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 17

"You see how well everything turned out?" Telle was preoccupied with the abrasion on her cheekbone she was looking at into the mirror she'd borrowed from Loy. The scratches left by the female mage's nails were stubbornly refusing to heal. Even Loy herself hadn't been able to heal them in an instant.

"Yeah, not bad," Victor was forced to agree.

The entire fight with the mage Andrzej now seemed ridiculous and not dangerous at all. He didn't want to berate Telle for the provocation. A win was a win, after all. And even Loy was now glancing at Telle with a measure of respect.

Loy Iver… the head of the Cat Clan… she was definitely a cunning one. She clearly had her own designs, but he had no idea what she wanted. And she was so beautiful, even though he was supposed to be thinking about something completely different. And yet he wasn't…

The prince's carriage hadn't served them long. The stablemen enchanted by Loy had unfortunately prepared a monstrosity on wheels covered in monograms and coats-of-arms for them instead of a tough travel coach. An hour of mad traveling resulted in one of the carriage's axles cracking. Leaving the driver next to the tipped over carriage, they continued on foot. When night fell, Loy led her traveling companions to some abandoned barn at the edge of a field.

"We'll rest here until morning… Victor." When addressing him by name, she always made a small, meaningful pause before it. "The Airy ones are still behind for now, and they're unlikely to attack in such an open location. Oros is a different matter… Naturally, the Earthen ones are in an uproar, but it'll take them time to prepare a pursuit. And even if they do, I think I can lead them astray. We'll hold off for as long as we can… and then I'll think of something else."

Telle was listening to it all with her lips puffed out like an upset little girl. But she didn't engage in any verbal jabbing; after all, Iver had helped them avoid the Airy ones' ambush and even more recently with that damned carriage.

"What are we going to do in the morning?" Victor asked his companions.

"We'll go to the Fire Clan," Telle answered reluctantly. "Loy Iver, how long will you…"

"Maybe I'll be useful one more time, Telle. Who knows what vagaries await you two?"

"Hold on, Telle," Victor asked. "Why do I need to go this Fire Clan?"

"Because…" It was obvious that Telle really didn't want to answer, especially in Loy's presence. "Because you have to learn to control your Power. And that can only be done after going through the initiation of all the Elemental Clans. Customs require that you also go through a dozen Totem Clans, but… but this time you'll be fine without."

"And what will he do then, honorable Telle?" Iver purred.

"Whatever he wants," the girl bit off. "And enough talking about it. But what are you going to do, Loy Iver?"

"Help you with all my weak strength," the Cat replied immediately. "We're going the same way. That is, of course, if you told me the truth, honorable Telle."

The girl just huffed.

Silence fell.

And why not learn how to control the Power? Victor thought. Dragonslayer, all right, let him be the Slayer. If such is his destiny… After all, he hadn't given in to hatred that day, hadn't turned it to destructive power, hadn't wiped out the Earthen town. But he could have, he definitely could have!

But somewhere deep inside him another voice was gradually coming alive and gaining strength.

There's another third of the world, it was telling Victor softly. You've seen it… a little, out of the corner of your eye, in your dreams. There will be things to do there too. So why not go there? And let these crazy mages figure out who they need and why they don't, preferably among themselves. They'll never be able to reach you there. That's a fact.

He recalled Glutton. That not particularly pleasant guy had been trying to tell him something very important. What had Loy said? The Naturalborn were preparing an invasion? Yes, some of Glutton's comments could easily be interpreted as a warning…

He really wanted to believe that.

But it seemed that one thing was clear: if he got rid of his pursuers, then… then he'd attain such freedom of which he couldn't have even dreamt of at home… in the Underside. And it didn't matter that all this could be delirium, and he could be in a mental institution — he was prepared to trade even his own "reality" for this delirium… just like that LARPer Nikolai from the barge.

"Telle, will I become the Slayer?" Victor asked directly. "When I complete the initiations?"

There was something disgusting in that word. Slayer… executioner… killer… murderer… assassin…

The girl looked away.

"Don't say that word out loud, Victor. Don't give a name to something that hasn't happened yet," her voice dropped to a whisper.

Loy was listening jealously.

"What can I do?"

"Remain yourself," Telle's lips spoke in a barely audible whisper. "Everything else is your destiny."

"What about those… Naturalborn? Who are they? I've seen dreams… but they were hazy, unclear…"

Both Loy and Telle lowered their heads.

"It's our curse, Victor," Loy said finally. "The thing is, all of us… all the clans living here in the Middle World came from the World of the Naturalborn. The Underside pushes out those foreign to it gradually, individually, but that's not how it happened in that world. Maybe there had to be a mass, a critical mass, as your… hmm… physicists would put it. And then our ancestors were… expelled. We came to the Warm Coast. Took dominion over those who lived in the Middle World. But it wasn't over. The World of the Naturalborn continues to expel its outcasts. Individuals aren't bad, they even sometimes join the clans. But a new wave is brewing. Those who wish to melt our world down and recast it anew are coming."

"For a long time, we were protected by the Dragons. The Winged Masters of the Middle World," Telle picked up unexpectedly.

"Does that mean the Dragons were good?" Victor asked in surprise.

"Good?" Loy said indignantly. "Not in the least! They ruled with an iron fist; if you weren't with them, you were against them, and the sentence was always the same! You can guess which one… They wanted to know everything and rule everything. They got involved in all things… And they did not tolerate objections. But they were beautiful and strong…"

"They were neither good nor bad, Victor," Telle said quietly. She pressed her knees to her chest and placed her chin on top of them. "They simply were. And now they're gone. Because—"

"Because the clans were finally sick of their tyranny," Loy cut in sharply. "Tyranny and despotism, Victor, however you call them, that was what they were. The clans rose up. A Dragonslayer was created, uniting within him the power of all the Elements and many of the Totem Clans… And the Winged Masters fell. Ritor intercepted the last of them when they tried to flee to your world, the Underside."

"Then why didn't he finish them off? Why let them live? If he hated them so much. Why not pursue them farther?"

"I don't know," Telle shrugged.

"Actually, traveling between worlds is the privilege of the Unknown Clan," Loy smiled slyly.

"What other privileges do you have? And what are you known for?" Victor wasn't about to let the girl keep silent.

"Tell him, Telle," Loy grinned, clearly pleased with it. "And if you forget or go astray, I'll correct."

The girl answered with an angry glare.

"The Unknown Clan is one of the Elementals… no, not quite. We're equal to them in strength but aren't tied to any of the Four Fundamentals: Fire, Water, Air, or Earth. We've never advertised out existence. And never got involved in petty squabbles."

"Oh yeah, you've always played for big stakes," Loy snorted. There was old and concealed resentment in her voice.

"It's not good to be envious," Telle replied in a mentoring tone. "I wasn't the one who created the way things were, Iver. I hope you're smart enough to understand that."

"Hold on!" Victor pleaded. "Telle, why do you care about all this? Why does the Unknown Clan need a Dragonslayer?"

"Exactly," Loy picked up mercilessly. "Come on, Telle, why are you silent? Ah, blushing now."

"If the Naturalborn create their own Dragon…" Telle whispered.

Loy Iver was staring at the girl piercingly for a few seconds, moving her lips silently.

"Why not get a SAM system of some kind instead of me?" Victor said bitterly.

"Get what?" Telle asked in confusion, and Loy also raised a gracefully curved eyebrow in surprise.

"Surface-to-air missile. It's this thing that can shoot down airplanes. I doubt a Dragon would be much tougher. Just set it up and slam a few missiles into its belly…"

"Stop it, Victor!" Her words came out like a slap. Telle, red in the face, leapt to her feet. "You're not my weapon! You're not a weapon at all! You're Power itself! You just need to walk a certain path… otherwise…"

"Then why is Ritor hunting me? Why does he want to kill me?"

"Because he's awaiting the arrival of the Dragon," Telle's whisper barely reached him, as if a distant rustling of the wind… the rustling of the wind on a golden mane curling while running…

"So what?"

"You're… he thinks that you're…"

"Am I not?" Victor asked, feeling terrifying emptiness opening inside him.

"Not yet!" Telle stated forcefully. "One initiation left. With the Fiery ones. And then to the isle."

"The isle?" There was fear in Loy's beautiful face. "The Dragon Isle in the Hot Sea, right next to the Fault?"

"Yes," Telle didn't look away. "The Keeper of the Isle will complete the initiations."

"Great Powers…" Loy muttered, not at all ashamed of her fright. "Telle, if you're wrong, then it's certain death… for both of you."

"Yes. If he doesn't survive. But Victor will," Telle declared with the certainty of reinforced concrete, as if she was praising a dog.

"Why, is there going to be another fight?" Victor asked gloomily. After what had happened in the train, on the bridge, at the station, and in the Earthen castle, the very thought of another fight made him sick.

"I don't know," Telle admitted. "I've never been there. I only know the way. I can open the door. But then it'll be up to you."

"And then what?"

"What do you mean? You'll be… done. Complete."

"No," Victor said firmly. "What will I be?"

"A Dragonslayer," Telle began speaking in a monotone voice, as if lecturing students, "is the quintessence of that which is called 'destruction.' It's the ability to turn everything around you to your use. Whether it's dead rocks or living people."

Victor closed his eyes. That was exactly how it had happened. At the Horsk train station.

And it almost happened at the castle too, on a much larger scale.

"The Slayer is capable of hating. Stronger than any other being in the Middle World. Hatred is his main weapon. He can melt himself into hatred, and that, Victor, is stronger than any magic. That's why Ritor was able to win… Never, not even in our worst internecine wars did the opponents hate one another as greatly as the Slayer is capable of. He's Hatred personified."

"Is that what the books say, Telle?" Loy asked quietly. "Or can you feel it yourself?"

The girl moved her hand over her forehead and bit her lip.

"There are no such books, Loy Iver. No one knows precisely how one becomes the Slayer. Ritor was the last. Only he knows. Maybe it depends on one's desire… innermost, deepest. No one Ritor knew had died by the hand of a Winged Master, but he'd always dreamt of the clans being free, that Ritor." Telle smiled harshly. "And there you go… he got what he wanted."

"And what are you trying to get? You're the one who brought me here."

"No! Victor, no!" Telle threw her hands up. "You came on your own. The Underside pushed you out. You're foreign to it, otherwise you wouldn't have even passed the first initiation. You would've been killed by the outl— the guards of the Gray Limits. Or Gotor's water monster. But you passed! You overcame!"

"Who were those who attacked us? At the transition."

"Torn's people."

"Why would they do it if I'm the Slayer?"

"He couldn't be sure. Torn summoned the Slayer… and he had no idea that I would end up near him. SO his guards went nuts. But now Torn is ready to keep anyone from harming a hair on your head…"

Loy couldn't stop herself from lifting her eyebrows skeptically; it was a good thing no one noticed.

"Fine," Victor gave up. "You win, Telle…"

"What? Why?"

Victor laughed awkwardly. Indeed, how had she won? The girl had an answer to every question.

"So now we need to rest up, and then the final trek, through the gorge, to the coast, to Oros… And then to the Isle."

Loy kept interlacing and pulling apart her fingers nervously. It seemed that she was no longer paying attention to the conversation, thinking about something else. The woman clearly knew more than she'd said during the conversation, but she wasn't in a hurry to share it.

Fine, Victor thought. Let her keep silent. It's better that way. We'll go to the Dragon Isle. It doesn't matter if I'm sick, if I die for real or wake up in a hospital room with an orderly holding a syringe like the barge captain feared. While I'm here, there's no point thinking about it. There's a huge world behind me. And the longer I'm here, the more I like it. As for Telle… The Unknown Clan… This is obviously not that simple. The girl is clearly holding something back.

"Telle, are there a lot of you? Ones like you, from the Unknown Clan."

Telle gave him a sideways glance and said nothing.

"No one knows that, Victor," Iver giggled nervously. "The Unknown Clan was thought to have died out. But then that turned out to be wrong. I really don't like that your girl is being so secretive! What about you?" She glanced at him with unabashed invitation in her gaze.

"If Telle is being silent, then that's how it has to be," Victor snapped. What did this Cat think she was doing?! Why was she butting in? Anger splashed over the edge of that "bowl of patience," its glint appearing in his eyes, and the woman broke off in an instant. She even raised her hand, as if protecting herself from something invisible.

"Forgive me… Victor," Loy said humbly. "I just wanted to know where you're going next."

"A strange question," Telle snorted. "I already said we're going to the Fire Clan!"

"And what if Ritor block off the only road to Oros? What are you going to do then?" Iver inquired insinuatingly. "Without me. Are you going to fight? This time, Ritor is going to put up an entire army against you. Including the Fire Clan's militia. He has clearly convinced them that you, Victor, are the Slayer. The Fiery ones were known as the staunchest followers of the Winged Masters… Besides, don't forget that the Earth Clan's guard can be on our tail as well. They didn't particularly like the Dragons, but after everything that's happened…" Loy paused for effect. "I think you'd better bring me with you."

"We don't need you, Loy Iver!" Telle spat out hurriedly. "I mean… we're grateful for your help, of course, but…"

The scene following this was worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy. Loy was weeping. Loy was bitterly complaining about human ungratefulness. Loy was cursing out her own naïveté. Loy was swearing that she would never help out anyone ever again.

Telle watched all this with a cool, detached interest. Victor wasn't getting involved. After what had happened at the Earth Clan, he knew for certain that he could control the Power. Now he might even be willing to go up against Ritor himself. At the very least, it didn't seem hopeless. And… he actually wanted the fight. The temptation was great.

…Except how could he remember that Ritor? His face, and in such detail. Maybe that was how it had to be, to go chest to chest, like men, to decide everything at once.

…Loy finally calmed down.

"So you're going to abandon me? Here? Up ahead is Ritor with the Fiery ones, behind us are the Earthen ones with Torn. You think I really want to die here? No way, it's safer with you two. You're Power itself, Victor. They fear you. And me… me… I don't know what Ritor is going to do to me if I end up in his hands. Or the Fire Clan — there was a Fire mage in Ritor's ambush. To say nothing of the Earth Clan."

"So what?" Telle said indifferently. "Just sleep with the right person a few times, and it'll be fine. Not exactly your first time."

"Telle!" Victor said sharply. "Loy is coming with us. She's right."

The girl grimaced but glanced at Victor… and said nothing, just shrugging.

The road was getting steeper and steeper up the mountain. The Fire Clan was protecting its secrets jealously… or maybe its mages simply enjoyed seclusion. They'd diligently destroyed all the other paths leading through the old mountains to their protected bay with a lighthouse. The only road had been laid through a deep shaded gorge with steep slopes. Curves southern pines were climbing up, grabbing onto the rocky ledges. Despite the fall season, the air was dry and warm. The travelers were soon sweating.

"It takes a day to climb the mountains," Telle said, breathing a little heavily. "Then another day to climb down. If everything goes well, they're not going to catch us. Then again, Ritor can fly, and so can the other members of his clan. But I don't think he's going to take the chance. He's already been beaten, and he already knows that you've been initiated by Earth. No. More likely, he's going to try to set an ambush farther away, near the Fiery ones. That's going to be the hard part."

Victor could only shrug. Telle's mentor-like tone was sometimes irritating.

The road that led to Oros came to a dead-end. But the clan's diligent masters built a dock in their bay, so there were plenty of carts, both empty and laden with goods. Occasionally they got a ride, often for free, and sometimes for a small payment.

They decided to spend the night on the roadside, far from the other travelers. It was pretty cold, no one was able to fall asleep, but Telle had strictly forbidden him from using Power. All that was left was to press against one another. Telle curled up into a ball and started snoring. But Loy didn't seem to be interested in sleeping. And she was taking advantage of the need to press herself against him.

"The night…" Victor heard her purring warm whisper. "Such a wonderful night…"

Sharp claws playfully tickled under Victor's chin. Loy knew very well where and how to do it, so that the man lying next to her was flushed like an inexperienced boy.

"Loy… don't…"

"Why not?" her breathing was touching his ear. "Don't you want me?"

"It's exactly because I want you that I don't want to do it on the side of the road," Victor replied.

"Feeling shy in front of Telle? Let's take her too," Loy purred. "It's going to be fun…"

"No way!" Victor said indignantly. "That is enough, Loy!"

The mage moved away resentfully.

"All right, but you're going to regret it."

"I have no doubt of that," Victor grunted.

But his body refused to accept such a chaste decision. He spent an hour, unable to sleep, listening to the breathing of the sleeping women and understanding that Loy would respond to the slightest touch, cheerfully and skillfully, with her entire restless fervor and great experience… which was a century old, if Telle were to be believed.

That thought was what finally allowed him to relax.

And then sleep came right away. And the familiar dream.

Victor grated his teeth when he realized that he was standing on the gleaming white sand, that the sky was dimly shimmering veil, and that black waves were splashing nearby.

"Bastard!"

He spun around, trying to find Glutton.

"I'm not going anywhere, you hear me? I don't need your secrets! Screw you!"

The burned lab remains had already been overgrown with moss and grass. The purple forest was quivering under the gusts of wind. And far in the distance he could see puffs of white smoke rising into the sky near the foothills.

"I'm not going there!" Victor shouted again. But he already knew that he would, and that he was going to be shown something painfully unpleasant, or even something vile…

"Meow…"

He turned and saw a ginger cat walking along the edge of the surf, nimbly leaping away from the rolling waves. It looked to be the same cat he'd seen in the ruined city.

It seemed ridiculous, but…

Victor crouched and reached out his hand, "Kitty… are you, by any chance…"

The cat sat down and started to clean itself. Its blue eyes were watching Victor mockingly.

"Wait!" came from the forest. Glutton was running through the sedge, tripping and wailing. "This is ridiculous… he still has to walk around… scram, damn you! Scram!"

The cat threw a mocking glance at Glutton, tensed, and leapt onto Victor's chest. It meowed into his face and touched his cheek with its warm paw…

…Victor opened his eyes. The starry sky was swaying, and he saw a woman's head with hair that was let down. Loy covered his mouth with a kiss, answering an unasked question, "You were screaming, like from a nightmare… Relax, relax, Victor…"

Her hand slid on his cheek.

"Unshaven…" Loy said quietly and tenderly. "Don't worry, the nightmare is gone. We Cats know how to chase bad dreams away…"

"Thank you," Victor answered quietly.

"And your little friend," Loy said with a sudden sneer, "didn't even wake up!"

"She's a tired little girl…"

"Uh-huh," Loy replied without any conviction. "A little girl… a mage of the Unknown Clan… But me, I'm a grown woman."

She breathed into Victor's ear.

"That little bitch Telle must've told you many vile things about me. That I'm two hundred years old, that I've slept with every man I laid eyes on."

"Well… not exactly…"

Victor was uncomfortable. Loy was already pressing her body against him.

"She's lying!" Loy informed him furiously. "I'm not two hundred… I'm a lot younger. And I don't jump into the arms of random people!"

After a moment's hesitation, she added, "You, yes. If you…"

Victor realized that fighting it was pointless. Primarily because he had absolutely no desire to.

He pressed against Loy's soft, hot lips.

Who cared how old she was?

Even if she was three hundred!

Loy really did have the agility of a cat. Her hands were sliding over him while their lips were still locked together. Before Victor knew it, both of them were undressed. It felt either like rape or defilement, except the rapist was a woman.

The fact that Telle was peacefully sleeping a few meters away was only adding spice to what was happening.

"Finally, finally you're mine…" Loy was whispering. It was less about love and more the joy of a victor, but it was still flattering. The way a starting but already popular singer was being flattered by young female fans, doing their best to talk their way into his hotel room and sleeping under his apartment door…

Victor didn't notice their positions change, finding himself on top of Loy, who was obedient, giving herself to him not so much with mad animalistic passion but with that joyful feminine obedience that made up the foundations of sex.

It didn't take a long time, even though Victor thought their little game could've lasted all night, which would've brought them both nothing but pleasure. But it seemed that Loy had decided not to waste too much strength… At one point, he felt her muscles tense and harden, and then her body became soft and compliant, while her hardened nipples relaxed. Loy sighed loudly, pressing against him, suppressing a happy moan. Only her arms were still embracing him firmly, as if pleading him to stay.

She left herself, half an hour later, after they repeated it one more time. She crawled away quietly, pressing her lips against him quickly and whispering, "Thank you… I'm not going to ask for more…"

Victor was grateful for that. He was utterly spent, feeling himself drained.

But it had been a long time since he felt so pleasantly tired…

He didn't see any more dreams that night.

He woke up in the morning. A cold fall morning. It was still dark, the sun was hiding behind the sheer cliffs, the gorge was covered in a dank fog that was sticky and nasty.

"C-cold," Telle shivered, her teeth chattering. Her face looked fresh, and she was staring at Victor with funny seriousness, as if blaming him for the cold.

Loy said nothing. Arching gracefully, the Cat was washing her face near the chute, a small mountain stream that had been lowered from the cliffs. The cheerful stream was gurgling in the wooden gutter, running somewhere down, to the north, to the dry steppe fields.