Ment
Auto-translated
Nobody will read this, but I wrote it anyway.
Asugukh Diary
First entry
Second entry
Third entry
To-do list
Fifth entry
Sixth entry
Seventh entry
Birthday
Song
Eighth entry
Essay
Ninth entry
Tenth entry
Eleventh entry
The Hero of Origins looked tired: yet another death had clearly taken its toll on him. We seemed to be alive and well (relatively speaking, if only I could cure my zombification), and we seemed to be continuing on, but he apparently felt like a man leading others to their deaths, and even swore at that moment that he would no longer add to the party. I don't know how reasonable a decision that was — all the fallen fighters had contributed their share anyway, and the rest kept risking their lives regardless for the sake of an unclear but dearly desired prospect of fixing everything. From a humanitarian point of view, of course, I understood the Hero. In contrast to him, Stantri and Meshera, though each grieving in their own measure, kept looking around with curiosity, studying and observing the phenomena they had come here for. A completely different approach.
The difference in our personalities showed in many situations and details, and although I had never before been one to take an interest in other people, something about these three drew me in and changed me. Our budding relationships seemed to me an example of ideal friendship, the kind you simply can't find anywhere, and despite the sadness that periodically washed over the Hero, every day felt alive and full of meaning, even when we didn't succeed in our adventures as we'd hoped. Of course, at the time I didn't fully realize it — I just lived and felt. And not only did I value them, but they valued me too.
One of the episodes. In the Dark Lands there were many cultists: apparently, the mystery of the Obelisk drove people mad and made them turn to anyone at all to feel more confident amid the local dangers. After a grueling battle with them, when we also had to save a hostage — a girl they wanted to sacrifice (too bad she wasn't a princess!) — it was almost surprising to hear the Hero say that he loved me. Standing in the blood of cultists, holding the girl saved at the last moment, all I could manage to note was that it was only natural, since I was the fastest in the party. He himself, having borne the brunt of the enemy assault, had performed admirably. Though it seems my compliment didn't cheer him up as much as his cheered me, for I, a child of the lonely wastes and an imitator of knights from books, was still learning to speak beautifully in practice. In general, I was learning that, including by watching him, and I hope the Hero understood my imperfection in speech, because otherwise I would have thought his shoulders drooped and his head hung low, as if our leader was upset about something.
Another time we occupied a large empty house which, thanks to the mimics that had settled in it, turned out to be quite cozily furnished, untouched by marauders' hands. It reminded me somewhat of my own estate. Meshera was overjoyed at the rare chance for a comfortable setting and immediately filled the bathtub; Stantri happily discovered a couple of interesting anomalies for himself; and the Hero and I went down to the wine cellar — a place so rare and precious that finding one untouched in the Lands seemed almost impossible. We picked the best wine, came to the living room — our friends were waiting for us there, clearly discussing something, because our scholar immediately asked me a question: "Erefir, imagine that some armed stranger enters through this very door of this very house, and you are here alone. Evil looks at you and locks the door from the inside. For some reason you are deprived of your weapons and armor, and you can no longer retrieve them... Yes, I know your habits, but given our experience, the probability isn't zero, is it? Thus, you have access only to the items in this room, if you choose to use them. What will you do? Scientific interest, how would you react."
Maybe not exactly those words, but Meshera and I often had many such intellectual conversations, so I wasn't too surprised and surveyed the furnishings.
— I think the malefactor can be neutralized if he's not a master. For example, a flagpole (we were talking about a heraldic flag) in terms of balance wouldn't be too far from a two-handed sword, and the tip is sharp — I can pierce with it as a thrusting weapon.
— Okay. Any other options?
— What about the previous one? Did he survive?
— No, well, let's say that flag isn't here.
— Mmmm, a silver candelabra isn't a weapon, but it's heavy. While they're locking me in, the villain's head will be vulnerable for a second — that should be enough for an attack.
— More?
— A poker, by the same principle.
— More options?
— A floor mirror — mediocre as a weapon, but it can replace a shield, and when it breaks against the villain's face, it'll cut him with shards. After that, the key is not to expose yourself and gradually finish him off with flat blows over several hits while he recovers from the cuts.
— Okay, give me more...
— Grab a chair by the back and press it against him with a running start... You need his arm to get pinned and the wood to dig into his neck — then you can strangle him right away, but that requires good coordination.
— Can you do something completely different?
— Different? Well, actually yes — you could douse him with oil from a burning lantern! Or yank the rug out from under him, and then it's a matter of technique. Mmmm, if that's not allowed either, then...
— I see. And how would you handle it in her place? — Meshera unexpectedly asked the Hero of Origins now.
— I would... Given my position, I would try to resolve the matter through diplomacy. I think that in Erefir's place I might have guessed the stranger's intentions and how it came to this, and would have said... Something fitting. Though I fully understand that my words don't always touch the strings of people's souls, and it often happens that no words could help, because most people, once they decide on evil, are already too desperate inside to turn back. We saw that even with the recent cultists here. Yes, — he smiled sadly. — I would still be glad to try to convince him with words, since I don't have the persuasive power of Erefir's weapon and imagination — after all, it's my talent. And if not — I hope I'd be lucky enough to survive that encounter thanks to natural resilience, as I've been lucky many times before.
At that moment Stantri couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing, and Meshera smiled.
— You two are hopeless, both of you.
— I told you so.
— Yeah, now I'm convinced — excellent test. I personally had my doubts, but you pegged them exactly.
— By the way, Erefir, Hero, the obvious correct answer to this riddle is escaping through the open window, — she gestured with her hand. — But neither of you even thought of it... That's because our Red Fury views escape as a tactical option, not a strategic one — she doesn't like losing, and she simply won't rest while her enemy is alive. That's why she'd prefer to settle everything on the spot, or at worst come back for her victory later. Even now, with our obsidian monstrosity the "drekavak," I can see you're thinking about how to defeat it next time, even though we're not even sure we'll meet it again, right?
— If I didn't know you, I'd think this was some form of sociopathy, haha, — the mage remarked, which, I confess, stung me a bit, even though it was surely meant as a friendly joke.
— Well, and you, Hero, — the researcher continued. — You pathologically crave looking good. If you have a more reliable but not-so-pretty way out of a dangerous situation... Though, you might have gone for it if a monster had entered the room instead of a person, but your faith in people and your desire to help them puts the final touch on that.
— I think I'm being called a naive idealist, — the leader said.
— You are exactly a naive idealist, even if on a rational level you try to avoid naivety in your actions, — Meshera concluded confidently. — Individual episodes, like these tests, give you away completely. Still, whatever you all are, I didn't agree to work with you for nothing — in a sense, you're the best of the worst, and that's wonderful in its own way.
— I suppose great deeds are written in the stars for such oddballs, — Stantri ended the conversation.
***
Alas, our peaceful quiet days were already coming to an end. Despite all the fatigue accumulated over a long time of deeds, despite the deaths of comrades (and even one situation no better than death, what happened to Deit), despite the fact that no more than half of the sorties and attempts to help the local population were successful for the Hero of Origins' party, while in the rest of the cases we retreated in disgrace or failed entirely... Seeing how a monster or bandits had already ravaged everything they could. Watching yet another anomaly turn hope into despair. Sometimes even chased by those we had managed to help in some way, because a local shaman of some deity unknown to us saw the Hero as a rival to his power.
Despite all this, we had to continue. Our duty was not only to try to change the Dark Lands locally — we sincerely wanted to change them entirely, eliminating the very root of the problem. And yes, according to previously conducted research, a way to stop the magic leak... Existed! And here's how it was explained to me.
Last time, when we fought the drekavak near an energy pillar, Stantri managed to create a portal to dump the excess energy, but alas, it was unstable. The contrast created by a powerful magical flow easily tears apart the corresponding structure, and, as I understood, even attempting to use the magic of the Dark Lands themselves to maintain the passage is insufficient for stabilization, because over time the magical wind into the empty space catches itself and grows in strength. That's why Stantri and Meshera jointly developed a complex technical scheme for a new device that was supposed to open toroidal portals while simultaneously creating special vortices at their boundary to hold the flow — a truly magical idea, without exaggeration! They named the device TOKOMAK: toroidal cosmo-magical collapsar.
And this scheme was incredible — but it was just a scheme. And its live implementation had a small difficulty: the TOKOMAK required material at least a hundred times stronger than diamond, and moreover magically active: the only way to create a circuit that would be functional and last for any amount of time... Alas, you don't need to be a blacksmith to understand that no such alloys exist in nature, and even thinking of such technical audacity is impossible. In other words — it was a challenge! And judging by the general mood, it very much seemed to be my personal challenge. First of all, of course, pieces from many various metal artifacts we were lucky enough to find went into the melting pot, but nothing satisfactory came out of those first experiments. We needed to broaden our search — and where could we find the most poorly studied, most paradoxical anomalies in the greatest quantity?
The obvious answer — either at the Heart, or at one of the other, secondary sources of magical energy leaks, for short — simply "breaches." We didn't risk going back to where the monster nearly killed us last time; we decided to head out on another lead.
***
"The Dancing Tower." From afar it seemed to be the breach itself, but such guesses didn't match reality, because breaches themselves are usually surrounded by a bunch of other anomalies that block direct observation. This tower was once a whole Illinar fortress. The anomaly amazingly stretched its stonework upward, twisted it, and turned it into a huge grotesque sculpture that slowly, barely perceptibly to the eye, swayed back and forth. Suddenly, right before our eyes, the top floor separated and, after a pause, fell onto the nearby spiked cliffs.
— Well now, it's no longer the tallest building in Illinar, — Meshera broke the silence. — If we weren't enlightened people, one might think this is a bad omen. Well then, shall we go?
— ... — this time the silence belonged to the Hero. — You know, friends... At the last rest stop, Stantri and I talked a bit, and I've made a decision. Only the two of us go further.
— What? — our scholar blinked. — You can't be serious?
— I'm sorry. I realize that with this one phrase I could seriously shake the trust I've been earning from you and Erefir for quite a long time. Without a doubt, you too would like to open this new area to your eyes and gain the corresponding experience. However... Rationality undoubtedly demands this. In case of a threat, as the past shows, even our party can barely handle what the breaches hold, but with fewer people it will be easier to hide or run away. Moreover, Stantri actually shared with me that he wants to go alone, but given his not-so-great endurance, I can't allow that. As for myself, thanks to my immunity, I dare say I'm less threatened than anyone else. Erefir, Meshera, you have become too valuable allies to me, so...
— Valuable allies to you where the sun doesn't shine! — actually a different expression was used here, which I modestly omit. — How you've fallen lately, but I couldn't have imagined it was this bad! Seriously, you're pitying us?! Stantri, and what about you?
— Meshera, I honestly didn't even want our Hero to go there, but you're making things even more complicated. This outing will be much faster than the last one — our leader is just exaggerating; we'll manage.
— Then why?
— Because even if that conditional 10% chance that things go off plan happens, our numbers won't help us. Stay in the rear.
— Meshera, — the Hero looked his friend carefully in the eyes. — We need you very much. Without you, there can be no question of analyzing any findings. Same for Erefir, — this time a glance toward me, standing in confusion. — I count on you both for guarding our mutual friend and for your blacksmithing talent. No one but you can craft the TOKOMAK parts. And although we usually make decisions together, allow me to decide this one myself. Just as I trust you, I ask you to trust me this time, — and he bowed his head.
— Do you, now? — the scholar furrowed her brow, but gave in and let it go.
— I expect a detailed account upon your return, — I said firmly. I didn't tempt fate and try to talk him out of it — too often in my life it's been that the Universe itself hints at the right decisions. I wanted to help the Hero more than anything at that moment, that's true, but I sensed the general mood, had no arguments, and didn't want to complicate things. I must also confess that after everything we'd been through, a naive inner conviction had arisen in me that the core of our team was practically immortal — what could happen to them more dangerous than what we'd already survived? On a rational level, of course, I was worried — the specific situation of splitting up was too unusual, and Stantri as the initiator might have had some hidden, unspoken considerations. But... Somehow that's just how we did things; I didn't argue with the leader. And so our paths diverged.
At parting, the Hero for some reason pulled me aside and tried to say something somewhat nervously — probably worried that we'd go on some reckless reconnaissance. I reassured him one last time, and made him promise that they would be careful too.
***
I don't know how long I slept, but suddenly a suspicious silence forced me awake. Perhaps I'm not that sensitive, but when you wander with friends for a long time, you begin to sense them on some level, no matter how hard they try not to disturb your sleep: it's the characteristic pacing back and forth, the periodic sighs, and someone like Meshera might suddenly want to get out pen and paper to write down a thought or theory that just came to her. Even though there was no noise, our tripwires against monsters hadn't triggered, and no one raised the alarm, even so, through that same wind, something in my gut made it clear that trouble had come to our doorstep.
The moment I jumped up from my bed, a medium-sized stone struck the spot where I had been a fraction of a second earlier. It shattered and seemed to vanish. It had flown from the direction of the dark elf, who, having committed an aggressive act, immediately tried to hide again — and succeeded, at that. Ambush attackers were always a dangerous type of opponent, and if Meshera's fate hadn't been at stake, I wouldn't have played by the rules and would have simply fled. The problem was that our scholar was nowhere to be seen, and only the elf could give me an answer, or victory over her... I tried to increase the distance and put my back against a wall. For a while nothing happened, and then instead of the expected attack, I managed to make out a quiet whisper. Ritual magic? Goosebumps ran down my skin as I listened closely: apparently, what was being whispered was none other than my name.
A sword swing cut short the villainess's plans — I couldn't allow her to continue. Upon examining the elf and the surroundings, I realized Meshera was still nowhere to be found, but I did find two straw dolls, as well as a suspicious pouch of stones... As for the former, it seems my parents hadn't lied when they said they'd given me a hidden name: an interesting precaution on their part against curses — even the sorcerer who read my thoughts couldn't hope to gain full power over me with something like that doll. Even I myself didn't know my third name, after all. Such a measure at first glance seems no more than an ancient noble superstition, but I have no other explanation for why the curse of a clearly prepared enemy — didn't work.
The stones, meanwhile, looked like the one thrown at me. I had no better way to test how it worked than to throw it at the dark elf — and, to my surprise, she immediately vanished. And yet, along with that, food for thought appeared.
Were invisible people watching us? If so, that could explain both the knowledge of names and the drops of blood on the dolls, but not the chosen timing (why wait more than a day after the party split up?), nor the method of attack itself, since poison or a bomb would have been more reliable... Something had gone off plan for the Hero and Stantri. And so, since there was obviously nothing I could do, it was time to pack up and set off on a solo voyage, not waiting for the ill-wishers to return...
After all, no one has ever survived in the expanses of wild magic. Only the Hero had that trait. I — am just a knight. My armor protects me from what it can; everything else I simply avoid. These are the basics of this place. They cannot be changed. And no one in their right mind would try.
Right?
But what awaits me if I put a pack on my back and simply leave now? What would remain of those last months when I, contrary to nearly my entire adult life, was needed by someone? And I needed someone else? When I wasn't alone, in proud and foolish solitude? When, thanks to truly good examples, a semblance of a personality was forming from a savage — a person who doesn't merely survive, but also, albeit a little, feels? For many years before that, a smile hadn't touched my face, but recently, looking out the window of yet another hovel, I got a bit scared: that red-haired girl in the reflection was somehow bursting with laughter. As if she wasn't me at all...
If the Hero and Meshera were still alive, and they needed me at that moment as much as I needed them, then, frankly, even a 99% risk of death was worth it.
Having waited until the very last moment, in the morning I set out for the breach.
***
First there was a tingling in my fingers, then all over my skin, and my armor didn't help. Then here and there — like blows, and sometimes cuts, sometimes — like not enough air, and then — like intoxication. This place hinted at me to turn back more and more insistently, but I stubbornly kept going.
For a moment all sensations ceased, and at the same time anxiety overtook me — I wanted to hide before a particularly strong storm. The rocks here weren't particularly large, so of course my desperate attempt didn't save me from the ensuing magical storm. My whole body was being twisted, torn to pieces, and not figuratively — I heard the crack of bones, blood sprayed from every gap, my left leg was thrown somewhere, and my right arm, suddenly drained of fluids and dangling unnaturally, was ready to suffer the same fate. The point where I was — was only halfway, but now my last hopes were melting before my eyes, covered with a deathly pallor, like my severed limb was being covered at that moment.
Only a miracle or an incredible coincidence could save me. Interestingly, Stantri and Meshera once had a paradoxical hypothesis about this: sometimes it seemed as if the magic of the Dark Lands, like genie magic, was capable of giving you what you desired most. Our situations in those parts had been far too incredible.
Yes. The solution to my mortal problem had really been right under my nose all along. Right on my neck. All I had to do was, overcoming the pain, tear the amulet off myself.
***
Stantri's cold gaze shifted to surprise, and even fleeting fear. He was standing under the protection of his barriers, shielding himself from the massive energy pillar nearby. Yes, reasonably on guard, but clearly not expecting what would come to him from outside.
— Must be some visual anomaly, — he squinted for a moment.
— I won't deny it's to my advantage for you to think that, if it lulls your vigilance, — I replied.
— What the hell! No, I already thought you were crazy before... Though the odds were maybe even better than 50/50, considering that the zombifying disease is most likely single-celled fungi. Such organisms really do know how to adapt to magic very quickly, as well as regenerate even in unstable conditions, and the circlet preserved your consciousness. I think you now have something like your own immune system, at the cost of your humanity. If only I could study this phenomenon...
— Actually, there's not enough humidity here, so I don't feel great about long conversations, — zombie-me said. — I'd be grateful if you'd simply surrender and tell me where you put the Hero and Meshera.
— Hm? And where does such confidence come from?
— I didn't have any. The presence of a traitor explained the night attack well enough, but that was just a hypothesis. However, now...
— I see. Well, you've essentially found the Hero, — suddenly the incomprehensible boulder lying next to Stantri rose up, and it became clear it was a golem with our leader's head sticking out of its back, above the mouth. Obviously, the rest of his body was inside. — But perhaps we don't need to rush? I won't deny the situation turned out unexpectedly unpleasant for me, and as a laboratory chanterelle you'd have been more interesting to me, but we do have room for discussion. As it happens, Meshera, provided Jifa did her job correctly, has been teleported to my secret location. And overall, I'm not a villain as you might think. It's just that my goals differed from your idealistic ones — you see, I work for Illinar, and I'd like my country to recover from the shock it received by learning to use the Obelisk's energy. No, actually, I'm also an idealist in my own way — we just disagreed, — a nod toward the Hero. — Willy-nilly, I had to figure out how to turn the situation to my advantage. You'd have done the same if something important to you were at stake, right? And as a mercenary, you can still — Meshera in exchange for the Hero, plus, as you understand, you yourself are in dire need of help, unless green skin suits you. And I wouldn't mind not being attacked with that stick of yours...
— But then what about the Hero? And how did you plan to build the TOKOMAK while turning against us?
— Yes, an awkward question. Well, I simply counted on getting all of you, one way or another, though now that's no longer the case. As for how, in case of your disagreement — you can ask Jifa. After all, that incident because of which she "disappeared" was her fault — she was too suspicious, started sniffing around...
— Ahem-ahem, but be that as it may, I need the Hero. He's the key to perfect protection against wild magic, and not only that, and I myself have not the slightest idea how to simulate his ability. More precisely, _now_ I've seen something functionally similar, but no offense — your method is far too extreme, Erefir. Without the Hero's skill, although in my view one could learn to manipulate the Obelisk's energy, military application seems extremely difficult.
— In short, I've outlined my goals and possible concessions. It's disgusting, of course, losing people like you and Meshera, but unlike some, I won't risk and dig in my heels for a perfect ending. You, Erefir, as I see it, also usually think rationally and assess situations well — except that the circlet of haste has stopped coping with brains that are too rotten, — a shrug.
— I see... An interesting offer, but how does it account for the fact that trust in your words has recently become negative, Stantri?
— Well, well... I thought you'd appreciate that despite the double game, I essentially never deceived you, — the mage smiled. — I was going to tell you if you showed interest. It's simple — these lovely little stones, — demonstrating the already familiar object. — As you might have guessed, or might not have, they are one-use teleportation devices in a fragile shell that breaks on impact and releases the effect. Already took one? You can use it to teleport to my laboratory — more precisely, to one of the random locked chambers. The key, a magical one, I'll give you; the password for the guardian golems — also. I hope you'll be a person of honor and won't smash everything there — you only need Meshera, right?
— Still unconvincing. For example, you could give me anything as a key, taking advantage of my ignorance.
— You know, I could have simply not mentioned either the key or the golems if I wanted to deceive, and it would still sound convincing. I think you'll just have to trust me on this matter, because I literally have many tools in hand to make your friends' lives harder, and from your trump cards I see only a plague stick. I won't deny that you partly owe the very possibility of these negotiations to the fact that I think well of you...
No, the motivation was almost certainly different, but I didn't object.
— Reasonable, and yet I like to be over-cautious, Stantri. You know that yourself, right? And so one more question: perhaps you've already finished your business here?
— I don't follow... Is that a veiled threat?
— Not at all. You're going to head to the laboratory soon anyway, right? Can we use the same teleport? Then, whatever is on the other side, you'll resolve those problems yourself while right next to me, and you don't lose your hostages. The Hero along with the golem can, as I understand, be moved with another stone.
— You see, Stantri, although you are a gentleman, based on our interactions, I generally have little faith in agreements without deterrents. But this way — each of us will have them at hand, no one loses anything, ideal ground for cooperation, and minimal risk. If our former friendship still means anything to you, as you say, then I hope...
— Enough. To be honest, your exact proposal wouldn't have suited me, since I wouldn't want to take my eyes off our Hero even for a minute, but fortunately, I have a teleport with a large radius on me, straight to the main room. So technically I see no problem with this — we'll all move together; it's even simpler than giving you the keys. As for my business here, I was just finishing up, — Stantri indicated with his eyes toward the second golem, which was returning to him with a large artifact container. — Now tell me directly: are you ready for an agreement, Erefir Linel Darvening?
The intonation with which my name was spoken made me shudder internally.
— You will unhinderedly give me Meshera alive and unharmed, and allow us to leave. In that case, I don't intend to harm you. The moment I see otherwise — everything is void.
— And you won't try to free the Hero?
I looked at my true friend, and we met eyes. It's hard to say what he felt at that moment, but I seemed to see both sorrow and even gratitude there. He... Valued mine and Meshera's lives more than his own. Sometimes I wanted to scold him verbally for that, and that time especially. Ah yes, there was something else. The Hero was clearly darting his eyes from side to side, as if saying "No!"
— Provided your conditions are met, I won't try, — I finally said, turning my eyes to Stantri.
— I think there's much more in common between us than differences. A pity we'll soon part as enemies, — he grinned, pulling out the teleport. I stepped closer, pondering options for quickly breaking Stantri's protective barriers or killing him some other way. Perhaps he noticed, because he grinned even wider, throwing the artifact to the ground with a characteristic cracking sound. The surrounding landscape blurred for a moment.
Of course, all this time Stantri could have simply fled from me by exactly the same method we were now using to move.
After the brightly lit area near the breach, the dim light of the laboratory barely allowed us to see the golems surrounding us in the first second.
Of course, Stantri didn't run — he staged this whole scene because he badly needed the Lands' best blacksmith, and his insatiable curiosity about my new condition only fueled him further.
— You know, Erefir, I think I forgot, but I do have a magic shield after all, and it can withstand a couple of your hits, right? If so, let's change the terms a little...
He didn't finish the last word, because I jumped back, throwing my entire pouch of teleport stones at his feet. I think there were four of them. To be honest, I didn't want to carry out such a brutal execution on a former friend, but I had no better ideas, given both the damage shield, the hostage, and the enemy's numerical advantage: and the last two factors still remained.
Stantri managed to command his golems, or maybe they perceived me as an intruder on their own, and now I faced a battle in an enclosed space against an extremely tough opponent. Better than going straight into a locked prison cell, but far from an ideal option. And yet, now I thought that if I tried hard, I could save everyone.
I didn't think that I myself would need saving. My infected, undead body desperately didn't want to fall under the hail of blows, but the bone-breaker also didn't take golems well. I wasn't prepared for such a battle — Stantri had never before demonstrated that he could handle something like this. Or maybe it wasn't him, but someone else? Worst of all, freeing the Hero to help me before the battle ended was impossible, and the golem holding him was something like a boss — it constantly tried to stun me from afar with something like an earthquake.
I was already on the brink when I suddenly heard a shout, and my heart sank into my boots. The Hero... Through some incredible effort, he apparently managed to free his mouth from the clay prison. He couldn't possibly hope to challenge the golems with that shout, could he? Alas, that's exactly what he did — his talents truly defied scientific explanation.
The golems furiously began pounding on the giant's back, forcing it to fend off the unexpected traitors, and in the end most of them soon turned into a pile of shattered shards, and I managed to finish off the rest myself. This was achieved, alas, at a dear price, because most of the Hero of Origins had been turned into pulp. Anyone else in his place would have given up the ghost, but on some incredible force of will, my savior was still breathing, and even found the strength to smile.
— Aquilius... Agis... P., — he wheezed one word after another.
— That's not necessary! You spent so long building the fame of your epithet, only to give up so easily! Please, hold on a little longer — I'll think of something! — burst out of me unexpectedly, but I only seemed to make him smile even more. The Hero wanted to say something else, but seemed to change his mind, and his eyes glazed over.
Through some kind of haze, I methodically and rather roughly began breaking the magical locks on the laboratory chambers. Yes, I had a rough idea where their weak points were, and thanks to brute force I didn't need the key... Alas, when I opened them all, I found only the corpse of the dark elf I had transported myself, the smeared remains of the republican traitor-mage across several rooms, and Meshera — also lifeless. As if the Universe had avenged my own cruel methods — the scholar's teleport had failed, because someone had forgotten something like a torture device in the middle of the chamber.
This ending could not have been further from what I read in romantic literature as a child.
***
And I wandered somewhere aimlessly. My own body had become my own cage; the only plus was that zombies don't cry. It was as if I had cut short the lives of those last people who were more important to me than myself and the rest of the world with my own green hands. I could find rational justifications for my unprofessionalism and blindness as much as I wanted, but my gut was an implacable judge. I, the insolent red fox, am alive, and they are not — that's the whole story. This beautiful world is accessible to my senses, however clouded they may be, but my friends no longer have that privilege.
I remembered my parents, whom I hadn't even tried to find for many years, though I cherished the hope that they were alive. Master Romsan, who certainly gave his life saving me in childhood. With all these thoughts, my newly acquired monstrous form seemed at least some compensation for their fates, though not sufficient.
I don't know how many days this went on. As luck would have it, I encountered neither monsters strong enough to finish me off, nor deadly enough anomalies, although, perhaps to my shame, I still felt self-preservation to the same degree as before. In any case, the idea of simply taking off the circlet of consciousness and sinking into an undead sleep met with active resistance from my thoughts — and not only because military honor was still alive in me.
Suddenly I saw a breach right before me. It seemed this wasn't the same one as the first two I'd seen, but a new one... Though with this fickle landscape, one couldn't be sure of anything, and I hadn't been tracking my route.
Strange that something had lured me here. Or was the space itself curved, increasing the chances of coming to one of the breaches if you wandered randomly, like a leaf driven by all winds?
Remembering the idea of the Dark Lands' miracles, and taking advantage of my new immunity, I decided to step closer. Then closer still. Soon even my zombie body was clearly suffering from the magical flow, but those ideas, which had once seemed jokey, kept ringing in me. This magic is alive. Thinking. It can manifest not only random phenomena, but often gives you exactly what you need. Victory. Insight. Life. Strength. Beauty. Friends...
— Come on, energy pillar, do something already! With my life! — I said probably the stupidest words since my youth. Surprisingly, the opposing wind changed to a following one, and I managed to quickly approach right up to the breach, touching it with what remained of my poor, falling-apart hand.
I don't remember what I saw there — my memory seems to have been erased afterward. But from the lingering sensory aftertaste — it was beautiful; that's how the stars above might look unhindered by atmospheric distortions, or all worlds in the palm of your hand, or all knowledge at the tip of a pen, or all souls in the stream of eternity. I came to with an intoxicating feeling that everything was within my power, though already fading, and now there's field grass around, and the breach is nowhere. The skin of my hands stands out against the surrounding terrain in a pale, slightly pinkish tone I've grown accustomed to, and my mind no longer seems like an artifact imitation of the former, living one.
For a second, my conscience pricked me again — not only did I outlive everyone, but I also avoided the worst consequences — and yet after the recent euphoria, I no longer wanted to think that way. Perhaps there was some meaning in it. Instead of self-flagellation, I sat down, tucking my knees, and began weighing further options. Surprisingly, there were quite a few: the TOKOMAK blueprints were still with me, the villages still needed saving, and the Lands hadn't exactly run short of villains. Among the latter, as far as I knew, there were even quite dangerous organizations that seemed to one degree or another competitors to the dead mage. This whole affair with Stantri might not actually be over.
Only one fundamental question remained: I had no intention of seeking new permanent allies. Otherwise, the possibilities were enormous. I probably won't describe everything that followed in detail, unless a new surge of inspiration comes over me. The main thing, and what affected me most strongly, I've resurrected in my memory, and that's enough — after all, diaries exist for systematizing life experience.
But that's a completely different story.
Table of Contents
(copied from the post with stats)Asugukh Diary
First entry
Second entry
Third entry
To-do list
Fifth entry
Sixth entry
Seventh entry
Birthday
Song
Eighth entry
Essay
Ninth entry
Tenth entry
Eleventh entry
Just a bonus, a random canonical picture
The diary itself, part 1
My reunion with my friends, alas, was quite harsh... I found them in a gorge, fighting spider-like monsters with human bodies. One of them, an arachne, was right before my eyes devouring a person unknown to me — apparently a new ally, inspired by the Hero of Origins. The rest were clearly having a hard time, so I tried to draw some of the monsters onto myself, and although I succeeded, I rather foolishly got stuck in a web. I scrambled out of it barefoot — and still got stuck in another... If my glorious allies had delayed even a little with their share of enemies, I fear I would not be writing these lines.The Hero of Origins looked tired: yet another death had clearly taken its toll on him. We seemed to be alive and well (relatively speaking, if only I could cure my zombification), and we seemed to be continuing on, but he apparently felt like a man leading others to their deaths, and even swore at that moment that he would no longer add to the party. I don't know how reasonable a decision that was — all the fallen fighters had contributed their share anyway, and the rest kept risking their lives regardless for the sake of an unclear but dearly desired prospect of fixing everything. From a humanitarian point of view, of course, I understood the Hero. In contrast to him, Stantri and Meshera, though each grieving in their own measure, kept looking around with curiosity, studying and observing the phenomena they had come here for. A completely different approach.
The difference in our personalities showed in many situations and details, and although I had never before been one to take an interest in other people, something about these three drew me in and changed me. Our budding relationships seemed to me an example of ideal friendship, the kind you simply can't find anywhere, and despite the sadness that periodically washed over the Hero, every day felt alive and full of meaning, even when we didn't succeed in our adventures as we'd hoped. Of course, at the time I didn't fully realize it — I just lived and felt. And not only did I value them, but they valued me too.
One of the episodes. In the Dark Lands there were many cultists: apparently, the mystery of the Obelisk drove people mad and made them turn to anyone at all to feel more confident amid the local dangers. After a grueling battle with them, when we also had to save a hostage — a girl they wanted to sacrifice (too bad she wasn't a princess!) — it was almost surprising to hear the Hero say that he loved me. Standing in the blood of cultists, holding the girl saved at the last moment, all I could manage to note was that it was only natural, since I was the fastest in the party. He himself, having borne the brunt of the enemy assault, had performed admirably. Though it seems my compliment didn't cheer him up as much as his cheered me, for I, a child of the lonely wastes and an imitator of knights from books, was still learning to speak beautifully in practice. In general, I was learning that, including by watching him, and I hope the Hero understood my imperfection in speech, because otherwise I would have thought his shoulders drooped and his head hung low, as if our leader was upset about something.
Another time we occupied a large empty house which, thanks to the mimics that had settled in it, turned out to be quite cozily furnished, untouched by marauders' hands. It reminded me somewhat of my own estate. Meshera was overjoyed at the rare chance for a comfortable setting and immediately filled the bathtub; Stantri happily discovered a couple of interesting anomalies for himself; and the Hero and I went down to the wine cellar — a place so rare and precious that finding one untouched in the Lands seemed almost impossible. We picked the best wine, came to the living room — our friends were waiting for us there, clearly discussing something, because our scholar immediately asked me a question: "Erefir, imagine that some armed stranger enters through this very door of this very house, and you are here alone. Evil looks at you and locks the door from the inside. For some reason you are deprived of your weapons and armor, and you can no longer retrieve them... Yes, I know your habits, but given our experience, the probability isn't zero, is it? Thus, you have access only to the items in this room, if you choose to use them. What will you do? Scientific interest, how would you react."
Maybe not exactly those words, but Meshera and I often had many such intellectual conversations, so I wasn't too surprised and surveyed the furnishings.
— I think the malefactor can be neutralized if he's not a master. For example, a flagpole (we were talking about a heraldic flag) in terms of balance wouldn't be too far from a two-handed sword, and the tip is sharp — I can pierce with it as a thrusting weapon.
— Okay. Any other options?
— What about the previous one? Did he survive?
— No, well, let's say that flag isn't here.
— Mmmm, a silver candelabra isn't a weapon, but it's heavy. While they're locking me in, the villain's head will be vulnerable for a second — that should be enough for an attack.
— More?
— A poker, by the same principle.
— More options?
— A floor mirror — mediocre as a weapon, but it can replace a shield, and when it breaks against the villain's face, it'll cut him with shards. After that, the key is not to expose yourself and gradually finish him off with flat blows over several hits while he recovers from the cuts.
— Okay, give me more...
— Grab a chair by the back and press it against him with a running start... You need his arm to get pinned and the wood to dig into his neck — then you can strangle him right away, but that requires good coordination.
— Can you do something completely different?
— Different? Well, actually yes — you could douse him with oil from a burning lantern! Or yank the rug out from under him, and then it's a matter of technique. Mmmm, if that's not allowed either, then...
— I see. And how would you handle it in her place? — Meshera unexpectedly asked the Hero of Origins now.
— I would... Given my position, I would try to resolve the matter through diplomacy. I think that in Erefir's place I might have guessed the stranger's intentions and how it came to this, and would have said... Something fitting. Though I fully understand that my words don't always touch the strings of people's souls, and it often happens that no words could help, because most people, once they decide on evil, are already too desperate inside to turn back. We saw that even with the recent cultists here. Yes, — he smiled sadly. — I would still be glad to try to convince him with words, since I don't have the persuasive power of Erefir's weapon and imagination — after all, it's my talent. And if not — I hope I'd be lucky enough to survive that encounter thanks to natural resilience, as I've been lucky many times before.
At that moment Stantri couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing, and Meshera smiled.
— You two are hopeless, both of you.
— I told you so.
— Yeah, now I'm convinced — excellent test. I personally had my doubts, but you pegged them exactly.
— By the way, Erefir, Hero, the obvious correct answer to this riddle is escaping through the open window, — she gestured with her hand. — But neither of you even thought of it... That's because our Red Fury views escape as a tactical option, not a strategic one — she doesn't like losing, and she simply won't rest while her enemy is alive. That's why she'd prefer to settle everything on the spot, or at worst come back for her victory later. Even now, with our obsidian monstrosity the "drekavak," I can see you're thinking about how to defeat it next time, even though we're not even sure we'll meet it again, right?
— If I didn't know you, I'd think this was some form of sociopathy, haha, — the mage remarked, which, I confess, stung me a bit, even though it was surely meant as a friendly joke.
— Well, and you, Hero, — the researcher continued. — You pathologically crave looking good. If you have a more reliable but not-so-pretty way out of a dangerous situation... Though, you might have gone for it if a monster had entered the room instead of a person, but your faith in people and your desire to help them puts the final touch on that.
— I think I'm being called a naive idealist, — the leader said.
— You are exactly a naive idealist, even if on a rational level you try to avoid naivety in your actions, — Meshera concluded confidently. — Individual episodes, like these tests, give you away completely. Still, whatever you all are, I didn't agree to work with you for nothing — in a sense, you're the best of the worst, and that's wonderful in its own way.
— I suppose great deeds are written in the stars for such oddballs, — Stantri ended the conversation.
***
Alas, our peaceful quiet days were already coming to an end. Despite all the fatigue accumulated over a long time of deeds, despite the deaths of comrades (and even one situation no better than death, what happened to Deit), despite the fact that no more than half of the sorties and attempts to help the local population were successful for the Hero of Origins' party, while in the rest of the cases we retreated in disgrace or failed entirely... Seeing how a monster or bandits had already ravaged everything they could. Watching yet another anomaly turn hope into despair. Sometimes even chased by those we had managed to help in some way, because a local shaman of some deity unknown to us saw the Hero as a rival to his power.
Despite all this, we had to continue. Our duty was not only to try to change the Dark Lands locally — we sincerely wanted to change them entirely, eliminating the very root of the problem. And yes, according to previously conducted research, a way to stop the magic leak... Existed! And here's how it was explained to me.
Last time, when we fought the drekavak near an energy pillar, Stantri managed to create a portal to dump the excess energy, but alas, it was unstable. The contrast created by a powerful magical flow easily tears apart the corresponding structure, and, as I understood, even attempting to use the magic of the Dark Lands themselves to maintain the passage is insufficient for stabilization, because over time the magical wind into the empty space catches itself and grows in strength. That's why Stantri and Meshera jointly developed a complex technical scheme for a new device that was supposed to open toroidal portals while simultaneously creating special vortices at their boundary to hold the flow — a truly magical idea, without exaggeration! They named the device TOKOMAK: toroidal cosmo-magical collapsar.
And this scheme was incredible — but it was just a scheme. And its live implementation had a small difficulty: the TOKOMAK required material at least a hundred times stronger than diamond, and moreover magically active: the only way to create a circuit that would be functional and last for any amount of time... Alas, you don't need to be a blacksmith to understand that no such alloys exist in nature, and even thinking of such technical audacity is impossible. In other words — it was a challenge! And judging by the general mood, it very much seemed to be my personal challenge. First of all, of course, pieces from many various metal artifacts we were lucky enough to find went into the melting pot, but nothing satisfactory came out of those first experiments. We needed to broaden our search — and where could we find the most poorly studied, most paradoxical anomalies in the greatest quantity?
The obvious answer — either at the Heart, or at one of the other, secondary sources of magical energy leaks, for short — simply "breaches." We didn't risk going back to where the monster nearly killed us last time; we decided to head out on another lead.
***
"The Dancing Tower." From afar it seemed to be the breach itself, but such guesses didn't match reality, because breaches themselves are usually surrounded by a bunch of other anomalies that block direct observation. This tower was once a whole Illinar fortress. The anomaly amazingly stretched its stonework upward, twisted it, and turned it into a huge grotesque sculpture that slowly, barely perceptibly to the eye, swayed back and forth. Suddenly, right before our eyes, the top floor separated and, after a pause, fell onto the nearby spiked cliffs.
— Well now, it's no longer the tallest building in Illinar, — Meshera broke the silence. — If we weren't enlightened people, one might think this is a bad omen. Well then, shall we go?
— ... — this time the silence belonged to the Hero. — You know, friends... At the last rest stop, Stantri and I talked a bit, and I've made a decision. Only the two of us go further.
— What? — our scholar blinked. — You can't be serious?
— I'm sorry. I realize that with this one phrase I could seriously shake the trust I've been earning from you and Erefir for quite a long time. Without a doubt, you too would like to open this new area to your eyes and gain the corresponding experience. However... Rationality undoubtedly demands this. In case of a threat, as the past shows, even our party can barely handle what the breaches hold, but with fewer people it will be easier to hide or run away. Moreover, Stantri actually shared with me that he wants to go alone, but given his not-so-great endurance, I can't allow that. As for myself, thanks to my immunity, I dare say I'm less threatened than anyone else. Erefir, Meshera, you have become too valuable allies to me, so...
— Valuable allies to you where the sun doesn't shine! — actually a different expression was used here, which I modestly omit. — How you've fallen lately, but I couldn't have imagined it was this bad! Seriously, you're pitying us?! Stantri, and what about you?
— Meshera, I honestly didn't even want our Hero to go there, but you're making things even more complicated. This outing will be much faster than the last one — our leader is just exaggerating; we'll manage.
— Then why?
— Because even if that conditional 10% chance that things go off plan happens, our numbers won't help us. Stay in the rear.
— Meshera, — the Hero looked his friend carefully in the eyes. — We need you very much. Without you, there can be no question of analyzing any findings. Same for Erefir, — this time a glance toward me, standing in confusion. — I count on you both for guarding our mutual friend and for your blacksmithing talent. No one but you can craft the TOKOMAK parts. And although we usually make decisions together, allow me to decide this one myself. Just as I trust you, I ask you to trust me this time, — and he bowed his head.
— Do you, now? — the scholar furrowed her brow, but gave in and let it go.
— I expect a detailed account upon your return, — I said firmly. I didn't tempt fate and try to talk him out of it — too often in my life it's been that the Universe itself hints at the right decisions. I wanted to help the Hero more than anything at that moment, that's true, but I sensed the general mood, had no arguments, and didn't want to complicate things. I must also confess that after everything we'd been through, a naive inner conviction had arisen in me that the core of our team was practically immortal — what could happen to them more dangerous than what we'd already survived? On a rational level, of course, I was worried — the specific situation of splitting up was too unusual, and Stantri as the initiator might have had some hidden, unspoken considerations. But... Somehow that's just how we did things; I didn't argue with the leader. And so our paths diverged.
At parting, the Hero for some reason pulled me aside and tried to say something somewhat nervously — probably worried that we'd go on some reckless reconnaissance. I reassured him one last time, and made him promise that they would be careful too.
***
The diary itself, part 2
The rest of the day, and the night after it, and the next day passed without incident. I really thought the Hero and Stantri should have returned to the Dancing Tower around that time, but they were late, and Meshera and I faced another night in camp with alternating watch duty. The first watch was hers. It was a pleasant night, terribly romantic to fall asleep there on the hillock under the open sky, listening to the howling of magical winds and the barking of otherworldly entities.I don't know how long I slept, but suddenly a suspicious silence forced me awake. Perhaps I'm not that sensitive, but when you wander with friends for a long time, you begin to sense them on some level, no matter how hard they try not to disturb your sleep: it's the characteristic pacing back and forth, the periodic sighs, and someone like Meshera might suddenly want to get out pen and paper to write down a thought or theory that just came to her. Even though there was no noise, our tripwires against monsters hadn't triggered, and no one raised the alarm, even so, through that same wind, something in my gut made it clear that trouble had come to our doorstep.
The moment I jumped up from my bed, a medium-sized stone struck the spot where I had been a fraction of a second earlier. It shattered and seemed to vanish. It had flown from the direction of the dark elf, who, having committed an aggressive act, immediately tried to hide again — and succeeded, at that. Ambush attackers were always a dangerous type of opponent, and if Meshera's fate hadn't been at stake, I wouldn't have played by the rules and would have simply fled. The problem was that our scholar was nowhere to be seen, and only the elf could give me an answer, or victory over her... I tried to increase the distance and put my back against a wall. For a while nothing happened, and then instead of the expected attack, I managed to make out a quiet whisper. Ritual magic? Goosebumps ran down my skin as I listened closely: apparently, what was being whispered was none other than my name.
A sword swing cut short the villainess's plans — I couldn't allow her to continue. Upon examining the elf and the surroundings, I realized Meshera was still nowhere to be found, but I did find two straw dolls, as well as a suspicious pouch of stones... As for the former, it seems my parents hadn't lied when they said they'd given me a hidden name: an interesting precaution on their part against curses — even the sorcerer who read my thoughts couldn't hope to gain full power over me with something like that doll. Even I myself didn't know my third name, after all. Such a measure at first glance seems no more than an ancient noble superstition, but I have no other explanation for why the curse of a clearly prepared enemy — didn't work.
The stones, meanwhile, looked like the one thrown at me. I had no better way to test how it worked than to throw it at the dark elf — and, to my surprise, she immediately vanished. And yet, along with that, food for thought appeared.
Were invisible people watching us? If so, that could explain both the knowledge of names and the drops of blood on the dolls, but not the chosen timing (why wait more than a day after the party split up?), nor the method of attack itself, since poison or a bomb would have been more reliable... Something had gone off plan for the Hero and Stantri. And so, since there was obviously nothing I could do, it was time to pack up and set off on a solo voyage, not waiting for the ill-wishers to return...
After all, no one has ever survived in the expanses of wild magic. Only the Hero had that trait. I — am just a knight. My armor protects me from what it can; everything else I simply avoid. These are the basics of this place. They cannot be changed. And no one in their right mind would try.
Right?
But what awaits me if I put a pack on my back and simply leave now? What would remain of those last months when I, contrary to nearly my entire adult life, was needed by someone? And I needed someone else? When I wasn't alone, in proud and foolish solitude? When, thanks to truly good examples, a semblance of a personality was forming from a savage — a person who doesn't merely survive, but also, albeit a little, feels? For many years before that, a smile hadn't touched my face, but recently, looking out the window of yet another hovel, I got a bit scared: that red-haired girl in the reflection was somehow bursting with laughter. As if she wasn't me at all...
If the Hero and Meshera were still alive, and they needed me at that moment as much as I needed them, then, frankly, even a 99% risk of death was worth it.
Having waited until the very last moment, in the morning I set out for the breach.
***
First there was a tingling in my fingers, then all over my skin, and my armor didn't help. Then here and there — like blows, and sometimes cuts, sometimes — like not enough air, and then — like intoxication. This place hinted at me to turn back more and more insistently, but I stubbornly kept going.
For a moment all sensations ceased, and at the same time anxiety overtook me — I wanted to hide before a particularly strong storm. The rocks here weren't particularly large, so of course my desperate attempt didn't save me from the ensuing magical storm. My whole body was being twisted, torn to pieces, and not figuratively — I heard the crack of bones, blood sprayed from every gap, my left leg was thrown somewhere, and my right arm, suddenly drained of fluids and dangling unnaturally, was ready to suffer the same fate. The point where I was — was only halfway, but now my last hopes were melting before my eyes, covered with a deathly pallor, like my severed limb was being covered at that moment.
Only a miracle or an incredible coincidence could save me. Interestingly, Stantri and Meshera once had a paradoxical hypothesis about this: sometimes it seemed as if the magic of the Dark Lands, like genie magic, was capable of giving you what you desired most. Our situations in those parts had been far too incredible.
Yes. The solution to my mortal problem had really been right under my nose all along. Right on my neck. All I had to do was, overcoming the pain, tear the amulet off myself.
***
Stantri's cold gaze shifted to surprise, and even fleeting fear. He was standing under the protection of his barriers, shielding himself from the massive energy pillar nearby. Yes, reasonably on guard, but clearly not expecting what would come to him from outside.
— Must be some visual anomaly, — he squinted for a moment.
— I won't deny it's to my advantage for you to think that, if it lulls your vigilance, — I replied.
— What the hell! No, I already thought you were crazy before... Though the odds were maybe even better than 50/50, considering that the zombifying disease is most likely single-celled fungi. Such organisms really do know how to adapt to magic very quickly, as well as regenerate even in unstable conditions, and the circlet preserved your consciousness. I think you now have something like your own immune system, at the cost of your humanity. If only I could study this phenomenon...
— Actually, there's not enough humidity here, so I don't feel great about long conversations, — zombie-me said. — I'd be grateful if you'd simply surrender and tell me where you put the Hero and Meshera.
— Hm? And where does such confidence come from?
— I didn't have any. The presence of a traitor explained the night attack well enough, but that was just a hypothesis. However, now...
— I see. Well, you've essentially found the Hero, — suddenly the incomprehensible boulder lying next to Stantri rose up, and it became clear it was a golem with our leader's head sticking out of its back, above the mouth. Obviously, the rest of his body was inside. — But perhaps we don't need to rush? I won't deny the situation turned out unexpectedly unpleasant for me, and as a laboratory chanterelle you'd have been more interesting to me, but we do have room for discussion. As it happens, Meshera, provided Jifa did her job correctly, has been teleported to my secret location. And overall, I'm not a villain as you might think. It's just that my goals differed from your idealistic ones — you see, I work for Illinar, and I'd like my country to recover from the shock it received by learning to use the Obelisk's energy. No, actually, I'm also an idealist in my own way — we just disagreed, — a nod toward the Hero. — Willy-nilly, I had to figure out how to turn the situation to my advantage. You'd have done the same if something important to you were at stake, right? And as a mercenary, you can still — Meshera in exchange for the Hero, plus, as you understand, you yourself are in dire need of help, unless green skin suits you. And I wouldn't mind not being attacked with that stick of yours...
— But then what about the Hero? And how did you plan to build the TOKOMAK while turning against us?
— Yes, an awkward question. Well, I simply counted on getting all of you, one way or another, though now that's no longer the case. As for how, in case of your disagreement — you can ask Jifa. After all, that incident because of which she "disappeared" was her fault — she was too suspicious, started sniffing around...
— Ahem-ahem, but be that as it may, I need the Hero. He's the key to perfect protection against wild magic, and not only that, and I myself have not the slightest idea how to simulate his ability. More precisely, _now_ I've seen something functionally similar, but no offense — your method is far too extreme, Erefir. Without the Hero's skill, although in my view one could learn to manipulate the Obelisk's energy, military application seems extremely difficult.
— In short, I've outlined my goals and possible concessions. It's disgusting, of course, losing people like you and Meshera, but unlike some, I won't risk and dig in my heels for a perfect ending. You, Erefir, as I see it, also usually think rationally and assess situations well — except that the circlet of haste has stopped coping with brains that are too rotten, — a shrug.
— I see... An interesting offer, but how does it account for the fact that trust in your words has recently become negative, Stantri?
— Well, well... I thought you'd appreciate that despite the double game, I essentially never deceived you, — the mage smiled. — I was going to tell you if you showed interest. It's simple — these lovely little stones, — demonstrating the already familiar object. — As you might have guessed, or might not have, they are one-use teleportation devices in a fragile shell that breaks on impact and releases the effect. Already took one? You can use it to teleport to my laboratory — more precisely, to one of the random locked chambers. The key, a magical one, I'll give you; the password for the guardian golems — also. I hope you'll be a person of honor and won't smash everything there — you only need Meshera, right?
— Still unconvincing. For example, you could give me anything as a key, taking advantage of my ignorance.
— You know, I could have simply not mentioned either the key or the golems if I wanted to deceive, and it would still sound convincing. I think you'll just have to trust me on this matter, because I literally have many tools in hand to make your friends' lives harder, and from your trump cards I see only a plague stick. I won't deny that you partly owe the very possibility of these negotiations to the fact that I think well of you...
No, the motivation was almost certainly different, but I didn't object.
— Reasonable, and yet I like to be over-cautious, Stantri. You know that yourself, right? And so one more question: perhaps you've already finished your business here?
— I don't follow... Is that a veiled threat?
— Not at all. You're going to head to the laboratory soon anyway, right? Can we use the same teleport? Then, whatever is on the other side, you'll resolve those problems yourself while right next to me, and you don't lose your hostages. The Hero along with the golem can, as I understand, be moved with another stone.
— You see, Stantri, although you are a gentleman, based on our interactions, I generally have little faith in agreements without deterrents. But this way — each of us will have them at hand, no one loses anything, ideal ground for cooperation, and minimal risk. If our former friendship still means anything to you, as you say, then I hope...
— Enough. To be honest, your exact proposal wouldn't have suited me, since I wouldn't want to take my eyes off our Hero even for a minute, but fortunately, I have a teleport with a large radius on me, straight to the main room. So technically I see no problem with this — we'll all move together; it's even simpler than giving you the keys. As for my business here, I was just finishing up, — Stantri indicated with his eyes toward the second golem, which was returning to him with a large artifact container. — Now tell me directly: are you ready for an agreement, Erefir Linel Darvening?
The intonation with which my name was spoken made me shudder internally.
— You will unhinderedly give me Meshera alive and unharmed, and allow us to leave. In that case, I don't intend to harm you. The moment I see otherwise — everything is void.
— And you won't try to free the Hero?
I looked at my true friend, and we met eyes. It's hard to say what he felt at that moment, but I seemed to see both sorrow and even gratitude there. He... Valued mine and Meshera's lives more than his own. Sometimes I wanted to scold him verbally for that, and that time especially. Ah yes, there was something else. The Hero was clearly darting his eyes from side to side, as if saying "No!"
— Provided your conditions are met, I won't try, — I finally said, turning my eyes to Stantri.
— I think there's much more in common between us than differences. A pity we'll soon part as enemies, — he grinned, pulling out the teleport. I stepped closer, pondering options for quickly breaking Stantri's protective barriers or killing him some other way. Perhaps he noticed, because he grinned even wider, throwing the artifact to the ground with a characteristic cracking sound. The surrounding landscape blurred for a moment.
Of course, all this time Stantri could have simply fled from me by exactly the same method we were now using to move.
After the brightly lit area near the breach, the dim light of the laboratory barely allowed us to see the golems surrounding us in the first second.
Of course, Stantri didn't run — he staged this whole scene because he badly needed the Lands' best blacksmith, and his insatiable curiosity about my new condition only fueled him further.
— You know, Erefir, I think I forgot, but I do have a magic shield after all, and it can withstand a couple of your hits, right? If so, let's change the terms a little...
He didn't finish the last word, because I jumped back, throwing my entire pouch of teleport stones at his feet. I think there were four of them. To be honest, I didn't want to carry out such a brutal execution on a former friend, but I had no better ideas, given both the damage shield, the hostage, and the enemy's numerical advantage: and the last two factors still remained.
Stantri managed to command his golems, or maybe they perceived me as an intruder on their own, and now I faced a battle in an enclosed space against an extremely tough opponent. Better than going straight into a locked prison cell, but far from an ideal option. And yet, now I thought that if I tried hard, I could save everyone.
I didn't think that I myself would need saving. My infected, undead body desperately didn't want to fall under the hail of blows, but the bone-breaker also didn't take golems well. I wasn't prepared for such a battle — Stantri had never before demonstrated that he could handle something like this. Or maybe it wasn't him, but someone else? Worst of all, freeing the Hero to help me before the battle ended was impossible, and the golem holding him was something like a boss — it constantly tried to stun me from afar with something like an earthquake.
I was already on the brink when I suddenly heard a shout, and my heart sank into my boots. The Hero... Through some incredible effort, he apparently managed to free his mouth from the clay prison. He couldn't possibly hope to challenge the golems with that shout, could he? Alas, that's exactly what he did — his talents truly defied scientific explanation.
The golems furiously began pounding on the giant's back, forcing it to fend off the unexpected traitors, and in the end most of them soon turned into a pile of shattered shards, and I managed to finish off the rest myself. This was achieved, alas, at a dear price, because most of the Hero of Origins had been turned into pulp. Anyone else in his place would have given up the ghost, but on some incredible force of will, my savior was still breathing, and even found the strength to smile.
— Aquilius... Agis... P., — he wheezed one word after another.
— That's not necessary! You spent so long building the fame of your epithet, only to give up so easily! Please, hold on a little longer — I'll think of something! — burst out of me unexpectedly, but I only seemed to make him smile even more. The Hero wanted to say something else, but seemed to change his mind, and his eyes glazed over.
Through some kind of haze, I methodically and rather roughly began breaking the magical locks on the laboratory chambers. Yes, I had a rough idea where their weak points were, and thanks to brute force I didn't need the key... Alas, when I opened them all, I found only the corpse of the dark elf I had transported myself, the smeared remains of the republican traitor-mage across several rooms, and Meshera — also lifeless. As if the Universe had avenged my own cruel methods — the scholar's teleport had failed, because someone had forgotten something like a torture device in the middle of the chamber.
This ending could not have been further from what I read in romantic literature as a child.
***
And I wandered somewhere aimlessly. My own body had become my own cage; the only plus was that zombies don't cry. It was as if I had cut short the lives of those last people who were more important to me than myself and the rest of the world with my own green hands. I could find rational justifications for my unprofessionalism and blindness as much as I wanted, but my gut was an implacable judge. I, the insolent red fox, am alive, and they are not — that's the whole story. This beautiful world is accessible to my senses, however clouded they may be, but my friends no longer have that privilege.
I remembered my parents, whom I hadn't even tried to find for many years, though I cherished the hope that they were alive. Master Romsan, who certainly gave his life saving me in childhood. With all these thoughts, my newly acquired monstrous form seemed at least some compensation for their fates, though not sufficient.
I don't know how many days this went on. As luck would have it, I encountered neither monsters strong enough to finish me off, nor deadly enough anomalies, although, perhaps to my shame, I still felt self-preservation to the same degree as before. In any case, the idea of simply taking off the circlet of consciousness and sinking into an undead sleep met with active resistance from my thoughts — and not only because military honor was still alive in me.
Suddenly I saw a breach right before me. It seemed this wasn't the same one as the first two I'd seen, but a new one... Though with this fickle landscape, one couldn't be sure of anything, and I hadn't been tracking my route.
Strange that something had lured me here. Or was the space itself curved, increasing the chances of coming to one of the breaches if you wandered randomly, like a leaf driven by all winds?
Remembering the idea of the Dark Lands' miracles, and taking advantage of my new immunity, I decided to step closer. Then closer still. Soon even my zombie body was clearly suffering from the magical flow, but those ideas, which had once seemed jokey, kept ringing in me. This magic is alive. Thinking. It can manifest not only random phenomena, but often gives you exactly what you need. Victory. Insight. Life. Strength. Beauty. Friends...
— Come on, energy pillar, do something already! With my life! — I said probably the stupidest words since my youth. Surprisingly, the opposing wind changed to a following one, and I managed to quickly approach right up to the breach, touching it with what remained of my poor, falling-apart hand.
I don't remember what I saw there — my memory seems to have been erased afterward. But from the lingering sensory aftertaste — it was beautiful; that's how the stars above might look unhindered by atmospheric distortions, or all worlds in the palm of your hand, or all knowledge at the tip of a pen, or all souls in the stream of eternity. I came to with an intoxicating feeling that everything was within my power, though already fading, and now there's field grass around, and the breach is nowhere. The skin of my hands stands out against the surrounding terrain in a pale, slightly pinkish tone I've grown accustomed to, and my mind no longer seems like an artifact imitation of the former, living one.
For a second, my conscience pricked me again — not only did I outlive everyone, but I also avoided the worst consequences — and yet after the recent euphoria, I no longer wanted to think that way. Perhaps there was some meaning in it. Instead of self-flagellation, I sat down, tucking my knees, and began weighing further options. Surprisingly, there were quite a few: the TOKOMAK blueprints were still with me, the villages still needed saving, and the Lands hadn't exactly run short of villains. Among the latter, as far as I knew, there were even quite dangerous organizations that seemed to one degree or another competitors to the dead mage. This whole affair with Stantri might not actually be over.
Only one fundamental question remained: I had no intention of seeking new permanent allies. Otherwise, the possibilities were enormous. I probably won't describe everything that followed in detail, unless a new surge of inspiration comes over me. The main thing, and what affected me most strongly, I've resurrected in my memory, and that's enough — after all, diaries exist for systematizing life experience.
But that's a completely different story.