Chapter 11

Aaron sighed wearily and sank into a chair. He glanced at the two oil lamps, commanding them to be lit. Every hour of a new life threw up surprises, as if fate itself laughed at his attempts to realize what was happening. Since he is a Dark Magician here, how did he manage to create a ball of True Light and touch it without experiencing pain? Junior al-Korm is right—it's impossible. Although what happened to him is possible?

Aaron tried to remember exactly how he had summoned the beam of sunlight, but his mind was blank.

In the neighboring chambers, the twin's notes were waiting, but I did not want to return to them, again plunge into a life filled with Dark magic. Aaron was here for only one day, but it seemed as if a year had passed. At heart after meeting with Wend was disgusting. Moreover, this boy ar-Korm, who looked at him with anxious expectation, periodically growing into outright horror...

Maybe forget about everything until the morning? Still, the night is meant for sleeping, not for reading the diaries of the Dark Magicians.

As soon as I lay down, my thoughts began to get confused, indistinct images flashed before my inner gaze. And the dream came.

***

… Aron was surrounded by trees, the crowns of which autumn painted in his favorite colors: yellow, red, crimson. In some places there were also brown leaves - like large drops of dried blood. Fallen leaves, almost alive, with soft flesh, lay like an endless carpet under the hooves of horses. And the air is transparent, still warm and sweet like summer, but already with a hint of the imminent dying of the world, of the white shroud of winter.

There was movement behind him. Aaron looked around lazily, already knowing whom he would see. Mea-tael was approaching on a black stallion - his own twin - along the path winding between the trunks.

- Admire the leaves? the half-elf asked mockingly. Either there really was no place for beauty in his soul, or the rejection of the elven heritage forced him to pretend even to himself. Aaron would have bet on the second, but he was not going to find out.

“I’ve admired it,” Aaron agreed accommodatingly, then his thought returned to what they had come to the forest for. Aaron looked at Mea-tael, noticing the usual fierce gleam in his eyes - a premonition of his favorite entertainment.

“We’ll have a good hunt,” breathed the half-elf.

The flock was waiting in the clearing - several people had already dismounted, one of the warriors sat down in front of the captive, trying to talk. He stubbornly kept silent, continuing to maintain an arrogant expression on his face. Aron twisted his lips into a kind of smile - in the dungeons the prisoner was more talkative.

- Well, didn't you change your mind? he asked more for show.

- Not! You will be cursed, murderer! All that you have achieved will be dust! Everyone will turn their backs on you!

How much impotent hatred lived in the eyes of the Light magician, the faithful apprentice of Alaric Nerkas! What anger seethed in him, what fury at the injustice of fate!

“Untie him,” Aaron nodded to the guards.

It could have been done with magic, but out of habit, firmly drilled in by the teacher, Aaron did not like wasting energy, preferring to always keep the reserve full. Too many surprises likes to throw life.

The same surprise, but for Alaric Nerkas, was Aron Tongil himself, when the Light One, who had spent money on the magical defense of the castle of a faithful vassal, was relaxing in the company of one nice girl. The dark magician took a long time to select a suitable beauty, and she played her role perfectly...

No, you shouldn't waste magic so that one day you don't end up in the place of poor Nercas.

The Light One rose to his feet, looked around the clearing, keeping his eyes on Mea-tael - the presence of a half-elf in the retinue of Tongil was rumored throughout the empire. Probably, even those condemned to death have glimpses of curiosity.

"We'll give you a head start," Aaron said benevolently. “To the west, a mile away, is the arm of the Viesta. If you manage to cross to the other side, you will be free. But no - do not blame me, you will become a dinner for my dogs.

The light magician proudly threw up his head, intending to give out something noble and stupid, but at that moment the warrior, who had previously tried to talk the captive, growled softly. If you couldn't see, you could swear that the sound belonged to a wild beast. The Light One stumbled at the first word and recoiled. The guards laughed loudly, several werewolves barked mockingly, but the sound, unusual for their throats, quickly turned into a howl.

- Do you like my dogs? Aaron asked with a broad smile.

The Light One's hatred was replaced by frank horror, he backed away.

- Well, what are you, brave? - Mea-tael rode forward, radiating predatory fun, leaned over from his horse. "You don't have any more curses?"

The Light One stared at him as if he was a madman, took a step back, then another, turned around and rushed away. The guards standing on the road stepped aside.

"Do you think you won't get lost?" the half-elf asked solicitously.

Aron shook his head.

- I partially removed the blockage from his erre - on the sense of direction, on healing and on endurance.

Together they watched as the Light One caught his foot on a root invisible under the foliage. He fell, jumped up and ran on, limping. Sometimes the prisoner turned around, and even at a distance, horror was noticeable, distorting his face.

“It will be funny,” Mae-tael smiled in anticipation. Aaron thought that he had not seen him so happy for a long time. It is worth organizing such hunts more often.

— May I, sir? - The foreman's eyes burned with a yellowish fire, betraying the essence of the bestial, so far locked in a tight human shell.

“Mel,” Aaron turned to his friend. - Your hunt.

The half-elf smiled, revealing fangs sharper than a human's.

- I think it's time.

Immediately, an aura of unbearably alien and at the same time long-familiar change covered the clearing, forcing erre Aron himself to instinctively protect the human essence of the owner with a shield of inner reality. And around people turned into wolves, their bodies broke in convulsions of pain and ecstasy.

Despite the layers of spells cast, the horses neighed plaintively and backed away. Aaron habitually waved his hand, throwing a web of submission over the shy cattle; the neighing died down, the horses' eyes glazed over. And the wolves were already running in an extended chain into the depths of the forest, following the clear trail of the Light magician.

- Races? Without waiting for an answer, Mea-tael whooped and took off. Aaron, having become infected with the boyish excitement of his friend, ran after him.

The light one almost made it in time - the man was hardly a hundred steps away from the coast of Viesta, when the first wolf jumped on his scruff, knocked him to the ground, and immediately rolled along the grass, squealing plaintively and staining it with blood. The Light One backed away, squeezing in his right hand a blade that had come from nowhere. Must have, thought Aaron, managed to pull it out from one of the guards before the start of the hunt. The apprentice's face expressed despair and determination to sell his life dearly.

Mea-tael, having overtaken Aron, flew off his horse, snatching a wide hunting dagger from its scabbard, and with a springy gait moved towards the victim.

- Shall we dance? The half-elf's predatory grin would do honor to any wolf. Aaron, who had stopped his horse some distance away, shook his head: he refused to understand risk for the sake of risk. But Mea-tael, whether he was in a rage or a cheerful excitement, did not seem to care about his own life. The half-elf seemed to live in one day, and this day he tried to make as bright and rich as possible.

The fight was really like a dance: whirling, exchanging quick blows, an elegantly even cut on the apprentice's clothes and a spreading bloodstain. A step back, a step forward, a quick tilt to prevent the point from cutting the vein, step back and attack again. The light one with the blade was not bad, not bad at all, which rarely happens among magicians. But for Mea-tael, mother's hunting knives were the first children's toys.

Maybe the half-elf was playing, or maybe he was fighting seriously, but one precise movement cut the tendons of the Light One on his right hand, and immediately the half-elf's dagger went into the prisoner's side. With a muffled cry, the man dropped his weapon, a healthy hand instinctively rushed to the wound.

Mea-tael took a step back, and the werewolves, who had been sitting in a semicircle and patiently waiting for the masters to rejoice, rushed to the defeated. The Light One screamed—loudly, desperately. Then his voice broke off at the highest note...

The wolves tore apart the still living body, tearing apart not only the flesh, but - as only werewolves knew how to do - the pulsating veil of magic. Aaron did not need to come closer to participate in the feast: his own erre greedily caught the energy of the devoured magician, changing its polarity, making it part of himself. And all this time, a satisfied smile did not leave his face - after all, what could be better than increasing your Strength by the death of an enemy?

***

When Aaron awoke, the room was still in a lilac twilight. Soon it brightened a little, the silence outside the window was broken by the first trill of birds, and soon a many-voiced feathered choir was praising the dawn.

Aaron lay looking at the canvas of the canopy, thinking about the dream that had come that night, and trying to understand: was this dream a memory of the former Tongil or a figment of his own imagination?

It was just dawn when a dark-haired youth slipped out of the room assigned to the servants of Tar Arimir. Silently closed the door behind him, looked around and turned into one of the passages leading from the east wing to the main building of the castle.

Several times steps were heard ahead, but the guy managed to hide either in a shady niche, or in one of the crossing passages, and the guards with the Yarush rune on their shoulder, the sign of Tongil, passed by.

After the third such meeting, the young man, known to people in the caravan under the name of Resana Evnike, began to frown - there were too many armed people in the eastern wing. It seems that the caravan in which he arrived was under covert arrest.

Soon Resan came to an open gallery that connected the east wing with the central part of the castle. The view from here was amazing, and Resan slowed down and slowed down until he was standing at the high railing. And the sun was rising in the east.

The young man's palm rose in a familiar gesture, outlining the sacred circle, then touched his chest against his heart, and his lips whispered a short prayer - thanksgiving to the daylight.

- Hey, you! A tired female voice came from behind. The young man shuddered in surprise, turned around. An elderly maid looked at him with displeasure, clutching a basket of dirty laundry to her side.

- Stop messing around! - It was felt that someone else's laziness insulted the maid to the core. “Take this to the laundresses. And live!

By some miracle, the basket moved to the bewildered Resan, and the maid was already walking back, muttering about the untidy chambers and a certain Mithril sticking his nose where it was not necessary.

The weight of the basket made the guy lean forward and think in amazement: how can women carry such things every day? However, it doesn't matter. Clothing on Resan is not rich, as befits a servant, and the basket will serve as a pass if the guards meet. They can't know all the servants by sight.

The only question is: where should he deliver the unexpectedly received cargo?

There were fewer guards in the central part of the castle, but Resan still got one. Tall, gray mustache, reminiscent of a centurion who served with his father. Having made up his mind, the young man asked him for directions, received a detailed explanation and went further along the corridor.

***

And the guard, watching the unfamiliar youth, was thinking that lately too many pages, noble offspring, had appeared in the castle. Tongil recruited hostages, thus ensuring the loyalty and prudence of neighbors - a common tactic of a sovereign nobleman. The guard understood this very well, but he could not understand another: how did the noble Taras have the courage to send their relatives and undoubtedly beloved children to the Dark Magician?

***

Resan felt the guard's gaze on his back, but forced himself to hold back his step, and, only turning the corner, sighed with relief.

Having dragged the basket to the laundry room and placed it in a row of the same, the young man considered it good to disappear. He did not like to receive assignments from the local servants. He is the personal reader of the noble Arimir, not a heavy bearer.

And half an hour later, Resan was forced to admit defeat in the fight against the maze of endless castle passages. Instead of clearly indicating the direction, the arrow on the inside of his grandfather's bracelet twirled thoughtfully against the salt. Resan should have realized sooner - Tongil would not allow other people's magic to work within the walls of his castle. If only the amulet of the old shaman had not deteriorated here at all.

It turned out that the young man could find what he was looking for either by poking, for which there was no particular hope, or by asking leading questions to the guards and servants - an even less pleasant option.

“And why,” they ask, “do you, young man, know about the location of the chambers? And we haven't seen you before. Just in case, let's go with you to Mr. Tongil ... "

Resan shook himself and began to think about the least suspicious way to get the necessary information from the local inhabitants. The youth's step slowed down, and just at that moment the door he was passing near suddenly opened. From a strong blow, the guy was carried back and put against the wall. The young man hissed in pain.

“Interesting,” said a cold voice overhead. - Who's walking around here?

Resan looked at the speaker and, in his astonishment, forgot to breathe. Elf! A real elf in a warlock's lair. Or not an elf? I wonder if there are such black-haired elves, and even with such an unusual cut of the eyes? Or... a half-blood?

The stranger did not give the young man time to collect his thoughts.

- Shut your mouth! he commanded sharply, causing a flushed Resan to tighten his jaw. - Who are you? How did you get here? The half-breed was obviously in a hurry and was unhappy with the delay.

“I am Resan, personal reader of the noble Arimir from the Kiret caravan, tar,” the young man readily issued a long-rehearsed phrase. “And I,” he sighed repentantly, “got lost.

The half-breed shook his head.

“I wonder who let you out of the east wing, boy?” he said with a hint of menace. “I should speak to the noble Arimir about his servants' too free behavior.

The half-elf cast a quick glance around the corridor, as if searching for someone. Isn't it a guard to see off an uninvited guest?

“Just tell me where the east wing is, and I’ll leave,” the young man said pleadingly. “I didn't know it was forbidden to come here. Tar, please!

The half-elf frowned, scrutinizing Resan as if wondering where he might have seen him.

— Tar! the young man repeated, mentally asking all the gods not to remember anything and not to call the guards.

“You take the third passage to the right, then straight ahead to the gallery,” the half-elf finally said and waved his hand in the right direction.

"Thank you, tar!" The young man bowed and hurriedly walked where he was told.

The gallery leading to the east wing was empty, but Resan was already waiting in the shady corridor.

- Where did you go? – the healer of tar Arimira, Seimin, asked in a low voice.

The guy shrugged.

- Walked.

- Curious. Did you remember, walking, who is the owner of this hospitable castle? Seimin seemed to be asking kindly, but Ryosan caught the anger behind the softness of his tone.

— Yes, tares.

“And the fact that the lord magician will interpret your walks as he pleases?”

— Yes, tares. The young man looked away.

“Have you forgotten Tar Arimir’s order to stay in the east wing of the castle?”

— No, tares. Resan sighed. It turned out badly - he hoped to return unnoticed, and now problems cannot be avoided.

Seimin made a sign to the young man to follow him. Arimira stopped in front of the chambers.

- This time I will not report to the noble tar about your misconduct, but if you get caught disobeying again, you will taste the sticks. Understood?

"Yes, tares," Resan swallowed convulsively, imagining the process of punishment. This has never been done to him before.

- Well done. Seimin opened the door for the young man, bowed to Arimiru, who was sitting in the chair. “Time for morning readings, my lord.

The Great Steppe has no edge. Wherever you look, only the tall grass goes into the horizon like a green carpet. Turn around - the same picture in the west and in the east, in the south and in the north. Raise your head, and the sunny Eye of Heaven will smile from the transparent blue.

Mea-tael loved the Steppe, and it gave him the joy of a wild ride, the freshness of a thunderstorm, the excitement of a chase and a bloody hunt. The steppe was his home and his world all those years that the grandson of the leader had already lived in this world...

***

Waking up, Mea-tael lay motionless for several minutes, without opening his eyes, trying to hold back the elusive dream. But the happy world of his childhood, when all life seemed to consist of magical mysteries and joyful discoveries, no longer existed. Reality turned out to be insidious and cruel, although in its own way no less delightful than the bright past. It also contained riddles, unanswered questions, secrets. And it also had a purpose.

Mea-tael stretched flexibly like a cat, smiled, looking forward to the day when he would reach this goal. Being a hunter, he knew how to wait, and even find a kind of pleasure in waiting.

This morning, Aaron again ordered breakfast to be delivered to his chambers. It was a common thing that when the magician set about another series of experiments, preparing to alchemy in underground laboratories, he could forget about food for several days in a row, not to mention wasting time going down to the main refectory.

Mea-tael wondered if the future experiments were connected with the younger ar-Korm. A couple of months ago, Aron complained that for one rare experiment with the element of Fire, he badly needed a Light magician with an unrevealed Gift. It looks like the object they were looking for was under their noses all the time.

After yesterday's strange behavior of Aron, Mea-tael doubted whether it was worth interrupting the magician from his studies just for the sake of the question of what to do with the caravan from Kiret-grad. For the loss of a third part of the tribute, they all, in his opinion, should have been demonstratively, like negligent servants, flogged in the stable. However, the magician could have his own ideas on this matter.

So without making a final decision, Mea-tael took up other matters. And only after finishing the conversation with the sentinels who returned this morning, he decided to look at Aaron. However, that was not in the chambers.

***

Aaron sat in the shade of a sprawling tree, cross-legged like a steppe, and read the diary of the former Tongil. It was a warm day, and he only wore a simple light-coloured shirt and black trousers. His hair, longer than he was accustomed to wearing, was pulled back into a ponytail. The spacious shirt did not hide the width of the shoulders, but hid the relief muscles - fortunately, his double, even as a magician, did not abandon training.

Now Aron looked either like an average nobleman, since only nobles could afford to mess around on a weekday, or like a too young scribe.

“Noble tar,” an unfamiliar voice interrupted his reading. "Will I be allowed to interrupt your seclusion for a while?"

“Tares,” Aaron corrected mechanically. And only then did I think that the local Tongil, perhaps, really was a nobleman.

— Tares. There was noticeable relief in the stranger's voice - it's always better to stumble on a safe side than not properly honor a noble. - If you will...

Aaron looked appraisingly at the unexpected addition to his company. A man about his height, very thin, with the delicate features of a native sept, one of the settled peoples of the southern edge of the empire, but with brown from sunburn and weathered, like a nomad's skin.

The sense of danger was silent, and after a brief hesitation, Aaron nodded.

- Have a seat. True, I can offer only grass as a seat, dear ... - Aaron raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

— Tares Sanah Saimin. The southerner bowed his head politely, then, picking up his marching cloak, he sank to the ground without ceremony. And I have the honor to speak with...

Aaron smiled slightly as he imagined Seimin's reaction to his true name. Talking to an outsider who didn't know him by sight could be fun.

“Aaron Merrill,” he said.

The stranger winced slightly.

“You are the namesake of our hospitable host.

Aron is a common name in the north. Aron shrugged. - The closer to the islands, the more often it will come across. That was the name of the mortal son of the goddess of Ice, this is our tribute to him and just an old tradition.

“I understand…” The southerner touched the middle of his forehead, as was required by the customs of the septs when mentioning the gods. “You know, Tares Merril, when I saw you reading in this garden, I couldn't resist walking up,” the southerner changed the subject. “I just couldn't imagine such a peaceful scene in a place with a reputation for being so uh...

- Gloomy? Aaron kindly suggested. - Creepy? Frightening?

— I meant to say — ambiguous. Seimin looked at him with mild reproach.

***

Mea-tael did not find Aron either in the Lilac Tower, where he sometimes climbed, or in the dungeons. The magician turned up quite unexpectedly and by chance in the inner square, past which the manager was walking towards the barracks.

Aaron was sitting on the grass, laying his hand on a book, and attentively listened to the stranger sitting next to him. Both of them looked as if they had known each other for a long time and talked in this way every day. Mea-tael watched the blissful scene with growing astonishment for several minutes, then decided to come closer.

“Mel,” said the magician, turning to the half-elf, “did you want something?”

- Yes. Mae-tael cast a quick appraising glance at the stranger. For several years, no one appeared in the castle without his knowledge. So, the stranger arrived with a Kiretian caravan. - Yes, I wanted to, but you talk so sweetly ...

A phrase full of mocking warning hung in the air. Mea-tael himself could not explain why he went on the rampage, but the incomprehensible behavior of the magician angered him, and the half-elf, although he knew how to get angry silently and imperceptibly to those around him, did not like it.

- Mel, my joy, are you jealous? Aaron smiled at him honey. “I assure you, dear, there is no reason for this.

Mea-tael abruptly, as if he had been hit, recoiled and spat angrily.

- Devilish pervert!

And, turning around, he walked away, pretending not to hear Aaron's laughter. To the demons of this mage! After all, he knows perfectly well how Mea-tael is annoyed by this!

"He knows, that's why he continues," the reasonable voice of logic prompted, which the half-elf, still seething with indignation, silenced.

***

"Did my presence offend your friend?" Saimin asked uncertainly when Aaron stopped laughing. It was noticeable that his last phrase unsettled not only Mea-tael.

“My friend needs to control his emotions,” Aaron muttered.

The diary of the former Tongil did not speak much on the topic of personal relationships, so Mea-tael's reaction turned out to be a fair relief for Aaron - at least he had purely friendly, without any ambiguity, relations with the half-elf.

Yesterday's phrase of the page about the concubine of the princely family was an unpleasant thorn in his memory, along with the memory of the youth in his bed. It remained to be hoped that it was at least one and the same youth.

Why shouldn't the old Tongil be satisfied with pretty maids, or, for that matter, not start a harem of beautiful slaves? But no, the magician had to be original. And now his inheritance went to Aaron, who never felt a penchant for his own sex.

“I'm afraid they've already started looking for me. Seimin shrugged guiltily. — Noble tar Arimir, finishing prayer readings, always requires medicine.

Aron nodded and politely said goodbye to the southerner, who, according to him, was a doctor.

Tar Arimir, appointed head of the caravan only due to his kinship with the prince of Kiret, was firmly convinced that he had a dozen incurable diseases and therefore spent a lot of money on rare herbs and medicines. Going on a long journey, he could not help but capture his doctor, not particularly interested in his desire to go to such an "ambiguous place."

Seimin turned out to be a talkative person and managed to tell Aron a lot of interesting things that happened during the trip. About the monsters living in the Rhys marshes, which he managed to see out of the corner of his eye in the distance - and thank the gods, that's the only way! About the wolf pack that has been following the caravan for the last week. About an unexpected flood of the river, due to which the amount of tribute collected was reduced by a third ...

However, life has long taught Aron not to take people's word for it. The Kiretians will stay in the castle until he allows them to leave - there will be enough time to clarify the details. And Mea-tael will do this - in the diary of Tongil-former it was mentioned that the half-elf was responsible for the activities of an extensive spy network.