This is a fan translation of Wrong Time for Dragons (Не время для драконов) by the Russian science fiction and fantasy authors Sergei Lukyanenko and Nick Perumov.

I claim no rights to the contents herein.

Note: Footnotes can be found at the end of the chapter.


Chapter 14

"My friends, this is Liz of the Fire Clan, a third-rank mage."

"Almost second," the girl corrected quickly. "I've gone through the trials… But then Master Navajo died, and…"

Sandra nodded.

"Excellent, Liz. I'm Sandra… first rank. And this is Asmund. He's only ranked at seven… as an advance."

"So you were just discovered?" Liz inquired with incredible directness, handing the blushing Asmund her hand for a kiss. Sandra pursed her lips jealously but hurried to bite her tongue at Ritor's glance.

"Uh-huh," the boy nodded. "Master Ritor—"

"Later, Asmund," the mage interrupted him. "Liz, these are our mages. Master Solly… Master Boletus… the warriors… all great guys. And this is my brother Kahn and his apprentice…"

When Liz, flattered by the unabashed male attention, finally greeted everyone, Ritor raised his hand, calling for silence.

"Friends. We have one last chance to get the Slayer. We mustn't fail, I'll keep repeating that. He's heading in our direction on the canal. I doubt he has a guide, he's probably going on pure instinct. Right now he's being pulled by Earth… or Fire. But there's no other road to Oros other than through the lands of the Earth Clan. That's why we're here. I'm holding him with my spell. We're not going to attack until the very last moment. Until we have eyes on him. The mages will deal with his defenses—we'll strike all at once, on my command—and then it's up to you, guys. We need his head, understood?"

Eric and Kevin nodded as one. The other seven Elders followed suit.

"We'll await his appearance here, in this small valley. When he goes ashore, we'll follow. Remember, people, he's capable of many things. It's best to shoot him from a distance… but I don't believe in such fortune. No matter, it's not for me to teach you how to fight. We'll cover you… and then it'll be up to you."

"We won't fail," Eric said quietly. "Right, Kevin?"

"We won't fail," the other man agreed. "We know who we're dealing with."

Ritor's camp was located in a secluded hollow. A thick forest was rising on the slopes. Then again, the mage wasn't particularly worried about good approaches to their site. The important thing was to pick up the Slayer when he came ashore, and Ritor's power would grow. Then the nine Elders and their boys would finish the task.

Now it was time to wait. By Ritor's reckoning, they only had a few hours to prepare — the day was about to start. The barge or the raft—whatever the Slayer had chosen—would dock soon. He'd have no reason to go ashore before that. He had no idea he was being tracked. He would take the beaten path to the borders of the Earth Clan. And then they'd have him. Together with Liz… he'd never be able to stand up to two Elements at once. No matter how good his defenses were, he didn't know how to use them at full strength, of course. Five Air mages, one Fire mage; the Slayer was going to fall.

I'll sacrifice all the warriors here, Ritor was thinking coldly, but the Slayer must be destroyed. No matter what. I can already sense the vibration of unseen strings… signs only I can see are predicting the arrival of the Dragon… And if the Slayer meets him, then a disaster is inevitable. Because that Dragon really will be the last one. Maybe Torn would be able to repel the initial push of the Naturalborn—although I don't believe it and have no idea how he might do that—but he definitely won't be able to handle the second one. Because, when defending against a Dragon, maybe two-thirds of warriors and mages will die; the remaining third will be dealt with by a single eagle-headed ship.

The rising sun was mercilessly chasing away the last shreds of the night, stubbornly climbing up the sky, and Ritor remembered how much he'd been afraid as a child that the golden ball was going to fall from the steep crystal blue dome and slide down, falling upon the world as a flaming storm.

Eric and Kevin were training their team, practicing some tricks only they knew; their boys were dashing among the bushes, melting away in the thicket like fast-moving snakes. Sandra and Asmund were whispering about something to the side; Solly and Boletus were talking to Liz. The blushing girl was saying something quickly; her thin fingers were moving fast, with pale tongues of smokeless flames flaring between them — Liz was showing the details of her attack spell.

Everything was fine. The team was ready. Just a little longer, and they'd get on the trail.

Ritor spent some time sitting on an old dry stump, enjoying the brief moments of mindless rest — he very rarely got such pleasures. "Battle will come tomorrow, but for now…" came the words of a song. A man from the Underside had come to the Air Clan not long ago. Lacking in any talent for spellcasting, he remembered these poems and many others…

The Air mage carefully checked the tracking spell. Tense, anxious… the target was in sight. Ah! The flickering Water component was gone; the Slayer had come ashore. And it looked like it had just happened.

Ritor raised his hand wordlessly. And the entire camp froze at once.

It took the mage several seconds to figure out where and how the Slayer was moving. Right… As Ritor had predicted, the unsuspecting Slayer was walking down the beaten path from the dock to the lands of Earth. That was exactly what Ritor had been expecting.

Now for the easy part. Surround and… finish what they'd started.

"Let's go," the Air mage ordered quietly. He saw Asmund's bit lip, Sandra's furrowed brow, Liz's intertwined fingers; only Solly and Boletus remained calm. If one had had to die under the thrust of the Wings that had gone off their leash, then one wasn't going to fear some Slayer.

The path was a two-hour walk away. The fall sun wasn't bright, so walking was easy. Ritor's team was walking in a long chain. Kevin and Eric had put Blyde forward, with Jerome and Ben covering the flanks. Just in case. No one was expecting an attack, but… who knew what Torn might do?

"Let's get some rest," Ritor ordered when the band of the well-traveled road could be seen through the trees. He needed his teem to be fresh for battle. They were ahead of the Slayer, which was good, as it gave them time to set an ambush.

…The road in front of them was emptying rapidly. The frightened villagers on their way to the market, merchant wagons carrying cargo from the barges at the dock, ordinary guards — basically everyone moving along the big road was in a hurry to get away from the combat squad of two Elemental Clans. Even the Totem ones, including the proud Panthers, after a moment's hesitation chose that being in Ritor's presence wasn't for the best. Then again, the mage had no intention of prolonging this performance. When the road turned, rounding a gently-sloping hill, overgrown with trees, Ritor ordered everyone to stop.

"Here."

It was a perfect place for an ambush. A hollow with steep slopes. A dense undergrowth, with nothing visible two steps from the road. The Slayer had nowhere to go.

Kevin and Eric were giving orders energetically, placing their people. The fighters and their boys were melting away in the thicket; a few moments later, only the mages were left on the road.

"Liz, Solly and I are crushing the first defense layer. It's most likely going to be something Watery. Then Sandra and Asmund will take the second layer — I expect it to be something from our own arsenal. After that, it's your turn. Boletus will cover you from a possible counterstrike. I think he'll deflect your attack too… but don't worry. Remember, our task is to open him up. Let him use up all his strength deflecting our attack. Eric and Kevin know their business… if we keep the Slayer tied up in combat, they'll finish him off. But we have to make him give it all he has, understand? That's why I'm asking you to spare no energy. I'm giving you my word that no one is going to extort the secrets of your combat spells."

Liz blushed and nodded.

"Places, people," the mage said. "He's close."

Little by little, the road came alive again. Carts and wagons began moving once more, as well as travelers on foot and on horseback; the squeaking of wheels, the weary shouts of drivers, the bleating of sheep in the driven flocks — business as usual.

Ritor was lying on the ground, entirely concealed by the thick branches of an evergreen magnolia. The spellcasters of the Earth Clan had spent a lot of effort to get this tender guest from beyond the Hot Sea to take root in the dry limestone soil of the Warm Coast…

The mage was waiting. Well, where was he? Not wanting to scare his "prey" away, Ritor had weakened the strand of his tracking spell, unwilling to check it even now. But it looked like the Slayer wasn't far away.

Wait, who was that?!

Wearing a simple dust-covered dress, barefoot, with disheveled hair, Loy Iver herself was quickly walking down the road.

Ritor probably wouldn't have been surprised to see Torn there. But Loy? What was she doing there?..

The woman stopped. Her piercing gaze slid along the thicket.

"Allow me to approach, honorable Ritor," she said quietly. "I have important news. It's about the Slayer. I think you're going to miss him."

"Come here, honorable Loy," the mage replied as calmly as he could. "Come here and explain what's happening."

Loy's tale didn't take a long time.

"…I visited Torn. I got him to tell me the truth."

"You visited Torn? And he didn't kill you on the spot?" Ritor was genuinely surprised.

Loy smiled with some contempt.

"Me? No. We… came to an agreement. I paid a fine for the insult to him." There was a sly smile that made Ritor's cheeks blush. It was obvious what that "fine" entailed… Oh, Loy, you lecherous cat… Then again, you saved my life, so it's not for me to judge you.

"…And then I tracked the Slayer down. It wasn't easy, Ritor. He'd already gone through two initiations, he's very dangerous. He doesn't trust anyone, even his own shadow. Right now he's on his way to the Earth Clan, but he seems to suspect your ambush."

"How?" Ritor frowned.

"You have to be dumb to believe that there won't be a second attempt after the failure of the first," Loy said with disdain. "I think… I'm not certain, but… He might have been able to get rid of your leash."

"How?!" Ritor asked in amazement.

"Oh, honorable mage, even I sensed your strand on him… and since he'd already gone through Air initiation, he was able to throw your leash onto someone else."

"It can't be," Ritor growled. "Iver, I… I… it can't be…"

"I was in such a hurry to tell you that…" Loy turned away resentfully. "My heels are covered in bruises… and what do I hear in reply?"

"Come on…" Ritor felt guilty. After all, why would Loy lie? Especially after saving his life…

"Or do you think that Torn has pulled me onto his side?" the woman whispered in understanding. "But think about it, what reason would I have for it? Yes, I visited him… and was with him… The Cats need peace, not war with the Elemental Clans. Moreover, you know how we felt about the Dragons…"

That's true, Ritor thought. The Winged Masters maybe have neglected the Cats, but they also didn't get in the way of their intrigues. In fact, the Cats occupied even a higher position among the Totem Clans during the reign of the Dragons than they do now.

"Besides, it's easy enough to verify my words," Loy whispered. "Just run a new search, and you'll see it for yourself. And, if I'm lying, you can kill me. Or," she gave him a playful wink, "you can give me to your warriors. All at once. I think they'll like it."

"Always making jokes, Loy," Ritor said reproachfully. "I'd rather spare my boys. I know even a hundred wouldn't be enough for you… All right, I'll verify your words."

"Then you'll know that I'm telling the truth," Loy declared in an offended tone.

Ritor revived the spell with a slight effort. The unseen strand quivered, the weak, barely noticeable wind flew to the target… bounced off the bare human soul, and flew back.

Ritor barely managed to suppress a scream. It wasn't the Slayer! Just a young man pushing a cart loaded with watermelons, and a young girl in a poor dress, who was supporting the striped spheres on the left, where the wooden boards of the low siding had cracked.

There was absolutely nothing suspicious about that man. And no power at all. Just… slightly outwardly similar, but nothing more.

"Cunning bastard!" Ritor groaned, clenching his fists in anger. "But you won't escape me! Sandra, Asmund, Solly! Boletus! Everyone, come here!.. Assist me!"

If Ritor himself was asking or help…

Asmund was trying the hardest. And, as beginner's luck would have it, the boy was the one who picked up the Slayer.

Of course! How could he, Ritor, have underestimated the enemy? Naturally he'd drawn conclusions from what happened in Horsk. So he went off the path, taking small side roads, from one hamlet to another, through trails, empty fields, empty gardens… Of course!

But the Slayer had made one mistake. He was too close to the road.

"Follow me!" Ritor ordered.

As if it wasn't too far away.

"Well, do you believe me now, Ritor?" came Loy's voice.

"This is the second time you're helping me, Loy Iver." The mage took the woman's hands in his. "I won't forget this. When this is all over… I'd like to pay you back for your kindness. I'm in your debt, but I doubt things will remain this way for long."

"I'll be waiting," Loy smiled.

"All right, we're in a hurry. Are you with us?"

"Of course, honorable Ritor." The Cat shrugged her perfect shoulders slightly. "How can I remain on the sidelines?.."

...They were running through the thick forest. It was difficult, long, exhausting. It seemed as if the branches had deliberately lowered themselves to block their path, and the trails were intentionally leading them astray. Ritor, no longer hiding, was holding the spells, sensing the approaching Power with every passing moment. The Slayer wasn't hiding very well. Arrogant… must've decided that he was safe after ditching the leash.

No, he was about to find out that no one could outplay the Air Clan twice.

A stretched-out chain of warriors could occasionally be seen up ahead. The boys seemed to be invisible, even Ritor's eyes were unable to spot them.

Loy's golden hair flared somewhere close by.

The forest ended suddenly and abruptly, as if cut off by a giant sword. Fields intermixed with gardens stretched ahead; there was also the thin strand of a country road. A young man in a black jacket and a sword on his belt was walking at a quick pace, almost running, on it.

The Slayer's Power splashed Ritor's face like a wave of venomous spray.

"Attack!" Ritor shouted without hiding. He threw the first spell himself. The howling of the wind, the dust devil on the field… the fiery ring spinning up over Liz's head…

The man on the road dropped his sword into the dust. He crouched, holding his pants; there was animal-like terror on his face. Quivering in your boots, you bastard? Remember those who died at the Horsk train station because of you! Ask them for forgiveness while you still have time! Or fight, die like a Slayer! I know, I remember that proud intoxication of Power, the realization of doom and loss, this high flight of the spirit; you have to feel the same way, so why is there such terror on your face?

The man dropped to his knees. Ritor's combat spell, an invisible scythe of wind, plunged down onto the Slayer's defenses, crushing them and turning them to dust.

Come on, Ritor thought briefly. You can still resist, you have plenty of strength. So why aren't you fighting?

But the Slayer didn't seem to even think of resisting. His pants were quickly growing darker. He dropped to his knees, crawled to the warriors surrounding him, wringing his hands and howling in fear.

"Oh dear… oh no… please save me… I swear… I've done nothing against your magical excellency, I swear!.."

The man was weeping, crawling in the dust, wringing his hands, and babbling something incoherent. He also stank.

The warriors were standing around him, aiming their weapons at him. Naturally, no one was about to fall for such a simple trick. They were waiting for Ritor's order.

"So this is the Slayer, honorable Ritor?" Liz furrowed her aristocratic nose. "This looks like an ordinary petty thief, who stole someone's sword and is now crapping his pants!"

The Air mage carefully walked closer.

In the name of the Great Winds, where was the Power of this pitiful-looking creature? Or was this a clever ploy, and the Slayer was just waiting for them to drop their guard to strike?

"Don't even think of running or casting spells!" Ritor warned the man.

"No, no, sir, no way, I'll lie down and say nothing, please, spare this poor orphan, I never broke the code…"

"Where did you get the sword then?" Ritor asked sternly.

"Sword? What sword? This is just a stick…" the poor man murmured.

Ritor shook his head. Why had he thought that this guy was armed? Indeed, it was an ordinary stick… with a bough that was somewhat reminiscent of a crossguard…

"Let's probe him, quickly!" he ordered.

…A tiny and cheap soul. A little greed, fear, lust, and foolishness. Currently, nothing but fear. Absolutely nothing!

How could it be? The spell had clearly indicated…

"This isn't the Slayer, Master Ritor," Liz stated contemptuously. "We've been deceived."

Everything the Fiery girl was unwilling to say out loud could be easily read in her eyes.

Loy. Loy Iver. The one who saved my life. The one who was so convincing. The one who was in such a hurry to help us.

And the one who was no longer here.

She seemed to have been running along with everyone else, shaking her hand, stretching her fingers for her underhanded feline spells, even smiling at Ritor. And now she was gone. Quickly and unnoticedly, the way only Cats could disappear…

Damned sellout! Of course, she ran to Torn, begging for forgiveness… and she got it. Of course, she was working at his direction. She gave us the runaround. Precisely because she'd saved me before that… yes, Torn, it was an excellent move, no way around it.

The man froze and squealed weakly.

"It's not him," Ritor said quietly. "Friends, we've been betrayed! Loy Iver betrayed us. She helped the Slayer slip by us. She probably taught him how to get rid of the tracking spell. A simple trick, if you have an experienced mentor to help you. And Loy Iver is a first-rank mage, after all. Even if she's from a Totem Clan. Of course…"

Ritor was speaking slowly and thoroughly, as if giving a lecture at the school. The mages and the warriors were looking at him with rising fear. They couldn't stop, they needed to do another search, they might still make it…

But Ritor kept talking and talking. Seeing his grazed eyes, no one dared to interrupt the Air mage.

"There's a trick. The Slayer encapsules the Power within him, wrapping it into a tight bundle, so it can only be noticed up-close. Then he picks a dummy, like this poor man… and temporarily hangs a Cloak of Power on him, or a disguise, camouflage, as they say in the Underside. And we fell for this trick… because the Slayer has been in our world for only a few days, he doesn't have a guide, he doesn't… well, didn't have a mentor who could've taught him this. Except, it turns out that he did have one: Loy Iver! Way to go, Torn! Very clever—"

"Ritor!" Sandra finally dared. "Ritor, please stop! Ritor, we need to think about how to get the Slayer. We need to comb—"

"Many roads lead to Earth lands. And if he's concealing himself…" Ritor waved his hand hopelessly. "Do you understand what that Cat has done?.. She taught him to hide. Now we'll only be able to recognize him face-to-face."

"And where is Loy?" Sandra growled. "Where's that dirty bitch? I'm going to—"

"Too late," Ritor waved it off. "The Cats are known for that. She's already far away. No combing is going to help."

"You're in despair, Ritor!" Boletus shouted. "You can't, Ritor, you can't break!"

Forgetting himself, Boletus grabbed Ritor by the labels.

"Ritor, come to your senses! We have to take them! Both the Slayer and the traitor! We have enough people, wake up, Ritor!"

The mage raised his head. His gaze was slowly clearing up. The veil of despair was lifting.

"Ritor. We have to find him," Sandra was trying to make him understand, as if he was a child. "Join our forces, you had to have seen him! We'll look for a face…" She knew those were empty words. If only things were that simple…

"He won't be able to carry the Power rolled up like a travel sack for a long time," Liz butted in. "Sooner or later, he'll have to reveal himself. We have to go to the nearest Earth Clan fortress and wait there."

Ritor lifted his gaze to the people surrounding him with difficulty.

"All right," the mage said quietly. "Let's go…"


The watermelon slice was soaking in juice, dropping grainy sugary sprays of juice onto the road dust. Victor shook off a scattering of black seeds and gobbled down the slice in a single go. Delicious. And no chemicals either… maybe just a little magic. Could magic be considered an ecologically harmful factor? "Come, good people, I have watermelons without any spells, grew them myself!" Incredibly delicious. He regretted having to dump the cart that had served its purpose. Had it really been needed, though? According to Loy, it had. What about reality? Maybe they shouldn't have bothered pushing the heavy load in this heat. Telle believed so.

Victor wiped his juice-covered chin, pulled out the sword, and sliced another watermelon in half. Telle immediately grabbed one and started to scrape out the flesh.

Would he have even thought three days ago that he'd be cutting a watermelon with an elven sword… the same sword he'd used to kill a man!.. and eating the juicy, sweet red slices?

Victor tried to feel any revulsion, squeamishness, or even contempt towards himself. How could someone be this way?

As it turned out, very easily.

"No, enough," Victor said, tossing away the dark green peel. "If I eat even one more piece, then I'm definitely going to… hmm… wet myself tonight."

Telle snorted and glanced at him, "You're all covered in juice."

They abandoned the cart after getting off the road and stopping at a tiny river. The soil was rocky, dusty, nothing was growing even by the water, and the ever-present dust was instantaneously settling onto their skin, sticky from the juice.

"You're no better," Victor noted. He walked up to the river and washed himself with cold water. His belly was heavy and bloated like a drum, and he himself felt like a boa constrictor that had swallowed an elephant, a hat, and Exupéry all at once [Footnote 1]. "What if I…"

The idea was tempting!

"What if I try to make the air chase the dust away?.."

"Don't even think about it!" Telle jumped up. "You can't use your Power!"

Victor said nothing at first.

"Telle, you were the one who said that all of Loy's concerns were—"

"Maybe they are nonsense! That's probably the case! But what if they aren't?"

True, there was no arguing the point. It was always better to play it safe. Strangely enough, he hadn't noticed Telle being so cautious before…

"I won't," Victor said obediently. He remembered the tricks Loy had shown him temptingly clearly. It was all so simple. Was it really so easy to master magic?

No, probably not for everyone. The Slayer's abilities were helping him, the same ones Telle had dragged him from the Underside for…

"Good," Telle praised him. "I'm going to wash myself too…"

Victor realized what she meant only when Telle pulled off her dress and calmly walked to the water.

This girl had zero insecurities! He decided not to look away or say something about it being inappropriate; on the contrary, he watched her walk away. No insecurities. Pretty too, no way about it.

She was simply trying to seduce him!

The thought was insulting and alarming at the same time. A girl's crush for an older man never took such an openly provocative shape.

Telle was already splashing behind him, squealing from the cold water, while Victor kept mulling over this belated suspicion. Could a teenage girl, a girl from the Unknown Clan, participate in this mad game of mages?

She could.

Then again, if Telle really had decided to seduce him and put him on the strongest leash in existence—love, desire, and guilt—she'd have done it a long time ago. Like during their first night at the hotel, when he'd been confused and still had trouble believing that everything around him was real. Or the previous night on the barge. He'd been a little drunk and exhausted, mentally, at least…

Victor grunted.

No, tonight, as soon as Telle fell asleep, he was going to offer Loy to go for a walk in the moonlight. A pure moon, unmarred by the footsteps of astronauts, on gentle, young grass that just begged to be sat on. And Loy was a free-thinking woman. So free that he couldn't even truly call her a tramp. Loy lived this, to her, sex was as simple a task as a casual conversation or an offer to have a drink of water…"

"Do you want to wash yourself?" Telle asked.

"The water's cold," Victor replied.

"Then let's go." Telle appeared already dressed in her former outfit, having wiped her feet with the ugly dress. "We'll walk on the road, there'll be more people later. Maybe someone will give us a ride. You still have money, right?"

"What about Loy?"

"Why, you want to wait for her?"

"Loy asked not to leave until tonight."

"Victor!" Telle sat in front of him and shook her wet hair, causing Victor to smile at the gesture. Damn, had she really already figured out what movements he liked? "Why are you behaving like a child? Why do I have to think for both of us?"

"What's wrong?"

"I don't believe Loy," Telle said firmly. "Not for a minute. First of all, she's hiding something. Keeping something back."

"Possibly."

"And second, if the mages manage to capture her, Loy won't be able to hide anything! An experienced mage can pull the truth even out of a dead body."

"A dead mage?"

"The dead are helpless…" Telle said in a voice that made Victor remember the guards of the Limits. "The dead don't have any magical power… Victor! I'm a fool, right?"

Her entire look was expressing remorse and embarrassment.

"What do you mean?"

"Well… Loy is a beautiful woman…" Telle looked away in embarrassment. "And highly experienced, probably like a hundred thousand women… You want her, don't you? I mean… the way grownups do…"

She batted her eyelashes in embarrassment.

Victor had zero doubt that Telle was toying with him. Except there was nothing he could say to counter her words. The girl's gaze was innocence itself, even her cheeks were blushing.

"She's probably at least a hundred," Telle added thoughtfully. "Maybe even two hundred. First-rank mages don't die of old age… You'd feel good with her, and here I am in your way…"

"Go to hell!" Victor leapt to his feet. "What are you talking about?"

"Age?"

"Me! I don't have time for any affairs with elderly coquettes! Let's go!"

It really wasn't that far to a more lively section of the road. They got there in half an hour, and Victor had time to curse his own stupidity and Telle's cunning three times.

They should've waited for Loy Iver…

"Don't be mad," Telle said suddenly, as if reading his mind. "Please. If nothing has happened to Loy, then she'll find us easily."

"Did she put a spell of her own on us?" Victor asked dryly.

"Don't be upset…" Telle took his hand. "Come on… Loy has no need for spells, she's of the Cat Clan. Tracking, hiding, fleeing, deceiving — all that is a part of their Power."

"I see. She'll sniff us out."

Imagining the alluring Loy crawling down the road on all fours, Victor smiled. And if he believed Telle about Loy being over a hundred…

"But if she comes to harm because we left…" Victor said with a threatening note in his voice.

"I know, I know. You're never going to forgive me, get upset, and send me to an orphanage or a convent… Don't worry about Loy! You know that cats have nine lives, right?"

"Some comfort…"

"I'm very glad that you worry about her," Telle said suddenly. "Very glad! At least you worry about someone…"

"Worrying about you is like shielding a fish from the rain with an umbrella…"

They spend half an hour standing by the roadside, engaging in light verbal jousting. Then they spent another half an hour sitting on the grass a little farther away. Over that time, fifteen or so carts and wagons had gone past. But Telle wrinkled her nose at them; then again, Victor himself didn't enjoy the prospect of riding with half a dozen big, cheerfully grunting pigs or, for example, the idea of riding in a huge wagon that was almost as big as a train car, full of drunken dwarves. Unlike the lands near the Gray Limits, there were no elves here at all — maybe they didn't like living far from a forest, or maybe, once chased away by the mages long ago, they had no desire to return.

"You know what amazes me here?" he asked Telle a rhetorical question. "How all of you manage to live together."

"Who's we? The clans?"

"I don't give a damn about the clans! How many mages are in each of them? A hundred, a thousand? They don't have a choice but to live together."

"I don't know about that."

"You're just going mad from the boredom," Victor rejected any objections. "No, I'm amazed how the elves, the dwarves, and the others haven't slaughtered each other…"

"Some did," Telle said casually. "Many are gone now. For example, you might be able to run into a troll in the mountains, but there are very few of them left. Those who couldn't live in peace with the others died out."

Victor recalled the barge's captain and inquired, "Are the hobbits still around?"

"Who?"

He explained as best he could.

Telle shook her head, and there was uncertainty in her voice for the first time, "Never heard of them. And never ran into them. Your people must've made them up."

Finally a cart appeared on the road that caused an approving nod from Telle. Not so much a cart as a carriage, with round arches, although the canopy was open now. The cart was being driven by a young man, who was managing to simultaneously hold the reins, nibbling on sunflower seeds, and flipping through the pages of a book. At the sight of the book, Victor experienced the same mad hunger as from the newspaper at the train station. The inability to read anything was telling.

"Hey!" the guy gave them a friendly wave. "You need a ride?"

"Sure!" Telle rose and tugged on Victor's hand. "Come on, let's go…"

The guy didn't even think to stop the horse, but then the phlegmatic old mare's leisurely gait wasn't a problem. Telle hopped into the carriage so nimbly that the driver exclaimed approvingly. Victor shamefully ran after the cart and climbed through the open back. Along the sides of the cart stood two wooden benches with piles of dry hay sitting between them.

"Going far?" the guy asked, grinning widely. He would've looked like a typical young man from the hinterlands, if someone replaced the wooden wheels with metal rims on his cart with old tires from a pickup truck. An ordinary carriage, and he was an ordinary young man. Close-cropped black hair, tanned slightly rough face, hunched shoulders, clean but simple clothes — nothing unusual.

"To Feros," Telle said, smiling in return. "My brother and I want to join the Earth mages…"

Brother? Why brother?

"Can't take you all the way, but happy to drop you off at the princely courts…"

Victor coughed, trying to get the girl's attention, but she was busy flirting with the driver.

"They say I have abilities. What if I become a mage? Just think about it!"

"No need to think! Give it a try!" The guy set the book and the reins aside, with the obedient horse utterly ignoring the latter, and proffered his open hand to Telle. "Here, have some. My brother Alex fried them himself…"

"Thanks…" Telle sat down next to him. "What's your name?"

"Basil."

"I'm Telle. Pretty name, isn't it?"

Victor was staring at this child of the Middle World with a minor shock. What would happen if he were to end up in the Underside?

Probably nothing…

The guy looked at him too.

"You too…" A handful of seeds made its way into Victor's hands. He liked seeds slightly more than he enjoyed fried locusts, but there was nothing to be done. "What's your name, silent one?"

"Victor."

"Right. Eat up, Victor, our seeds are pure sugar!"

"May I?.." Victor indicated the book.

"Like to read, eh?" The guy's voice immediately turned from merely amiable to friendly. "Me too! Take it, just wipe your hands."

To Victor's eye, there was no way dirty the book any more than it already way. The paper cover's color was entirely faded. Even the title was unreadable. Still, Victor obediently wiped his hands on his jeans and opened the thick book on the spot marked by a straw.

"They had left their Komsomol and Party nucleus meetings immediately after the brief announcement had been made; they came quietly, individually, in pairs, never more than three together, and each of them carried the Communist Party or Komsomol membership card, without which no one could pass through the iron gates.

The assembly hall, where a large crowd had already gathered, was flooded with light. The windows were heavily curtained with thick canvas tenting. The Bolsheviks who had been summoned here stood about calmly smoking their homemade cigarettes and cracking jokes about the precautions taken for a drill." [Footnote 2]

Feeling overwhelmed with madness, Victor glanced at Basil. The guy nodded, "Nice, huh? Great writing!"

"You, uh… where did this come from?"

"It's book," the guy explained patiently. "Fantasy. Heard of it? It's like a lie but in the form of a story."

"The book's from the Underside," Telle noted, throwing a quick glance at it. "How'd you come by it?"

Basil smiled proudly but left the question unanswered.

"And you… understand it all?" Victor couldn't help but keep asking.

"Well… not everything. All those… Bolsheviks and Komsomols. Sometimes they're like dwarves, building railroads. Other times they're like mages, keeping order and collecting tribute."

Victor could've explained it to him… but Basil was clearly more interested in Telle than the issues of Bolshevism. Slapping Victor on the shoulder, he turned to the girl, "What's your Power?"

"I can grow grass quickly and sense water…"

"Nice!"

"I've even helped the dwarves of the Way! I also found ore veins twice…"

"Really?" The guy gave a low whistle. He was clearly of a high opinion of himself, even his facial expression told others that he was sitting atop a hay cart by accident and would go far in life. But he respected what she'd said. "Hey, bud, your sister's good!"

Victor nodded gloomily. He had no idea why Telle had decided to mess with a random guy.

But she had…

There was no need to back up Telle's lies, and he really didn't want to take part in their conversation or read about Pavel Korchagin.

He lay down on the cart floor and stared up into the clear sky. Not a cloud up there. The wheels squeaked, shook a little, but not a lot, as the road was far too well-torn for that. Telle and Basil were busy talking smack about mages, but doing it carefully, respectfully.

Why was he going to Feros?

Wasn't it about time he stopped obediently following Telle's plans? Sure, the girl was helping him. But she clearly had her own goals too. As if she'd pushed someone who couldn't swim into water and was now proudly throwing them a lifeline. He needed to have a frank conversation with her…

Suddenly, Victor realized that his irritated thoughts invariably featured Loy Iver, who was gracefully stretching her long thin legs and giving him very unambiguous smiles. Damn! What sort of attraction did this woman have? If she really was over a hundred, as Telle had said…

But how old was Telle herself?

Looking up, he glanced at the girl. Just as Basil put his hand around her waist. After a light slap, he took his hand away without complaint.

She managed to be very different. Sometimes she was a serious mentor, other times a scared child, and then there were times when she was a merciless and cold-blooded woman. They way she referred to the Limiter and his sons… "they died happy." And that was it. Carelessly and casually. This wasn't adolescent cynicism, as he'd thought originally. And if he also recalled Loy's words about the Unknown Clan…

Telle turned, stuck her tongue out at him, and playfully ruffled the driver's hair. Victor looked away in embarrassment.

No, it was way too soon to make any guesses. If only Loy was here! Sure, she was playing her own game, but at least she was a lot more open with him. Where was she now, the mage Loy Iver?


Footnotes

1) This is a reference to the French novella The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. In it, the main character once drew a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an elephant, except everyone else claims it's a hat.

2) This is from a 1930's Soviet book How the Steel Was Tempered by Nikolai Ostrovsky.