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 13
"Hey… what are you doing?"
Victor felt someone shaking his shoulder. But he really didn't want to wake up…
"Get up! Get up right now!"
He finally opened his eyes. Glutton was hovering over him, throwing his chubby arms up. There was almost genuine suffering on his face.
"What are you doing? What are you doing?" he chattered when he saw Victor wake up.
"What's wrong?"
"You're sleeping!"
Sighing, Victor sat up and rubbed his eyes.
"So what? I'm tired of all this. Your jokes are dumb, no entertainment of any kind. I'd much rather lie down on the beach."
Glutton gasped for air a few times, then spread his hands indignantly, "What do you mean, no entertainment? Think before you speak!"
"Watch your mouth," Victor replied gloomily.
Strangely enough, Glutton was happy at this turn of conversation, "Really?"
Something broke inside Victor, and he happily uttered a phrase that would've normally caused him to blush in embarrassment.
Glutton cheered up, "Now this you I like!"
Before Victor had a chance to react, the shorty patted him condescendingly on the shoulder.
"This you I praise!"
Victor got to his feet and asked threateningly, "What do you want from me?"
"Me? Nothing…" Glutton looked embarrassed. "I like you… I get it that this isn't my place… but I just like you! Nothing to be done about it. I want to show you more, teach you life…"
"Thanks, dear. I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" Glutton gave him a sly wink. "Knowledge, you know… is never a bad thing. Instead of lying around here, you should take a walk in the forest…"
"I won't have time to see anything anyway. I know your tricks."
"Then why are you on foot?" Glutton looked amazed. "This way you won't get there in a week…"
"Are you offering transportation?"
"To you?" Glutton waved his hands in pretend horror. "No way! You yourself are now…"
Spreading his hands, he hummed, stomping in place awkwardly. It looked like an overloaded cargo plane trying to lift off. He gave him a wink, "Go ahead… fly. Over the forest, until you see white smoke. Then land… take a look."
"I'm not a kid to fly in a dream."
"Give it a try!" Glutton urged him. "You've handled the Airy ones and are now afraid to take to the skies?"
He was behaving like a drill sergeant from an American war movie. Seemingly bad but actually quite kind. One who knew perfectly well that washing the barracks all night or doing push-ups on sun-scorched parade grounds would only benefit the recruit.
Throwing a probing glance at Glutton, Victor suddenly felt a temptation. Flying? Well, why not? In a dream… He'd already gotten that sensation of flight, in the madness of someone else's memories. Even if it was mixed with fear from a fire-breathing monster flying after them…
Victor slowly spread his hands and caught Glutton's grin.
Not like this!
Not looking like a pilot on LSD, pretending to be a plane!
Just fly!
He reached for the low, weakly shimmering sky. To the hazy mist that covered the world like a dome.
And allowed the air to lift him up.
Glutton swore far below him. A grimace of fury appeared on his face.
Victor was flying.
His body was lying on an invisible support. An endless support that stretched over the shore and the forest, enveloping the mountains and covering the sea. An airy bridge that went from the Gray Mountains to the Warm Coast, the mad power of an element.
He sensed every movement of the air. A hurricane raging over the sea, tearing the sails of a hapless corvette into tatters… A tornado crushing fragile buildings with its hungry trunk… A sandstorm covering a caravan with a scorching shroud…
The air was cradling him, carrying him over the forest. Obedient, constrained, ready for anything.
Victor laughed at how easy and marvelous his flight was. He was one with the entire ocean of air. Even if it was in a dream. Even if it was for but a moment.
Glutton, still raging, was left behind on the shore. Now he was stomping his feet like a spoiled child, then in a fit of anger, grabbed a sand-covered boulder and hurled it into the sea. He was a strong one…
Victor didn't even have time to think how he was doing it. He reached out for the sea that was already receiving the stone into it. He felt the wave running to the shore — a tight force that struck in place. And met the boulder with a blow.
The rock that was already diving into the water shuddered and flew back out. It fell right at Glutton's feet, who jumped to the side. There…
The air was carrying him farther and farther. The clearing with the abandoned house flew past. A momentary temptation to come down and enter, in case the owners were back, resulted in immediate loss of altitude.
No. Forward. What had Glutton said?
White smoke?
Ahead, at the foot of the mountains, something really was smoking. But the smoke wasn't white, it was black and gray, as if a dump was burning down.
Victor sped up his flight. It turned out to be surprising easy, there wasn't even the sensation of an onrushing wind. The air was parting in front of him, the air was carrying him to the smoky pillars…
…to the cheerful hot drafts that were fanning the flame…
He felt pain. A sharp, piercing stab. It was a heart froze when swept over by a wave of terror and revulsion when looking at something… something that was unbearable to the eye…
The smoky haze was undulating somewhere near him. And he could already see what was burning.
A city.
Sooty, slightly tilted buildings. Not like in the Middle World, more like in the Underside. Concrete needles that would've looked appropriate on the streets of an American metropolis. Blocks of cottages, burned down to the foundation. Geometrically proper neighborhood of a purely Russian style: squad buildings that grew wide instead of up. Dented, mangled pavement. A lake of burning asphalt in place of what looked like the remains of a gas station. The city didn't associate with anything in particular, and, at the same time, seemed familiar. Like an average city…
Victor came down in the middle of a street. The pavement under his feet was soft and sticky, crossed by ribbed stripes that looked suspiciously like tracks of tank treads. The stripes ended in a leaning building, in the shards of a broken shop window.
God, what was happening here?
He took a step, feeling the cocoon of air tense around him. Like invisible armor that was protecting him from the heat and the soot… The last of the fires were still crackling in the buildings — apparently, everything that could burn had already burned down. A twisted, melted pipe was sticking out from the ruins of a five-story building. A stunted whisk of a blue flame was fluttering in its death throes, as the remains of the gas were no longer able to maintain the fire.
As if in a trance, Victor walked forward.
Something crunched in the ruins of the five-story building, the sound was weak and not at all scary, the way plastic toys broke under the foot of an adult, the way dry branches crunched in the woods. The wall facing Victor shook and collapsed into the building, revealing empty insides that looked either blown out by an explosion or simply burned down. On the remains of the floors, at the third-story height, there was an entire room that was torn up and covered in burned wood chips and piles of trash. The surviving ceiling was arched inward as concrete icicles. As if in mockery, a bed was still there in the corner — an ancient metal bed with an armored mesh, all charred by the fire.
Victor raised his hand in an involuntary gesture, as something in these ruins seemed to be mocking, challenging him. The tight fist of the wind struck the room, and it seemed to boil — the white-hot metal of the bed flared as if in a blacksmith's forge, became covered in spots of discoloration, and melted into a flaming puddle.
There was a quiet sound behind him. He turned around.
A dog was standing in the middle of the street. Huge, a Doberman Pinscher or a Rottweiler, with its teeth bare and a bloodied back. The once well-fed and powerful, the dog was now in a terrible state. Even its mouth with bared teeth looked pitiful and plaintive — the dog wasn't threatening, more like trying to get attention.
Victor crouched and reached out a hand, looking the dog in the eye.
The dog took a hesitant step forward and tried to wag its tail stump.
"Not doing well?" Victor asked quietly. "Come here. Good doggie. Good doggie…"
The dog whined quietly, then turned and ran off.
"Don't trust me?" Victor asked after it. "I wouldn't trust anyone if I were you…"
Another building collapsed. Much louder this time, splattering a wave of dust, trash, and soot all over the street. Victor was untouched by the blow, which flowed around the edges of his air armor.
"Seen enough?"
Glutton was standing behind him. Breathing heavily, wiping the sweat off his glistening face. Looked like catching up to Victor hadn't been easy for him.
"Of what?"
"That's true…" Glutton made a showy yawn. "What's there to look at here? Not likely anyone's left— Oh!" He shook his head, "I guess I was wrong…"
Victor followed his gaze. He wasn't afraid of a sucker punch — this wasn't Glutton's goal, plus Victor believed in his unexpected Power.
A young man was walking down the street. Maybe nineteen or twenty. Thin and squinting, as if he needed glasses. He was wearing a khaki uniform that was so dirty that it was hard to tell if he was a soldier in a real army or one that was as average as this city. There was an ordinary AK-47 hanging on his chest, but that rifle was far too widespread in the world. There was a homemade backpack on the young man's shoulders, well, more like a sack with holes cut for legs because the "sack" was holding a limp human body. Another young man… but a dead one. His head was hanging limply, dark spots had soaked through his uniform.
"We'll make it…" the soldier was muttering. He was still far away, but the obedient wind was carrying every word to Victor. "Easy-peasy, right?"
It didn't seem that he was seeing Victor or Glutton.
"We'll settle the score… don't you doubt it…"
The voice was hoarse, as if the man hadn't had anything to drink in a while, had been screaming, losing his voice, and had said everything that could be said.
"For the guys, and for us… we'll settle the score… just have to make it… it's close…"
He was very close now, Victor even had to step aside, but it seemed to be unnecessary, as the soldier walked right through the grinning Glutton without noticing him. At the same time, the guy wasn't a ghost — Victor was hearing not only his voice, but also the shuffling of his feet, the clanging of his rifle when its butt got caught on his belt, he smelled burning and sweat.
"Who does he want to settle scores with?" Victor asked through gritted teeth.
"How should I know?" Glutton replied in surprise. Leaning casually on a building wall, he was digging out a crumpled bullet from a pockmark with a crooked finger. "Does it matter who to fear and hate?"
Another chunk of the wall broke off and collapsed right next to Glutton. He didn't even react.
"A simple fantasy," he lamented, looking at the soldier's back. "Cities are burning, buildings are collapsing; children are crying, women are being raped, men are being killed…"
"A fantasy?"
Glutton thought about it, playing with the bullet in his hands. The lump of lead was straightening out, taking on its former shape.
"Well… not quite a fantasy…" he admitted reluctantly. "You're probably right…"
His eyes flared.
"What?" he asked with sudden curiosity. "Did you ever get to?.."
His arms swept in a circle, as if presenting the surrounding landscape to Victor.
"No," Victor replied. "No."
Glutton nodded in understanding.
"Will he make it?" Victor asked, nodding at the departing soldier. The guy had just then fallen and was trying to get up with painful slowness. The dead weight was getting in the way…
"What does it matter?" Glutton started winding up again. "Why do you care about that body's adventures? What, you think he's in the right here?"
"I don't know."
"Exactly! Standing here… looking… ah! What did I tell you? Fly towards the white smoke. That's farther away!"
"This is interesting too."
Immediately after saying it Victor felt the incongruity of the word. Interesting? What was he talking about?..
But Glutton's demeanor grew noticeably kinder, "Well… then look… study. Not going to force you…"
He turned and began to awkwardly hobble right into the smoking inside of a building.
"Not going to burn, are you?" Victor shouted after him.
Glutton just giggled quietly, submerging deeper into the fumes, "Don't worry… Think about yourself…"
Victor spat on the ground, cursing himself for the ridiculous concern. It wasn't for him to tell this denizen of nightmares what to do.
Maybe he really ought to go look for the "white smoke."
But, for some reason, he didn't want to continue this journey through this dream world. As if Glutton's last words had a serious foundation under them…
A sense of alarm kept rising inside him. It didn't seem to be caused by anything, which made it even more unpleasant.
He turned and caught someone else's stare. A cat was sitting on the glass-covered pavement, under the broken window. A ginger cat with piercing blue eyes. It was looking at him thoughtfully and scrutinizingly, the way only people… and cats could.
"Scram!" Victor said, a little confused by his own reaction. After all, the stray dog ought to have been a far more unpredictable neighbor and hadn't caused any fear…
The cat raised a paw, either preparing to take a step or greeting him.
And Victor suddenly, all at once, realized that it was time to wake up.
It was the fear that probably helped him, as well at the nauseating sensation brought on by the dead city.
He dove out of the dream the way a thin swimmer dove out of ice-cold water. He felt himself lying on the hard deck, felt the rough mat under him, the prickly blanket, the warmth of Telle, who was pressed against him. He sat up all at once, as if he hadn't just been asleep a moment earlier.
A young woman was standing five meters away. Very attractive, there was inconceivable grace even in her standing still. Golden hair, very soft matte skin, big eyes that were attentive, probing. Like the cat in his dream, but even that unexpected comparison didn't cheer Victor up.
There was something of the killer mages in her… maybe not so bloodthirsty, but no less strong. Power! Exactly, it was Power. Superior to that which was granted to an ordinary person.
Loy was sitting at the edge of the canal. She was tired, exhausted, but she was certain she was ahead of all the Elementals. It was unlikely that Ritor was going to set an ambush somewhere around here. No, an experience mage like that would most likely be waiting for his prey on the way to the lands of the Earth Clan. It was a sensible choice, the Slayer had no other option. He just had one path.
But Ritor knew nothing about her, Loy Iver, and that tickled her pride. She'd slipped through the plans and plots of others like a nimble lizard, unnoticed, discounted by everyone, so that she could start her own game at the right moment.
Loy wasn't afraid of missing the man she was looking for. She could sense Power, even latent Power, unmistakably. The spell was draining, sucking out what was left of her strength, but the stubborn Cat was holding on. She could rest later. Now was the time to give everything she had.
Rafts and barges were crawling past her in a never-ending stream. People kept calling over to Loy, asking if she needed a ride. That wasn't surprising: a young girl, alone, at the edge of the canal — it was obvious what she was doing there. Probably moonlighting. And if she wasn't, then she wasn't a fool and would know what payment the sailors would expect for a ride…
Maybe before Loy would've considered a few of the offers; probably even accepted a few. But, of course, not now.
Nothing… nothing… nothing here either… They were drinking here… making love, and so sweetly too… sleeping here… playing dice… no, no, no!
…And then it was as if she'd been burned. An unassuming barge with the proud name Elbereth was leisurely flowing past; and on it…
Throwing caution to the ravens, Loy leapt over the water separating her from the barge like a panther. The jump was at least ten meters long. And from a standing position.
The thin man standing at the wheel stared at her in amazement. A few moments later, he finally realized that such a jump couldn't have been made by an ordinary person. He bowed hurriedly… There was no point hiding now in front of him.
"Disappear," Loy ordered quietly. "Don't show yourself until I give you permission."
"Already gone, my mistress…"
Loy sealed the hatch with a simple spell to make sure the barge owner didn't succumb to temptation of listening in. She probed the barge quickly, picked up a weak stream of "weed" smell, grimaced fastidiously, but decided to ignore it. She was looking at the bow of the barge, where two people were sleeping on a straw mat under a thin blanket: a very young girl maybe fourteen years of age and an outwardly unassuming dark-haired man in his early thirties. They were sleeping next to one another, but it didn't appear that there was anything between them; Loy would've felt that right away.
The girl was a strange one…
But her companion was even stranger. Loy nearly burned herself when she reached out to touch him with a weak and harmless spell. The Power barrier was so strong that she'd have to bring forth heavy artillery if her goal was to start a fight.
Then again, this didn't fit into Loy's plans at all.
The man and the girl continued sleeping… which was good.
But as soon as Iver took the tiniest step in the direction of the sleepers, the man shot up into a sitting position. The eyes looking at Loy were empty of even a trace of sleep, as if he hadn't been sleeping at all and was waiting for her.
The mage stopped immediately. Inside, she was fully ready for battle.
Bad. Very bad. Was she getting too old?
Or had she finally found someone who was too powerful for her?
She tried to smile as naturally as possible.
"Hey. Did you sleep well?"
"Who are you?" he asked sharply. "And how did you get here?"
"Answering with a question?.." Loy chuckled.
But the man's face remained impenetrable. It seemed that even Loy's hip that had seemingly by chance showed through the slit of her narrow skirt left him indifferent.
He was going to pay for that!..
"I just got on," Iver shrugged. "Jumped over from the bank. You were floating past too close. Don't worry, the owner let me. What's your name? I'm Loy Iver."
She immediately felt the girl's gaze on her, full of burning jealousy. So she'd woken up too then. Fine. It was easy enough to carefully… now the girl would turn around and go back to sleep…
"I wouldn't do that, Loy," the girl said firmly and not at all sleepily.
"Oh!.." Iver blurted out.
Cold granite. A wall of ice. Steel and crystal that couldn't be shattered by any hammer. A golden-white shadow galloping straight at her. The girl's big eyes stared at Loy, casually deflecting the hurriedly erected defensive barriers.
"Don't," the girl asked suddenly. "Let's not quarrel, Loy. We have nothing to fight over."
"Unknown…" Iver's throat refused to say the word. "The Unknown Clan…"
"What?" The man stared at his companion in confusion. "What clan, Telle?"
Telle? Well then, nice to make your acquaintance, worthy rival…
"Did you bring him?" Loy asked.
Telle nodded.
"And you're taking him farther?"
Another nod.
"Maybe now you can tell me your name as well," Iver addressed the man.
"Victor," he grunted reluctantly.
"What do you want, Victor?"
At the sight of their shocked faces, Loy gave herself a mental clap.
"Yes, yes, you! Not your companion… Telle."
The one called Victor thought about it. He was thinking handsomely. Collectedly. With concentration. Without showy tension. The thoughts were rolling like a gentle avalanche; the Power within him was slumbering, ready to awaken at any moment. Loy tensed, awaiting his answer, awaiting the revelation.
"I don't know," he came to an unexpected conclusion. "I like it here. If not for the psycho mages…"
Telle threw the Cat mage a stern gaze.
"Don't you think we should tell Victor everything?" Loy sang innocently, sitting down and positioning herself to give Victor the best possible view.
Oh, how she loved such phrases! No man could resist learning everything, no matter how sad the outcome was!
But Victor didn't seem to have heard her. He also wasn't seeing her half-exposed impeccable legs. Just sitting there, frozen like a beast preparing to leap.
His Power was preparing to leap too. He was afraid of something… no, more like expecting something. Something very unpleasant. She also didn't believe her, Loy Iver, at all. That wasn't good.
"Loy!" the girl frowned. The head of the Cats didn't get offended by the familiar address. This Telle could do many things… a great many things. Maybe only Ritor would be able to defeat her. And even then she'd make him work for it.
The Unknown Clan. Enough said.
"What 'Loy'? Don't you think it's not very fair to use Victor?"
Well, guy, why are you not saying anything? Butt in, get indignant, at least feel surprised — then she'd be halfway there.
But Victor just kept switching his gaze between Loy and his companion. And nothing else. He also seemed to be indifferent to Iver's legs.
In response, Telle just shrugged at the Cat's obviously provocation.
"It's his destiny. Nothing to be changed about it. We've been walking together since the Underside…"
"And, of course, you've already thought through his fate to the end, right?" feeling brave, Loy went on the offensive. "Thought for him? Naturally, without asking anything or wondering what his wishes are? Such conceit, Unknown. Taking without giving anything back…"
"Not everyone was of that opinion," Telle parried imperturbably. A purely feminine objection… "Even in the area where your kind has no equal… I mean in bed, we were better in some respects…"
She hit the bull's eye. Telle was hinting at something in which the Cat Clan had never been able to beat them. Despite all attempts. That little bitch! She was the one to talk! Hadn't even bothered to improve Victor's night!
Loy barely restrained herself from replying something akin to, "What do you mean 'better'? I'll show you 'better', half-pint!"
Even the best of the Cats had limits to her patience!
"Good for you," Iver sang in an angelic voice. "But what about Victor?"
"So you're watching my good manners, Loy? Are you my conscience now? Or are you, as usual, looking for an advantage for your kittens?" Iver pleasantly noted that Telle was at a loss. She'd probably expected for her to fall for that cheap trick; but Loy wasn't a sex-crazed nympho yet.
"It seems that this is a morning of unanswered questions," Loy purred. "Everyone is asking, but no one is answering. And some," she threw a quick glance at Victor, "isn't saying anything at all."
"It's pointless to speak," Telle frowned. "Loy Iver, the head of the Cat Clan, do you intend to stand in our way?"
It was the first phrase of a formal challenge. Loy saw the girl's eyes glint angrily and impatiently.
Well then, was she going to fight a member of the Unknown Clan?
"Am I in your way?" Loy made a show of being surprised. "The barge is floating on its own… no one is stopping it. I'm alone. Although, if I'd brought a few of my boys with me…"
"Yeah, maybe then you'd be able to beat me," Telle agreed. "But not him." She nodded at Victor.
He just continued to sit there silently, which was the best thing he could've done at the moment. But up to a limit. Because if she and that Telle really did end up fighting… It was unclear which of them would come out on top. The girl didn't seem to be fully confident in her own abilities; that was good but strange. Had the Unknown sent a child into battle? Couldn't find anyone stronger? Then again, who knew the Unknown?..
"I have no need to beat him," Loy countered easily. "He's not an enemy of me or my clan."
"Are you sure about that?" Telle raised her eyebrow and suddenly no longer looked like a child, more like a wizened mentor that made Loy look like a naïve schoolgirl in comparison. But the Cat didn't stop her games. On the contrary.
"Of course. A Dragonslayer is good for the Middle World. I never liked the Winged Masters… unlike your clan, dear."
"We didn't like them either," Telle parried dryly. "It's not for you to judge…"
Loy was desperately trying to get Victor to react to something. Anything, starting from the very basic response of the flesh. Then she'd be able to get a read on him… But he was a wall! An impenetrable wall! Victor hadn't even reacted to the world "Slayer," even though Iver placed a lot of her hopes on it.
"Liked, didn't like — it's all in the past… But now we have a hero. A Slayer who is going to defeat the Dragon, if one dares to show its nose here again. But why are you leading the Slayer, Telle? What use is that to you?"
"You're not going to understand, Loy Iver," Telle replied crossly.
"Are you sure? Maybe you should try anyway."
"Are you interrogating me, Loy Iver, first-rank mage?"
"Oh! Girlie, don't lose your composure. You look ugly when you blush."
"If Loy has switched to insults, then things really are bad," Telle laughed suddenly in a carefree manner. "The Cat has decided to scratch. Make sure you don't break your claws."
"What do you want… Loy Iver?" the man asked suddenly in a very calm voice. "What do you want to know? Yes, I'm the Slayer… probably. Is that you wanted? Or do you need the limits of the Power granted to me? Why do you need that knowledge, Loy Iver?"
He was speaking well. Quietly. Confidently. He was holding up very well for someone who'd just come from the Underside.
"I want to understand what my clan should do," Loy said with as much earnestness as she could muster, staring him in the eye and deliberately ignoring the tensing Telle. "My duty is to protect my own. To not turn them into cannon fodder. Into a tool of intrigue of the Elementals… I assume you already know what they are. Do you know, Victor, that you're being hunted by the Air Clan, and that its mages will do anything to kill you? And the Water Clan is protecting you…"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Telle's barely noticeable chuckle. What? Why?
"So what do you want to know?" Victor asked again.
Loy hesitated. Yes, his may was the Slayer. She could feel it. He's already gone through two initiations but wasn't drunk on his new Power. An even rarer thing for someone from the Underside.
She felt warmth in her lower abdomen. Did she want him, this Victor? Apparently so…
"I want to know," she started slowly, "whom you're going to go against."
"He can't know that, Loy!" Telle intervened sharply, her eyes dark in anger. "Don't push him any deeper than he already is!"
Iver turned to the girl, saw her fury-filled eyes, and sensed a spell preparing to strike…
The Unknown Clan had been able to bring people from the Underside since time immemorial. Any person they chose. Could she have brought the Slayer here? Yes… What had Torn been saying about a Created Dragon?
But then why would Ritor want to kill him? Why? She had no idea… Loy Iver crouched, relaxed, and displayed an unwillingness to fight with all her being. Now wasn't the time to quarrel with this proud girl. Let her try to figure out if Loy was afraid or was simply ignoring the threat.
"Go away!" Telle said, clenching her fists. "Scram!"
Now that was too far… Loy felt her blood begin to boil. By addressing her like a dumb cat, chasing her away with words like that, Telle was insulting her entire clan! It was like splashing water on fire in the presence of the Watery ones or extinguishing a flame in the presence of the Fiery ones. Like showing up to the Wolf Clan while wearing wolf pelts. Maybe the mages of the Cat Clan couldn't shapeshift, couldn't turn into an actual animal, as their totem patron was too small for that. The connection was not as direct as with the other beast clans.
But to insult…
"You're forgetting yourself, girl…" Loy hissed.
"Go away! You're from the forest, wild beast! Go catch some mice…"
That was the last drop.
Loy leapt, in an instant going from peaceful relaxation to the mad energy of a fight. Gouge out the eyes, tear out the throat, spill blood onto the deck!
In mid-leap, she struck with the famous blow of her clan, the Invisible Claw. Even Torn hadn't been able to dodge it, even though Loy was only striking him at half-strength, only marking the hit!
And yet the girl tried, but something interfered, the spell hanging on the tips of her fingers didn't fly off and, crushing the fragile body under her, Loy realized with a triumph that she'd made it!
Except… where were the wounds? Where were the mortal wounds from four invisible magical claws? Wounds that were supposed to cut all the way through the girl, tear out her heart, and snap her spine?
Frozen over Telle, Loy struck again. At point-blank range, putting all her reserves into the invisible "cat's paw." To squeeze the heart, make it stop beating…
But Telle was clearly not in a hurry to die.
Moreover, she raised her hand and pressed it against Loy's face. Space in the open fist was ringing from power. It was… it was the blow of the Unknown Clan… her grandmother had told her about it…
Loy prepared to die.
Nothing.
Telle's spell was also stopped on the way. As if a bullet had frozen in mid-air after flying out of a gun. As if Power, before which all of Telle's skills and all of Loy's mastery were insignificant, had frozen magic with a light whiff…
She'd heard of that once!
But now wasn't the time to thin, the face of the hated girl was far too close, and she didn't care that magic wasn't working, she take care of her right now… without any magic… like when dealing with her own…
"Aah!" Loy howled, gripping the girl's short hair.
The girl answered in kind, started pounding her face, scratching no worse than an actual cat, trying to go for the eyes. The woman and the girl were rolling on the deck as a screaming, shrilling, hissing ball. Both were red-haired, Loy far too thin for her age, the girl far too large for hers — they now looked like Siamese twins that were attempting to separate.
"I'm going to pull out your hair!" Loy was screaming with delight.
"Ragged cat!" Telle replied, wrapping the woman's hair on her hand. "Ow, that hurst…"
Loy began punching the girl's face, trying to break her nose. Maybe the girl was a strong mage, but what about an ordinary fight?.. Ow!
They flew apart with a squeal when a stream of cold water from the canal struck between their bodies.
"Enough!"
Lying on the deck, supported by her scratched elbows, Loy Iver was staring up at Victor with a horrified expression.
The man was standing between them with his hands spread, and Power, insane, furious Power, was boiling in the sky. At that moment, he was the tip of a spear, the neck of a tornado — there was such energy flowing through him that Loy, who had never been afraid of anything, wanted to shut her eyes. Her own magic hadn't faded, of course, as no one wouldn't have enough strength to do that… no matter who it was. The Cat's magic had fled with its tail between its legs, hiding deep in its mistress's soul. The water around the barge was seething, the vessel was shaking, the gusts of the sudden wind would've knocked anyone off their feet… except Victor.
"I forbid it…"
Victor gaze burned Loy. A brief glance at Telle caused the girl, already preparing to leap back into the fight, to slump.
"I'll throw the first to hiss overboard to cool down," Victor said coldly. "Well?"
Loy had no intention of going overboard. She was looking at Victor with wide eyes, and crazy delight, mixed with fear, amazement, and desire, was rising up inside her. So that was it!
Foolish Torn, foolish Ritor, foolish Telle… Or maybe Telle knew everything.
She looked into the girl's eyes, but there was far too much fury in them. No way to get a read.
"I apologize… Victor." Loy rose slowly and bowed her head. After a brief pause, she added, "I forgive Telle her behavior. She is still a child…"
Telle flared, and Loy's eyes dug into her. Come on, throw another careless insult! Have a swim in the cold water!
"I forgive Loy Iver her attack," Telle said in a polite voice. Sobbing, she touched the scratches on her face.
"Does it hurt, Telle?" Victor took a step towards the girl. There was concern in his voice. The maelstrom of Power around them started to calm down.
A worthy opponent. Those pitiful scratches were nothing to her. And yet she was using them… now she was whimpering into Victor's shoulder… and glancing at Loy angrily.
"Poor girl," Loy had to call upon all the vocal skills she had. "Let me heal your wounds…"
Victor looked at the mage approvingly and patted Telle on the shoulder, "Good. I'm glad you've both calmed down. So what do you want from me?"
"I want to help you…" Loy even sighed, but there was no other choice. "You and Telle."
"We don't need your help."
Loy shook her head, "Don't reject it without thinking, Victor. You're walking into an ambush. And this time Ritor isn't going to give you a chance."
She was speaking with the understanding that all her salvation—and the future fate of her clan—depended on her sincerity. It had to be complete and unreserved. If she hadn't made a mistake… No, she couldn't afford to make a mistake.
Let Telle try as she might, but Loy Iver would take care of what was good for her clan… and maybe herself. Did she really have a chance to become a true hero of the Cat Clan?
To do something that no leader of the clan had managed to do since the time of the Exodus?