact, the first frontier of defense against ground attacks. The senior Forest Elves, perfectly aware of the situation and their status quo, played the role of border guards, meeting uninvited guests with arrows and swords. This behavior by the owners of the Mellorny groves was justified by life itself. It so happened that in the last three thousand years, only the priests of Manyfaces came to no-man’s land with good intentions; the rest were hoping for rich spoils.
It was an interesting picture: the village chief Evael telling his son and granddaughter’s savior about the surrounding realities, which made Andy think hard. Not everything was rosy, it turned out, in the homeland of dragons. The daily tradition of evening-time conversation between the chief and the “good guest” was a joy for both sides. Evael, who at first sight seemed to be a village “bumpkin,” was an extremely intelligent and erudite person, whose aristocratic features and excellent education received in the distant past often shone through his pleasant simplicity. The grandfather and his granddaughter taught Andy Common, the language used for communication on Nelita. The chief could have deceived the newcomer by his appearance had it not been for their first meeting, at which the elf showed his true face.
