Бесплатный фрагмент - Slave War

Slave War

Chapter 1. Desert

The sun is high, so bright and hot, and sunset is not soon. At night in the desert of Lorraine it is sometimes frosty, but now the blinding rays seemed to be able to burn out the soul and leave it to die among the eternal sands. And sand is everywhere: on your teeth, accidentally caught with food, the wind carries it into your face, forcing you to squint. You can drive for several days and not see a soul. Even sadder is that during this time you may not come across a single well. And water supplies decreased at double speed in the heat. Silence. Only the wind sometimes hummed melodies. People are too exhausted to get a word out. Here it seemed that the heat and sand even smelled.

The royal family from Northern Sartoll crossed the cursed lands. A long line of camels carried the companions, but an even longer line of slaves walked behind.

— What is this? — Dorkhand asked. The boy sitting unsteadily on the camel looked about eight years old. Dark-skinned, as for a representative of the northern people, fair-haired, curly.

— What are you talking about, son? — asked Linder, a fair-haired man of about thirty, with a mustache and a thick but short beard.

— Look there, dad! — he pointed his finger somewhere into the distance.

— And what is there?

— Do not you see? — The child’s eyes are widened.

— What are you talking about? At least give me a hint! — said the man.

— Oasis. Water. Palm trees, under the friendly shadow of which you can hide, — said the boy.

“Mirage,” said Councilor Langer with a knowing look.

— What? — asked Dorkhand.

— A waking vision. This often happens when it’s hot.

— God! I’ll go crazy if I have to spend another day or two here. These sands. And the heat from which there is no escape. A soul-burning star across half the sky. And constant thirst.

“It’s hard for everyone,” Linder said. — Do you think I like the heat? But a man must learn to endure. Hardships and hardships are our eternal companions. If you fight them sparing no effort, sooner or later you will give up. Therefore, sometimes it is worth giving in to them.

— Dad, I’m thirsty. A few more minutes and I’ll fall off the camel.

Linder held out his flask, and Dorhand sipped on it, eagerly taking several large sips.

— Thank you! — said the child.

“Not long yet, son,” said the king.

They drove in silence for some time. Then the boy spoke:

— Dad, tell me, why do we ride camels, we have flasks on our belts, and these go, exhausted, exhausted, and they are driven with a whip?

— Are you talking about slaves?

Dorhand nodded.

“That’s why they are slaves,” said Linder. — This is their fate. We are all in Her hands, and we trust only in Her!

— But dad! I read in the book of the traveler Khorel that in developed countries they abandoned the slave trade a long time ago. Free people live in Eldoras and Velzuvik.

— The absence of slavery does not mean freedom. There are slaves there too. They are forced to work tirelessly from early morning until sunset in order to earn enough bread for at least one more day, so as not to die of hunger. Tell me, are you talking about this kind of freedom? At least we’re honest. We give no illusions to anyone. Although, even I, in a golden crown and expensive silks, am not so free. My chains are the bonds of royal duty to the people.

— But you are not a slave. You have the right to choose. And they don’t have that either. You also ride a camel and drink water from a flask. And you don’t get whipped.

“These are the laws of life,” said Linder. — For some to live well, others must pay with time. You know, son, you talk like an adult. At your age! Other boys play warriors and chase each other through the city streets with sticks in their hands. And you spend all your free time reading books. So you will miss your childhood. Time is fleeting, it flies by, leaving shadows on the sand. Books are not your best friends. Perhaps we should ban you from reading. It is better to devote as much time as possible to the sword or spear. It will be more useful. The world needs soldiers, not readers. “Here, this will be better than any of your books,” the king took off the bracelet from his wrist and handed it to his son.

— What is this? — Dorkhand asked, taking the gold jewelry from his hands and looking at it with curiosity.

— He will help defeat the enemy when he does not expect it. Click here and the bracelet will throw out blades that you can use to kill whoever attacked you. The unexpected sometimes strikes more accurately than a sharp sword.

“Books are not the best friends, but they are good advisers,” the boy whispered, having thoroughly admired his father’s gift. There was silence for a while.

“One day I will become king,” said Dorhand. “And then I will abolish slavery in our country.” I swear.

Langer looked reproachfully at the prince. And Linder said:

“You shouldn’t say that in Lorraine, the capital of the slave traders.”

The desert could not grow anything. Only the seed of evil found fertile soil here, and from which the sprout of a state of villains grew. Bandits, slavers and other adventurers from Sartoll, Beelzuvik and Suthering found refuge among the sands that had long belonged to the Snake Charmers. They were expelled from the enlightened lands, since rabble had no place there among the pious people. They say that the robbers chose their king, whom Linder would never recognize. But now the Sartoll detachment was crossing their territory, so they had to be careful.

— What is this? — asked Will, one of the officers, pointing his finger at the sand rising into the air.

— Looks like a storm will start soon. We need to hurry so that it doesn’t cover us completely,” said Councilor Langer.

— No! The wind is blowing in the other direction. Take a closer look! This is a squad!

— Then we must ride twice as fast! We must not fall into their hands, under any circumstances!

“I’ll distract them with a small detachment,” Will said. — And you rush as fast as you can! — the soldier turned the camel, loading his crossbow as he walked. — For the king! For Sartoll! Behind me!

The warriors have long wanted to warm up, but not with the same superiority of strength!

Linder, his children, Langer and several other people rushed away from the battlefield. Musket shots rang out. Dorhand, out of the corner of his eye, saw Will fall from the camel onto the hot sand.

— Dad! But why are we running? Shouldn’t we fight side by side with them?

“The main thing, son, is to save your life,” Linder said. — You are the future king! We should think about Sartoll first and not about the battle. And not about myself. We must survive at any cost. Your life is worth an entire nation.

— Dad, but the slaves are not even armed! They will be killed like cattle, and at this time we are hiding from the battle!

Linder hit his son on the back of the head with a heavy hand.

— Never call me a coward. I have many shortcomings, everyone knows that. But I’m definitely not weak in spirit.

Meanwhile, the clatter of hooves approached.

— Looks like they’re looking for me. They know for sure that I’m here,” Linder said. — Langer! Take Gutan, my little son. And take Dorkhand with you. They must survive if Fate overtakes me, not allowing me to live until the morning.

— But Your Majesty, I will never leave you! — said the adviser.

— You’ll quit. Swear that you will serve my son just as you have served me these years.

— I swear! But…

— No buts! Run! Run as fast as you can!

Linder, sensing the approach of the enemy, loaded a smoothbore musket with a ball of bullet.

“It’s a pity that I had to exchange my father’s crossbow for this… A bullet won’t do half of what a crossbow bolt can do.”

They say that in Velzuvik they came up with some kind of notches in the barrel that increase the power of the bullet. But there are various rumors about this country, guess which ones are true, and which ones are just fairy tales that are told to children at night. Although, their lands are rich in native nitrate, which is formed in alkalis and rotting grasses. She, like the snow in the North of Sartoll, dusts the earth. Therefore, the Belsuvians began to use gunpowder earlier than others, including gunsmiths. But for a Sartollian, the sword is the best weapon in battle.

Linder fired the first shot and was loading the second bullet when an enemy arrow overtook him. Dorkhand almost screamed, seeing how his father was being killed, but Langer covered his mouth with a rough palm.

— Gods! Keep quiet! Otherwise they will notice us! Your Majesty! You must not open your mouth without my permission. It might be too dangerous!

After some time they were noticed. The bandits pulled them out from behind a stone. Dorhand bit the man who grabbed him by the arm.

“If you bite me again, I’ll knock out your teeth!”

The advisor fell to his knees. Not all people are equally brave. And the majority can only boast of courage in words.

— Take what you want! — Langer yelled. — Do you want me to give you all the gold I have? And if you want, take all the slaves. Take it. But leave us life.

“Okay,” said one of the robbers. “But we will take this boy with us too.” In the Market they will take this for double the price.

Dorhand started to hint that he was a prince, but Langer did not let him finish.

— Take the boy. But let me live! — said the adviser. Dorhand tried to break free. He looked reproachfully at the traitor, but Langer lowered his gaze to the sand. The boy spat on the ground.

So the prince became a slave.

Chapter 2. Market

On Tuesdays the slave market was always full of people. Locals called this day the “golden river”, because the wallets were filled not only with manpower traders, but also with the owners of local taverns and brothels. The smell of sweat and fish alternated with the aroma of rose and olive oils. It was a rare nobleman in the Sands who could afford a bath. The nearest oasis was a hasty camel ride of five days. Therefore, many doused themselves with oils and Suthering perfumes to fight off the stench. Those who are poorer could not afford to do this either.

When the hot disk of the sun was at its zenith, steam rose from the ground along with dust. The city turned into an oven at such moments. Or to the bathhouse. Usually even camels were freed from work at such moments. And the silk merchants drank tea to somehow replenish the loss of moisture. But on the day of the Sale, a roar filled the Square.

— Ten gold, and this beauty will join my harem! — shouted a fat old man with a sparse beard and a turban on his head. He was reclining in the shade of the tent. Two girls fanned him with palm leaves. In front of him lay a tray of grapes.

— Twenty-two buckets of water, and she will go with me! — hissed a bald man of about forty, with a scar under his left eye. He burned under the scorching sun of Lorraine. The skin is red. It seems that he is not used to the southern sands, most likely he came from the north. From Velzuvik or Sartolla, but here no one cares about the origin. The main thing is to pay. Without money, you yourself can become a slave. And without security, even the money will not be saved: it can be taken away in the nearest gateway.

The crowd gasped and stared at him.

— This is Lord Latrich himself! — people whispered.

— It’s not fair! — the fat man shouted. — Using water as a currency is unthinkable! Twenty gold pieces for a young maiden!

— Sold for twenty-two buckets of water! — the slave’s owner shouted. The girl was brought to Latrich. The lord looked at the fat man with an undisguised grin. The old man grimaced and turned away. He called one of the servants, whispered something in his ear, and he walked away. After a while, the bald man grabbed the cobra in his fist, which almost bit him on the leg. He tore off the bastard’s head. All eyes are directed at the owner of the scar.

Latrich pulled a musket from his belt and fired. The fat man fell, swaying. Several soldiers of the dead man immediately rushed towards the lord. But he shook his head. Their path was blocked by Latrich’s thugs. The lord smiled.

— Who else is dissatisfied with my trading methods?

No one had them.

Latrich often participated in trades. And it was he who won the best slaves. None of those present here knew exactly where he was taking them and for what purpose the lord needed so many slaves. He is rich, and this is the main thing for the locals.

— Next lot!

Dorkhand was pulled onto the wooden platform. He tried to escape several times. Moter, one of the soldiers, applied medicinal alhans to moderate the pain of the boy’s finger that had almost been bitten off. That’s why the prince was tied up. Hidden under a thick linen shirt is a bruise. If it were not forbidden to beat those intended for sale, then his face would have been beaten.

— Starting price — seven gold!

— I’m placing a bet! — said an unpleasant-looking woman.

“Four buckets of water,” Latrich said.

— Six buckets! — the woman shouted. Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared at her, not hiding surprise and admiration.

— Four buckets of water and three pinches of Eldevian spice.

Now the eyes are directed to Latrich.

— Sales!

Dorkhand, even tied up, almost escaped. Latrich’s servants grabbed him under the arm and dragged him to the rooms bought by Latrich. A dark-skinned old woman slave with a kind face cut the ropes.

— I am the prince of blood! I can’t be bought!

— You better not kick. My advice to you. Otherwise Latrich will skin you alive. He is not a good person and will stop at nothing. Better wash yourself before meeting the lord.

She sat the boy in a barrel of warm water. Dorkhand took his first swim since they found themselves in the damned desert. Then they put new clothes on him and took him somewhere. He tried to break free, but in vain: the soldier squeezed his shoulder tightly, something almost crunched.

— It hurts!

— Go peacefully — then everything will be okay!

Latrich sat at a long oak table and ate dates, spitting out the seeds directly onto the floor.

— Well, well, interesting!

Dorkhand could only see from close up that there was a ring on each of the lord’s fingers.

— Sir, there has been a terrible misunderstanding! I am the prince of the blood! My name is Dorhand! I am the heir of Sartoll! My father’s advisor got something mixed up, and I…

— Be silent! You sucker are now my slave! — Latrich grabbed Dorkhand by the ear, and a tear flowed from pain. — Forget your past life. You will only speak when I allow you to. I don’t like empty chatter. Take him to the barracks.

Latrich pushed Dorhand away, and he almost hit his head on the corner of the table. The same soldier approached him and pulled him somewhere by the collar. When they disappeared behind the door, Dorhand read sympathy on the face of the giant soldier.

— You… be careful with the lord. He has a short temper. It won’t be good for you. What is your name?

— Dorhand. And you?

— Volume. Big Man Vol. Come on, Dorhand, eat an apple. It’s a long time before dinner.

The sour apple juice flowed pleasantly across the tongue. Dorhand only now remembered that he had not eaten for two days.

— Thank you.

— Only you… no nonsense. You won’t be able to escape from the barracks.

***

It stank not only of sweat, but also of sewage. The owner of the inn did not do any landscaping, so the slaves had to relieve themselves in the middle of the barracks. Dorhand sat down on the bare wooden floor, where it was not so dirty. This looks like his home for the next few days. Maybe years. “The main thing is not forever!” — thought the boy. Dorhand lowered his head to his knees. The body itched and hurt. From beatings and burns left by the inhospitable sun on the skin of a northerner. The face of his father appeared in his thoughts. He is now dead. Is your brother alive?

The boy was distracted from his thoughts by crying. Not far from him he saw a girl. The same one that was bought with him.

— My name is Dorkhand. And you?

— Lina.

— Why are you crying? — Dorkhand only now noticed a trickle of blood flowing down Lina’s leg. — Were you wounded?

— Don’t think. The lord touched me. Do you know what I mean? Touched there!

Dorhand nodded, although he did not fully understand what the girl was talking about. He read about something like this in an adult book, but he never fully understood what it was.

— Do not Cry. Everything will be fine. Touched, but remained alive.

— You do not understand anything! He’s a real monster! I come from a rich family. I’m not used to being treated like this. I had a nanny. She taught me etiquette. Do you know what this is?

— I read about it. The traveler Khorel wrote about something like this. In his book about Beelzuvik.

— I’ve been to the Capital. Not once. And then… and then…

She burst into tears.

— My parents were killed. I was rich.

“And I am a prince,” Dorkhand almost said. But then I thought: “I was a prince”

— My father was killed too! — Dorkhand said, and a terrible light flashed in his eyes.

“One day I will avenge this!”

At sunset the food arrived. There is sour porridge in the bowls. They didn’t give me spoons, so Dorkhand, grimacing, stuffed it into his mouth with his fingers. I ate a crust of stale bread and washed it down with unpleasant-smelling water. But this also seemed like a royal dinner after a long famine. Tom quietly put an apple in the boy’s pocket and smiled friendly. At first Dorkhand didn’t like the big guy, but he turned out to be the kindest person. The boy broke the fruit into two parts. He handed the big one to Lina.

— Thank you! — she whispered. Others looked at the newcomers with envy. But one of the slaves looked at them, and therefore no one dared to attack Lina and Dorhand to take away the sweetness or cause harm.

Dorkhand fell asleep as soon as he rested his head on the floor. His father appeared to him in a dream.

The morning began with several blows of whips on the wooden floor. Most of the slaves left the barracks, heading to work.

— Why don’t they take us away?

“It seems that the owner has a more unenviable fate in store for you,” said the slave who yesterday protected Dorkhand from attacks on the apple. “Tam,” he extended his calloused hand.

— My name is Dorkhand. So what is the fate?

— The owner is a sorcerer. He selects slaves to conduct experiments. Many die. And those who are alive lose their own will, and sometimes even their reason.

A shiver ran down Dorhand’s spine. He read in books about sorcerers. Lately, more and more stories have been written about the King-beyond-the-Mountain, one of the new Dark Lords, who settled in the eternal ice of Sanem. The northern lands are many leagues from Sartoll, but do not think that the dashing will remain there forever.

After a while, Tom entered the barracks.

— The owner wants to see you.

Dorhand almost cried on the way to Latrich. The lord personally tore the sleeve of the boy’s shirt. Latrich lowered the iron rod into the flame. And then he left a brand on the boy’s shoulder. He screamed.

— Jump on one leg! — Latrich commanded. Dorhand felt that he had lost control of himself. An unknown force forced him to do everything the lord said, and it was impossible to refuse him. — And you said that you were a prince. A real slave.

Latrich laughed ominously, and Dorhand clenched his fist in impotent anger.

“One day I will take my revenge on you!”

Revenge is not the best advisor, but sometimes there come moments in life when there is nothing left but revenge. She becomes the only thread that does not allow her to say goodbye to the world of the living.

Chapter 3. Escape

They stayed a couple more weeks in the Desert and then headed north. Heather was more common here than anywhere else, so Dorhand guessed that they were somewhere in South Sartoll, in one of the provinces, perhaps Silerine or Hewick.

The spacious castle could not be compared with those untidy barracks where we had to live for the last month.

“But this castle is far from the fortified city of Lindell,” thought Dorhand, sighing. White marble, statues of maidens and warriors of his native city forced Dorkhand to shed a single bitter tear. Memories never give us peace. Or maybe as long as we remember, we live?

There’s something scary about this place. The feeling of unreasonable fear and anxiety did not leave here.

— I’m scared! What awaits us here? — Lina asked. Dorhand repeatedly glanced at Lina’s shoulder as she exposed him. There was no trace of a brand. So, she didn’t have the same fate! Slaves with this mark often walked bare-chested. The sign on their shoulder glowed with blue flashes, like lightning on a stormy night. And the eyes are empty. Dorkhand often lost control of himself. At such moments, he heard the commanding voice of the sorcerer in his head, and could not resist his will.

From the very first days, Dorkhand was haunted by the dream of escape. But there seemed to be no way to salvation. The castle is an impregnable fortress, there were always guards scurrying here and there. And of course, the voice of the magician in my head. But you can’t stay here forever! The people are waiting for him! And revenge for the death of his father. He will kill the traitor Langer. And the whole of Lorraine will turn into a lifeless desert, as it was half a century ago.

One day Dorhand discovered a library behind an unlocked oak door. Books have always been a refuge from the real world, a window into other universes. Therefore, that same night, when everyone fell asleep, the boy secretly went to the mysterious room.

“Runes,” read the book that lay on a rough oak table, not varnished.

“True magic has long been dead,” said the author of the book. — This is the magic of thoughts, words and movements. An experienced sorcerer did not need additional funds. Later they began to use objects in rituals, and eventually even runes and other signs.”

After some time, he saw the rune that was on his brand.

“Rune of Submission. The Dark Lords of the War of the Lords era put one on the shoulder of a slave, and a rune of power on a ring or other decoration. This gave them complete control over someone else’s mind.”

Many of the books were written in an ancient, incomprehensible language, but Dorkhand greedily absorbed even these crumbs of knowledge that he managed to squeeze out. While presenting food to Latrich, he allowed himself to briefly examine the signs on the rings on the sorcerer’s hands. Runes of power. Lightning runes. Magic amplifiers. Only Dorkhand could not decipher the signs on the iron ring.

Latrich worked tirelessly. He sat in the library, making extracts from the book that Dorkhand studied at night. And then he conducted experiments on slaves. Tonight, after an unsuccessful test, slaves carried Durich to throw him from the castle window. Freemen were buried in the Valley of Stones, outside the city, but why would a slave need such honors? Bon died yesterday. The day before yesterday… Why, people were dying every day, and Dorkhand knew that one day his turn would come to take part in the incomprehensible experiment of a bald sorcerer with a scar.

Dorhand glanced at Durich’s finger. Latrich put a ring inscribed with runes on the slave. Dorhand is too smart for his age. And he often practiced the language of runes.

“Looks like Latrich is trying to find a recipe for longevity, or even immortality! He wants to write runes on the ring with his tongue so he can live forever! How many more must die for one to continue to live until he has lived all the lives of the people he killed?”

To say that the slaves were fed disgustingly is the same as remaining silent. Pigs — and besides rotten porridge, sometimes they were given boiled fruits taken from compotes. Sometimes, of course, they spoiled him with beans, but Dorkhand never stopped dreaming about meat. When no one was looking, Tom would sometimes throw in a handful of strawberries or cherries. On Sundays they gave us wine or beer, a whole barrel for the barracks. But Dorhand refused. His father’s words stuck in his head forever.

— Wine is the drink of slaves and the poor. Having drunk themselves into unconsciousness, they forget about chains and problems, and are ready to work again and again, just to drink another glass of poison. But for a prince, being drunk is an unforgivable luxury.

Dorhand wanted to remember. Memory is the only thing left for him.

One day Latrich went hunting, and Dorhand realized that a better opportunity might not present itself. He sneaked into the kitchen. I put dried lamb, a couple of breads and dried fruits in a bag.

***

He touched Lina’s shoulder.

— Come with me?

— Where are you going?

— Get out of here. We need to decide soon. There may not be another chance.

— But this is dangerous! — Lina exclaimed.

— Speak a little quieter. I don’t think it can get any worse. They may kill us — but is the life of a slave better than death?

— I want to get out of here too! Hateful place! — said Tam, one of the slaves.

— And I!

— And me too!

There were about ten fugitives in total.

“I thought about leaving on my own, it’s not so noticeable,” Dorkhand said.

There was a dissatisfied murmur from the comrades.

“But I have one idea for this case,” said Dorhand, after thinking for a moment. — I have some dream grass. Let’s add it to Tom’s food. And when he falls asleep, we’ll go quietly.

That’s what they did. Having waited until the Big Man had closed his eyelids and was snoring loudly, the friends tiptoed along the corridor, avoiding the guards who were scurrying back and forth.

Something grabbed Dorkhand by the leg, and he almost screamed in surprise. Something cold and unpleasant. A lump of fear rose in my throat. The boy stood up as if in a daze.

— Where are you going, scoundrels? — a creaky voice rang out. He looked back. And he saw that all his comrades were shrouded in black smoke, which took on the shape of people.

“But Latrich does not have true magic! He can’t stop us from a distance! So this is just some kind of trick, cunning.”

— Dorhand, I hate spiders! — Lina almost burst into tears. The shadows on her leg turned into spiders. And Dorkhand’s limbs were shrouded in snakes. He tried not to pay attention to the vision. I looked for something that could help me get out of the trap.

— Dorhand. I told you that this is dangerous, that it’s not worth it… — Lina burst into tears without finishing her sentence.

— They are not real! — Dorkhand found it hard to believe the words he said. The snakes realistically touched the skin, wriggled and hissed. For a moment Dorkhand thought that the words flashed through the hiss:

“I will kill you the same way I killed your stupid father!”

Dorhand clenched his fist, but managed to pull himself together. He raised his leg and saw under it on one of the stone slabs a rune with the image of a snake.

— Do not step on such slabs! — Dorhand said. — These runes cause visions!

As soon as you removed your foot from the image, the ghosts and snakes melted into thin air.

They walked calmly to the end of the corridor. They hit the two guards who were standing at the entrance on the head. Tam blocked the way for one of the remaining men when he tried to raise the alarm by ringing the bell. He shook his head and threw a knife at the guard. The weapon slammed into his throat, and he sank to the floor, making gurgling sounds.

— Return to the stall, pathetic slaves! — the guard who remained on his feet snorted with contempt. It seems that he is too stupid to appreciate the superiority of forces. Or he considered slaves worse than himself. Tam hit him in the face, and he staggered and fell to the floor. After a few minutes, no one was blocking the path to the gate.

Freedom greeted them with welcoming coolness. A light torrential rain was falling.

— This is good! The dogs that are put on our trail will not find us right away,” Tam said.

It smelled like it always did after rain. The wind pleasantly ruffled the hem of his shirt. In the distance a wolf howled and an owl snorted.

— Freedom! — said Dorkhand.

— Do you have a plan? Where to go? — Tam asked.

— What a plan! Tam, I only lived eleven springs! There are grown men among us.

— But everyone followed you, not me. You brought us out, brave boy.

“We need to get as far away from the castle as possible so that they don’t find us right away.” We are without chains, but by the brand they can immediately guess who we are. I think we should try to get to the capital. I am, after all, a king!

“I don’t want to upset you, Dorkhand, but, most likely, someone else managed to take the throne in your absence.” Without an army, you are unlikely to receive the crown. And with the brand you will be given to another owner. Or they will return Latricha.

— But I’m the king! — Dorhand looked at Tam hopefully, but he remained impartial. — Do you have better ideas than mine?

— Let’s head southeast. They say that the largest rebel army since the last Slave War has gathered there. They are all runaway slaves, just like us. Their leader plans a great march on Lorraine to wipe out the Market, the center of the slave trade.

“I am the heir to the throne,” Dorkhand reminded, “and not a simple runaway slave.”

— No. As long as you are yourself, you will lead the chains.

Dorhand easily determined the cardinal directions by the moss-covered part of the oak tree. We decided to head southeast, as Tam advised. Dorhand felt that the further they moved away from the castle, the less the brand hurt.

“Let’s run a little more, and the sorcerer’s power over me will dry up completely.”

***

Latrich returned to the castle after midnight, wet and in no mood. Looks like the hunt wasn’t a success. When he noticed it was missing, he became furious.

— Clumsy Tom! They’re worth their weight in gold! I bought them for a lot of money. Magic flows in each of them. And without this gift my experiments are worthless! The prince is especially valuable. He himself doesn’t realize it, but true enchantment flows in his veins. I risked everything to get it! I bribed an advisor to take the royal family across the desert. I persuaded the robbers to attack and kill Linder, taking his son prisoner. If this gets out, I’m done! But the game is worth the candle! The boy will give me real power. Therefore, we must find him at any cost! Guards!

Two soldiers entered.

— Take Big Tom to the dungeon. And don’t let him out until we find the boy.

***

The wolf followed in their footsteps, but did not dare to approach. Hunger pushed him forward, but attacking ten armed men was suicide. Travelers often saw green eyes sparkling in the reflection of the moon. The owl hummed his terrible lullaby.

We ate dried lamb with a crust of bread. A flask of water was passed around. After the slave dinners, this meal seemed like a feast. Louis was sent to fill a flask at a nearby stream. They did not dare to make a fire.

“The fire will be seen from afar,” Tam said. “We’ll have to get food tomorrow,” Tam said. “This won’t last us long.”

“I told you right away that I planned to set off on my own,” said Dorhand. “That’s why I took provisions for one person.”

They climbed onto the branches to sleep. The wolf lay down near one of the oak trees, waiting for one of the travelers to fall in their sleep.

— Dorkhand, drive him away! — said Lina. — I’m afraid of this wolf!

— Will he touch you on the branch? Come on sleep! Tomorrow there is a long difficult road ahead.

— Oh, if only we knew these lands better! — said Tam. “Then we could move at night to further break away from our pursuers.”

“No, we will not move at night,” said Dorhand. “It wasn’t enough for someone to break their leg.” Then it will be difficult.

As soon as dawn spilled crimson colors onto the gray skies, the travelers began to have breakfast to gain strength before the journey.

— Where is the wolf?

— Left to look for another victim.

They walked at a brisk pace, mostly in silence, only occasionally exchanging terse words. Curious dragonflies, huge dragonflies, flew up every now and then to inspect the uninvited guests. It smelled of myrtle and juniper. The hardworking woodpecker did not get tired of working, echoing his knocking sound around the area.

Tam stopped abruptly.

— Do you hear?

— What are you talking about? — asked Dorkhand.

“Quiet,” Tam put his ear to the damp ground. — People. On horseback. Try not to make noise or leave marks. Most likely, this is a pursuit of us.

— It’s good that they didn’t start a fire last night.

— Sooner or later we will have to light a fire. Supplies are running low. But eating raw meat is dangerous.

It didn’t take long for Tam’s words to be confirmed. As dusk fell on the age-old oak trees, the sound of hooves was heard.

— Fast! Take cover! — Dorkhand commanded.

In the twilight, from a distance one can discern the shine of the brand on the slave’s shoulder. Dorkhand himself felt the influence of the magic of the sign on his hand that Latrich left. It seems that whoever leads the movement of slaves has a portable source of power over the bearers of the brand, or the sorcerer himself has gone in search. It is unlikely! What could a squad of runaway slaves mean to a lord? Or does it still mean something?..

Dorhand did not have time to fully think this thought through. An emotionless voice sounded very close:

— I see them.

One of the slaves hit him on the shoulder, right in the place where the brand was red.

“What if we just peel the skin off this place? Maybe this will remove the spell cast by the sorcerer? — thought Dorkhand.

Tam cut off three heads of his pursuers with one blow. But several crossbow bolts hit his chest. He sank to the ground.

— No-no! — the boy shouted to the whole area. Tears flowed from the eyes. The last time he experienced this was three years ago, when bandits killed his father. Will your whole life be filled only with losses?

— Dorhand, I am very glad that I was with you these days!

He closed his eyes. Forever. Dorkhand grabbed the blade, with anger in his eyes, and tried to attack the nearest pursuer. But Murray, the head of the detachment, shook his head.

— You are surrounded. There is no use in resisting. Either you all die, or go back to the owner.

Murray dismounted his mare.

— On knees!

Dorhand felt his hand burn from the inside in the place where the brand glowed bluish. He could not resist someone else’s will. He knelt down, and with him other slaves, including those in the pursuing squad.

— That is great! — Murray laughed, and Dorhand clenched his fists. A tear ran down my cheek.

***

When the fugitives were brought in, Latrich was chewing ham, drinking wine from a crystal goblet. The castle stank of dampness, the walls were covered with black mold. Cold. The dim, flickering light of the torches barely chased away the darkness. The sorcerer laughed.

— They couldn’t escape far, as I see.

He began to pace around the room, looking into each of the fugitives’ eyes. For a while, only the sound of his steps broke the silence.

— Bring Tom.

Murray went to prison. Latrich looked into Dorhand’s eyes.

— The struggle for freedom means someone’s death and blood, and most often not of enemies, but of relatives and friends. Sometimes, your own blood. And no romance or justice. I studied with Hallon from early childhood. Do you know him? One day I got tired of the taunts of a sorcerer, whom you may know as the King-Behind-the-Mountain. I also decided to run away, like you today. And he punished me severely, teaching me a lesson that I will not be able to forget for the rest of my life. He forced to kill the guard who missed the fugitives. I was seven years old then.

Tom was brought in. The big guy lost a fair amount of weight during the time Dorkhand was away. His face is bruised, a tooth is knocked out.

— Please, Latrich! I served you faithfully!

— Kill him! — said Latrich, and Dorhand, unable to resist the magic, headed towards the guard.

— Boy! Remember! I protected you! I gave you food that other slaves did not see.

Dorhand burst into tears. He loved this clumsy man with all his heart. But the enchanted brand will free the boy.

“Please don’t do this! I don’t want!”

“Kill him! Kill!”

A blow to the heart with a dagger — and warm scarlet blood poured into the boy’s hands. She splashed her face and shirt. Tom groaned and fell to the floor. So Dorkhand became a killer at the age of eleven.

— One day I will take revenge on you! — the boy whispered. — I will kill you, Latrich, I promise! And your magic won’t save you!

— No need for loud words. Every attempt you make to resist me will cost you dearly. Next time I’ll make you kill one of your friends. And maybe not just one. Do you want Lina dead? She’ll be next.

— Nooo! — Dorkhand shouted. — Please, not this!

The slaves did not move.

— Be a good girl. She will die next. She will pay for your disobedience if it happens again. I am stripping you of your name, Dorhand. From now on everyone will call you Namlis, the Nameless One!

Many hid their real names so that the sorcerers would not gain power over them. Only the best friends knew the true name. But to lose a name forever is a terrible shame even for a slave.

Most people over fifty begin to think about death. They sew clothes in which they will go on a long journey to a better world. Old people try to correct the mistakes of their youth so that nothing drags them down. But Dorkhand, at eleven years old, knew more about death than many mortals. First, the death of my father. No one closer to Linder appeared for the boy. Then the death of two friends on the same day. But should he give up? Will he be able to forgive himself if he gives up, unable to fight? Dorhand left a small scratch on his arm as a sign of yet another revenge plan.

The boy did not yet know what blow Fate was preparing for him.

Chapter 4. Revenge of the Nameless One

When you’re fifteen, the world seems full of color and perspective. You can handle everything. If you stretch out your hand, you can even grab a star, and, if you wish, the Moon. And then everything changes and becomes gray, meaningless and boring. And so on two hundred times a day. Love at this age is first, but until the grave, friendship is forever, although the closest person may be the first person you meet. Black and white, no shades. In five years, the attitude towards the world will change dramatically. Parents talk about this: “When you grow up, you will understand everything yourself.” Or maybe they do not become wiser, but simply resign themselves to the injustices of the world, unable to fight them? This is the easiest way: pretend that you understand everything, and throw yourself into the river and float with the flow.

But now Dorkhand woke up with thoughts about Lina and fell asleep. Even in his dreams she appeared to him, beautiful and naked. On these nights, he woke up earlier than expected, sweating, with rapid breathing. One fine evening she honored him with a kiss. Lina was an adult. You can’t hide your feelings from her, they are in full view. Girls always get older before boys. Such is their mysterious nature.

But she kissed not only Dorkhand. Very often, approaching the door, when Latrich called the girl to him, Dorkhand heard rapid breathing and moans. He knew now what it meant, but he couldn’t fix it. Lina is a concubine. One of several. In Beelzuvik, the law has long prohibited this kind of relationship, but will such laws soon come to Sartoll? “One day I will become a king, and I will fix everything.” The young man clenched his fists and beat them against the stone wall in order to somehow take out his anger. He is only a slave, Nameless. And Lord Latrich is also a powerful sorcerer. As soon as he snaps his fingers, Lina will die. Dorhand is ready to do anything to prevent this from happening.

Latrich now conducted experiments every day. The slaves died one after another, and new ones were brought from the Slave Market of Lorraine in their place. Latrich never left the castle again.

— The King-beyond-the-Mountain is preparing a campaign. We must be prepared for that moment,” Dorkhand once heard a snippet of conversation.

One day Dorkhand saw that Lina was taken out of the experiment room. Her eyes were closed, and there was dried blood on her chest.

— No! — the guy shouted. — Not this! She couldn’t die!

Latrich looked at him:

— You’re next, Namlis. Tomorrow you will take part in my research.

Dorhand tore the ring off the finger of the dead Lina. Her body will be thrown into the abyss, but at least something should remain as a memory.

— Darling! For what? Creator, why do I need all these deaths? I loved her more than anything in the world! She is my moon and my sun. How should I live? I hate it! I will turn Latrich into dust!

The young man was crying. The guards indifferently pulled him away from the body. And then they threw her through the window into the abyss. Dorhand clenched his fists, but restrained himself from hitting the guards. It shouldn’t attract attention. He must focus on revenge against the black sorcerer. He must not leave Lina unavenged. And Tom. And Tema.

Now nothing could stop his intentions. Friends tried to avoid him like a leper, afraid of being infected by his bad luck and that they would be next. But this is good: no one stopped Dorkhand from preparing.

There was a clear flaw in the code Latrich had put on the ring. Is the lord really so stupid in runology? Dorhand made a few changes and was enveloped in a barely noticeable bluish orb.

— Did I really do this? Did he make a ring in one evening that Latrich couldn’t take a whole decade to do?

Then Dorkhand tore off the skin from his shoulder with a dagger in the place where the brand flickered. He brought the torch to the bleeding wound. Dying from blood poisoning at a crucial moment is a stupid idea. But remaining with a brand on your shoulder is doubly stupid. When the pain went away, he realized that he was finally free.

But no one is born with a mark. Why then do some become slaves and others their masters? Life is too fleeting to waste precious moments serving someone. Let everyone work for themselves.

In the morning, Dorkhand was led into a huge hall decorated with tapestries.

— Pray to the gods, Namlis! Latrich said. — Today is probably your last day.

Blue lightning flashed from the sorcerer’s hands. But they were reflected from the magical sphere that was created by the ring that Dorhand painted with runes last night.

— Ring of immortality! — Latrich shouted. — I managed! After so much work I did it! Bring it to me!

Dorhand shook his head.

— It’s mine.

— How dare you, nameless slave? Submit to me!

Latrich expected the usual effect of the brand. But Dorkhand unrolled the cloth with which he covered the wound so as not to become infected.

— I’m no longer your slave.

— How dare you! Namlis, obey! Otherwise…

— Otherwise what? Will you kill me? So I’m immortal now. Or will you kill Lina again?

— Namlis…

— My name is Dorkhand. I am Prince Sartoll. I am the rightful king of these lands.

— Grab him! And bring a ring! — the sorcerer shouted. The slaves, shining with their brands, ran towards the young man, but a bluish sphere stopped them, not allowing them to complete what they started. Dorhand picked up two swords that the attackers had dropped and cut off Latrich’s hands with them. The sorcerer screamed. Confusion was visible on the faces of the slaves. They clenched and unclenched their fists uncertainly, their bodies belonged to them again.

— True magic is dead, Latrich. You are not a real sorcerer. Without rings you are nothing. Pathetic parody of a person! Cauterize its stumps so that it does not die prematurely. Death would be too easy a payment for him.

Dorhand lowered the iron rod into the flame, heating it up.

— Slave! — Latrich shouted. — How dare you! Stop him! — but the slaves did not want to listen to him, deprived of the rings of power. And then Dorhand left a mark on the shoulder of the recent owner of the castle. The young man took the rings from his severed hands and put them on his finger.

— And which of us is the slave now? — Dorhand grinned. — Jump on one leg. Latrich carried out his order.

— I’ll kill you! One day I will kill you! Slave! — Latrich hissed like a snake in the desert of Lorraine.

— Take him to the slave barracks. By the way, from today you are all free people. And Silerin will be the Capital of the fight against slavery.

The slaves shouted in unison:

— Hooray! Long live Dorhand.

They did not yet know what price they would have to pay in their struggle for freedom. Spit. The main thing is to live without chains and whips.

They knew the price of will.

“Give me the parchment,” said Dorhand. “I’ll write to my brother that I’m alive, that I’m heading to Lindell.” I think he will be glad to meet you.

Latrich laughed:

— Stupid idea. Nameless. Now power in the kingdom actually belongs to Councilor Langer. I paid him seven years ago to persuade Linder to travel across the desert. Do you think he will choose to admit this truth, or will he send an army to Silerin to defeat the rebel slaves? I think, most likely, he will call you an impostor so as not to admit the truth. Are you ready for war?

— I am ready to do anything to get rid of slavery in my lands.

“As I see, Namlis, you are two-faced,” said Latrich. “You want to make me your slave, but, nevertheless, you continue to convince everyone that you are fighting for freedom.”

— You will be the only slave in Seisil. You deserved it. And the rest will be free.

— Maybe you, who are in chains, also chose this fate yourself? Actions, mistakes, murders of friends, betrayals?

— Take the sorcerer away. I don’t want to see him next to me anymore.

Chapter 5. New order

A book is the best advisor. People make mistakes, and sometimes they just lie — there is nothing to hide. There are those who can hardly express the right thoughts, or prefer to talk about something that is not what they should be talking about, for fear of being punished for telling the truth or out of stupidity. And in books you can find long-forgotten secrets. The Truth is hidden in them.

“But people write books!” — you can say. The ancient sages believed that people write down thoughts in books that come from somewhere outside. True, true thoughts are those who are worthy. That is why they allowed selected wise men to write. Students must rewrite and make copies of someone else’s work. This was true until the printing press was invented.

Dust lay like a gray blanket on the shelves and books. The spider had long since finished its work, and the web covered the walls and ceiling with patterned lace. The candle barely dispersed the darkness. It smelled of dampness and paper. Dorhand again spent time in the library, trying to find something there that could help him in his fight. He found several manuscripts about the ancient Monianican order, whose monks devoted themselves to the fight against evil. The young man also read about a sorcerer who allegedly lives in the Litargian Forest.

There was a quiet knock. The door opened with a creak. A fair-haired man of about thirty with a scar on his face entered.

— Sorry, Dorhand! Am I distracting?

— Come in, Paris. Tell me, what’s new?

— Thirty more of Latrich’s minions were caught. Everyone is now in prison. What do you want to do with them? — asked Paris.

— Feed them. Give me good food and water,” Dorkhand replied.

— Did they care about us when we were slaves? We ate scraps and drank rotten water,” said Paris.

— The time for revenge will come. They are not to blame for Latrich’s actions.

— But not one of them stood up for us! — Paris clenched his fist.

— You’re right about that. But we cannot blame the soldiers for following orders. A good fighter is without a thought in his head, but he is ready to sacrifice his life, following the order of the commander,” Dorkhand said.

— So let them donate!

— Offer to join us. And the rest are in prison. I won’t stoop to Latrich’s level. If I find out that one of the prisoners is being beaten or humiliated, I will execute him.

They were silent for some time.

“Listen, Paris,” said Dorhand. — Do you think we are doing the right thing?

— What are you talking about, Namlis?

— Well, recruiting rebels. Killing, in the end, the servants of the slave traders. Maybe everything should take its course? Maybe if we don’t continue what we started, we will save many lives?

— One person has no right to force another to do anything. That’s why freedom exists. Moreover, life in chains is just existence. Not real life.

“I think you know how much blood will have to be shed to achieve your goal.” Do we have the right to pay such a price? Do we have the right to decide?

— How much blood was shed? Such exactly innocent blood. Did they have the right to put us in chains? And others. Why are slave traders better that they consider themselves entitled to take other people’s time? Has Latrich thought about the price that must be paid for his goal? We must bring freedom to our world. “I think so,” said Paris.

“You didn’t come to report to me about the fugitives, did you?” — Dorkhand asked.

— Our messenger to King Gutan, your brother, is dead. The other day they brought his head.

— A curse! — Dorhand hit the stone wall with his fist. — I wanted to fix everything peacefully!

“And I also brought news from the allies,” said Paris. — Starval himself came to visit you.

The slave revolt had been brewing for several decades. Dissatisfied with their fate, the slaves killed their owners and gathered in small camps. They robbed carts passing by and freed new slaves.

You can dissolve a lot of salt in a glass of water. At first it will simply disappear into the liquid, and then the solution will become cloudy. But in order for a crystal to begin to grow, a seed is needed that will shake the unstable system and lead to irreparable changes. Such a speck of dust on which the crystal of the spirit of freedom began to appear was the seizure of power by the slave Namlis in the province of Silerin.

Starval turned out to be a grey-bearded, bald old man. When Dorkhand came in, he was drinking beer from a roasted pheasant.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you, new owner of the castle, but after the journey I’m too hungry, so I asked your servants to cook this wonderful pheasant for me.”

— Not servants. Comrades.

— Sorry. I come from a wealthy family, so I’m used to servants in castles. Starval,” the old man extended his hand. Dorhand shook it.

— And what are you doing among the rebels, Starval from a rich family?

“This is an old story,” Starval thought for a minute. — Past life. Namlis, rumors about you and your actions are spreading. Your messenger arrived recently. At first I didn’t attach much importance to it. Everyone in our camp is hiding from the law, we live by robbery. In general, we are living well, but we don’t know hard times. And your proposals to go to the Capital with an army of slaves were initially treated as a joke. But lately the guards have become angrier and are pursuing further. Namlis, you shouldn’t have stirred up a hornet’s nest. I would run away like everyone else, and that would be the end of it. And you are causing trouble. The advisers from Lindell will soon send an army against us. And then no one will be happy! We have been hiding from the law for a long time! But the guards didn’t need us. And now, because of your stupid ideas, all the fugitives will suffer. Stop before it’s too late.

— You are even more slaves than those in shackles! You can’t hide forever! We must fight for freedom! — Dorhand clenched his fists. He had slept poorly the last night: Lina’s eyes appeared in a dream at the moment before her death. He dreamed of looking into the eyes of the traitor Langer, who shackled him.

“You are not the first who is ready to lay down his life for the sake of freedom,” Starval raised his voice. — How are you better than them, the previous ones? Eh, Namlis?

— I’m no better than them. But I can end the suffering of the slaves. Unlike many before me, I am the Crown Prince.

— Namlis, aren’t you taking on too much?

— My real name is Dorkhand. Have you heard of this?

Starval opened his mouth in surprise. And then he got down on his knees.

— Your Majesty, forgive me, I didn’t know! Your face reminds me of your father. But how should I know? It has long been said that you and Linder are dead. But how? How did you become a slave?

— I’m not a slave anymore! Come with me, and one day everyone will be equal in Sartoll. Get up from your knees, Starval. This is no longer necessary. Join the slave army, Starval. I know that you think first of all about profit, and not about someone’s fate.

— But, Your Majesty, I…

— Do not interrupt. So, I will give you lands when I get to Lindell.

“You have awakened memories of old battles in my heart.” I thought they were buried too deep in my heart.

— Get up, Starval! I want to build a state of equals, in which no one will need to kneel. I’ll ask you one thing. For the time being, not a single living soul should know that I am a king. Call me Namlis. I will go with you to the Lithargian Forest. Your camp, if I’m not mistaken, is somewhere not far from it?

— Yes, but I wouldn’t recommend going there. They say he is cursed. The souls of the dead have not rested; they wander at night, taking away unwitting travelers. And ghouls. And people who turn into wolves. Not a single living soul returned from there.

— Where did the rumors come from then, since no one returned? The forest holds many secrets. Some of them I still have to figure out.

Dorhand looked at the writing of mysterious runes on the iron ring, which he had taken from the sorcerer. What kind of secrets do these runes keep?

Chapter 6. The Mystery of the Lithargian Forest

Sometimes it gets cool in the summer. Whether after a hail storm, or just a north wind blowing. Dogs then shake out of habit or curl up, but people are more cunning, they don’t show their noses in public. But among the age-old oaks and elms of the Lithargian Forest it is rarely warm. Maybe the dense crowns of the trees are too high, and through them it is difficult for the sun’s ray to reach the damp earth, or maybe this place is truly cursed.

It smelled of myrtle and dampness. Strekkili, huge dragonflies, often rose in fear from the briar bushes. Oak trees are covered with a thick layer of greenish moss. Dark and gloomy. Dorkhand, who had parted with Starval the day before, was now making his way among the impenetrable bushes on his own. Starval offered to send a small detachment with him, but Namlis flatly refused. Dorhand did not want to advertise the power of the magic ring for the time being.

Dorhand crossed his arms over his chest to protect himself from the biting cold wind.

“Here to pick mushrooms,” thought Namlis.

And the memories came flooding back with pictures and sounds. His father often took him to the forest himself, not entrusting important matters to servants.

“Learn to protect yourself, son, then problems will bounce off you like water from an oil-soaked frying pan. The forest is an enemy for many, but for those who know how to communicate with it, it can become a true ally.”

Dorhand picked a bunch of scarlet berries and threw them into his mouth. He grimaced — sour. One of the strekkils fluttered up. A branch cracked. Dorhand turned around. Behind him stood a terrible creature with pale skin, huge bloody fangs and small scarlet eyes. It gave off a terrible stench and roared.

— Human! It’s been a long time since I’ve drunk human blood. Delicacy!

Dorhand backed away, and the monster looked sideways at him and gave chase. But then a huge wolf jumped out from behind one of the trees and interrupted the monster’s flight. The wolf grabbed the creature by the throat.

— This is my prey! — the monster screamed.

“We warned your tribe of ghouls,” the wolf said in a human voice, “These are our lands!” They belong to werewolves! Don’t come here! This man is my prey!

— I found him first! He is mine!

— Get away, across the river!

The ghoul scratched the wolf’s belly, and he responded by grabbing his throat and tearing off his head. The creature roared before it died. And then the nearby oak trees were doused with blood. The werewolf howled.

The wolf turned his head to Dorkhand and clicked his teeth. His eyes filled with hellish fire.

— Food! — he growled. The wolf overtook Namlis in a couple of leaps, but, hitting an invisible barrier created by a magic ring, he fell to the ground. Growling a couple of times and making several scratches with his claws on the damp ground, the wolf again rushed at Dorhand. And again he hit the invisible barrier.

— And you are not as simple as you seem at first glance. What did you forget in our forest, sorcerer?

— I need to talk to your leader.

The wolf began to change before our eyes, acquiring human features. After some time, a short, hairy man of about forty wearing a wolf skin cape stood on all fours in front of Dorkhand.

“You shouldn’t have come to our lands,” he said, standing on two legs. — We don’t like guests. I alone could not cope with your spell, but with the whole tribe we will tear you apart.

— It is unlikely.

— What is your name?

— Call me Namlis.

— Wow, Nameless. Don’t trust me? You’re doing the right thing, Namlis! If I found out your real name, I immediately subjugated you to my will. The magic in our family has not yet faded.

A whole group of ghouls came out from behind the trees.

— He killed Kurt! That wolf trash killed Kurt!

— What have you forgotten in the lands of the werewolves? Why did you come here? — he turned into a wolf again and howled, and his howl echoed through the forest.

— Kill him!

Several ghouls attacked the wolf. He bit into the throat of one of them, but the other four tore him to pieces. More wolves appeared from behind the oak tree.

— We warned you, enemies: you should not cross the river. But you disobeyed,” the largest of the wolves flashed his eyes ominously. — Do you want war? Well, we are ready to destroy your filthy family to the roots.

— Well, brothers, let’s teach the shaggy ones some good manners?

— Stop! — one of the pale-skinned men shouted, coming forward.

“Wow, Laybon himself decided to come for a visit,” said the leader of the wolves.

— You know, Valukh, that we would not violate the borders if there was no good reason for it.

— I recognize ghouls. They will start a fight themselves, and then run into the bushes when they smell something burning.

One of the ghouls rushed forward, but Labon held him back with his paw.

— He called us. You know who I’m talking about, right?

“The sorcerer is in the house on the hill,” Valukh whispered.

— He is. I heard his call several moons ago. This has not happened for several centuries. It seems that the day he spoke of at the Conversion has arrived. The Great War is coming, and he is gathering our army.

Valukh acquired human form. He looks about fifty years old. Others of his tribe followed his example.

“If it were up to me, I would immediately turn the spellweaver into dust.”

— For the sake of this, I myself would team up with the wolves. But this is not yet in our power. We are slaves to his will, and who knows how long this will last.

— Be guests in my forests, ghouls. One day the time will come to forget hostility in order to unite against a common enemy.

Walukh sniffed.

— Human! There’s a man here!

Several dozen pairs of eyes stared at Dorhand. One of them rushed towards the young man, but could not cross the invisible barrier created by the magic ring.

— Sorcerer! What have you forgotten in our forests?

— I’m looking for a sorcerer who lives on the hill.

— Why do you need him? — asked Labon.

— Tell me about him. Why do your tribes listen to him?

“I was a man,” Labon said. “I was running from the soldiers when I met this sorcerer. Most of my wounds were fatal, but I hoped to hold out for another three days in order to have time to tell my people about the approaching enemy. The sorcerer seemed to be able to read minds. He offered to save a life. And I, a fool, agreed. When I woke up in the morning, I realized that I could not look at the sunlight. And there was also a thirst for blood. I tried to see the sorcerer to deal with him, but the entrance to his house was closed to me. I think liberation will come to me only with death.

“He also deceived me,” said Valukh. “After meeting him, I turned into a half-wolf. In addition to our clans, there are also gargoyles raised by his magic.

“Lead me to his house,” said Dorhand. — I’ll try to help you.

— But we won’t go to that damned place! — said Walukh.

— Let’s go. Or do you want to remain damned until the end of your days?

— Do you know how to free us?

“I hope so,” Dorhand said.

***

Both tribes looked with hope at Dorkhand as a savior. Many of them once bought into the immortality promised by the sorcerer, and were eventually cursed. We all dream of overcoming death and living forever. But few people think about what to do in a series of identical days, and what price they will ultimately have to pay for defeating diseases. And the price turned out to be high for both ghouls and werewolves. The first could not appear in the sunlight, and their thirst for blood knew no end. And the wolf people lost control of themselves during full moons. Many of them did not remember how the previous night had passed, and often they were missing one or two comrades after the next belly moon.

“This is the hill on which the sorcerer’s house is,” said Valukh.

“We have no further way,” said Laybon, “the enchanter has blocked this road for us.”

— A sorcerer named Namlis, kill him! Free our souls! I don’t have the strength to endure endless imprisonment in my own decrepit body.

“I will do everything in my power,” Dorkhand promised.

***

The door opened with a creak. Dorhand fought the urge to hold his nose, escaping the musty smell of the old wooden house on the hill. It smelled of coltsfoot and other herbs and excrement. Darkness. The floorboards creaked treacherously. A flock of bats grabbed the young man’s hair; only a spell read in an ancient book was able to drive away the hungry creatures. Dorhand turned on the magical light. There was a green-faced monster in the corner grinning ominously. Green lights blazed from his clawed fingers and headed towards Dorkhand. But they hit the protective field created by the ring. But the monster did not want to stop, continuing the magic.

— Stop! — Dorkhand shouted. Runes flashed white on Dorkhand’s iron ring. The sorcerer stopped dead in his tracks.

— Where did you get this ring? — the green-faced man asked without moving.

— What kind of ring is this? Why does it have such an impact on you?

The sorcerer laughed.

— Speak! What kind of ring is this?

— This ring once belonged to the Goblin King.

— So you’re a goblin? I thought you were all banished overseas or exterminated!

— I left the city of steel a long time ago. People expelled us from these lands to the Unknown Continent. But one day my people will return. And then the human race will wash itself with blood! And we will receive rich fertile lands that our ancestors once owned!

— What is your name? — Dorkhand asked.

— I’m Jack!

— True name! Speak immediately! — the goblin tried to resist. — Speak! Now!

— Gshuaandrfw’aap’preren.

The runes on the ring continued to glow, and the sorcerer looked at the royal ring with curiosity.

— Goblins have long lost true magic. — Dorkhand suggested. — I read about this in a book. Your power is hidden in objects. What is your power, Gshu… whatever your name is. Speak!

— My greatness is in this pendant.

— Take it off, carefully, without nonsense. I don’t want to kill you.

The goblin took the pendant from his neck and threw it at Dorkhand’s feet. He examined the jewelry and put it on his neck.

— Where did Latrich get this ring from?

— This man swore an oath to the King-beyond-the-Mountain. So do we all. One day he had to bring this ring to…

The goblin did not have time to finish the sentence. A sword mark flashed on his shoulder.

After a few moments, all that was left was dust.

— This King-behind-the-Mountain again. Who is he?

Dorhand rummaged in the desk drawer and found a thick notebook covered in small handwriting.

— Maybe the secret of this very King-behind-the-Mountain is hidden here? Then I’ll read it.

Dorhand hid the notebook in his bosom and left the sorcerer’s house.

At the edge of the forest, both tribes lay huddled: both the werewolves and the ghouls.

— Thank you, sorcerer! You saved our souls. We’ll see you one day in the next world! — said Valukh, and turned into ashes, and with him the other ancient creatures.

— Freedom! — Laybon shouted, disappearing into thin air.

Chapter 7. Diary of a Traitor

After the goblin’s death, something changed in the green-faced house. It was possible to be here calmly, the feeling of anxiety disappeared. Dorhand lit a candle and opened the notebook found in the sorcerer’s box.

“Our whole life is a choice of the lesser evil. The one who has only two evils on his path is lucky; the rest have much more choice. Which one is better to choose — only the Creator knows.

Many considered me a villain, some called me a traitor and a fanatic. Recently my brother even said that I was a coward. It seemed like he didn’t know me well. I was anything but a coward.

Before plunging into the sea, the sun looked into the camera. I grabbed the cold steel bars. There, behind them, is an intoxicating will. And here even the jailers are not so free. They played dominoes, told jokes, laughed loudly. But they are not free to leave prison. Was I ever free myself? No time to rack your brains. Tomorrow at dawn there will be an execution. Maybe death is will?

The door creaked. A tall, thin, bald jailer entered the cell.

— Your last wish will be fulfilled. This is the tradition. And we are not backing down from it.

— I would like to talk to my father. Please call Lord Corwell.

— Another question is whether he will want to talk to you! — the jailer spat at his feet.

— What about the last wish? I think he won’t refuse.

— Make a wish for something real. Maybe some pies with potatoes? Or a prostitute?

— Call your father. Jim, please be human!

— He is not in the city now. You know as well as I that he is a busy man. Left. Where, why, when he will return — not a single living soul knows.

— We are all in the hands of Fate!

— You’re telling the truth. I can call my brother if you want!

I smiled, but I wanted to cry.

— No, you don’t need to call Dominic. We’ve already said too much to each other. Enough. Moreover, he does not know the whole truth.

— Maybe you still want some pies? — Jim winked. — My wife was baking. You know what I have! Skillful fingers! Whatever you undertake, everything turns out at the highest level! Come on, rate it!

I swallowed a couple of pies without even feeling the taste.

— Thank you, Jim. Very tasty. If father returns, call me.

— Fine. Get some sleep. I have to get up early tomorrow.

What a place to sleep! The moon was swimming in the black pool of the starless sky, and I could not drive away the annoying thoughts. I’m only twenty-seven! I’m too young! Although, leading such a life, I would hardly live to see thirty.

Mentally called his father. Silence in response. Honestly, I wasn’t surprised by this — our mental connection has weakened lately. Sometimes I had his voice in my head. But more often I responded to his call, and not he to mine. A traitorous tear ran down her cheek. No, I will not be sad in the last hours of my life. I have nothing to regret. You can’t undo what’s done.

Jim touched his shoulder.

— It’s time!

Still, I fell asleep.

— Will you have another pie? — asked the jailer.

“No, thanks,” I said.

— And I’ll eat one, with your permission.

It’s as simple as that: a man is about to be executed, but he eats.

I walked to the scaffold to the hooting and whistling of those gathered.

— Traitor! Traitor!

— Zaymond, take you!

They threw rotten tomatoes and stones in my face.

“Father!” — he called again mentally. Silence.

“For treason to the Fatherland,” said my brother, looking contemptuously into his face. — For the murders of our men, as well as their wives and children. For a betrayal of sorts. For dealing with dark forces. Rigvel, son of Corvell, is found guilty. Cut off his head!

They say that before death your whole life flies by. I don’t know how the living learned this secret of the dying, but images from the past cascaded into my thoughts.

***

I was ten years old. I remember that day more vividly than others, because then my life changed. Our father raised Dominic and me. My mother died during my birth, and Corvell never found a worthy replacement for her. Maybe that’s why he loved Dominic more than me? Maybe he believed that I was to blame for the death of his beloved? Or was it just my imagination? For a long time I tried to remember my father’s face, but now it appeared in the blackness.

— You are an adult, Rigvel. Of course, many boys your age play pipes and fight with wooden swords. But there are always more demands on high-born people. I think you are ready to defend the Fatherland.

All men, when born, must lay down their lives for the interests of the rulers. This is their fate.

— Of course, father. As you say!

— Dark times, son, have come. Many people don’t see this because they are stupid; others try not to notice, turn a blind eye to obvious things, but the evil is strong. Dark shamans will bring winds of death to our lands. And they are led by the new Dark Lord, Zaaron. He is of royal family, so he was able to gather a huge army, which would fall like an avalanche on the whole world. You must make a contribution to building a bright future and to the fight against evil.

— If it is necessary to lay down my life, I will gladly give it.

Corvell laughed.

— I will not demand a senseless death. It is unlikely that the boy will be able to do much in battle. Moreover, we cannot win this war. I am a soothsayer, you know about my rare gift. I went through all the possible outcomes of the war with Zaaron. The forces of Light are too divided to achieve victory. And if he defeats us, then in the next century his power over the world will be undeniable. I tried to use the techniques of the forbidden black prophecy against him. Do you know what this is?

I knew. Childhood in the company of the prophet was not without consequences.

— I know.