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Chronicles of the Rift...
In the world of Melin, two forces that have the appearance of Swords have collided: one is Diamond, the other is Wooden. To prevent them from destroying the world, the magician Fess takes them outside his universe. Together with myself. And he finds himself in the Evial world, over which the Western Darkness has been hanging for a long time. Per Fess fighting the good and evil forces, but he continues to go hard, sacrificial by the Black magician, spit on all. As a result, his fate will intersect more than once with the fate of Emperor Melin, as well as with a very strange man named Kitsum, the necromancer Belt and his daughter, who save the world, as well as an archmage who seeks to hasten the end of the world... Will Fess stand?
Content:
1. Diamond Sword, Wooden Sword (Volume 1)
2. Diamond sword, wooden sword. Volume 2
3. The Keeper of Swords. The Birth of a Magician
4. The Keeper of Swords. The wanderings of a magician. Volume 1
5. The Keeper of Swords. The wanderings of a magician. Volume 2
6. The Keeper of Swords. The loneliness of the magician. Volume 1
7. Keeper of Swords. The loneliness of the magician. Volume 2
8. The Magician's War. Volume 1. The debut
9. Keeper of Swords. The magician's war. Volume 2. Middlegame
10. Keeper of Swords. The magician's war. Volume 3. Endgame
11. The Keeper of Swords. The War of the magician. Volume 4.
The end of the game. Part 1
12. The Keeper of Swords. The War of the magician. Volume 4.
The end of the game. Part 2
13. The Necromancer's daughter
14. Return the staff
15. The Elven Guards
Nick PERUMOV
DIAMOND SWORD, WOODEN SWORD
THE FIRST BOOK
Dedicated to my friends, old and new, fidoshnik networkers and others.
THE PROLOGUE
THE PROPHECIES
"When Two Brothers gain freedom, the end of time will come"
"The people of Danu will be driven to despair. And when there are fewer of them left than a handful of river pebbles, their revenge will take place."
Iaiaenne the Wise, the Seer of the Danu people
PRAYER FOR THE CHALICE, THE SAVIOR'S SYMBOL OF FAITH
"Truly, I tell you, it happens that a small sin turns a whole righteous life into nothing, and everyone suffers for one sin. Take heed! Live righteously and modestly, for the sins of the world are accumulating, and the day will come when they will be weighed and measured, and no one will know which of the minor sins will shake the Cup of His Patience.
And again, and also, truly, I say to you, tremble! For the Three Sleeping Beasts must be freed, but they will not be given the power to harm living creatures immediately, but only after three days. And until all Three are free, the Cup will not spill. So let us pray that He may avert this fate from us! Amen to that."
Chapter 1.1 Agatha in the van
"I would like to get to Khvalin before the Downpour caught up..."
She woke up, snapping out of a shaky, chilly sleep. The chilly October wind seeped through the cracks and gaps of the wagon canopy. The old and short blanket did not save her, if it were not for mortal fatigue, she would not have closed her eyes until morning. The old scar on his neck was very painful — for the rain. An old and terrible scar... very scary...
The road again. Damn her. And the eternal "... until the Rain caught up...", repeated in various variations by the entire troupe without exception.
Yes, the Downpour here could really be called that, with a capital letter. Indeed, he was supposed not to "charge", but to catch up — gloomy and dark, the heavenly host came from the east, the horizon was swirling black, as if unprecedented fires were burning there in the distance — but people tried to talk about everything that concerned Mortal Rains in the most ordinary words, as if this could protect them from pouring from The firmament of death!
This time, these words were spoken by Kitsum, an old clown who never parted from a bottle. His hands were already shaking badly, and his breath smelled of some kind of alchemical filth, even when he was a rare occurrence! — I happened to be sober. He only went to the stage after "a small sip for good luck." The volume of the "sip" varied from a two-cup mug to a whole bottle of intense dwarf "Stone Heat".
She shivered, trying in vain to conserve the last remnants of warmth. That's it, they're lifting her up now. The van would stop for a few minutes at most, collect water from a roadside well, and then trudge on, through the forested, windfall wilderness, across the Sub-Glacial Wasteland that separated the glorious city of Khvalin from the equally glorious city of Ostrag.
"... If only we could make it before the downpour catches up..."
They did not stop for the night. They did not light a fire at camp sites. The food was somehow cooked on an iron stove, dangerously carried overboard of the van.
Because if the rain catches them on the way, they can all read their departure notes.
Without waiting for a kick in the side, the girl threw back the blanket and stretched — easily, gracefully, like a wild cat. Which, by the way, wasn't too far from the truth. The pointed ears did indeed give her a certain resemblance to a cat, and a wild one at that.
Agatha is from the Danu tribes. More precisely, people called her Agatha — for her rare hair, blue-black, blacker than a raven's wing; and no one cared what her real name sounded like. Oh, you've come to your senses... — Kitsum was sitting on his peeling chest and drinking steaming tea from a cracked bone mug. The van was shaking mercilessly, but the old clown somehow managed not to spill a drop.
Gods! Kitsum drinks tea in the morning!
Let's get down to business, pointy-eared brat. The boilers have been uncleaned since last night. And Trosha brought water for you, both here and for Mr. Onfim. Would I give it to a guy as a thank you...
The girl (or rather, a girl; by human standards, she looked about fourteen years old, no older; and no one who believes in the True God would ever wonder how many impious people there are) mockingly curtsied, pulling aside the folds of her wide skirts with her fingers.
"If you drink tea, does it really mean that the barrel of the gnomeade has shown the bottom, O venerable Kitsum, may the whiteness of the make-up not fall off your cheeks on the platform?" Agatha deftly dodged a torn shoe that was thrown at her head and stuck out her tongue at the old man.
Kitsum treated her better than anyone in the troupe. Except, of course, for Troshi, a pariah like her.
The shoe crashed into the canopy and, completing its flight, landed directly on the head of a certain Trocha, a young guy who had been taken into Onfim and Onfim's circus for his rare health, naturally enormous strength and equally enormous stupidity and trustfulness. He worked with heavy steel balls connected by a chain, tossed them, twisted them, causing constant groans, sighs and shawls covering the faces of stupid merchants who, through the folly of their husbands, ended up at the Khvalinskaya, Ostrogskaya or Yezhelinskaya fairs. Almost every performance ended with the fact that the host, Onfim, the first, took Trosha by the hand and led her somewhere, returning each time very pleased. The guy appeared no other than the next morning and answered the eager questions of Tukka and Tokka, the acrobatic brothers, only with a puzzled shrug:
"She rode on me all night, that damned cow... I wish I'd turned the balls over once more. Enough... of what? I don't know such words, Mr. Tuck, I'm very sorry.... Tired, that's all. And they didn't let me sleep. As always..."
"Oh," the disciplined Trocha immediately opened his eyes. "Sorry, Mr. Kitsum... I'm getting up, Mr. Kitsum...."
"Can I help you recover, Mr. Kitsum?" Agatha continued, artfully faking her voice, already bending over the cauldrons.
"Blockhead.. Ugh, Agatha, you naughty cat, it's you again! I've been caught up in your stupid trick for the umpteenth time!.."
The Danu girl snorted.
Until Mr. Onfim, the acrobat brothers, and the other inhabitants of the two circus wagons woke up, she could afford it. Then whips or spells will be used to torment the flesh of the daughter of the Danu tribes. Unless, of course, she obeys.
Agatha crouched even lower.
Sand and ice-cold water, and wipe off the congealed fat with scale, as you like. No matter how bad things were going, Mr. Onfim the first and the acrobatic brothers, the headphones and hangers-on of the owner, did not deny themselves food. However, then Mr. Onfim took a whip and personally drove off the excess fat from the squealing brothers.
"Hello, Trosha."
"Oh, hello, Agatha..." He blushed, turning dark in an instant, like a sun-baked wild fish-eating southerner from the Islands.
It's funny — a guy who was given to some merchant's wife every day at the fairs, or even to a bored noble lady, gave in and was incredibly embarrassed in front of Agatha. His guileless heart seems to have been forever captivated by a sharp-eared, black-haired girl, Danu, a disgusting and God-defying Inhuman, according to the authoritative opinion of the gentlemen of theologians of Melin, the southern imperial capital.
"You brought the water, thank you."
It's not much fun to start the day with such a nasty procedure, but what can you do? No one knows what can make Mr. Onfim the first lose his temper. Sometimes he does not pay any attention to the cleanliness of the dishes, and sometimes throws outrageous tantrums because of this, ending in beatings and flogging.
Trocha wanted to answer, but he was even more embarrassed and just waved his hand.
"Because I... I always..."
"Hey, did you open your eyes, you lazy carcasses?" Nodlik, who had been sitting behind the coachman for the second half of the night, barked from the box. Actually, he and Evelyn were jugglers; they both cuckolded each other, quarreled and fought, but they immediately came to a complete agreement when it came to ridiculing or insulting Agatha.
"How far have we traveled, Nodlick?.. Come on, throw in the reins, I have tea here", Kitsum responded. "The cold road freezes my chest and soul, it's time to warm up a little!"
Agatha had never been able to understand how anyone could treat everyone equally-her, Trocha, Nodlick and Evelyn, who found a peculiar pleasure in doing another nasty thing to the Danu girl.
"Tea? Did you say tea, O greatest of comedians?" Nodlick shouted. "Get that fucking cat over here! Agatha! Come on, move it, or you'll be dead in a heartbeat!"
"We" was not said for nothing. Evelyn never missed an opportunity to take part in the massacre.
"Leave her alone, Nodlick. She's scrubbing cauldrons."
"Ah, that's the place for shit like these Danus. Well, then Trocha'll go here.
"Yeah, yeah, right away, Mr. Nodlik..." the strong man hurried.
Nodlick threw the reins at him (deftly hitting Troche in the eye with the end of one of them) and climbed down from the box into the van.
He was tall, but somehow ungainly, bony, and broken, with a long, sad face that no amount of makeup could enliven. The juggler's forehead was covered with numerous scarlet-cyanotic pimples; his sparse hair, mottled with gray, hung in greasy icicles — and after all, Nodlik was only thirty-five years old!..
"M... Are we getting up already?.." asked a hoarse voice that seemed to belong to a woman. "Hey, bitch, is my breakfast ready?"
"Bitch" was Evelyn's most affectionate word for Agatha.
"She cleans the boilers, my friend," Kitsum saw fit to point out.
"What an asshole you are... I found something to give her... Let Onfim give her a hard time for that, too — it's all entertainment...."
Evelyn got out from under a couple of blankets — unlike Agatha, who was content with some rags, everyone else, including Trosha, had normal blankets, and the Onfim gentlemen understood that an artist with a cold was of little use. However, the idea of sharing warmth with the Inhuman Danu did not occur to even the simple-minded Troche. Actually, in this sense, he was no different from the others.
Agatha twitched her cheek.
"They're all just dirty pigs. Dirty, drunken, copulating pigs. A pig can throw Dana into the mud, but a true Dana will never turn his anger against her." although, to tell the truth, this maxim, extracted from Atann-eeuy Akhimm, Tan-eu-Achim, if written in primitive human letters, the Royal Six-Book, has recently ceased to comfort Agatha.
Now all the occupants of the first van were assembled. Kitsum, Nodlik, Evelyn, Agatha and Trosha, sitting on the box.
Behind them was the second van of their circus, much larger and richer. The canopy above it was new and sturdy, without a single tear. There rode Mr. Onfim the first himself, Yeremey the snake charmer, the acrobatic brothers, and Tansha the Death Maiden, as the fair touts called her. Mr. Onfim himself, as befitted the owner, was engaged in collecting money and distributing salaries. His half-brother, Onfim the second, was sitting in Yezhelin, sending messages to his brother by means of postal spells, where and when it would be most profitable to arrange a performance. Agatha, a maid, a dishwasher, a seamstress, a cook, a dancer, a musician, an acrobat, a live doll that Kitsum beat on the head and other parts of the body with a fake whip for the amusement of the most respectable audience, a live target in the Death of the Virgin attraction, completed the list of Onfim and Onfim artists. Needless to say, she was not entitled to any salary. Dana's slender neck was encircled by a charmed collar made of coarse iron. She was an unpaid slave.
"Come on, come on, to prayer, quickly," The pious Nodlik hurried the others. "And you, Danka, lower your God-defying zenks, you don't have to stare at how honest people pray to the true God...."
The true God. Who gave the whole earth into the hands of his chosen people, from end to end, incinerated their enemies, strengthened their strongholds and gave indestructible power to their weapons. And who is constantly, every day, helping him now.
Everyone in the van, with the exception of Agatha, began to sing a prayer. The Church did not allow Dana to receive communion or baptism. They had the right to exist either as conquered enemies-that is, as slaves; or as enemies who had not yet been conquered, but this, of course, was temporary.
Involuntarily, Agatha listened to the monotonous mumbling voices.
"...And don't let evil happen...."
"God, deliver us from..."
Everything is normal. Agatha has already memorized this morning prayer. She was vilified by the priests in the slave camp, where all those who had just been captured were herded, the priests were answered by the drunken voices of the guards; the jailers in the institution for those who did not want to accept the slave collar so easily; the fat dealers muttered, begging for at least a little luck, that is, successful deception; the housewives hissed, who came to choose their servants, and their husbands — concubines, because Danu are not people, but just a vessel to satisfy the low peasant needs....
Agatha listened to the prayer. How great must be the power of this new god, if he gave the humans terrible, irresistible combat magic, in the ancestral lands of Danu, elves, dwarves, orcs, trolls, kobolds, halves, heads, Gurrs, Harrids and many others — helped create a dark Empire, the fear and terror of all non-human beings Ras, an insatiable monster, devouring the heart and liver of his enemies, coughing up legions that go further and further, all the way to the ocean shores.
And instead of the proud swan ships of the elves and Danu, which were rushing over the waves in rapid flight, the seas are now torn apart by the ramming bows of war galleys bound with red copper....
Chapter 1.2 Agatha's hike with Onfim to the Drung forest
... And the Episcopate is zealous, according to the age-old rule of "divide and rule," and now useful Free Empires, a people of unsurpassed warriors, have been declared admitted to communion, now the half-hearted have been declared "walking the path of enlightenment," their towns and villages are subject to heavy tribute, church, order and imperial tithes, but — left in relative peace.
The church and the magicians have graciously allowed the dwarves trapped deep underground to somehow trade, orcs, trolls and goblins to do some menial work, they let them into the imperial markets and gloomy kobold caravans.
And the God-defying Danus and elves are outlawed. As well as unreleased heads, gurrs, garrids. But these people hardly really understand what's going on, they are murderers and savage bloodsuckers, with whom the Danu, the former owners of the forests, waged a merciless war....
Agatha's hands, without requiring the intervention of her head, had been diligently scrubbing the iron insides of the cauldrons all this time.
"Have you finished yet?" Evelyn scrutinized the polished steel. "But we'll check it out now...."
"Hey, you, there, at the head!" they yelled from behind.
Agatha raised her head.
Mr. Onfim-the-first's hefty wagon was pulled by as many as six horses pulled by pairs. Yeremey, the snake charmer, was sitting on the front seat; however, he was not sitting now, but just opposite, jumping up and waving his arms.
"On the head! Have you prayed, or not? Mr. Onfim is being asked! And also — listen to the sounds! Mr. Onfim Danku is wanted immediately!"
"We prayed, we prayed," Nodlik muttered.
There was something like sympathy in Kitsum's bleary gaze fixed on Agatha.
The owner of the traveling circus had the misfortune to wake up too early. He usually didn't wake up until noon on the way. He prayed; then he got down to business. As a matter of fact, this meant trouble for all the artists without exception, including the acrobatic brothers; Only Death-maiden, who enthusiastically warmed Mr. Onfim the first's bed in the evenings, could feel relatively safe.
Here, in the middle of a Sub-Human Wasteland, with a Death Shower hanging on his shoulders, being thrown out of the wagons meant certain death. Mr. Onfim was already furious that a good quarter of the seasonal profits had to be given to the Ostrag magician, who had cast a spell of indefatigability on the horses.
The Danu girl slid over the side of the van like a swift weasel. There was an inhuman flexibility and smoothness in her movements, it seemed that she was not running, but flowing like a stream.
Trocha turned around and watched Agatha go for a long time and smacked his lips with a sigh.
"Well, this bitch is going to get it now!" Evelyn giggled maliciously. "So I don't understand, are we left without breakfast?"
"You'll survive," Kitsum said, unperturbed. Strangely enough, he was in no hurry to take a sip of the bottle — either the supplies had really run out, or Saint Sukhorot himself, the hater of drinkers, appeared to him in a dream.
Evelyn grimaced, but said nothing — they had once tried, together with Nodlick, to arrange a "dark" for the clown. The juggler stayed out for a week, and Evelyn had to fork out a lot to have a makeup magician fix her well-known facial asymmetry. They didn't dare to offend Kitsuma anymore.
The woman immediately took out her anger on Nodlik. Hunching his head into his shoulders, he began to cook.
* * *
Agatha deftly dodged the whip that lashed out very close. The snake Charmer cursed in frustration.
"Good morning, Mr. Yeremey," Agatha sang in a honeyed voice, managing to curtsy as she ran. She grabbed the side of the cart and was inside in one motion.
It was warm in Mr. Onfim's van. There were two stoves here, and one was lined with stones. A fire was already burning in both of them. Acrobatic brothers jostled around the stoves, extremely annoyed by this turn of events. Both of them had soot on their faces.
Mr. Onfim was reclining on a cash chest covered with four layers of blankets. Death-Tansha bustled nearby, bringing steaming bowls.
Yes, it's an unprecedented thing. Mr. Onfim drove his mistress to cook! This was usually done by a Danu slave; something special must have happened today.
The circus owner did not like to bother with greetings. Even with Tansha, he usually talked like this: "Well, are you ready? How long can I wait? Lift up your skirt, bitch, and bend over! And you turn away, you brutes..."
"We're passing through the remnants of the Drung Forest," Onfim hissed. "Let's make a stop now. And let's go for a walk. Just the two of us. Take your stuff. Don't keep me waiting! That's not it..."
"Yes, Mr. Onfim," Danu bowed deeply.
"Dirty pigs. Drung Forest! The western border of the Danu lands... is the last stronghold. I knew he'd be in our way.... He called me, he recognized me from a dozen leagues away, but he couldn't see the collar around my neck... great Gods, Onfim, it turns out, knows history pretty well!.. And once again I will have to watch how the foot of a pitiful human tramples on the sacred land of my fathers!.."
However, there was still nothing she could do. The collar was riveted by skilled magicians. Onfim threw back the blankets. In a dark green hunting caftan, high boots, and with a curved Artsakh saber on his belt, he looked nothing like a traveling circus owner who had recently turned sixty, grown a sizeable paunch, and was a big fan of beer and women of both human and non-human races. His puffy cheeks had disappeared, and his pale eyes burned with a real, lively fire-something that had never happened even in the happiest moments of his life, when he counted the proceeds.
"I'm waiting," he reminded her coldly. Agatha bowed in silence.
"Yeremy! We're stopping," Onfim commanded.
The acrobatic brothers looked at Danu with evil rat eyes.
It was only a matter of a minute to catch up with the lead van, grab a warm raincoat, the only thing she had left, and pull on her hiking boots. The wagons creaked to a stop; Kitsum gaped at his master.
"Mister... Mr. Onfim!" He was hoarse with fright and stumbled on almost every syllable. "The rains... Mr. Onfim..."
Agatha almost fell over, noticing the smile on the thin, bloodless lips of the owner.
"It's okay, Kitsum. I've thought of everything. Including this stop. Wait for us... we won't be long, at most — until the evening. And so that the hotheads won't be tempted to run away with the wagons and the money, I put a binding spell on the horses."
He raised his hand. On his ring finger, Agatha saw a ring with an emerald-colored stone in a cheap bronze setting. Onfim muttered the words of the password, and the stone burst into flames, disappearing into a bright green flame. There was only an empty nest on the ring.
My ears hurt for a moment.
"Make sure the van is heated and dinner is ready when I get there", Onfim ordered in an unpleasant voice. "Now let's go ahead, Danka!.. Earn your bread!.."
Agatha moved forward in silence.
"You surprised me, Onfim. I would never have thought that you would know about our Forest. I would never have thought that you would want to climb into it yourself. But most importantly, what do you need in the Drung Forest? Your magicians have combed it inside and out. Yes, and there were a lot of people — they were looking for a summer cottage, fools.... You don't look like a fool, Onfim. You're a dirty, cruel, depraved, and dishonest pig, Onfim, but you're far from stupid. So why did you need to come to our Forest?"
The trees along the road were ordinary, human.
Garbage trees, as the true Danus called them. They were small, skinny, plagued by rot and aphids, and in some places entangled in silkworm webs. Their hateful gazes bored into Agatha's back; their tongueless mouths opened, spewing a stream of dirty and disgusting curses inaudible to anyone but her. The desire to be raped and strangled by her own father could pass for refined politeness against this background.
A little further from the road, the forest became cleaner. This is understandable — the trees along the highway took on all the anger of the passers-by, all their grief and disappointment, and therefore they were sick, withered, but did not die and even gave offspring. The endless torment only intensified the anger.
The branches tried to grab Agatha's hair, scratch out her eyes — Onfim whipped them with a thin bone stick, and the girl felt a sudden icy prick in the pit of her stomach — the yellowish bone clearly harbored some kind of spell, and not an easy one at that.
"Why did you get up? Come on, pointy-eared!" They made their way through the gloomy thickets-the leaves and grass seemed to be covered with dust, but where did the dust come from? Lime trees and maples were side by side with pines, hornbeams and firs — the result of the general magical chaos during the War with Danu, which human minstrels sing about at every fair, at every celebration and at every inn. The survivors of Danu try not to think about her as much as they can.
"Where to go, Mr. Onfim?" another pathetic attempt at self-defense. Not the master, but the master, just a polite address...
"Don't pretend you don't know, pointy-eared. Take me to Drung! Into the depths! You can feel him, I know. Lead the way!"
Agatha bowed briefly. She closed her eyes for a moment, shutting out the sick, evil forest, the pathetic parody of it that surrounded her now; the feelings of the girl-Danu stretched forward to the distant hills, where fast, uncluttered streams still flowed from stone caves, where real Lhadann Naastonn still towered on the slopes, True Trees, where everything was different, Even the air...
Where Dan's homeland is.
The forest responded immediately with the combined hum of gigantic branches, the gentle flutter of foliage that did not wither (when the Danu retreated, Lhadann Naastonn learned to shed leaves for the winter — a naive attempt to protect themselves from the wrath of the Humans, whose law is "Destroy the unknown!").
Onfim stayed three or four steps behind Agatha. His right hand is on the hilt of his saber; his left hand is clutching a bone stick. Have you heard about the monsters of Drung, which originated from the remains of evil magic that swept through the stronghold of the ancient people with a fiery broom?
Agatha herself didn't really know anything about it, but she hoped that her blood, the blood of Danu, would serve as reliable protection. It's happened before, and more than once.
Little by little, the mutilated human forest retreated. A fluffy Ssortti panicle flashed among the weeds, a lacy Doconni corolla was red on the branches of a quite ordinary oak, and here was the first blue Auozynn bush.
"Hello, Drung. The human larynx is unable to convey the consonance of your true name: Dad'rrount'got. Even a primitive Dadrountgot (although it has almost nothing to do with your real nickname) is too difficult for them. Drung! The name of a dog, or a breeding bull...
Well, you've started, Dad'rount got. I'm treading on your land, and my neck is wrapped in an evil human iron. With a speaking iron. And I'm powerless against him. I could have died, but my life and revenge were bequeathed to me. And that's why I'm leading this filthy human, whose breath is more foul-smelling than decaying carrion. Forgive me, Great Forest, forgive your windy granddaughter, she has been singing and dancing for too long.... But now she's paying the bills of the entire Danu tribe."
"We are on the border of Drung, Mr. Onfim."
"Try hard, pointy-eared, and maybe you'll get through today without a spanking. Come on, lead on! Lead the way!" If Onfim was surprised by the sight before him, he did not show it.
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