Now it is time to fulfill my promise and to show you an extract from the novel. It is the chapter "Midnight Duel". The main character, Alex, is sent to a perilous journey and has already survived an encounter with Swamp Spirits, mean creatures, from which he managed to escape, saving Rolo, a thingyy and not-too-pleasant for him sailor.
The translation is made by a friend of mine:
Midnight Duel Alex and Rolo walked through the steppe for the whole day, having decided to get away from the terrible river that had swallowed the ship whole. Luckily for them, they didn't run into any gnomes, even though the tracks of the little nasty creatures were everywhere.
When Rolo Scarf saw them, he spat and his eyes flashed with a furious fire. Obviously he hated gnomes as much as swamp spirits. The grinning grimace that he had worn on the ship had disappeared, replaced by the dark countenance of a man on bad terms with the world. Alex wasn't happy at all about his silent company.
The evening caught them in something like a tiny lowland, where they made a fire. Alex unfolded his magical tablecloth and some wonderful dishes showed up for the two young men. They quickly gulped them down.
After they ate, Rolo smiled for a moment and asked:
"So, where to, with this... king's business?"
The boy looked at him. He had not liked the stuck up sailor much from the very beginning and did not want to tell him a lot. He didn't think that he was an emissary of the Accursed One, but who could know?
In any case, Rolo Scarf did not look like a trustworthy man.
"To a city," Alex answered indefinitely.
"How wonderful." Rolo showed his teeth in something resembling a sarcastic smile.
"What?" Alex didn't understand.
"While the Cursed One runs wild in Ralmia, the Archmage Sanaros sends a kid in shining armor to visit "a city". Great!"
The boy kept silent, not knowing what to say.
"And what are you going to do in that city?" Rolo asked, screwing his eyes.
Alex tensed.
"I cannot say," he said curtly.
"Got it," Rolo grinned maliciously, "secret errands from the king."
Alex did not answer, rather drank a little water.
Rolo continued:
"I saw you fight. Do you know what I think?" the pirate grinned widely.
Alex looked at him. He thought of all the swamp spirits he had turned into puddles today and of the way he had saved the life of the man next to him. He felt proud.
"No," was all he said aloud, smiling slightly.
"I think you are a cheat," Rolo said calmly.
The smile left Alex's face.
"Pardon?" he was astonished.
"I think that your weapons are magical and that they do it all. You yourself aren't worth anything." The sailor still stood calm, but his eyes were glittering like a predator's.
Alex stood up.
"I may not be worth anything, but it was I that got you away from that gang of swamp spirits, in case you don't remember."
Rolo did a backward roll, getting up as well.
"But maybe if the armor was in the hands of a competent warrior, the swamp spirits would not sink the ship at all. If Sanaros did not give his powers out to children going to this city or that."
"Archmage Sanaros is a great man!" Alex shouted, taking out his sword.
"Because he gave an armor to the puppy, huh?" Rolo winked. A second later his sabre was gleaming in his hand.
Alex had had enough of this insolent ingrate. Now he would show him. Even if it was because of the Sword of the Dragon or the Armor of the Silver Moon.
The youth threw himself forward, swinging his sword, certain that he was going to break Rolo's thin sabre with a single strike. But the sailor leapt aside and the boy felt a jab in his ribs.
Alex groaned and turned to his attacker with a slashing blow powerful enough to cut Rolo in two, but the sailor simply jumped back, watching out for the deadly blade.
Alex's adversary lifted the sabre before his face and mockingly said:
"Come on, hit me!"
Alex swung his sword, then again and again, but the sailor was just fiendishly fast. If he got in range, the sword would finish him off without a problem, but Alex simply couldn't reach his agile opponent, who sometimes pricked his armor, just to get him furious.
He succeeded.
The boy rushed at Rolo with all his fury, groaning at every swing. A couple of times the sailor got away from the magical blade only barely and one of the blows even took the kerchief off his head, letting Scarf's black hair fall loose.
A little before that moment Rolo had gotten seriously worried and had reckoned that he shouldn't have challenged Alex - the boy had, after all, really saved him. But when the blade of the Dragon nearly made him a full head shorter, the sailor went insane with fury and started circling Alex like a wasp, stabbing at him from all sides. Fortunately Alex's armor was really flawless and the sailor noticed with concern that the edge of his sabre was getting chipped. He didn't dare to think what would happen if the two-handed sword touched his fragile blade.
Alex, however, got a bit carried away and sank the sword in the ground to the hilt at one of the swings, losing control and flying forward. Rolo used the moment and kicked the boy in the nose.
Alex moaned and fell back, disarmed, while the sailor descended upon him like a bird of prey. The sabre's tip lightly touched the youth's unprotected throat.
"Did you like the demonstration, puppy?" Rolo snarled evilly. Then he turned away and took the Sword of the Dragon out of the ground.
"A fine weapon, I'd say," the sailor laughed, "and now it's mine, too."
"Give it back," Alex sobbed out.
He felt humiliated.
"What for, my puppy?" Rolo asked curiously. "You won't need it to go to "a city". And if you need it that badly, run to Sanaros, he'll give you another one.
Rolo sat down by the flames. Alex stood up slowly and went closer to the sailor.
"Get away or I'll kill you," Scarf warned.
His eyes screwed like an angry cat's.
"Give me back my sword," Alex repeated with a slightly trembling voice.
"You can have the tablecloth and all the other junk, but the sword stays mine." Rolo said flatly. "You have no right to it."
Alex sat down next to him.
"Please give it back. This sword was given to me."
"And you lost it," Rolo snapped mercilessly, "it's mine now. I'll use it to purge the river of swamp spirits."
Alex said nothing. He didn't know what to say or what to do.
"You think the spirits are everything?" he asked finally.
"What, aren't they enough for you?" Rolo hissed suddenly. "They first showed up when I was your age - a signal for the Accursed One's return. But we didn't know. My parents didn't know. Do you have any idea how it felt to watch them sink in those disgusting slithery fingers? Do you even know what the loss of your closest ones---"
"I KNOW!" Alex screamed in answer, flushed.
Rolo froze. The boy next to him turned away, angry with the tears that filled his eyes. He remembered the policemen that night, their worried faces, uncle Bernard's chiseled features, the way he held him by the shoulder and started to equivocate...
Rolo carefully placed the Sword of the Dragon next to Alex and patted him on the back.
"I'm sorry," he said in an unexpectedly hoarse voice. "I'm so sorry."
Alex turned to him, then sheathed his sword. He said nothing for a while. The two of them just sat there, listening to the merry crackling of the flames.
"I'll leave you in the morning," Rolo went on. "I hope you make it to that city."
The two of them continued to be silent.
"Have you ever heard of the Pearl of the Phoenix?" Alex asked in the end.
He didn't know what made him do this. He just did it.
Rolo looked at him suspiciously.
"An old legend. What does that have to do with this?"
"It's in Ralmia. Again," Alex whispered.
The sailor stood still for a moment, then took a deep breath.
"Where is it?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm going to the City of Prophets," Alex answered quietly.
Rolo was staring at him, puzzled.
"Oh, God, the Archmage sent you. Didn't he?"
The boy nodded. The sailor looked at him and said thoughtfully:
"No offence, but you're not a trained warrior. Why did he choose you? What makes you different?"
"I'm not from this world," Alex murmured. Then he briefly narrated his story to Rolo. Everything. Beginning with his parents' death. Rolo listened carefully.
"Oh, dear God," his recent opponent said, "the fate of our world is in the hands of a kid from another world."
Alex lifted his eyes to him.
"I'll fail, won't I?"
A shadow passed Rolo's face.
"What makes you think so?"
"No offence to you," the boy smiled a twisted smile, "but you are an ordinary sailor. If you could defeat me, what chance do I have against the Accursed One's emissaries?"
At this moment Rolo grinned in a strange way, both nastily and encouragingly.
"I'm not quite an ordinary sailor. After the spirits took away my parents, I trained with the best swordmasters in all of Ralmia. Losing from me is nothing to be ashamed of. And, as for the Accursed One's emissaries, it's a fact that you did quite a lot of them in today, eh?"
Alex smiled uncertainly.
"Besides, I've decided to join you in your noble mission," Rolo continued. "I think you opened my eyes for something today, puppy."
The boy raised his eyebrows.
"Swamp spirits are no longer enough for me. I want the Accursed One's acccursed head."
Both of them laughed - for the first time after the battle in the river.
"Rolo... can I ask something of you?" Alex asked at last.
"I'm listening, puppy," the sailor said, faking seriousness.
"Don't call me 'puppy'."
The two of them laughed again.
"Okay, Alex," Rolo said, suddenly serious, "we're friends from now on. And we're friends on king's business!"
***
The banshees' screams reached a crescendo and filled the dark tomb in which the remains of Lord Dackavar were placed. However, the old, worn-out black armor stubbornly refused to rest in peace and kept getting up, thirsty for new bloodshed. Behind it walked the four faithful squires of the Dark Lord - skeletons that were long half-rotten, but in whose eye sockets shone an ominous, poisonously green light.
Lord Dackavar stepped to the very heart of his tomb - the black pool, in which, lazy as tar, floated waters whose touch was death to mortals. Not to Lord Dackavar, however. The Death Knight threw some stalks of mistletoe in the dark waters and then his hand, set in an worn iron glove, stirred the ingredients until the water bubbled and boiled and the screams from the banshees' imperishable throats turned hoarse.
And then Lord Dackavar knelt, for a fearsome silhouette came up from the raging pool, dressed in a black cloak with a hood under which there was only darkness. Normal mortals trembled in fear before the Death Knight, but he felt exactly the same way before his master Soulstealer, the one that pathetic mortals blasphemed with the humiliating nickname Accursed One.
"Soon our time will come, my faithful knight," the silhouette whispered, and his voice was as the cracking of dry autumn leaves in a storm.
"When shall I again be able to immerse my sword in the blood of our enemies, my master?" asked Lord Dackavar, and his voice was as if coming from under an old sarcophagus.
"Have patience, my faithful knight," answered the Accursed One. "Very soon the so-called 'Savior of Ralmia' will lay the secret of the Oracle bare to us and then we shall no longer need him. Then your sword will feast.
"Your words fill me with relish, my master. Your joy is my joy. Your will is the meaning of my life," Lord Dackavar answered fanatically, while the silhouette of his master was sinking back into the lake.
I hope that you like it
You can see its cover here:
