to the world of the living.
Chapter 3. Escape
They stayed a couple more weeks in the Desert and then headed north. Heather was more common here than anywhere else, so Dorhand guessed that they were somewhere in South Sartoll, in one of the provinces, perhaps Silerine or Hewick.
The spacious castle could not be compared with those untidy barracks where we had to live for the last month.
“But this castle is far from the fortified city of Lindell,” thought Dorhand, sighing. White marble, statues of maidens and warriors of his native city forced Dorkhand to shed a single bitter tear. Memories never give us peace. Or maybe as long as we remember, we live?
There’s something scary about this place. The feeling of unreasonable fear and anxiety did not leave here.
– I’m scared! What awaits us here? – Lina asked. Dorhand repeatedly glanced at Lina’s shoulder as she exposed him. There was no trace of a brand. So, she didn’t have the same fate! Slaves with this mark often walked bare-chested. The sign on their shoulder glowed with blue flashes, like lightning on a stormy night. And the eyes are empty. Dorkhand often lost control of himself. At such moments, he heard the commanding voice of the sorcerer in his head, and could not resist his will.
From the very first days, Dorkhand was haunted by the dream of escape. But there seemed to be no way to salvation. The castle is an impregnable fortress, there were always guards scurrying here and there. And of course, the voice of the magician in my head. But you can’t stay here forever! The people are waiting for him! And revenge for the death of his father. He will kill the traitor Langer. And the whole of Lorraine will turn into a lifeless desert, as it was half a century ago.
One day Dorhand discovered a library behind an unlocked oak door. Books have always been a refuge from the real world, a window into other universes. Therefore, that same night, when everyone fell asleep, the boy secretly went to the mysterious room.
“Runes,” read the book that lay on a rough oak table, not varnished.
“True magic has long been dead,” said the author of the book. – This is the magic of thoughts, words and movements. An experienced sorcerer did not need additional funds. Later they began to use objects in rituals, and eventually even runes and other signs.”
After some time, he saw the rune that was on his brand.
“Rune of Submission. The Dark Lords of the War of the Lords era put one on the shoulder of a slave, and a rune of power on a ring or other decoration. This gave them complete control over someone else’s mind.”
Many of the books were written in an ancient, incomprehensible language, but Dorkhand greedily absorbed even these crumbs of knowledge that he managed to squeeze out. While presenting food to Latrich, he allowed himself to briefly examine the signs on the rings on the sorcerer’s hands. Runes of power. Lightning runes. Magic amplifiers. Only Dorkhand could not decipher the signs on the iron ring.
Latrich worked tirelessly. He sat in the library, making extracts from the book that Dorkhand studied at night. And then he conducted experiments on slaves. Tonight, after an unsuccessful test, slaves carried Durich to throw him from the castle window. Freemen were buried in the Valley of Stones, outside the city, but why would a slave need such honors? Bon died yesterday. The day before yesterday… Why, people were dying every day, and Dorkhand knew that one day his turn would come to take part in the incomprehensible experiment of a bald sorcerer with a scar.
Dorhand glanced at Durich’s finger. Latrich put a ring inscribed with runes on the slave. Dorhand is too smart for his age. And he often practiced the language of runes.
“Looks like Latrich is trying to find a recipe for longevity, or even immortality! He wants to write runes on the ring with his tongue so he can live forever! How many more must die for one to continue to live until he has lived all the lives of the people he killed?”
To say that the slaves were fed disgustingly is the same as remaining silent. Pigs – and besides rotten porridge, sometimes they were given boiled fruits taken from compotes. Sometimes, of course, they spoiled him with beans, but Dorkhand never stopped dreaming about meat. When no one was looking, Tom would sometimes throw in a handful of strawberries or cherries. On Sundays they gave us wine or beer, a whole barrel for the barracks. But Dorhand refused. His father’s words stuck in his head forever.
– Wine is the drink of slaves and the poor. Having drunk themselves into unconsciousness, they forget about chains and problems, and are ready to work again and again, just to drink another glass of poison. But for a prince, being drunk is an unforgivable luxury.
Dorhand wanted to remember. Memory is the only thing left for him.
One day Latrich went hunting, and Dorhand realized that a better opportunity might not present itself. He sneaked into the kitchen. I put dried lamb, a couple of breads and dried fruits in a bag.
***
He touched Lina’s shoulder.
– Come with me?
– Where are you going?
– Get out of here. We need to decide soon. There may not be another chance.
– But this is dangerous! – Lina exclaimed.
– Speak a little quieter. I don’t think it can get any worse. They may kill us – but is the life of a slave better than death?
– I want to get out of here too! Hateful place! – said Tam, one of the slaves.
– And I!
– And me too!
There were about ten fugitives in total.
“I thought about leaving on my own, it’s not so noticeable,” Dorkhand said.
There was a dissatisfied murmur from the comrades.
“But I have one idea for this case,” said Dorhand, after thinking for a moment. – I have some dream grass. Let’s add it to Tom’s food. And when he falls asleep, we’ll go quietly.
That’s what they did. Having waited until the Big Man had closed his eyelids and was snoring loudly, the friends tiptoed along the corridor, avoiding the guards who were scurrying back and forth.
Something grabbed Dorkhand by the leg, and he almost screamed in surprise. Something cold and unpleasant. A lump of fear rose in my throat. The boy stood up as if in a daze.
– Where are you going, scoundrels? – a creaky voice rang out. He looked back. And he saw that all his comrades were shrouded in black smoke, which took on the shape of people.
“But Latrich does not have true magic! He can’t stop us from a distance! So this is just some kind of trick, cunning.”
– Dorhand, I hate spiders! – Lina almost burst into tears. The shadows on her leg turned into spiders. And Dorkhand’s limbs were shrouded in snakes. He tried not to pay attention to the vision. I looked for something that could help me get out of the trap.
– Dorhand. I told you that this
