Дмитрий Мансуров - Invasion

It wasn’t a bad idea at all. It was at least worth trying.

Kashchey hadn’t been flying on his ghostly horse for long, but he got so tired from having to hold the princess and fight the oncoming gust of wind along with turbulence that he almost fell from the saddle when the horse landed. It stopped in front of a hidden entrance to the castle on the flat roof of one of the four allegedly decorative turrets. The secret doors opened, and Kashchey entered the spacious turret and pressed the button. A high-speed elevator crossed the distance of forty meters in one swoop and stopped at the second floor, which was used mainly for storage of various stuff. Upon opening the door to the ever-vacant guest room, Kashchey put the sleeping princess on the bed and quietly walked away.

‘Who would have thought!’ he told himself. ‘ I’ve had quite a powerful effect on them all!’

No objections followed. And where would they come from, anyway? Kashchey stretched, squared his shoulders, and headed toward the viewing room. He was very curious to know how the king reacted to the kidnapping of his daughter. The impact of the sleeping gas had to last a rather long time, but Kashchey was hoping that the royal family members had already woken up.

It was time for a documentary. The one shown in a five-foot plate with a golden rim. Unfortunately, he had no magical Apple. Kashchey had eaten it by accident as he was watching some tumultuous event happening on the screen. The image didn’t get worse, but it became impossible to turn off the plate. Now, it was broadcasting events all day and all night long, occasionally stopping to produce strange repetitive videos of questionable things that Kashchey knew nothing about. The creatures that were promoting the efficiency of these things didn’t look all that good themselves, so Kashchey didn’t really believe their moving speeches about the newest wonders of the world. Instead, he was wistfully recalling a time when the apple was still rotating, following the usual plate trajectory.

The numerous attempts to replace this Apple with others didn’t bring about the desired results. The pieces of fruit quickly shrank and turned dry. He needed a de-aging apple, a special one, one that retained its form for literally thousands of years. It was perfect for the mysterious “signal filter” that was written about in the document that came with the plate. Kashchey sometimes cursed himself for knowing how to read, especially when it came to the most disgusting tales that poisoned his eyes. Kashchey suspected that there was some complex story behind these apples. He also knew that they were still growing on a single tree someplace in the middle of nowhere. This tree had an incredibly long lifespan, and for growing, all it needed was sand in large quantities. It lived by its own internal schedule, regardless of the seasons. For the apples to grow and ripen, three hundred years had to pass. These fruits grew in a small quantity, which was why they were protected better than anything else in the world. During each of the clips, Kashchey was thinking about conquering the impregnable fortress, but arranging the apocalyptic light show (also known as overly strong protection) just to watch the plate in peace wasn’t necessary. Not yet.

Currently, the plate was reflecting the marvelous city of Slavnograd. The image was colored but without sound. Kashchey could determine the content of conversations of those present only by observing their hectic emotions. The most interesting thing wasn’t the transmission itself, but the way he could watch the objects of his interest. Kashchey couldn’t grasp how events made their way into the plate. Someone had to watch the audience to shoot them from different angles and sides. As they say, before you leave, you need to enter. And how all these people entered remained an unsolved mystery. Once, Kashchey turned on the stream and nearly lost his mind after seeing his own face up close. He’d spent ages on trying to find who had been spying on him. The empty air in front of him didn’t seem like a suspect, but nothing else was in the vicinity. Actively waving his hands in front of him also didn’t bring the expected results. The image didn’t change one bit. Kashchey had to admit that everything around him was under the control of some unknown forces and their long, curious noses.

“Long noses, huh? Well, I’ll cut them down to size!” Kashchey promised firmly, and for the sake of reassuring himself, he pushed the idea of continuously monitoring the far depths of his subconscious. Reading dictionaries in the library of the castle after seeing the obscure recommendations wasn’t in vain, and Kashchey learned a lot of strange terms. He had to bring the castle to order a long time ago, but he comforted himself with the thought that for an immortal, time wasn’t an issue, so the day for research would come. Around the end of the next millennium, most likely.

In the empty and seemingly endless hall, Prince Yaroslav stood in front of the depressed king, along with his younger brother Artem. The rest of the guests, who didn’t have time to actually wake up and get over their excruciating headache, suddenly remembered about some urgent things they had to complete, so they rushed off in the middle of the night. In this particular case, considering what had happened, time was meaningless. Everyone knew about Kashchey and his doings, so they understood one thing clearly. Any fool could try to rescue the princess from trouble, but luck would smile only for a sheer madman. Or someone in love. And Prince Yaroslav fit both criteria perfectly. The guests wished him good luck whole-heartedly, apologized to the king, and quietly disappeared from sight.

“Cowards!” Kashchey shouted into a plate. Unfortunately for him, the transmission was one-sided. “How about coming at me altogether? Where is the mutual assistance you monarchs are so proud of? Or is it ‘the two of you fight, the rest of us doesn’t mind’ thing?”

The desire to throw something heavy at the royals had almost led to catastrophic consequences. At the last moment, Kashchey realized that he was attacking a plate with one-way communication, so a copper statuette flew just above the target.

“I am ashamed of you,” he announced harshly, but then brightened again. “Then again, what am I going on about? Hurry up, you lazy bastards! Time waits for no man! There is so much more to come, and you’re fixated on some sleeping princess? Good riddance! Eat ‘til you burst!”

The princes who decided to look for Maria held his interest. They were clearly crazy if they decided to wage a local war against him. He remembered one of them well. It was the man that had been trying to protect the princess with all his might, and he almost succeeded. The second prince was just like the first but younger.

“Looks like recklessness runs in their family,” Kashchey muttered. “To die in the prime of their lives! And for what?”

The grief-stricken king said something to the princes, who answered confidently. Then he rose from his throne and embraced them. Kashchey chuckled. He could easily guess what was going to happen now. The princes didn’t waste any time. They jumped on their horses and rode toward his castle.

“The showdown begins,” Kashchey declared loudly, rising to his feet. Only deep silence answered him, silence that had become so familiar over the years. Kashchey cast a parting glance at the plate. The king was sitting on the throne, his head lowered as he stared at a small portrait of his daughter. The servants crowded a good distance away from him, not risking disturbing His Majesty.

“You were much more cheerful when you were young, Nicodemus,” he murmured.