Slave War. Juriy Tashkinov
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