Posts from Ruthgar's Campaign

Part I

Chapter 1

Sunbeams cheerfully broke through the narrow window, scaring away the little spiders that hastily scattered into the corners. The light fell on the floor, flashing across the entire room in an instant, leaped onto the bed and stubbornly settled on a young man's face.
Rutgar grimaced in his sleep and tried to brush it away, but the stubborn rays refused to retreat. Grumbling discontentedly, the youth opened his eyes.
Summer nights are too short; the sun rises early, persistently disturbing one's sleep! In winter, it was different. But now, a wonderful refreshing scent of post-storm air lingered in the atmosphere, something that could only be felt in summer.
A tall young man rose from the bed. His broad bones and strong muscles had long been a subject of boasting before the court ladies. They were also useful at the royal tournaments, which he participated in annually.
Generally, one can participate in tournaments starting from twenty springs, but by virtue of being a prince, he had participated since fifteen, and by his twentieth, he was already considered a very successful warrior. It was no wonder he studied martial arts under the kingdom's best mentors.
Loud children's laughter drifted in from the street, so joyful that Rutgar couldn't help but smile. The youth hobbled to the other end of the room and leaned over a basin, splashing himself with cold water with delight.
The basin reflected a young, masculine face with sharply defined lines. Lively brown eyes were hidden under thick eyebrows. Wet hair immediately clung to his shoulders. A crooked nose had suffered repeatedly in scuffles, both at tournaments and outside palace life.
On warm evenings, the prince loved to stroll secretly through the city, visiting taverns where he often had to fight in a drunken heat. Some rogue, not recognizing the royal personage, would spend a long time with pleasure beating the arrogant youth who had stepped up for a girl or defended certain political interests in an argument.
Rutgar was glad that he wasn't recognized; otherwise, how would he understand his own worth? And the prince knew how to stand up for himself. He had successfully convinced dozens of tavern and inn guests of this.
There were times when, waking up early in the morning with an unknown woman, he had to rush at full speed through the streets of Eagle's Nest back to the castle before his strict father caught the royal personage in indecent behavior. In such moments, same-aged friend of his father, Harold, the chief commander of the Free Kingdom, often came to the rescue.
Yesterday, however, he hadn't managed to stroll; he had talked with his father until deep into the night. No matter, he would make up for it today!
The prince put on trousers made of coarsely tanned leather when there was a timid knock at the door. A young maid appeared behind the bold creak of the shutters.
- The King wishes to see you at breakfast, - she said, modestly casting her eyes down.
Rutgar reached for his shirt, not failing to flex his muscles. The girl blushed, her face reflecting complete embarrassment.
- I'll be there soon, - promised the prince.
The maid hastily closed the doors from the other side, as if the youth might suddenly pounce and bite.
Putting on gray boots, the youth raced through a long narrow corridor; the steps clattered cheerfully under his feet. Having reached the floor below, Rutgar pushed open a massive door and entered the great hall.
The room was filled with people having breakfast, sitting around a lavishly decorated table. Stern glances immediately fell upon the prince, making him instantly lose his desire to enjoy life.
At the head of the table sat old King Gregory. Wise eyes looked sternly at his son; he wanted to say something but changed his mind, deciding that trying to teach his son about life in the morning was useless. Gregory's short hair glistened with gray. Discontent was clearly written on his worn face.
To the right of the king sat the kingdom's chief commander, Harold. Years of loyal service to the Fatherland had left numerous scars on Harold's face, received in many battles.
On the left side sat Rutgar's older sister and her husband. Evelyn was a beautiful tall girl, as if stepped out of a portrait of old rulers. Her entire appearance breathed own aristocratism, unlike Zufar's shifty eyes.
Zufar was a mage. That was exactly why he was disliked by both Rutgar and his father. The mage's nose was so long that it seemed no royal matter escaped its attention. A short beard blackened his protruding chin, giving Zufar the resemblance of a goat. Even indoors, the mage did not remove his peculiar turban.
- Good morning! - Rutgar greeted them cheerfully.
He pulled out a simple wooden chair at the opposite end of the table from the king. Harold greeted him with a nod, while the others ignored the prince.
- Rafiz, Zufar's brother, will be visiting us today, - Gregory said.
Rutgar looked at him from under his brow, trying to understand the king's attitude toward the mage's arrival. But his father's face remained impenetrable. Harold, however, shifted noisily in his seat, expressing clear dissatisfaction.
Just yesterday, the chief commander had declared that these mages were plotting something. Zufar, who previously only occasionally traveled back to his homeland in the League of Silver Cities, had now settled completely in the Free Kingdom. And he was even inviting relatives.
The king nodded but kept his thoughts to himself. The prince and others could only guess what ruminations crowded the ruler's head.
The prince tore a leg off a smoked piglet carcass. The well-prepared meat melted in his mouth; the prince involuntarily hummed with pleasure.
Zufar cast a contemptuous glance at him. If anyone, a royal personage should behave more with restraint.
Rutgar noticed the hostile look and returned one just like it. Let the pompous mage not forget who he is in the palace.
- We must prepare a worthy welcome for my brother, - the mage said in a thin, shrill voice. – I hope a worthy reception awaits him.
Gregory nodded coolly, continuing to chew his meat.
- That is already being handled, - Harold assured. – Luxurious quarters have been prepared for Rafiz and his people, where they can rest after their difficult journey.
- There are no difficult journeys for Rafiz! - Zufar countered angrily; the commander irritated him. – He could have moved here in the blink of an eye! But he wished to bring a caravan so that the people of the Free Kingdom could marvel at the power and beauty of the League of Silver Cities!
Rutgar snorted loudly; the mage looked back offended.
- Do you find my words funny?
The prince shook his head.
- How could you think such a thing? - he said affectedly. – It never even crossed my mind!
The king slammed his hand on the table. Rutgar realized that he did not like listening to the eternal bickering. The mage's eyes gleamed with hatred; he leaned toward the prince and whispered quietly so only Rutgar could hear.
- Do not dare mock me, you degenerate! I will remember this when you are on your knees begging for alms!
Rutgar jumped up from the table and sharply threw his right fist forward. A loud slap rang out; the mage fell off his chair, pressing his palms to his cheekbone.
- Repeat your words! - the prince shouted angrily. – Repeat them or hide yourself from my sight!
With an invisible movement, Harold appeared beside Rutgar and grabbed his arms, but the prince had no intention of resisting. Evelyn leaned over her husband, burning through her brother with a hateful gaze.
- Apologize immediately, my son, - the king said clearly.
He himself calmly continued his meal as if nothing had happened. Rutgar looked at his father in surprise, clearly expecting support.
- But father! This impious man said that...
Gregory struck the table with his fist. Silver platters jumped with a clang on the polished tabletop.
- Apologize immediately! - Gregory roared.
- It is not necessary, ruler, - requested the mage as he stood up. – He will still have time.
Casting a promising look at the prince, the mage shot out of the room like an arrow. Evelyn followed him, holding her head high with pride.

- Do you understand what you've done?
Gregory lectured his son in the throne hall, where only Harold was present besides them. Rutgar listened, trying to object, but the enraged king left him no such opportunity.
- Do you understand that Zufar is not a person with whom you can simply fight and forget? He sleeps and dreams of seizing power in the palace, and your stupid antics only provide more reasons!
- Then why not kick him out of the kingdom, along with my sister? - Rutgar took advantage of a pause in his father's tirade. – Let them roll back to the League!
The prince looked at the commander for support, but he gloomily lowered his head.
- An enemy should be kept closer than a friend, - said the king. – Were you not taught this by your mentors? As long as he is in the palace, I know all his plans. And I can be calm about the throne. About you.
Rutgar felt the flush of shame flood his face. His father was always preparing him for future rule, and he kept putting spokes in the wheels.
- I have grown old, my son, - Gregory continued quietly. – Soon Silat will take my soul into his army, but my heart is uneasy for you! You must learn humility. After my death, the mage will have claims to the throne. And it does not matter which country he is in. He will try to kill you.
- We'll see how he manages that, - the prince hissed with hatred in his voice.
The king smiled bitterly. His son's words did not inspire the proper confidence.
- Still, I believe he should be expelled from court! - Rutgar concluded.
- In the east, orcs are gathering into tribes. The speeches of their shamans are warlike! The day is not far when their hatred will overflow into a bloody war. We cannot neglect the power and influence of a mage like Zufar.
Rutgar listened to his father's words impatiently.
- The orcs will first wage war on the mages who held them in slavery for many centuries, - he countered. – Our kingdom is of no use to them, but if Zufar openly acts against them in our name, then the orcs will act against us too.
Gregory tiredly bowed his head. There was a significant amount of truth in his son's words, but how could he explain that politics is the search for all possibilities and compromises?
- You were wrong to strike the mage, - he said quietly but clearly. – You will offer him your apologies no later than when tomorrow's sun rises.
Rutgar silently bowed to his father and left the hall.

Sun glints leaped deftly from one sword to another. Rutgar struck with force, trying simply to knock the sword out of the opponent's hands, but Harold skillfully parried every time. A couple of times he counterattacked sharply; the prince struggled to evade the precise strikes.
Finally, the prince wore himself out and took a hit to the chest from the hilt. The tip of Harold's blade stopped a few millimeters from the youth's unprotected throat.
- Pull yourself together, - advised the commander. – You've missed for the third time!
Rutgar waved his hand tiredly.
They were in a small courtyard enclosed by high stone walls. Since childhood, the young prince had been taught martial arts here. In summer, shadows from tall old trees reliably protected them from the heat. In winter, the prince himself cleared the courtyard of snowdrifts before lessons. Harold believed that such actions were very useful for a young man.
- Zufar won't leave my head, - Rutgar shared.
Sighing heavily, he sat on the soft green grass. The commander continued to swing his sword alone.
- Your father is right, - same-aged Harold said, grunting. – You are too impatient and arrogant. Think about what your purpose is! You must rule people, lead a nation! And you spend your evenings clutching disreputable girls and picking fights.
Rutgar grimaced.
- That's while the opportunity still exists, - he assured. - Later, when I sit on the throne, I doubt I'll be able to enjoy such trifles.
Harold nodded sympathetically. He himself was by no means distinguished by humility or patience. Rutgar had noticed several times how various beauties winked flirtatiously at the old commander during their processions through the city.
Harold's face flushed.
- That is a different matter! Unlike you, I have no loving family with whom I can spend my evenings.
The commander sat down beside the prince.
- Loving, - Rutgar snorted contemptuously. – Only her husband knows what Evelyn is worth.
Harold smiled understandingly. Evelyn took after her mother. Just as power-hungry and mean. In any case, her flaws could be listed for a long time.
An ant was diligently climbing up Rutgar's leg. The prince carefully picked it up and placed it on the ground. The ant stood in indecision for a few moments, then quickly disappeared into the grass.
- Look at that ant. It lives without any troubles! Just find and carry food to the nest. I wish I were like that, - the youth sighed.
- They have a hierarchy there too, - countered the commander. – The ant king sits in an underground burrow and distributes food and duties among everyone.
Rutgar looked at his old friend with surprise.
- How do you know?
- A certain acquaintance sorcerer told me, - Harold dismissed. – He was always amazed by their form of government.
A joyful roar of many people was heard beyond the walls. People were shouting greetings and wishes of health. The brother of mage Zufar was entering Eagle's Nest at the head of a large caravan.
Two hours earlier, Rutgar had refused to meet the distant relative and went with Harold to practice with the sword. The prince had absolutely no desire to see anyone else with the arrogant mannerisms of Zufar.
The shouts grew closer. Rafiz was traveling along the main paved street toward the palace. Even now, all the servants were hurriedly remembering if they had forgotten to prepare anything for the arrival of such an important guest. Since early morning, the kingdom's best chefs had been working in the kitchens to serve the mages the finest delicacies.
Rutgar spat angrily and stood up, inviting Harold to a new duel with a gesture.
- If it were my will, neither Zufar nor his relatives would ever have appeared here!
Harold shook his head disapprovingly. He also disliked Evelyn's husband, but he had no habit of contradicting the king's plans. Despite the fact that the king was a good old friend and always listened attentively to his, Harold's, opinion.
- And I will never apologize to him! - the prince added angrily, swinging his sword.

Eagle's Nest was built in difficult times, when young Duke Novel of House Eagle fled from the Empire of the Falcon in confusion. Many people followed him, wishing to seek a better life in the east. But to build this life, they had to put significant effort into its creation.
Having chosen a favorable spot, Novel declared that the capital city of a new kingdom was destined to stand here, whose subjects would sacredly honor Silat, the air dragon. There were few people skilled in construction or architecture, so the city was built in the manner of the Imperial ones.
Enclosing a large space with a high stone wall, the people began to build sturdy stone houses for themselves, for winter in these eastern lands was harsh. In the center, they erected a majestic palace with many towers, not inferior to the best palaces of the Empire of the Falcon.
Over the city stretched a huge statue of an archangel, thirty meters high, the strongest among Silat's heavenly host. On two small towers, stone statues of an eagle and a falcon appeared as a sign of the former friendship of the divided people. Later, after the fall of the Falcon throne, a statue of a griffin was added to them.
Years replaced one another; kings changed. The city's population grew; houses were now built beyond the city wall, and soon they decided to put up another one. Stronger and higher.
Already under King Novel's descendants, some dukes left Eagle's Nest and founded new cities. But the authority of the Eagle dynasty was recognized in all free cities. Later, the commonwealth of new cities was simply called the Free Kingdom.
Only Duke Leon did not wish to enter the new kingdom, and the city of Stonehelm remained independent, though he did not spoil relations with his neighbors.
The inhabitants of the Empire of the Griffin spoke poorly of their former friends, but in secret, many dreamed of moving to the new state.

A summer evening brought refreshing coolness. People wandering the paved streets lazily discussed the arrival of mage Rafiz and the fair he had organized on the main square before the palace. The mage had brought exotic goods never seen before in the kingdoms of men.
Rutgar reluctantly listened to fragments of conversations drifting from all the tables in the large tavern room. The prince was clad in a long cloak. A low-drawn hood made him unrecognizable to visitors, and he could calmly indulge in reflections.
The king would be very upset to learn that his son had disobeyed his order and did not apologize to Zufar for the offensive blow dealt in the morning.
- So let him! - the prince hissed angrily and slammed his fist on the table.
Some patrons looked at him with surprise but immediately forgot. Who knows what kind of eccentrics wander in during the evening to drain a pint of cold beer?
It was time to get rid of the annoying mage. And it should be done as soon as possible!
A cunning plan began to take shape in the prince's head, but he was constantly distracted. Either some drunk patron would shout something loudly and everyone would support him in chorus, or another would accidentally bump into him while carrying a pitcher of wine to the table.
Rutgar rose irritably from the table and headed for the exit, tossing a silver coin to a servant boy on his way. The boy caught it deftly and tested the coin with his teeth. His face spread into a satisfied smile.
The cold air hit his head refreshingly. Rutgar realized with sadness that his plan had vanished into oblivion.
He found himself on one of the small streets that ran under the first city wall. People rarely lingered here, fearing petty bandits and thieves. The prince was not afraid of them. He took almost no money with him, but always had a small dagger. In case the bandits' intentions were quite serious.
Overhead, the last ray of sun flashed in farewell. Darkness hung over the city, but a moment later, patrols lit large lamps on all the main streets. Small candle lights flickered in the windows of houses.
A girl stepped out from a side courtyard toward the prince. In the twilight, her face seemed mysteriously beautiful, and her slender figure instantly ignited passion in the prince. The girl held a wide bowl, from which liquid spilled carelessly onto the ground.
- It is not proper for a girl to walk alone at such an hour, - noted the prince, passing the beauty.
The girl smiled charmingly.
- Perhaps a young man would keep me company? - she asked in a captivating voice. – I live in this house, but it can be so lonely alone!
Rutgar stopped with interest. He didn't want to return to the castle yet, and the thought of spending time with a mysterious beauty appealed to him more.
The girl beckoned him with her hand and offered him the bowl.
- Follow me; by the way, there is excellent wine in the bowl. You will certainly find it to your taste!
Rutgar followed the girl into a small courtyard, sipping from the bowl as he went. The wine indeed seemed extraordinary. A wave of warming drink ran soothingly through his body.
Bowing his head, the prince entered a spacious room. The walls of the room were painted in a peculiar ornament of different colors.
- I'll be right back! - the girl shouted cheerfully from another room.
Rutgar examined the stone figures arranged on the floor with interest. He drained the bowl in one gulp.
Now a feeling of sleepiness appeared. His eyes began to close on their own; Rutgar slapped his cheek loudly with his palm. His legs began to give way; he saw a chair and sank heavily into it.
The girl appeared before his eyes, laughing cheerfully. Her laughter drowned out all other sounds. Everything blurred in his vision.
The last thing the prince saw was a malicious face with a stupid turban on its head.

Chapter 2

I woke up in complete darkness, and it seemed I was on damp earth. A nauseating smell of mold hit my nostrils.
Not understanding where he was, Ruthgar tried to stand up, but only managed to sit up. Turning his head, he groaned from a sharp pain. It seemed that after losing consciousness, he had fallen awkwardly and hit his head.
Zufar, that cursed mage! It was his smug face the prince had noticed just before falling into the abyss.
But where is he? In the deepest levels, where hardened criminals are always kept? But why? Who ordered him to be thrown into this foul cell like some wretched vagabond?
-Does anyone hear me?- he shouted demandingly into the void. – Release me immediately, or I cannot guarantee your lives!
His voice sank uncertainly into the gloom. Even if someone had heard the demands, they paid no heed.
The youth felt a wall to his right and, leaning on it, stood up. A small step required immense effort, but the next was easier. He held his hand out in front of him so as not to bump into the wall. Soon his fingers touched something soft. Dirt crumbled, trying to crawl under his nails. It seemed the cell had simply been dug into the ground. And if so, there must be a door cut in somewhere.
Surely my father decided to teach me a lesson. After all, he gave a promise but did not keep it. And the wise king, having caught him in a lie, decided once and for all to kill his desire for evening strolls. But why entrust this to Zufar? No one in the kingdom likes the mage, including my father. Or was it punishment for losing my temper and striking out?
Numb fingers encountered wood. Ruthgar began to beat violently on the door, shouting threats. Soon the shuffling of feet could be heard behind the door. The prince stepped back slightly from the door, trying to assume a formidable appearance; he was about to fly into a rage! How dare they treat him like some wretched criminal!
-Awake at last,- a voice said from behind the door.
The clinking of metal followed, a lock clicked, and the door opened wide. A stream of bright light flooded into the opening, illuminating the corners and walls of the tiny chamber. Ruthgar instinctively covered his eyes with the sleeve of his dirty shirt and backed away.
-Look, he's repulsed by the light!- the same voice bellowed at full throat. – Just like a rat!
A vile cackle echoed against the walls. Through tears, Ruthgar discerned a short fat man holding a substantial bunch of keys in his right hand and something suspiciously resembling a bowl in his left. The fat man shook so much from laughter that the liquid contents of the bowl spilled onto the ground.
Two other people stood in the corridor. Both were tall, with monstrous muscles bulging on their bare torsos—so much so that the youth instantly felt ashamed of his own. They held curved sabers; one also carried a tiny lamp that gave an even more surprisingly bright light.
Through his laughter, the fat man followed his gaze.
-Those are golems, boy,- he said in the voice of a sage. – Don't think of playing tricks here; they'll cool you down in an instant!
Ruthgar noticed the slightly greenish hue of the swordsmen's skin, something he had once seen on a drowned man. Moreover, the striking resemblance to one another betrayed them as twins, or mechanical fighters created from a single template—the kind he had read about in fragmented chronicles regarding other races.
-Here is food, boy,- the fat man groaned, bending down and placing the bowl on the floor. – The master ordered me to ensure you don't die here of hunger or cold. If you freeze, you can jump around; there's plenty of room here,- he burst into laughter again while closing the doors.
Ruthgar leaned forward, intending to stop the insolent man, but one of the golems cut him off with a wave of a saber.
-You scoundrel!- the prince exclaimed angrily. – Do you even know what awaits you for such treatment?
-But but,- the key-bearer interrupted businesslike. – It is you who do not know what awaits you. And believe me, when you find out, it won't get any easier. Sit quietly; the master ordered to bring you in a couple of hours.
He disdainfully pushed aside the stunned youth and slammed the door shut.
Ruthgar kicked the door in fury. The receding shuffle of feet and the satisfied voice of the fat man reached him.
This is no longer a joke! To him, the future king of the Free Kingdom, they threw a wretched bowl of food on the ground and laughed at him! Even if this is his father's punishment and the fat man is merely a good actor, he had better never cross the prince's path.
But how did golems end up in his father's castle? The League of Silver Cities is far away; only there do mages use mechanical slaves on such a large scale. Or perhaps Rafiz hid several in his caravan. Or created them on site. Though unlikely, as it is high magic, and the royal inquisitors could not have failed to notice the disturbance in the subtle fabrics.
Questions appeared one after another, filling the anxious thoughts of the young prince. Meanwhile, his stomach insistently tried to remind him of its existence. Soon Ruthgar could think of nothing but food. By touch, he found the bowl left by the fat man. The cold, disgustingly viscous liquid made him choke and spilled on his chin. The youth threw the bowl into the darkness with disgust. His belly growled in protest.
He will settle scores with all of them; the main thing is to get out of here!
And what if he was kidnapped? Zufar whispered that he would take revenge. So terribly so that I would beg for death. And revenge among mages is a matter of honor. A chill ran down his spine. In childhood, he loved listening to war chronicles, and tutors often told of the sophisticated wars of mages, where they intimidated opponents in every way by sending mutilated corpses. In some cities, the main gates opened without a fight.
In the castle, he often heard the legend of how the renowned ancestor Victor once not only escaped from the deep dungeons of a necromancer but also caused such an uproar there that to this day dark mages do not risk sticking their noses out of the foul swamps. In his early youth, he often imagined himself in such a situation, bursting through doors with his shoulder, rushing through dark corridors with a huge sword into the villain's chambers and cleaving him in two with one gallant swing!
How easy that had seemed. Now, having fallen into real trouble, all that remained was to sit and devise an escape plan.
Ruthgar growled fiercely, trying to awaken the beast that sometimes woke up in him at royal tournaments.
-I am not some wretched commoner!- he snarled into the void.
Springing from his spot, he heavily rammed the door with his right shoulder. Sharp pain immediately responded in the joint. Taking a couple of steps back, he threw himself against it again. The shirt on his shoulder tore, and hot sticky blood slowly flowed down his arm.
After the sixth time, his head spun; his weakened body ached, urging him to abandon the hopeless attempts to break down the damn door.
Ruthgar tiredly sank to the ground, stretching out his legs.

Bright light flooded through the open door again.
-Get up, prince,- the fat man ordered mockingly. -Look at you, thinking of sleeping. You're not in your own home here!
Ruthgar opened his eyes. The same trio stood in the doorway; the fat man now held iron shackles in his hands. The golems stood motionless, but the swords in their hands glinted suggestively. Slowly rising, he rubbed his sore shoulder.
-Where am I being held?
-Change your tone, boy,- the key-bearer advised. Contempt flashed in his gaze. – You are in the castle of the great mage Rafiz, understand? In the League of Silver Cities. Your name, your lineage, and title are a complete void here, half-pint. Therefore, do as you are told and don't think of contradicting.
It felt as if a mountain had fallen on Ruthgar. The League of Silver Cities, the kingdom of mages, was on the other side of Ashan! How were they transported so far?
-Put your hands forward. And no tricks,- the fat man ordered, preparing the shackles.
Ruthgar obediently extended his arms, but when the fat man came closer, he unexpectedly landed a punch to the man's face. The shackles fell onto the key-bearer's foot; he howled and jumped up, clutching his toes. The prince grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around, trying to strangle him.
The fat man turned purple, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, but he still managed to whisper something. Simultaneously, both golems entered the chamber; one blocked the exit. The second struck the fat man with a stone fist. It seemed to Ruthgar that he had been hit by a battering ram; the key-bearer slid to the ground. No obstacles remained between the mechanical warrior and the prince.
Screaming, Ruthgar jumped at him, grabbing his neck, trying to squeeze and break the vertebrae, but his fingers slipped over stone without causing any harm. The golem easily lifted the youth above its head and threw him to the ground.
The key-bearer, having stood up, immediately kicked him in the ribs. Then again and again, not letting Ruthgar get on his feet. The final blow hit his face; Ruthgar stopped trying to rise, putting his elbows out to protect his face.
-Wretched pup!- the key-bearer spat.
Blood flowed uncontrollably from his broken pig nose. The key-bearer disgustedly wiped his face with his shirt sleeve and kicked the prince once more, aiming for the head.
-You're lucky the master ordered not to touch you, otherwise I would have flayed you alive!
Picking up the shackles, he knelt before the youth and quickly snapped them onto Ruthgar's wrists. Tucking the bunch of keys into his wide belt, he said something to the golem. The latter obediently threw the prince over its shoulder and carried him out of the cell. Through a blurred veil, Ruthgar saw a dimly lit long corridor dug into the ground with crumbling corners.
The vague visions cleared. Ruthgar realized they were carrying him somewhere up, via stairs. The earthen steps smoothly transitioned to stone; now they were in a wide corridor.
The key-bearer shuffled along somewhere ahead; dissatisfied grumbling could be heard. The second golem was not visible. The prince raised his head; portraits of unknown people stared from the yellow walls—noble, judging by their faces, but also stern. Though what damn nobility? Surely mages, and they are all one: lying and corrupt.
The creak of opening doors followed; they were in a spacious hall. Ruthgar was thrown onto the stone floor.
-Your Majesty, the prisoner is before you,- a thin and fawning voice echoed under the high, also yellow, ceiling. Ruthgar barely recognized the voice of the key-bearer who had recently threatened him with brutal retribution.
-Now then,- another voice spoke, authoritative and strong.
Ruthgar rose slowly and with dignity. He was in a large hall. Eight columns around the perimeter held up the high ceiling, from which dragons, unicorns, griffins, and bears looked down at the prisoner, snarling viciously at two-legged scaled lizards whose front paws strangely resembled children's hands.
Dark curtains flowed from the ceiling, shielding the hall from the merciless rays of the southern sun.
A giant bed occupied half the room, its carved legs gripping the floor. A countless number of pillows were dappled in the brightest shades, both on the bed and on the floor.
Half-naked girls lay languidly on the bed, dressed in transparent trousers and bodices of blue and pink tones. They looked at the youth—some with pity, some with disgust—but their interest vanished instantly.
The prisoner's shoulders instinctively broadened, his gaze sharp as an eagle; not for nothing was he of this lineage, and though currently captive, it was only temporary—he was not a dead man yet!
Rafiz lay in the relaxed pose of an authoritative man, showing by every sign his enjoyment of life. He lay on his side, his right hand supporting his head to keep it from falling onto the pillow. His trousers were cinched with a wide belt embroidered in gold and silver; precious stones sought to blind anyone who dared cast a glance upon them. A high turban sat tightly on long greasy hair, drawing attention with a purest hexagonal diamond.
Deep-set eyes evaluated the young prince with interest. A smirk appeared on his thin face, making his prominent chin give him a resemblance to a goblin.
By the left wall stood two warriors with light yataghans in each hand. Keen eyes watched everything happening through the slits of dark masks.
-Why so careless?- Rafiz asked the fat man. – I asked only to bring the prisoner, yet you yourself are covered in blood and the captive is all bruises?
A slight reproach and dissatisfaction slipped into his voice. The key-bearer fell to his knees.
-Forgive me, master. I lost my vigilance, master. It will not happen again, master,- he stammered softly.
-Of course it won't!
The mage made a barely perceptible movement with his left hand; Ruthgar didn't have time to count the rings with rich gemstones. The golems grabbed the fat man by the arms and dragged him out of the hall. Desperate resistance did not help him; behind the closed doors, a cry for forgiveness and a piercing shriek were heard.
Rafiz watched them leave with a thoughtful gaze.
-Is it not true that humans are stupid and weak creatures?
The question sounded affirmative; the mage looked at the prince testingly.
-Is that exactly why I, the stupid and weak one, stand before you in shackles?- Ruthgar asked, looking into those cold eyes.
The mage sat up.
-And you are not such a fool as my dear brother described you!- the shackles, writhing, slid to the floor. Rafiz spread his arms theatrically. – But foolish enough to end up here... hm... as a captive. To strike a mage is too rash an act!
The prince chaotically weighed escape plans, but all paths seemed hopeless. Guards or golems surely stood watch at the doors—the latter even more terrifying—and the mage would likely not allow him to move from his spot.
-As far as I know, my compassionate brother offered you a worthy life, just like the life of your worthless father,- the mage continued. – You could have continued to enjoy all its pleasures.
-To give up the kingdom into greedy hands at the first threat is not a worthy life at all!- Ruthgar countered angrily. – I could not live further with the thought that I gave the throne to a usurper!
Rafiz laughed loudly, throwing his head back.
-What is your honor, youth? You do not pity your father; he doesn't have long left anyway, but you do not even pity your own life! You could have lived as a duke, procreated, raised children.
-And tell them how I cowardly surrendered without a fight,- the youth continued contemptuously. – Never!
Behind the mage, a very young girl rose. Jingling her hip chains, she jumped off the bed with a playful sway of her hips and headed toward a small ornate table. Gathering select fruits onto a silver tray, she brought them to the mage, humbly sinking to her knees.
Rafiz grimaced disgustedly and chose a juicy plum.
-I'm not offering you any,- he smiled victoriously. – I heard you had a wonderful dinner in your cell.
He laughed at his own joke.
-My brother has plans for you. As punishment for your insolence, you will see the corpse of your father. This will happen no later than a month from now. Then he will deal with you. Oh, Zufar has quite ghastly inclinations; he picked them up during the war of the Broken Staff, from the necromancers.
The mage's face stretched into a terrifying smile. Ruthgar felt shivers run down his spine. Tutors had told him about this war and the methods mages used to destroy necromancers.
Rafiz waved his hand again; the girl rose and gracefully jumped back onto the bed—neither plum nor grape was scattered. Before she settled on the bed, her eyes met Ruthgar's. There was something in those sad, bright blue eyes.
The mage leaned back self-satisfactoredly. Several pairs of hands embraced his thin chest from behind, beginning to stroke and caress him. It seemed he might purr with pleasure.
-You will not break my spirit!- Ruthgar decided firmly. – I will never fall so low as to beg for mercy or alms!
-What pompous speeches,- Rafiz sneered. – I, the great Rafiz, have broken those even greater than you! But I'll leave you to my brother.
He was basking in female embraces, but suddenly his eyes widened. The skin at the Adam's apple bulged; the bloody tip of a knife appeared.
The guards in dark masks were instantly on the bed; one struck the girl with the tray across her face. She slid to the floor but did not groan, instead rashly rushing toward the exit. The masked warrior caught her in one jump, knocked her down, and raised his yataghan for a strike.
Ruthgar roared like a mighty bear and grabbed the own-wicked one by the neck. Cartilage crunched like the bones of a young chicken. The warrior collapsed onto the girl.
Rafiz gasped frantically. Blood spurted in an unrestrained fountain. The girls, screaming, crawled to the other edge of the bed. Ruthgar picked up the yataghan and cautiously approached the second opponent.
The latter began waving both yataghans with unimaginable speed. Without hesitation, the prince threw his own yataghan into the steel fan; the swords in the warrior's hands diverged. A second later, he threw his entire weight onto the opponent, grabbing the arms and preventing him from using the weapons. The thin but nimble guard released the swords and pushed off the chest with his legs. Ruthgar, not expecting such agility, squeezed the trickster's wrists as hard as he could. A cry of pain was heard; the hands were twisted unnaturally. Casting a curse in an unknown language, the guard twisted in a jump, catching the prince's neck with his legs.
The prince grabbed hold with his hands; in the fall, he managed to notice that the mage's wound was rapidly closing.
-You creature,- he squeezed out with fury.
Two steps away lay the saving yataghan, but the opponent's legs held the victim firmly. His vision began to darken. With his last breath, he lunged and crawled to the sword. The yataghan proved to be as sharp as could be; with a light strike, he cut off both legs of the restless trickster.
The mage lay there, arms spread defenselessly. The blood stopped flowing, but the cut had not yet closed. Ruthgar discerned a wildly pulsing artery.
-And your blood, great Rafiz, is red.
Panic-stricken fear flashed in the mage's eyes.

What is this topic doing here? oO

Chapter 3

Rutgar kicked open the wide doors. A golem stood at each side, now resembling stone statues more than mechanical fighters.
A wide corridor led to a staircase; the prince crossed the flight in a single leap, landing one level below. There were far more doors here, almost every one guarded by motionless golems.
Rutgar peeked into the first and found nothing of interest, but the second led to a small room strewn with various weapons.
Swords of all kinds hung on the walls: light curved daggers used by elves, and long straight ones favored by humans. Monstrous double-edged axes, hatchets, and halberds stood in a rack on the floor. Spears and javelins huddled against the far wall. A longbow and several crossbows hung on the left wall.
Rutgar took a baldric with a straight sword; there was no time to try it on, so he fastened it to his left hip. As he left, he noticed an open chest in a dark corner, filled with a mixture of golden sheaths and coins. Filling his pockets, he dashed toward the exit, nearly colliding with a bewildered guard.
The guard let out a war cry and lunged at the unexpected thief. Rutgar met his opponent with a kick to the chest. The warrior recoiled, trying to keep his balance. Rutgar tripped him and stunned him with a powerful blow to the face. The guard fell unconscious.
Peeking cautiously through the doors, Rutgar detected no danger. He ran toward the stairs; the cloudless sky flickered in the narrow same-slit windows as he descended to the first floor.
His hungry stomach gave a restless reminder of itself; the aroma of roasted meat wafted through the air. The prince found himself in a spacious hall. Huge images of blue giant-men gazed wrathfully from bright red canvases hanging on white walls.
Titans—he recalled the name of these death machines. Lightning sparkled between their fingers, ready to strike an enemy at any moment.
In the center of the fourth wall stood tall wooden gates, three times the height of a man. A small door was carved into them. Rutgar rushed toward it, but his attention was drawn to three figures standing at the other end of the hall.
Two golems stood frozen, holding a writhing man between them. Rutgar recognized the former jailer, who was trying in vain to break free from the guards' tight grip.
The key-bearer also noticed the prince. His eyes grew as wide as coins in surprise.
"Mercy, noble one," he stammered hastily, "do not kill me."
Rutgar approached quickly. The golems froze mid-motion, holding the scoundrel firmly. The jailer reeked foully of sweat.
"Where are the guards? How many?" he asked, grabbing the key-bearer by the throat. "Why aren't the golems moving? Answer quickly!"
"The golems are powered by the master's magic, and the guards on the prison levels are likely drinking; there are five of them."
The prince frowned suspiciously:
"You lie? Five is too few for such a castle."
The jailer shook his head in fear.
"Why so many? The Master himself can kill anyone he wishes. Mercy, do not kill me."
Rutgar sighed with relief. Almost no guards were left; there would be no need to flee headlong.
"Your master failed!" the prince said cheerfully. "Tell me where the kitchen and stables are, or I shall torture you!"
The prince's gaze fell upon the key-bearer's leather boots, then upon his own bare feet.
"Sturdy ones. Take off your boots."
A frightened cook packed him a bag of dried meat and fresh flatbreads. He ate several on the go while searching for the stables. He was very surprised to see not horses in the stalls, but strange humpbacked animals of a sandy color that only distantly resembled horses. Some even had two humps!
Carefully leading one out of the stall, Rutgar leaped up and settled himself between the humps. The animal turned a haughty face toward him.
"Forward, wonderful horse!" he commanded warily, but the animal did not budge.
The prince squeezed with his knees and struck with his heels, but the desert horse seemed to notice nothing. Not knowing how to make the animal move, Rutgar drew his sword and gave it a light prick.
The wonder-horse let out a piercing howl and bolted into a gallop. The prince hastily clung to the hump.
Mages certainly live well, he thought sadly; their castles are larger and their horses more convenient.
A strange, frightening world rushed toward him. Sands stretched to the horizon, surrounding the castle on all sides. The wind carried them from place to place, forming and destroying dunes. A harsh sun dominated the cloudless sky, taking life rather than giving it.
A lifeless desert ruled the land of the League of Silver Cities, a land of powerful and wise mages!
Rutgar regretted not having a map. It was easy to get lost in the sands; moreover, the location of Rafiz's Palace remained unknown. There was nothing left to do but move in a northerly direction.
The wonder-horse slowed down, later transitioning to a leisurely pace. The loose sand did not hinder its movement at all.
The prince suffered from the heat. Having grown up in the eastern steppes, where even the summer sun provides little warmth, he never would have thought he'd be disappointed by the celestial body.
Swaying rhythmically between the humps, Rutgar drew his sword.
The cold steel proved to be poorly sharpened; the craftsmanship was imprecise, with a warp along the straight blade. The hilt, decorated with an intricate golden pattern, allowed it to be gripped by two palms. A large bright-red ruby crowned the weapon.
The prince grimaced. The gemstone would get in the way during a tense fight, and a sweaty palm might slip from the golden threads at a decisive moment. Good weaponry should stand out not through expensive materials, but through precise and convenient grinding and a balanced blade.
Having no other option, the prince disappointedly sheathed the sword.
Breathing became harder. The hot air scorched his unaccustomed lungs. Rutgar looked around in desperation but saw not even a hint of shelter.
By evening, the heat subsided. The cruel sun dipped below the horizon, bringing Rutgar immense relief.
Out of hopelessness, he decided to spend the night under the open sky. He thought for a long time about what to tie the humpbacked horse to. Finally, he drove his sword deeper into the sand and tied the animal's neck with a long rope.
A deep sleep overcame him. He dreamed that he was lost in a snowy steppe, freezing in snowdrifts...
He woke up shaking from the cold. The air was indeed cold and dry.
The wonder-horse had escaped; the pulled-out sword lay lonely a few steps away. Rutgar groaned in despair.
To warm himself, he grabbed his bag and broke into a light run.
All possible shades of red painted the sky, heralding the dawn. The stunning play of colors delighted Rutgar, who stopped for a short break. The horizon to the east became menacingly crimson as the distant sun rose solemnly and majestically into its own domain.
His feet sank into the loose sand if he stepped incorrectly. The prince fell several times, painfully twisting his ankle.
After an hour of walking, he came across clearly visible human footprints. Judging by the size, they belonged to either a child or a woman. After brief consideration, he decided to catch up with the stranger and ask about the area.
His breath grew short from running fast; the ruthless sun baked his head. Rutgar was ready to collapse onto the sand from exhaustion when he saw a lone figure far ahead.
An indistinct rasp escaped his parched throat; the prince cursed and took a flask of water from his bag.
The receding figure did not stop at the shout, defying Rutgar's expectations, but instead bolted forward. The prince, falling and sliding through the sand, chased after the fugitive. The wind whistled sharply in his ears, his body heated up from running, and large drops of sweat appeared on his forehead. The stranger looked back while running; to his surprise, Rutgar recognized the girl who had plunged the blade into Rafiz.
"Stop!" the prince yelled. "Stop, I am not an enemy!"
The girl stumbled and immediately jumped to her feet. She held out a small dagger before her.
Rutgar stopped a few steps from the stranger. Breathing heavily, he held out his hands conciliatorily, showing that he was unarmed.
The girl wore the same pink trousers as she had in the mage's chambers. A vest of thin leather sat over her bodice. She had dropped her bag beside her, deciding to defend herself to the end. On one foot was a light slipper; the other lay before the prince.
Rutgar picked up the slipper from the sand and held it out to the girl.
"I will not harm you," he promised in the most peaceful voice he could manage. "Lower the dagger, I will not attack."
The girl distrustfully took the slipper but did not let go of the dagger. Firm determination was read in her large blue eyes.
"What do you want?" her weak, melodic voice trembled openly.
She looked little like a child of the sultry south. Long chestnut hair betrayed her as an inhabitant of the Empire of own Griffin.
"I only wanted to ask about the area," the prince explained. "This is my first time in these parts. My name is Rutgar."
"I know. I heard it in the palace. You are the king of the eastern Kingdom."
"Well, I am still a prince," the youth smiled. His chest swelled with pride.
"Judging by the mage's words, you might not become one at all," the girl hummed, bringing Rutgar back down to earth. Thin lips, cracked from the heat, smiled. "My name is Catherine; I am from the Empire, I don't know the area and cannot help you in any way."
Picking up her bag, she turned in the same direction and walked briskly. The prince caught up and walked beside her. Compared to him, the girl looked even more miniature. And up close, she proved to be even more beautiful.
"So you are heading home?" Catherine nodded briefly. "We're going the same way! Will you allow me to accompany you?"
The girl looked at the youth skeptically.
"Why do I need a companion?"
Rutgar choked on the unexpected words. What a silly question, for the answer was obvious.
"A young lone girl is wonderful prey for unkind people," he explained, as if to a fool. "Especially if there is no one to protect her!"
"Can you really protect me alone from a gang of thugs?"
The prince broadened his shoulders, hinting at his considerable muscles.
"I personally killed a powerful mage!" he declared with pride.
Catherine looked up in surprise.
"And it seemed to me that you got out of the palace thanks to me."
"You think wrong," the prince said confidently. "Sooner or later I would have killed the villain anyway. You just timed your attack well."
The girl stared at him in great amazement. This pompous braggart actually believes what he says!
"It is also the duty of a noble husband on a journey to procure food," Rutgar continued. "And to carry a lady's luggage."
"And where do you intend to procure food?" Catherine asked snidely.
"I already have some. From the palace," the youth informed her. "I have meat and flatbreads in my bag."
After thinking, the girl handed her bag to Rutgar. He accepted it readily and slung it over his back, interpreting the gesture as an acceptance of his offer.
"We could use some strong mounts; the road would seem much shorter," the future king sighed.
"No horse can survive in the desert," Catherine stated.
"Then for what purpose did Rafiz keep strange humpbacked animals in the stables? I took one, but during the night the wonder-horse escaped."
The girl laughed cheerfully.
"That's a camel!" she said. "It can live without water for two weeks! Desert dwellers travel on them because camels are strong and enduring animals."
Rutgar frowned. He had never heard of camels that could live without water. His companion was lying.
Catherine stopped.
"Do you hear that?" she asked in a whisper.
A menacing roar of some unknown giant reached the prince's ears. Shivers ran down his spine; what creature could possess such a roar? It was shameful that the girl had heard it first.
Catherine began to run, overcoming one dune after another; Rutgar outpaced her and climbed the last one.
An endless sea opened before their eyes. Restless waves crashed against each other, breaking apart. The girl's eyes lit up with delight.
"Water!..

A massive door closed silently. It used to creak annoyingly, like most doors in the palace, but Zuffar, after settling into the princess's chambers, immediately silenced the wooden panels. The griffins, proudly depicted on the doors, stared with cold eyes at the back of the king's eldest daughter.
Evelyn was wearing a long dress that tightly hugged her slender waist, elegantly emphasizing her perfect bust and delicate figure. The white satin fabric seemed to complement the flawless skin of her hands and face.
Her husband sat on the wide bed, shirtless, and was apparently in that wondrous state again, when, while in his physical form, he could send his spiritual double to multiple locations simultaneously, to inspect, observe, and monitor…
Zuffar strictly forbade anyone from waking him when he was in a trance. Evelyn quietly walked around the bed, past the narrow window, and sat at the dressing table, which was completely covered with various women's oils and creams.
A stern, aristocratic face, without a single wrinkle, was reflected in the mirror. Her deep, dark blue eyes truly created the illusion of a pristine, bottomless lake. That's why, in her youth, wandering minstrels would sing about them whenever they saw the princess.
A thick mass of hair cascaded down in a single movement, the hair freely falling onto her delicate shoulders, sliding down her back.
At twenty-three, many commoners look like old women. Their faces are covered with wrinkles, and even scars, their dry hair withers before their eyes. Even many noblewomen lose their youthful beauty by this age, but not her!
Since her youth, she has had access to the best balms and creams from the East, some of which were even brought from the Griffin Empire. Then, when she married the powerful mage, she began to receive the very best from the southern coasts of the continent, where, as is well known, kings keep huge harems, and every inhabitant must look perfect!
Zuffar rarely spoke about those wondrous lands, and he refused to take her with him on his frequent trips.
All eight lamps, illuminating the royal daughter's chambers, went out at once. Evelyn flinched but did not move. The extinguished fire meant that the mage had come out of his trance. After the ethereal world he had traveled through, this bright world could blind him.
When the lamps lit up again, the princess got up from the table and walked towards her husband. But what she saw made her recoil. Zuffar's eyes radiated genuine fury, his jaw clenched, as if he were enduring inhuman pain!
"Something happened?" Evelyn asked cautiously. She rarely saw the mage in such a state.
Zuffar fixed her with a gaze, as if trying to burn her. Evelyn noticed with a shiver that the temperature in the room had instantly risen. The mage jumped off the bed.
"I couldn't contact Rafiz!" he exclaimed angrily. "He is no longer among the living! He was killed, killed by your brother!"
He shouted the last words, ready to pounce on his wife. After thinking better of it, he began to pace back and forth, muttering to himself.
Evelyn sank onto the edge of the bed. A wrinkle appeared on her forehead.
"But…how? How could this simpleton destroy such a powerful mage?" she whispered in shock.
Zuffar heard her, and looked at her with hatred.
"That's what I'd like to know. Someone must have helped him. Someone from the neighbors must have attacked my brother, and Rutgar simply took advantage of the moment."
The princess imagined her brother returning home, being embraced by the overjoyed king, and a few minutes later, the guards, along with the Inquisition, bursting into her chambers…
She didn't even want to imagine what would happen next. Tears welled up in her large eyes, neatly dividing her face into three parts.
"I'm going to the League," the mage decided, stopping.
His face reflected the determination that the princess had always been afraid to argue with.
"But what about me? If Rutgar returns, I will face terrible punishment!"
She jumped out of bed and clung to her husband, bursting into tears. The mage contemptuously pushed the woman away. She tried to cling to him again, but he simply slapped her across the face. Evelyn fell onto the bed, instantly ending her hysterics.
"Don't talk nonsense!" the mage shouted. "From the League of Silver Cities to the Free Kingdom, it's a journey of many weeks. The mages will definitely refuse him help, so he has no one to rely on. I will find him and kill him, but first, he will regret ever crossing my path!"
Evelyn nodded submissively. Indeed, what was she thinking? This weakling has no chance against her great husband! And he has nowhere to return to; she will rule the kingdom!
"I will leave by invisible paths," the mage continued. "The Inquisition will detect the magic and confirm it to the king. And in three days, you will poison him and make sure he dies!"
Evelyn nodded. A firm resolve appeared on her tear-swollen face.

Chapter 4

Catherine, throwing her arms wide, ran toward the waves. A happy smile shone on her face; her laughter sounded like the finest chime of some unknown but wonderful musical instrument. Stepping knee-deep into the sea, she scooped up water in her palms like a child and tossed it upward.
Rutgar watched with a smile as this lovely creature rejoiced so clearly in nature. A sense of carefreeness and happiness passed from the girl to him. Dropping his knapsack, he flopped freely onto the sand. The waves caressed his outstretched feet and beckoned him temptingly to dive in.
Anxiety vanished; it did not matter that a long and unknown journey home lay ahead. In this place blessed by Silat, the very spirit rests and gathers strength for the road further.
Smiling, Catherine lay down beside Rutgar and carelessly closed her eyes. Her young body, almost unburdened by clothing, pulled at the youth invitingly, longing for strong masculine arms. The prince felt another kind of wave calling him to decisive action.
"After all, you are a future king!"—his father's words came back to him. "And you must not swoon the moment you spot a skirt."
The memory brought sadness. How was his father; was he healthy? He was surely worrying about his foolish son, while Evelyn plotted her schemes.
Catherine caught the change in the man's mood, as only a sensitive woman can.
"Do you miss home?"
Rutgar gave a barely perceptible nod.
"My greedy sister wants to seize my father's throne; her husband, the mage Zufar, tricked me into a trap and transported me here. While I am here, my father is in danger!"—he clenched his fists helplessly. "That pair will stop at nothing!"
Genuine bitterness sounded in the prince's voice; the girl wanted to press him to her, stroke him, comfort him.
"Tell me about yourself, where are you from?" she asked, wishing to distract him from sad thoughts.
Rutgar looked back at the lying girl.
"I am from the Free Kingdom in the east of the continent. My father is the rightful King Gregory of House Eagle!"—the youth's chest puffed out, his shoulders involuntarily broadened further; it seemed to Catherine that her companion had even grown taller.
"In the Empire, you are called apostates," she chirped cheerfully.
A flame ignited in Rutgar's eyes, and he countered passionately:
"You are the apostates! Everyone knows that House Falcon rejected the great Silat and confused many with their blasphemous reasonings! My kin left for the free east, driven by followers of Elrath! Everyone threw stones at us, but now we laugh at your troubles! Where was your god looking when demons destroyed the Throne of Falcon? And even in our time, not all is smooth in the empire! I have heard of devastating civil wars, and the laughter of demons is heard from Sheol itself! We, however, are protected by Silat, the only one among dragons who deemed us worthy!"
Catherine's expression darkened. Many centuries had passed since those dark times, but even now in the Empire of Griffin, people blame the government for renouncing the air dragon. Many secretly leave for the east. Cowards! In such a difficult time, when every sword counts!
But she did not want to argue with Rutgar; his eyes were glistening with fire. If you say one word to him now, he'll answer back ten in return, straight from the soul, and then an eleventh for good measure...
"Every boy in our kingdom knows this story," the prince continued. "But few have heard the final words of Novel, the founder of the kingdom, who remembered his abandoned homeland and friends until the end of his days. And he prophesied that in the hour of acute need, at the moment of greatest danger hanging over the Empire of Falcon, the East shall come to the rescue!"
Catherine smiled sardonically.
"The Empire of Falcon was destroyed several centuries ago; why didn't you come when the last emperor defended his capital?"
Rutgar frowned, recalling the lessons of his mentors. A moment later, his face cleared.
"It wasn't the Empire of Falcon that was destroyed, but the lineage of Falcon! The empire remained in the same place; it is simply called the Holy Empire of Griffin! People live as they always have, in their old settled places. The East will come to the rescue when danger threatens the entire population, not just one house. Who knows, perhaps in the decisive hour, beneath the walls of your castles, it will be my horn that sounds?"
Catherine smiled gratefully. The prince had grown in years, but he spoke like a naive youth dreaming of heroic deeds. Even being many leagues from home, he does not think about how to hold his own throne. Instead, in his thoughts, he proudly rides a snow-white horse; hordes of demons scatter at the mere sight of the fearless rider, and grateful imperials throw wreaths beneath the steed's hooves!
They decided to continue along the shore. A saving coolness blew from the sea, and the sun was not nearly as fierce as it had seemed several hours ago.
Catherine frequently ran to the water and splashed about. She would return almost dry; the southern sun greedily absorbed the moisture. Rutgar noticed a dark strip beyond the sea.
"If I were in the steppe, I would think there is a forest on the horizon," he explained to the girl.
"And what if there is land there too?" she suggested immediately. "If we build a raft, we could cut across."
Rutgar looked around the area dramatically.
"I wonder what we'd carve a raft from? Besides, I've never gone to sea. And I don't intend to," he said curtly.
"Still, we must look at the map," Catherine insisted.
The prince stopped abruptly. The girl looked back, confused.
"Did something happen?" she asked anxiously.
"Are you saying you have a map? A map of the Silver League?"
The girl nodded.
"For your information, I prepared for my escape thoroughly," she reported businesslike, her blue eyes shining with satisfaction. "I thought through the smallest details."
"And you didn't take any food," the youth reminded her. "Get out the map."
He held out the knapsack. Catherine reached into a side pocket and extracted a carelessly rolled piece of parchment. They unfolded it on the sand. Rutgar could not believe his luck; before him lay a map of the continent! True, it was covered in incomprehensible runes, but for someone who had studied cartography from early childhood, that was no obstacle. One glance was enough to find their current location and correct their further path.
"Look," he pointed with his finger to a peninsula marked in yellow. "We are right here, on the very edge, see?"
Catherine nodded irritably. As if she hadn't been the one who brought the map and initially chosen the correct path!

"If we don't want to lose our way, we need to move north, go around these mountains, and come out to the bay again. Then along the coast to the green valleys of your homeland. And may Silat send the wind at our backs!"
The girl nodded uncertainly. In words it sounded very simple; how it would happen in practice, even Elrath does not know.
They decided to have a snack for the occasion. Catherine spread a thick handkerchief on the sand and quickly and skillfully laid out meat and fruits. Bread was unknown in these parts, but the prince had managed to take some delicious flatbreads from the palace kitchen. Why hadn't she thought to fill a whole bag herself while preparing for escape?
They ate in silence. They mostly focused on the fruits, which were beginning to rot. They decided to save the flatbreads for cases of hunger.
"It is better to gnaw on hardtack," Rutgar noted philosophically, "than to swallow rotten meat."
The sun reached its peak when Catherine gathered the knapsacks. Rutgar easily threw both over his shoulder. They had grown lighter, a worrying thought flashed through his mind. One must exercise restraint in eating, as the fortress monks loved to repeat during fasts. On the other hand, food would simply spoil in such weather.
Their feet sank into the loose sand. His companion walked barefoot, having put her slippers in her hip bag. To Rutgar, the sand seemed scorching, unfit for walking without shoes.
The youth remembered escaping from Rafiz's palace. Now that the anxiety of captivity had finally subsided, memories came of moments he hadn't noticed in the heat of flight.
"Why does a powerful mage need so many servants and guards? After all, with a movement of his hand, he can do infinitely much."
"People need mages no less than mages need people," Catherine answered. "Simple farmers often complain about sorcerers and mages, but in the event of drought or, conversely, continuous rains, they turn to them, asking to change the weather. Sailors demand fair winds, hunters—to disperse the fog. And all for a certain fee."
"And what do mages want?"
Catherine shrugged:
"Who knows? I've heard that on the northern borders of the League, mages hardly attend to worldly concerns. People live under their patronage and feel protected. In return, they give part of the harvest or prey. The sorcerers are hastily licking their wounds after the war with Queen Isabelle. They gather armies and magical artifacts. After the troops of Griffin, the lands of the Silver League became empty, if one can put it that way."
"How did your troops defeat the mages?" Rutgar frowned.
"They formed an alliance with necromancers."
The prince recoiled. Consorting with necromancers is the worst thing possible. What forced the Queen of the Empire into this alliance?
Catherine read the question on her companion's face, but in response, she shrugged again.
"Mages were helped by the dark elves of Ig-Hall. Uniting, they expelled the outsiders from the country. Rafiz was tasked with monitoring this strait. Now I understand that Erish necromancers could attack from ships at any moment."
A lizard's head popped up from a small dune. Looking around, it crawled out completely. A neighboring dune temporarily hid it from view, and a third once again sheltered it from the merciless heat.
Fragmentary news of the upheavals of the great world reached the Free Kingdom, but how inaccurate that information proved to be! Rutgar could not have imagined that in the lands of Erish a dark hand had risen again, and dungeon elves were attacking mages!
"Rafiz and Zufar have many enemies," Catherine continued. "Some they captured and kept in the palace. Prisoners need guards. You can't entrust such a task to hollow-headed golems."
That left the option of human mercenaries. But Rafiz preferred to kill for the slightest transgressions and not pay them. Cookmaids toil from morning till night over exquisite dishes; others you cannot bring to the mage's table. I will say nothing about the numerous harem.
The travelers descended to the water's edge; particularly eager waves tried in vain to grab the prince's feet. Catherine slapped her bare soles through the water.
The sun slowly rolled toward the horizon. Rutgar surveyed the dunes; it was time to find a place for the night. All sandy hills are the same, differing only in height. They decided to spend the night far from the water.
Settling into a hollow between dunes, Catherine laid out several pieces of dried meat. During the meal, a lizard ran up to them. It tried to steal a treat from the handkerchief; Rutgar noticed in time and tore off a small piece, and the reptile gratefully wagged its tail.
With the setting sun, the temperature began to drop sharply again. The girl took out a plaid and draped it over her shoulders. In her knapsack, there was also a surprising glass cylinder. The fire inside maintained itself. They placed it between them; it gave almost no heat, but it created the impression of a campfire.
Catherine looked thoughtfully at the fire; tongues of flame danced cheerfully against the glass, striving to escape their confinement.
"Tell me something about your kingdom," she asked, without taking her eyes off the lamp.
Rutgar shook his head and reminded her:
"You still haven't told me how you ended up in Rafiz's palace."
The girl sighed.
"Complete chaos reigns in the Empire. The direct heir to the king has disappeared; no one knows his location. The Queen encouraged the creation of a new order of apostates. I don't know what they preach, but they sow only fear and evil! Secretly killing followers of Elrath, they seize more and more power. Attacks by dark elves continue from the west; dwarves have not yet cooled off after the recent war and wait for one pretext. In the east, malicious orcs sharpen their swords, and in the south, mages prepare their staves.
They say a demon from Sheol has entered the Queen's body. But those are only rumors; no one knows if it is truth or lie, and alas, it is impossible to verify.
Many people fled east, under the protection of House Eagle, but it is unknown if they were able to cross the wide steppes of the orcs. And some fled into the forests to engage in banditry.
My village was attacked under cover of night. Most of the strong lads are now on the borders. There were not many men who took up axes and pitchforks. Quickly pushing back the defenders, the bandits burst into houses, killing defenseless children and old people. Prayers and curses floated in the air, terrible death screams. Only young girls were left alive.
My parents were killed slowly. My father managed to wound an attacker; in retaliation, he was locked in a shed and the house was set on fire. My mother was forced to watch, but she broke free and ran toward the shed. She didn't make it, falling with an arrow in the back of her neck. To the loud laughter of those bastards, they congratulated the shooter who had made a precise shot.
The bandits hauled away livestock, grain, ready swords. Then they burned the village. It is unlikely anyone survived. I was sold along with the grain to a caravan coming from the dwarf settlements, selling weapons famous throughout Ashan.
Rafiz bought me for the harem; I remember how he boasted before the merchants that he keeps only virgins. He draws his youth from them through intercourse. I did not intend to surrender, but others were less lucky. They were taken to the lands of Erish; necromancers require warm flesh and the fear of living victims for their ghastly rituals. Escaping from a terrible Necropolis is impossible."
Tears stood in the girl's eyes; sobbing quietly, she turned away.
Rutgar leaped to his feet, his body shaking with indignation, his fingers clenched into fists. A gaze full of rage darted around the surroundings, searching for those very bandits. Catch them! Kill them! Tear them apart! Bring pain, make them regret what they have done.
Oh, Silat! Why did you allow such a thing? Where was Elrath? Where were all these gods when innocent people suffered? When this innocent creature suffered?
How could such a thing happen under these stars, sky, and sun?
And I came at her with my own troubles and problems. They want to steal a prince's throne! The prince was captured!
Out of shame, Rutgar growled. Catherine shuddered in fear.
"Sorry," he rasped in an agitated voice. "This... this simply should not have happened."
The girl nodded timidly. She looked nothing like the arrogant girl they had met this morning.
Rutgar sat opposite her, looking into those brightest blue eyes.
"I promise, no one will ever hurt you again."
Catherine smiled gratefully.

In the morning, after a quick breakfast, they set off further. They didn't mention their evening conversation. The sun seemed to have gone mad, relentlessly trying to scorch everything alive on the ground. Exhausted from the heat, Ruthgar took off his shirt and tied it around his head. The constant walking had chafed his thigh against the sword scabbard. The young man re-tied it on his right side. Later in the day, he secured it behind his back. Kathryn tolerated the heat much better, sometimes walking almost waist-deep in the water. She soon took off her wet vest and hung it on the hilt of Ruthgar's sword behind him, which surprised him with its audacity. Ruthgar himself didn't go into the water, despite his companion's urging. "I don't want to take off my boots," he explained, "they don't fit properly. If I take them off, I'll spend an hour putting them back on." The girl, after some not-so-far-reaching reasoning, concluded that the prince was afraid of water. Ruthgar blushed, but he still didn't go into the water. By evening, only crackers remained in their bags. Kathryn spread a very small amount on a handkerchief. "Why so little?" the prince was surprised. "A child wouldn't be satisfied with this portion!" "If you want more, go get it," the girl advised. "When you joined us, you promised safety and plenty of food! Or don't you remember?" "I brought meat and bread," Ruthgar replied softly. "You didn't have to eat so much!" Kathryn seemed to be choking with indignation. The night was cold. Ruthgar was exhausted, having not slept for two days and two nights – not everyone could endure such a regime. But he couldn't wake Kathryn in the middle of the night to tell her that they needed to take turns keeping watch, that it was dangerous to sleep in the open now. Today, he decided to doze off a little, although he knew he wouldn't be able to fall into a deep sleep in the cold. He woke up feeling refreshed and rested, but to his dismay, he realized that Kathryn hadn't slept, but had been keeping watch. Dawn was breaking. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked. "And who will keep watch?" the girl exclaimed. "Otherwise, why did we run away from the palace?" The day was no different from the previous one. On the horizon, a dark strip of approaching mountains began to appear. "Volcanoes," Ruthgar explained to the girl, "these are mountains that erupt with internal fire once every few centuries." "I hope we'll pass in time," Kathryn shivered. The strait separating the two peninsulas began to widen. The dark strip of mountains on the other side gradually disappeared from view. But closer to noon, a huge black cloud appeared above them. Kathryn didn't notice, but the prince heard a distant rumble. Necromancers inspired fear and disgust. Mocking death, the followers of the dark aspect of Ashi wove black rituals in the gloomy Necropolises of the Erish Valley. The dead were disturbed in their graves, rising to serve the death mages. By evening, the volcanoes had grown by a third. The barren landscape was replaced by a rocky one. They had to climb over rocks and descend, risking being buried under them. A large boulder broke loose under Kathryn's foot, gathering speed as it rolled downhill. It stopped, hitting the back of the prince's head. Ruthgar was unconscious for about an hour. The dunes of golden sand were far behind. Sandy mountains appeared far to the left. Ruthgar looked around with concern. It would be even more uncomfortable to spend the night on the bare rocks, and deviating from the route would mean delay. Kathryn was completely exhausted. Her feet, shod in light slippers, were rubbed raw, but the girl stubbornly didn't show it. The prince didn't slow down. He wanted to get out of this scorching hell as soon as possible. They chose a small hollow in the rock for sleeping. The girl immediately fell into a deep sleep, curling up on a blanket. Ruthgar carefully placed an empty bag under her head. The second bag was almost empty, the crackers huddled sadly at the bottom, mixed with gold coins. At night, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks could be heard. The rhythmic sound was soothing, inviting relaxation and oblivion, to be carried away into the world of dreams, wonderfully called sleep. Kathryn felt a sense of unease through her sleep and opened her eyes in fright. Ruthgar covered the magic lamp with a bag and looked anxiously into the night. His heavy eyebrows were furrowed. Seeing that the girl was awake, he gestured for her to be silent. "I'll be back soon," he whispered with his lips. He silently got up, climbed out of the hollow, and went up. Kathryn listened intently to the darkness, but couldn't hear a sound. Fear overwhelmed her in a panic. Had they been caught? Rafiz had a brother left, who would surely seek revenge on those who had wronged him. Other local mages also didn't inspire confidence; they judged everyone by one, and that one was a decent scoundrel. A cry from an unknown animal was heard. In two days of travel, they hadn't met anyone, only lizards. So, Ruthgar really sensed danger and went out to investigate. The prince returned when the girl was about to get up and look around. Kathryn's face reflected great relief. "There are people there," Ruthgar said worriedly.

If you really want to share your stories, there's a special thread for that: /topic/1509/
This one should probably be deleted.

Thank you for the tip. The topic is interesting.