Highbordan Forest was ancient and dark, part of the forests of the Savage Land, and fraught with almost the same threats as it. The settlements of the Rivne southerners huddled behind strong stone walls and looked more like tiny fortresses than the pastoral villages of Dimoris or Estre. The people of the frontier knew that the forest was to be feared, and they knew that it was to be honored, because all life in the south was fed by its generosity.
The soil in Highbordan consisted of nothing but stones covered with a thin earthen blanket. Stubborn, meager, she rejected the plow, but the forest was teeming with living creatures that fed commoners in the service of the earl family of Caberden. Fur and game hunters, as well as fishermen, brought their main income to the treasury.
In most of the region, a strong balance was established between the people of the Lord-Blacksmith and the spirits of the forest thicket, but in the very south, close to the border, the lands were sparsely inhabited. Small evil spirits were found there in considerable quantities, and sometimes the foresters reported the appearance of the undead, but this happened extremely rarely.
Although the region was distinguished by a fair amount of denseness, it was never particularly tormented by the troubles of a supernatural nature. People did not quarrel with the owners of the forests and therefore lived as quietly as possible to live near a strange, hostile world to man - the Wild Land. However, what has been happening lately made even those whose families lived in the border area for the tenth generation look at the forest differently.
Wizards and monks traveled side by side, but not together. The fast-paced mages kept pace with the slow-moving wagon. So they moved from one village to another along roads so old and abandoned that many of them sometimes strove to dive underground and appear only after half an hour of travel. Surprisingly often there were mounted patrols, driving around in the wilderness. Soldiers in the colors of the Caberden family and the military from the Church Guard, passing by, often held their horses to answer the questions of good brothers.
The further south they traveled, the more often Thobius noticed the abandoned ruins of the watchtowers that had once housed the frontier barons along the entire length of Riven's contact with the Savage Land. In former times - both when the empire was still alive, and later - the borderlands were much wilder and the feudal lords could not approach the matter of protecting the borders through their sleeves. For this, the kings of Rivne cut off heads mercilessly, for on their shoulders lay the responsibility for protecting the Westerreich Gate [A unique cultural phenomenon is the basis of the mentality of the entire kingdom, as well as one of the battle cries used by the Riven troops. Summons the Reeves to defend the Westerreich from enemies from the Savage Land. In ancient times it sounded like "Grogan's Gate".]. There have been no real invasions from the Wild Land for a long time, many generations have changed since the day
Calling into the next settlement, the evangelists of the Lord immediately began sermons. Brother Horas made do with a few prayers, but Brother Olveh could talk for hours. Like many of Peter's brothers, he looked like a man obsessed with angelic voices, and was ready to convey His will to people day and night without rest and food. Even the way he scanned the faces of commoners with frightening, penetrating eyes did not scare them away. They looked at the monk with the reverence with which all Villans look at the people of God. Only after a sermon, a common prayer and a meal in the house of the most respected inhabitant of the village, did the Petrian begin to scrupulously interrogate everyone in a row, asking the same questions. Unfortunately, there were plenty of those who heard about the disgrace happening in Highbordan, but they never found a single eyewitness.
Thobius often observed how willingly and respectfully the commoners conversed with the clergy. He and his companion could not complain about the bad treatment, but still, it was to the monks that people were truly drawn.
“They also say that the Church is weak in the west. Hm…
- Envy take, charm Tobius?
- No.
- Is it true?
- Clean. Right now, the village head bows with a smile and looks ingratiatingly into the face of Brother Olveh, and yesterday, before we went to bed, he did the same fawning in front of me. His daughter's face constantly grew warts, they were tortured to reduce. So he asked me to do something about this trouble. And he came with this, mind you, not to the man of the Lord-Blacksmith, but to the man of Art. Because the Lord-Blacksmith, with all his mercy, may simply not want to answer prayers. But the magic will work right away, the main thing is not to offend the wizard with the reward. Tobius tossed a thin purse jingling with copper into his palms. Not that he got rich for that job, but for cleansing the face of one girl, they paid back more than generously. “Each of us deserves our share of human respect. Only if brother Olveh is measured in the light of day and with bread,
Marin laughed.
“I choose your measure, char Tobius!”
On the first day, the search yielded nothing. The monks and wizards traveled around two villages and looked into a small farm, talked with a lot of people - from coal burners to trackers - listened to a lot of gossip and rumors and turned down several invitations to stay the night. It was necessary to cover as much distance as possible in a day. During the week they often spent the night in the field.
Once they set up a parking lot above a narrow stream at the base of a destroyed windmill. The clerics lit their own fire, and the magicians settled separately.
With a moth hovering over his head, Thobius continued to work on his spell book. Maren was wiping the wand with a rag soaked in magical artifact care while his dead raven perched motionless on a nearby stone.
“Replenishing your knowledge, enchantment Tobius?”
Yes, we need to add something...
“I don’t even remember the last time I wrote something new in my book.
“Before, I had the opportunity to learn something. It so happened that then the enemies discovered me and I had to carry my feet. During the chase, I lost precious scrolls, but I remember little and now I write from memory when I have time.
- You have a busy life.
- Yes?
- Yes. I've only fought real magic fights twice in my life. And you?
Tobius pondered, counting in his mind all the times he had to defend himself. On the way from the capital to Hog-Wood, it happened more than once to deal with minor troubles: battles with supernatural entities, spirits, monsters, petty evil spirits, full-fledged battles with other magicians, fights to the death. And in the last one and a half to two years, he practically lived in battles for his own survival.
— Dozens. Hundreds of times, perhaps.
The necromancer did not expect such a response.
"Where did you live, char Tobius?"
“Far away,” the gray mage said curtly, and immediately changed the subject: “You have a beautiful wand. Excuse me? The mentors claimed that I showed promise in the field of artefacts.
Marin handed him his wand, and Tobius began to examine the tool with a fixed, captious look.
- Yes, excellent stuff. The shape of the handle is artistically made in the form of two intertwining snake bodies, but in addition to beauty, the spiral shape is the most preferable for accelerating and enhancing the energy processes occurring inside. Material… silver plated?
- No, a silver alloy with a minimum percentage of impurities.
“The best material for forging necromantic tools, yes. So, the shape of the wand and its weight are not suitable for hand-to-hand combat, but the stone, sandwiched between snake heads ... it only looks like an emerald. It's a basilisk tear, isn't it?
“To the point, char Thobius.
- Amazing copy! Not a single flaw, a powerful emitter, and most importantly - incredibly rare! Was it forged by Nikadim the Jeweler?
- He.
- My favorite mentor. I forged my wand together with him, in the same workshop.
Thobius' wand was the most common, forged from enchanted bronze, with a twisted handle and a heavy massive knob, it looked like a heavy mace. No magic stones, no special inscriptions, just a layer of gilding on the knob and twelve spikes around its rim.- More than once or twice I had to use it as just a heavy club. The gray mage patted his wand on the hilt. - Never regretted it.Marin took his wand and hung it on his belt.“And your companions, char Tobius, who are they?” I do not feel in them, so to speak, sparks of life.— Man-made servants. The most reliable.- I completely agree with you.Days succeeded one another, wizards and monks wandered along the forest roads, occasionally delved into the thicket, questioning rare travelers who had to turn off the wide roads and go deeper into the jungle.Once the wagon got stuck on the muddy bank of the river, and no matter how powerful Brother Horace pushed it from behind, it was not possible to get the wagon. Brother Olveh answered the o
The monks could not sit idly by and follow the manipulations of the necromancer, they dispersed in different directions and began to crack branches somewhere behind the trees, apparently looking for something. Soon the good brothers returned to the path, slurping their salty slurps - Olveh decided to walk along the edge of the path so as not to leave any unnecessary traces, and Horace followed him.“No one and nothing,” said the little monk, “unfortunately, we failed to find."Then let's get to my conclusion." The necromancer rose to his feet, still clutching the basket in his hands. This woman was killed by a sorcerer.“Unexpected solidarity,” said Brother Olveh indifferently."And this sorcerer is not a Maren charm," Tobius put in. “She died a few hours ago, when both he and I were with you.“It is possible that he is innocent,” the Petrian still agreed, “or perhaps he has an accomplice. Time will show. Time and knowledge.Completely ignoring the gray mage, the monk looked at the ne
They repeated these lines over and over again, saying each word in unison. The lines drawn on the ground glowed faintly, and the blood in the goblet began to seethe little by little. It remained cold, did not boil, did not steam, but twitched and gurgled, as if writhing in writhing.— Bekvim talvimat!— Bekvim fegatar!The blood in the goblet frothed violently, and Marin dropped it, but the contents did not pour out, but rolled out like a mobile and elastic ball of mercury. As if sniffing, he twitched to one side, to the other, crawled towards the corpse, but stumbled upon a barrier of broken lines and moved in the other direction.“It worked,” the gray mage whispered, looking fascinated at his handiwork. “Another spell in my piggy bank.“Char Thobius, does he have to move so slowly?”- How should I know…The gorewort crawled along the ground slowly but surely.“I think he took the lead.- I doubt. At this rate, we won't find the maleficarum until tomorrow morning.- Let's fix it! Bul
Finding no remnants of magical energy, Tobius dispelled the Raccoon Eyes and created True Sight. However, the result was the same - no magical presence. By all accounts, it turned out that they had discovered a wizard's laboratory in which there was no place for magic.- This is absurd. There must be something here.“Everything is shielded, char Tobius, the work of a master rank wizard, no less.Both mages came up with the same thought, and they began to fear for the integrity of their skins more than ever. Until now, they had hunted a dangerous maleficarum, but now there was a possibility of meeting with a magician of the level of a master or, worse, an archmage, which neither one nor the other wanted.With a gesture forcing the golems to halt on the stairs, Tobius shifted his grip on the wand and walked forward. As soon as he took two steps, a wave of magical power hit his head, and with all his available senses, the wizard felt the heavy oppressive aura of that place.“It’s true, c
The monstrous wounds should have killed the monk, but no, the strong, trained body was still alive, although it was barely breathing. Healing Brother Horace was useless—magic had little effect on God's servants—but Thobius carried with him an infusion of white aloe, bitter, fairly poisonous, but capable of giving a half-dead man a few extra hours if left alone. Pouring a liquid that looked like thick white milk into the cracked slit of his mouth, the wizard rushed away. There was nothing more he could do, no matter how much he wanted to.When the sorcerer escaped from the laboratory, he was met by Brother Horace. The huge Johnite blocked the way to escape, rose to his death and single-handedly gave him a worthy fight, but was struck down by something terrible, from which even the holy weapon could not protect him. Yes, but the sorcerer himself did not leave whole. Tobius rushed down the trail of blood, with which the enemy sprinkled the rotten leaves and branches of plants, running aw
The gray mage continuously brewed medicines and combined antidotes for two days, keeping Maren alive along the way. Luckily, he had a few needles with samples of the acidic poison left to use to create an antidote. On the third day, the necromancer died, and he had to transplant his heart, and at the same time his eyes to replace those that had leaked out.Tobius infused a test sample of the antidote into Maren's body over the next three days, after which side effects appeared in the form of purple sores on his right arm. Taking a sample of the substance from the ulcers, the wizard analyzed its composition, changed the formula of the antidote and began infusions of the improved composition. The damage to the body was terrible. Tobius was able to fix something thanks to experience and healing talents, but only time and a miracle could fix something. The face was especially badly damaged, and it was not to be hoped that it would ever look the same as before. Nevertheless, Marin slowly g
The wizard's feet led him to the threshold of the Sleeping Giant tavern. In his youth, he used to come here with fellow members of the Dar to taste simple human pleasures like beer, obscene language and fights. A faded wooden plaque with a pot-bellied giant painted on it, sleeping under a rickety spruce, still swayed on a metal rod above the door. Mildon Fazard hadn't been around to update it since Tobius was still an apprentice.Inside, almost nothing had changed, everything was familiar, and even the smells remained the same, as if from a past life. The owner did not recognize him immediately, only after a few words.- Don't recognize you! he exclaimed, waving his hands.- Is it? It seems that the beard has not grown, and the mustache too.- Well ... you know, good charm, the guy left here, and the man returned! You seem to have become wider in the shoulders, and taller ...“Well, well, don’t exaggerate, Mr. Fazard."How long have you been gone, char?"“About two or three years, I t
Nikadim was very old, and this was striking in many ways. As the years passed, he took less care of himself, his unwashed gray hair looked like a gray washcloth, a long, unkempt beard and many wrinkles on a hard face emphasized the fatigue of faded eyes. At the same time, the old man was very tall, had broad shoulders and a straight back, his voice sounded booming, and his eyes remained clear. Nikadim's head was encircled by a shining golden hoop with a large blue stone in his forehead, bracelets and rings, both precious and iron, and some even made of rare materials - bone, wood, stone, jingled on his hands and fingers. Old tried-and-true jewelry tools hung from a rich belt, chains, medallions, key rings tinkled here and there; in the pockets of the mantle, too, something was constantly rattling and spilling over.“Attornak was going to throw you to someone, but, fortunately, I participated in the assembly of these artifacts and cheated here and there. Now all such a maetha first pas