The Road to Magic (Book 1 of the Way of the Demon Series) (19 page)

‘Everything worked. I was worried about Leya, she was young and hadn’t gone through the necessary training in the Dark Citadel, where studying the rules governing ritual suicide is compulsory for students. But the girl managed. She’d seen the sacrificial altar of Orchis, too. It was my turn right after her. Goran went last. As a healer, he was the most alive among us and we knew he should be able to live long enough after the blow in his heart to complete the ritual. Before plunging the poignard into my own chest, prompted by some kind of premonition, I cast a simple spell over all of us, over those who’d just died as well as over those who were still alive. It was a spell of non-decay and the regeneration of dead flesh, and I also cast a spell I had developed for binding the soul to the body. I devoted all the energy I had gathered as a result of the explosion in the magical tower to it. The result is what you see before you.

‘The next evening, I
rose
. In those days I wasn’t the worst warrior necromancer of the Dark Empire and I had put all the necessary charms on myself. But even so, I was astounded. Usually a
risen
magician who has retained the major part of his magical powers becomes not much more than a dull doll with one fixed thought: vengeance on enemies. But nothing like that happened with me. The poignard wound healed and I looked almost alive. And it was then that I remembered the spell I had cast before I died. After that I raised all those I could. Unfortunately, as I was sacrificing myself, I had only cast the spell over the magicians, the warriors from the garrison became simple dull zombies. Nevertheless, I
raised
all the magicians. Fifty students of the fifth year who had been with me in my seminar: Ratek, who was only a pretender to the student gown; Goran, and Leya. As light magicians, it was particularly hard for them.

‘Thanks to the spell for regenerating flesh, the wounds healed over and the non-decay allowed us to look almost alive, while the bound soul meant that we could think, feel emotions and dream; dream about the possibility of becoming alive again, even for just a split second, to feel the warmth of the sun and the caress of a woman. Or maybe the taste of Leya’s apples,’ the necromancer added with a wry grin.

‘We’ve existed that way for fifty years now. The healer and I are busy with research, looking for the possibility to return at least a part of life back to us. Along the way we help my older students, the chimerologists who have seriously undertaken to ensure the safety of our abode, and who are always creating more and more new Guards. The younger ones patrol the grounds. Leya takes care of order and beauty in our abode, experimenting with various types of plants. She keeps us cheerful, jokes and smiles, forces us to take care of our appearance … and cries quietly when she thinks no-one’s watching.

‘And that’s our story. But now, however, my dear Arioch, it’s your turn. I must admit, I’m very curious as to how you appeared in these parts, a human endowed with both an incredibly strong potential for the light magic of fire and talents for dark magic, too, and what’s more the Transformed magic!’

‘Well, perhaps you, my dear Viss, would be so kind as to enlighten simple uneducated me, as to what is particularly surprising in my talents?’

‘Aha, simple and uneducated! But I’ll explain. First of all, you simply reek of fire magic. To be honest, I didn’t think a human could possess capabilities of such magnitude. It’s more fitting for some sort of fire spirit, say an iphrite or even a young and weak Elemental. But that can still be explained. They say that once in a thousand years a magician of improbable power is born. But apart from the fire magic, I can sense dark magic in you, too. Admittedly, as yet I can’t say whether you are a black sorcerer or a necromancer, it’s all masked by the stronger smell of fire, but that’s not the point. That just doesn’t happen! A human is only capable of housing one side of the force.
If we turn to the light, we cannot reach the shadow, for those sunk in the darkness the light is not visible.
That is the first law of magic, which, until now, has been considered unbreakable. And here we have a living refutation! And as if that weren’t enough, your dark force bears clear traces of the transformation which a magician’s force obtains when he has passed through death! That multiplies a dark magician’s strength manyfold; I, for instance, am much stronger now than I was when alive, but no one obtains this willingly – who wants to die? But you can’t go through that alive. These capacities only appear after a personal encounter with Madame Death, or at least, that is what was thought till now. So, that’s why you are refuting this supposition. You are, without a doubt, alive, unlike me and yet you, like me, carry the stamp of death - which, incidentally, would give you a very great advantage should you decide to take up dark magic. Actually, it’s already giving you an advantage: it was precisely because your power has been transformed in a similar way to ours that the Dark Hounds took you for one of us.

‘Not to mention the fact that among your travelling companions you have the ruler of Fenrian, who hasn’t yet gone through the coronation – an empty ceremonial rite, by the way. So you can see for yourself, I am indeed very curious as to who you are. And where you appeared from.’

Oleg thought seriously. Then, throwing caution to the wind, he told Viss the story of his adventures. The dark magician somehow aroused intuitive trust, and Oleg had recently learned to trust his intuition. Moreover, he really needed a good advisor, and ideally, a guide.

Viss listened to the story with great attention. He was particularly interested in how Oleg was killed by the thugs and his appearance in the world of Heliona. He often interrupted Oleg to quiz him, carefully examined the tear in his jacket, calculating where the blow had struck and thoroughly asked about Oleg’s feelings. After Oleg had told him about Heliona’s warning and gift, he smirked, muttering ‘So that’s where the fire comes from!’ When Oleg reached the point when she recommended he study dark magic, he muttered, ‘Very wise, very wise,’ and then went back to listening carefully.

Finally Oleg finished his tale.

‘Well, what can I say,’ Viss drawled with obvious satisfaction. ‘You are extremely lucky, young man. I wonder why that goddess took such an interest in you and why she invested such power in you?’

‘But Heliona says she’s not a goddess,’ Oleg said in amazement.

‘She can say what she likes. I can tell you that I’m not a master of necromancy who died fifty years ago but a grey rabbit. And what do you think, after that I’ll grow ears and get an unbearable urge to eat carrots?’

‘That depends on how well I’ve mastered the magic of transformation by then. So the urge might come upon you,’ Oleg countered.

‘Take a walk!’ the magician exclaimed with obvious satisfaction. ‘The magic of transformation doesn’t work on the Undead. And that is precisely what I am now, an Undead. There are at least some advantages in my situation. I don’t need to worry about any pranks the students might get up to.’ Viss made a mock serious face.

‘I wouldn’t count on that too much if I were you. I should warn you that I have a very vivid imagination…’

‘And a very unhealthy one. I see, I see...’ and the necromancer laughed gaily.

‘And as for Clear Flame, she may say she is not a goddess. She may even sincerely believe she is a simple Elemental. But as a magician who knows a bit about the magic of beings - and not just from hearsay - albeit from a rather different angle, the dark side, I can tell you that reading minds, let alone resurrecting the dead and giving them additional magical appearances is simply impossible for an Elemental. And in general, resurrecting the dead is an ability which belongs solely and exclusively to the gods. And even for them it demands an awful lot of energy. A willing sacrifice gladdens any god, of course, but if that were all there was to it, she wouldn’t have resurrected you. She would have just organized a good afterlife for you at best. You can take my word for it, I’ve studied this matter very carefully while I was looking into the possibility of resurrecting us!’

‘But I told you that anyone who finds themselves in that world by invitation is immediately given a new body. Why don’t you try it? Ok, it may not be your body, but at least you’ll be alive.’

‘That’s all very well, but as you said yourself,
by invitation
! And unlike you, no-one has invited us, it’s a real stroke of luck, and I’ll devote all my efforts to get that lucky strike!’

Oleg thought for a while. On the one hand, he didn’t want to raise the lich’s hopes, especially as he was far from sure that he could indeed help them. But on the other hand, he saw that they desperately needed at least the hope that there was a
possibility
they might become alive again. After thinking a little longer, Oleg made up his mind.

‘I don’t want to promise anything, but maybe I can help you a bit. Judging from some of Heliona’s remarks, that was definitely not the last time I’ll be invited. If I find myself there again, I promise I’ll mention your predicament. Maybe she’ll be inclined to help.’

‘I doubt it. The fact that she revived you is odd enough. As for reviving a whole group, like ours…no, I doubt you can find a god crazy enough to get involved in that. But you’ve given me a good idea. We’ve been hanging on to these dead bodies, trying to revive them. But sometimes it’s easier to build a new one than repair the old. We just need to create or grow ourselves new bodies, and then transfer our souls into them. That’s well within the powers of Goran and myself. So please accept my sincere gratitude. It may not be soon, but the first real chance of life is ahead of us now! We’re used to waiting. But we must go. I expect they’re fed up of waiting for us in the festival hall. I sent Ratek, he should have returned with your musical instrument. We all miss music terribly, as only Lir and Tobi play. And it’ll be interesting to hear some songs and something more besides. Leya doesn’t have a bad voice, but after fifty years you begin to want to hear something new.’

Ratek had indeed already raced off and was back, holding the guitar in his outstretched hands like something of great value.

Oleg looked around; the so-called festival hall was on the ground floor of the tower and had once, apparently, been used as a meeting room. The chairs and tables were still there, now blackened with time but still robust enough, it seemed. Choosing one which seemed less dusty, he moved it to a table and began tuning his guitar, thinking feverishly all the while what he could play to touch the hearts of this lot, standing nearby in a compact group.

‘Take a seat,’ Oleg said, nodding at the chairs next to him. ‘What are you standing around for?’

‘Thanks for your concern,’ the short, stocky lad with brown hair standing closest to Oleg smirked, showing his white teeth. ‘But we’d rather stand. We don’t care whether we stand or sit. And what’s more, unlike you, we won’t have to wash our trousers.’ Settling himself more comfortably, Oleg strummed a few trial chords on the strings.

At first the performance went badly. Oleg was tired and would far rather have slept than sung songs, especially sober. The liches had lost the habits of normal life and didn’t think to put either food or even a drink on the table. How could he play like that? Nor was there any sign of the third factor which stimulated creative talent, namely the close proximity of pretty girls. It goes without saying that Leya was quite pretty (Ataletta had once commented that all female magicians were very beautiful since they could change their appearance as they pleased), but she had one very serious flaw which prevented him from seeing her as an object of sexual interest – she was dead! There were no living girls present – or guys either, for that matter--apart from Oleg himself.

He rather half-heartedly played “Blood Group” by Viktor Tsoi and a few songs by Alia for which he received equally half-hearted applause. But Oleg gradually began to get angry. He’d gotten used to his music arousing widespread rapture and this indifferent calm on the part of the liches was getting on his nerves. But he realized that he couldn’t blame it on his audience’s lack of musical taste, but on the quality of the performance, and this made him even madder.

Finally Oleg couldn’t contain himself.

‘No, I can’t go on like this! I’m playing awfully and I can see that myself! Do you have anything to drink?’

Some alcohol was found. One of the passing merchant caravans had fallen prey to the Dark Hounds just beside the city itself. The practical Tobi, who, it seemed, fulfilled the role of manager in this little closed-off world, dragged its load into the citadel’s cellars and all this, judging from Viss’s raised eyebrows, unbeknown to his teacher. “Why do we need reserves like that? After all, we can’t get drunk or even taste the wine?” Viss said bluntly.

“It makes your soul ache to see three crates of reserved “Valensian Ruby” go down to the marsh devils.” Tobi explained. He watched with great envy as Oleg took the first sip right from the bottle and helped it down with a bite from an apple plucked straight from the tree.

Having decided to leave the hall where he’d made such an ugly fiasco, Oleg suggested they move into the garden. The wine was indeed splendid, and Oleg’s good mood gradually returned. And then an idea flashed through his mind. He had always played songs which were most suited to the situation he was in at the time. Now he bent this rule, albeit jokingly, so as not to awaken any unpleasant associations for his new audience. ‘I should give it a go,’ Oleg decided and drawled the first song which entered his head: “Dead Anarchist”, about a short-sighted old magician who accidentally spills some magical elixir while wandering in a graveyard one night. Consequently, the dead awaken and wreak mayhem in the nearby village.

The song was met with a cheer. That is, almost everyone liked it. Admittedly, the response was rather inadequate – the liches just doubled up with laughter. The only ones not laughing were Leya and her father, who had finally come out of his study. But not even they could hide their smiles. When he’d calmed down, Viss furnished the discouraged Oleg with the necessary explanation: ‘From a professional point of view – and here all of us, to a greater or lesser degree, are inevitably professionals in this matter -
raising
such a large number of zombies who, judging by how talkative they are, must be third or maybe even fourth level, looks like a highly improbable occurrence. Let alone some shoddy little wizard who can’t even correct his own eyesight
raising
them by chance…’ he stopped talking and giggled again. Finally, having laughed his fill, he asked curiously: ‘Do you know any more songs about necromancy or the like?’