The Age of the Raven E-Book

Darien Roytman

• Herausgeber: BooxAi
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

The novel "The Spy" is the first book in the "Raven Age" series, full of sparkling humor and incredible adventures. It is the story of a young, stunted teacher, Rinaldo Gonzalez, transformed from an ordinary university lecturer into a ferocious zwerg warrior. After receiving a special assignment, he is sent to another dimension. While on his mission, he finds love and gets involved in a power struggle between the clans without expecting it.
What lies ahead for Rinaldo? Will he be able to survive in extreme human conditions? Will he cope with the mission without a single chance of success?
Read on and find out!

Leseprobe

The Age of the Raven

THE SPY

DARIEN ROYTMAN

Darien Roytman

The Age of the Raven - The Spy

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Published by BooxAi

ISBN: 978-965-577-986-8

Great thanks to Yana for the professional translation, both accurate and swift. Knowing that she would translate the rich vocabulary, puns, and humor, I could rest assured that my book was in the best hands possible. I am grateful for her patience in all the back and forth editing work, too. I would also like to thank Timur who crafted the visual parts for his talent, motivation, and creativity. Big thanks to Big Dan for all his time and the attention he gave to the fine details on the map. I would also like to thank Nicola for his patience and positive feedback.

And finally, I wish to express my gratitude to my beloved wife Annabelle who supports me on my journey. She is my other half. Had she not worked days and nights on this book, the English version simply would not have existed.

-Darien Roytman-

Translation and Editing by

YANA SOLOMINSKAYA

Illustration and Cover by

TIMUR POPOV

Map Design by

DENIS ‘BIG DEN’ KOTLYAROV

Proofreading by

ANNABELLE ROYTMAN

Contents

Prologue

1. Fire with fire!

2. Slave owner

3. Oath

4. The Zwerg world

5. A trap for an amateur

6. Hit the road

7. A new world

8. The Lynx Valley

9. Wolf River Pirates

10. Ulfburg

11. The King’s Guests

12. Anariet the Clanless

13. Wolf Castle Prisoners

14. Verdandi, daughter of Jari

15. Three in a boat

16. Gjoddgard

17. At sea

18. Ema

19. Raven clan

20. Krummie Island

21. Kidnappers

22. Death always comes at the wrong time

Prologue

They first climbed out of the ground in the suburbs of London in the summer of 2207. Terrifying warriors in forged armor and horned helmets, with long braided red beards. Armed only with swords and poleaxes, they rode imposing long-horned bulls. They sowed death all around, and woe to anyone who got in their way. The first of these raids only lasted ten minutes – enough time for the armored warriors to stage a horrifying massacre. About a hundred dead and twice as many wounded. Apparently, these slayers in horned helmets knew their business well. The usually quiet streets of the affluent neighborhood were filled with bloody bodies of men and women. But not a single child. The children simply disappeared.

Witnesses were numerous. Many watched from the windows of their high-rise buildings. Some filmed the carnage with halo cameras. Eyewitness testimonies and footage indicated that the fierce red-bearded bandits, so reminiscent of the ancient Vikings, were by no means of Viking height. In fact, it was unlikely that any of them were taller than five feet.

Where did these terrifying gnomes come from? What was the purpose of killing defenseless civilians? Why did they capture about a hundred children of different ages? And finally, where did they disappear to?

These questions fascinated many, but there was not a single person on the planet with a clear answer.

It so happened that sometime later, I, Rinaldo Philippe Maria Gonzalez, became this person.

Chapter1

Fire with fire!

The media was going wild. Nothing like that had happened in one hundred and fifty years, since the end of the global war on terrorism. Up until that day, violent deaths were an outlandish fact that had gone down in history. Everyone knew that people could die in accidents, but these were so rare in the 23rd century that the death of a person who hadn’t reached old age was remembered for months. A single person! And now over a hundred lives were cut short!

Panic swept across the UK. The common assumption was that the attackers used underground tunnels, but attempts to find them proved futile. People had no idea when and where to anticipate the next attack of the “damned gnomes,” which was what the newspapers had dubbed them. Countless articles about the bloody massacre were published in the news for a long time, yet no sensible person believed the event was perpetrated by the Old Norse mythical creatures. Various volunteer groups armed with power weapons patrolled most English cities day and night. England was determined to meet the enemy face to face. But neither the defense readiness of the British, nor their power blasters did any good to protect the citizens during the damned gnomes’ next raid three months later. However, no one was about to blame the British for negligence, and even less so for cowardice. This was because the second attack took place in the heart of Krakow, the capital of the Ukrainian-Polish Republic.

It seemed that the gnomes followed the same script written by the same person – or rather, same gnome. The second attack was so similar to the first that there was no doubt about the scriptwriter’s authorship. Actually, much fewer people were killed this time, but the number of captured children doubled.

The global community was sent into deep shock, which grew even deeper just a day later when the damned gnomes showed up in Buenos Aires. A week after that – in Toronto. And two days later – in Paris. The capital of the Frankish kingdom was where I saw them for the first time. And at a much closer range than I would’ve liked...

By then, I certainly heard and read about the damned gnomes. Only a deaf-blind-mute could have remained oblivious. And since there was a very successful treatment for these conditions, I dare to assume that a person like that simply could not exist in 2207. Oh, the damages of civilization! Many of my acquaintances are so chatty that I wish, without a twinge of conscience, that they were mute (for their own good).

So, getting back to the gnomes, I must admit that this subject has always been especially sensitive for me. And that was long before the world first heard about the “damned” in the summer of 2207.

I’ll start with my parents. Neither of my parents were dwarves, nor were they circus freaks, as some of my buddies believed and as the media wrote. They were indeed somewhat undersized, and I can confirm this in plain terms, since I myself am taller than they were. My mom, Donna Teresa, was 4.8 feet tall (which, by the way, is the average female height). And my father, Don Jaime, was 4.9 feet tall. Your humble servant, Don Rinaldo, turned out to be just over 5 feet tall.

As a child, I certainly suffered from a terrible inferiority complex, which I’ve never managed to completely overcome. My parents were Mexican and I, their only son, was born in United Canada. Our family then moved to Italy, and later – to the Frankish kingdom, where I was brought up and educated.

In 2207 I was thirty-four years old. I was a bachelor in Paris with an apartment in the city center, and a professor of linguistics, attempting to teach mediocre Sorbonne students. I was a strict teacher, which is why right after the events in the London suburbs, the nickname ‘Damned Gnome’ stuck to me.

In fact, I did not at all resemble a real gnome (or a Zwerg, as they came to be called later). I was thin, black-haired and swarthy. Also, I didn’t have the Zwergs’ powerful muscles or red hair, and I’d never pass for one with my facial features. But all these seemingly fundamental differences didn’t stop the doctors from transforming me into a real gnome when the time came.

It was a clear day in early October. The cheerful rays of the morning sun were timidly seeping in through the cracks in the plastic curtains, not heralding the impending tragedy. I woke up in a decent mood (which doesn’t happen to me too often), freshened up in the shower and, having dressed appropriately, went out for my usual morning walk.

A few steps down the road, I was startled by cries for help, a strange stomping and the terrible roar of some animal, apparently an angry one. It was a woman screaming – that was clear right away, but I only realized whose gullet was producing these excruciating sounds when I came around the corner.

A completely incongruous sight appeared before my eyes. Right in the middle of the street, a real red-haired dwarf, clad in armor and clutching a poleax, was perched on a hefty bull in pursuit of a lovely young woman who was running away from him with a baby clutched to her breast.

Surprisingly, I found myself dashing in the pursuer’s way. I won’t pretend that this heroic act was well-deliberated. It came over me spontaneously. At some point, I realized that a huge bull was rushing right at me. Generally, I could stand up for myself - many years of aikido training and the third-dan black belt stood for something. However, I was skeptical that this otherwise worthy martial art is suitable for fighting a bull. Thus, I didn’t go for a hip throw or some other move, but simply dodged to the side. This was enough to divert the attention of the rider and his steed from the intended victim. Suddenly I heard a steady hum and, casting a fleeting glance upwards, saw a military helicopter looming directly above us. A second later, a plasma charge hit the bull’s chest, turning the animal into a muddle of charred flesh and bone. By some miracle, the warrior managed to get out of the saddle a split second before his buffalo died, and now he swung his poleax right next to me, intending to chop off my head. Dodging quickly, I made an unconscious attempt to undercut him. But that didn’t quite work out. The dwarf remained steady on his feet, clearly wondering how I ended up at his side and what I wanted with his feet, shod in heavy leather boots. I’ve never faced such a powerful opponent – despite the fact that I, with my meager height, stood almost a head taller than him.

But the aikido principle says: “The stronger your opponent, the easier it is for you to grapple with him by using his own power against him. Push when he pulls, and pull when he pushes.” So, when he swung at me again, I used the force of his blow to ease him onto the ground. On his way down, the dwarf dropped his poleax, which succumbed to the force of gravity and hit my left foot painfully with its heavy handle. From his horizontal position, the warrior tried to kick me in the groin. I managed to dodge the hit, but still received a blow to the thigh, which threw me to the ground next to the poleax. Instantly springing to my feet and trying to grab this formidable weapon, I realized that I could hardly get it off the ground. That’s when a sharp pain pierced my right leg. Apparently, the bloody monster managed to break my thigh bone. As I tumbled to my side, I felt something heavy falling down on us, abruptly pressing both the gnome and me to the street pavement.

Looking sideways, I discovered that we were covered by a Poseidon-model net used to catch criminals and wild animals, which I’d seen in newspapers and on TV. Lying on the ground like a fly stuck to duct tape, I didn’t even try to resist. The same sources informed me that these nets could easily hold down an angry lion, bison, or even an elephant. My recent opponent, on the other hand, was clearly not as well-informed as I was. Growling angrily, he tried to fight the net, and even managed to raise the section directly above him. However, his efforts were only rewarded by the net’s increasing pressure. Apparently, he had no idea that all Poseidon-nets were equipped with an electronic brain.

A few hours later, I was lying on a pretty comfortable hospital bed, leafing through the screaming newspaper headlines on the display in front of me. Ugh! The things newspapers print... Well, let’s see, how do you like these headlines: “ONLY A DWARF CAN CAPTURE A GNOME!”, “FIGHT FIRE WITH FIRE!” or “THE SECRET WEAPON OF HUMANITY: DWARVES AGAINST GNOMES!” Whoever the idiots that came up with this are, they surely have major issues. Damn it, do I look like a dwarf?!

The next morning, a lanky blond fellow, just under 6.5 feet tall, paid me a visit. He showed his ID, which informed me that his name is Paul Wakovsky and that he is a special international security agent.

Mr. Wakovsky looked at me from his outrageous height, crinkled his snub little nose in a funny way and grinned at something. Then, clearing his throat in a deep bass, he opened his mouth and... That’s when I exploded:

“Who do you think you are, sir, whatever your name is?!” and, without letting him come to his senses, I continued, “Why did you come here? To mock me?! What’s that grin? Does my predicament seem ridiculous to you?! And don’t you measure me up from your offensive height! Sit down and spit it out already! Will you finally sit down?!”

The bafflement on the agent’s face was replaced by a mask of professional courtesy, and, quickly easing himself onto the edge of the bedside chair, he forcedly said:

“I apologize for the trouble, Dr. Gonzalez, I...”

“First of all, I’m not a doctor, I’m a professor!” I interrupted, “And secondly, it’s written Gonzalez, but pronounced Gon-sa-les!”

Wakovsky was embarrassed, and his generously freckled face turned crimson red.

“I beg your pardon again, Professor,” he began again, “The fact is that I would like to discuss yesterday’s incident with you. Thanks to your courage... hmm, or maybe your hot temper, we managed to capture one of these damned gnomes. The prisoner is not willing to communicate with us just yet, and...”

“And what is it you want from me?!” I interrupted him again.

“Well, you know...” he hesitated somewhat guiltily, “You see, I was instructed to find out whether you are connected with these attacks, and basically...”

“What?!” I flared up again. “How dare you?! It’s all because of my height, right?! You think that if I’m not 6.5 stupid feet tall, like others, I must be a secret agent of the damned gnomes?! What do you think I am? Some circus freak?!”

“But, Professor Gonsales, this is just a common formality,” the agent tried to justify himself.

“Get out!” I shouted, “Get out of this room, I never want to see your freckled nose in here again! I will only speak to you through my lawyer!”

Unable to finish, the special international security agent safely retreated behind the door.

Satisfied with my small victory, I ordered breakfast on my computer and got back to browsing the morning news.

Chapter2

Slave owner

Exactly two weeks later, I was discharged, once again congratulating myself on living in an enlightened time. It was hard to imagine that two or three hundred years ago it took many months for fractures to heal.

A taxi was already waiting for me on the hospital roof. I eased myself into the passenger seat, provided my address and switched on the display in front of me. Using a code to connect to my home videophone, I began to view my messages. They weren’t too numerous – in fact, there were only two.

The first one was from the university dean, who wished me a quick recovery and a speedy return to my teaching work. He also reminded me about the exams that were coming up soon. Not a word about the capture of the damned gnome. Hmm... yeah, very ‘kind’ of him. To be entirely honest, he disliked me. In fact, it was difficult to say whether anyone liked me at all, except for my deceased mother. Frankly, no one could stand my short temper, including me.

The second message was from agent Wakovsky. He apologized profusely and asked me to call as soon as I received his message. At the same time, that string bean stressed that the case was highly secret and concerned international security.

I sat there, pondering whether to call him back. On the one hand, I was devoured by curiosity about the international security agency wanting something from me. I did help catch the damned gnome, but what did that matter? I simply fulfilled my civic duty. On the other hand, if I did call, won’t it mean that I’m ceding ground and following the agent’s lead?

Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by the display that switched itself on. The already familiar snub-nosed face, adorned with straw-colored hair, appeared on the screen.

“Good morning, professor,” Wakovsky began, “Why haven’t you called me back? We know that you’ve listened to my message over three minutes ago, and I...”

But I interrupted him, “It may be a good morning for you, Agent! But it certainly isn’t for me! You are shamelessly violating the privacy law and...”

“I have a warrant for your arrest,” he suddenly interjected.

“What?!” I choked with indignation, “What do you have?! A warrant?! On what grounds?!”

“Professor Gonsales!” His voice became completely rigid, “You are accused of violating the civil code and will be escorted to the nearest Disciplinary Center.” The agent’s voice suddenly warmed up, he winked at me in an entirely inappropriate manner and continued, “By the way, I am at this center right now, because it also happens to be the headquarters of the International Security Agency. See you in a couple of minutes, professor.”

The display switched off, leaving me in a state of slight shock. Suddenly I realized that the taxi was flying in the opposite direction from my house all this time. So, all of it was set up in advance.

I tried to reboot the taxi, setting the direction that I wanted. But it didn’t respond to my voice commands or to my attempts to type in the address on the keyboard.

I tried to tell myself that I did nothing reprehensible, and I had no reason to dread the “disciplining.”

I guess this is the right time to explain what the Disciplinary Centers are. Today, they have already become the norm, but at the time of the events, they were still a real novelty. I’d even say – a frightening novelty.

The very idea that you could easily take a person and make them a different person (or modify, in scientific terms) was terrifying. What can be worse than losing your own self? Losing your individuality? This is exactly what the Disciplinary Centers, or DC for short, did.

The genetic modification law was adopted by the global community about four months before the events in this book transpired. The very first “disciplined” prisoners were just released, but your humble servant already had the (dubious) honor of meeting one of them.

It was my cousin Diego, who was arrested for selling tobacco illegally. He was about the same height as me, and we had very similar dispositions. Oh Lord, they changed him beyond recognition! When I came to meet him, Diego was sitting by an open window, staring at the ravens. He barely acknowledged me with a slight nod.

“Hey, cousin. Don’t you recognize me?” I asked.

“Of course, I recognize you, Rinaldo.” he slurred over the shoulder.

“Don’t you want to greet your cousin, Diego?” I addressed him once again.

“Sorry, Rinaldo, but you are disturbing me. I’m trying to write a poem about the birds... Please leave me alone,” he gave me a fleeting glance and then turned to face me all of a sudden, “Oh, Rinaldo! You are so handsome! I’d never noticed that before. May I dedicate a poem to you?”

“Hey, man! Are you out of your mind?!” I tried to reason with him.

“If you mean the previous me, then yes, I’m out of that mind,” he smiled. “Everything around us is filled with unearthly beauty. I used to be blind. Now my eyes are wide open. I love this world, Rinaldo! I feel amazing now. And I sincerely regret that you cannot share my existential joy.”

He took a deep breath and turned back to the window.

“Now I need to focus on glorifying the universe. Go, brother, and peace be with you.”

I left Diego alone, stunned to the core. My spirited cousin has become a preacher and a poet. And this is the atheist who could never put two words together on paper...

The agent was right. Less than two minutes later, the taxi landed smoothly on the DC roof. A whole delegation was there to meet me: Wakovsky himself, two uniformed guards with plasma guns at the ready and three civilians to boot.

As I disembarked the air taxi, I stretched out my arms demonstratively to be cuffed.

“There is no need for handcuffs, professor,” the beanpole grinned, “Nobody thinks you are a criminal.”

“In that case, I demand an explanation!” I perked up.

“Let’s go, there’s no time to spare, your colleagues will bring you up to date on the way,” was the answer, “By the way, here is your ID card. Please wear it.”

He handed me a badge with my holographic image on it. For a second, I had the eerie feeling that my head had been cut off, photographed and placed on the pass. The inscription under my face read: “Prof. R. Gonzalez, Consultant.”

I looked around and realized that one of the civilians was an old acquaintance of mine – professor Hugo Kreizmann from the University of Heidelberg, an expert in ancient Germanic languages. Professor Krei, as I called him, looked very excited, which was not typical for him. Grabbing my arm (I could never stand this habit of his, and he knew it very well), Hugo introduced me to the gentlemen who accompanied him. I was surprised to hear their names because they were familiar to me. The two turned out to be professors Ericksson and Ormson from the Universities of Stockholm and Oslo. Both of them, along with my German friend, were respected linguists, experts in the North Germanic, or Nordic, languages. And they were also flaunting the same ID cards.

“Come on, my dear Rinaldo,” Krei turned to me, still holding on to my arm, “There really is no time to spare.”

We entered an elevator and began to descend.

“Dear friend, you must be asking yourself why you are here,” he continued in the elevator, “Well, obviously you are here because you were escorted by force” he smirked.

“I don’t see anything funny!” I began seething as I tried to attach the ID to my lapel.

“Well, you are right, there is hardly anything funny about the present situation,” the German mournfully lowered his dark bushy eyebrows. And then, smiling again, he continued: “But you must admit, it’s pretty funny that the damned gnome only agreed to speak with the ‘warrior’ who’d captured him. And as most of humanity knows, you are that so-called ‘warrior’.”

“Speak with me?” I was surprised again, “But what language does he speak? And what could we possibly discuss?”

“Excellent questions, my friend!” The professor perked up. “But I will only answer the first one, and our dear agent Wakovsky will cover the second.”

I stared at him in bewilderment and gestured invitingly.

“I’m all ears, Krei.”

“You see, Rinaldo,” the German started, scratching the back of his head, “He speaks the Zwerg language.” Seeing that I was about to speak, he rushed on: “wait, wait, I’ll explain! The gnomes call themselves Zwergs, and their language is a hybrid between the ancient Upper Germanic dialect, Icelandic and Old Swedish.”

The elevator doors opened and we walked out into a long hallway with numerous doors on either side.

“Basically, the three of us, Ormson, Ericksson and I, somehow understand him and manage to translate through joint efforts,” Hugo ended with a note of regret in his voice. Apparently, Kreizmann’s current situation was not entirely satisfactory. He would prefer to work independently and become the sole author of the all-new Zwerg dictionary.

“As far as conversation subjects go,” the agent intercepted the conversation quickly, “Professor, we will instruct you what questions to ask, and these three gentlemen will translate. We are interested in absolutely everything. Most importantly, of course, everything related to the next attack.”

“And he’ll tell us everything right on the spot!” I said cynically, “Why would he tell us anything at all?”

“You are right, Mr. Gonzalez,” the agent unexpectedly agreed, “The gnome is totally unwilling to talk to anyone but you. And here’s the catch: apparently, this guy believes that he is your slave.”

“Forgive me, what was that?” I asked reluctantly, almost choking in surprise. “Heh... But why on earth?! As if the rest wasn’t enough! You may have misunderstood him, right?” I looked at everyone from below with hope.

“Oh no, his words were clear, my friend,” the German answered for everybody, “The word sraykh undoubtedly means slave.” The two Scandinavian professors nodded in unison.

“Who would have thought!” Hugo continued, already cheerful and allegedly reproachful, “Slavery has been revived in the modern world! And you, Rinaldo, are the first slave owner! Oh, and you could have passed for such a nice young man...” He cackled merrily. Looking at my stunned face, everyone else burst out laughing, but I was in no mood for laughter. That’s how I became the first slave owner in the modern world and I had absolutely no idea what to do with this fact.

Chapter3

Oath

Turning the corner, we entered the right door. The guard behind it sprung up instantly at the sight of our group. Following the others’ example, I showed my pass and was allowed through the next door.

We found ourselves in a lab, a fairly spacious, well-lit room. Its far wall was made from a seemingly very sturdy transparent material. People in white coats were scurrying about. Several others were lining the walls and staring at screens showing tables and graphs. Another group stood by the transparent wall, watching medical monitors, which displayed someone’s pulse, brain activity, blood pressure, and so on.

I noticed all this as we walked straight towards the big bald man who was clearly in charge of this entire commotion. He had already turned to face us, and by his posture and attitude, as well as by the way Wakovsky pulled himself together, I was certain that he was the one in command.

“Mr. Weber, sir,” the agent said with evident respect in his voice, “Allow me to introduce you to Professor Rinaldo Gonzalez, who kindly agreed to...”

“Kindly agreed?!” I snapped at once, interrupting him, “Blatant lie! That beanpole of yours, Wakovsky, arrested me! And, let me tell you, it’s all completely unfounded! You do realize that?”

“Well, Professor,” the bald man bent towards me, smiling slightly, “I’ve heard a lot about your personality. Rumors say that, what’s a good way to put it, you are not exactly docile – and I am glad that they turned out to be true. I was the one to grant Agent Wakovsky a warrant for your arrest, and let me tell you: it was very well-founded. The fact is that you, just like any other citizen, are bound by duty to assist the national security forces. It’s everyone’s civic duty. If you refuse, we have every right to arrest you and force you to cooperate. Or simply discipline you. The required equipment is at the ready. You do understand that, citizen Gonzalez?”

Hugo was standing slightly behind me. Without even looking, I knew that there was a smirk on his sleek German face. Meanwhile, the two Scandinavian linguists tried desperately to pretend that they were not really in the room.

Well, I could only nod helplessly. This was clearly not the time or the place for a row. There was nothing to say. His arguments were ironclad.

“There’s one more thing,” Weber continued, and a clear threat suddenly sounded in his voice, “I understand that you have some sort of a problem with the height of the agent appointed to supervise you. If you would prefer to work with a shorter agent, just say the word...”

“Oh no, Mr. Director,” I was scared and flustered, “Trust me. It’s all good. I am sure that Agent Wakovsky is the best man for this job.”

“That he is,” Weber grinned, “It’s a deal then! Now let’s get acquainted. I am Noah Weber, Deputy Director of National Security. I am very glad to meet you, professor. You are our hero. Now let’s get to work. Every minute is precious.”

Still uneasy, I followed the director to the transparent wall – when suddenly I saw him.

Damn it! A dwarf! A real gnome! I couldn’t make him out properly during our fight. He was clad in armor from head to toe then, and now all he was wearing were baggy pants and a rough shirt that hung below the waist. His hair was long and tousled, and his beard started right from under the eyes and went down to the waist. The close-set eyes under bushy red eyebrows were of a striking emerald-green color, and the image was completed with a bulging snub nose. Even without his armor, the warrior was a formidable sight. His broad shoulders and powerful muscular arms could command respect or even fear in anyone.

The dwarf was seated facing me on the soft white floor in the middle of the room, but he instantly leaped to his feet at the sight of his newly minted master and rushed towards me.

I pulled back instinctively. The dwarf was stopped by the thick transparent wall, which he’d apparently forgotten about, crashing into it full-force with his protruding forehead. The wall bent and straightened out again with a loud bla-am-m! and threw the wretched zwerg a couple of yards back. He tried again, shaking his head slightly and shouting something in his barbaric tongue. Another bla-am-m, and a faint crackling sound which, to be honest, alarmed me. I obviously wasn’t the only one.

“Can anyone make out what he is muttering in there?!” Weber snapped nervously, trying to offset the third bla-am-m.

The linguists got into a heated discussion which lasted longer than Weber’s patients.

“Are you finished?!” he exclaimed.

“Not quite. Ormson is Norwegian and I am Swedish” came Erickssons seemingly innocent response.

“NO! not Finnish! Finished!” the director was agitated. “Kreizmann, can I get a straight answer?”

“Well, we think he wants his poleax back,” Kreizmann blurted out, swallowing cautiously, after the sixth bla-am-m. “He wants to do something to Rinaldo’s legs. Either chop them off and throw them away, or just throw them away. We didn’t quite catch the verb. You see, his pronunciation is rather unintelligible...”

I felt unwell. What did he want with my legs, anyway? As if breaking one of them in the fight wasn’t enough, was he now determined to finish up what he’d started and break the second one as well?

He must have sent for me so that he could take revenge, not swear his allegiance, as he’d claimed before.

I looked at the dwarf. Strangely, I saw no rage in his green eyes, not like during the fight. Only despair, torment and determination to accomplish his goal by all means...

And then it dawned on me – to the sound of another bla-am-m! The poleax, of course!

“Mr. Weber!” I yelled hurriedly, “Please, tell someone to bring his poleax at once!”

“This is no time for jokes! I...” the director began to seethe.

“This is not a joke, Weber,” I interrupted him right away, “Don’t you see? This man... Oh, sorry, this dwarf is eager to swear his allegiance to me.”

Praise the Virgin Mary, the poleax was not far away. Two assistants appeared less than a minute later, bending under the weight of this formidable weapon. When the dwarf saw what they were carrying, he perked up even more, stopped ramming the wall with his head, and broke into some kind of mournful song. At the same time, he started dancing in a circle, jumping his own height every few steps. I was startled at first, but then worked up the courage and turned to the assistants:

“Give me the poleax!”

They looked at me, perplexed, but after seeing their boss nod, they carefully hoisted the poleax on my shoulder. I almost collapsed. Suddenly, my leg began aching, showing that it had not yet fully healed.

“Mr. Director,” I turned to Weber, “Please. Tell them to let me in.”

“Are you sure about this?” he asked me anxiously, “It may be very dangerous. We’ll keep the stunners at the ready, but...”

“I’m not sure about anything right now,” I interrupted resolutely, “But if you don’t let me in now, I don’t know if I’ll muster up the courage again. Open up! I handled him once before. I’ll beat him to a pulp if I have to!”

It seemed strange to me that no one had laughed. This bravado was clearly a complete fiction.

The transparent door slid to the side with a slight hiss, and I entered.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum,” I prayed to the Blessed Virgin.

It was the first time I prayed since I was ten. The first time since my dear mother died...

Then the door closed, but I didn’t hear it.

The dwarf rushed at me with a loud hoot, grabbed his poleax and cut through the air next to my face with a joyous grunt. Luckily, he wasn’t aiming to hit because I didn’t even have the time to pull back.

Strange way to discover that a poleax makes a third-rate fan.

Then, something utterly extraordinary happened.

The zwerg put on a whole performance.

Continuing with the same mournful song and dance, he began by circling around me, playfully passing the weapon from hand to hand. After a while, he started riding an imaginary animal (apparently, his buffalo), holding the poleax in one hand and the reins in the other. Then he went into a gallop. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks, held the poleax to his chest like a child, and pretended that he was running away, all the while looking back in fright. In general, he was quite convincing in portraying the woman he was chasing during the attack.

I grew curious and turned around to see how the people behind the wall were doing. Their mouths were gaping open. Mr. Noah Weber was scratching his bald head and his sizeable belly at the same time.

Meanwhile, the dwarf was already playing me. The spectacle, I must say, was not for the faint of heart. There I was. My tread was solemn and menacing. I surveyed the surroundings with a heroic gaze from my colossal height. Suddenly I noticed the worthless villain galloping and making fierce faces. Meanwhile, the woman (the alleged victim) was running away from the threat that was overtaking her, looking scared and hugging her precious child (shaped as a huge poleax).

My face grew angry when I saw this atrocity, and I incinerated the horned beast with just one look. The rider cried over his body, cursing his best friend’s bitter fate. Then he decided to take revenge by courageously attacking the huge enemy, who towered over him by a whole head. But the dreadful foe won and captured the brave knight with a magic net. The warrior resisted, but to no avail. Nothing could crush the human warrior. That’s all. End of story.

A tired, breathless zwerg approached and, kneeling in front of me, laid his weapon at my feet. Lowering his head, he made a short ardent speech, enunciating very clearly.

“I’m Pfyrfrie. Son of Balin. Decide my fate, oh great warrior. Kill me or make me your slave,” translated Professor Ormson almost synchronously, as he was apparently the first to come to his senses.

“Prf... What’s his name?” I was sincerely surprised, “That’s some name! Can’t even say it. Gentlemen, what do you suppose we do with all this?” I turned to those behind the wall.

“Make him your slave!” Mr. Weber perked up at once, “And give him a simpler name, his is just too much.”

“I dont know if he’ll accept a new name from me,” I doubted, “I don’t know their customs.”

“You can try,” said agent Wakovsky, “At worst, it just won’t work...”

“Alright. I’ll try,” I waved my hand hesitantly, “Hey, someone. Translate.” I turned to the gnome. “You are now my slave! You will obey my will until I decide otherwise. And by the way, I will call you Frie. So be it!”

“Thank you, my lord!” Professor Krei translated for me, “I thank you for your mercy and for the new name; now the noble name Pfyrfrie will not be defiled by slavery!”

Apparently, the dwarf was very pleased with the situation.

Well, so was I. I won’t need to tie my tongue in knots every time.

“Now rest,” I told him,“I’ll be back shortly and I will question you.”

“Yes, lord!” a quick response followed, and my newly minted slave stretched out right on the floor with his hands under his head.

Grabbing the poleax and swaying slightly under its weight, I walked out through the open door, which immediately separated me and my subject.

“Well, you’ve got some sense of humor, professor!” Wakovsky grinned as he took my weapon, “How did you think of something like that?!! Naming your slave Frie! Sounds like Free! Ha ha…”

Chapter4

The Zwerg world

After freshening up in the staff lounge, I returned to the lab, accompanied by the agent and three translators. The dwarf was sleeping, fulfilling my order to rest eagerly. You could hear his thunderous snores in the farthest corners of the spacious hall.

When we went through the barrier, the gnome opened his eyes and stretched like a cat. I could hear his vertebrae cracking. Then, he jumped up, bowed and, looking into my eyes with devotion, uttered something.

“Master, I rested,” his words were translated to me, “What are your wishes?”

Well, that was music to my ears! I was actually starting to enjoy this. I wish everyone would address me like that...

“You’re doing fine, Frie,” I patted him on the shoulder. “Now these people want to ask you some questions. Tell them everything you know, clearly and truthfully. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” was the prompt reply, “Let them ask.”

The conversation that followed, or, rather the interrogation, lasted over five hours. Wakovsky asked the questions, the professors conferred briefly and translated. They took a break once in a while when the agent ran out to call Weber, who was out on some secret business. Sometimes my intervention was required in order to remind the prisoner that the story should be more detailed and thorough.

We learned a lot. Some of the information surprised us, some was shocking, and some was simply mind-blowing. When we were finished, everyone was sweaty and tired.

All the consultants were settled in fairly decent accommodations, and we all went to our rooms to rest.

After four hours of sleep the interrogation started again. And so on, ad infinitum.

As I already mentioned, we learned quite a bit. I am providing what I believe to be the most revealing and interesting parts. The rest of the details are available in the reports that were released several years later.

The prisoner claimed that he comes from a world inhabited only by gnomes, or zwergs, as they call themselves.