What can I say? Well, I'm a bit in shock. Just a tiny bit. You go out on business, build relationships, make sudden friends. You return after a month, and it turns out you've already been buried. And they look at you like a corpse; look, a Mage ran up, he's scanning. I'm so surprised that I didn't even get indignant.
Well, like:
"Um, what? In what sense dead?"
It's hard to say who is more surprised by this situation. The Guard at the gates, who saw a dead person, and I'm not even Nathanos. Or me, "delighted" by the news that all deadlines have passed and we've already been written out of the world of the living.
The noise that rose was impressive. Everyone who was nearby came running. In the process, they enlightened me that no one had come, and the Guard's reconnaissance found no one. And they drew quite obvious conclusions from this. Mda. And you can't argue; I would have decided the same thing myself, probably.
"No words. Just no words."
The Guardian, smiling contentedly, countered.
"As for me, you should be happy. If the Trolls took down such a unit, then one more Mage would have done little. But this way you're alive."
Alive. And now I'm in a very difficult situation. Thanks for the dirty trick, whoever's idea it was. Entity, Trolls, Loa, or whoever. Now everyone will expect attempts at revenge from me! Well, if not successful revenge, then attempts to break loose and defeat everyone for sure! Thanks a lot. It seems my quiet training risks going down the drain in the very near future.
"Yes, pity about the guys..."
Pity, yeah. Idiots, but I didn't wish this on them. Thanks for the congratulations and all that, but for me, this is no reason for joy at all. But a reason to think about the eternal theme: who is to blame and what to do.
When my mother arrived, a full-blown hysterical fit began, but in this case, I didn't resist, still lost in my thoughts and puzzled by the situation. How? How did the Trolls manage to pull this off at all? I'm in shock, no jokes.
"How were the Trolls able to pull something like this off?"
The Mage checking Venidan and me answered. A Master, he's also a teacher, and I didn't recognize him right away.
"This is how Trolls are often underestimated, student. We have powerful magic, but they have been fighting against it for centuries. They fought and continue to do so, compensating for the lack of power with cunning and tricks. For example? A synchronous volley of spears from different sides, letting beasts loose, a second volley transitioning into close combat. By the time they reach you, you're preoccupied with a spear in your chest and a lizard trying to reach your neck."
Venidan picked up:
"Exactly. And the attack will start when the front guards fall into a trap. If the attack fails, they'll just run away, using the density of the forest and well-thought-out escape routes. Our Mages don't really like burning down entire sectors of forests; try putting them out later. Although we have to. In general, little one, I sympathize."
Elves approached me, familiar and not so much, while I remained in thought. When I said these Trolls were the Viet Cong, it was in a sense a joke. But it turns out it's not a joke. Mda. Still, it's too... too much. Suddenly too much.
The camp is located relatively close to the village; how the hell did the Trolls manage to arrange such a dirty trick so that no one noticed it? The logical answer—cold weapons are generally less noisy; there were surely traps from the direction of the village so there was nowhere to run.
Why didn't we see any traces during our return? Although almost a month has passed... They should have noticed that their guide was missing? Or they noticed but didn't find her? It's clear that no one initiated me, but still... Feeling outplayed is unpleasant, as is feeling like a dead person. Need to clarify:
"Venidan, did you know that your guide was missing?"
The Rogue spread her hands.
"No one was leading your people to the village. A large group, why bother? They'd either manage on their own, or one student wouldn't solve anything. Led them from the camp to the road, showed the way, and that's it. From there on their own; you live here, you should know the territory. You have Guards, don't you? That's their job."
Fine, logical. But it doesn't answer the questions. How can you manage to lose fifteen Elves and containers in the forest for good? And do it so that no one notices? Are these Trolls or ninjas?
"I don't know who ninjas are," the Ranger replied, "but you really need more practice. If a Mage doesn't participate in the battle, the fight won't be noisy. At! All! Listen, I understand everything, but just think. You're not a fool. The noise of the forest will drown out shots, clanging. And you yourselves don't want to be unmasked; more chance you won't be finished off. Sorry, but your friends fell into a trap. It happens."
I sighed, ignoring the Elves noisily discussing my survival. Now is not the time for cowardice. It doesn't sound very convincing, I know, but I was lucky: I didn't have time to get too attached to all of them. And instead of being hysterical, my mind asks questions. And yet I clarified:
"My older brother was there."
Venidan choked on her words.
"I'm sorry. I just thought, since you reacted so calmly..."
I ignored the dissatisfied comments of those who heard this. The claim was valid, and I had developed some respect for this girl. She has the right to an answer.
"My memory, curse it all. And they're right—I'm a bit shocked by what happened. I didn't expect the trolls to be capable of something like this."
I admit, I'm a little lost in this whole situation. My fellow Mages were real jerks, but as Elves, they weren't bad people overall. And I certainly didn't wish this kind of end for them. And now, I don't have an older brother, and my classmates are gone. All at once. Here we are, Mother and I, hugging, but my soul feels empty. It wasn't supposed to end like this. Only the part of me responsible for logic and analysis is functioning properly. And yes, I know the question is stupid, but I have to ask it:
"Do you think they could still be alive?"
To my question, the Ranger apprentice replied:
"It's been over three weeks, DaVi. The trolls reached the mountains they crawled out of without any trouble. Those peaks are full of their fortresses, sanctuaries, and hideouts hidden among the crags. You could search for a very long time before finding anything. The culture of sacrifice to the Loa spirits is very developed among trolls. Even if we knew where to strike and where to look, it would take weeks to comb through the mountains. It's not a given we'd find any traces at all, and we certainly won't find anyone alive. I'm sorry."
Not good. And yes, Mother heard everything, and now those gathered are angry at Venidan for her loose tongue, while pitying me and Mother. As if I need their sympathy. Even if I do feel sorry for the guys.
Sigh. No matter how I felt about those idiots, it's still unpleasant. I definitely feel sorry for them; I didn't want this finale for them. Perhaps this is what the entity was talking about. You can be super-strong, but the others—not necessarily. And now they're dead, and I only found out a month later. Disgusting. I feel exceptionally shitty.
I was squeezed tighter. I looked into those large golden eyes, trying to keep a straight face. She needs the sympathy; I'll survive as I am.
"It's okay, I'm here. Here. Everything is fine."
Actually, it's not. I feel guilt. Of course, it's stupid to think that a half-trained Mage without a decent supply of mines could have done what a dozen warriors couldn't, but still… I could have studied more, I could have churned out more mines… Oh, come on, I couldn't have. I didn't have the toxic component to quickly incapacitate the trolls. I only got it right when they were all already captured or dead. During those very weeks when we knew nothing. I'm just spiraling.
It was a long time before we were taken home and left in peace, allowed to think in silence. Yes, the sobbing doesn't count; she's allowed. But I will think in silence. I need a plan, and I needed it yesterday. Work will help keep the foolish thoughts away. I can invent things and win; I just need to think.
Against the backdrop of what happened, the fact that Mother threw a celebration for my survival almost touched me. Though it didn't improve my mood; I still don't feel great. Conscience, you heartless brat. They got their daughter back when they had almost given up hope; this is their celebration, not mine.
All that's left is to stoically endure the bouts of joy and the desire to care for me, to wrap me in a cocoon and never let go. Sigh.
In a certain sense, I've relaxed too much. I've soaked in the atmosphere of this place, that relaxed tranquility where nothing happens. Whether you do something or not, month after month, nothing happens. I know I should be preparing, but this sense of order, this aura of peace—it draws you in. In the end… I'm talking nonsense; yesterday I didn't have the knowledge I have today. I'm just in a period of craving activity right now. It'll pass, I hope; I need to think with my head, not my emotions.
The life of an Elf in peacetime is a measured jelly—tasty and slow-moving. And then the trolls came, and "you are here." Okay, enough moping; I need to get back to my current projects. I've already wasted too much time on theory. I need to move forward.
The guide slipped away to her own people, rightly noting that she needed to warn command about such "gypsy tricks." In different terms, obviously, but that was the gist. This dirty trick from the trolls requires the squad to adjust their strategy and inform others of the attack. She has obligations. And I stayed here, alone with my parents and the workshop. Now no one will interfere, but that doesn't make me happy at a-a-all.
No, I understand that I'm acting too indifferent for such a situation, but there's little I can do about it. I really didn't get that attached to all these Elves. Moreover, I actively avoided them for almost most of the time since my awakening. My brother is in service, my other brother has his own family, and those idiots didn't inspire much enthusiasm. So it turns out I frankly feel like an outsider here. These aren't my losses; this isn't my drama. I feel guilt for what I allowed to happen. Not the pain of loss.
And I'm far more occupied by the question of how much the village's combat capability has dropped. Regardless, I don't want a repeat of what happened on a larger scale. Not from trolls, and not from the Undead. Reminder: we have less than five hundred Elves in the total population here. A legion of guards isn't going to appear out of thin air. To my question, the Master explained:
"It's not so bad, if you look at it from a military perspective. That's what interests you, isn't it?"
I nodded. I might not be a strategist, but I can count.
"Unfortunately, Master, I didn't know them that well. Five months during which we didn't talk particularly often…"
The Elf nodded.
"I understand. It really is a short time. Your question… On one hand, there are plenty of those who know how to hold a weapon. Sword, spear, bow—but they know how. It's not all bad; we still have enough strength to fight back if it comes to it. Many here have some form of combat or hunting experience; it won't be a walk in the park for the trolls, not at all. It's just that such audacity is shocking, right?"
I nodded.
"The fact that the trolls passed right by the Rangers, did their deed, and left? Yes, it's shocking, Master. I thought the presence of guards and Rangers within walking distance would make the trolls steer clear of us, but this? This is not good."
The Mage spread his hands.
"Couldn't have said it better. Not good. These forests are as familiar to the trolls as they are to the Rangers. Which they didn't hesitate to remind us of. Obviously, such a daring yet cautious attack was a reminder for us. Our enemy is cunning and dangerous. We must not forget that."
No doubt about it. Trolls are not an enemy to be underestimated. Now I see that clearly. I should have seen it all along. They helped the Orcs in the Second War, and in the new Horde, the Darkspear tribe has expanded quite a bit. Let's just be honest—it's "game deformation," yes. You just don't really expect trolls, who in the strategy game threw spears and nets from the second line in direct combat, to possess stealth skills on the level of special forces. They can handle traps, and ambushes, and they tame beasts to set them on their enemies. And we're only talking about troll hunters. There are also warriors, berserkers, and the trolls have their own rogues with poisons too. They have plenty to counter the Elves with. A revelation I won't forget. Never underestimate the opponent. They were already underestimated once.
As for me… Well, Mother is categorically against me going far out of her sight. Anywhere at all. And I'm fine with that; I'm home now and have access to blueprints and the workshop. For the next few years, the Master simply won't have any students other than me; I can come and ask questions. I should be happy, probably. But I can't manage it. I successfully manage to show grief when I think of Arthas. He and the Army of Undead, the pests, are getting closer. For now—figuratively, but that doesn't make it any easier.
Fortunately, now that everyone is a bit stunned by the news, getting access to resources has become easier. And to knowledge too; there are fewer young Mages, and the workload has increased. I'm not complaining, just stating a fact. Talking adults into "look how much I'm doing, can I have these couple of useless pieces of iron as a reward" has become simpler. I finally got access to a book on magical mechanics! Not even six months have passed (almost have).
But that will be later. I finally finished the machine for producing jumping bombs. Nothing complicated; I only hadn't finished it earlier due to a lack of knowledge. The assembly module is two-level. The first level is preparation. Mixing poisons, molding the golem's body. And really, nothing complicated; programming individual tools is no harder than creating those street-cleaning flying brooms or dish-washing sponges. The most primitive level, where students learn the simplest tool enchantments. It's with nano-assembly from pure magic that you need skills, but simply teaching a wrench to tighten nuts with a specific movement at a specific point in space is easy as pie. Goblins would have to hire laborers to stand at a conveyor for pennies, but we are Elves. When work gets hard for us, we use telekinesis or build a golem.
Well, the second stage of production is assembly from the components produced in the first stage. Loading the shrapnel and the magical seal into the bomb, connecting it to the spider body, inserting the control scroll. This is a separate list of commands, compiled by a timer and gathered into a sequence. It reminded me of a certain game, Factorio. Instead of magic, it could have been mechanisms; the process wouldn't change much. Add a couple of golems to load poison components into the mixers, and…
"Bingo, hee-hee. I did it," I couldn't help myself, magically infusing the first fully completed doll with energy.
Without any fuss, quietly and mundanely. Of course, I don't particularly need this conveyor right now; I just don't have access to the volume of resources for automation to work fully. But the fact itself! I had enough knowledge and the project is finished! Progress!
The spider-mine jerked on the table. With practiced movements, I caught the magical strings, making the robot move across the table. Everything within normal parameters. The combat mine is ready to punish trolls.
I was smiling. Wide and joyfully.
"Well, that's one small step for a spider-mine, but one giant leap for an Elf girl who doesn't like walking, heh."
In magic, everything is going well too. After all, when you have a lot of Mana, it really makes a difference. Where there's not enough control, you can push through on raw power. And when you manage to build up control, a lot of Mana will still matter, allowing for more complex manipulations.
"Young lady, return to us and strike these ten targets."
I nodded to the Master, hovering a meter above the surface, arms stretched forward.
"Magical Arrows."
Shots of Arcana magic tore from my hands in purple flashes. A fairly simple spell, characterized by the fact that it can't be dodged. It's hard to describe, but the end point in the form of the target is embedded into the spell itself. Into the very concept of the shot; the trajectory appears later. And the arrows guide themselves; the main thing is to concentrate and think about where they should hit.
The number of shots also depends on the magical potential of the caster. A weak Mage will have two or three. I have more than two dozen. And if everything is done correctly, if there's enough Mana and the circles are formed as they should be, they will all hit the target. Always.
I don't quite understand how it works, but the Arcana element is supposedly less powerful than its elemental counterparts, but more flexible. Clay that becomes whatever you mold before it flies. But power is spent separately on the molding before it takes flight. It is on this pure magic, not colored by an element, that golems also operate. A universal power, unlike those shamans and other elemental users.
Anyway, the purple darts tore from my hands, leaving a magical trail behind them, and with a loud "pzzzuff," they streaked toward the targets.
With a quiet chime, the arrows bypassed obstacles, shifting, changing trajectory, and thudding into the targets. One, two, five… ten. All targets hit. I lowered my hand and relaxed.
"Good work," the teacher nodded, "you are making progress, student."
I allowed myself a smile.
"Thank you, Master," I thought for a moment, "may I ask a question?"
The Elf looked back with interest and remarked:
"You already asked one. But I don't mind, ask a second."
This is a difficult topic. I've thought more than once about what to say and to whom.
"How do you feel about prophecies?"
The Mage pondered.
"Prophets. Hm. They exist. But I wouldn't be so fixated on it. Why? A prophecy suggests that our history is predetermined. And if everything is predetermined, what's the point of doing anything? What's the point of development, of resistance, if you are doomed before you are even born? In my opinion, the very concept of prophecy devalues the efforts you undertake. Since the event depends not on our actions, but on the decision of someone infinitely powerful who thought everything up before us and instead of us."
I didn't answer immediately. I needed to neither agree nor dispute, but something third.
"And what if… let's say, certain events were planned by certain forces. The finale could be different, but these events might happen sooner or later. Because these forces are plotting something bad. And it's not a prophecy, but, say, plans?"
The Elf frowned.
"Magical potential, and now this too? What did you see, DaVi?"
I sighed.
"Undead, Master. While I was dead, I saw the Undead, a whole army. A plague epidemic will devastate the kingdoms of humans. And the dead will rise, uniting into armies and moving north. Toward us. And we don't have a full-fledged army. We are not prepared, as one ancient Elf once said."
The Mage nodded, but smiled. Though I could see the skepticism in his eyes.
"We don't need to be. The might of Elven magic is capable of crushing anyone, DaVi. Dead men burn beautifully," I sighed, and the Elf added, "regardless, this is all too vague. When will it happen? How exactly? Who is involved? I can't help you if I don't know exactly what is required, when it will happen, and how to convince Silvermoon to listen to me, a teacher from nowhere."
I grimaced. Politics, how exhausting.
"It's still too early, Master. Nothing has started yet; the plague isn't raging in the lands of Lordaeron. We could find traces in Northrend, but…"
The Elf nodded.
"No one is going to fund a guaranteed-to-fail expedition to nowhere. It's good that you understand that. Don't be offended; you are being honest with me, and I am responding in kind. Even if all this is true, but you haven't provided proof yet, no one will believe you."
Yep. Mother would probably decide my mind was damaged by grief. She gets furious now if I'm late. Doesn't matter where, how, or at what time. This overprotectiveness is somewhat exhausting. I understand her, truly. But that doesn't mean I like the situation. She's most calm when I'm helping her in the workshop, within her line of sight, right before her eyes. Mother even once started talking about: "forget this magic, you're quite good at working in the confectionery, I'll teach you everything. Good working conditions, happy customers, you can feed yourself sweets." This, despite the fact that she herself, according to stories, saw the magical talent in her daughter and sent her to study. That's the kind of change that happened in her, yes. And even:
"If I'm stronger, I can protect myself," didn't help.
Mother tried to hide it, but I see the fear in her eyes. The fear of loss, which by a miracle (sorry, I don't believe in them) didn't happen. She doesn't want to, is afraid to live through all that again. And she keeps trying to persuade me.
"We have enough warriors; we have our Magister. If the trolls come, they will handle it. You don't need to risk yourself, dear. You don't need to be there. Please."
I sighed. No need to play on my pity; I already feel bad enough.
"I don't intend to, Mom. As a mechanic and the owner of an automated workshop, I can avoid going into the field altogether. I'll sit in the workshop, under protection, and quietly assemble mechanisms. Quietly and in safety."
I even showed her my assembly line. Not that it convinced her, but the fact that I wasn't planning to get myself killed on the battlefield clearly appealed to her. And here I'm crystal clear: the Warcraft world includes magical sniper rifles and other lasers. And there are also dragons and other creatures (like the wonderful faerie dragons of the Night Elves, which are immune to magic, or the Undead sphinxes that suck magic dry) that you're better off not crossing paths with on the battlefield for your own safety.
Ideally, I plan to be sipping wine to the roar of automatic howitzers somewhere behind the second line of defense, separated from the enemy by a layer of turrets and golems, hidden behind the walls of a bunker or a flying fortress like Naxxramas. Mercenaries and mechs are also an option, as guards and a mobile assembly module. There are just too many "heroes" in this world. Individuals who will smash through any barrier just to break your face. They will overcome any difficulties and any attempts by the enemy to kill them. And race doesn't matter here; everyone has them. And it's better to be friends with them than the opposite.
And I'm not even mentioning other problems, like financial ones. Right now, I'm as concerned with earning resources as I am with gaining skills. I need materials to build a full-fledged workshop, and for that, I need gold.
And while I'm thinking about this, the hiss of a pneuma… magical hammer rings out in the forge. I borrowed a plate gauntlet from my brother; he won't be needing it anymore anyway. And for me… well, in theory, the Elves should see the symbolism and decide that I still remember and want revenge. In practice, a gauntlet with enchantments on it is not only stylish and increases defense, but can also serve as a master key for production chains. If only every passerby wouldn't pester me with questions!
"Um, you're a Mage, why the plate?" the blacksmith asked.
I sighed.
"I want to build some things into it. A catalyst crystal tuned to a specific shield enchantment. Something small, like a dome shield. Reliable and always at hand."
A gorgeous thing, actually. You feed Mana into the stone, and the process starts; a hemisphere of a shield unfolds in front of the gauntlet. Fairly weak, but enough to withstand the first blow and give me time to react. Moreover, it only needs recharging when it's breached or damaged. That is, it doesn't consume Mana in its active state and doesn't require concentration.
Not a full-fledged Mana shield—I don't have the knowledge for that—but the Master has had weaker stones lying around for a hundred years. Since his hero days. The stone was set into the outer side of the gauntlet; if needed, the socket can be replaced with something else in the future. And it's easier for me; I don't have to constantly concentrate on refreshing the defense.
And yes, it seems this is exactly how items that empower the user work. An applied enchantment. Ideally right onto the item, or onto a module built into it, like that crystal. Jewelry-making, damn it. Only I have no one here to teach me that; there are simply no specialists. I can buy a few stones from the Master—he has some lying around—but those are simple little stones. A trifle to him, but I get my new creation: a protective master-gauntlet with a magical dome effect. The blacksmith taught me; he's a good Elf. For complex stones, the gauntlet itself needs separate preparation, enchanting it so the power doesn't tear it apart. But for such a primitive thing, that's not required.
But that steady *clank-clank-clank* is soothing. Especially since the blacksmith is also telling me about the technology itself.
"A gemstone with an enchantment, ha. Haven't worked with those in twenty years, not since the war with the Orcs. Stones are a good thing. They let you compensate for weaknesses, yours and your equipment's. Convenient, but making something decent is expensive. You're lucky our Master and the Magister were involved in all sorts of things, so he had some useless stuff lying around."
I snorted.
"Is it really that bad?"
The blacksmith shrugged.
"Well, you could make a shield like that yourself, and considering what I've heard from your teacher, yours would be several times stronger. The only plus is fewer control issues. But don't rely on it too heavily."
Exactly! I don't want to manage a dozen processes in parallel when I don't have to. Several levels of machine control so I can intervene at the necessary stage, but otherwise, I just needed to find materials and press "execute." A shield so I don't have to think about whether I have it or not, but to know that the defense is active in passive mode. Of course, all this will take some amount of Mana, but if an axe doesn't reach my face, I'm not against it at all. And later, these could be put into golems, for example.
Plus, I have an idea to make a master key so that the top level of control for my mechanisms is at hand. Or rather, on my hand. Yes, I still want a gauntlet like the original. But if he had a pneumatic hammer there, I want to put the control sequence on the gauntlet. Maybe not the smartest decision, but it will make using my machines harder for anyone but me. I'm greedy. And a bit paranoid.
And so the days went by. I more or less finished the gauntlet and inserted the stone. Decided to test it. Quietly slipped out of the village to a clearing in the forest. I secured the gauntlet to a tree branch, looking at the bluish haze of the shield.
"Right, let's see. Spider-mine."
Actually, creating magical grenades happened almost by accident. For an experiment, I dumped about fifty times more Mana into the magical circle than needed. Good thing I was in the clearing, and only the forest suffered. It went off with such a bang they heard it in the village. I can guess what people might think here. You should make Mana Bombs, and lots of them. It'll be powerful. Powerful, but it'll blow my face off first.
The problem here isn't blowing up the seal, but blowing it up when needed. I feel perfectly fine without a magical discharge in front of my face. The idea I came up with was quite simple. Apply the circle to something fragile, like a fired clay tablet, saturate it with magic until it overloads, and break it at the right moment. While I was figuring out the right proportions, the clearing turned into an avant-garde masterpiece. You could film a new part of "Stalker" here, and not based on the game, but on the Strugatsky book.
One of the "features" of Arcana magic is its versatility. Elemental magic is tied to elemental planes and elementals. Fire implies fire spells, elementals, shields, and effects—that's it. Water is the same—remember Jaina's elemental. Powerful, but limited. Same for ice, air, and everything else.
Arcana is the building material for this whole circus. And rewriting the laws of the universe on the side. Anomalies don't last long, and they're different every time, but it's cool. For example, watching yourself with a ten-second delay. Too bad that echo only lasted a few seconds.
Or changing a tree's material to something random. Or turning everything into crystal dust, like what happened with the Mana Bomb of the True Warchief of the Horde (TM). But I haven't been able to repeat the effect. Too unstable; I'd likely kill myself in the process. Not acceptable; a bomb should explode when I want it to.
In the end, after about fifty attempts, I managed to get a more or less stable, not-too-powerful explosion, which went into the cores of my grenades. And the clearing continues to serve as a testing ground that I don't want to involve the villagers in. Spider-mines, for example, or right now.
"Arcane Strike."
Purple arrows tore from my hands, streaking toward the magical shield on the gauntlet. The gauntlet itself is lying on a stump—or rather, it used to be a stump; now it's quartz. A meter-long block of quartz. Anyway, that's not the point; I'm testing the shield. A hit! One arrow, two, three, five. The shield couldn't take it and shattered into sparks.
"Sigh, a bit weak. On the other hand, it works. A good start. Right, let's try a mine."
I placed my hand on the gauntlet, restoring the dome. The gemstone glowed with energy, and the shield manifested for a second, charging up again. I really am a very fast learner. And it helps that the basics were drilled into me during the years I don't remember. Also, unlike most Elves, I live with my nose in books and I'm fine with it. It's not common for us, let's put it that way. Humans can pore over textbooks without coming up for air, but an Elf… what's the rush? There is a rush, but let's not talk about sad things.
"There you are. I asked you not to go out alone."
I sighed, turning to Mother. Well, why not—she's several hundred years old, she has experience finding children who went for a walk. But I didn't want to see her here. This is my clearing for experiments, my private one.
"This place is safer than our house. There are my mines everywhere in the bushes, which, as I've confirmed, are quite dangerous for trolls, Mom."
As proof, I habitually twitched my fingers, playing on the magical strings. I built the mine, so it obeyed without resistance. A standard spider-mine, about twenty centimeters long; half the body is a sphere with the bomb. The rest is legs, and the control scroll. A fragile thing, but it doesn't need to be sturdy. The mine ran out, hopped around, and returned to the bush.
The Elf was unimpressed, crossing her arms over her chest.
"You didn't listen after all. I asked you not to do this, asked you to stay, to learn to be a baker. And you're still making weapons," she raised a palm, "be quiet, please. I really want to help you, DaVi. And I don't want you to lose anyone else. And I don't want to lose you. It would be a great life. You'd master the trade quickly, you'd have the boys wrapped around your finger—with your looks and magical potential, you could find yourself a good husband. Tell me, did you like it that much with the Rangers? Do you know what their mortality rate is? Do you want to die?"
I looked at the canopy. I suppose now is the best moment to discuss one thing.
"But will we even have a future, Mom? Will we survive?"
She looked at me in surprise.
"What are you talking about, DaVi? What did those people tell you…"
I cut her off.
"I'm not talking about the camp. I'm talking about what I saw while I was dead. About the future, Mom."
Yes, it's not entirely true, but technically "I" really was dead. So it's not entirely a lie. I don't know what Mother thought, but she made sure there was no dirt or spider-mines on the log, sat down, and patted the spot next to her.
"Sit down, please, DaVi. Sit and tell me what's troubling you. I'm here, I'm listening."
I obeyed. A good plan; I can try. Even if she doesn't believe me, why not take the risk.
"Well, I…"
At that moment, a mine exploded in the distance. I'd recognize that "clank-boom" anywhere; I tuned the sound myself. A second explosion followed the first. Not near us, but clearly audible, a hollow sound. To the unspoken question, I explained:
"I figured out where observers might be and planted a few mines there. They're tuned to trolls."
Mother took off quite briskly, hovering about ten centimeters up in the best tradition of our female Mages, and lightning glowed in her hands.
"DaVi, take the mines and follow me. Let's go!"
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