Chapter Text
There will come a soldier
Who carries a mighty sword
He will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai, oh Lord
Soldier, Poet, King – The Oh Hellos
The sword flashed in the sunlight as it came down. An overhead, sweeping strike, a block against a possible counterstrike, the right hand closer to the guard and guiding the blow, the left gripping the sword hilt tightly. A quick step forward brought a muffled clang of armor, another strike, and a crouch downward without looking away, so as to move out from under the path of the counterattack. His movements were honed to automatism, but he knew — he could always strike harder, move faster, and so he repeated them again and again.
The blinding dawn beat against his eyes, but the Lord kept training. Some of his soldiers were already up and had taken their posts, but he preferred to hone his fighting skills alone in these quiet morning hours, before duty had time to drag him into the whirl of the day’s events.
The fresh morning air smelled of dew and coolness. Birdsong came from the nearby forest. Carcosa was slowly waking.
When Lord Derek finished training, sweat poured down his forehead, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He washed his face in a barrel of water standing beside the barracks and put on his helmet. He glanced toward the barracks, but no one rushed out from there, as sometimes happened when something required his immediate intervention. It was quiet.
The Lord looked at the forest. It beckoned with dark vaults of trees and the rustle of leaves. But there was something else — a vague, barely perceptible premonition. And he had grown used to trusting his premonitions. Of course, it was unlikely that enemies were hiding behind the bushes right by the royal barracks, but the urge to follow an incomprehensible impulse proved stronger than logic.
Putting his sword back into its scabbard, the Lord slowly made his way beneath the shadows of the green oak crowns. After some time, a clearing appeared in the distance. Something flashed there, and Derek, by habit, quickly put his hand on the sword hilt. But looking more closely, he realized it was only reflected light from the surface of water. Somewhere deep in the forest there was a pond, and he was heading toward it. After going a little farther, the Lord understood that someone was at the pond, and that someone was making a lot of noise: an unclear, almost disgruntled muttering under their breath, rustling, and the sounds of footsteps.
Approaching quietly, he made out more. A young man in a linen shirt with an intricate pattern embroidered in green thread and trousers of fine cloth was walking around a small pond surrounded by flowers, looking displeasedly at the water as if expecting something. His clothes marked him as anything but a commoner, but his dark hair was tousled, and it seemed several blades of grass had gotten tangled in it, while his hands were dirty, as if he had been digging something out with them.
Then Derek noticed that some of the flowers around the pond had been recently transplanted there — the soil beneath them had been freshly dug up.
Suddenly, as if despairing of waiting any longer, the man stopped and raised his hand, holding something in it, as though preparing to throw it into the pond. Derek had seen too many mysterious actions in his life that led to irreparable consequences to keep standing idle.
No longer hiding, the Lord stepped out into the sunlit clearing.
“Your actions are far too much like sorcery. Stop on your own, or I’ll have to stop you.”
He pointed the sword at the one who had frozen, still holding his hand out. The man slowly turned toward Derek, and Derek managed to see a flash of fear on the pale face, but the next moment the man broke into a sly smile, relaxed, and lowered his hand.
“Sorcery? I only meant to honor the memory of my dearly departed mother. Lord Derek the Third, I’m sorry to have disturbed you with my actions, but I most certainly meant no harm.”
“Do we know each other?” Derek asked warily, still not lowering his sword.
“It’s hard not to recognize one of His Majesty’s Lords. We are not acquainted, but I have attended feasts where I performed my famous ballads. By the way, I still haven’t written a single one about you — what a shame.”
“Bard,” Derek stated, relaxing a little. He remembered the figure in a green doublet with a lute, whom he really had seen at court before. True, back then he had been groomed, washed, and always occupied either with playing his instrument or performing songs that entertained the courtiers. “Bard Avery.”
“Surprised that you know my name.”
“I have a good memory. So what are you doing?”
“Could you put away the sword?” the bard asked with a charming smile.
“Could you answer the question?”
“I already did!” Avery protested. “On this day many years ago my mother died, and I simply wanted, by our family tradition, to pay her respect. On commemorative dates we used to throw precious stones into the lake near our home, to remind the dead that they are still dear to us, but there are no lakes near the castle and the city, so I had to make do with this pond, since I am far from my native village.”
Derek slowly lowered his sword, but did not yet put it away. The bard spoke smoothly, as if it were all true. He wanted to believe him, but something still made him uneasy.
“Show me what you were going to throw in there.”
Avery came closer and held out his hand. In his open palm lay a small glinting stone.
“A diamond? You must have loved your mother very much,” Derek said skeptically, but he did put the sword away.
“Yes. Unfortunately, she was struck down by plague, like many in our village, and I had to leave her to earn my living through my art.”
Avery’s voice sounded mournful, and sadness shone in his green eyes. That would have been enough for Derek to believe him. That would have been enough, if he had wanted to believe him.
“All right, fine, throw your stone.”
“No! I can’t do it now, it requires a special emotional state. You interrupted me.”
“Predictable. He’s hardly going to continue what he intended to do if someone else is nearby. But I can expose him later, if that’s even necessary. Plenty of people do things like this without really understanding that it can land them on the scaffold,” Derek thought. He had seen many like that — young men and women trying simple magical rituals despite the threat of execution. Usually a warning was enough to make them abandon their games; few were willing to risk their lives for amusement. Though sometimes there were those who did.
“Next time you’d be better off going home and visiting her grave than performing strange rites near the barracks. For all you know, this could end very badly.”
Derek knew Avery understood what he was saying. Everyone knew that magic was a dangerous, mysterious science forbidden by the King himself, and that it could cost one’s life.
“Yes, I understand. Thank you for the advice, Lord Derek.”
“I’ll escort you to the city. Just in case someone else runs into you and misreads the situation.”
Avery clearly wanted to protest again, but held his tongue. He could not see the other man’s face behind the helmet, and could not tell what to expect from him. After all, nobody usually wanted to argue with the King’s knights.
“Then let’s go. What a wonderful morning for a walk through the forest!” Revived again, the bard set off first toward the forest exit, not looking back at the pond they had left behind.
Derek, after a slight pause, followed. Avery seemed calm, his movements smooth and at the same time springy as he skirted tree trunks and stepped over branches on the ground.
“By the way, why the Third?” he suddenly asked, slowing down and looking back at Derek, who was walking behind him.
“What?”
“Why Lord Derek the Third? I haven’t heard of the first two,” the bard asked with genuine curiosity in his voice. “I’ve always wanted to ask, but never had the chance.”
“He’s either really that carefree, or he’s trying to change the subject,” Derek thought, grimacing.
“In ancient times, there were Lord Derek the Second and Lord Derek the First in my line. My great-grandfather and great-great-great-grandfather.”
“Remarkable. Every few generations your family uses the same name?”, that sounds irritatingly casual in Avery’s voice.
“It’s tradition. Like yours, throwing precious stones into water. Which do you think is more remarkable?”
After that Avery fell silent, apparently not thinking of any rebuttal. He continued walking ahead, humming something under his breath, and no longer trying to strike up a conversation. The Lord thought that this feigned calm was excessive, and decided to see it through to the end.
“You do know that unpredictable actions usually lead to unpredictable consequences? I hope you understood that. If you had done something I could have interpreted as sorcery, I’d have had no choice but to take you to prison.”
Avery stopped. Derek could not see his face now, but from his posture it was clear that he was tense.
The forest rustled around them and birds sang, sunlight broke through the tree crowns, but the atmosphere was no longer one of calm.
“I know. Why are you so worried about it?”
“It’s my duty.”
“Duty?”
“Yes. To protect the people of our kingdom. Even from themselves and from one another. Magic is the most dangerous thing a mortal can do, so our King says. Magic destroys and corrupts, gives ordinary people power they cannot control. Excess knowledge leads to chaos.”
“But what’s wrong with chaos?” Avery turned around; his voice sounded unexpectedly serious.
“Society needs stability,” Derek answered firmly.
“You believe that?”
“Yes.”
Avery gave no reply, but kept walking, though not as quickly now. It was obvious that he was thinking hard about something, but not daring to say it. In a way Derek was glad of that, because such conversations — dangerous, challenging the established order — could cost the bard his life as well. At last, Avery started talking about something else.
“By the way, I still haven’t written a single ballad about you and your knights. I think that should be corrected,” he said unexpectedly, drawing level with Derek. “I’ve composed songs about other Lords and their deeds, about the King, about some famous nobles, and even about myself. I think people would like to know your story too. I heard you traveled a great deal.”
“My squad and I passed through many places that might seem like fiction to ordinary people. Sometimes I traveled alone. Usually those were expeditions to explore new lands for future conquests or to add uninhabited territories to our lands. Sometimes those were expeditions for… the search for new knowledge that had to be destroyed before anyone else reached it.”
“Incredible!” Fire lit up in Avery’s eyes again. “Tell me more, and I promise I’ll shape your stories into forms that will long be turned into legends.”
“I didn’t do it for glory,” Derek said, shaking his head.
“And yet. Everyone has something to tell the world. I know that better than anyone.”
Doubt did not let him answer at once. Many things the Lord had seen on his path by the King’s orders were too difficult to understand or explain. But Avery seemed so animated, so inspired by the prospect of a new story, that it was hard to refuse him. There was something else too: the thought that if the bard were occupied for a while, he would not soon return to his questionable deeds, and might even forget them altogether.
“All right. But not now.”
They had just come out of the forest. The sun was already up and shining brightly on Derek’s armor. He knew it was time to go and had no intention of lingering longer than necessary.
“Excellent! Let’s meet here at an hour before sunset. Agreed?”
“You’re persistent.”
“So are you. Haven’t noticed that about yourself?”
Another undeniable advantage of the helmet — he could give in to the cowardly urge to roll his eyes instead of saying something sarcastic and unworthy of a Lord in response.
“No,” after brushing the armor and cloak free of bark chips, blades of grass, and bits of moss that had clung to them during the wandering through the forest, he headed toward the castle, which loomed dark and massive beyond the city walls.
“Then see you later?” the bard called after him.
“See you later,” he said without turning around, waving a hand, knowing that Avery was watching him go.
***
“So what did you see in your travels?”
Deep inside, Derek had hoped no one would ever ask him that question. Countless images surfaced simultaneously before his inner eye, flashing, overlapping, making it impossible to tell what was reality and what was mere illusion.
Evening was slowly covering Carcosa with a dark veil, the shadows were growing deeper, and the space around them seemed to be shrinking. They were walking along a forest path leading to a distant outpost — a wooden tower rising above the thick forest. Usually such places were checked by ordinary soldiers, but this time the Lord decided to take on the task himself and invited Avery to come with him instead of going to the city together. He did not want anyone else to learn about his dealings with the bard — the way the latter poorly concealed his attempts to work magic could play a cruel trick both on him and on those close to him. And Derek did not want to draw any unnecessary attention to him.
Without answering, he glanced at the bard from beneath his helmet. Now he looked as the Lord remembered him from the receptions in the royal castle — hair tied back into a short tail, dressed in a dapper green doublet. The only differences were the sword in the hip scabbard and the bow with a quiver of arrows on his back instead of a lute. That was understandable — going beyond the city walls at night was fraught with trouble, but Derek knew that if they did not delay, they would manage to return before nightfall.
“I’ve seen many lands. What would you like to hear about?” he finally said.
The evening forest was full of rustling. For now there were only animals there, but the Lord knew — given a little more time, those he would rather not meet would come out of the darkness.
Avery thought about it. They walked in silence for a while, the sound of footsteps on the path breaking the quiet around them.
“What do you remember most?”
“The feeling of the presence of something you cannot see, but always know is following you.”
At the Lord’s words Avery shuddered.
“You feel that… now too?”
“No,” Derek shook his head. “Only in those worlds where there was no one except those who had come there from outside. Our world is inhabited.”
“But how did you get there?”
There was genuine interest in Avery’s voice, and to Derek’s surprise he liked that. He had never shared the details of his journeys with anyone except the King — it was not forbidden, but usually none of those who passed through the worlds were eager to talk about it. And Derek understood why.
“I traveled a great deal in our own world too, but in some places the fabric of reality grows thin, and portals appear. They are difficult to detect, but they are always there.”
“But that… doesn’t count as magic?” Avery asked cautiously, with doubt.
“These are natural formations, not created by humans. Magic is sorcerous rites and rituals performed by people, creating what did not exist before.”
“Hm, I see. And which world seemed the most frightening to you?”
Derek hesitated again before answering. He had many options.
“I saw many. But what I remember most vividly is the first time I crossed the boundary between worlds. Huge caverns with entire forests, fields, and lakes inside them — things that could never have appeared on their own. Other caverns filled with water, with countless underwater passages. Long underground corridors, like the cellars of a castle.”
Avery was silent, apparently trying to imagine it. Meanwhile, ahead of them, beyond the treetops, the roof of the watchtower came into view. Somewhere nearby a crow cawed and took off. Derek quickened his pace; Avery followed. The sun was already very low over the horizon.
“There were other places too, more wondrous than terrifying. Endless red fields with scarlet plants and abandoned cities made of white stone. Strange, distorted statues and tangled labyrinths, incomprehensible signs and intricate tasks whose answers allowed one to proceed further. And I always liked solving riddles,” something like nostalgia unexpectedly entered Derek’s voice. Perhaps other worlds frightened him, but they also drew him in. That was why he set out on those journeys again and again, not trying to refuse the King’s orders, and why determination remained in his heart even when hope was fading.
Avery listened without interrupting. Perhaps, Derek thought, in his mind the words were already turning into poems and songs. In any case, he liked their unhurried conversation, which was unlike the usual exchanges with his comrades in arms.
Soon they reached the goal of their journey, and Derek shook himself, pushing memories away and returning to the present.
Approaching the tower, the Lord, by habit, inspected its base: the masonry was intact, the wooden supports were unbroken. Sometimes creatures coming out of the forest could damage human-built structures, so it was important to know whether any of the towers needed repairs. The other towers were spaced far apart throughout the forest surrounding the city, and had once served to repel the first waves of enemies when the city walls were only being built. Now they remained and were kept in working order for those times when raiders approached the city and it was necessary to climb higher to track their advance.
Derek unlocked the door and began climbing the wooden spiral staircase, which creaked under his heavy boots. Avery continued to follow him, and together they gradually inspected each floor of the tower, checking the supplies — a few arrows, bows, torches. They climbed to the top floor, where above them there remained only the sloped wooden roof, supported by posts at the corners of the tower.
From above, there was a view of the vast darkening forest, and beyond it a river, a field, and then forest again. Somewhere far away the massive mountains rose, now almost hidden in the evening haze.
“You said you went there in search of forbidden knowledge. Did you find anything?” Avery’s question, as always sudden, caught Derek off guard.
“You know, knowledge is forbidden precisely because it is forbidden to speak about it.”
The bard rewarded him with an annoyed look, which made Derek snort cheerfully beneath his helmet.
“Sometimes you say obvious things.”
“Sometimes you ask things to which you’ll get an obvious answer.”
“But it was worth trying.”
“Perhaps.”
Lost in thought, Derek hesitated. He wanted to return to the city, but something kept him here. Unease.
“You should be more careful with your words and actions, bard. You’re lucky it was me who found you, not someone else. I’ve seen too many who lost their lives for less.”
“Then why didn’t you turn me in?” Avery asked sharply, flinching. A shadow crossed his face, and he froze, bracing his hands on the tower parapet.
“Because I don’t like killing.”
His answer seemed to surprise Avery, and he looked at the Lord carefully. His face, as usual, was hidden behind the helmet, but now the bard seemed to want to see something human behind it.
“I thought that was your duty.”
“My duty is to protect the kingdom and serve the King. If a problem can be solved with words rather than violence, I’ll choose the first option. I’ve been through too many battles not to know the value of human life.”
“But if your beliefs and your duty contradict each other, then what would you choose?”
“That’s impossible,” Derek shook his head. “The King wants what is best for us, for all his subjects.”
“I see.”
There was disappointment in Avery’s voice, which the Lord chose to ignore.
“Come on, it’s late already.”
While they were talking, it had grown completely dark. Derek quickly climbed down from the tower and locked the door, Avery silently followed him. While they were still on the tower, the Lord had taken a torch with him and lit it, so now the darkness around them was broken by the uneven light of the flame. It was little, but it was enough to see the road ahead and dispel the ghostly sensation that someone was watching them from the darkness.
“You know, I’ve told no one about my travels except the King,” Derek said, trying to dispel the silence hanging between them. For some reason he did not want to part with Avery on such a note; for some reason he wanted him to understand. “I still don’t know what lives beyond the borders of our world. Maybe that is one of the things the ban on magic protects us from — from things people cannot understand or comprehend.”
“But not all things magic can do are like that,” Avery quietly objected. “Not all.”
“But…”
At that moment an arrow whistled into the ground right in front of them. Derek looked up and, beyond the edge of the torchlight, saw what he very much did not want to see — pale, rattling bones, the dark hollows of a skull’s eye sockets. And of course, a bow aimed at them, with the skeleton already loading the next arrow.
“Damn, we delayed too long,” the Lord muttered irritably, drawing his sword from its scabbard and at the same time handing the torch to Avery, who caught it quickly.
He resolutely moved forward, raising the sword. Deliver a swift strike, dodge the next arrow. Strike at the head, trying to knock the empty skull from the thin bony neck. A quick movement, almost impossible in clumsy clanking armor — a side blow by stealth, which almost knocked the skeleton to the ground, but by some miracle it remained standing and tried to release another arrow. It did not succeed — the blade came down on the undead’s torso with a loud sound, shattering the ribs and breaking the spine with a clattering crash. The skeleton collapsed, and the pile of bones along with the bow and the last unused arrow fell to the ground.
From behind came slow, heavy footsteps and a muffled, enraged sound from the monster’s throat. Derek quickly glanced back at Avery, ready to help him, but saw that he too had drawn his sword and, still holding the torch in his left hand, was fending off two sluggish green creatures reaching out toward him.
In battle, the bard moved as springily and swiftly as ever — he delivered quick, precise blows, dodged, and leapt back, avoiding the monsters’ attacks.
“You’re pretty good,” Derek shouted to him.
“Of course I am,” the other shouted back proudly, without stopping his attacks. “Haven’t you heard my famous ballad ‘Hero of the SkyWars’ about me?”
“Braggart.”
“You started it!”
Derek wanted to answer something, but then several more green monsters approached him, and behind them another pair of skeletons could be seen. Clenching his hands around the sword hilt, he continued fighting, no longer distracted. The blade sang familiarly in his hands, slicing through the enemies’ rotten flesh and crushing bones. He had always liked the thrill of battle, where everything was clear — where the enemy was and where the ally was. He and Avery fought back to back, and he knew he could trust him. Everything else at that moment did not matter.
“That seems to be all,” Avery finally said, trying to catch his breath, when the enemies stopped coming and the bodies of the slain monsters lay around them.
“Looks like it,” Derek turned toward him, quickly checking the bard for wounds, as he always did with the knights from his own company. He seemed to be fine, only a little winded.
“And you…” Avery began, turning toward him too, but then his eyes widened in horror and he recoiled. “Look out!”
Derek turned, but it was too late. Right behind him had just come a hissing, mottled green monster with huge short legs. The next moment there was a deafening explosion, and the Lord fell to the ground, thrown back by the blast wave. He did not lose consciousness, but his head rang and his vision blurred. Through the haze of the explosion he saw a second, identical creature moving toward them, rustling dangerously. He tried to get up, but his hands would not obey, and he only managed to rise a little, bracing his palms against the ground.
Then he saw the bard resolutely remove the bow from his back and take an arrow from the quiver. Derek wanted to shout, “Run!” but instead could only croak something muffled.
And then Avery shot. The creature struck by the arrow suddenly burst into flames. Avery shot again and again, and with each arrow the monster seemed to lose strength. At last, still engulfed in fire, it fell to the ground and went silent. Avery looked around — there were no more creatures nearby — ran to Derek and dropped to one knee beside him, while at the same time taking some kind of flask from a small bag at his belt.
“Drink,” he ordered, handing it to Derek.
“What is it?” the latter rasped, suspiciously eyeing the strange pink glinting vial.
“Drink! It’ll help. We need to go.”
In Avery’s eyes he saw impatience and worry. He wanted to believe him — and this time Derek decided he could trust him.
After a second’s hesitation, the Lord still uncorked the vial and poured its contents down. He almost did not taste it, but he immediately felt strength returning to his body and his wounds closing. He wanted to ask the bard many, many questions, but now was not the time. He quickly rose from the ground, and they hurried toward the city.
Only when the city walls appeared beyond the forest and torch posts began to line the road, illuminating the way, did they slow down a little. The silence was tense and weary.
“A healing potion, huh? And your bow, the one that shoots flaming arrows? You really aren’t afraid of being executed for those magical things?” Derek said quietly, but with anger and accusation in his voice.
“And what was I supposed to do? Leave you there to die?” the bard snapped back just as accusingly.
“Not use sorcery!” the Lord finally exclaimed. “You stubborn, overconfident minstrel, don’t get involved in something that will lead you to the scaffold!”
“You don’t understand!” Avery retorted angrily, desperately. “It’s all I have,” he added unexpectedly sadly, all his fire gone in an instant.
They were almost at the city gates. Derek could already see the ajar door for late travelers, beside which stood soldiers from his garrison. He suddenly felt how tired he was after this long, confused, doubt-filled day.
The Lord stopped where they could not yet be overheard and looked at Avery. He too looked exhausted, his hair was tousled again, and his hands were scraped. On his face Derek noticed the familiar doomed, hunted expression he had already seen on those who knew in advance that fighting against something much stronger than themselves would be hard and pointless. Suddenly he wanted to wipe that expression from the bard’s face, to see him confident and shining again. It seemed wrong to him that this man had taken upon himself something that now crushed him and stripped him of hope.
“No, not all of it,” he replied firmly, and he liked the stunned surprise mixed with hope that flashed in Avery’s eyes at those words. “You are much more than knowledge that will cost you your life. Think about that.”
He turned and walked toward the gate. Avery remained standing in place, but Derek knew that after some time he too would head into the city, under the protection of the walls and the knights who guarded the people of Carcosa from what lurked outside the city and within it.