My Path to Magic 2: A Combat Alchemist (13 page)

The
old man looked at me, frightened by the raging necromancer. I smiled encouragingly – I didn't want him to develop a heart attack on my watch. "Why have I learned the truth about my father's death only now?"

W
ords gushed out of Hemalis: "A dark child who has lost a parent cannot control his Source. As I heard, the only way to avoid this is to convince the child that the deceased relative simply did not exist. It is very difficult to accomplish, especially if the deceased is well-known. Your mother moved from Finkaun, where your father was killed, to a place where no one paid attention to yet another dark orphan. Millicent has always been a very strong woman! She met Jonathan there; as an empath, he consulted you when you were a kid. If Gordon had not written to me, I wouldn't have known where your family settled. But they should have told you about your dad after your Empowerment."

I remembered my mother's '
shushing' Chief Harlik. Uh-huh. They should have told me. I was lucky that I did not learn the truth from someone less tactful than Hemalis - for example, from Salaris in Mihandrov.

"Come on, give me more
detail! Who killed him, how, why…"

"I really do not know," the old man whined
. "He was alone when his curse went out of control; nothing remained from his body, not even the ashes. The police found the tip of a crossbow bolt at his deathbed. Rumor was he was already dead when his sorcery was disrupted."

I
stopped begging him to continue: it was unlikely that he knew more. I had other friends who could answer my questions.

"Okay, let'
s move on. The past is past, and I'll talk with Mom and Joe. Conspirators,
Rustle
take them! I brought a few books as a present; maybe one day they will come in handy."

The white mage looked with su
spicion at the bundle tied with twine in my hands. These were NZAMIPS brochures on magic safety. My Krauhardian greediness did not allow me to throw them out; their print quality was enviable (perhaps, to lure the "cleaners" into carrying them). Maybe Hemalis would find somebody who needed such garbage?

"Thanks," the bookseller said doubt
fully. And we parted on that note.

* * *

Dennis' charge was the only dark mage who had disdained the authorities' advice to stay at home and went to the city; all other visiting darks showed obedience. Dennis broke into a cold sweat thinking of what could have happened to him if his charge had been killed. The northerner needed to be removed from the city immediately. Unfortunately, Arango's newly created NZAMIPS didn't respond to the ministry's request to admit Tangor, and letting the necromancer go there without an escort would mean risking his life.

Luckily, a group of
army mages dropped by the ministry on their way back to the border with Kashtadar. "Tangor will be sent to Arango with them," Dennis said to himself, watching how a demonic fire started burning in Mr. Felister's eyes when his boss heard this news.

Dennis
somewhat regretted the imminent parting with his first ward. The curator was not opposed to continuing this acquaintance; he wouldn't mind going with the magician anywhere where Mr. Tangor needed for his secretive and, undoubtedly, great deeds, but…Dennis worried over his elderly mother, his grandfather - who recently celebrated his one hundredth birthday and yet declined to move in with his relatives, his sister - graduating from the metropolitan academy, and his nephew - who lately applied to study there.  He could not leave his family without his supervision at this busy time. 'We'll meet on his way back. Maybe I will move north along with him.'

"What does
Larkes think of himself, pushing my student to work for him?!" Satal couldn't calm down despite a long talk with the empath.

Ms. Kevinahari sighed loudly.

"Tangor works in my region! It's unthinkable that Larkes assigned him to a job over my head!"

Captain Baer quietly sat in a chair by the door and tried
to stay invisible - it was difficult to achieve this with his dimensions. In a sense, he caused Satal's violent reaction.  But Baer did not feel himself responsible for the rage of his chief, which lasted almost an entire week. He was surprised that the senior coordinator reacted so painfully to a breach of subordination.

The
unfortunate bell rang out on Monday morning. Given the six-hour time difference, the captain assumed that Larkes' need to converse arose abruptly, in the middle of the day.

"Hello
my friend, it's me again," the voice of his former boss sounded lifeless and dull, but sincere.

"
What happened, sir?" Baer inquired cautiously.

The tube kept silent
for a bit. "I met our godson here, do you remember him?"

This meant that Larkes was in the capital.
"Of course, I do!" Baer was certain he would never forget the restless magician.

"Tell me how
Satal copes with him," Larkes asked stressfully.

Baer
pondered for a bit - he did not want to cross Tangor, but a scandal with Larkes would hurt the boy anyway: the former chief was exceptionally rancorous, even for a dark magician.

"
Not quite well, really," the policeman answered honestly. "Satal mostly swears at him."

"What if I need his assistance?" Larkes continued
to question.

Baer
fell deeply in thought. "First of all, you'd better forget the word 'should' and do not push the kid (mind you, he pinned Satal once). Set forth your problem honestly and fully; if he requests something in return - give it to him; you can haggle. And do not lie to him."

"Hmm
. I think I got it," the man in the tube said thoughtfully. "Thank you, buddy. Do call, if you need me. Place your call to the minister's aide. Your message will be passed on to me."

This
harmless conversation drove Satal to a frenzy. Kevinahari silently refilled their cups with freshly brewed tea. The coordinator, whose "dance of rage" had become habitual in the last week, sank into his chair, and Captain Baer moved closer to him.

"So?"
Satal said to the police chief, inviting him to talk.

"The analytical report is ready,"
Baer put a folder on Satal's desk. "By the way, Vosker insists that Larkes knowingly let the problem grow."

"Excellent!" the senior coor
dinator mischievously grinned. "I will have something to say at the ministry's meeting. And I'll get even with him for clinging to my staff!"

"
Bad timing for the meeting," the policeman muttered discontentedly.

"
If we wait longer, the situation could become much worse," Satal roused himself. "A handful of fanatics f*ck government forces as they please. Ingernika's economy is slowing down; our citizens won't stay quiet for long. Rebels need to be exterminated right now!"

* * *

Dennis' guess came true: the young necromancer was escorted out of the capital in haste. Tangor tried to resist, though before he had a burning desire to leave the capital and start his student practice as soon as possible. But when dodgy Mr. Felister hinted that the next train to the poverty-stricken Arango would depart no sooner than a week, Tangor got ready to leave in two hours.

"You
'll go with the group of Captain Ridzer," the cheerful senior curator tried to hand in a folder with travel documents to their charge.

"Along with the army
echelon?" Tangor looked askance at the folder and kept his hands behind his back.

"
They are your guards. We are having civic unrest in Arango".

The necromancer grumbled a little, s
ighed, and took the documents. Mr. Felister vanished in a second.

"You
r boss is a rogue!" Tangor redirected his discontent toward Dennis. The young curator totally agreed, but he could not say it aloud.

On that day, the benefits of driving a motorcycle
through the capital's traffic congestion were particularly evident: the necromancer managed to send a souvenir parcel to Krauhard, have tea, and aggravate Dennis' nerves, while a car holding his suitcase and zombie was trying to get to the train station.

"Maybe the car
has stalled in the heat," Dennis suggested.

"Uh-huh.
Or was robbed on the way," Tangor guessed grimly.

Dennis smiled at the thought
that somebody might want to rob a car with used clothes and a dead dog.

"Come on, let'
s look at the train, at least," the necromancer resolutely rose from the table at the tea house. The curator reluctantly plodded behind him.

They
found the part of the station occupied by the army. Railroad security let them in, but they didn't allow them to take the motorcycle along. Tangor became gloomy, and Dennis rushed across the station in search of the commandant to get a permit for his vehicle.

His
bad luck did not end there (the day was certainly cursed). The curator realized that he would have to personally talk with a pride of lions - a dozen combat mages in army uniform - about loading Tangor's motorcycle on the platform. The support services had a special department for supervision of the army mages, and it existed for good reason: if "cleaners" could still understand appeals to logic, the army magicians had logic of their own kind and were almost unmanageable.  The curator of the army group was not in sight, and Dennis chickened out: "I'd rather get a reprimand than get it in the neck. Will you be able to cope here without me? I'll go and get your luggage." And he briskly walked to the exit from the platform, making an incredible effort of the will not to break into a run.

* * *

I hate to rush! When time is limited, something always goes wrong. People become rude, things disappear, and trains depart ahead of schedule.  Only due to my Herculean efforts and phenomenal self-control was I able to get to the right train, hurting no one. Then my escort vanished, and I did not know whom to contact regarding my cargo. When I really needed curators, they were gone in a second.  Okay, I decided to act in the old-fashioned way.

I
mounted the saddle of my motorcycle and rode slowly along the train looking for a mage with the most brilliant stripes - a sure sign of the commander. I passed one train car after another, privates jumped down from them and followed me. It made me nervous. I managed to get almost to the steam engine when an army mage in the rank of captain appeared right before me, from behind the boxes, and blocked my way. I had to brake sharply. His face looked somewhat familiar; it was one of those morons who gathered at my porch in the ministry's hotel. Nice to meet you, man!

I began to seethe in anger.
"Are you the director of this circus?"

The
people around me instantly closed ranks. Bastards! That's why I did not like the army - they always attack en masse. It's quite unnatural behavior for the dark, and because of that, it's especially irritating.

"Who are you talking
to?" the captain asked haughtily, straightening his shoulders; from this move his multiple stripes started winking.

"
To the dolt who was trying to unscrew my bike's mirror last night," I said calmly.

He
did try, in spite of the shrill whine of my security amulet. Residents of the hotel who wanted to sleep chased the thief away by swearing and cursing (a lawn in the yard was badly scorched in the morning).

The broad-shouldere
d magician effaced: "No clue what you are talking about!"

"
I need ropes and a piece of tarpaulin."

"
For what?"

I showed him my order:
I had to go to Arango with them. The prospect of such a trip seemed gloomy to me: they would wreck my motorcycle, dissect my zombie, and throw me out in the sand.

The captain diligently examined
my papers and suddenly turned into a welcoming host: "You should have said it straight, instead of muttering under your nose." He thanked Dennis, who brought my luggage, and sent him away. My vehicle was promptly secured on a guarded platform; they also found a barrel with water for Max and a vacant compartment in the staff car for me. The car didn't have a heat pump, but the army mages managed to install shields that provided enough cool air. Now the risk of freezing to death was higher than the risk of being roasted alive in the desert.

At first, I did not understand why they took
such good care of me, but as soon as the train departed, the captain revealed his true intentions: alchemical espionage. "I've never seen a motorcycle with an oil engine. Will you explain your design?"

"This prototype
is equipped with a proprietary dark-magic controlled engine. It ignites easily and works on any type of oil."

"What was th
at thing that roared yesterday?"

"It's an experimental
security amulet, a reliable means of protection from crooks," the amulet that withstood the attacks of army mages could not be unreliable. "A unique design, in the stage of field trials."

"And why
did it change its color?"

"It is a new polychromatic camouflage, integrated with the
security amulet. Seven independent color combinations will tell the owner what happened to his vehicle while he was away!"

The captain looked grimly at me and sighed
: "Let's have a drink!"

The n
ext three days on the road flashed by unnoticed. The army mages drank like pigs, worked out on the train roof, and shot fireballs at ground squirrels. These deeds occupied their attention so much that they didn't have time for anything else. On the first day my presence caused some interest, but on the following days they forgot about me. What could possibly force a dark mage to go to the army? I cautiously asked the sanest man in the group (in my view): "Hey, how did you get into the army? I cannot imagine a dark mage dreaming of the discipline."

"I had a bride,"
he replied as if this explained everything.

I waited for
a continuation.

"One freak started
to flirt with her."

That was better -
more detail…

"It turned out that his uncle was a prosecutor."

But I still did not see a connection.

"A recruiter approached me
in prison. He promised that if I passed the entrance test, I would be able to kill that asshole scot-free."

"And?"

"I killed him, of course," he shrugged.

"Hmm.
How about your bride?"

"What do I need this
whore for?"

I tried
to imagine a situation which would force me to sacrifice the rest of my life to achieve such a simple goal. No, I had too many interests. I could not give up the rest of them for the sake of just one. To hell with the army!

On the fourth day of our journey the train
went through the tunnel (it was a cool two-hour ride in darkness), and when we left the mountains behind, the lifeless sands of the Inner Desert gave way to the feather steppe. Captain Ridzer called me into his staff compartment to discuss our future plans.

"We're here now," he pointed his finger at the edge of a large, sandy-yellow spot, "and are heading there," his finger slipped far
south. "When we get to the army camp, we'll wait for a few more units to arrive, and then we'll start our march to the coast. It'll take about a month."

"Shit!
That's not good for me." A month?! In a month I would have to report back to Redstone!

"I can offer
you another option. Tomorrow we will make a stop to fill the tanks. Arango's NZAMIPS is here," his fingernail moved aside. "We barely communicate with them, but they promised to find a cicerone who would take you to the coast, where we will meet."

"I agree!"

The station's platform did not have a ramp, so my motorcycle had to come down by hand. As a payoff for his help, I showed the captain my muffler and camouflage in action.

"So, it is based on the principle of a
shield…"

"Exactly."

"What you said sounded logical, but I didn't grasp the idea."

"Do not worry
. They say it was a work of a genius."

I left t
he captain scratching his shaved head; meanwhile, his men fitted me for the trip.