What can I say? I finished building it! It wasn't easy; for four days in a row, I burned all my Mana down to zero, and only the risk of punishment kept me from continuing. Simply because if I overdid it, they would have locked me up and not allowed me to finish.
It wasn't fast and it wasn't simple. The entire project from the start of construction to its completion took about two months, three days less than I originally thought. Half a hundred golems, several dozen magic reserves (mine, for the record, and mine is huge), an uncounted amount of wood, and a heap of nerves, seasoned with elf-hours in the library while I worked out new spells that I needed right this second.
No, it was anything but simple. Had I more time, I would have tinkered for several times longer with breaks for rest. Unfortunately or fortunately, there is no time. Within the framework of the project, I had to give up everything that would take time but not give an immediate result. For example—an office with a drafting area and a normal room. Instead of the first, I now have a corner in the workshop in one of the rooms (or in the cockpit; there's still room there). And instead of a private room—a wooden equivalent of a four-berth room with lockers. And yes, other amenities are at a similar level. While there is a water tank in the technical zone (you never know, hydrogen might be needed), and you can heat it and use it, the toilet is strictly of the "crap from the heavens to the earth" type. I won't deny it; there's something ironic in that. And no, this isn't a complaint; I knew what I was getting into. And I was prepared for the fact that I'd have to make compromises to make it in time.
And yes, I have a cannon! Two magical crystals, actually, identical to those placed on magic towers. The Magister, the jerk, wasn't stingy, but he shook everything I know about dragonflights out of me, especially about the Bronze and Red ones. To the question of why info on the Red ones, he remembered that the Orcs used the Red Dragonflight in battle. He has a personal score to settle with Alexstrasza's children. Well, I don't mind.
I even made a targeting system for these turrets, using a method I know: a golem. You take a golem, teach it to attack specific targets. The turret shoots Magical Arrows about the size of me. It discharges quite quickly, but I got some sort of Anti-Air Defense.
There were difficulties on another front as well. My parents saw everything; I barely managed to talk them into letting me keep working under a solemn promise to look after myself, eat, sleep, and maintain a routine. And it was indeed difficult; as it turns out, I have an addictive personality. Which means when I'm interested, I literally ignore everything else. I had to go ask the Magister for a recipe for a magical alarm clock that, if ignored, casts snow down your collar. By the bucketload. And the Magister put a shield on it so this loud bastard wouldn't break from the first Fireball. Or the second. And Mom clearly remembered what we hadn't talked about before the Troll attack and shook a vow out of me to answer all her questions. And to answer honestly.
To be blunt, I'm dreading it, but I intend to do exactly that. Maybe for me personally she isn't quite a biological mother (for the mind, for the body she is), but she's an absolutely wonderful elf and very kind, caring, and generally a great woman. And I think that if you respect someone enough, they have the right to an honest and truthful answer, even an unpleasant one. I won't set myself up for a fall, but if the question arises, I'll answer. But that will be a little later.
Venidan returned from her superiors yesterday, looked me over, and snorted:
"DaVi. Did you fail 'Etiquette' seven times in a row? You look like a Troll with a heavy hangover. I'm almost starting to feel sorry for you."
I only noticed her when she spoke, busy as I was tuning the electrolysis mechanism. It works, but not quite how I'd like. As usual, a golem is set for control; it needs to turn the machine off at the right moment, preventing excessive pressure or an explosion. Turning around, I saw that sarcastic Rogue standing in the doorway. She didn't come up the stairs from below, but through a technical hatch in the wall that I had opened myself when I flew in.
"Oh, hi, Veni. No, I'm fine, just the deadlines are tight. And that 'Etiquette' thing—is that from your own experience?"
She snorted.
"What do you think? I was raised with a very specific goal: to sell the 'young flower' as dearly as possible," she straightened up, squaring her shoulders and pushing her chest forward slightly, "So yes, a lady must behave politely but naturally."
I snorted.
"Right, I remember. And also be charming, sensible, and remember her place among those gathered. Show respect and readiness to serve the strong, polite patronage to the weak, and maintain conversation with equals. I hope I won't have to apply that knowledge."
Venidan chuckled.
"Well, I ran away from home because of that. I can understand their logic. In their opinion, a child is a long-term investment. We never lived directly in the capital, so there were different options. For example, entering the service of a wealthy House. You know, to be an eyesore for the aristocracy, and if the masters needed something, the daughter would know who to turn to. Or by other methods."
I shrugged.
"If you don't want to, don't tell me."
Venidan sighed heavily.
"Just don't give me any sympathy, okay? We aren't Humans for this to be forever. It would have been an investment for my parents, and in two hundred years—an opportunity for me. I didn't agree, that's all," she looked over my less-than-ideal state once more, "How are you, anyway? The Magister is covering for you, but still."
I brushed it off.
"Everything will be fine; I'm almost finished. There's about a day's worth of work left; I want to finish tomorrow. It's hard to hold back, you know?"
Venidan shrugged.
"Agreed, the machine looks solid. I never would have thought it was possible to build something like this. You still look pretty bad, though, no offense. You need to rest; you're just going to run yourself into the ground, and then we won't be flying anywhere."
I couldn't suppress a yawn. Fatigue was finally taking its toll.
"Well, I'm almost finished, actually. The propulsion system is ready; I tested it yesterday. A third of the guard came running, damn them. Those engines are noisy things. I was just about to look into sound dampening at your place. I moved the workshop into a finished room, and another one is a warehouse. If everything goes as planned, I'll finish the calibration and then it can be assembled. In moments like these, you just don't want to stop. One last push, and to hell with tomorrow."
I pointed to the square compartments standing behind me. They weren't large—cubes with three-meter edges. But there were eight of them. The easiest part of the project, essentially log rooms that were later joined using the izba method and bound with magic. I still had to help with telekinesis, but in fact, control was almost unnecessary. Now they stand in two rows of four around the "ship's flower." Waiting for their hour. Soon I'll start connecting them, once I rest a bit after the "fortifications."
"Yeah. Because tomorrow you'll be punished for trashing yourself like this," the Rogue smirked. "I'll bring you care packages."
I laughed, though with some effort.
"You? Cooking isn't exactly your strong suit, you know?"
Venidan peered into one of the rooms. It wasn't docked in place yet, but it was already square and had a door. Inside stood a small table, wooden cabinets, and a simple bunk—or rather, four bunks. This was my living quarters. I rest there so as not to waste time. Thanks to Mom; she grumbled, but when I asked her to finish it and promised not to fly away without talking to her, she even found time to bring me food. I am very, immensely grateful to her for that. And Father showed up too. I have great parents.
"Well, compared to your confectioner ancestors, of course. It's hard to compete there," the elf agreed. "Come on, how can I help?"
All in all, Venidan brought good news: she had been released to serve as the Magister's guard. It's not the most common practice, but various powerful aristocrat mages can have a retinue, including their own soldiers. No, Quel'Thalas doesn't have a regular army (the Rangers are more of a rapid response corps), and we have a class-based society here. Whoever is rich calls the tune. That's how the possibility of "temporary resignation for service" comes about. The Magister sent a request, cited the Troll attacks, and the request was approved. Especially since Venidan is essentially an apprentice; she's expendable.
That was yesterday. Today, having rested, I finally finished the installation of the rooms. Like the engines before them, they slowly, one by one, took flight via telekinesis and occupied their seats according to the purchased tickets—or rather, according to the plan. Upper floor (under the cockpit and technical room): living room, warehouse, workshop, warehouse. Lower floor: a block for dropping golem-mines, a small hangar (for the future, for golem-drones), a cargo hatch, and one currently empty room for the future.
All the spaces are small; I already mentioned that I feel like I'm inside a submarine. Only a flying one. If not for the panoramic window in the cockpit, it would be quite unpleasant. Such Spartan conditions are more characteristic of Dwarven technology, I think. But there's no one to ask; the Magister hasn't crawled around in Dwarven tanks. Mom even less so. And Venidan—well, I asked her.
The ship was finished at sunset. Previously looking more like a flower, it now gained a more square body due to the rooms and looks more like the robots of Yoko Taro's creation. Only instead of a cylindrical body, it has a square one, and the head is also quite square. And it has four arms. In short, I like it.
Stopping at the edge of the clearing, I admired the work of my hands and asked:
"It's done. Veni, what do you think?"
She tilted her head and said thoughtfully:
"Wellll, it's so-so. It needs some paint, some Quel'Thalas symbols and patterns added, a few decorations here and there, and a stained-glass window and phoenix carvings would look good right here—" she couldn't hold it and burst out laughing. "DaVi, it's awesome. I've never seen anything like it. It looks like nothing else. When is he going to check it?"
She held out a fist, and I bumped it.
"And now the ship needs a name."
Veni nodded.
"Good thought. Thought of one?"
You bet; it was a difficult question. I could have named it something pretentious, like humans or Dwarves do. Something lofty and arrogant, referring to the sun or the Light, like the elves. Or something crude and dismissive, like the Trolls. But I came to a different decision.
Tossing a flask of water in my hand (I'm loath to waste alcohol; I barely decided to use this flask, good glass after all), I hurled it against the side of the ship and declared:
"Hereby, I name you, my ship. And your name is Pepelats! Wear it with honor, strike down my enemies, carry me even to the edge of the world. From Demons, dragons, and any dangers. As a true weapon, as a loyal comrade. Today is the beginning of your legend."
After which I sank to the ground; the levitation had felt unexpectedly heavy. It seemed that was a spell.
"Wow, just wow! I want to try it immediately!" the Rogue exhaled. "Look, the weaves are snapping!"
And true enough. It seems I accidentally cast something. I don't have magical vision turned on, but first of all, the name was carved onto the side of the ship. Pepelats. In Russian. Surprise, right? I didn't plan for it to be like this; what kind of heresy is going on here, and why do I understand maybe half of what's happening? I did everything by the instructions, but some effects provoke only one reaction: Eh? What's going on?
As for the weaves... yeah. I might not see them, but I can feel my strings. How they are breaking, tightening, and being drawn into the ship. But here I, as a Mage, can guess what's happening. This place was created with one goal: to build the Pepelats. It is built, and all these spells, no longer supported by my will, began to dissipate. They are simply no longer needed. And as for flying...
"Tomorrow, Veni. First I need to rest a bit. I don't think flying while sleepy is a good idea. And you know what? Come to our place. We need to eat, and Mom will be glad. She's gotten used to you, you know."
Venidan snorted.
"And she also won't scold you for driving yourself into this state, yeah. Let's go," she snorted but helped me walk; the last cast had taken its toll.
And I'll need to talk to Mom, no getting around that. Very soon I'll need to head to Stratholme; it's getting close to August. I don't know when the grain will arrive (not a farmer at all, and elven experience is no help here, we have magic and climate control), so it's better to leave in advance. Settle in the forest nearby and work on the cosmetic finishing of the ship, literally. I know it would be much more sensible to intercept the grain on the road, but the problem is that I haven't a clue at what moment the interception will be required. It's a large city, and it has traffic.
But I have an idea. Did I make the scout bird for nothing? I'll teach it to react to specific magic (the plague on the grain is magical; both Arthas and Jaina were able to feel it), I'll perch the bird on a tree near the road to the city, and when a wagon with Infected grain appears, I'll get a notification. And while the bird isn't there, I can go about my business. In my opinion, it's a great plan.
So I came home hugging Veni (thanks for the support) and in an excellent mood. Mom didn't even start scolding, seeing my happy face.
"Mom, we're home! And Veni's here."
The elf looked out and smiled.
"Hello, dear. Get undressed, wash up, and come to the table—" she looked me over and her smile faded. "DaVi, you don't look very well. You should rest."
I smiled politely back. It was expected.
"I finished the project. Now—that's it, the ship is completed. I can rest, Mom."
Mom nodded and went to the kitchen. The evening went well, peacefully, though I still felt some tension. Which intensified later when Veni went to her place and I went upstairs to my room. And as soon as I changed and collapsed onto the bed, there was a knock at the door.
"DaVi, may I?"
I sighed. The moment of truth, damn it.
"Yes, Mom. Come in, sit down, ask. The time has come."
The elf entered. She wasn't smiling, and she wasn't levitating. Making sure I was sprawled on the bed, she carefully took a chair and sat opposite me, being higher than me. Yes, she's trying to seem benevolent, but I feel the prevailing tension. Not happy about this, not happy that she's so worried. But... it has to be. I know it's a poor excuse and I wouldn't want to upset her. But I simply have no better solution. Mom, looking at me, began to speak:
"So, Davilinia, I remember during the Troll attack you wanted to tell me something. Since then, something has constantly interfered with our conversation. I think we could start from that moment. From there to the present, and then the future. Tell me, please. Now."
Well, so far so good. She's quite set on talking. The main thing is not to screw anything up.
"Well, how should I put it, Mom. The problem is that this information... Well, it's sensitive. And potentially lethal for those who possess it," she smiled slightly, clearly not believing it. "Yeah, I know how it sounds. But last time the attack happened exactly at the moment I was going to tell you. And those who already knew died during the Troll attack. I mean the Master; I told him. The Keepers of Time aren't very happy with this information, as you understand. I don't want to put you in the line of fire. But..."
Mom smiled encouragingly, though it's clear she's worried. I can understand; lethal dragon secrets as told by her daughter... Or maybe she just thinks I've lost my mind. In any case, she asked and I'm answering.
"But?" she asked when the pause stretched a bit.
Yeah, but.
"But with Venidan, it didn't happen. And with the Magister too. I told them, Mom. I'm not sure why."
The elf tilted her head slightly and looked with interest. I just sprawled on the bed. I have no strength or desire to move after a heavy dinner. And the tension is making itself felt. As soon as we finish talking, I'm going to sleep. For a long time, as long as I have the strength. Crushing the pillow until the bitter end. I've earned this night. Meanwhile, Mom decided something.
"So, the Magister knows?"
I nodded to her.
"Yeah. The Teacher is smart; he figured it all out himself. I only had to help with the details. And Veni and I fought back-to-back, even if mostly in training battles, but I trust her."
Mom thought and moved the chair closer. It's clear she's still tense, but satisfied.
"It's good that you have a friend ready to help. I'm glad."
And here would be a good moment for a little jab.
"And also a Mom who is actually a War Mage, a father, and a Teacher who always helps with advice."
The elf nodded. It didn't seem like she was upset in any way. Relax, come on.
"Agreed. What will you do next? As I understand it, you've built a large flying ship. We all heard that launch the day before yesterday."
I froze. The moment of truth. I know what I must say, but I need to do it carefully and so that she doesn't worry too much. That's exactly the plan. It's a risk, but I respect her enough not to lie. But that doesn't mean I need to dump the facts straight out.
"Well, there are things that must happen, Mom. And I... would like to intervene."
Mom nodded. The smile left her; she looked a bit haggard and sighed sadly.
"Because in Stratholme there will be a certain Demon that needs to be banished, and which the local Paladins definitely won't be able to handle. And it's connected to the Undead invasion that will happen in two years, and you want to gain time. And also a dark cult. Which, again, the Paladins won't handle."
Wait... What? How do you! Why? I barely squeezed it out, trying to realize what was even happening and where she got the information.
"How do you know?"
My thoughts raced. I definitely didn't tell her. How did she find out? Saw it herself? Maybe the Magister told her or Veni? Veni couldn't have, I think; she generally gets shy around adults. Her ingrained upbringing makes her clam up and behave semi-officially in any situation even remotely requiring etiquette. I still remember how she ate that soup. No, she's polite, but pointedly polite. I could be wrong, I know, but it's more likely she wouldn't have shared this information.
But the Magister could have. For all his benevolence and readiness to help, he's still a grown elf who went through the Second War and clearly separates the Teacher-apprentice relationship. And he may have his own views on what needs to be told and to whom. And he certainly wouldn't ask an apprentice about it. Moreover, he might decide he's acting for my benefit. If so, that's lousy, of course.
However, I received the answer immediately:
"You were so tired that you dropped your list. The very one where the future is written."
Eh? Ah! I remember! That list. I dropped it? I don't remember, but if so, it's my own fault.
"Dropped it?" Mom nodded, and I wanted to bang my head against the wall.
Oh, I'm such a foooool... This is why documents should be kept in a secure place. And you shouldn't work yourself to the point of sleeping on your feet. To expose myself like that, I really had to try. And Mom continued:
"I understand why you were in no hurry to tell me. And I'm glad you told the Magister, but still. When were you going to tell me? Honestly. Or did you want to quietly run off to perform heroics, DaVi?"
I expected this question, so I relaxed a bit. Just a little.
"In a few days, I would have told you. After the machine was finished. I know I should have and I would have, but the ship had to be completed. Too many weaves, details. All of this is needed..."
I was interrupted calmly but firmly.
"DaVi, I am also a Mage, just like you. I know how important weaves and complex rituals are, and I understand how complex your project is. I was at the site; I saw that construction you conjured. I saw how important this flying mechanism is to you, how you drove yourself to make it. It was hard for me, but I myself, when I was studying, sometimes drove myself to such a state. And I decided that I must believe in you, must give you a chance."
A sigh escaped on its own.
"Thank you, Mom."
She continued:
"And, as you see, I gave you time to finish, even though I found this paper not today. Though I admit, holding back from questions was hard. It's unpleasant for me to know that you were silent. That you hid all this from me, from the person closest to you. And now, if you've finished, I expect an answer. And I expect to hear this story. Completely, Davilinia."
What can you do; I told her. Again, in an edited form, without mentioning the reincarnation. About how I survived the meeting with the Loa and saw the future. How bad everything is there. Since the attitude toward apocalyptic prophets is universally negative, I looked for those who would listen, help, and not die in the process. The Magister showed himself well, Venidan too. I thought about how to carefully convey the information to my parents, but I didn't have time.
Mom... took the matter unexpectedly well. She didn't start scolding, though it was clear she wanted to speak her mind. When we finished talking, she hugged me, and before leaving, she said:
"Even though your decision worries me, I'm glad you had the maturity to warn your elders. That is good. You were afraid to tell me; that is bad. But I'm willing to consider it if you prove that your plan will be safe. That is, that your ship flies, that the Magister will help and back you up. I will talk to him too. If he protects you and guarantees safety, I will think about it. I promise, however hard it is for me to say this."
And then we hugged, and there was a lot more talk about nothing. For these two months, there simply hadn't been an opportunity to talk normally. I was openly bragging about my successes, telling her what I invented, how I built it, and how I discovered new spells that I didn't understand at all.
Mom gave a few hints, but she's a combatant, not an artifact specialist, so there's much she doesn't know herself. But I'm grateful for that too. In general, it was a very good evening, closing many of the difficulties between us that had arisen over these months. For the sake of this, it was worth trying, and I'm glad we talked.
When she left, I still put an alarm on the room. You never know; she might lull my vigilance and put up a barrier. No thanks. Unfortunately, the barrier drained all my strength, and I fell asleep. Everything else—tomorrow.
I woke up by lunchtime; yesterday had been exhausting after all. I realized it was already day by the bright light in the room, the sounds of the village outside the window, and the feeling of hunger.
I woke up, by the way, from the beep of the notification spell. The very one I hung yesterday. On the window, I found a yellowish barrier shimmering with unfamiliar strings. It took a couple of seconds to realize that I hadn't set this.
"I don't get it. Whose are you?"
The barrier had just been applied, and I completely didn't recognize the texture. I'd seen my mother's barrier several times. She's a classic elementalist; the strings might differ, but the structure will be standard. And whose are you?
I shot up, instinctively applying magical vision, preparing icicles and looking for unfamiliar strings that might be traps. The barrier expectedly resists contact; no traps seem visible. This calmed me down a bit, so I spent a few minutes getting dressed.
The gauntlet still lies on the table, my tool for extreme cases. With its help, I can (albeit with difficulty, I haven't learned to fly yet) move the Pepelats closer to the city and simply bury the area around the house in mines, and then fly away. If the unknown barrier-maker knew about this, he would have tried to take it. With unpleasant consequences for himself. Well, okay, there's a backup plan. Now let's see what I have hanging on my window.
As a test, I slammed an icicle into it. The barrier shuddered slightly, but overall the strings held. Strong, but nothing critical; it can be pushed through with brute force.
"Penetrable, though not on the first try."
Stomping sounded below, making me hide behind the bed, preparing new spells. These heavy steps are unknown to me. What kind of heresy is going on here? Whose barrier and who is running around our house? Just in case, raise the mana shield and prepare ice spears, lots of them. A short burst of telekinesis, and the gauntlet takes its rightful place on my hand, quietly clanking its sharp claws. Now I feel calmer. I'll tear everyone apart and be the only one left.
Over time, it looks less and less like my brother's plate gauntlet. Long fingers with claws, black and yellow colors; under the outer layer there is an inner one so it fits my much smaller hand. And I've grown the gauntlet itself a bit. So now it's a clawed paw. Quite massive, twice as thick as my arm, but comfortable. I made it for myself; I adjusted it in the "terrain creation" zone. Maybe it's not perfect, but it can do something. I have a feeling the gauntlet should become more, hm, technical. Right now it's (almost the only device in my hands) pure magic. I need to add mechanisms, but what kind? I wasn't allowed to finish the thought.
The door slammed into the wall with a crash, blown out by a mighty Shield Strike, and an elf in gilded Armor ran into the room, covering himself with that very shield. Fairly simple Armor, a helmet with wings reflecting their faith in the Holy and the regalia of the order, specifically a book on the belt. A Paladin-recruit.
"Don't move! Lie on the ground and don't cast anything!" the Paladin barked in a female voice. You wouldn't tell by the figure. "You are under arrest! Cancel the spell and lie on the floor immediately! Move! Move, I said!"
How loud. I didn't answer right away, rather inspecting the enemy with magical vision. There is a weave on the Armor and shield. Simple, but unfamiliar; I've seen nothing like it. However, most likely, there's just elemental protection there. That's what warriors hang on themselves to deal with Mages. Their problem is that if there isn't enough magic, you need to take more magic! You underestimate my power!
I snorted, taking flight and aiming four ice spears at her. The Paladin raised the tower shield with which she had knocked out the door, and it immediately glowed. Magic absorption, well of course. She clearly knew what she was getting into. And in her hand, she has a blade with two blades, like Darth Maul. You think that will stop me? Really?
For some reason, I found it funny. I blamed Mom; maybe she put up the barrier, but these guys... They clearly didn't run here overnight. What kind of heresy is going on here? Who let the Paladins in here and why? I'm about to find out; fortunately, a source of information is available. Came right to me.
"If you twitch, I'll flood everything here with ice," I reminded her. "Let's see how your shield helps you survive when you're walled into it. And yes, on what grounds are you even here? Why did you put a barrier on my window?"
Instead of an answer, I was literally blinded by a flash of light. Bright, a bit painful, and wildly unpleasant. In response, I unleashed icicles and a cone of cold, just on reflex. Thank you, Magister; you might be a bastard, but this works. I sent the spells not directly, but in a fan; hitting the barrier is pure stupidity. But if she can't move, she can't strike either, right?
In general, I have the advantage in a confined space. And this was confirmed when I blinked my eyes clear and found that the room had been transformed. The flow of ice had literally turned it into a crypt, partially wrecking the cabinet, table, and chair, among which one long-eared female Paladin was frozen. Who was looking at me in blatant shock. I can understand her; I don't understand much myself. But I can't help but notice that you are quite buff. Clearly a Force Warrior. Mages strive to be soft and curvy. And here, judging by what peeks out of the Armor, there's both a bicep and a tricep, and you could use me instead of a kettlebell; you have the strength. Just a tank.
The Paladin said in surprise:
"You endured the impact of the light. But what about the poisoning by darkness? The Darkness is..." she muttered puzzledly.
I sighed. It seems I won't be beaten, at least for now. My opponent twitched, but the ice prison is strong, and without space for a lunge, it's hard to gain strength. And yes, the time has come for answers to questions. I really want to know what kind of heresy is going on here.
"Could I have a bit more information? I wake up and find a barrier on the window. Plus you barge in with clearly unkind intentions. We wrecked my room, and there's nothing to be happy about! There was a bunch of valuable stuff here."
The cabinet-like elf giggled. Well yeah, she finds it funny, while I have to dig blueprints out of the ice. Just hilarious. If you continue, I'll freeze you and say that's how it was! Or I'll ask Venidan to help with the interrogation; they should have been taught. The Paladin finally composed herself and noted:
"You are remarkably calm for someone suspected of ties to the Darkness. Are you really not afraid?"
Um, what? Have you all decided to shock me here? What ties to the Darkness? And the Magister didn't do anything like that in front of me, didn't seduce me with tentacles, didn't promise great knowledge in madness. What is this light-bearing lunatic talking about?
"Of what? This is the first time I've heard such nonsense."
The Paladin looked sternly. Probably, it was supposed to be righteous wrath, but in my opinion, she's just cold.
"Get me out and I'll tell you. It is in your interest not to cross me, so as not to be punished for attacking the Order."
While I was carefully thawing and drying the things and the Paladin (under a promise not to fight anymore), they explained to me: the Magister is accused of ties to a dark cult, and the Paladins arrived to deal with a potential enemy and traitor to the Holy. I, an apprentice with known soul problems who studies under him, also fell under suspicion. Therefore, the Magister was placed under house arrest, I was checked for the influence of Darkness—found nothing except the Loa mark—and locked here until interrogation. Great, right?
"You are also under arrest. Leaving the house without an escort, namely me, is forbidden. Breaking the barrier is forbidden. Attacking the guard is forbidden. You have the right to be here, to answer questions honestly, and to await the Order's verdict. Open your heart and soul to the Holy, and you will pass through this as you should. The Holy does not give us trials that we cannot pass. If you are honest with me, perceive this experience as merely a test of your will. The Holy accepts all whose thoughts are pure."
I am in total shock. What the hell? I expected anything but this. Where did you beautiful people come from, and so suddenly? I just don't understand why this is happening all of a sudden. And yes, it's very timely. Again.
I know I'm paranoid! How can you not be paranoid when this is going on around you? And now I'm thinking, did the dragons try so hard, or did the random just fall so merrily? Or maybe the entity hung "plot encounters" so I couldn't be cut out of the world because I'm in it. Great, the audience is thrilled! You're annoying!
"And how long am I to sit here?"
The Paladin shrugged, her plate clinking.
"As long as necessary. Your soul is not a stranger to the Holy, but it is shattered and poisoned by Darkness. The potential is good. I will inform the abbot of your violations and recommend sending you for training. Accept the Holy; it will heal your ailments, and your power in His service will become a worthy continuation of your path. The Holy will not leave you; you are wandering in the shadows, and the gloom stretches its clawed hands toward you, wishing to embrace you. Cold, but so simple and pleasant. Your Teacher has fallen, but you are not obliged to follow him!" the elf said inspirationally.
And I'm still trying to put together the picture of the world. The cabinet-like long-eared warrior isn't helping at all here.
"The Magister seems sane. I didn't notice him..."
The elf interrupted me.
"It always happens that way. Dark sorcerers lure pure souls into their gloomy desecrated temples, poison your thoughts step by step until all your aspirations are distorted, and you, without realizing it yourself, accept a new role. Return to the Holy!"
I flinched at the last bark.
"First, it would be nice to have breakfast."
The elf, having extricated herself from the ice prison and scattering pieces of ice, replied:
"Your mother left, leaving me to watch. Breakfast is there," here she noticed the gauntlet, "this plate gauntlet won't protect you. It's stupid to wear one gauntlet. Is this some strange local fashion?"
I snorted. I'm not going to convince you.
"I'll manage. What's your name, by the way, oh jailer?"
The elf, making sure her Armor was shining from the moisture, stood up, puffing out her chest in a pretentious pose and said:
"Not a jailer, but your spiritual mentor, leading you from the gloom to the Holy. Paladin-recruit Dartaola, please remember. If I am needed, there will be a guard at your house; tell them and they will call me. Perhaps you will remember something or wish to open up to the Holy and repent."
Very funny. Although you aren't laughing. You are dead serious.
"Fine, jailer Dartaola," she winced, dissatisfied, "and now leave the room; I need to think," at least here she didn't argue and left.
The room, of course, is trashed. A cone of cold in my execution is a rapidly growing ice wave that sweeps away everything. A Paladin covered by a magic-absorbing shield could have stood after a vector attack; I had to cover the area. But the "area" swept away the Paladin, the furniture, the clothes, and what was lying on the table too. Unpleasant, but I'm to blame here myself; it only remains to accept it as a fact.
But as for wanting to pack me off to a temple, I am categorically against that. I'm also a little worried that there's no word of Venidan. She is also here and, according to the documents, is the Magister's guard. Which means a potential target for these people. But I won't rush with questions; I need more information.
What I understand—no temple. I need to be at Stratholme as quickly as possible to carry out my plan. Days, not weeks, not months, and not years. And we have elves here; if I go to a temple, I won't return for another few decades while they "re-educate" me. To any objections, they'll say "it's only a few years, that's fast." Yeah, right. In fact, we still have two years at best until the Undead attack. No thanks.
Fortunately, I managed to finish everything. The ship is assembled, fuel is available. The gauntlet is on my hand. I just need to get to the ship. I don't think many realize what it is and what it can do. The gauntlet is a remote control for many of the mechanisms I built. There are no complex commands, but I can make the ship take off or warm up the engines. I only need to wish it.
And yet I waited for the evening and my mother. I don't want to run away without talking to her. Mom told today's news; no one locked her up:
"They arrived today at dawn. Took the Magister into custody; they're going around, questioning. They told me it's only about suspicion for now. Your soul... they suggest sending you to the temple for treatment. And it sounds not like a suggestion, but like a demand. I don't like it, but the suspicion is more than serious. And if you are under supervision, DaVi, they will be calmer. But I don't think it's a good option. Not after talking to you and the Magister. This 'purification' will be too long, will require too much. And I know you are against it. But everything might not be so bad if you agree. You'll gain influence; the servants of the Holy are quite respected after the war with the Orcs."
And they'll also demand I accept faith in the Holy, get a robe, slippers, and enroll in their merry cult. Thanks, I have other things to do. Seeing my hesitation, Mom sighed.
"Think about it, DaVi. Faith in the Holy is respected in our society. And the Darkness that the Loa laid on you... perhaps it will be better this way. I think they'll deal with the future without you. Looking after yourself, clearing your name is more important. The Magister, the Paladins. Demons and Darkness—that's exactly what they fight against, DaVi. Think about it."
It won't be better, Mom. But I see no point in arguing.
"I'll think about it."
She nodded.
"Thank you; that's all I ask."
And yes, I was hardly scolded for the smashed furniture. Especially when I reminded her that I could make new ones out of wood. I had to clean up the mess, listen to some dissatisfaction, but that was it.
And when I was finally left alone, Venidan peered through the barrier into the window. Tapped on the windowsill, waved her hand, as if to say, come here. I went to the window from my side, turning off the light so it wouldn't be so noticeable. She whispered:
"How is it in prison?" this cheeky girl asked, but I was glad to see her and didn't take offense.
I spread my hands.
"The food is good. What's happening, Veni? I know even less than you; I'm locked in here. Are there many of them out there?"
Venidan looked around and whispered:
"Not particularly. A Paladin, a couple of Priests, a few recruits, and the rest are some officials or investigators. I don't know. They came to the ship too, but it's locked. They shone their light, tried to open it with magic, but couldn't. Left a couple of guards. I hid upstairs, so they didn't find me either."
That's good. So there are possibilities.
"They want to hand me over to the temple. To be cured of the Loa corruption and learn the Holy. Veni, how about we ride off into the sunset? The magic word: running tomorrow at dawn."
She tilted her head slightly and asked with interest:
"Will you really dare? This isn't like drawing dicks on a fence."
I nodded resolutely. Well, I hope it looks resolute.
"That's the plan. I can break through the shield. All we need to do is grab the blueprints. I'm certain that once I leave, they'll turn this room upside down. All we need is to punch through the defense and fly away. Are you with me?"
Venidan gave a crooked smirk.
"We're already in this together. And for everything we do—we answer together, too. I won't abandon you. Now—sleep. We start early in the morning."
I honestly followed her instruction once she left. Not immediately, of course. First, I had to pack the blueprints that survived the storm into my bag. There wouldn't be time for that tomorrow. There's no time to try and clear my name before the Church of Holy. We'll have to build a reputation from scratch.
I just hope this stunt doesn't hit my family too hard. In the end, they'll easily pass the Paladin inspections. I truly don't want to put them in this position. But at the moment, I simply see no reasonable alternative. They could have been evacuated if I had money and connections. Exactly what I'll be able to get if I leave. When I leave.
Forgive me, but it has to be this way. I'm truly sorry. Now, to sleep. Morning is coming soon.
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