The Road to Magic (Book 1 of the Way of the Demon Series) (30 page)

‘My Lady, as far as I can ascertain, this arm is perfectly fine.’ Katina Bel’s eyes blazed with a certain surprised triumph, but the magician continued: ‘The magical splint is of very high quality, clearly the work of a graduate from one of our faculties. The bone is healing well, with virtually no complications, which is quite amazing in view of the fact that the break was a very complicated one. How long ago did you receive this injury?’ He turned unexpectedly to Oleg.

‘Four days ago. A werewolf, damn him! It’s a good thing that my chainmail held out.’

‘Impressive. You have remarkable regeneration. The bone has already begun to knit together. Are you bothered by nagging pains?’

‘Unfortunately, yes, sometimes,’ Oleg replied briefly and turned to the Duchess. ‘So you understand now? No matter how much I might wish to help you, I would not stand a chance. One blow to my arm and I would faint from pain. And Vampires, especially Supreme ones, are particularly sensitive to such things. But you probably know that. So…’

Oleg didn’t manage to finish.

‘Are those your only objections?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fine. Then I’ll answer them one by one. Firstly, you said you were in a hurry. Removing vampires doesn’t take long. All the preliminary reconnaissance has already been done, I have a map of the locality and a plan of the Black Tower. You only need to go and destroy the fiend!’

‘Sounds simple if you put it like that,’ Oleg couldn’t restrain himself.

‘Don’t interrupt. After that you will receive my best horses and, may I take the liberty of assuring you, Bel horses are praised far beyond the borders of the Empire. Furthermore, if you consider it necessary, you may inform me of your destination and I can organize relays. Secondly, you said you were not in need of money. But you are surely in need of something?’ And she gave Oleg a questioning look.

‘Yes. I need a noble title. And fast, within the next ten days. In fact, that is one of the reasons why I need to hurry to Volgrad. The committee for conferring nobility in accordance with the Emperor’s edict “On Hunters” is to be held there.

The Duchess bit her lip.

‘And when is the session?’

‘In ten days’ time.’

‘Don’t rush. Think about it: the committee’s session and the interrogation of witnesses will take at least one day. That is the best case scenario. Then the decision will be sent by messenger to the capital to be signed by the Emperor. The Emperor is unlikely to sign it at once – that very rarely happens. Normally papers not requiring an urgent decision can lie around with his secretary for a very long time, so your promotion to a nobleman will occur only at the end of the month, at the absolute earliest. In other words, in twenty-three days’ time. And that is only if you agree to a titled gentry, a title not furnished with lands or an estate but only with a name. If you want to receive even a small estate then you will have to wait not less than a year.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ll have to think. How strict is your time limit of ten days?’

‘Very strict. If I don’t manage it within ten days, then I’ll have to give up the whole enterprise of nobility and go without it.’

‘I see. If we make an agreement, I will think about this. After all, I could talk to the Emperor directly. I don’t think he would deny me a small request. And there are other possibilities, too… And as for your arm… Mead-Beard, can you carry out the “great cure”?

‘I think I still have enough left in me,’ the magician replied. Oleg shuddered slightly. The “great cure” was a spell at the limit of even the mightiest of healers’ capacity. The person receiving the benefit of this spell was instantly cured of all his wounds and diseases, spiritual, physical and magical--even old age was included in this
all.
Moreover, this spell was able to revive someone who had recently died, provided not more than five minutes had passed since the moment of death and the brain was unharmed. But the price exacted for such a spell was of course no less great; it not only drained virtually all the magician’s strength, consuming a gigantic amount of energy, but also considerably aged whoever pronounced it, burning up a few years of his life in one blow. Overall, to heal a broken arm with the aid of the “great cure” was a terrible waste.

‘Don’t you have anything more ….suitable? After all, I’m not dying. I just need to fix my arm.’ Against his will, Oleg was drawn into the Duchess’s thoughts.

‘Yes of course I do. It’s just that for some reason many dream of the “great cure” and nothing else. But if it is necessary to save Kolin, then why not pull out all the stops?’ the old man answered calmly.

‘Kolin?’ Oleg glanced at the Duchess.

‘Young Duke Kolin Bel,’ his hostess explained. ‘My son and sole heir.’

Oleg fell to thinking. Having an influential Imperial family in his debt was very attractive. This would be a great help to his plans. And what’s more, if he were completely healthy his chances of dealing with even a Supreme Vampire were not bad at all. And the salary offered by the Duchess would come in very handy. Having thought for a short while, he made up his mind.

‘OK, it’s like this then. You mend my arm as fast and as well as possible. Independent of the outcome of the undertaking – after all, I might lose the battle – you will provide me with the full, high quality and swift healing of all the wounds I sustain as well as horse relays until I reach Volgrad, to make up for lost time. If I succeed, you will pay me one thousand gold pieces – you can never have too much money – and use all the means at your disposal to obtain nobility for me, even a titular one (I don’t particularly need an estate) as quickly as possible, in not more than ten days. I am prepared to take this risk under such conditions.’

‘I accept. I give you my word on as the Duchess of Bel that I will meet all your conditions,’ the Duchess answered simply. ‘You could have asked for more. After all, I offered two and a half thousand.’

‘You will need to organize my nobility. That will cost money, too. So I think that one thousand will be enough.’

‘As you say. And now it would be wise for you to go with venerable Mead-Beard so that he can take care of your arm.’

The healing didn’t take long and after only one hour Oleg gave a blissful sigh, limbering up his arm, now freed from the splint. Another hour and a half were spent gathering what he needed, so it was not until around midday that Oleg was able to set out for the she-vampire’s lair. He was accompanied by five horsemen “to show him the road and assist in him any possible way”, as the Duchess put it. In actual fact the Duchess, it seemed, was worried he might run off on the way.

With these thoughts in mind, Oleg grinned. Surely Lady Bel could not be so irrational as to think that five of her blockheads would be able to stop a man supposedly capable of fighting a Supreme Vampire?

Be that as it may, the Duchess’s guards turned out to be quite pleasant and interesting companions. In two hours of fast riding – the horses from the Bel stables were indeed above all praise – Oleg managed to find out loads of local jokes and gossip and hear a few bits of light-hearted advice as to the best way to tackle a she-vampire – mainly based on using a natural, exclusively male, weapon.

However, the closer they got to the Black Tower, the quieter they became. A deathly silence reigned near the black building which stuck up from the fields like the shard of a rotten tooth. No birds sang, the chirruping of crickets was not to be heard.

Oleg remembered the lively castle of the Undead, surrounded by its beautiful garden and full of mournful dignity. There was nothing like that here, nor anywhere in the vicinity. As they got closer to the stumpy building, which was badly ruined and not black but a disgusting dark-brown hue, even the lush meadow grass grew thin and dried.

‘How on earth can the she-vampire and your young duke be here? This isn’t a tower, it’s just a heap of stones.’ Oleg turned to his companions. ‘It would be hard for even one person to hide here. How could a whole nest of vampires have fit in here?’

‘Underground,’ one of his companions answered briefly.

‘Dark fortresses don’t grow upwards, but down into the depths,’ another added.

‘With your permission, we’ll wait for you here, on the grass…’ the head of the group turned to Oleg, ingratiatingly.

‘Yes,’ Oleg said curtly. For some minutes now a strange warmth had been bothering him. It came from the darkh which Viss had given him. Oleg had always taken it with him when he went hunting, highly valuing its abilities in destroying various types of Undead. It was irreplaceable in battles with various zombies or minor vampires, and Oleg was hoping the dagger would prove no less effective against the Vampire.

No sooner had Oleg entered the half-collapsed entrance, than the darkh blazed with a particularly strong heat. Oleg unsheathed the blade. Bright waves of light, a soft pastel colour, were rolling down the curved, flame-like blade.

‘Ah, the dagger and the tower were created by one and the same people,’ Oleg thought. Following intuition more than logical reasoning, he directed all his energy into the dagger, just as Leya had taught him. The next moment the blade of the darkh grew black, and a deep bass voice resounded in Oleg’s ears: ‘I welcome you onto the territory of the Third Outpost, O Knight! Are you ready to take leadership of the outpost? I had given up hope that one of you would show up, Sovereign,’ he added in a less formal tone.

‘Who are you?’ Oleg spun round, trying to locate the speaker and cautiously clasping his dagger. In the tight dimness of the corridors it was a better weapon by far than his long sword.

‘Forgive me, Sovereign,’ the voice of the speaker shook for a second. ‘I’m the warden-spirit of the Third Outpost, the Black Tower. I took complete control of the building entrusted to me in accordance with the last order of the military commander of the Outpost, Tara Death-Caster. In accordance with her instructions, from the moment you confirm your rank, I will deliver my complete obedience to you. What is your order, Knight of Despair? For ease of communication, I would ask you to tell me your name. When you address me, you can use my functional name, Outpost, or you may invent any other which suits you.’

By this time Oleg had already worked out precisely who it was he was dealing with. It seemed that the Dark Magicians were masters of cybernetics or some magical equivalent of that science and had equipped their fortress with a certain variety of “artificial intelligence” which, to all appearances, was none other than Oleg’s new acquaintance. What’s more, this AI obviously counted Oleg as one of the commanders. It seemed, then, that the Dark Magician’s darkh was not simply a weapon but also something like an identity card or, more likely, a definition of rank, seeing as Outpost hadn’t called him Viss but had only used the necromancer’s title.

‘You can call me Arioch. What is the state of the tower? Briefly!’

‘Briefly? The letter “f” And don’t think that the word is “fine”.

It looked as though this Outpost had a sense of humour. Admittedly, with a barrack-like twist. But on the other hand, what other kind of sense of humour could an army tower have?

Oleg couldn’t keep back his smile: ‘And in more detail?’

‘In more detail? With pleasure: all the above-ground construction is eighty percent in ruins. Externally active spells: zero point zero zero. Internal traps deactivated due to insufficient energy resources. Repair work impossible due to insufficient energy resources. Structural integrity of the underground structure has been breached – I don’t have enough energy to power up the strengthening spells. I am only functioning at half capacity, on emergency reserves, and am not even able to kick out the impudent Undead that has built its lair on the second storey underground because of insufficient energy resources. It would be most desirable if I could be recharged, Sovereign.’

The information about the Undead on the second floor was of great interest to Oleg.

‘Do you mean that, if given energy, you’d be able to get rid of the Undead?’

‘Yes, no problem. Internal magical booby-traps: seventy-three percent remaining. I had to switch them off. And it wouldn’t take long to repair the other twenty-seven percent, either. If I had the strength, I’d have dealt with them easily.’

That idea really appealed to Oleg.

‘Well, how can I recharge you?’

‘Please come into the spell room,’ Outpost livened up remarkably.

‘Where?’

‘Follow the ball of light, Sovereign,’ the warden-spirit said, getting his bearings at once.

A smallish ball of flickering ghostly glow appeared in the air. The corridor slopped gently downwards and Oleg had to climb over stony rubble which had fallen from the ruined ceiling. He occasionally came across human bones, dumb witnesses to the grim battle which had been waged here in days gone by.

Going down a long and rather wobbly staircase, Oleg came out into a small hall. The battle which had taken place here had been particularly frenzied. The stone walls bore many traces of lightning. In some places the stone had simply been melted, it seemed, by blows from fireballs. On the wall in one corner Oleg noticed a miraculously preserved, magnificent bas-relief depicting a furious warrior brandishing his sword. The sword, placed in the stone hands of the bas-relief moulded on the wall in some unfathomable way, glowed with a bright white light.

Oleg went cautiously closer, wanting to take a better look at such an unusual piece of artwork. ‘Well, whatever else you may say, you can’t say these dark ones have no taste,’ Oleg thought to himself, examining the pedestal of the relief. ‘You could send it off to the Hermitage Museum straight away!’ And then his glance fell on the hilt of the sword, and Oleg gasped. What he was looking at wasn’t a bas-relief at all. Piercing the heavy confinement of the stone trap, the hilt of the glowing sword was firmly grasped by the bony fingers of a human skeleton.

As though it had noticed Oleg’s curiosity, the sphere floated closer and the now familiar bass rang in his ears: ‘The third line of the outpost’s defence passed this way. Just at the moment when the Light forces managed to break through, their strength had been sapped to such an extent that they didn’t even bother to send a unit to bury the fallen and gather military artefacts. What you are admiring is the result of a stationary booby trap, a so-called “stone quagmire” which one of the leading storm troopers fell into.’