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.
Chapter 7
The first thing Victor did was look for the outlaws. The thought of trouble was firmly associated with them in his mind. But the outlaws were standing peacefully by the ticketing booth. The Limiter was buying tickets… because of course he was… while his sons were pushing one another and fooling around.
"Who did you run afoul of, healer?"
"Rada, I don't understand…"
The girl sighed and sat down next to him, "People just came to the hotel… a lot of people. Eight men."
She waited, but Victor was still confused.
"They were asking about you. About a guy named Victor…"
Victor jerked. He didn't recall giving anyone at the hotel his name. Rada noticed his reaction and nodded in satisfaction, "A guy traveling with a teenage girl. They asked Dersi, he didn't say anything, of course, elves aren't easily intimidated… But Ginger is about to come, and he's going to tell them everything."
"Why?"
"He doesn't need any trouble. It's Water!"
"What?"
"The Water Clan! One of them is a third-rank mage, I noticed the symbol, the rest are combat mages. Who wants enemies like that? They'll level the entire town if they want!"
"Rada I have no idea what the Water Clan is…"
The girl exhaled but then calmed down.
"Yes, of course. You just came from the Underside… Victor, there's magic in our world."
"I've already figured that out."
"Nearly all mages live on the Warm Coast. They're split up into clans, each of which specializes in a particular kind of magic. The Water Clan is one of the Elementals. They can use water magic."
"So what? There might be some rain…" Victor started, trying to quell the feeling of alarm. But he broke off from Rada's fierce gaze and the sharp as a dagger strike memory of Telle's face covered in bloody droplets… from rain.
The passage!
Those eight people who'd tried to stop them!
"Ah, now you get it!" the girl was glad. "Victor, they're looking for you! They're about to learn that you were at the hotel: either from Ginger or by intimidating the service staff. And then it'll be easy to figure out where to go — straight to the train station.
"Maybe I'll have time—"
"I wouldn't count on that if I were you!"
"Rada… what do I do?"
"I don't know…" the girl replied, cooling down in a moment. "Run. But how?.. Wait for the train, it's your only chance. When you enter a train car, you'll be under the protection of the dwarves. Maybe the Watery ones aren't willing to fight the masters of the Way."
"And if I talk to them…"
Rada chuckled mirthlessly.
"There was murder in their eyes. They're killers, healer. Maybe even a squad of Punishers."
"Punishers?"
"It's what they call killer mages trained by the clan to do just one thing — punish the human, elven, and dwarven rulers who refuse to recognize the supreme authority of the clan. They get through any wall. They find their target at the end of the world. And they kill them. Our village pays tribute to Count Sotnikov, who is himself a tributary to the Earth Clan. So, technically, Water has no right to be here… but it's not important. Especially since Water and Earth are allies."
Victor's head was bulging from the excess of information. But Rada kept on talking, "You won't even escape from a single mage! There's eight of them!"
"I have five bodyguards," Victor said, glancing at the outlaws.
"What? These guys? They'll scatter the moment you mention Water!"
Victor rose and waved to the Limiter, who'd been watching the conversation from a distant anxiously.
The outlaw ran over with the trot of a stray dog that had already been hit in the nose but still believing in humans.
"I'm being pursued," Victor began without a preamble. "Enemies who want to kill me."
The Limiter's eyes flared, and his hand gripped the handle of the flail.
"They're Water mages!" Rada added in irritation.
The Limiter growled, "Overlord! Permit us to kill them!"
"Water mages!" Rada repeated with emphasis. There was uncertainty in her voice now.
The Limiter glanced at the girl in contempt and again switched his gaze, now full of silent adoration, to Victor.
"You aren't afraid?" he asked.
"I hate Water!"
"Enough…" Rada leapt to her feet. "I like you, healer. I had to warn you… plus I needed to buy some spices at the market… But this is enough. I have no intention of staying and watching what's about to happen."
"I thought you were going to help us." Victor looked over the girl's fine figure and the sword strapped to her belt.
"Don't make me laugh, healer!" Rada shook her head. "I won't! Dad spent his entire youth fighting mages, either for one fool or another. But I'm a girl! Not a crazy valkyrie! I have a restaurant, the best on the entire Way! I'm only going to chop heads when someone comes to rob me!"
"You're right." Victor carefully took her by the hand. "You did well, Rada. Thank you for warning me."
He bent down and carefully kissed her on the lips. Rada jerked back and look at him suspiciously, "Are you kidding… Victor?"
"No. Thank you, I mean it. You really should go. This is none of your business. Better keep the restaurant in order, I'm going to stop by… on the way back."
"You only have one way…" the girl said sadly. She shrugged, turned, and began walking in a sweeping manly fashion to the exit.
"A very good fighter," the Limiter whispered after her. "Overlord, if you ask, she might stay."
"No," Victor bit off.
"As you wish, Overlord."
"Limiter, there are eight combat mages at the hotel. They're about to head this way."
The outlaw didn't look particularly frightened, "We will meet them."
"You're not afraid of Water magic?"
"We're not afraid of Elementals." The Limiter reached into his jacket and pulled out a small stone on a chain. "An amulet… Overlord, take it!"
"Why?"
The Limiter suddenly laughed, "Overlord… forgive my foolishness. Of course! Overlord, allow me to tell my sons…"
"Go."
Watching the outlaw set up a "war council" with his sons, explaining something to the older ones and more encouraging than mentoring the younger ones, Victor listened to his own sensations.
Was he supposed to be afraid?
Maybe the sensation of the previous night's dream was still living inside him. The believe in the invincibility of his own flesh and the weakness of those who dared to get in his way.
A dangerous delusion. People were only invincible in their dreams.
Victor put on the gifted jacket, as if signing off that he was prepared to accept assistance, and walked to the ticketing office. The woman glanced at him with the expression that seemed to suggest that she'd already done everything she was supposed to and was now working overtime.
"What now?"
"Do you have a security department?"
"What?"
Yeah, he shouldn't have overestimated the similarity of the worlds…
"Who protects the station?"
"Who's going to dare quarrel with the masters of the Way?"
"The Water Clan's Punishers, for example."
There was a flicker of fear in the woman's eyes.
"What would they want…" the began uncertainly.
"Maybe me."
"That wasn't a nice thing to do!" The woman's face went red. "Buying a ticket when you're being pursued!"
"I didn't know I was being pursued!"
The woman thought about it, "Would you like to return the ticket? I'll refund almost all the money…"
"No way."
After a brief pause, the woman took out a sign that said "On break" and placed it in the window.
"So you're not going to do anything?" Victor asked through the flimsy barrier.
"I am. The train stop will be reduced to five minutes."
"Thanks for that, at least," Victor grunted, stepping away. According to the clock, the train was due to arrive in ten minutes.
Meanwhile, the Limiter was positioning his sons in the hall. The two older ones ran to the door that led to the platform. The youngest took up the position by a window. The Limiter himself and a boy about eighteen walked up to Victor.
The vagabonds sleeping on the benches had also disappeared. It seemed incredible that they'd managed to hear and figure something out. But not only had they do so, but they also woke up their sleeping friends. While leaving, the bums were throwing cautious glances at those staying behind.
The doors began to slap somewhere deep in the train station, as the staff was running away. The lights blinked and shut off.
"Sensible," the Limiter uttered. "Electric sorcery against Water is nothing but trouble. Everything would burn…"
"Why do you serve me?" Victor asked. A tight spring was winding up inside him, as if inside a crossbow. Something was getting closer… and it was important to not only know his enemy but to believe in his friends as well.
"I have always served you, Overlord!" The Limiter was looking him in the eye with confused, and even hurt, expression. "Believe me, Overlord!"
Victor made his choice.
"All right. The most important thing for us is to leave. Once the train comes, we run to the car right away…"
"Of course."
It was nice to see that the outlaw had common sense. Then, suddenly, a loud boyish screen cut through the silence that had fallen over the room, "They're coming!"
Victor and the outlaws ran to the windows that were ajar due to the heat.
There was nobody on the deserted square, where the wind was fluttering the still-hanging clothes in the stalls, where the forgotten bottles and jugs were still standing. But the boy was right — something was coming. Walking, parading in front of the killers. Incorporeal, dull, elemental. Something.
The pile of forest trash in the empty bowl of the fountain jerked. It moved and spilled out onto the paving stones. A dense, triumphant stream of water flew up into the sky. It scattered into an umbrella of sprays, alarmingly and piercingly, like shattering glass.
"Oh, those bastards!" the Limiter swore. "It's not their hour, but they're still moving like that! Overlord, look at how they're not sparing their power!"
Hazy streams of fog slithered from out of the alleys, despite the clear sky and the sunlight. Thick and gray, they instantly filled the square and drowned the train station. In the silent pressure of the fog, the coming something seemed to have taken shape, still unclear, but already threateningly close.
"Showing off…" The Limiter pulled out his flail and easily spun the spiked ball on a short chain. He didn't seem to have taken a swing, but when he slammed it casually into the wall, a cloud of brick dust rose into the air from a hole the size of a head.
His favorite weapon was most definitely not a sword, otherwise Victor might not have been able to stun the outlaw so easily in the woods.
"It's them now!" the boy shouted again, quieter this time, but with a lot more alarm.
And Victor saw the shadows sneaking through the fog.
Five? Eight? Twenty?
How could he count them, how could he understand anything in this thick foggy soup! He could see that they were sliding, getting closer, leisurely and not really bothering to hide — then again, why bother hiding in this mist?
"They're trying to avert our gaze…" the Limiter whispered. Quite unintentionally, he'd become a guide to Victor, whose casual comments helped him understand what was happening.
The shadows froze suddenly.
"Hey!" came from the milky haze. "Victor!"
He shuddered but didn't answer.
"You're here, I can feel your gaze!" another voice said. This was hissing and high-pitched. "Come out, Victor! You can't hide! You're all alone, and there are many of us!"
The Limiter was looking at Victor, as if expecting him to answer. He had to do it then. A general shouldn't deceive his soldiers before a battle.
Pushing the window open even wider, Victor shouted into the fog, "Who are you?"
The shadows moved, shifted, clearly pleased to hear his voice.
"The one who's come for you, Victor!"
And again something rolled over him, like in the dreams, like in the burst of fury that had cost the half-elf his life and nearly gotten the Limiter killed…
"Who are you, impudent worm, to speak to me not on your knees?" Victor had no idea what happened to his voice and why it now had metal in it. "Name yourself, worm!"
The Limiter shivered, staring at him in silent admiration. The young man standing next to him grabbed his father's hand like a child. And even those hiding in the fog stepped back.
"Gotor, mage Gotor…" came a barely audible reply. His voice had faltered but, a moment later, was strong again, filled with caustic rage, "You have no power over me! You're nothing! You're nothing yet! Prepare to die!"
Victor shook the Limiter, who was in a slight stupor.
"He's mine! I'm going to punish him myself!"
"Yes, Overlord…"
The shadows dashed through the fog, and the Limiter bared his teeth, watching them. He pushed his son to the door and ran there himself. Victor took one last look at the deployment of his forces: two young men at the door to the platform (that was smart, the enemy wasn't stupid enough to attack only from one direction), the little boy was bent down and looking out the window with a short dagger in his hand, the Limiter and another son by the door.
Excellent.
Victor pulled out his blade, subconsciously hoping that the sword turned out to be obedient and light, just like at the restaurant.
Something wasn't right.
He was standing awkwardly, with a piece of sharp steel in his hand, immediately tense, trying to keep the sword as far away as possible. The fury and confidence were still there, the contempt for the ones who dared to come for him was still boiling inside him, as did the thirst to punish. But these feelings had nothing to do with the sword…
The silence, those final seconds before the fight, was pierced by a distant powerful whistle. The train was approaching!
But he still had to make it that long…
The door burst open.
The Limiter swung his flail and struck the figure that had appeared in the door frame. It was a good blow! Dealt skillfully and with feeling — the enemy wouldn't have been protected by armor, agility, or defense!
Except there was no one to defend against the blow — the shadow burst into a myriad of droplets, as if it was itself made of water. Which was exactly what it was. A doll, a fake, dirty water that had taken shape and movement…
Slipping in the spreading puddle, the Limiter leapt back. But his son, a strong and agile young man, didn't. He fell onto the floor…
And the three in tight-fitting blue jackets, who'd burst into the hall after the doll, didn't waste the opportunity.
Two swords cut through the air that shrieked under the steel, plaintively and unhappily. The young man's scream was a lot quieter.
Victor ran to help.
It was unfortunate! It was bad! They'd already been outnumbered…
The boy crouching by the window suddenly stood up straight. He raised a hand, and the gleaming bolt of a knife flew through the hall. The enemies began to turn, as if sensing the danger. But it was too late.
The dagger plunged into the chest of one of the killers up to the hilt. At lightning speed, the boy hurtled two more knives. Strangely, he was aiming at the same opponent. Maybe he was certain the others would be able to dodge.
The killer with the three daggers sticking out of his chest stood there for a moment, swaying. He dropped his sword, raised a hand, gripped the handle of a dagger, and pulled. Victor was horrified — he suddenly pictured the enemy simply pulling out all the knives and laugh, powerful and invincible…
But a crimson stain was already spreading through the blue fabric. With a halting gaze, the enemy looked at Victor and then dropped to the floor.
The two remaining enemies acted in sync, as if they were reflections of one another. They raised their left hands, the ones that weren't holding swords, and swung them… Blue streaming strands slid into the air from their palms. Ordinary streams of water that were miraculously flexible and firm. At a deadly speed, the water whips dashed to the boy, cutting through a heavy wooden bench on the way. With a shudder, Victor realized what was about to happen…
The blue whips fell apart, burst into sparkling drew that showered the kid. The boy laughed, his hand gripping a stone on a chain.
Another amulet?
They really worked?
The killers' moment of confusion was brief, but it was enough for the Limiter. The flail fell onto the head of the closer Watery one, producing the sound of crushing bones. It was a scary sight, as if the man had been crushed by a road roller.
The last of the trio leapt back and spun in a cascade of combat stances with incredible fluidity, as if flowing from one stance to another. He wasn't trying to use magic anymore, either not having enough time or no longer certain it would be effective. The long sword was drawing patterns in the air, not letting the outlaw come close enough to deal a blow.
Then Victor, shouldering past the Limiter, walked towards the Watery one.
There was nothing unusual in him. A tough, tall man, in a tight-fitting outfit, almost like a track suit. His face was collected, hard, but without bloodthirst or cruelty.
Just a man doing his job. A job that was difficult but one he loved.
"How dare you go against me?"
Victor didn't know where that tone of voice or words had come from — they really could've belonged to an Overlord, not a random visitor to the Middle World.
The Watery one's face became even more collected. He spun, flowing in a deadly dance, circling Victor. Holding the sword in front of him and not tearing his gaze away, Victor asked again, "How dare you kill my servant?"
The Watery one stretched out in a leap, trying to reach Victor with his blade. Then something happened again: the gifted sword seemed to have come alive, his hands acted on their own, deflecting the blow, his legs stepped to the side, causing the Watery one to fly past and almost getting hit by the flail before resuming his dance. But now there was confusion in his eyes. Not fear — he was probably prepared to die. Surprise that his opponent had been able to avoid the blow.
"My wrath upon you…" something that was now living inside Victor whispered. The sword pierced through the air, casually tossed the enemy's blade aside, and slid along the Watery one's throat.
Silence fell. The Watery one was looking down with bulging eyes, as if trying to make out the thin cut on his throat that hadn't yet started bleeding.
The locomotive roared, already somewhere nearby. The Watery one jerked, and his head flipped back, revealing a half-sliced neck. Blood flew up in a thick fountain. It was impossible to remain standing like that, with a severed spine and cut arteries. But he did, at least until the Limiter kicked him in the back with an indignant growl.
"Thank you, Overlord… you have paid for the life of your servant…" The Limiter lowered a heavy boot on the Watery one's back. Bones crunched.
Victor glanced at the open door. If even a single enemy appeared there now, they'd be able to struck them in the back. But fog was still swirling outside.
"Where are the rest of them, Limiter?"
The outlaw moved to the door with the clear intention of checking.
"Wait! It's time to go!"
They ran to the door that led to the platform, where the outlaw's sons were still standing. Disciplined young men… The boy ran after them, pausing at his brother's body for a moment. Victor thought he saw tears glistening in his eyes.
Yeah. There was no hope. No one could survive being pierced by two swords.
The locomotive roared again, very near them. It seemed the engineer was alarmed by the sudden fog and kept tugging the whistle…
It was as if their enemies had been waiting for a signal!
The sense of danger, of someone else's power, was suddenly painfully clear. Victor turned, just in time to see the door burst into splinters, a part of the wall collapse — and something enter, flow into the hall…
It was as if an amoeba had swelled up to an enormous size, as if there was a burst fish tank through the door rather than an empty square. A thick water wave, constrained by incredibly power surface tension, was moving fast through the hall. It rose, straightened, against every law of nature. It took shape, that of a three-meter-tall man made up of bubbling jets of water.
The Limiter grabbed the dumbfounded Victor, shoved him behind him, and shouted, dropping all politeness, "Run, Overlord! Run! Cress, to me!"
The outlaw's oldest son ran to him, and they stood together — two tiny figures against a water monster.
There was the sound of gurgling laughter, and giant hands reached for them. The Limiter screamed and slammed his flail onto the monster's paw. The spiked ball passed through the water, meeting no resistance, and fell away, covered in rust, scattering into rot.
Victor was shoved out the door. He even fell onto the smooth stone slabs, nearly running into his own sword. Two of the outlaw's sons—the youngest and a twenty-year-old—ran out after him.
"Hurry, Overlord…"
There was something creepy in their selflessness and their readiness to leave their father and brother behind. As if hypnotized, Victor ran. Through the milky fog, to the dark silhouette sliding along the rails…
It was wrong! It was wrong to abandon those who were ready to die for him! There was something inside him, some skills — him killing the Watery one hadn't been an accident. He had to stand next to the Limiter instead of running away as if hypnotized… by his own fear.
There was a scream behind him. He couldn't tell who was screaming: the Limiter or his son. And no way to know whether it was a dying or triumphant scream.
…The space around him was melting away, dissolving in the whiteness. He was no longer running — he was flying, dashing through the white night, as if in Saint Petersburg. A single glance back caused his mind to be gripped in fear. A winged shadow was sliding through the foamy clouds. Huge. Fearsome. Deadly. Either stars were shining in those snow-white scales, or they were glowing with their own light. The wings were flapping evenly through the thin air, and there was fury in the huge gleaming eyes. He'd dared to challenge the monster, even though he wasn't yet strong enough to win. And now he was being chased by the ruler of the sky and the master of the depth, the sovereign of the firmament and the lord of the fire.
He whose name was Dragon…
Don't start a fight that can't be won…
"Stop, Overlord!" the young man shouted at him at the last moment. Victor nearly ran off the platform, right onto the rails, under the oncoming mountain of metal. Terror nearly burst out of him as a heart-rending cry — the dream and reality had mixed together, and he was ready to believe that a winged monster really was flying towards him.
The locomotive passed very close to him — Victor felt the heat from the steep-sided copper boiler and was pushed by a stream of already cooling steam. The train was stopping. Then came the cars, elegant, ocher-colored. Bronze handrails, lanterns, fluttering pennants over the cars. Glints of light through the windows.
The Limiter's sons ran up, breathing heavily and unsteady on their feet. Had he really run from the battlefield so fast?
Victor was expecting questions, advice, maybe even requests. But the brothers had other things on their minds. With their swords bare, they stood at his sides, peering into the fog, and ready to die, just like their father.
"Guys, it's fine now," Victor said, not really believing it himself. "You can leave."
The young man spoke to him for the first time, "There's no saving Father and Cress now."
His voice was hoarse, maybe he'd caught a cold, or maybe it hadn't yet cracked fully.
"The Spirit of Water is death. We can hold it off but not kill it."
"But we will hold it off, Overlord," the boy added in a thin voice.
Fanatics! Crazed fanatics! Victor suddenly realized that he wasn't at all happy that this fanaticism was in service to him. There was something in it from those fake stories about soldiers leaping under tank treads while shouting, "For Stalin!", or Japanese kamikazes slamming into the decks of aircraft carriers, or cultists slitting their own veins on command from mad prophets.
Turning to the car, he slammed a fist against the closed door and shouted, "Open up! Come on, open the door!"
The door opened right away. As if all he'd had to do was ask.
"What's all this shouting for?"
A stocky dwarf was standing on the copper steps, which were polished as if on a ship. He was wearing a mouse-colored uniform and was holding a short staff.
"We…" Victor broke off, looking down at the dwarf.
"'We' what? Why are you shouting?"
"We want to get on the train!" Victor really did raise his voice.
"Tickets!"
He pulled out the piece of cardboard and handed it to the dwarf. He glanced at it for a moment, placed it into a pocket casually, and spoke through gritted teeth, "We're happy to have you on our train… come on up…"
There was no happiness in his voice, of course. Either the station staff had contacted the train, or the dwarves could clearly see that something was off here.
"Guys, your tickets…" Victor thought suddenly that the Limiter might have them. But the boys wordlessly handed their tickets to the dwarf. The outlaw had been prudent… assumed he might die too.
"Come in," the dwarf grunted.
But the boys stood motionless. Had they decided to do their duty to the end? To die on the platform, covering the train's departure?
"How long are we standing here?" Victor asked the dwarf.
"About three minutes," he answered reluctantly. There were probably certain obligations to the passengers the dwarves felt necessary to observe. No matter what. "There will be a whistle before departure… a double whistle."
Placing one foot on the steps—the dwarf glanced disapprovingly at the clumps of mud falling off the soles—Victor waited. So did the outlaw's children.
Apparently, it wasn't for naught.
There was a noise, and a shadow dashed through the fog. The boys readied themselves. Cursing everything, Victor leapt down to the platform and also prepared his sword.
The Limiter ran out of the white soup of the fog. He no longer had his flail, sword, or even the knife on his belt. A huge bruise was spreading through half his face, as if the outlaw had been hit by a two-by-four. Blood was seeping from his busted lips, and when he bared his teeth in something resembling a smile, it turned out that some of them were missing.
"Did you kill the creature?" Victor exclaimed. His skepticism regarding the outlaw's combat skills was rapidly disappearing.
"No, Overlord," the outlaw shook his head. He was lisping slightly but tried to speak clearly. "It's not within my power, Overlord…"
"Father…" the older boy asked quietly.
The Limiter looked at his son, "Cress did his duty."
"I'm… very sorry…" Victor whispered.
"Thank you, Overlord."
The dwarf was looking at them with anxious curiosity.
The fog was swaying. They could hear a noise coming from up ahead near the locomotive: maybe they were loading up coal our refilling water.
Water…
"What are your names?" Victor asked the outlaw's sons sharply.
The boys exchanged glances. The older one answered first, "Andrei."
"Yaroslav."
It was strange to hear ordinary Russian names in this crazy world…
The Limiter shook his head and looked Victor in the eye, firmly, without any timidity, "Don't remember our names, Overlord. Don't get attached to us. We're all going to die."
"Why?"
The outlaw wiped the blood off his face, "It has been written. Hundreds of years ago. You know that, Overlord."
Victor lowered his gaze.
"I don't."
"You will. You'll remember," there was unshakable faith in the Limiter's voice. "Overlord…"
Suddenly, he reached out and touched Victor's shoulder. Timidly, the way a crusader might reach out for the Holy Grail.
"The guards of the Gray Limit remember their duty. If there'd been time, thousands would have come. There is no time, but we'll do what—"
"Father!" Andrei saw the enemies first. They'd caught up to them after all!
Five men appeared out of the fog in a semi-circle, pressing them against the trail. The shapeless splashing monster could be seen swaying in the mist behind the Watery ones.
Victor's gaze swept the enemies and stopped on the one whose shoulders were covered by a short blue cloak. It wasn't that he seemed old, more like ageless.
"Gotor, Water mage…"
It came again, the intertwining of fury and power, and his lips were stamping out the words on their own, with fear awakening on the enemies' faces.
"You, who are again standing in my way, Gotor. I have come up with a punishment worthy of you. I will drink your power and leave you to die in a waterless desert…"
"Kill him!" Gotor screamed. Then the water monster stepped through their line, immediately taking on its previous shape. It was quick — the outlaws didn't even have time to do anything. The transparent hands struck Victor, clearly intending to crush him into the platform…
It was as if he'd been doused with a bucket of water. No, a dozen buckets. The monster's hands, which seemed so solid a moment earlier, had turned into water. The monster howled, sadly and mournfully, while a wave of convulsions ran through the translucent body, turning it into sprays, jets, and a spreading puddle.
Utterly soaked—the jacket hadn't protected him—Victor lowered his sword. The cold shower had knocked the mysterious power out of his mind, and he was once again himself — a confused and scared alien from another world.
But the Watery ones probably didn't realize that. They were backing away, slowly retreating, until Gotor shouted, "Forward! Use your swords—"
The train whistle drowned out his words. After a moment's hesitation, the Watery ones went on the attack.
"The train is departing!" the dwarf yelled, stepping away from the dor.
Victor didn't hesitate. It wouldn't do to expect his swordplay skills to return. He put the sword back into its sheath—at least that worked—he turned, grabbed the little boy, who was already prepared to join the fight, and tossed him into the doorway, right at the dwarf's hands.
The dwarf crouched in surprise, spat something out in an unfamiliar language, but didn't throw the boy out. On the contrary, he pushed him deeper into the vestibule and reached out a hand towards Victor.
Grabbing the hard, as if chiseled from stone hand, Victor climbed into the train car. Behind him, the Limiter and Andrei were retreating, fighting off the five opponents.
The train started moving, still slow, but gradually picking up speed.
"Father, you're more important!" the outlaw's son shouted, desperately parrying thrusts. "Go, Father!" There was fear in his voice for the first time. And yet he repeated, "Father…"
Deep in his heart, Victor was certain… even hoping that the Limiter wouldn't listen. It would be too much if a man abandoned his son for him.
But the Limiter deflected yet another blow and ran after the car. He leapt up onto the steps, and Victor, overcoming the senseless anger, helped him up.
Andrei screamed and leapt at the Watery ones. The bravery of his hopeless attack was so great that they stepped back for a moment. Their swords rose towards the young man, receiving his body onto their sharpened blades. But Andrei was still struggling forward — his fury was no longer human, it was animalistic, the way a bear impaled on a spear might keep moving forward, trying to reach the hunter… With a final movement, the young man cut open the head of one of the Watery ones before dropping at their feet.
The Limiter groaned, quietly, through gritted teeth, hanging on the handrails and watching his son die. Then he tumbled into the vestibule. He took a step, swayed, and dropped to his knees.
The blade of a dagger was sticking out of the outlaw's back.
When had they managed to do that?
Victor bent over the Limiter, trying to gauge the length of the blade and the point of impact. The outlaw wheezed, dripping red foam onto the metal floor.
The right lung was punctured. There was no way to save him. At all.
Pushing Victor away, casually stepping over the outlaw, the dwarf stood in the open doorway. Just in time, as the remaining Watery ones were running across the platform along the accelerating train.
"Step aside!" Gotor's hissing shout grated the ear.
"Your ticket," the dwarf replied imperturbably.
"Cave degenerate!" the mage howled. "How dare you!?"
"No one rides the Way for free."
"We'll chase you out of your burrows! We'll drown you like marmots! You'll pay for this…"
The dwarf shrugged and shut the door. The train was swaying, picking up speed.
Yaroslav, who'd only now gotten up from the floor, crawled up to his father. He peered into his face and whined like a child.
"Be quiet… don't shame the guards…" the outlaw spoke with difficulty. His fading gaze switched to Victor, "We did all… we could."
"I know," Victor said.
"Are you pleased, Overlord?"
Pleased? By the fact that three young men had died over the last fifteen minutes because of him, and now this poor man was dying too?
"I'm grateful to you."
"Overlord… take this…" The Limiter's hand reached for his inner jacket pocket. It gripped something, then froze forever.
Victor opened the outlaw's fingers and pulled an object from his grip.
A portrait. A small miniature in an oval ceramic medallion, of the sort typically showing the profiles of Roman emperors or women's faces, beautified by the artist.
This portrait had Victor's face on it.
There was a purple haze, and in the foreground was his own visage. A little harder, probably… but then any face could get hard.
He also saw the buttoned-up collar of a black shirt. No signature, nothing. Like a photograph that had been transferred onto stone.
Except this medallion was many years old. Maybe centuries.
Sobbing, the boy was sitting next to him. He glanced at the medallion only briefly — so he'd seen it many times then.
"What are we going to do with the body?" the dwarf asked dully. "He was a brave warriors… if you want, I can ask the Way's workers to bury him at the next station."
Victor glanced at the boy, who didn't react.
"Slava," Victor couldn't call him the full, grownup name at the moment, "how should they bury your father?"
"Let them write 'Guard of the Gray Limit' on the grave." Yaroslav sniffed. His tears were drying quickly. "And nothing else, Overlord."
"You'll get off at the next station," Victor said. "Make sure they do it right. I'll give you money for a return ticket."
"Overlord!"
"No arguments!" Victor barked.
The last thing he needed was to be responsible for the life of a child. His score was already high enough!
"An Overlord's servants are not slaves." Yaroslav met his gaze.
"Of course not. So you're going to serve. You'll go back and give Rada, the restaurant owner, a note from me. That it, conversation is over."
Victor rose and put the medallion into his pocket. The dwarf was looking at him thoughtfully.
"Where's my compartment?"