4

Although a lot has changed in five years, he was not going to return home, no one was waiting for him there. He just wanted to visit his mother's grave, say goodbye, and then leave for Vistolca forever. However, he was only too well aware that memories and stubbornness would not allow him to live in peace for the next five years until the opening of the portal, without even trying to understand the tragedy that had happened in their family.

He forced himself to change, stepped over his own desires. That's just longing for the happy days of childhood, when my mother was still alive, and continued to burn the heart, twisted consciousness, did not give rest. He could not kill in himself the love for his home, for his relatives, who no longer exist.

And now even that opportunity to know the truth has disappeared. The return played a cruel joke with him.

Yarsi glanced around almost indifferently. Around him was a world that used to be just a fairy tale. A world that exists far beyond its own reality - in dreams, in stories, in legends, anywhere but not so close, not close. Thoughts were confused, consciousness did not want to accept the truth. Is this the final? The line beyond which death awaits?

The black tree trunks intertwined with each other like snakes. Sharp branches, as if specially pierced dense fleshy leaves, and reddish drops of juice fell off and fell to the ground without interruption. The blood of Reeta, which will soon be mixed with your own blood. But there was no fear. Although the horror touched the skin in almost tangible waves, the icy breeze stirred the hair, but it was an external horror, the horror that the forest breathed.

The horse had been walking for a long time, the loose reins were dangling on his neck, the clatter of hooves resounded through the forest. Yarsi knew that he was not alone, he felt their gazes. He could hear whining, quiet sighs, they saw him off, but did not touch him. What are they waiting for?

The runesword glowed faintly in the gathering twilight, an almost useless toy. He never learned to use the sword's true power. But the sword was silver, which means that he would have time to kill at least a few creatures.

Yarsi found the medallion around his neck with his free hand. The only thing he allowed himself to take from home, in that locket, was a picture of his entire family, even his father. The medallion was a relic of their family, inherited. And the image was added by Giton, as if he knew ... or maybe he knew.

He longed to open the medallion, to see their faces, but it was too dark in here, and he only squeezed it tighter in his hand. Bitter longing burned my heart, it's too stupid to die like that. He never thought of death as something unreal, death was always there. She lived on the edge of his sword, breathed an icy wind in his face as he crossed the blade with stronger and more numerous opponents. His death was supposed to be quick, sudden, he decided so long ago. Decided when he refused Viola's offer, and in defiance of himself embarked on the path of a warrior.

“Your strength lies elsewhere…

“I know, but I don’t need power…I don’t need victory…”

He looked around furiously - everything is wrong, why are you delaying? He wanted to scream and rush through the forest bowl. Let there be another chase. Why did he dodge arrows? Why did you run? Everything could have ended differently.

You were right, father, when you said that there would be no return for me. You are rarely wrong...

In the only village on the edge of Miros that he managed to visit, he heard people say that King Bortan was seriously ill. He does not leave the palace, eats almost nothing. And to search for the prince, just like five years ago, many magicians and mercenaries were again hired. People felt sorry for the great ruler, who did not lose in a single battle, and condemned the son who left his father.

Why this meeting father? You burned everything down. I was nothing to you. We were all nothing to you, just a weapon to achieve unknown goals. Your older sons died for your victory, your wife died protecting your younger son. You have no heirs, you do not need anyone. You die alone, just like me...

Yarsi knew that madness lived in his father. Bortan did not notice his loved ones, his goal was war. He went to battle and won, regardless of losses, he was all right that others were dying. Other people's lives were cut short, but he lived, although he fought in the forefront. He brought glory and wealth to Miros, he was spoken of only as the Great King Bortan. The great are not condemned, they are forgiven for everything. But Yarsi could not forgive. I could not forgive him for the death of my mother.

Suddenly the trees parted, the horse took a few more steps and stood up. Yarsi felt him shudder. In front of him stretched a huge clearing and, as far as the eye could see, figures of gray humanoid creatures were everywhere frozen in hunting stances. There were too many of them even for this gigantic clearing. He slowly looked back, a circle of luminous eyes stretching in a wide strip far into the forest. Yarsi was surprised at his own calmness. Now that death had shown its face, there was neither panic nor fear. The beating of his heart slowed down, and his fingertips prickled with cold. Almost like in training in Vistolz, only there was no such chance to die ...

- I'm sorry, Viola, I can't keep my promise, goodbye...

A black shadow suddenly shot up from the side, bared fangs flashed very close by. Yarsi deviated with difficulty and slashed with his sword. The werewolf dodged mid-air and landed under the horse's hooves. The raven reared up and neighed loudly. The ranks of the undead stirred, a huge wave of gray bodies rushed forward.

Yarsi clenched his teeth and involuntarily reached out for the fire glowing inside his chest - his own life force, which could serve as a source for creating at least some kind of spell. However, he knew it was useless. Here in Reet there was a magic of its own, the magic of the dead. Only very powerful sorcerers decided to use any other force, for whom even the Border became open and let them pass in both directions. And he is not a magician at all, although his adoptive mother claimed that magic was in his blood and if he began to study ... In this situation, it would only delay the inevitable, and yet - he pulled off the glove from his left hand and put his palm on the horse's neck. His fingers tingled again, the use of his own power always remained at the level of instinct, he never called on it intentionally. But now, oddly enough, something definite happened - an energy wave spread down the body of the animal and closed into a cocoon to the level of his hand. That's just the hand itself turned out to be immobilized, it is worth tearing the palm off the horse's skin and the protective cocoon will disappear. Pleased, only that his own legs were also under this protection. But there was no more time to experiment with the energy shield and try to raise it higher.

About a dozen gray creatures almost simultaneously jumped up to the black one and immediately recoiled with a screech. Visible energy webs flared along the animal's sides, clearly marking its own boundaries. A howl was immediately heard among the monsters, the undead instantly changed the direction of their attack and took off into the air with huge leaps, choosing the rider as their target.

The sword sang, turned into a luminous stripe. The silver blade ripped through the tangible darkness of the night, the thick air of the forest and the bloodless bodies of opponents. The Blade loved this song very much, but today it was special. Last. And those for whom it was performed, already once knew what death is. A long time ago. Many centuries ago.

This fight will be short, victory is impossible.

Yarsi, in a frenzy, slashed at the bared jaws, along the stretching clawed paws, in a short swing knocked off several heads. He stabbed, repelled with a blade the creatures that almost overwhelmed him. He couldn't stop himself, he had to be stopped...

He came to Vistolca by accident. The way to the Closed World appeared every five years for just one night. There was a legend that Vistoltsa is a fragment of a very ancient, alien world that died many centuries ago during a war with powerful sorcerers. Many did not believe in this, but the fact remained that the people of Vistoltsy were still different from the rest. And if a stranger passed through the portal, then most often his path ended here. The guards only let in mages or those who had nowhere else to go.

Tired, barely able to stand the child himself did not know why he was in this place. It was his third night of the journey into the unknown, he was completely exhausted and wandered without understanding the road. It just so happened that the road led him to the Vistolca Gate, and in an almost unconscious state, he crossed the portal glowing with a pale scarlet light. The guards could not read his thoughts, but simply let him into their world, as if he was leaving forever. Vistolca became his home, but could not bring peace to his soul.

Wistol mercenaries were considered the best warriors in the Outworld, but outside their own world they were very few. The Vistolians preferred not to leave their homeland, where they could return only after five years. Their closed world had its own war, requiring skilled warriors to guard the border. All their lives they fought with the mountain people, trying to capture the fertile valleys.

The Vistolians only laughed at Yarsi's desire to learn to fight. The supreme sorceress Viola, who, for some unknown reason, wished to adopt an alien child, felt in him a special gift for magic, only the boy refused to be her student. He wanted to hold a sword in his hands, not a staff, and his wish came true.

At first, the stubborn stranger was simply jokingly allowed to study along with the kids who took up arms for the first time. And they laughed for a long time at his lanky figure, towering among four-year-old children. But soon the teachers were not laughing.

He was learning, learning too fast, as if he didn't want to win, just to know how to fight. His gift was to feel the enemy in a way that no one else felt. He could dodge any blow, parry any attack, and strike back with such speed that any defense was meaningless. He abandoned magic, but the Vistolians stubbornly began to call him the Sorcerer. An ordinary person could not move like that, he simply could not.

They did not know that only the fight allows him to forget. They did not understand that speed saves him from the ghosts of a terrible past. He just wanted not to remember, not to think, and for this it was necessary to merge with the blade, turn into a kind of steel, become part of the weapon. And forget that the rest of the world exists.

Witch? Let it be. He didn't care.

But now Yarsi was cursing his gift, this fight was like a massacre. Victims silently threw themselves under his blade, he ripped open their bodies, chopped off their heads, already forever depriving them of endless life. But the agony of his own death had dragged on too long. And suddenly he realized that his father had always fought in the front row the same way. Only his opponents were living people. He, too, could not stop until he won.

Yarsi almost growled in anger. So, whose gift he inherited, that's what pushed his father into battle - the desire for death.

Only no one could give you rest, father.

He laughed hollowly. The hand that held the sword throbbed with hot pain, the muscles were fettered by the weakness spreading through the body. He didn't know how much time had passed, it didn't matter. Dark circles blurred before his eyes more and more often, there was a ringing in his head, breaking breath with a wheeze escaped from his throat. The fingers treacherously unclenched, did not want to hold the handle, slippery from their own blood .... It doesn't matter… .

Your remedy could be Reeta, father. She doesn't care who she kills, she will achieve her goal in any case. There are no invincibles here .

Yarsi felt this moment, felt it, but did not even try to prevent it, there were no forces anymore.

The black werewolf waited for a long time, the first time he missed, and this was alarming and even caused vague anxiety. Never before had a victim resisted for so long. All people were weak and helpless, even when they held weapons in their hands, even when these weapons were silver, like this person's. None of them killed any of the inhabitants of Reeta, only sorcerers were capable of that.

The black werewolf growled dully, a mountain of corpses grew around the man. Already none of those who were touched by his sword could rise and continue the fight. They were gone forever, irrevocably, and this awakened in his mind some kind of hidden ancient horror. Therefore, he waited, listening to the man's heavy breathing, watching every movement. He saw how his strength was decreasing, how the luminous sword was moving more and more slowly, and the lines of the energy energy of the protective dome were turning pale and thinning around him.

At first, a man's attempt to use magic in Reet only amused him. The magic of the dead instantly bit into the created protection, but nothing happened, the person did not seem to feel it. And then the werewolf realized that he does not use external sources, only internal vital forces are present in his energy, of which there are so many that this does not affect his well-being in any way.

The werewolf growled, he had once been a very powerful magician, and the presence of this man suddenly stirred up long-forgotten instincts and echoes of magical abilities. Human? He sniffed the air, the alluring smell of blood spread around the victim, the more wounds were inflicted, the more it pushed to increase the speed of attacks of his relatives. … Very young. ... And a very strong boy. Human? Something stirred and disappeared, momentarily filling his mind with a wave of horror, but he immediately calmed down - inexperienced, not knowing how to use his power. Dying…

The protective dome trembled and fell almost halfway down. The werewolf gathered himself into a spring and jumped at lightning speed onto the horse's croup. The man still waved his sword, as if he knew that death was behind him, but it was too late. He dug his fangs into his shoulder, into the hand that held the weapon, and clenched his teeth with rapture, feeling hot, salty blood pour into his mouth ...

Yarsi groaned muffledly, his hand instantly numb, he intercepted the sword slipping out of his fingers with his left hand, and jabbed him behind his back. The werewolf twitched and howled, but did not loosen his teeth, only violently shook his head, tearing his shoulder with huge fangs.

Someone's teeth immediately dug into his leg, he physically felt how the protective dome completely disappears, then they pulled him, trying to pull him off the saddle. The werewolf fell with all his weight on his back, bending the horse to the neck, forcing him to fall.

“Die, creature,” Yarsi, with the last of his strength, stuck his sword into the heavy body of the undead that almost crushed him. He stuck it deep, up to the hilt, and felt the sword wrenching from his fingers as the werewolf began to fall to the ground, dead. The horse suddenly snored and reared up. Yarsi grabbed the saddle pommel with his good hand, realizing that he was left unarmed.

Someone's greedy lips instantly fell to the bleeding wound, he was pulled from all sides, digging his teeth into the still living body. Yarsi closed his eyes, it couldn't go on forever....

He did not immediately realize that his body was no longer tormented by fangs, the pain rolled in hot waves and clouded his mind. Only in some corner of his consciousness did he notice that it had become very quiet and empty. Empty in space itself, as if something had swallowed up this part of the forest, pushing the rest of the world beyond the boundaries of the unknown. And fear, fear and horror of those who had just been masters settled here. He felt dizzy, he felt their longing and hopelessness, their pain that had been carried through the centuries ...

Someone's hand supported him in the saddle, did not let him fall. His horse moved and walked somewhere, then the speed increased. Yarsi had to make great efforts not to find himself on the ground. He didn't understand what was going on, but he didn't care anymore. His only desire was for this night to finally end.