This is a work of fiction.

All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are
either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.

THE SCAR

English translation copyright © 2012 by Marina and Sergey Dyachenko

Originally published as Ш PAM in 1997 by ACT in Moscow

Copyright © 1997 by Marina and Sergey Dyachenko

All rights reserved.

A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010

www.tor-forge.com

Tor ® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Diachenko, Serhii, 1945–

[Shram. English]
The scar / Sergey Dyachenko and Marina Dyachenko. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-7653-2993-6
I. Diachenko, Marina. II. Title.
PG3949.14.I15S3313 2012
891.73'5—dc23
2011025177

First Edition: February 2012

 1

The walls of the crowded tavern were shaken from the boom of drunken
voices. After solemn mutual toasts, after good-natured but pointed jests, after
cheerful scuffles, it was now time to dance on the table. They were dancing
with a pair of maidservants who, although as sober as their work required,
were flushed and giddy from the glitter of epaulets; from all the gleaming
buttons, scabbards, and ribbons; from the passionate glances directed at them;
and from their efforts to please the gentlemen of the guards. Glasses and jugs
tumbled to the floor. Silver forks twisted into fanciful arabesques, crushed
by nimble heels. The maidservants’ full skirts fanned through the air like
decks of cards in the hands of a gambler, and their happy squeals rang in
the ears of the onlookers. The landlady of the tavern, a wise, gaunt old woman
who only occasionally stuck her nose out from her refuge in the kitchen,
knew that there was nothing to worry about: the guards were rich and
generous, and the damages would be recouped with interest, and more impor-
tant, the popularity of the establishment would increase a thousandfold after
this evening.
After dancing, the revelers calmed down, the din of voices quieted just a
bit, and the maidservants, panting and adjusting their clothing, refilled the jugs
that had escaped being smashed and brought new glasses from the kitchen.
Now, having returned to their senses, both girls bashfully lowered their
eyelashes, ashamed at how freely they had behaved. At the same time, an ar-
dent, chimerical hope for something vague, something entirely unfeasible smol-
dered within the soul of each girl, and whenever a dusty boot brushed against
14 s e r g e y a n d m a r i n a d ya c h e n k o

one of their tiny feet as if by accident, that hope flared up and imbued their
youthful faces and tender necks with color.
The girls were named Ita and Feta, so it was only natural that the befuddled
carousers kept confusing their names; moreover, many of the guards could no
longer manage their tongues and thus were scarcely able to compliment the
girls further. The impassioned glances were fading, and together with them
the girlish hopes for something unrealizable were slowly diminishing, when a
heavy battle dagger suddenly slammed into the doorjamb right above Ita’s
head.
The room became quiet immediately, so quiet that the landlady stuck her
inflamed purple nose out of her kitchen. The revelers looked around in mute
amazement, as if they expected to see the menacing Spirit Lash on the smoke-
fouled ceiling. Bewildered, at first Ita just opened her mouth, but then, finally
realizing what had happened, she dropped an empty jug on the floor.
In the tense silence, a heavy chair scraped back from one of the tables.
Trampling the fragments of the broken jug under his boots, a man unhurriedly
approached the girl. The knife sheath on his belt was empty, but soon the sin-
ister weapon was extracted from the doorjamb and slid back into its place.
The man took a piece of gold from a fat purse.
“Take it, girl. Would you like to earn more?”
The tavern exploded with shouts and laughter. The gentlemen guards—
those who were still in any condition to move—joyfully clapped one another
on the shoulders and backs, rejoicing at the bold and fortunate amusement
thought up by their comrade.
“That’s Egert! Bravo, Egert! A daring brute, upon my word! Well, do it
again!”
The owner of the dagger smiled. When he smiled, a dimple appeared on his
right cheek near the corner of his mouth.
Ita helplessly clenched her fists, unable to take her eyes off that dimple. “But,
Lord Egert, you can’t just . . . Lord Egert!”
“What, are you afraid?” Egert, a lieutenant of the regiment, asked smoothly,
and Ita broke out in a sweat before the gaze of his clear gray blue eyes.
“But!”
“Stand with your back to the door.”
“But, Master Egert, you’ve all been drinking so heavily!”
“What! Don’t you trust me?”
Ita’s feathery eyelashes fluttered repeatedly. The spectators crawled onto
 the scar 15

the tables in order to see better: even the truly drunk ones sobered up for the
sake of such a spectacle. The landlady, more than a bit agitated now, stood
frozen in the kitchen doorway with a mop held motionless at her side.
Egert turned to the guards. “Knives! Daggers! Whatever you have!”
Within a minute, he was bristling like a porcupine.
“You’re drunk, Egert,” Dron, another lieutenant, let the words drop as if
by accident.
A swarthy young man peeled himself from the crowd of guards. “Really?
He hasn’t drunk all that much. Why, it’d barely wet a bedbug’s knees, the
amount he’s drunk! How can he be drunk?”
Egert burst out laughing. “True! Feta, wine!”
Feta obeyed: not immediately, but slowly and mechanically, and simply
because she would not dare to disobey the request of a customer.
“But, but,” stammered Ita, watching as a gurgling waterfall of wine tum-
bled down Egert’s throat.
“Not a word,” he spat, wiping his lips. “Stand back, everyone.”
“Oh, he is drunk!” The shout came from among the gathering of specta-
tors. “He’s going to kill the girl, the idiot!”
A small brawl ensued, but it was soon quieted. Apparently, the heckler had
been dealt with.
“I’ll give you a coin for each throw,” explained a teetering Egert to Ita.
“One coin per shot. Stay where you are!”
The girl, who had been slowly trying to withdraw from the oak door, fear-
fully staggered back to her previous position.
“One, two . . .” Egert took the first throwing knife that came to hand from
the mass of weapons. “No, this is so boring. Karver!”
The swarthy youth appeared next to him as if he had been awaiting this
summons.
“Candles. Put candles in her hands and one on her head.”
“No!” Ita burst into tears. For a moment, the silence was broken only by
her distressed sobs.
“How about this?” An extraordinary thought, it seemed, had dawned on
Egert. “For each throw, I’ll give you a kiss.”
Ita slowly raised her tearstained eyes, but the few seconds of procrastina-
tion were enough.
“Let me!” Feta pushed her friend out of the way, stood in front of the door,
and took the lit candles from the hands of Karver, who was snickering.
16 s e r g e y a n d m a r i n a d ya c h e n k o

The blades clipped the quivering flames ten times, they entered the wood
directly over the girl’s head another two times, and they passed within a fin-
gerbreadth of her temple yet three more times. Lieutenant Egert Soll kissed
the lowly maidservant Feta a total of fifteen times.
Everyone considered it well played except for Ita. She fled to the kitchen to
sob. Feta’s eyes were lowered, and the skillful hands of the lieutenant rested
on her waist. The landlady looked on sorrowfully, yet with understanding. It
soon became obvious that Feta was feverish and swooning from passion.
Somewhat uneasy, Lord Soll decided to take her to her room; he was not gone
for very long, but once he returned, he encountered the rapturous, somewhat
envious looks of his comrades.
The night was already well past its peak when the company finally quit the
welcoming establishment. Lieutenant Dron spoke to Egert’s swaying back.
“All the mothers in the district scare their daughters with stories of Lieuten-
ant Soll. You truly are a rascal.”
Someone chuckled.
“That merchant Vapa, you know, that rich man who bought the empty
house on the embankment? Well, he just brought in a young wife from the
provinces, and guess what: He’s already been informed by the local gossips
that he should fear neither pestilence nor ruin, but a young guard by the
name of Soll.”
Everyone laughed except for Karver. He frowned at the mention of the
merchant’s wife, gritted his teeth, and said, “That’s what I thought. Someone
let it slip in all innocence, and now the merchant doesn’t sleep a wink. He guards
her.” He crossly tossed his head. Obviously, the merchant’s wife had long oc-
cupied his thoughts, but her jealous husband had managed to disoblige him by
his very existence.
Wobbling, Egert stopped, and the blissful vacancy of drunkenness on his
face gradually gave way to interest. “Are you lying?”
“If I were lying?” reluctantly responded Karver. The conversation seemed
oppressive to him.
The whole company gradually sobered up enough to consider the situation;
someone chuckled at the thought of intrigue.
Egert drew his sword from its sheath, his renowned sword of ancient de-
sign, and holding its narrow edge close to his face, he solemnly pronounced,
“I vow that the merchant shall not protect himself, not from pestilence, not
from ruin, and definitely not from—”
 the scar 17

His last words were drowned out by an outburst of laughter. Karver’s face
darkened, and he hunched his head down into his shoulders.

The glorious city of Kavarren was as ancient as it was militaristic. In no other

city did there live, side by side, so many renowned descendants of venerable
houses; in no other city did there grow such an assortment of family trees.
Nowhere else were valor and military skill so highly valued: the only thing
Kavarren valued as highly as prowess with a blade and bravery in battle was
skill in breeding and training boars, whose fights were the primary entertain-
ment in the city.
Any House in Kavarren could, if necessary, withstand the onslaught of
hundreds of troops. The walls of every manor were surpassingly strong and
thick, the unassailable, narrow windows cut in these walls loomed darkly,
and a multitude of steel spikes protruded here and there on both gates and
doors. An entire arsenal, consisting of myriad types of weapons, was carefully
deposited in the vault of each house, and above each roof a banner, adorned
with fringe, waved proudly. On the exterior side of the gates, each house
boasted a coat of arms, one sight of which might put an entire army to flight
from fear of the numerous claws and teeth, the fiery eyes and the ferociously
grinning jaws therein. The city was surrounded by a fortress wall, and the
gates were protected by such forbidding engravings that even Khars, Protec-
tor of Warriors, would either lose his head or flee for his life should he choose
to attack Kavarren.
But most of all, Kavarren was proud of its elite force, the regiment of
guards. As soon as a son was born into one of the esteemed families, his father
would immediately strive for the rosy-cheeked babe’s enrollment in these
glorious military ranks. Not a single holiday passed by without a military
parade to show off the prowess of this regiment; on the days without a parade,
the streets of this peaceful city were constantly patrolled, the pubs prospered,
and although mothers constantly and severely appealed to their daughters to
be prudent, duels occurred occasionally. These duels were long discussed by
the town gossips with both satisfaction and pleasure.
However, the guards were renowned not only for their debaucheries and
adventures. The regiment’s history was full of victories during the interne-
cine wars that had broken out entirely too often in the past. The present-day
guards, the descendants of the famous warriors of old, frequently displayed
18 s e r g e y a n d m a r i n a d ya c h e n k o

their military skill in skirmishes with the wicked, well-armed bands of high-
waymen who occasionally flooded the surrounding forests. All the respect-
able men of the city spent their youths in the saddle with a weapon in hand.
However, the most terrible event in the history of the city was by no means
some war or siege, but the Black Plague, which appeared in Kavarren many
decades ago and in the course of three days cut the number of townspeople
nearly in two. Walls and fortifications and sharp steel proved powerless against
the Plague. The old men of Kavarren, who lived through the Plague in their
childhoods, enjoyed recounting the terrible story to their grandsons; however,
the young men were quite capable of ignoring all these horrors, possessing
that happy talent of youth that allows admonitions heard but a moment ago
with their right ears to instantly fly out their left.
Egert Soll was the flesh of the flesh of his native Kavarren; he was a true
son and embodiment of its heroism. If he had died suddenly at the age of
twenty and a half years, he would have been lauded as the very spirit of Ka-
varren; it must be said, however, that in his attractive, blond head there were
absolutely no thoughts of death.
If anything, Egert did not believe in death: this from the man who man-
aged to kill two men in duels! Both incidents were discussed widely, but inas-
much as they were both questions of honor and all the rules of dueling had
been strictly adhered to, the townspeople soon began to talk of Egert with
respect, rather than with any sort of condemnation. Tales of Egert’s other victo-
ries, in which his opponents escaped with mere wounds or mutilation, simply
served as textbook examples for the city’s young boys and adolescents.
However, as time went on, Egert fought fewer and fewer duels, not be-
cause his combative vehemence had been exhausted, but because there were
fewer volunteers willing to throw themselves on his family sword. Egert was
a devoted student of swordplay; the blade became his sole plaything at the age
of thirteen when his father ceremoniously presented him with the family heir-
loom in lieu of his childhood practice sword.
It is no wonder that Egert had very few to balance out his abundance of
friends. Friends met with him in every tavern, friends followed at his heels in
packs and involuntarily became the witnesses and participants in his impetu-
ous amusements.
A worshipper of all kinds of danger, he recognized the distinctive charm of
dancing on the razor’s edge. Once, on a dare, he scaled the exterior wall of the
fire tower, the highest building in the city, and rang the bell three times,
 the scar 19

inducing by this action a fair bit of alarm among the townsfolk. Lieutenant
Dron, who had entered into this bet with Egert, was required to kiss the first
woman he encountered, and that woman turned out to be an old spinster, the
aunt of the mayor— oh, what a scandal!
Another time, a guard by the name of Lagan had to pay up; he lost a bet
when Egert, in full view of everyone, saddled a hefty, reddish brown bull,
which was furious but completely stupefied at such impudence. Clenching a
horse bridle in his teeth, Lagan hauled Egert on his shoulders from the city
gates to his own house.
But mostly the cost of these larks fell to Karver.
They had been inseparable since childhood. Karver clung to Egert and
loved him like a brother. Not especially handsome but not hideous, not espe-
cially strong but not a weakling; Karver always lost in comparison with
Egert and yet at the same time basked in the reflection of his glory. From an
early age, he conscientiously worked for the right to be called the friend
of  such a prominent young man, enduring at times both humiliations and
mockery.
He wanted to be just like Egert; he wanted it so fervently that slowly, im-
perceptibly even to himself, he began to take on his friend’s habits, his man-
nerisms, his swagger, even his voice. He learned to swim and walk on ropes,
and Heaven only knows what that cost him. He learned to laugh aloud at his
own spills into muddy puddles; he did not cry when blows, accurately thrown
by a young Egert, left bruises on his shoulders and knees. His magnificent
friend valued his dedication and loved Karver in his own way; this, however,
did not keep him from forgetting about the existence of his friend if he did not
see him with his own eyes even for a day. Once, when he was fourteen years
old, Karver decided to test his friend: He said he was ill, and did not show his
face among his comrades for an entire week. He sat at home, reverently waiting
for Egert to remember him, which of course Egert did not: he was distracted
by numerous amusements, games, and outings. Egert did not know, of course,
that Karver sat silently by his window for all seven days of his voluntary se-
clusion nor that, despising himself, he once broke out into hot, spiteful, angry
tears. Suffering from solitude, Karver vowed he would break with Egert for-
ever, but then he broke down and went to see him, and he was met with such
sincere joy that he immediately forgot the insult.
Little changed as they grew up. Timid Karver’s love affairs all fell apart,
usually when Egert instructed him in the ways of love by leading girls whom
20 s e r g e y a n d m a r i n a d ya c h e n k o

Karver found attractive away from him right under his nose. Karver sighed
and forgave, regarding his own humiliation as a sacrifice for friendship.
Egert was wont to require the same daring of those around him as he him-
self possessed, and he did his best to mock those who fell short of his expecta-
tions. He was especially unforgiving to Karver; once in late autumn, when
the river Kava, which skirted the town, froze over for the first time, Egert
proposed a contest to see who could run over it, from bank to bank, the quick-
est. All his friends quickly pretended to have important business to attend to,
sicknesses and infirmities, but Karver, who showed up as he usually did just
to be at hand, received such a contemptuous sneer and such a scathing, vile
rebuke that he flushed from his ears to his heels. Within an inch of crying, he
consented to Egert’s suggestion.
Of course, Egert, who was taller and heavier, easily skimmed across the
slick ice to the opposite bank as the fish in the gloomy depths gaped at him in
astonishment. Of course, Karver got scared at the crucial moment and froze,
intending to go back, and with a cry he dropped into a newly made, gleaming
black opening in the ice, magnanimously affording Egert the chance to save
him and by that act earn himself yet more laurels.
Interestingly enough, he was sincerely grateful to Egert for dragging him
out of the icy water.
Mothers of grown daughters winced at the name of Egert Soll; fathers of
adolescent sons put him up as an example for the youths. Cuckolds scowled
darkly upon meeting Egert in the street, and yet for all that, they hailed him
politely. The mayor forgave him his intrigues and debauches and ignored any
complaints lodged against Egert because an event that had occurred during
the boar-fighting season still lived in his memory.
Egert’s father, like many in Kavarren, raised fighting boars. This was con-
sidered a sophisticated and honorable art. The black boars from the House of
Soll were exceptionally savage and bloodthirsty; only the dark red, brindled
boars from the House of the mayor were able to rival them in competition.
There was never a contest but that in the finale these eternal rivals would
meet, and the victory in these battles fluctuated between the two Houses, un-
til one fine summer day, the champion of the mayor, a crimson, brindled
specimen called Ryk, went wild and charged his way through the tilting yard.
Having gutted his adversary, a black beauty by the name of Khars, the
maddened boar dashed into the grandstand. His own brindled comrade, who
happened to be in his path and who gave way with his belly completely shred-
 the scar 21

ded to pieces, delayed the lunatic boar for a short moment, but the mayor,
who by tradition was sitting in the first row, only had time to let out a heart-
rending scream and, scooping up his wife, jump to his feet on the velvet-covered
stand.
No one knows how this bloody drama might have ended; many of those
who came that day to feast their eyes upon the contests, the mayor and his
wife among them, may have met the same sad fate as the handsome Khars, for
Ryk, nurtured in ferocity from his days as a piglet, had apparently decided
that his day had finally come. The wretch was mistaken: this was not his day,
but Egert Soll’s, who appeared in the middle of the action before the public in
the back rows even understood what was happening.
Egert bellowed insults, most offensive to a boar, at Ryk while a blindingly
bright piece of fabric, which later turned out to be the wrap that covered the
naked shoulders of one of the more extravagant ladies in town, whirled with-
out ceasing in his left hand. Ryk hesitated for all of a second, but this second
was sufficient for the fearless Egert, who having jumped within a hairsbreadth
of the boar, thrust his dagger, won on a bet, beneath the shoulder blade of the
crimson-colored lunatic.
The stunned mayor presented the most generous of all possible gifts to the
House of Soll: all the dark-red, brindled boars contained within his enclo-
sures were instantly roasted and eaten, though it is true that their meat turned
out to be tough and sinewy. Egert sat at the head of the table while his father
swallowed tears of affection and pride; now the ebony beauties of the Solls
would have no equal in town. The elder Soll felt that his impending old age
promised to be peaceful and comfortable, for there was no doubt that his son
was the best of all the sons of the city.
Egert’s mother was not at that feast. She often kept to her bed and did not
enjoy noisy crowds of people. At one time, she had been a strong and healthy
woman; she had taken to her bed soon after Egert killed his first opponent in
a duel. It sometimes occurred to Egert that his mother avoided him and that she
was nearly afraid of him. However, he always managed to drive away such
strange or unpleasant thoughts.

One clear, sunny day—actually, it was the first real spring day of the year—an
agreeable new acquaintance befell the merchant Vapa, who was strolling along
the embankment with his young wife near at hand.
22 s e r g e y a n d m a r i n a d ya c h e n k o

This new acquaintance, who seemed to Vapa such an exceedingly distin-

guished young man, was, curiously enough, Lord Karver Ott. What was re-
markable about this meeting was that the young guard was promenading in
the company of his sister, a girl of uncommon proportions with a high, mag-
nificent bust and humbly lowered gray blue eyes.
The girl was named Bertina. As a foursome— Karver alongside Vapa and
Bertina next to the beautiful Senia, the young wife of the merchant—they
nonchalantly sauntered back and forth along the embankment.
Vapa was astonished and simultaneously moved; it was the first time one of
these “cursed aristocrats” had shown him such warm regard. Senia stole a
passing glance at Karver’s youthful face and then immediately lowered her
eyes, as though fearful of what the punishment might be for even a single for-
bidden glance.
They passed by a group of guards, picturesquely stationed along a parapet.
Casting a wary glance at them, Senia discovered that the young men were not
chatting away as they usually did. Instead, they all stood with their backs fac-
ing the embankment and their hands held to their mouths; from time to time
they trembled strangely, as if they were all suddenly stricken by one and the
same ailment.
“What’s wrong with them?” she wondered to Bertina.
But Bertina merely shook her head sorrowfully and shrugged her shoulders.
Anxiously shifting his gaze from the guards to his sister and then from his
sister to Senia, Karver spoke suddenly in a lowered voice. “Ah, believe me,
there is such a strong tradition of debauchery in this city! Bertina is an inno-
cent girl; it is so hard to choose friends for her when one is wary of all the
pernicious influences. Oh, how good it would be if Bertina could become
friends with Mistress Senia.”
With these last words, a sigh slipped out of him.
The foursome turned and began to walk on the opposite side of the em-
bankment; the guards on the parapet were now fewer, but those who re-
mained stubbornly watched the river: all but one who was sitting squarely on
the cobblestone pavement and having some sort of fit.
“They’re drunk, as usual,” Karver noted in condemnation. The one who
was sitting raised his clouded eyes and then doubled over, unable to control
the laughter that pulled at his chest.