by Alex Sapegin
* * *
The ladies were not alone. What kind of fool would let such beauties go into the wild forest, full of dangers, without proper accompaniment? That’s right, no one would.
Andy stood behind the blossoming red bushes. The flowering inflorescences perfectly concealed him, and now, unseen by the others, he could calmly assess the situation.
Judging by how the stern warriors of the forest tribe crouched before the new arrivals, they were high-flying birds. The tall golden-haired elf who was leading the delegation stopped near the sergeant Hermiel and asked him about something. The warrior bowed low and burst out with a whole speech, periodically pointing at the Leaf candidates standing to the side. The ladies and gentlemen gathered behind Goldilocks listened as well.
“Very nice,” Andy thought, counting the visitors. There were nine elves, five of which were ladies, counting the gold-headed leader of the delegation, and seven humans. Among the humans, there were only three ladies. Besides a short slim elf with hair of the color of molten copper and a fine figure, all the other guests were tall. Their aristocracy and a spark of superiority over the local army flashed in their eyes. Everyone, both men and women, sported chain mail, sashes with swords, leather trousers, and high boots with lacing. The fair sex differed from the gentlemen in the green blouses and cloaks over their mail.
A pair of newcomers had wide belts with scabbards for throwing knives stretched across their chests. It was a serious company. The main elf, after listening to Hermiel, nodded and turned to the retinue. There was a lively conversation among the guests. It’s a pity I can’t hear anything from the observation post. I’m dying of curiosity!
Andy switched to true vision. He saw numerous artifacts and amulets skillfully hidden by the guests’ clothing. The company which seemed interesting at first was starting to appeal to him less and less. And who could like sorcerers who are shielded by will and mind shields? Solid dark cocoons instead of auras. You see, they have something to hide. And exactly half of them are dark spots, but who’s counting? I spent a month in the forest village and all that time, I didn’t see a single hidden aura, not counting myself, of course. Today is full of surprises. His intuition, foretelling trouble, howled like a mad cat with its tail down. How would we know if there are some lovely northern friends in this group?
Why would Hermiel nod to the youth? That’s obvious enough: the ranger is talking about a certain shkas. Yes, I’m a local celebrity. Where else can you find a freak that yields weapons better than most experienced warriors can? Andy sighed heavily: life was so good!
“Andy!” Pitel, a young candidate for the Leaves from Andy’s settlement ran from the village to the beach. “We have been looking for you, and you are standing here!”
A curse on you! Andy thought, coming out from the bushes.
“Pitel, your tongue is your enemy.”
“What?” the elf said in surprise.
“Apparently, your parents didn’t teach you how to be quiet sometimes?”
The awkward question went unanswered as the visitors and Hermiel heard the elf’s voice and ceased their conversation as suddenly as if someone had waved a magic wand.
A light breeze blew in. Its invisible streams ruffled the shkas’ hair, which had grown below his shoulders and brought with them the smell of a flowering meadow. Stopping mid-step, he scrunched his nose. The smell served as a detonator for a mental explosion inside a box called a skull. The elves and humans who had come to the beach at such an early hour suddenly acquired other features. They did not use swamp root. That smell was slightly musky…. Yes, flowers and musk, the aqueous suspension of clouds, the thunderous freshness of ozone. It smelled like dragons. The sky. The heavens. How many of them were there? Was it the whole delegation, or just the ones covered in will shields?
“Is that him? According to your descriptions, dear Hermiel, a combat golem three yards tall should be standing before us now,” the chief elf said in an alto voice.
“Good things come in small packages!” Andy spoke up for himself.
A spark of interest appeared in the elf’s green eyes. The accompanying cavaliers felt threatened.
“Your tongue, shkas, will lead you to the scaffold someday,” she answered.
“Usually it helps me keep away,” Andy retorted. He could not understand his own behavior. The proximity of the elves, no, dragons! tore off the brakes and made him throw caution to the wind. His next escapade was not so well received. The noble did not like something in his behavior.
“Mistress, allow me to teach this fellow a few lessons in respect?” One of the gentlemen spoke up. Goldilocks’ advocates piously observed the limits of what was permissible to them. No one transgressed them, except for the persons close to her, and the blue-eyed non-human did not belong to such a privileged category. “I’ll teach him to bow before you.” That was it, the freak had failed to bow! His free life with the Forest Elves, where no one really worried about constantly groveling in front of anyone else, had made Andy forget this custom. He was no longer used to such things.
“Don’t twist your navel,” snapped the disrespectful shkas. Oh, Goldilocks was right. The chopping block and the executioner’s ax hovered over him. The self-styled manners teacher roared, pushed aside the short elf Andy had noticed earlier and jumped forward sharply.
The “teacher” moved quickly. He literally made a gray streak in the air. His sword flashed, reflecting a sunbeam. Remembering his sparring with Ilnyrgu, which she arranged for him on the last day of his training at Berg’s school, Andy went into a trance, feeling the blood vessels in his eyes almost burst from the pressure and crazy acceleration. He jumped high up and slightly to the side, thus giving his right hand room for a short swing. The chief elf’s defender flew under him; in the next moment, the guardian of good manners, having lost his target, stopped abruptly. The butt of the narrow blade bumping the elf in the forehead was a complete surprise to him. He managed to react to the danger by leaning back, but not fast enough. Everyone else present saw only that the shkas disappeared in one place and emerged in another, and the mighty warrior who had rushed into the fight, with a big bump on his forehead, swayed and fell flat on the sand. While the company was staring at the defeated fighter, Andy swiftly wiped the blood that had run out under his nose.
The defeated elf did not portray a limp amoeba for long. In one swift movement, he jumped to his feet and growled. His aura flashed with blinding light, increasing several times. Vertical pupils erupted in the pseudo-elf’s eyes. Holy moly—a dragon!
“Thygar, do not dare! If you do, you will violate my virk,” the imperative cry of the golden-haired woman made the furious dragon moderate his ardor.
The sword sang as it slid back into the sheath.
“We will meet again…,” the enraged dragon said.
Suddenly some of the inadequacies of his own behavior became clear to Andy, his lack of brakes and irritation. The dragon-boy was about to molt. It was commendable he hadn’t killed anyone yet. His hormones and the urge to molt were so strong that even Andy lost his self-control.
The elf, whose fragrance of field dandelions suggested she was actually a dragon beauty, turned to Andy:
“The sergeant’s words turned out to be pure truth. Hermiel, I apologize.” She and the Forest Elf bowed to one another simultaneously. Apologies had been given and accepted. There was no damage to their relationship. The green eyes again moved to the culprit of the scuffle. “I suggest you join the virk. What do you say?”
“No.”
By the way the eyes of all those present on the beach grew wide and rounded, Andy realized that he had committed the biggest stupidity he possibly could have. Pitel’s face changed various colors for a moment, betraying a whole range of emotions, the main one of which was disbelief. How could he refuse such an honor? The entourage exposed their blades. The rangers on the beach shook their heads and mentally buried the shkas. Ignorance of customs and elementa
ry rules did not ever do anyone any good. Such little things were what gave away even experienced spies. He urgently needed to save the situation.
“I do not know who you are, what ‘virk’ means, or what your offer entails. I began to remember my skills six fivers ago. I am therefore not capable of agreeing to your offer due to my ignorance.”
Hermiel darted over to the dragoness and hotly whispered some details from the life of the blue-eyed shkas. She listened to the elf and threw quick glances at Andy.
“Andy, show us!” The sergeant poked himself in the chest. Clearly, the guests wanted to see the mark of the dugaria. They were interested in the eight-pointed scar from the tree tentacle. He didn’t mind showing them. This course of action was met “with a grand hurrah,” except for one small detail—no one bothered to explain to him the meaning of a certain short word.
The forest army relaxed somewhat but continued to watch warily. They were aware of official events. Half the members of the retinue made squeamish faces, examining Andy.
“Ania, explain.” The Lady of the Sky changed her wrath to pity.
“Yes, mistress!” the short person Andy had taken a liking to stepped forward.
* * *
Andy didn’t end up joining the virk. Not because he did not want to, but because his impulsive refusal canceled the invitation. Still, the encounter wasn’t a total loss, and he joined the princess’ detachment as an independent and voluntary assistant. If he had not done that, no one would have given a broken penny for his life. Dragons of such a high position and flight do not forgive a direct insult. Period. If it had been someone else besides Ilirra, saying “no” would not have been a problem, but that was not his fate. Such individuals are not to be refused. The resounding “no” was written off to the gaps in his memory since he’d escaped from the dugaria, which was logical, considering the impact the chimera tree had on people’s psyches. After Ania described the meaning of the short word, it became more difficult to refuse; to be honest, it was completely impossible.
The short word “virk,” it turned out, encompassed several concepts and meanings. First, it was interpreted and had the same meanings as the ancient Irish geas and taboo.6 Secondly, it was a test, recalling something like the grand tours of the old British aristocrats, sending their offspring to foreign lands to see the world to see and show what they could do. Third, it was a tradition that arose three thousand years ago. According to it, young Lords of the Sky who were preparing to accept service to the clan or power over it had to pass a severe test of maturity and independence, and their debt did not give them the right to refuse it. In this case, Miss Ilirra had accepted a virk, which absorbed all these concepts at the same time. She had reached the age of maturity and must show what she was capable of. The Prince Ora placed high hopes on his daughter.
The unusual exam differed from a simple trip in that it entailed a host of restrictions and prohibitions. The dragons, if they did not possess a second hypostasis, passed the test alone. Those who could change form could be tested in a group or go as one person, but with an escort team. In any case, parents were forbidden to interfere in the affairs of their own children or to provide assistance—ey had to do it themselves, all by themselves.
The sida’s words made a couple of muscles move in his brain. No one interfered with the mothers and fathers pulling some strings and introducing the right persons into their son’s or daughter’s retinue. Everyone knew perfectly well that hardly anyone would leave their own child completely unattended, especially dragons. Andy himself knew what it meant to love some kiddos. Tyigu, Rary, and Rury had bound him to themselves tighter than any rope could, and they weren’t even his own flesh and blood.
But about the quest, that is the virk, which are practically the same thing. In the second and third cases, additional restrictive barriers began to operate. A group could not consist of more than two dozen members. During the test, dragons were forbidden to take on their true form or use magic. Who had defined these rules and how, no one remembered, but they followed them rigorously. There was, however, a tricky caveat. The rules did not say anything about magical artifacts and amulets. The group was allowed to accept no more than five friends or servants who took on your virk and the duty to follow a friend or master and strictly enforce all the written and unwritten rules of the test. The remaining members of the team could be anyone from the other intelligent races. Restrictions on race were not allowed. To receive such an invitation was considered a great honor. Humans and elves who passed the test along with the dragons usually stayed at the courts of the Lords of the Sky, became high dignitaries and enjoyed universal respect. Each new member of the group swore not to violate the agreed rules. A refusal could only be for a serious reason; otherwise, a refusal was considered an insult.
From some of what the elf said, Andy gleaned an amusing fact. The quests of dragons were actively sung by bards and minstrels. The local PR people actively promoted the topic, everywhere highlighting the difficulties of joint campaigns, erecting an impenetrable aura of masculinity around the test. Indeed, the dragons suffered such deprivations, reducing themselves to the level of mere mortals, that their burdens simply could not be sung, and it was the duty of every reasonable person to help them overcome them…. And the people actively took such bait. Someone who was smarter might look for a hidden meaning between the lines and make his own conclusions, but no one thought about going against the system. The dragons wouldn’t do anything: the other humans would kill you for it and not bat an eye.
Andy listened attentively to Ania and thought about it. Whoever invented the tradition of the “Grand Tour” in the Principality of Ora and limited it to an oath/virk/geas/taboo was a cunning and ingenious personality. What was the catch? The fact that he who used to wave his wings would now have to stamp his feet, and stamp quite far and long. The route wasn’t known for being easy. The ride-on transport only added a couple hundred leagues and calluses on the rear end. The dragons in human or elf form got it just as bad as the others. Another complication collective. A third was that any violation of the virk vow by even one member of the group put an end to the whole trial, and the applicant would have to return to the starting point. Young dragons passed the exam not only to prove their maturity, strength, and endurance, which were important, but also to show their skills as leaders and administrators. The dragon manager must be able to control him or herself and his temper (a hard check for a young explosive character), make decisions in the most difficult circumstances, establish relationships in a motley team, and find the right members or performers in any society, and this is just a small part of what a future master of destinies must know and be capable of. A simple, but tricky virk tradition forced the dragons to “go out among the people,” which played greatly on their authority. It was not for nothing that a whole commission of old flyers was waiting for the travelers at the finish line, scrupulously analyzing all the actions of the ata-virk (ata—has taken, ata-virk: one who has taken the responsibility upon him/herself, taken the test) and his team and decided on the success of the quest. A lot depended on their words: whether the young applicant could consider himself an adult and take his proper place, or whether in three years he was destined to go on the next campaign.
That was the fate that brought the difficult princess to the elves. Andy surreptitiously surveyed the retinue and estimated his chances of remaining incognito. The chances were slim. Her crowned parent, if he wasn’t a fool, had stuffed a couple of faithful spies into his daughter’s company, who were keeping track of all contacts and the princess’ every step, and there was no doubt that their eyes picked up anything unusual. It was difficult to predict what they might react to.
Considering the sida, who was poking the sand with her boot, he examined the situation from all sides, but no matter how he spun it, he always butted up against the buttocks of that temperamental lady. The princess, with a piercing glance at him, waited for an answer.
“
It is an honor to join your party,” Andy bowed to the dragon.
“You can follow my escorts,” Ilirra said, and headed for the troxes.
With a single phrase, she’d poked his face in the sand. Don’t be an escort; don’t go with the detachment, go behind the detachment. Be with us as it were, but don’t be a bother. Andy looked at Ania and shook his head. The elf, catching the bitterness and sarcasm in the shkas’ look, didn’t say anything. She didn’t like the mistress’ decision, confined to a strange half-measure. The entourage followed the princess.
“We are leaving for the settlement, after lunch we will go to Astal Ruigara,” she ordered, sitting down in the saddle. Everyone had temporarily forgotten about the shkas; the dragoness was sure he would not get lost.
Hermiel, having seen off the last trox, ran to Andy. The elf’s gaze showed poorly concealed envy.
“Lucky you!” he said, sighing heavily. Among so many worthy candidates, and the dragoness chose some kind of a holy fool. Even though he handles a sword like a god, still, at first glance it’s clear that there are shortcomings.
“You can say that again,” the “lucky guy” said, pulling the ranger towards him by the collar. The elf jerked in the air with his feet and unsuccessfully tried to free himself from the steel grip. “Hermiel, tell me, who is so talkative and can not keep his mouth shut?”
There was no more jealousy in the gaze, only fear. Andy’s face, distorted from hatred and anger, with fangs instead of teeth in his mouth and sharp claws sticking into Hermiel’s neck, made the elf tremble with horror, and say goodbye to life. The shkas was not at all what they are used to seeing and who he himself pretended to be.
“Live,” throwing the envious man aside, Andy spat on the sand. “If you only knew how you have set me up!” He closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten. He had to calm down; he couldn’t let his emotions get the better of him. He mustn’t! Feeling the foolishness inspired by Thygar’s hormones subside, Andy wiped his wet hands on his trousers, glanced around at the elves, standing there in a stupor, and then helped Hermiel to rise from the ground.
