“Get up!” ordered he, feeling how the power was filling him entirely.
The shadow fidgeted, trying not to get hurt over the cobble edges. Darted to the wall of a house, gathered into a tight lump.
Hissed angrily.
“Haven’t I told you?” asked Byarn quietly, without any threat.
The shadow got down on all fours. The hump on its back split with a crackle, showing coriaceous wings. An Ulvvind, the long distance messenger that only the few were permitted to summon.
“Fly to Wrozlav. Carry this,” the mage lifted the chest with the “Triple Nornscoll”, the fruit of long years’ labour. “Give it to the prince Razimir...”
The old man stopped. The secret guest had settled down in his soul wholly, feeling himself at home.
I’m young. I’m resolute.
I know what to do. Here and now.
“No,” said Byarn the Pensive. “You’ll carry me to Opolie. I’ll tell everything to the prince myself.”
At the dawn of the next day Razimir of Opolie learned the secret of the “Triple Nornscoll”. Eight men, eight empowered men, eight courtiers, commanders and politicians gathered at the board. Eight pieces were moving, weaving invisible web, ordering the past to change for the better.
A week later, when the troops of the margrave Siegfried put to rout the Opolie frontier guard, moving relentlessly to the capital, the prince Razimir ordered to execute all the eight of them. Because one had his incurably ill grandson recovered, the other suddenly received inheritance, the third gained the love of a proud beauty...
But the first who was executed at Wrozlav square was Byarn the Pensive, the old mage from Holne.
He didn’t resist.
“Your teacher, Martzin, was a wise man. He foresaw the failure beforehand.”
“I understand now...”
It was pitiful to look at Martzin. He was shrivelled all over, looked haggard, more than ever resembling a hopeless sparrow.
“Hell! Is there no way?!” Jendrich stroke his fist on the floor in a fit of temper. “Damn it, I would sell my soul...”
“We should seek a turning point. A point of influence, as my teacher would say. Nothing is impossible. Everything is liable to changes, but we... We either find the wrong points or make mistakes. Were there more of us, we could try a lot of variants, and eventually... For the game works! You’ve seen it yourselves!”
Martzin wasn’t noticing he was kneeling, looking in everyone’s eyes hopefully.
“Mommy, I want play! In the winda is evil fella. I want to bump on his head!”
“What, are you satisfied? Give the little one to play.”
“Well, why not, as a matter of fact?”
“I know, I know how playing! Must clap hands! Mommy, I want!”
“We aren’t losing anything. Even if she doesn’t manage...”
“All right. Come here, little girl. Stand here, near the board. Do you know how to... eem... bump an evil fellow on his head?”
“Yea. Just like that!”
A sonorous clap of small palms. On the board there remain only two pieces. Two lonely pawns. A red one and a black one. Martzin fixes his eyes on the hourglass, the sand once again starts running up – and suddenly the pale face of the youth flushes with amazement. The sand in the lower part of the vessel doesn’t end! The upper part is already overfull, but the little tornado continues to drive into the orifice numerous grains: hours, days, years...
“It cannot be...”
Martzin hasn’t time to finish. The girl hastily snatches the black pawn and presses it to her chest.
The window is flung wide open...
“Oh, knight! Knight!”
Elsa Fenriver, a five year old girl, clapped her hands. She was charming, in a new frilled dress, flowers in her golden locks. A pony standing in front of the little girl was scared of her quick movement. It snorted, moved back.
Started prancing in one place.
“Wait! Ponee, wait!”
Sitting in his saddle, three year old Siegfried was smiling with the mindless smile of an idol, not understanding what was going on. Today he was dressed up in child armour with a gilded breastplate. Given a helmet with a plume to put on. To his belt was hung a real sword – long-long, up to the sky. Well, maybe not to the sky, but still a long one. Like his Dad’s. Siegfried was happy. And his Dad – the strongest! the cleverest! – went away to the rose bushes to admire his heir while not hindering his son from enjoying his triumph.
Siegfried was happy even while flying off the saddle.
“Ponee!”
Shying away from Elsa, the pony reared. Its hoof stroke near the boy’s head. The toy helmet rolled aside, the temple of prone Siegfried was absorbing an accidental shade – the sun had hidden behind a fluffy cloud resembling a dog.
The blond hair of the heir was sandy.
“Stand!” A shout – masculine, imperious. A strong hand caught the bridle, in a jerk threw the pony away, to the side alley of the garden. Dietrich, the margrave of Maintz, bent over his son: “Are you hurt? Are you all right?!”
Siegfried turned on his back.
Started laughing.
Then thought better, looking at his father’s beaming face, and started crying.
“We’ve seen, Karolinka. You’ve tried. You’ve tried hard, it’s not your fault you didn’t manage. You have played well.”
“Well! I played well! Zere was no evil fella. Was knight! Vely good! And a little horse...”
“That’s how it is,” Giacomo knitted his dry lips. “Just playing. Well, what can you demand from a child?..”
“I want horse! I want knight!..”
“Twenty years!” whispered Martzin as if delirious, looking with horror at the little girl who was ready to cry. “Be she just a bit older... Good heaven, almost twenty years!”
“What are you babbling on, mage boy?”
“Twenty years! She has transferred for twenty years into the past! Herself! She did it herself!” the youth’s eyes were glittering feverishly. “She has a gift! Gracious God, such power...”
“Well, and what’s the use of this power? For Siegfried all this is like water off a duck's back...”
“Maybe the prince Razimir will manage? Or someone else? We should keep trying! We should do something!” but in Martzin’s words there was nothing of the former confidence. “Skwozhina, maybe you’ll try?”
On the board there remained only one red pawn.
The woman squinted contemptuously at the game. “Me? What I am – worst of all?!”
“Hush!” hissed Jendrich desperately in a sudden, and everyone became silent at once.
Above there were heard distinct, self-confident footsteps. The boards creaked.
Giacomo, without waiting for the chieftain’s instructions, pulled the rag bung out of the hole.
“...boozing, that is?..”
The newcomer’s voice – quiet, ingratiating, promising – boded nothing well for the Maintz men resting in the tavern.
“Sir, no, sir baron! I have to report, sir: we were chasing the enemy squad through the night, sir. Now we’re waiting for the main forces of His Grace, sir. My people needed rest...”
“In five minutes here will be His Grace Siegfried von Maintz in person! Search the tavern anew! From top to bottom! I’ll have your hides! If there’s one more national avenger again...”
“Sir, yes, sir!” A busting tramping.
“Sit here with the folks, Karolinka. Mommy will come for you.” Having got up, the serving woman stepped resolutely to the door.
“Have you gone mad, woman?! Want to give us up?!”
But nobody had time to stop Skwozhina. The woman pressed against the door with her entire body, something fell down outside. The door leaf gave way...