...............................Vol 2%...........................

  The thunder of hooves rolled closer like an avalanche. Dry, prickly weeds stabbed into her bare feet as she ran for dear life. She glanced back. The riders were almost on top of her. Their mocking shouts chased her. She could feel their hot breath on her back. Merciless enemy hands were already reaching out, and nothing could stop them. No hope left. The salty wind slapped her face, whipping her long dark hair behind her like a comet’s tail. Hot sweat soaked up all the dust along the way. Her lungs burned like fire. Muscles screamed from exhaustion. The sun cast her thin, frail shadow straight ahead, and with every step she seemed to trample her own black soul.

  Small tears welled in the corners of her blue eyes and blurred the endless sea horizon that suddenly appeared beyond the next hill. Another shadow appeared beside hers.

  A staff blow shattered her shoulder. Sudden pain swallowed her body and tore out an uncontrollable scream into the sky. The rider galloped past, cheerfully swinging his stick. The others rode up right behind. They surrounded the girl now sprawled in the thorny weeds, face buried in sand.

  “Idiot. What did you think was gonna happen next?” one rider sneered. “That’s the fucking sea right there.”

  The crash of waves rocked her heart. Seagulls flashed in the sun. The girl lifted her head. At least before death she’d see something truly beautiful, flashed through her mind. Such a calm day. Why can’t people just live? Why can’t they just enjoy weather like this the way she used to?

  “You know what happens to runaway slaves, right?” Another rider dismounted and pulled out rope. “We’re gonna drag you around the plain a little.”

  “I’m not a slave. I’m a priestess of the Sea Lord, my name… Pffft…”

  A sudden kick cut the sentence short.

  “You’re a piece of shit, and you don’t have a name.”

  The riders burst into loud laughter. There were five of them. All ugly as sin, like they were picked from the same litter. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark hearts. Only one stood out — his shiny bald head and a grin even more disgusting than the rest. Over a sleeveless thin cloak he wore a light leather breastplate. They carried spears and daggers; their bald commander held a heavy staff, rhythmically tapping it against his palm.

  “May retribution fall upon you… pffft…”

  “Shut up! These fucking fanatics drive me insane. Always spouting this crap like it’ll actually help.” One bandit smacked her.

  “So where’s your god now? Lives in the sea, right? You worship fish?” The commander’s jokes earned another roar of laughter. “Come on, let me help lift that pretty face of yours. We’ll look for him together.”

  He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her toward him.

  “See him? No? Yeah, me neither. Just seagulls eating something by the shore. Maybe that’s him?” Another burst of laughter.

  The girl’s lips silently moved through the words of a spell.

  “Waste of time. That collar won’t let you cast shit. No one’s coming to save you. And you know why? Because you’re all weaklings worshipping a weakling. Your god is just food for the great Ktarkh. And you? You’ll spend the rest of your life in a pigsty getting fucked by our horses. Assuming you don’t croak first.”

  The beautiful, endless, unbearably blue abyss glittered silver waves under the bright sun. Everything she had worshipped her whole life, everything she sang praises to, everything that had fed her people since time immemorial, now stood distant like an icy mountain far away. The girl begged that blue vastness not to abandon her. She wanted to stay with it. To drown in its waves and dissolve like salt. But it didn’t listen. How had she let it come to this? How had she allowed these vermin to seize her land, burn her home, kill her parents, rape her sisters? One of the best priestesses… the most talented sorceress on the coast… Shame…

  They say God never gives a person more than they can bear. Was this really what God expected of her? Was she truly capable of enduring something this unbearable? The girl recited prayers again. Now that was her only shield. The last rays of hope crowned her blue eyes, staring somewhere into the distance. How beautiful it is, Edrika thought one last time, drinking in all that infinity.

  “Hey, look!”

  “What the fuck is that…?”

  Something bizarre was happening on the shore. Two large sea turtles crawled out of the water, slowly dragging a body across the sand. The body clung desperately to them with both hands. Noisy seagulls feasted on its back, pecking out chunks of skin and flesh. Behind it trailed blue legs twisted at impossible angles — more like snakes than limbs in their elasticity. One turtle held the missing right foot in its jaws. Somehow the blue-red mess kept moving forward, vomiting faint, rasping words from ruined lungs:

  “Hate… hate… hate this fucking sea…”

  The riders fell silent at the sight. It looked horrifying.

  “Land… dry… solid…”

  One rider dared to step closer and prodded the mess with his staff. The turtles suddenly snapped out of their trance and rushed back into the sea, leaving the bitten-off right foot on the sand.

  “Peo… ple…” the body whispered. Tears filled its eyes.

  “He’s alive!” the man shouted.

  The chief bandit stood up too.

  “Hold that whore.” He ordered the others.

  The girl couldn’t believe her eyes watching the scene: Turtles — sacred animals. Only holy warriors can subdue them. This is a sign! God hasn’t abandoned me! He’s with me! He’ll save me!

  “Save… me…” the boy answered her thoughts.

  …Or maybe not.

  “Look at him — not a shred of life left and he’s still hanging on.” Three bandits loomed over the body.

  “Yeah… where the hell did he even come from?”

  “No clue… Somehow he tamed turtles. That’s your kind of trick, isn’t it, bitch?” the chief asked the girl, not hiding his smug, curious grin.

  “Die, you scum…”

  “Oh don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll die someday. And when my body’s on the pyre, your sisters and daughters will be burning right beside me, singing me all the way to the endless steppe. But long before that the pigs will have eaten you.”

  “Water…” the body rasped.

  “He wants water, cap.”

  “Ha, he literally just crawled out of it.”

  “Can’t drink salt water.”

  “Smart guy, huh? I know. Flip him onto his back.”

  It didn’t take much effort. The young man’s body was light. Chiseled muscles from head to toe — covered in scars and fresh wounds from birds and who-knows-what-else. But among all the marks, one on his chest stood out brightest. A spiral brand that strangely hypnotized everyone present.

  “Is that a slave brand? Never seen one like it.”

  “Fuck knows… Maybe. I don’t know every slaver out there. Look at all those wounds and he’s still not dead.”

  “Give… water… or I die…”

  “Wow, real ballsy. Telling us what to do. Fine, we’re not stingy.” A sly grin spread suspiciously across the man’s face. Without hesitation the bandit dropped his pants. The others followed. Three streams of life-giving liquid splashed the boy’s pale face. He opened his mouth wide, trying to catch every drop.

  “How’s that, happy?” the chief asked, shaking off his dick while cackling disgustingly.

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  “Faggots… assholes… can’t you… do better?…”

  “AHAHAHA!!!” The bandits exploded with laughter.

  “That’s gold! He delivers!”

  “Look at him. His owner clearly loved him to death. Never seen so many scars on a living body. And those legs — nightmare fuel. Who the fuck hated you this much?”

  “………………” The boy glanced up with exhausted eyes as if the answer was obvious. His face turned strangely detached, contemptuous, doomed — with nauseating shades of acceptance.

  “Looks like someone used you as a battering ram.”

  “Nah, cap. You ram gates head first.” One rider tried to joke.

  “Your dad teach you that? Looks like he practiced a lot before he made you.” Everyone except one bandit howled with laughter. “What’s with the long face, Shirek? Don’t be a pussy.”

  “I don’t know my father.”

  “Oh come on, Shirek. Nobody gives a shit. How many bastards have you spawned yourself? Remember a few years back in Shamati? I passed through recently. Guess what I saw? A whole pack of dumb little shits with the same huge schnoz as you. Chasing goats and eating their shit. Speaking of goats — look at the head. Horns.” The cap leaned closer and tapped the hard nubs sprouting from the boy’s forehead.

  “So he’s a furry?”

  “Half-breed maybe? Listen, kid — did your dad fuck a goat-man, or did the goat-men fuck your mom?” The chief kept cracking up his men, and they thanked him with roars of laughter.

  “No sane person would touch those monsters. Only local trash would come up with that.”

  “Beastfolk live way the hell away. Think he’s one of them?”

  “Eh… whatever. We’re taking him. Flek, grab rope and tie these two to— Flek, fuck!!!”

  Flek, who was supposed to be watching the priestess, noticed too late that she had somehow managed to cast. Sharp icicles shot from her outstretched palm, flying lightning-fast toward the one they called cap. But his reflexes were sharp. In an instant he grabbed the body in front of him and used it as a living shield against the deadly projectiles.

  The last scraps of mana were wasted. A new wave of despair swallowed the girl. Thanks to that cursed collar, all her power was blocked. Right after the desperate attack Flek nearly caved her skull in.

  “Flek, you fucking moron, I gave you one goddamn job!”

  “But—”

  “Shut your trap, idiot! This bitch almost killed me because of you! You’ll be chewing rocks, you hear me?”

  Flek’s hands shook; sweat poured down his face like a fountain. Under the commander’s furious glare, the man suddenly felt like ending it all.

  “Tie her up! You whore… I’ll make you…” The cap threw his shield to the ground. It only wheezed faintly from ruined lungs. Rolled-back eyes barely showed any consciousness. Two sharp ice shards protruded from the shredded back.

  “Thanks, kid. You saved my life.”

  “Fu… ck…”

  “What’s that? You’re welcome?”

  “Fag… got…”

  “We don’t usually kill other people’s slaves, so if you don’t die, welcome to the camp. Flek, take him.”

  In the last moment before consciousness fled, mangled hands grabbed the severed foot from the ground and clutched it to his body.

  Several riders trotted lazily into the camp sprawled across dry grass beside a narrow river. Leather tents stretched across the plain for hundreds of meters in every direction. The stench of horse shit hung everywhere; countless flies tormented every living soul. The merciless sun beat straight down, pressing heat into the earth. Dozens of warriors in light leather armor went about their business — playing cards, fist-fighting, sparring with curved swords, cleaning weapons, tending horses, chattering and guzzling some rotgut. Every so often the sharp crack of a whip rang out, followed by horrible screams. Leather tents rocked rhythmically now and then; heavy moans spilling from them made it clear what was happening inside. No one paid attention to the thin dark-haired girl stumbling along, hands tied to horses. Blood oozed through dirt from her scraped skin. On her shoulder, like a mark of shame and doom, stood a brand — a triangle crossed out.

  A bit further they reached an open area where large wagons held cages of enslaved people. Gaunt faces, worn down by constant heat and hunger. Sunken eyes from sleeplessness. Fear filled their gazes; hopelessness had taken deep root in their souls.

  “Look at them, sweetheart. They’re thrilled to see you.” The bald one spoke. “Thanks to you, they’ll have plenty of fun with my whip today.”

  “What took so long?”

  “None of your fucking business, you old nag.”

  From the side hobbled an old bent woman in a dark robe decorated with crow feathers.

  “Caught her?” she asked in that creaky old-lady tone.

  “You blind now, or what?”

  “Ah… I see…” The old woman nodded approvingly. “Or have you completely lost your mind, you moron? What did you do to her, idiot?”

  “None of your business.”

  “She’s supposed to fight tomorrow. Look at her — she can barely stand.”

  “Shut your trap, you senile hag. You’re the shaman. Shaman something.”

  “Ah… Or do you want me to shaman your hair right off your head, you moron?”

  “Don’t talk nonsense or I’ll bash your withered skull and knock out what teeth you’ve got left.”

  “Ah… I don’t have any teeth left to lose on you. Kids these days… No respect for elders. Back in my day I’d never talk like—”

  “You talked exactly like that. Grandpa told me.”

  “Your grandpa was the same idiot…”

  “Better tell me — what the hell’s with this collar? You said she couldn’t cast in it.”

  “And she can’t, moron. I made it myself. Takes enormous power to break it.”

  “Apparently not enormous enough. This little bitch almost skewered me.”

  “Ah… Should’ve let her.”

  “I’ll break your neck! Fix it!”

  “I will. I’ll fix it so vultures nest on your bald head… Give her this potion.” The old woman handed the man a small vial of dark liquid. “Shaman it… If you only knew how many ingredients… She’s in the vanguard tomorrow. The Khan himself will lead her, so she needs to be fit.”

  “Whatever you say… By the way, we picked up an interesting specimen on the coast.”

  The man dumped the boy’s body onto the ground. The pile of bones and flesh that somehow still showed signs of life hit the dry earth almost silently. The old woman examined him carefully and shook her head warningly.

  “Horned… Bad omen. Never seen one like this.” she rasped.

  “I think some goat-fucker spawned a bastard.”

  “Can’t be.”

  “You know everything…”

  “I do. I have the tables. I know it all.”

  The old woman leaned down and drew her sharpened nail across a fresh wound. She placed the drops of blood on a small metal plate. When words appeared on it, the shaman froze.

  “Hey, what is it? Hello? You dead? What’s it say? Hey, guys, bring booze!”

  “Shut your trap, moron, not now.”

  “Damn… Tease. Fine, tell me then? Let me see.”

  “Get your crooked paws off or I’ll curse you!” After the sharp threat the bald man actually flinched and instinctively stepped back. “He’s a slave…”

  “I figured that without you, dumbass.”

  “His specialty is ‘slave’. Get it, you piece of idiot?”

  “So…”

  “Yes. Looks like someone else appeared with the same ability as the Khan.”

  “Fuck me…” The bandit and the shaman stared hard at each other, not knowing what to say.

  “That’s not all. He’s half-demon.”

  “Who?”

  “Half-demon, you piece of idiot!”

  “How the hell does that even work?”

  “How should I know?”

  “But you know fucking everything.”

  “Shut your trap, moron! We need to tell the Khan.”

  “What level?”

  “One hundred eighty-fifth. And some weird skills… Put a collar on him just in case.”

  “You mocking me? Look at him. One foot in the grave. And worrying about level 185… I’ve got guys at 200.”

  “Do what I say or I swear to the gods I’ll curse you so you piss sitting down forever!”

  In the end the argument convinced him. He took the mage-restraining device and fastened it around the boy’s neck. The shaman poured the darkish liquid from her vial into his mouth.

  “What’s that for?”

  “To get information out of him he needs to be able to talk, moron. The potion won’t heal him, but it’ll help close the wounds.”

  “Look at him. He’s one big wound. To heal all that would take months and hundreds of potions…”

  When the shaman returned with the Khan, the bald bandit was squatting with eyes bulging. In just a few hours the boy’s back had closed into scar tissue, looking like the surface of the moon. Not a single open wound remained. Even where the leg was missing, skin was stretching over, forming a stump.

  “Holy shit, your potions are insane, old lady…”

  The shaman was just as stunned but didn’t show it. She only gave a proud snort.

  “Found her, Rudgor?” asked a burly man with square features, short dark hair, and a small scar above his eyebrow. He wore a thin light cloak that barely hid his muscles. Leopard-like spotted fur hung from his belt; a massive axe rested across his back.

  “Of course, Khan. Had to teach her some manners, though.”

  The Khan approached the blue-eyed priestess and lifted her chin to get a better look.

  “No big deal. Kreha will patch her up.”

  The old shaman just huffed offendedly.

  “Tomorrow you’ll help me wipe out the rest of your shitty people, priestess.”

  “Never… I’ll never submit to you!”

  “Oh, you will…”

  The Khan took his brand — the crossed triangle.

  “You’re too weak to order me around. Pathetic…”

  Right after the words the priestess received a hard blow from the metal rod. From a small pouch on his belt the Khan pulled a vial of potion.

  “You probably don’t know, but our Kreha works miracles. True, I can’t control slaves whose stats are higher than mine. But this potion can boost them temporarily. It’s a stopgap — because tomorrow I’ll get not just your experience, but the experience of all these sorcerers.” He gestured at the cages. “After tomorrow’s battle I won’t need it anymore. But let’s test it.”

  With a disgusting grin the Khan tipped the vial back. Arrogant eyes sparkled with malevolent aura, devouring the girl opposite. But the effect was somewhat unexpected. No surge of strength — but a very noticeable rush of blood to one particular organ.

  “Shit… Wrong potion.” A sizable tent rose in the Khan’s pants. “Hey, Kreha, can they be mixed?”

  “Not recommended.”

  “Gonna have to deal with this now. In the end I don’t need higher level than you to break you…”

  The potion’s effect lasted about an hour.

  The exhausted priestess lay in the dust with vacant eyes, like a lone stone at the bottom of a lake. Only her lips kept whispering one word: “I’ll kill you.”

  “Kreha, make sure she’s ready tomorrow.” The Khan’s mood had lifted. He scanned the slaves huddled as far back in their cages as possible. They all revered Edrika and truly loved her. She was like a princess to them. Now they just turned their heads away to avoid seeing the humiliation. “I fucking love doing it with an audience.”

  “Yeah… we know.” the old woman muttered.

  “Alright, where’s that slave you mentioned?”

  “Right there.”

  “Holy fuck… Who chewed him up like that?”

  “Just a few hours ago he was bleeding out.” Rudgor cut in. “Wounds literally closed before our eyes. Listen, old lady, I take back every bad word I said about you. Your potions are unreal.”

  “Ah… They’ve always been unreal, moron. But not this unreal. What I gave him only accelerates healing. He’s not human… He’s…”

  “Half-demon, right?”

  “Yes. At least that’s what the table says.”

  “So you’re saying all that crap the Alliance keeps yapping about is true? Demons coming back to the surface and all that?”

  “Prophecies are unpredictable. Can’t trust them. Demons died out two thousand years ago. Why would they return?”

  “I think the same. What worries me more is his specialty.”

  “If the slaver skill appeared in you, it’s quite possible it appeared in someone else too.”

  “I’ve thought about that. In all history no one had abilities like that. Why now?”

  “The will of the gods.”

  “Of course, Kreha. If only we knew what they want. Rudgor, wake him up. Let’s find out.”

  Without hesitation Rudgor grabbed a bucket of water and grinned.

  “Ah… I fucking love interrogations.”