Favorite of the Gods" cont. "Terranum" (3rd and 4th years)

III (finished)

They crouched, gripped by fear behind the tin railing. If it weren't for the creaking of the old door, they would have been caught red-handed. Both were now offering thanks to the unspecified god of all birds for sending a pigeon, which, as if on cue, had just flown into the hall through the open window. It took them half an hour to find the entrance. For all the world, they couldn't open the strange lock on the hall door. Only by walking around the warehouse did they manage to climb up the old, rusty fire escape to the roof and from there through the broken window into the hall. They crouched now, watching as the strange figure below returned to the storage room, closing the door behind him.

"That's the guy who did this to me," Sienkiewicz explained.

"Where was that portal supposed to be?"

Michał pointed to a spot on the south wall. Now a pile of cardboard boxes filled the area. "It's just an illusion." Michał was irritated by Robert's skepticism. "When it activates, it becomes terribly bright. I told you so.

" "Okay, okay, you said so. Let's try to find a way down."

They did as they decided. They carefully walked along the hall, along a metal walkway, to the ladder leading down. Robert's obesity caused him some trouble, as he couldn't fit through the narrow hoop securing the ladder. Only with Michał's help did he manage to squeeze through the entrance. They descended slowly, afraid to make any noise that might alert the "hatter," as Michał called it, the man guarding the warehouse. They felt more confident when their feet touched solid ground. Calmly and slowly, they walked, hiding in the shadows, to the place Michał had indicated. Robert bent down to pick up one of the boxes. Meanwhile, Michał was fingering the wall in disbelief.

"Illusion, you say..." Robert said in a sarcastic whisper, handing Michał a piece of cardboard. Michał angrily pushed his hand away. "Fuck!" I swear! It... was here. In this place!

He continued searching, realizing the absurdity of the situation. There was one more chance he could prove his story. They had to wait for the portal to reactivate. The problem was, that could happen now, or at some unspecified time in the future.

"We have to lie in wait here," he whispered. "And wait...

" "You're crazy! I have a column to write! I'm not going to chase ghosts or fairy tale creatures!

" "Please! At least see this guy. You can judge for yourself whether he's human or not.

" "Young, damn..." Robert said, getting angry, but he decided to give Michał one last chance. "Okay, let's get this over with."

They crept quietly to the closet. Robert cautiously peered inside, where a guard was sleeping on a couch in the corner. The problem was that he had covered himself with a blanket and was facing away. Besides, the dim light from the lamp on the simple table didn't cover the entire room. He showed this to Michał. "We'll wait a moment," he said. "If he doesn't turn around in five minutes, we're out."

Robert nodded in agreement. He leaned against the closet wall and began to play with a cigarette he'd pulled out. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an object lying among the newspapers on the floor. The object caught a reflection reflecting the light from the closet bulb. Robert walked over and picked it up. It was a small, round stone, a deep red. He began to examine it with interest. He showed it to Michał. "It's probably a ruby ​​or something."

His knowledge of gemstones wasn't very extensive. It was cold to the touch and unusually smooth. Michał weighed the stone in his hand. A real one would be worth something, he thought.

Shadows danced by the warehouse door. Someone was pressing in from the other side, trying to get inside! The startled journalists hurriedly hid behind boxes.

***

The sound of footsteps woke him. He jumped up quickly. He was already wide awake, alert. He had mastered the ability to sleep alertly and enter a state of alertness thanks to his military service during the Third War for Khartalis. He quickly reached for his cloak, beneath which he concealed a one-and-a-half-handed sword, fastened so as not to be seen. He turned off the lamp and, crouching, quickly moved to the door. He listened. Someone was trying the entrance lock. This calmed him somewhat. No human could break the magical spell guarding the entrance. He opened the closet door. He could see shadows beneath the narrow slit of the warehouse door. To his surprise, the door creaked open! He quickly ran, crouching, and hid behind the nearest pillar supporting the hall's roof. He cautiously peered around a pillar. Three people calmly entered, closing the door behind them. He recognized them immediately. Masked faces and floor-length cloaks covered in scaly skin. What were they doing here? How had they found a way around the portal? These questions swirled in his mind. He quickly dismissed them, focusing on the life-or-death struggle ahead. Slowly and reverently, he drew his sword. The figures approached, simultaneously spreading out to a distance of five paces. They sensed him at the same moment he sensed them. The steel of swords being drawn from scabbards hissed. "Saerivat! Yamahl! Saerivat! "

he heard a hissing voice.

Michał and Robert peeked furtively from between the boxes. They saw three figures walking confidently toward the storage unit. At intervals of five steps, swords drawn, they moved faster and faster. They heard incomprehensible words spoken in an unpleasant whisper, making the hair stand on end. Suddenly, a long-haired elf literally leaped from behind one of the pillars and in a single bound, found himself at the leftmost attacker. He attacked with unprecedented fury, raining blows upon his opponent. The other two, with elven-like leaps, leaped toward their opponent. A fight ensued. The melody of crossed blades echoed through the warehouse. The three-on-one advantage boded ill for the elf. Now he was the one retreating under the onslaught of the attackers. Pirouette, block, dodge, a barely parried slash to the thigh. Dodge, counter, dodge, and pirouette again.

Both journalists watched captivated by this incredible ballet. Despite being in a vulnerable position, the elf refused to give up easily. Not only did he parry the blows, he tried to land them. And it was precisely one of the desperately delivered slashes that found its mark, as the attacker let out a strangled gasp and staggered backward. He slammed his back hard against a pillar and collapsed to the floor. A dark pool of blood quickly spread across the floor beside him. The elf, empowered by another pirouette, avoided the slash and leaped out of the corner into which his attackers had driven him. "Gravity doesn't work on them?!" The thought flashed through Michał's mind. The taller of the attackers let out an angry growl. They advanced even more determinedly on the elf, whose strength was rapidly fading. He retreated. He retreated and parried the slashes and blows delivered at inhuman speed. He jumped back again. The attackers were upon him in a split second. He must have been counting on it, as he landed a sly kick to the stomach of one of them. He fell backward. The elf quickly seized the opportunity and struck the other in the masked face with the butt of his sword. He then corrected himself with a short thrust, burying the blade in his chest.

No longer so confident, the last of the attackers crouched and changed tactics. He didn't attack. He began to circle the elf on the left. They circled for a moment, catching their breath and gathering their strength for the decisive battle.

The first, masked, moved forward. He attacked again with fury. Blow after blow. Swordplay on a cosmic level! Sienkiewicz thought, watching the spectacle. Both opponents fought as if inspired. He barely saw the blows, a hail of which rained down on the elf in a split second, only to reverse the tables and have the elf attack. Suddenly, the combatants locked horns for a moment, then immediately retreated. The fight ended as suddenly as it had begun. Both were staggering on their feet. Both were bleeding profusely, streaking the floor with gore. The masked man hissed and fell to his knees, face first into a pool of his own blood. The elf leaned on his sword, swayed for a moment, then also sank to the ground, motionless.

"What are we doing?" Robert asked in a different voice.

"Let's get out."

They emerged from behind the boxes on stiff legs. They cautiously approached the first body. Robert nudged the masked man with his foot. He was undoubtedly dead. Dark blood spread in a wide puddle. They approached the elf. He was lying on his back in his own blood. He'd been hit in the left side. To Michał, he looked even paler than he actually was. Suddenly, Robert jumped at him.

"He's alive!" he exclaimed. "Let's quickly carry him to the storage unit!"

They laid him on the couch. He was unconscious. Robert ripped open his own shirt to make a makeshift dressing. The wound was very ugly and bleeding profusely. The elf's side was torn ten centimeters wide. The dressing helped somewhat to staunch the blood that had already stained half the bed.

The elf opened his eyes and gazed at them with blurry vision.

"My bag..." he began in a weak, breaking voice.

"Hush, don't say anything," Robert said.

"In my bag... there are... medicines," he stammered.

Michael quickly rushed to the elf's backpack. At first, he couldn't manage the strange maple leaf-shaped clasp, but finally it gave way. He emptied the contents onto the table.

"What am I looking for?" he asked the elf.

"A gray... box."

Michael found a gray, round box and quickly opened it. Inside was a horribly stinking goo. He also found green bandages. He turned to the elf and asked, "What should I do with this... something?

" "Apply it... around the wound... It will neutralize the poison. Bandages... too..."

He lost consciousness. Robert took a rust-colored ointment and, following the elf's instructions, smeared it around the wound. He applied a new dressing, and with Michael's help, who lifted the elf slightly, they bandaged him. Exhausted, they collapsed into chairs. They looked at each other.

"We have to call an ambulance and the police," said Michał.

"Fuck! What an article! What a sensation!" Robert exclaimed. They were both still in shock. They couldn't quite recover. Although, considering their state, they were still quite sober.

"Why didn't I bring my phone?" Robert continued to regret, not quite hearing what Sienkiewicz was saying. "We have to call the boss!"

He dialed the editor-in-chief's number, but hung up before the call went through. He looked at his phone, then at Michał. He didn't know what to do. The elf shifted uncomfortably. He mumbled something. "He has a fever," Michał observed, and suddenly changed the subject. "You believe me now, huh?

" "Ha! Do I believe you? Man, I almost wet myself! This is going to be a Pulitzer Prize! You're going to take me on as a co-author, right?"

Michał laughed nervously and nodded. Meanwhile, a flash outside the storage unit's window caught their attention. They both jumped to their feet and jumped into the hall. The bodies of the attackers were gone! Where they lay, only the air rippled as if heated. They left behind stains of dark blood, already seeping into the dusty concrete.

"What the fuck?!" Sienkiewicz cursed.

"Well, we don't have to call the police...

" "Why not?" Michał exclaimed indignantly.

"What are you going to tell them? There are no bodies. They'll lock us up." He said this in a sad voice and added, "Pulicer passed by... But no!" He suddenly perked up, delighted. "We still have the elf! Even a dead one will be useful! I'm calling the boss!

" "Wait!" Michał reassured him. "Don't call yet. I'm not sure we can publicize this..."

The elf was raving. He spoke in a strange language. He shifted nervously on the couch, requiring both of them to hold him down. A moment later, he calmed down again. His forehead was damp with sweat. The deadly poison coursed through his veins. The elf was fighting for his life.

"How so?!" Teddy Bear was astonished, his eyebrows rising significantly. "We have to publicize this! Who else? We're journalists!

" "Get a grip!"

Robert Teddy Bear, despite being a journalist, also realized they couldn't publicize the entire matter. He clearly remembered the recording Michał had brought and what the elves had said. No human could get near the portal, in whose existence, after what he'd seen today, he'd begun to believe. This threatened its destruction. And if the matter were exposed, they wouldn't be able to stop the military and scientists from conducting experiments that would only bring trouble, to put it mildly.

"But we have to notify the boss!

" "Yes, we have to," Michał agreed. "Otherwise, he'd hang us by the balls!"

Robert pulled out his phone and called his superior. He briefly recounted what had happened in the warehouse. They had been ordered not to move until his arrival.

***

IV

The Editor-in-Chief and owner of the newspaper arrived at the scene well after one in the afternoon. He brought a few sandwiches and, with professional precision, began examining the warehouse. He took photos of the places where the bodies had previously lain, as well as of the unconscious elf, who had suffered a nervous coughing fit. Then he listened to the journalists' accounts and decided that in the evening they would take the injured man to a doctor they knew.

"It will be easier to move him to the wagon after dark," he said. "We have to stay here and pray that the ancymon doesn't kill us."

Piotr Kozłowski was both the editor-in-chief of the newspaper and its main sponsor. Michał considered him the luckiest person in the world. He hadn't amassed a fortune through hard work, nor had he received an inheritance. About a year ago, he'd won a considerable sum in the lottery, the amount of which no one really knew. He was thirty-seven years old, athletic, and obsessed with UFOs. He didn't flaunt his wealth, claiming it was better not to tempt "tracksuits" and other random events.

Robert and Michał gratefully accepted the hamburgers their boss brought them. They devoured them quickly, but as Robert said, it only irritated his taste buds.

The unconscious elf had calmed down for some time. Apparently, the stinking goo he'd had smeared on himself had done the trick, and now he was sleeping soundly. From time to time, Michał would change the cold compress on his feverish head, and Robert would check the dressing. They had a moment of peace, so the Editor-in-Chief decided to consider their next steps. It was clear they shouldn't let anyone in on the whole affair. It was also clear that one of them would have to wait here for the elf's "friends" to appear.

"It would be best if you, Michael, guarded the Portal," said Piotr. "They know you, so your presence will inspire confidence in them."

"It will, or it won't," interrupted Michał gloomily.

"Relax. Knowing we have their companion, they won't make any rash moves. So you have to stay put here. Robert will help me transport the elf to Wiola later. Then he'll come back here so you can sleep. In case of uninvited guests, you can hide behind the boxes.

" "Okay... But bring me some coffee.

" "I'll pick up the coffee right away. I didn't buy it earlier because I was in a hurry. I'll bring you some newspapers so you don't get bored."

They talked like that for two hours. They agreed that only after establishing contact with the elf's superiors would they be able to take more concrete action. They would also assist in the search for the Chosen One the elves spoke of. They had no idea what they meant by this term. They only knew that it was someone the Portal could "accept." However, they had no idea if he or she would otherwise meet any special requirements or values, and they preferred not to speculate.

After two hours, Piotr Kozłowski left for town for coffee and pizza, leaving the journalists alone.

The conversation veered off course. They began to ponder the vision of the world on the other side of the Portal. The elves used the name Terranum, which meant nothing to them. Each of them developed their own vision. Michał, being very familiar with Tolkien's work, presented his vision of Terranum based on the descriptions of the unrivaled master of the fantasy genre. Robert, on the other hand, was completely clueless, and according to his notion, drawn from children's fairy tales, elves were supposed to be like small butterflies with wings and should live in tree hollows or on flowers. Neither of them knew at the time that the truth was entirely different.

***

After another two hours, Kozłowski returned. They dug into the pizza and devoured it in the blink of an eye, washing it down with bitter coffee from a thermos. Meanwhile, the setting sun's rays filtered through the warehouse's upper windows, illuminating the eastern wall with a golden hue. Michał found himself staring through the dirty windows of the storage room at the golden-lit space. He remembered the glow of the Portal, which was more white than the color of the rays.

As they had previously agreed, they began preparing to move the elf to the Editor-in-Chief's car. They constructed a makeshift stretcher from a blanket and two boards they had found in the hall. They carefully carried the unconscious man. Michał gathered the elf's belongings and searched the wardrobe in the corner of the storage room. He found nothing else. The green backpack seemed to be his only possession.

They waited a few more minutes for the outside to become semi-dark. Finally, Kozłowski judged it was the right time to move. They carried the injured man through the hall to an old, rusty door. They were about to open it when a strange whooshing sound, as if something were sucking air from within, was heard. Suddenly, the entire room was flooded with a light Michał knew well. They turned around. A cold shiver of excitement, fear

, and a sudden surge of adrenaline ran through all three of them. The Portal appeared before their eyes in all its glory.

The portal's surface rippled as if filled with water. It bulged and disgorged three figures clad in green-and-black cloaks. They stood still for a moment, as if trying to adjust their vision to the warehouse's semi-darkness. As soon as they spotted the journalists, they all leaped toward them in one long leap, drawing their swords. The next second, Michał felt the cold blade on his Adam's Adam. They stood frozen, afraid to speak or move. Three more figures appeared in the hall. One was a woman, and at the sight of her, Michał let out a breath he had been holding in suspense. Thank God, the Queen, he thought. The remaining two scattered around the hall, securing the perimeter.

The Queen walked with airy steps towards the journalists frozen in fear and said to Michał: - Hello, Mr. Sienkiewicz.

"Greetings, my queen. You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

The queen of the Nessarithpolis clan—the Guardians of the Portal—smiled at him gently. But in the next moment, her face paled as she recognized the elf on the stretcher. "Fabian! What happened here?"

"Three attackers broke into the warehouse. Lord Fabian fought back and is gravely wounded.

" "Attackers?

" "Three, in similar cloaks. Scales," he explained.

"Yamahl! "

At the sound of that word, the guards guarding them stiffened visibly and began to scan the area more carefully.

"Where are they?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Fabian killed them. Then their bodies disappeared!

" "Yamahl, Knights of Remanthilldros! How did they get here?

" "I have no idea, my lady." They entered through the door.

The astonishment on Robert's face was increasingly evident. His eyes barely fit in their sockets. Probably to avoid them falling out, he said to Michał: "Wait a minute! Do you understand her?!"

"Yes," Sienkiewicz replied casually. Kozłowski also confirmed this.

"Do you understand this grating gibberish?!" Robert couldn't understand.

"Fuck! And I don't!"

To him, not a single word the woman uttered was incomprehensible; it sounded like guttural rasping! He couldn't for the life of him understand it. Michał looked impatiently at his colleague. "I have some kind of gift. Telepathic. And the boss, I think, too, because I know he understands too," he explained quickly and turned to the queen:

"Forgive my colleague. He can't understand your language.

" "Not everyone has this gift," she explained, then ordered the guards to lift the stretcher containing the wounded elf.

They returned to the locker. The queen immediately attended to Lord Fabian. She examined the wound, which had already stopped bleeding, but had clearly become ugly and swollen. Two guards continued to watch over the journalists, but now without their drawn swords.

"We can't heal him here," she said after a moment. "He must be transported to our world as quickly as possible!"

She motioned to the guards, who quickly read her order, lifted the wounded man, and carried him out of the locker. A moment later, the hall lit up again. After each passage, the portal faded, and the curtain of illusion fell again.

The Queen now had time to question Michael about how he and his companions had ended up in the warehouse and how he remembered their first meeting. He spent some time explaining what had happened in the warehouse today, and with a twitch of his cheeks, he confessed to cheating with the dictaphone, which had deactivated the "oblivion spell." He introduced his associates and tried to demonstrate their invaluable assistance.

After listening to Michael's account, the Queen remained silent for a long moment. He began to wonder if he had bored her and if she had fallen asleep. Finally, just as he was about to ask her, she spoke:

"Thank you very much, gentlemen. It seems, thanks to you, Lord Fabian has a chance of recovery. And this will not be forgotten. In our world, we can find no clues as to the Chosen One's location. All the old traditions, songs, and books are either rather vague about him, or completely silent on the matter." I'm afraid we may have to wait a very long time to find the One.

Michał desperately wanted to help her, but nothing came to mind. A complete void filled his thoughts. He couldn't imagine what a human being, and a Chosen One at that. The only person he could think of was Jesus Christ. But he already belonged to the future. And a rather dead one at that. Apparently, his companions weren't very good at helping the elven queen either.

"With your permission, Queen," Kozłowski said uncertainly. "If we had any information about this... Chosen One"—it sounds strange and has some associations, he thought. "We could use our influence to find him..."

"Thank you, gentlemen, but we have to handle this matter ourselves. Once we know who we're looking for, we'll definitely ask for your help."

She thought for a moment and, as if speaking to herself, said aloud: "How did Remanthilldros find a way around the portal?" It takes incredibly strong and dangerous magic to do this...

Robert the Bear, who understood nothing of the conversation, wasn't quite sure what to do. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. As he did so, a red stone accidentally fell out, rolling across the floor, covered in old, yellowed linoleum. This didn't escape the attention of those talking. The Queen's eyes widened at the sight of the ruby.

"Where did you get this?

" "It must have fallen from one of those attackers," explained Sienkiewicz.

She picked up the stone and began examining it in the lamplight, turning it over and over in her hands. Then she cupped it in her delicate hands and, with her eyes closed, began to slowly massage it. After a moment, she opened her eyes and said aloud, but again as if to herself:

"Brilliant! Remanthilldros enchanted great magic into this stone. It was thanks to this power that he was able to construct the necklace of transport. Why didn't we think of this!? "

Seeing the journalists' eyebrows raised in surprise, she quickly explained:

"It was thanks to these necklaces that the Remaths transported themselves to the other side of the portal! It takes great magical knowledge and a lot of courage to decide to use necklaces of transport over such a distance! If something went wrong, the person using the necklace would lose their life, and even the portal itself could be damaged! It's growing stronger! We must act!"

She rose. The guards who had been standing outside the door, seeing this, entered. However, she changed her mind and stopped.

"You must be very careful now. More of the dragon lord's mutants could appear here at any moment.

" "One of my Knights will remain here to guard the passage. We will soon dispatch a larger force to you." In our world, we can still repel the attacks of hordes of dragons and their mutated warriors, but here we can't be of much help... We don't belong in this world, and our powers aren't very strong here. We'll contact you soon. For now, return to your duties. In two days, I'll summon you, and we'll meet back here.

The journalists nodded and also rose. They left the hall. The queen gave orders in a hushed voice to her guards, one of whom bowed respectfully and went to the storage room. The queen herself quickly said goodbye to the journalists and moved toward the wall where the portal was located. She raised her hands and uttered an incantation. The portal's blinding light illuminated the room once again. The queen, accompanied by a single guard, moved toward it.

Suddenly, from above, from beneath the tin roof, a scream rang out, causing everyone to freeze.

"Saerivat!

" "The Remath!"

The next events unfolded very quickly. From a height of fifteen meters, several attackers, already familiar to the two journalists, jumped down (unharmed!). Four of them ran toward the queen, the stunned journalists, and the bodyguard, who had drawn his sword. The queen shouted a spell, and with a hiss and a crack, lightning shot out toward the two attackers. Both fell onto their backs, their bodies convulsed with electricity. The other two attacked the queen's guard. He gracefully dodged a sweeping blow to the head. He parried the second with his own sword and, with a pirouette, found himself behind the attackers. But they were no longer attacking him. They rushed at the queen and the journalists. The elf only managed to shout, "Run!" and cleverly jumped aside. Where she had stood a second before, Remath's blade pierced the air. At that moment, the second guard emerged from the closet, engaging the remaining three attackers. Kozłowski and Miś fled. Michał, undecided, froze in place. He watched the battle unfold in fascination, as if in slow motion. He saw the queen, using a series of evasive maneuvers, dance between two sword-wielding Remaths. He saw the guard attack one of them from behind. The elf's blade pierced his back and exited in the middle of his chest, a stream of dark blood. He heard the scream of the second elf, who was just falling to the ground, mortally wounded. He saw the three Remaths leaping toward the queen with unnatural leaps, surrounding her. One of them quickly attacked the surviving elf. Michał heard the cries of his colleagues, already standing by the door. Driven by some strange instinct, he ran toward the attackers attacking the queen. He shouldered the first one on the left in the back, as if in American football. As he fell, the second Remath struck, sending both tumbling across the dirty concrete floor. The queen took advantage of this, jumping aside before three blades whizzing through the air. She tried to grab Michał's hand and run toward the journalists. But the two attackers whom Sienkiewicz had knocked down quickly recovered and, with triumph on their brown-scaled faces, blocked their path. One of them swung his sword. The queen pushed Michał, who limply collided with another of the attackers. This was the only way he could maintain his balance. The queen began dancing again, dodging the blows without having time to cast spells. Two Remaths attacked her simultaneously. In a fit of madness, Michał lunged at the queen, pushing her into the portal. A split second later, he felt two blades slice through his back, shattering his shoulder blade and sliding across his ribs.

In the blinding flash of the portal, propelled by the momentum, he felt the portal suck in and pull him behind the queen before falling into darkness.