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

I claim no rights to the contents herein.

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

Chapter 18

They got on the road in the twilight, long before all the drivers, who were still sleeping on their carts. Telle was noticeably nervous, constantly looking back and sometimes freezing in place, peering into the distance, although, as far as Victor could tell, there was no way to see anything there, only some pale and remote reflections that were quickly consumed by the rising sun.

The sun brought a strange sense of lightness mixed with recklessness with it. That sensation when a person feels themselves invulnerable and capable of easily overcoming any obstacle.

Victor even started whistling.

It was easier to walk downhill, but both Loy Iver and Telle were, for some reason, growing gloomier with every passing minute.

"They're waiting for us there… Victor," the woman said finally. Those were the first words she'd spoken to Victor after the previous night's… conversation.

Telle just nodded silently. Over the past several hours, she'd grown incredibly haggard. Nothing, or almost nothing remained of her calm.

"Victor… I think they managed to catch up to us." She sounded guilty, as if everything was her fault. "They sealed the road on both north and south. The entire Earth Clan is behind us. They're waiting for us to turn back. Ahead are Ritor and the Fiery ones."

"What about Torn?" Loy asked abruptly. "Do you sense him, Unknown one?"

For the first time, there was something approaching respect, if not deference, in Loy's words and tone.

"No, not Torn," Telle admitted guiltily.

"I wonder why?.." Iver muttered to herself.

Telle said nothing.

"Is there another way?" Victor asked in a businesslike tone. In such matters, he had to primarily rely on American action movies. Well then, if toilet paper wasn't available, sandpaper would have to do.

"No," the Cat shook her head. "Maybe you'd be able to climb the cliffs, but up there… it's nothing but twists, precipices, and fissures…"

"But what if there's no alternative?"

"Victor! Remember, we need the Fiery ones!"

Telle was starting to sound like a broken record, as if explaining a lesson to a dimwitted student.

"Then let's keep going and stop talking like that!" Victor said in irritation. He really was getting sick of all this. So much for being the savior of the world, enthusiastically chased by half of those he was supposed to save in order to end him as quickly as possible… And when they met, it was always the innocent ones who got hurt.

He remembered the maddened train car and barely managed to suppress nausea. He wouldn't be able to wash it off until the Last Judgment, as his mother liked to say.

He wondered if God existed here. Or had all this also appeared during the Big Bang? Dwarves, elves, Naturalborn…

The Naturalborn… What had Telle told him about them? The bane of their world?.. Not a particularly pleasant recommendation…

"Telle, why can't we just talk to the Naturalborn? What do they want from all of you?"

Both the girl and Loy clutched their heads theatrically.

"Great Powers, what does it matter now?!" Telle spat out.

"I'm curious," Victor bit back. "Maybe when we get down I won't be able to learn anything else, so just tell me now! Explain to me, the Naturalborn, who are they? People? Monsters?"

"You still don't get it? The Underside is a world without magic. The Middle World is a place where both spells and steam with electricity can work. Your… what do you call them… computers will probably turn into a pile of metal here and will simply burn out in the World of the Naturalborn. Basically, Victor, the World of the Naturalborn is a world of pure magic. The power of Word, the power of Gesture, the power of Symbol. For the longest time, the Naturalborn have been dreaming of getting out from beyond the Fault of the World, getting to us, and turning the Middle World into theirs."

"I see… So they're like universal villains…" Victor sighed. "I still don't understand. Why are you fighting them? What is there you can't agree on? You can't come to an understand of some kind?"

"Some mages believe," Loy noted dryly, "that aggression is the only possible way for the Naturalborn to exist. Do you understand, Victor? Imagine that they don't have a choice but to endlessly cast destructive combat spells. They have to aim those at someone!.."

"That just won't do…" Victor began. He was about to explain Loy that the Naturalborn wouldn't need to conquer anything if that were the case, if they needed to constantly destroy something. Or maybe it was a matter of scale…

"Victor, death and destruction are natural to those who remain beyond the Hot Sea," Loy said hotly. "I know that you've been taught to think that everything has causes and effects, that there's no such thing as an absolute villain, that you can always compromise… You can, I won't argue with that. For example, we've learned to compromise with those who have been rejected by the Underside very well. We even make use of their knowledge. But how can a positive and a negative charge compromise? Especially if they're close to one another. How can water and fire negotiate, if water is pouring onto a flame? How can a tree and a lumberjack's axe agree on something? Sometimes there' no way for a compromise to exist. It's sad but true. And then you have to make a choice. One time, for good. Without a chance to roll the dice again. Well then, we and the Naturalborn are like those two charges. There can be no peace, only war. They attacked before, but we were protected by the power of the Dragon. The Naturalborn had never managed to overcome them. Only Ritor…" She waved it off.

"Hold on," Victor shook his head. "Hold on, let's speak plainly without pretty comparisons. You yourselves came from the World of the Naturalborn! Well… okay, not you, your ancestors… You've managed to live together, overcame 'death and destruction', but those left behind are forever doomed to want revenge? Do they build castles made of human bones, make rivers of blood flow, forge empires of evil, kingdoms of vice? Are they ugly monsters that are just waiting for the right moment to destroy the Middle World?"

"There's no empire or kingdom there." Loy shook her head. "And I can't tell you anything about their faces. Does the wind have a face? What about flowing water? The Naturalborn can look like anything. A blade of grass, a flower, the scent of mint, a soaring eagle, or spring thunder. Sure, they can be monsters too. But, because they envy us, they typically choose a human appearance."

Telle, listening to this monologue intently, shook her head. She even smiled a little. Did she think that it wasn't about envy at all?

"As for how they live… Ask something easier. Even the Winged Masters didn't know that… probably. When leaving that distant shore, our ancestors didn't keep any of their memories. Even Naturalborn prisoners couldn't say anything, as they also couldn't remember. And afterwards no one bothered to give any quarter."

Telle nodded.

"The Naturalborn are everything. And, at the same time, nothing. Absolute freedom and total, perfect slavery. To their own nature. They're incapable of changing. With all their unimaginable variety. Magic that was more natural than one's breath or sight can also be harmful. You stop trusting your hands. You shut in. You are the World, and that entire World is within you and in your power. And that temptation…" Telle shook her head. "To feel yourself a limitless master. Maybe that's why the Naturalborn hate the very thought of our existence. Because we're on our own, not within them and not under them. They also hate the Underside, by the way. But they can't get to that world yet, while ours is right there."

The picture they were painting seemed way too pretty. Victor looked at Loy doubtfully, but it seemed that the mage was speaking the truth. She was certain of her words… but should Victor also have faith in them?

"And so…" Loy caught her breath, "sometimes ships come from beyond the Hot Sea. Beautiful ships with bows adorned with eagle heads…"

"Why eagles?" Victor asked. "Is it their crest?"

"Crest?" Loy asked in confusion. "No… they don't have any crests. That's just the way their ships are… it's understandable! They're not going to sail on ordinary trade boats, are they?"

"What about banners?"

"Those they do have. Black and gold. And an eagle head in the middle. When we fought them last, we took many trophies. But we didn't manage to preserve any. Their weapons, armor, banners — all that faded away like a fog. The mages were very sad about that."

"Interesting…" Victor said thoughtfully. "Maybe they're just ghosts then."

"Ghosts?! You should see them!" Loy said indignantly. "They're as corporeal as can be! They can just be very different, remember?"

"What about the dead bodies? Did they remain?"

"Burned away," the woman shook her head. "Their dead can't handle the weight of our world. That's why they can't secure themselves here. They'll either take it over entirely or will be thrown back. Do you want to ask anything else?"

Victor looked at her tense face and decided that it wasn't the time for any more question.

"There's a hundred mages up ahead just itching to tear us to pieces," Telle said reproachfully. "And you're walking and talking like you're on a hike. Maybe they've already noticed us! Maybe they're already coming to intercept us!"

"Calm down, Telle," Loy shook her head. "They're not going anywhere. They're sitting down there, entrenched and waiting. They know we don't have any other path. They don't even need to go anywhere. Why don't you tell me what you know of Oros instead?"

"Like you don't have spies there!" Telle grunted.

"Of course I do," Loy parried calmly. "But the more information we have the better. System of protective spells? Passwords? Safe passages? Traps?"

Telle shook her head slowly.

"There's no need for us to break through to Oros itself. We just need to reach the shore."

"And then what?" Loy kept pushing. "They're going to press us against the water and finish us off?"

"At the shore, I can open the Door," Telle stated in a tone that bore no dispute. "Only first-rank mages can go through it. So we'll cut off any pursuit."

"And the Fiery ones don't have anyone left of that rank," Loy recalled. "So that leaves… Torn, Ritor, and me. Well then, that's not too bad." She cheered up noticeably.

Telle looked her up and down, her lips purse in distaste, but said nothing. Victor thought that the girl was jealous and was trying to figure out how to get rid of Iver. But it was too late now. It wouldn't be right to leave anyone to a certain death, and a companion like Loy could be very useful. She'd been useful once already.

The road started to meander. The gorge kept turning, coming down to the sea in twists. This was clearly the work of a flame, as the walls looked to be made of hardened stone flows. The clan had straightened out an old gorge and laid a new road on the bottom; over the years, the trees once again managed to climb up the flame-tormented stone.

"They must've sent out scouts," Telle said gloomily, lifting her head and trying to make something out on the ribbed peaks. "And have probably already spotted us."

"Then what's the point of lurking?" Loy raised her eyebrows. "Victor is fully capable of making them think twice about peeking."

"No, no!" Telle said in fright. "There's no need… to kill anyone if it's not absolutely necessary. Only if they try to kill us themselves."

"Are you sure it's not going to be too late then?" Loy quipped.

Telle shrugged wordlessly.

Victor could also sense someone else's gaze. As if two cold icicles that stubbornly refused to melt had been stuck to his forehead with two invisible lines stretching from them into infinity, making him picture himself as some monstrous cockroach with ridiculously long antennae.

Obeying his slowly boiling wrath, the tightly bound fist of Power clenched somewhere deep inside him. The Power was still shapeless but ready to take on the shape of an all-destroying hurricane, a water tornado, or a landslide that could sweep away any wall. They dared to block his path! They dared to spy on him! When he might decide to have some fun with one of his companions!

Shit, Victor thought in fright. What the hell kinds of thoughts are these?! The black and bloody fog was gradually dissipating. His clenched fists relaxed. He glanced at Telle and Loy — it didn't seem as if they had noticed anything.

"Oros is just beyond the next turn," Telle said with just her lips. "Their patrol isn't even bothering to hide."

Indeed, a small crimson shred of a cloak was fluttering up ahead, on the tallest cliff, clearly visible even against the blue sky.

"Arrogant bastards," Loy spoke through gritted teeth. She bent her fingers in the shape of claws and raised her hand. "Let's see if he can—"

"Loy!" The girl was now hanging off her shoulder. "Don't! It's too soon! This one you'll take out, but they're going to decipher your spell! And then strike back!"

"Whatever you say." Iver lowered her hand with a look of displeasure. But it was obvious that Telle's words had made an impression even on the proud Cat.

"Let's not do anything until they attack," Telle looked at Victor pleadingly. "Promise? Please!"

"Are you sure they're not going to kill us with their first strike?" Victor inquired in a sort-of detached way.

"It depends on you," Telle sighed. "They don't want us… well, maybe Ritor wants to pay Loy back. But otherwise don't worry about us. Right now, it's just you they want."

"Then let's go," Victor's lips said.

Now I know what "leaping out of my skin" feels like, he thought gloomily. No, I'm definitely not the hero type. Not in the least. I'm no Conan and no Terminator. I can clearly see myself dead and dissected. A lesson in pathology for the young mages. Just have to remain standing and keep myself from peeing my pants. Why hasn't Telle explained to me how to cast spells?

The openly standing on the cliff patrolman was now behind them. Loy even gave him a wave.

The last turn.

"There it is, Oros," Telle said quietly.

A bay. A pebble beach. A lighthouse towered over the open sea on a sharp mole far beyond the surf line. A smokeless crimson flame was burning on the black top, sharply and clearly visible even in daytime. Between the mountains and the sea stood a small and neat single-story town. A cheerful redness of shingles could be seen through the intertwined evergreen branches.

Nothing living had been left out in the open. But Victor could clearly sense hundreds of gazes aimed at his chest; like someone's arrogant hands, they were searching, grabbing with their unclean fingers, picking at him, unceremoniously trying to get inside, tear his brain to pieces, air out his memories to get everything "harmful" out of them, as they thought.

Just you wait.

"Victor, I'm scared," he heard the whisper of Loy, who was pressed against his right side. "They're going to kill us all. Ritor… he's gone mad. I think this time I'm done for…"

"What, you're scared now, Cat?" Telle bit back immediately. "No one forced you to come with us. You chose this."

"There are almost a hundred mages here. And nearly five hundred fighters. Both Air and Fire. Ritor gathered everyone he could. Transported them from his own clan. Smart…" Loy shook her head. "He didn't waste time chasing us. Came straight here. Clever. Got my respect."

"Please be quiet," Victor hissed without turning his head.

"Sorry…" he heard her whisper. God, if he heard such a whisper back in the Underside, he'd have thought that the woman was madly in love.

The trio was standing at the bend of the mountain road. In sight of all the fighters hiding below. Both Telle and Iver were pressing themselves against Victor. And he was standing there like an idiot, staring down with absolutely no idea what to do.

Their position was, from a military standpoint, the worst possible one: completely exposed. On the other hand, Victor could see the entire town from there. And if he decided to strike at it, he'd be able to do it with a single "salvo."

Neither Loy nor Telle dared to give him any advice.

What now? Should he wait for them to start? Victor felt like a fool. But he didn't want to go against what Telle had said.

The wind howled in a high-pitched tone up in the sky. As if in a warning. Like a war horn calling for a fight. Pretty…

"Victor!" he heard Telle's desperate whisper. She was shaking — was she finally scared now too? "It's a noose. They're throwing a garotte… Victor, don't you dare try to save either of us! If you pass Fire… then I know you'll be able to open the Door. But if you try to get me or Loy out—"

"I don't need anyone to get me out," the Cat interrupted the girl angrily. "I can get you, Unknown one, out myself. Even if I have to fuck all four Elemental Clans at the same time!"

"Be quiet, both of you!" Victor hissed.

Squinting, he was staring up where the gray nooses of a monstrous lasso, unseen to most eyes, were slowly unfolding. It was merely the first move, not even an attack, just a test of his defenses; they were trying to see how he was going to defend himself.

Lights appeared below, among the thick greenery. Dozens of lights. Tiny flaming crowns over the heads of the fighters of the Fire Clan, who were getting up to do battle.

A moment later, Ritor sharply threw the garotte.

Telle squealed. Loy crouched softly, throwing her right arm up and forward, claws at the ready, taking on a combat stance. But Victor just stood there, staring passively at the world around him that was rapidly turning gray, at the ghostly line of the aerial noose that was approaching, realizing that it was the end and… doing nothing.

"Viiiiictor!" Loy screeched. The noose grabbed her shoulder and neck, threw her down, and dragged her along the road, mercilessly scraping her dress and skin on the rocks.

How did someone use magic in a fight? How were deadly spells cast? How did one control the elements in one's power? By will alone? By a direct command?

"Viiiiictor!"

Telle ran to Loy, falling, grabbed at her shoulders, and pressed her to the ground. But even her strength wasn't enough — Ritor really had gathered everyone he could. One girl, even from the Unknown Clan, couldn't fight dozens of Air mages.

A huge gray cloud began to slowly condense over the town. Victor knew that he was the only one seeing it. It was Ritor's spell that was ready to strike, which would crush Victor against the dust of the dry road, sprinkle the cliffs with his blood, and toss the crumpled body down onto rocks and spikes.

"No, Ritor!" he shouted and swung, aiming his fist at the tightly wound strand that was dragging the desperately struggling Loy and Telle down the road.

A sharp water whip dashed forward at the speed of lightning. Wherever Water struck Air, white sprays splashed like the blood of magic. Wherever they touched the ground, fountains of dust rose, as if from a machinegun burst striking sand.

The aery strand snapped. A tree fell in the town, as if swept away by a powerful hurricane.

"That's right, Victor!" Loy shrieked.

The reply of those below came quickly. Victor felt the air start rushing out of his lungs, the tightly wound whip of a spell approaching, breaking through unknown barriers; without thinking, he answered with the first thing that came to his mind. He stretched out his hand, aimed it down, where the heart of those facing him was hiding, and whispered a word that made no sense at this particular moment, "Fire!"

The howl forced Loy and Telle to clutch at their ears and grimace in pain. A powerful aerial fist struck, as if a hundred tanks of compressed air burst at once. The first of the rocks fell from the cliffs. In long arcs, they flew high up, falling onto the town like bombs. The first dozen flared while still in the air, intercepted by the fiery arrows of the defenders. Some were diverted by a rapidly raised aerial wave, but a lot more boulders broke through all the barriers.

He heard strangled screams. Victor saw his aerial fist fell trees one after the other and scatter the shingles, saw dust rising in pillars of tornadoes, dragging with it household items, pieces of something, and human bodies.

Fire rose, but, of course, it couldn't harm its own masters. The tongues of flame fell away.

But Ritor wasn't known as a powerful mage for nothing. He realized what had to be done very quickly. Victor had gotten distracted by the attack. And so Ritor, forgetting all defenses, went on the offense himself.

His blow knocked Victor down. Colorful circles blinked in his eyes. Telle's plaintive cry came from somewhere in the distance; and then Fire went on the attack.

The pain was burrowing itself into his brain, but Victor managed to get up on his knees. A wave of dry heat was approaching, the fire was doing a complicated dance, flames were flaring into life on the bare rocks.

And from up in the sky, death was falling. Victor saw it, a spear of tightly bound, condensed air shimmering with pearly light. The spear shattered the chunk of stone Victor had thrown forward on pure instinct, trying to protect himself any way he could; he managed to duck at the last moment.

Pain struck his face, blood began streaming down his neck.

Both Telle and Loy were no longer visible, hidden by the fiery cloud rising up around them. The cliffs were burning, the pines on the ledges were blazing, more and more arrows were dashing down with a howl, and a monstrous weight was pressing down onto his shoulders; Victor was suffocating, each gulp of air had to be nearly forced into his lungs; he fell onto one knee and got into a strained coughing fit.

Someone's hands grabbed him under the armpits and forced him to stand up. He turned and saw Loy. Her face was skewed, bloodied, and covered in dirt; her eyes were full of madness.

"Get up! Get up, please, Victor!"

Another blow. Loy was thrown onto the rocks, she gasped briefly and wrapped her arms around her head; blood was streaming between her fingers.

"Take this!" Victor screamed.

The sweet madness burst out of him; Water and Wind intertwined. A rumbling stream burst free from the broken cliffs, the granite lumps abandoned their centuries-long places; a brown-gray mudslide dove down, carrying thousands of stones with it. The invisible cavalry of Air was galloping at the forefront of the attacking armada, followed by the heavy phalanxes of Water; Earth was groaning, sending its war elephants—heavy boulders—into battle.

Fire howled in agony, as the Wind was tearing off the flames, leaving it without food, instead of blowing it; the Wind was followed by Water that completed the devastation.

Telle, all torn up, dove out of the smoke and ran to Loy again, embracing her like the latter was her mother.

"Down! To the shore!" the girl shouted.

Swaying, Loy got to her feet.

"Run!"

Below them, the avalanche ran into a hurriedly built Air shield. Wind howled madly, trees were falling, the colliding streams were smashing apart homes that were nearby, while the roaring stream of Water rose up to the sky, trying to hop over the sudden dam; the wave bent, like some beast before a leap, and met the stream of fire rushing towards it with its chest.

The Fire Clan was probably using up all the power given to them in this world. Clumps of steam soared to the sky and even higher, scattering the storm clouds that had gathered. A sheer lightning bolt went to waste, splitting an innocent sycamore tree.

Victor felt causing sweat fill his eyes; it was hot, as if his pores had started exuding boiling water. A dead wasteland spread around him: the stone burned by the strike of the Fiery ones, the wet black cinder, the crevices that had mutilated the road and the surrounding cliffs were now filled with muddy water.

"Halt! Surrender, foe!" came a yell from behind them, followed by the loud thud of a musket.

"Earth," Loy hissed. Her eyes were blazing with an unbearable flame, and at the moment she looked very much like a furious cat. "They caught up to us…"

"Master Andrzej," Telle squeezed her fists. "Well then, hold on, mage…"

"Get down, you idiots!" Victor yelled because the bullets were whizzing past very close now.

One after another, figures of guardsmen were diving out from the haze behind them. They'd definitely been trained well. Shooting from the hip without placing them on rests first and doing it fairly accurately. A bullet flattened itself against a rock very close to his head.

Now we're definitely done for. They've squeezed us from both sides… Victor had to hold back the spells of the Airy and Fiery ones while simultaneously seeking out Master Andrzej himself.

It wasn't easy…

Ah, there he was — a familiar gaunt figure dashed behind the trotting musketeers.

The earth beneath Victor's feet trembled.

"E-e-e!" Loy waved her hand sharply, drawing a cross in the air. A huge soldier that had gone ahead of the others—a plug bayonet already stuck in his musket—grabbed at his slit throat and fell down at his comrades' feet.

Victor could feel Andrzej's squeezing spell with his skin. The spell was once again incredibly complex, twisted, where the beginning and the end were woven together, shadows of some monsters could be seen; they moved in waves: cats, bears, huge insects, giant lizards; he felt dizzy. It was clear that the spell was a truly powerful one; and if it was released, then the cliffs would grind not only Loy and Telle into dust, but Victor himself too, so even being initiated by Earth wouldn't save him.

There was no time for a real counterstrike, as the thin shell of his defenses was about to collapse; Victor hurled a whistling Air spear. It seemed to be successful, knowing over Andrzej. His guardsmen were clearly less willing to keep pressing forward now, especially after Loy had killed two more of them.

"Run!" Telle shouted. Swaying, Victor followed. The mudslide had created a new path, as if a huge beast licking the cliffs.

It was easy to run downhill. To the right, the Fiery and Airy ones were still battling the Wind, Water, and Earth monstrosity created by Victor. Flame was roaring, a twister was howling; Telle had clearly decided to take advantage of the situation. Shots rang out behind them once again; it was a good thing that the whirlwind sent by Victor had filled the musketeers' eyes with sand and ruined their aim.

…It was probably the last push, one of desperation. They already knew that they couldn't defeat the Slayer but were afraid to admit it even to themselves. And this blow of the Airy ones, aimed much better than the ones before, nearly worked.

Victor was knocked off his feet and dragged along the ground. He thought he could hear his ribs crackle, while the dull tip of the executioner's spear was starting to drill itself right into his heart.

No!

Was that Telle or just him, wheezing in pain and rolling around in agony?

Wipe them off the face of the earth!

In that moment, he nearly stopped thinking about himself. Nearly blind from the pain, he reached out towards his enemies with all his remaining strength. Air, Earth, Water — all intertwined.

A neat home appeared before his unseeing eyes. It was falling apart, slowly, like in a slow-motion film. Fountains of earth shot up, as if large shells were exploding there one after the other.

The figures of a boy, a heavyset woman, and three men that had appeared for a moment disappeared in a furious whirlwind.

And the pain quickly vanished.

Victor, Loy, and Telle were already on the shore, leaving the outskirts of the town on the right, when a thin figure wrapped in the crimson cloak of the Fire Clan stepped out from around a corner.

"Damn!" Loy wheezed.

The girl stood there and wasn't trying to attack. He was staring at Victor. And he was utterly spent. There was no strength left. More importantly, there was no anger.

"Just wait…" Loy took a heavy step towards the Fiery one. "This little bitch was in Ritor's ambush… just wait…"

The Fiery one's thin hand aimed straight at Victor chest. And he just stood there, blinking stupidly, unable to move or even to drop to the ground…

Flames flowed from the girl's fingers. Buzzing, furious, sizzling; a red wave struck Victor in the chest but didn't knock him down or even burn him. He could see the face of the Fiery one through the mad dance of the red tongues. Her eyes were looking at Victor… with hatred? Horror? Or… delight? Admiration of his strength? Her lips were moving, not making a sound, and Victor couldn't understand the words. The fire was drawing in, crawling inside him, lying down to rest, like a beast in its lair, ready to burst out at any moment.

The Power sighed softly. Now it was full. The four elements had merged in an equilibrium, and Victor felt his body grow incredibly light, the weariness and pain disappear, his vision clear up, and he felt as if wings were unfolding behind him, ready to lift him up into the sky, a sky that was swollen and covered in lightning bolts, a sky that was about to burst into a blinding rain mixed with thunder and flashes…

And then the stream of flame suddenly ceased. Loy Iver knocked the female mage onto the rocks. She raised her hand—no, not a hand now, a paw—and blood sprayed out four terrible wounds on the girl's chest. With unfeminine strength, Loy tossed the slumped body aside.

Victor shouted "No!" far too late.

Meanwhile, Telle was already busy doing something on the seashore, and her call, "Come here!", authoritatively pulled Victor back from the poor victim. He turned and saw the smoothly rolling surf that didn't care about the storm that was raging on the coast. Telle was opening the Door right among the roiling waves.

Ritor could never have imagined that the Slayer had command over such power. It was reason enough to fall into despair. No spell managed to break through his suddenly hardened defenses. Or even reach those who were with the Slayer now.

The town was in utter chaos. The Slayer had been striking hard, mercilessly, and ruthlessly. Ritor could sense the burning hatred up ahead, the hatred that became Power.

Furious twisters were felling age-old sycamore and cypress trees. A hail of blows rained on Ritor's defenses, and the strength of over four dozen Air mages was being used just to hold back that frantic invasion.

The maddened wind was tearing off rooftops, and shingles were flying up in odd red fans. Rafters were collapsing, walls were settling, foundations were cracking, as Earth that had suddenly been taken away from control of the protective spells sunk. Ritor could sense Andrzej, a former enemy, but now the Air mage was ready to accept help even from the Naturalborn.

The Slayer himself didn't know the limits of his own Power.

Ritor heard the terrible screams of those buried alive, the cries of the children, the pleading for help, and couldn't do anything. For every blow, the Slayer responded with ten.

The Fire and Air mages were just barely holding back the mudslide at the center. If it broke through, then there would be nothing left of Oros. Come on, Andrzej, why are you delaying, have you gotten twisted up in your crushing spells again?! Why not forget all your intricacy and simply stop Earth that has gotten out of control?

"Master!"

Asmund. Already wounded, with blood dripping down his cheek.

"I'm holding him back, Master!"

"Where are Solly, Sandra, and Boletus?"

"On their way!"

The Air mages managed to condense the barrier in front of the Slayer's spells that were rushing forward.

"Last time, my friends!.."

He didn't have to repeat. They were pouring their strength together.

And this time they nearly got him. Ritor sensed the enemy's terror, felt his pain and desperation… and that was probably why he'd had time to shout "Cover up!" to his people, when the Slayer's pain and fear turned into Power, and the tip of the weapon turned against the ones doing the striking.

The blow was terrible. The Slayer's invisible mace casually destroyed a house that was nearby and fell upon the five mages, tearing air out of their chests, turning them into a mash of water and sand. A hail of stones slashed at Ritor and his team; the mage saw Solly fall down with his head covered in blood; he saw Sandra desperately managing to deflect a boulder from the back of Asmund's head before dropping herself, unable to parry a biting water whip; he saw Asmund fall too, wheezing, spitting out blood, and grabbing his chest.

A few seconds was enough for Ritor to realize that the battle was lost. The Slayer had broken through. He was already on the shore and accepting the power of Fire.

Solly was dead, as was the hook-nosed Edulis; Sandra was in shock from the pain, her entire left side was a huge gaping wound, with her blood mixing with mud; Asmund was curled up at Ritor's feet, most of the boy's rips were broken, but he'd probably live. He was just groaning, unable to speak, but Sandra was whispering something. Ritor bent to her, pumping some strength into her with a casual gesture. Just a little — now wasn't the time to save his friends by weakening himself…

"Me siento mal… duele el corazón…" [Footnote 1]

It seemed that the old mage was speaking in her native tongue from the shock. Ritor placed a calming hand on her shoulder and said, "Hold on! Kahn will help you. Hold on, you old sea witch… pirate…"

Sandra's gaze became clear for a moment.

"I'm no pirate… I get seasick from a tiny wave… I was a whore at a port brothel in Cabo Finisterre… until I came here…"

She closed her eyes.

Then Ritor burst into laughter. The creepy deathly laughter of the Restless.

He wasn't going to stop his pursuit. Even though he knew that almost everything was already lost. The Slayer was already on the Isle… He, Ritor, would take far longer to break through.

"Take care of them!" he barked at Kahn, who happened to be nearby. Finally, his brother was in the right place at the right time. "Quickly!"

Kahn didn't have to be asked twice.

"I need mages, Ritor! It's very difficult!"

"Take whomever you need. I'll keep going!"

"It's madness, brother!"

Ritor gave Kahn a hard slap. An ordinary slap, not a magical one.

"Sandra and Asmund have to live! If they die, I'm going to destroy you!"

Kahn jerked back, staring at his brother in horror. Blood was oozing from his broken nose.

"Here, someone! Take care of the wounded!" Ritor barked loudly. A few of the mages, both Air and Fire, responded.

Ritor allowed himself only a second to delay.

"I'm sorry, Kahn. I have to keep going."

"I'm not angry, brother," the herbalist replied quietly. "I'll get the boy out… Not sure about Sandra, but I'll do what I can…"

"Goodbye, Kahn."

"Goodbye, Ritor…"

Naturally, there wasn't actually a door. There was a hole, the flickering of crimson lights in an abyss filled with a golden glow. The well was parting the earth and the waves, going deeper, and Telle was standing at the threshold, preparing to jump.

Loy was running back with a bloodthirsty smile and the soft hunting gait of a big cat. Along the way, she was licking off the blood from the fingers of her right hand, and Victor had a hard time believing that these fingers that could be so gentle had just punched through a human body, causing the bloodied claws to come out of the victim's back.

It was too late to scream. Loy had been defending him, Victor, the best way she knew how.

"Hurry! Ritor is coming!" Telle shouted. Her voice was breaking.

But Victor managed to reach out to the unconscious Fiery girl, to touch her stopped heart with invisible fingers… and his touch made the heart quiver, beat once, then a second time; finally, the girl groaned.

She'll live, he thought.

Victor turned to Telle. Behind him, the powerful mudslide, heated to boiling by the efforts of Fire mages, was now flowing to the sea, sweeping away houses on its way like toyboxes; the defenses of the two clans had collapsed, and all they'd managed to do was to send the flow down the path of least destruction. Nothing could be made out through the smoke, the steam, and the dust thrown up by the wind. So, when Victor dove into the well after Loy and Telle, he didn't see an old mage in Air clothes and a face twisted in horror and fury burst out from the rumbling chaos. The mage laughed in a wild, half-mad way dashed headlong into the well.

A human silhouette stepped out from the smoke and the dust, mixed with steam. The Earth mage, Master Andrzej, ran out onto the shore.

"Aha…" came an angry exclamation. Fastidiously lifting up the bottom of his scruffy cloak, he stepped into the water. Getting chest-deep into it, he got to the Door; his face twisted in pain, the mage still managed to enter.

The last to appear was a short mage of the Water Clan named Torn. Rising up from under the waves, he first grinned in satisfaction, staring at the chaos left in the Slayer's wake, and then also stepped into hole.

The water closed, absorbing the sealed Door.

Footnotes

1) "I feel bad… my heart hearts…" in Spanish.