The days dragged by slowly and painfully. Although Varlag did not see Mentor Katel, he frequently felt his presence. He was watching them from afar. The other students had already returned to their classes, and they were divided into groups, each with their caretaker.
And although the other fellow students still avoided Varlag and Fer, their daily worries and teaching somewhat softened the attitude toward them, if you can call it that. They no longer shrank away in horror at the sight of their friends, but simply preferred to ignore them.
The conxur from Garda still has not arrived in Highhome. But the time of his arrival was inexorably approaching. The guards were still on patrol. All the exits from the Academy were heavily guarded, but in places where food was delivered from the city, the guard changed a little more often and with short breaks. If you can find a moment, you can hide in the cart that drives back.
The conxur from Garda still has not arrived in Highhome. But the time of his arrival was inexorably approaching. The guards were still on patrol. All the exits from the Academy were heavily guarded, but in places where food was delivered from the city, the guard changed a little more frequently and with short breaks. If you can find a moment, you can hide in the cart that drives back.
The friends were not going to break the new rules that were introduced after the unsuccessful trial—a curfew when it was evening, moving around the territory in groups, a ban on entering the city for Varlag and Fer, and much more. This could lead to their tightening, which could interfere with the escape plan when it becomes necessary.
Varlag and Fer never found anything useful. For many days spent in the library, they managed to find bits of information about the jarhis and their ownership. Books and scrolls from the time of Elfinate mention this person quite often, but not significantly. Varlag learned that their country was surrounded by mountain peaks that could not be overcome, as the books said. It was only accessible from the sea. That's something… In that case, their route would have been through Arazih or Zun, the southern regions of the savages, and then they would have had to find a ship.
They learned nothing new about Escura, only confirmation of what Katel had said about the destruction of the body and mind of its owner in the treatise 'The Rot of My Soul.' It was written in the name of the supposedly young Mentir the escuride. There are in this book such artistic exaggerations that you can not trust this author!
Mentir claimed to have learned the skill perfectly, and when he was very old and gray-haired, he founded the Escuride Academy on the Other Side of the Oira. So one day, he could unleash the full power of darkness on Meriel.
The whole story took place five centuries ago, before the formation of Elfinate, and contained nothing but the description of endless mental suffering and remorse. Nor did the Escura of his cult descend on Elfinate, then or now.
"And maybe it could have been? We'll have to go to the Other Side to find out…"
"Tell me too… This book contains at least one true statement. I found it on the shelves of dramatic works, by the way, and there was also an essay under a different name, but with the same syllable, about the suffering of a combinator with four ownerships. Even two is a rare occurrence, where there are four!" Varlag grimaced and pushed the folio away from him. "We wish Master Mentir and his fantasies the best of luck!"
"Eh," sighed the elvin flipping through a book out of longing 'Good service,' which, on Katel's orders, had been given to him for review. It was a good thing they were allowed to read at all, even together.
Varlag was furious when he ran his eyes over the little book. She sang about Elfinate and how good it was to be the elvin, serving him with honor and joy. Varlag fished the volume out of Fer's hand after he shoved it disdainfully on a shelf higher and farther away.
And he, in turn, was given the 'Shield of Kings.' There is enough historical information and theory about Conxury in it, but there was no question of any practice. Nor did he write anything about the voice, which so far had not visited him, even in his dreams. He did not know whether to be happy or not. Can it be satisfied at that time and not appear again soon? How often do you need to feed the Conxury? Does its power depend on it? The author of the book is also silent about this, as is his hunger.
From it, Varlag learned the following: the conxurs most regularly had no other power; they acted as defenders of important persons—kings and nobles alike—and had great influence and respect, both before and now. The treatise said: Conxury is capable of absorbing all ownership of another person without the possibility of recovery. And there is also its type, which allows you to take ownership and pass it on to someone else. But how is it done? The authors did not bother to say anything. But the most critical thing is that Conxury could not absorb itself, which means that if two such owners meet in battle, nothing will happen. Unless you resort to brute force. Varlag was a good Gladia swordsman, but there was no need for that here at the Academy, so he started it up. I'll have to remember and practice.
He and Fer got sticks (not real weapons, they do not even have swords or daggers at least) and we trained in the yard. No one forbade them to do this. Mentor Katel, from his tower, only continued to watch. After all, the elvin without ownership might need it. Nothing like that.
"You're giving in to me! Fer would say, as Varlag, wounded in the ribs, fell to the ground with an artistic flourish, mimicking the agony of death that he must have learned from reading Mentir's tales about the escurides.
"Not at all! Goodbye, my friend!" Varlag is lying down. "It's getting dark in my eyes! So the sun went out…"
If there is a time for childishness, it is now. Varlag understood perfectly—it could all come to an end soon. Their plans and aspirations could come to an end very soon. Sometimes nothing depends on you, everything around you lives its own life. And the events that surround you just happen without asking for your consent. And things do not always work out in your favor… The thought of the futility of all their efforts came to him more and more often.
They made very little progress in their search. If it goes on like this, his words will only be words. So he decided to cheer Fer up and make sure that he still had some good memories of Highhome if nothing worked out.
And they are still locked in the metaphoric cage, sometimes forgetting about this.
During the walks, Varlag picked up pebbles for training purposes in Terrestry secretly, since everything was much more complicated and dangerous with Conxury. He knew the direction now. He did not have enough skill, he was not sure if he was doing everything right, but sometimes you just have to trust your gut.
At the very least, the meditations they had spent many hours doing from the very beginning had paid off. It is in fairy tales that the heroes shout long spells in unknown languages. In reality, you just need to obey the element that was embodied in you-by the power of imagination. Do not give up the slack, and then it will obey you.
The young man learned to cope with the terrain again, able to move stones, make them bounce, but more often than not, they cracked into pieces in his hands, because impotence gave rise to anger.
Varlag tried to suppress the bad in himself, but he had to bring more and more pieces of rock. He was afraid that in anger he might cause the wall of the room to crack or collapse to the floor. This would have been noticed immediately, and Katel would have locked him up.
So far, he'd managed to keep a tight rein on himself, even though sometimes he wanted to scream in frustration and destroy everything around him. With crystallization, nothing came out. The material, which he used to self-study, was ignoble enough to unleash his potential to create crystals. But even a simple Terrestry that somehow responded to his call is already something. This may be useful to them.
As for neutralization, Varlag once sneaked up on the Calidite course. Steeling, he imagined the flame Niame had been practicing with going out and no longer catching fire. There was a faint sense of pressure around him. He did not hear the voice, but Niame's attempts failed. He did it!
Varlag chuckled with pleasure. However, if he was sated, but that was his opinion, and such a portion of ownership could not awaken him, that mysterious voice remained silent.
A former classmate tried to light a flame, but then she got angry, stamped her foot, and quickly ran out of the hall, where everyone easily succeeded in this experience.
"What are you doing here?" she shouted angrily, noticing Varlag and flushing.
"I came to see you," he lied.
"Not now!" she walked quickly away.
"I could ask her to marry me," Varlag thought. He liked Niame. He could tell that he was still in love with her. Perhaps she will? All of this has happened before. And now it's in the past, as if you've been asleep all your life and finally woke up… And now you do not understand who you are and where you are. "But I'm sorry, we do not have anything like that."
It will come out! Varlag smiled once more. After all, he managed to absorb her Calidia.
Imagining Niame's puzzled face and laughing inwardly, he hurried to Fer to tell him everything.
***
He was sitting in his room, doing nothing. More and more often, he locked himself in and would not even let Varlag in.
He understood that his friend had something to think about, so he did not impose. Quickly, the young man shared with him the success of his practical experiments. If something goes wrong, Fer is also trained under the supervision of a friend, so moral support is not superfluous for him. They got hold of a vial in which they placed metal shavings. Fer managed to melt it several times, listening to Varlag's advice, and then return it to its original state. Escura did not make itself felt. It's not enough, but it's a success.
"Do you know what I'll do when this conxur arrives? They'll probably take you to the Hall of Trials. I'll make my way to those balconies you mentioned and neutralize your power from there, but I will not be able to fully absorb it, so do not be afraid. Then he'll think it worked, and he and Katel will check on you in the mirror. I will also consume its ownership.
"It's a perfect plan, but you know it's not going to go that well—"
"All I have to do before that is get in there and try my Conxury with the mirror. And for that, I need you."
"Are not you afraid that Escura will break out?" Everything is saturated with ownership there. And all sorts of things can happen, like last time…"
"Do not be so insecure! Everything will work out! Varlag frowned. It must have been that dark period when Fer was giving in to despair again. "I'm doing this for you!"
"But I've already regretted it a thousand times!" Fer shouted. "I can not, and I do not want to ask you to help me anymore—"
"What song? Again on your own?" Varlag was angry. "Are you giving up? We have achieved a lot!"
"We're not going to make it… And you're well aware of it—"
"What kind of sad thoughts are you having?"
"Mentor Katel was right from the start—"
Varlag had already relented."
"You're yelling at me for nothing!" Fer's turned on.
"What else can I do? You have a calm, then a storm! You do not know what you want!
"Nothing! No way! I do not want to anymore!
Varlag wanted to punch him hard, to stop his dope, but he restrained himself.
"I'll come by tonight while you cool off," he started to leave the room. "As soon as the bells ring, let's go to the Hall of Trials. Heavens, how can this be tolerated at all?!"
"I'm sorry! I did not want to…"
"Yes, yes, yes," Varlag muttered, and slammed the door a little louder and sharper than he'd intended.
Fer was left alone. He wanted to run after his friend, but something stopped him. He had already made up his mind. And it will be better for everyone, especially for Varlag.
***
Varlag came to his room and just stared at the wall, turning over his pebbles in his hands. He liked to touch their rough, cold surface, which gradually became warm in his palms.
As he sat there staring at nothing, one of the stones heated up in his hand and cracked. Varlag swore and threw the rubble at the wall. A bell rang out, summoning all residents to return to their quarters. Time passed quickly, though he spent it completely aimlessly. How many more hours had passed, and he still had not made any progress?
"Okay, it's time to move on to Fer," he said to himself.
He slid out of the room, hiding behind the colonnade until the guards had finished their rounds, then moved toward Fer. He lived not far away. Turn around and go through a couple of doors. All around is silence. All the students have already locked themselves in their rooms.
When he got there, out of sight of the guards, Varlag knocked lightly.
There was no response. He tried again, and after a moment's waiting, he pulled the door open. It was unlocked. There was a lamp burning in the room, but no one was there.
"Fer! Fer!" the young man called out in a half-whisper several times, searching all the corners with his eyes. Empty. "Where did he go? Decided to run away alone? Right now? And most importantly, he did not say anything…"
In anger, Varlag kicked a dresser's leg. Books and papers fell to the floor, and among them, he saw 'Good Service,' which he had taken from Fer recently and left in the library. The book opened, and he noticed a letter among the pages.
Varlag snatched it up immediately as if it might evaporate, and read it. It's a message from Fer's mother, asking him not to come back, but to go to his real father 'when it's all over.' Of course, Katel had written to Ferdorcha's family about what had happened, and most likely he had sent word to Gladia as well, but there was still no response from his parents since Miritil was closer than Varlag's homeland. If his father had written to him at all…
Darvir Brown—that was his name, expected value, Fer's father. His mother also mentioned a raven pendant that he had given her once. This was supposed to be proof of their relationship.
"Damn it!" Varlag tucked the letter into his bosom and hurried out. If there was one place Fer could go, it was to the warehouses. After lights out, a cart full of junk like utensils, pots, and jewelry, which was made by students, practicing ownership, went to the city, so that its contents were sold in local shops. By hiding in it, he could get out. "There, you small bastard!"
Although Fer was not small, he was taller than Varlag, and he had a reputation for being clumsy. He will be caught, and then everything is over!
The young man also crept out of his chambers and ran like lightning down the stairs.
"Just wait for me, Fer!" Varlag's heart was pounding in his chest.
While everything was going smoothly, no one missed or noticed him. There were guards in the corridor that led to the warehouses. Just one. Oddly enough, the other one must have gone off somewhere. Without thinking twice, Varlag threw one of the stones (he was still holding it in my hand) to the side. It crashed into a vase and fell to the granite floor. The guard heard the commotion and, looking around, moved in that direction, opening the way for Varlag.
"No Terrestry!" the young man quickly slipped past and found himself in a spacious indoor area, among baskets and crates. A loaded wagon with an awning is still standing there a little further away. The pair of harnessed horses looked back at him and indifferently continued to chew hay from the manger.
The cloth covering the wagon in one place bulged oddly. Varlag jumped up and pointed. There was a sigh. The young man opened the canvas and saw Fer. The man was wrapped in a raincoat, with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
"And what is that?" he said softly. "Runaway, then… I found a letter from your home…"
"Why did you come?" Fer asked in turn.
"To stop you, of course!"
Then there was a commotion outside: the rumble of wheels, the clatter of hooves, and voices.
"We'll talk later!" Varlag hissed, and he jumped into the cart next to Fer. He covered them both with an awning, leaving a small gap to allow them to see what was going on.
Usually, there was only one driver from the elvins who came. That's all the support. Something's wrong here! Varlag waved Fer into silence, and his friend nodded. They both crouched down.
The first rider dismounted his black horse. There is a humm of considerable age. He was all dark, with a pair of swords on his back. His beard and hair are both the same dark color, but they were barely touched by the silver. His black eyes and stern face were the cruelest. Varlag could run away right now if just looked at him. And something else: he saw the silver buckles of a shield and sword on his chest. Just the sight of it made him uneasy. He guessed that this was the conxur Katel had mentioned. He arrived at the worst possible time!
Varlag and Fer exchanged a puzzled look. You can hear and see everything from their hiding place. I just hoped they had not been noticed. I do not think so. Mentor Katel, accompanied by the guards, now appeared before their eyes. But this was not enough!
"Welcome back, Gregor of the Grotts! We welcome you to our abode of ownership!" the elf said, shaking his hand.
"Hello there—" like a not oiled cart, the man squeaked. "Alas, I can not say that I am also happy… But work is work… and it's been a long road!"
"I understand, but you'll have time to rest," Katel said. "You brought her?"
The man nodded and waved for someone else to approach… No. To drive up.
A cart rolled in, carrying a metal-bound box that could have held several horses. It was attached to the base of the transport with chains. There were many circular holes in the walls of the box to allow air to enter. It's a cage… A squad of elvins was walking nearby, guarding strange cargo. They are all similar, in black clothes and with the same shiny badges on their chests, like Gregor Grott's.
"Is this really for me?" Fer asked in horror.
The answer to his question came naturally. The box rocked numerous times, there were sounds of dull thuds, and something or someone was hitting its walls with all its might from the inside. A chilling animal roar rang out. It was scary to imagine that creature, the one they locked me in there.
"I do not think so," Varlag replied. "There's already someone there."
Katel put his hand on the box. Varlag felt the effects of Luxis. Everything went quiet inside.
"I'll let you out tomorrow."
The entire procession, including the elf and the conxur, moved on in silence. When they were out of sight, the Prince was the first to jump out of the cart.
"Why are you sitting there?" He turned to the puzzled and agitated Fer. "Do you want to know who's there?"
"And where did they take this box?" he asked, hesitating.
"I do not think they'll drag him up. Although there are a dozen elvins who love slave labor, I think they're heading out to the gardens at the base of the cliff back to the Academy. Are you coming or what?"
Fer sighed and ran after him.
The two youngsters walked quietly, keeping their distance. It was dark enough, and the rain was drizzling, and everyone in the weather tower must have fallen asleep, or maybe it was their doing. But they would hardly be noticed. The main thing is not to stumble or anything else, so as not to give yourself away, and not to lag. After all, the guards carry out their patrols. There was no other way. Only if you stay in the cart and go to the city. But they had already missed that moment.
Just as Varlag had suggested, the transport with the cage was moving along the path toward the gardens, where the arbors of the Academy grew not just flowers, but whole trees.
The cage was taken to a one-story stone structure, just as large as the previous warehouse. It was hidden by dense undergrowth. Varlag had never seen this building before, because there are a lot of things in Highhome, and there is not enough attention paid to all these structures. The friends lay down on the ground and continued to watch.
The elvins began unloading the crate and hauling it inside, grabbing hold of the chains. When they were done, Katel and his guests turned and headed off to the main tower, leaving here two conxur's satellites on patrol.
"Only two guards… and they went with the whole squad," Varlag said.
"Maybe what's in the box is not so dangerous," Fer suggested.
His friend, as always, did not wait but began to creep to the opposite side of the building.
"Are you mad?" Fer hissed, startled, but he too scrambled out of their hiding place. Varlag waved, gesturing for him to follow.
"You see, there are small windows," he said, pointing to dark openings in the walls that looked like loopholes. "They're not high. Push me up. We can get inside."
"You're so heavy!" Fer sighed, breaking down.
Varlag grabbed the rocks and pulled himself up, half of his body disappearing into the opening, his legs sticking straight out of the wall. After that, he disappeared and immediately emerged, holding out both hands to Fer. The man jumped up, clasped his hands tightly, and the young man dragged his friend up. The elvin, with Varlag's help, followed him up, his feet moving over the bulging stones.
Their feet hit the metal surface with a thud. They were on top of that box.
"It gives me the creeps," Fer whispered.
"Trust me, neither do I."
Varlag and Fer jumped to the floor and looked around. They had to be as quiet as mice so that the elvins outside would not hear them. Their eyes adjusted to the dimness after a while, and they decided to walk around the cage. Whatever was sitting inside did not make any noise. But Varlag could hear soft breathing, or so it seemed to him. There were no locks, no hinges, and no hint of a door. There was no chance to open it. Fer was afraid, but Varlag felt the joints. Nothing. There is just a full and solid metal body.
"You can not open it like that," a voice said. It was a woman's voice, and it came muffled from the iron cube. "You need ownership."
The young man put his face close to the holes in the wall of the cage, and Fer, startled, began to pull at his sleeve, urging him to move away. But he caught a glimpse of two pairs of glowing yellow eyes. Panting heavily, Varlag recoiled.
"Who are you?" asked the prince, scared. Fer was puffing right in his ear with a death grip on his shoulder.
"They call me Fides," was the reply.