World Of The Fallen Dragon

8

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 away.

Serpent Tongue, as Tobius mentally and rashly called him, was about to cross the forest stream when the gray mage caught up with him.

- Stop!

The sorcerer did not even think of stopping - he continued to walk, dragging his right leg and hunching over strongly.

- I said stop!

Tobius threw up his hands, and a wave of roaring flame went from his whole body - not magical fire, which is only a semblance of natural, but real living fire, embodying the primordial element. Such a fire was the hottest, the most furious, the most hungry, it would devour the world, give it free rein, and Tobius carried a particle of this fire in himself, possessing the gift of elemental magic. If the sorcerer had not had time to turn around and close with the Ice Marble Sphere, he would have become ash. For a moment, Tobius saw the eyes of his enemy, bloodshot, with dark whites and strangely dilated pupils. Then those eyes blazed with poisonous fire again.

“I told you to stand still, you bastard!” And you will stand in this place, or I will incinerate you! The saliva thickened in his throat made his voice gurgle like an animal roar. Tobius took up a fighting stance.

- Well, what are you attached to me? asked the maleficarum wearily. “Get out, puppy, while there is still a drop of mercy left in me.

“You showed no mercy to those you vivisected, you bastard!” You don't know the meaning of this word!

“What big words for a yellow-mouthed youth.

A vortex of dirty magical power swirled around the sorcerer, a veritable hurricane of magic ready to be unleashed. He alone had already withstood the confrontation with two wizards and two monks, received many injuries and squandered hundreds of Iors [ Ior is an extremely approximate unit of magical energy.] magic, but behind him was even more power, much more. Opposing the sorcerer was Tobius, a young but not weak wizard who had experienced many hardships, fought against other magicians, experienced, desperate and unshakably confident in his abilities. Neither the terrible power, nor the terrible things done by the Serpent Tongue, confused him, only kindled a burning feeling of hatred for the beast that had lost its human nature.

“Mad creature… no, there will be no trial!” I won't take you anywhere, I'll just kill you! The gray mage's yellow eyes blazed with rage, as bright as amber coals in a hearth.

“What terrible threats… you are a cruel man, enchantment Tobius!”

- Yeah, and very insidious ...

A silver ring embellished with the head and wings of a snowy owl glowed softly on Thobius's finger, and a scrawny eight-foot figure appeared beside the mage. It seemed to consist of nothing but straight lines and translucent bluish-white ice. The creature spread around itself streams of severe frost, which covered the tree trunks and the ground with a layer of creaky crust, the long-nosed head stared indifferently at the sorcerer, the crack-mouth exhaled a cloud of frost. The spirit of the blizzard, one of those essences of nature that wrap the world in a white blanket with the advent of winter, the strongest of Thobius's servants, was ready to carry out orders, and they did not take long.

- Kill him!

The spirit raised its hands, spread the icicle fingers on its wide palms, and blew out a wave of deadly cold. The attack lasted only three seconds, but it would be enough to kill everything that came under attack. However, when the spirit stopped freezing, turning part of the forest into a winter kingdom and icing the river, Serpent Tongue remained unscathed. He stood in a column of red heat, and the ascending currents of heated air, mixed with steam, fluttered his robe.

“Impressive, char Tobius. But you can't compete with me. You see, the thing is, I have friends...

The sorcerer stood half-turned towards Tobius, left shoulder forward, but then he turned slowly - and the gray magician saw his right hand. The sleeve of the cloak was torn off, and scars covered the red, as if scalded with boiling water, skin. Not traces of old wounds, but precise sequential scarification, lines of magical design and demonological glyphs carved into living flesh.

- ... in Pekla.

So he defeated the Johnite, Tobius thought with a sinking heart, a demon worshiper!

Serpent Tongue had patrons in Inferno, perhaps even entered into a contract with one of the demons and now enjoyed their power. To defeat such a sorcerer, one needed an experienced demonologist, or a strong exorcist priest, or ... The sorcerer waved his hand, and fiery streams fell from his fingers, turning into a flaming whip. A wide swing - and the whip with a loud pop fell on the spirit of the storm. Thobius rushed to the side, escaping from the terrible otherworldly heat, and his servant evaporated and returned back to the ring.

Tobius ducked behind the nearest tree trunk and took off running. The tree was swept by a whip, and it ignited. The wizard ran and whispered the words of the spell, which he himself had come up with some time ago, he had not yet had time to try it out, but was about to do it. Putting his hand into his waist pocket, he threw two artifact pebbles on the ground, which turned into earth elementals. While the summoned servants meekly died from the blows of the whip, the magician raced away. The proximity of the terrible heat scorched his back three times, causing the cloak on his shoulders to nervously twitch and growl in protest, but Tobius each time resorted to tactical teleportation, moving at lightning speed a short distance to the side, thereby saving his own life.

"Where are you going, char Tobius?" shouted Serpent Tongue. - How can you run away after so many formidable words thrown in a fit of impudence?

The gray mage immediately turned around and came face to face with the maleficarum. He did not succumb to the provocation, just the spell had already been completed, it remained to convey it to the target.

“You will die, I swear by the Gift, I will kill you!”

“I suggested that you leave me alone, char Tobius, but my unprecedented generosity was not appreciated.

Behind the sorcerer's back, a black, burnt-out clearing formed, the forest died, trees and bushes burned, the fire licked the rocks and devoured the mosses, driving away the animals, frightened half to death. The Power of Inferno brought destruction and pain into the fragile world of living beings, as it was supposed to.

The Maleficarum waved his hand, raising his flaming whip to strike, Thobius lunged forward to his death, teleported to the side with lightning speed, avoiding the unholy weapon, and then made a direct dash, approaching close to the enemy. A whip is a dangerous weapon, but slow, almost useless up close, but a mace is a completely different matter. Therefore, the impact of a heavy bronze club on the right shoulder easily broke the enemy's collarbone. With a frantic scream, the sorcerer raised his free, left hand, on which dagger claws had already grown, but Tobius punched him in the solar plexus. In the next moment, the corpse of the sorcerer fell to the ground, the claws disappeared, the demonic whip went out and melted, as if it had not been. The killer's heart no longer beat, the blood slowed down in the veins, the lungs did not fill with air.

The Meat Coffin spell was invented by Thobius himself and had no known analogues. It could not be used over long distances or kept in a wand, only close, only freshly woven, but the result was worth it. One blow - and inevitable, inevitable death overtook anyone. The most difficult thing was to get close to the enemy: after all, wizards usually preferred to attack each other at long distances.

Tobius wiped sweat from his dirty forehead with the sleeve of his robe. Remains of ink, blood, soot... The wizard groaned softly, thinking that even though the sorcerer died, the consequences of his deeds remained - the forest continued to burn. He went towards the source of the fire, thinking how to put out everything and not overstrain, when a new source of heat flared up behind him. The magician turned around, realizing that he did not have time to defend himself, but instead of the Serpent Tongue with a whip at the ready, he saw a creature from demonological atlases - ahoga. A goat-legged incarnation of lies, a demon from Hell, an ugly monster exuding heat and a sulphurous stench.

Ignoring Tobius, the demon easily picked up Serpent Tongue's corpse and tossed it onto its back.

- Do not dare! Tobius himself did not understand where this roaring rage filling his chest came from. - This is my prey! This carrion will be nailed to the gates of the Academy!

Ahog turned burning eyes to him, twitched his ugly penny, laughed and melted in a fiery flash, leaving behind only the smell of sulfur and rapidly dissipating black smoke. He dragged the body of the sorcerer with him.

“Friends in Hell…” Tobius croaked and coughed.

There was no strength to call for rain, admonishing the spirits of nature, so the magician simply got off the ground and rose above the smoky veil. There, at last, he was able to breathe and rub his eyes, which were watery with moisture drawn from the air. Further it was easier: engulfing the lowest-flying clouds and compressing them into water spheres the size of a pumpkin, he rained down these projectiles on the fire. When they hit the ground and trees, the balls exploded, splashing water in all directions. Soon the fire died down, and a damp gray smoke began to spread over the ground.

At the foot of the mossy rocks, Brother Olveh sat over Brother Horas. The gray nun ran his hands over the mutilated body of his brother, thin golden threads descended from his fingers onto the wounds. Next to Horace's body lay a small, whimpering roll of some kind of rag. Marin was lying at the entrance to the cave - he was barely breathing, but still he continued to cling to life.

Bully and Reaper stood at a distance, waiting for orders. Tobius thought this was strange, since the golems were only obedient to him and, in fact, had to wait for him below. So why did they rise?

- Is it a baby? Tobius said to the Petrian, pointing to the bundle.

- Yes. He lay and cried in the far corner, where the main distribution center was.

Will you look for his father?

“No,” the monk replied after a short delay. This child is destined to take the path of a servant of God. From now on, the Church will take care of him.

- It's clear…

— Sorcerer? the Petrian asked, not looking up from his healing manipulations.

- I killed him.

— Lord the Blacksmith forgive you this sin. Body?

“You may not believe me, but the ahog took him away. I couldn't do anything.

Why not believe.

“Thanks for getting Chara Maren out.

“He is a man,” replied Brother Olveh indifferently. We are all human, both sinners and righteous. We are all equal in His eyes and equal in the right to life too.

Thobius picked up the necromancer's wand from the ground, heaved the body over his shoulder with an effort, and slowly straightened up.

“If I were you, I wouldn't rush into this, char Thobius.

- What?

"You want to save this sinner, don't you?" No, drop this idea.

Tobius grew gloomy, pursed his lips, his pleasant face, flavored, as it might seem, with a considerable amount of noble blood, suddenly became harder, darker.

"Then why don't you leave Brother Horace alone?" He is still breathing, but with such wounds and without care, he will die in a few hours.

“Brother Horace is a good man, a flaming hammer of the Lord, who will still serve the cause of good.

“And Char Maren…”

“Char Maren is cursed. The Petrian spoke quietly and evenly, as each and every member of his order spoke, who seemed to have been taken away from all human emotions, but his voice still easily blocked the loud and angry voice of the magician. “His soul will not make a luminous sword, and it will fall into Hell, into the clutches of demons, and will exude black fumes during the Last Battle. Today he had a chance to die doing a good deed, a worthy deed, to die defending the good. If he dies now, practically a martyr, his cursed soul will have a chance to ascend to the Heavenly Forge and be reforged, and then go back to the world and be tempered again. Already in goodness, not in evil. The best fate that a man like him could dream of. If he survives by some miracle, then who knows what other terrible deeds he will commit in the future. leave,

- Well, then you leave! Brother Horace also stood up for what was right, and now immediately...

“There are many righteous people in the Armory Halls, enchantment Tobius. The Church, on the other hand, needs the righteous here, on sinful earth, so that they fight against evil and carry the heavy burden of the defenders of humanity. Therefore, I will do everything to save Brother Horace. Char Maren is a necromancer. Adherents of this accursed craft can only create death, they can only kill the living and disturb the souls of the dead...

“Yes, all the necromancers of the Seven Deserts did not kill as many people as the clerics of Peter and the Holy Officer tortured in the casemates of their strongholds! Tobius exploded...and immediately regretted it.

The jokes immediately ended, his statement was not even on the verge, it was a step far beyond all permissiveness. He did the unacceptable in the presence of a monk, accused the hunters of the Lord and the Holy Officium of murders, perverted the essence of their irreplaceable work, that is, spoke out in support of sorcerers, witches, demon worshipers and other heretics. This alone was enough to put on him Estrian gloves [Cases that mimic the shape of human palms, usually made of iron with elements of kerberite or entirely of kerberite. They are intended to ensure that the wizard chained in them cannot perform magical passes, and also loses sensitivity to a magical gift. They were invented by monks from Estre to hunt sorcerers and witches.] and tied to a post over a pile of brushwood.

"Not today," the Petrian said calmly. “Not today, but someday, rest assured, the Church will remember these words for you, enchantment Tobius.

Olveh's round, indifferent eyes drilled into the magician's very soul. The eyes of Peter's brothers had one look at all. And for everything. Within the walls of the Academy, they whispered that before the tonsure, the neophytes of the Order of the Holy Apostle Peter are ordinary men and youths, but after the tonsure, putting on gray robes, they change. Something happens to them, grayness, like the color of their robes, takes possession of their souls, feelings melt, faces become expressionless, voices never sound loud, and eyes ... these terrible eyes indifferent to everything, in which only one fire burns endlessly - fire faith. Petrians seem to be cut off from all passions, and with the same eyes they look at the world, united in their views and aspirations, the ruthless brothers of Peter.

But are they so ruthless?

“Then let the Church remember my merits as well,” the gray magician threw, horrified by his impudence. - Bully, Reaper, to me!

The golems approached and placed their fighting limbs on the shoulders of their master. Tobius teleported directly to the Graveyard Yard.

When the earth hit my feet and the tightness of the forest was replaced by a windy expanse of a crossroads, and a former watch tower appeared in front of the magician, a belated fear came that magic would work inaccurately near the monks and Teleportation would be thrown somewhere in the wrong place ... But nothing happened.

“Maren, your protective charms…”

It was still useless to talk to the necromancer, his body had not yet died, but this very fact was already a feat of human vitality, and one should not expect more. Laying the wizard down on the grass beside the road, Tobius rummaged through his bag and pulled out a tiny phial filled with a clear, deep indigo liquid. Uncorking it, he took a small sip and grimaced in unimaginable bitterness. His temples ached a little, a noisy wave of magical tide flooded his consciousness, and the reserve of magical power was replenished by several hundred Iors.

Closing his eyes, the magician came into contact with the openwork cage of protective spells, with which Maren, leaving, covered his property. He quickly dismissed the idea of ​​trying to enter with the necromancer in his arms, hoping that the spell would mistake this for the return of the master and break up. The risk that everything Maren had in store for the thieves would fall on Tobius seemed too great to the gray wizard. Carefully unraveling the threads, loosening the foundations of the system and breaking the seals, Thobius finally removed the protection.

I had to drag the body to the top of the tower, into the office of the necromancer. Marin was placed on a hard plank bench covered with a thin linen cloth, and the gray magician went to roam the shelves and cupboards. To his dismay, it turned out that the owner of the hotel yard is a useless Potions master. No rare or valuable ingredients, not even the standard set of herbs and powders, were fully assembled. In this situation, it was worth thanking fate for the fact that at least the cauldron was available and the witch's hearth was burning properly. Tobius had to reach into his own bag and retrieve the boxes from Lauchalganda's mouth.