The King-beyond-the-Mountain is preparing a campaign. We must be prepared for that moment, Dorkhand once heard a snippet of conversation.
One day Dorkhand saw that Lina was taken out of the experiment room. Her eyes were closed, and there was dried blood on her chest.
No! the guy shouted. Not this! She couldnt die!
Latrich looked at him:
Youre next, Namlis. Tomorrow you will take part in my research.
Dorhand tore the ring off the finger of the dead Lina. Her body will be thrown into the abyss, but at least something should remain as a memory.
Darling! For what? Creator, why do I need all these deaths? I loved her more than anything in the world! She is my moon and my sun. How should I live? I hate it! I will turn Latrich into dust!
The young man was crying. The guards indifferently pulled him away from the body. And then they threw her through the window into the abyss. Dorhand clenched his fists, but restrained himself from hitting the guards. It shouldnt attract attention. He must focus on revenge against the black sorcerer. He must not leave Lina unavenged. And Tom. And Tema.
Now nothing could stop his intentions. Friends tried to avoid him like a leper, afraid of being infected by his bad luck and that they would be next. But this is good: no one stopped Dorkhand from preparing.
There was a clear flaw in the code Latrich had put on the ring. Is the lord really so stupid in runology? Dorhand made a few changes and was enveloped in a barely noticeable bluish orb.
Did I really do this? Did he make a ring in one evening that Latrich couldnt take a whole decade to do?
Then Dorkhand tore off the skin from his shoulder with a dagger in the place where the brand flickered. He brought the torch to the bleeding wound. Dying from blood poisoning at a crucial moment is a stupid idea. But remaining with a brand on your shoulder is doubly stupid. When the pain went away, he realized that he was finally free.
But no one is born with a mark. Why then do some become slaves and others their masters? Life is too fleeting to waste precious moments serving someone. Let everyone work for themselves.
In the morning, Dorkhand was led into a huge hall decorated with tapestries.
Pray to the gods, Namlis! Latrich said. Today is probably your last day.
Blue lightning flashed from the sorcerers hands. But they were reflected from the magical sphere that was created by the ring that Dorhand painted with runes last night.
Ring of immortality! Latrich shouted. I managed! After so much work I did it! Bring it to me!
Dorhand shook his head.
Its mine.
How dare you, nameless slave? Submit to me!
Latrich expected the usual effect of the brand. But Dorkhand unrolled the cloth with which he covered the wound so as not to become infected.
Im no longer your slave.
How dare you! Namlis, obey! Otherwise
Otherwise what? Will you kill me? So Im immortal now. Or will you kill Lina again?
Namlis
My name is Dorkhand. I am Prince Sartoll. I am the rightful king of these lands.
Grab him! And bring a ring! the sorcerer shouted. The slaves, shining with their brands, ran towards the young man, but a bluish sphere stopped them, not allowing them to complete what they started. Dorhand picked up two swords that the attackers had dropped and cut off Latrichs hands with them. The sorcerer screamed. Confusion was visible on the faces of the slaves. They clenched and unclenched their fists uncertainly, their bodies belonged to them again.
True magic is dead, Latrich. You are not a real sorcerer. Without rings you are nothing. Pathetic parody of a person! Cauterize its stumps so that it does not die prematurely. Death would be too easy a payment for him.
Dorhand lowered the iron rod into the flame, heating it up.
Slave! Latrich shouted. How dare you! Stop him! but the slaves did not want to listen to him, deprived of the rings of power. And then Dorhand left a mark on the shoulder of the recent owner of the castle. The young man took the rings from his severed hands and put them on his finger.
And which of us is the slave now? Dorhand grinned. Jump on one leg. Latrich carried out his order.
Ill kill you! One day I will kill you! Slave! Latrich hissed like a snake in the desert of Lorraine.
Take him to the slave barracks. By the way, from today you are all free people. And Silerin will be the Capital of the fight against slavery.
The slaves shouted in unison:
Hooray! Long live Dorhand.
They did not yet know what price they would have to pay in their struggle for freedom. Spit. The main thing is to live without chains and whips.
They knew the price of will.
Give me the parchment, said Dorhand. Ill write to my brother that Im alive, that Im heading to Lindell. I think he will be glad to meet you.
Latrich laughed:
Stupid idea. Nameless. Now power in the kingdom actually belongs to Councilor Langer. I paid him seven years ago to persuade Linder to travel across the desert. Do you think he will choose to admit this truth, or will he send an army to Silerin to defeat the rebel slaves? I think, most likely, he will call you an impostor so as not to admit the truth. Are you ready for war?
I am ready to do anything to get rid of slavery in my lands.
As I see, Namlis, you are two-faced, said Latrich. You want to make me your slave, but, nevertheless, you continue to convince everyone that you are fighting for freedom.
You will be the only slave in Seisil. You deserved it. And the rest will be free.
Maybe you, who are in chains, also chose this fate yourself? Actions, mistakes, murders of friends, betrayals?
Take the sorcerer away. I dont want to see him next to me anymore.
Chapter 5. New order
A book is the best advisor. People make mistakes, and sometimes they just lie there is nothing to hide. There are those who can hardly express the right thoughts, or prefer to talk about something that is not what they should be talking about, for fear of being punished for telling the truth or out of stupidity. And in books you can find long-forgotten secrets. The Truth is hidden in them.
But people write books! you can say. The ancient sages believed that people write down thoughts in books that come from somewhere outside. True, true thoughts are those who are worthy. That is why they allowed selected wise men to write. Students must rewrite and make copies of someone elses work. This was true until the printing press was invented.
Dust lay like a gray blanket on the shelves and books. The spider had long since finished its work, and the web covered the walls and ceiling with patterned lace. The candle barely dispersed the darkness. It smelled of dampness and paper. Dorhand again spent time in the library, trying to find something there that could help him in his fight. He found several manuscripts about the ancient Monianican order, whose monks devoted themselves to the fight against evil. The young man also read about a sorcerer who allegedly lives in the Litargian Forest.
There was a quiet knock. The door opened with a creak. A fair-haired man of about thirty with a scar on his face entered.
Sorry, Dorhand! Am I distracting?
Come in, Paris. Tell me, whats new?
Thirty more of Latrichs minions were caught. Everyone is now in prison. What do you want to do with them? asked Paris.
Feed them. Give me good food and water, Dorkhand replied.
Did they care about us when we were slaves? We ate scraps and drank rotten water, said Paris.
The time for revenge will come. They are not to blame for Latrichs actions.
But not one of them stood up for us! Paris clenched his fist.
Youre right about that. But we cannot blame the soldiers for following orders. A good fighter is without a thought in his head, but he is ready to sacrifice his life, following the order of the commander, Dorkhand said.