Novel 3. The Last Autumn

The last autumn

Part one. Escape as an art

Chapter 1

It was a rainy night, and that was the only thing that could be called good luck. The wind blew the clouds across the sky, and the moon and stars peeked out from behind them every now and then. The rain did not fall in a continuous wall, but came in frequent gusts of drizzle. It looked as if someone up above had occasionally drawn water into a giant bucket and then spat it out through a fine sieve. The river, which stretched in a dark ribbon ahead, was stirring. The noise of the waves could be heard, and the ferry at the wharf swayed noticeably, occasionally bumping its side against the thick coils of rope protecting the boarded wharf. Near the wharf, an oil lamp was burning under the horse shed, and the cloaked figure of the watchman was visible in the light. And this was already a failure. The windows of the ferryman's hut were still lit, so that someone was awake inside.

— Well, Captain, what is the plan? — whispered Don Armando de Gorazzo, formerly the royal bailiff and now a wanted criminal in Daert. — There are guards on the ferry after all. And you said...

— I told you it would be great if the ferry wasn't guarded at night, — Valria, a young elven mercenary who was in Coalition lands illegally, interrupted him. — If they are guarded, I'll think of something.

— Think of it faster... — Armando almost added "the demons take you", but bit his tongue. After his own encounter with demons, the don was wary of mentioning them in vain. With a sniffle, he pulled his cloak tighter. The bush in which he and the captain were hiding offered little protection from the wind. A fine drizzle clung to the branches and leaves, only to splash in his face at the worst possible moment.

— Hm..., — the elf was silent for a long moment, looking towards the dock. De Gorazzo could see the hood on her head twitching as she moved her long ears thoughtfully. He felt the cold or nerves start to chill him, and the don suggested:

— Why don't you shoot him with a crossbow? The wind will cover the pop of the shot, they won't hear it in the house. You'll hit him from here, won't you? In the neck or the eye so he doesn't even scream?

— I can, — Valria nodded slowly, not turning her head. — Don, it's not a soldier. It's not an enemy at all. It's just a guard. He makes sure no iron parts are stolen from the ferry or anything. It's a bit much to kill him.

— The fate of the squad is at stake, — reminded the former bailiff.

— I know. — The captain jerked her shoulder irritably. — To be honest, I was counting on you, Armando. That's why I brought you along instead of the corporal. It's hard to explain to a lizardman that a sentry can't get his throat cut this time.

— And you yourself?

— And I'm a delicate and graceful elven lady, though you can't see it under the cloak. But remember, before I wore the cloak, we travelled together for a couple of months? And you could memorise my appearance? Do you think I could knock out a big man with a fist to the head?

— Mhm... — there was nothing to do. Don de Gorazzo made an honest appraisal of the prospects. — The canopy is fenced on three sides with poles. And well lit. With the watchman inside, there's no way to get close to him without making a lot of noise. And the weather's such that he won't even come out of there to take a leak, I'll give him that. If we could lure him out a dozen paces into the dark...

— That... can be arranged, — Valria said. — I'll try to lure him over to those bushes by the road. — She pointed a finger. — Would that work?

— Yes. If his back or even his side to them, I'll get him. — The ex-bailiff took from his inner jacket pocket a round stone on a short rope, a primitive bludgeon. — I'd learnt to handle one of these things in the line of duty.

— Then I was not mistaken in you, Don. — The captain looked Armando in the face for the first time and smiled. — Let's move out.

It took a good hour and a half to move stealthily from one bush to another. The watchman had time to change, though it had no effect on anything. The ferryman's sons, equally stout and bearded, took turns guarding the wharf. At last the windows of the house were out, the first watchman having evidently gone to bed. In her new hiding place, Valria unbuckled her weapon harness and carefully placed her sword and crossbow on the ground. She placed the quiver beside it. She threw back the hood of her cloak, took off her hat and covered the weapons with it.

— You'll get wet, — whispered De Gorazzo.

— That's what I need, — she said calmly. She threw her head back and lowered her eyelids, exposing her face to the rain. The drizzle had just intensified, turning to large drops. In a minute, the elf's wavy blonde hair was soaking wet, sticking to her forehead and temples. The captain twisted it with her fingers, making a mess of it, and pulled out a couple of long strands so that they fell over her face. She winked at Armando:

— I'm off. I'm counting on you, Don.

Soon a thin silhouette appeared on the road leading to the ferry station. The tall but frail girl walked slowly, staggering and shuddering, her arm outstretched in front of her like a blind woman. Her unbuttoned cloak was tangled behind her back, hanging down like a rag, unable to protect her from the rain. The girl's white blouse, green waistcoat and grey trousers were soaked with water, and her long leather gloves and high brown boots glistened with it. The watchman walking under the awning did not immediately notice the night visitor. She had to draw attention to herself with a hoarse shriek of joy, not loud enough to be heard in the house.

— Mis... ter! — The girl waved her hand and stumbled on a flat spot. Her voice was joyful, but strained with fatigue. — Help!

It was only now that the sentry was awake. When he saw the stranger at last, he took the lamp off the hook and came out from under the shelter. He hesitated, looking at the strange visitor. She took a couple more steps and stumbled again. Exhausted, she collapsed on the ground, awkwardly stretching out her legs. She cried out pitifully:

— Please!

The girl raised and lowered her long, pointed ears several times. That probably convinced the watchman — hardly anyone in these parts could have imagined robber elves. Any backwoods peasant knew that long-eared elves were famous for haggling and cheating at cards. If they robbed, it was in times immemorial and only in the vicinity of their native principalities. So the sentry abandoned caution and ran up to the stranger. He asked excitedly:

— Madam, what's the matter with you? And who are you?

— I... I... fell off my horse... wolves... or wild dogs... chased... — The girl covered her face with her wet gloved hands. Her shoulders shook convulsively, her ears pressed against her head. — They chased the horse... And I ran back... I ran... as fast as I could....

— Wait a minute, I remember you! — the watchman slapped himself on the forehead. — You crossed in the evening! You had a white horse, a beautiful one.

— Yes, Snowflake... — the girl finally couldn't stand it any longer and started crying, her whole body shuddering. — Snowflake!..

— Well, well! — The kind-hearted man leaned over to the guest and held out his hand. — Maybe she escaped from the wolves. You shouldn't have stayed the night. My father offered to stay. And there were other people with you, where...?

The bludgeon whistled through the air and clattered into the back of the guard's head. Of course, Valria didn't choose the place to fall by chance — she sat down on the ground right opposite the thick bush in which de Gorazzo hide. And the watchman who had come up stood with his back to the ambush — it couldn't have been better. The elfess had done her part of the plan perfectly. It was Armando who messed up. Afraid of crushing the ferryman's son's skull, the don threw his bludgeon half-heartedly. It should have been enough, but the watchman was wearing a hat under his hood. The blow to the back of his head only made the man stagger. He dropped the lantern, groaned, and turned round in surprise. He opened his mouth to scream... but didn't have time. Valria leapt onto the guard's back, hanging on him, clutching his throat with her forearm. She wheezed, no longer acting:

— Help!

When the sentry came to his senses, he had no trouble unclasping the girl's fingers and shook her off, only to receive a second blow of bludgeon. The sentry collapsed beside Valria. Armando threw the rope of the bludgeon around his neck and tightened it. The elven girl clutched at guards arms, preventing him from struggling. The ferryman's son twitched weaker and weaker, and finally fell silent. Don hurriedly removed the improvised noose. He touched guards neck. Nodded to the girl:

— Alive.

— Thank the Creator. — The pelf wiped the water from her face, wrinkled, wet, and soaked in mud. Large drops fell from the pointed tips of her ears. The rain was getting heavier. — It would have been a shame... But in any case, there was one more person who hated elves today.

— Put your coat on. You'll catch cold, — Armando advised, bending down to pick up the lantern. It was a miracle it didn't break and spill oil.

— It's too late, — the captain grinned wryly. De Gorazzo noticed that the girl was shivering. The trembling in her voice was unmistakable. — We'll go back to ours — Dallan will keep me warm. For now, we'll continue as planned.

The two of them dragged the unconscious watchman under the shed, laid him on the straw, and tied him up with the rope they had prepared. His mouth was gagged with a rag gag. Valria took a large silver coin from her waistcoat pocket and slipped it into the man's pocket. Having calculated something in her mind, she added another coin, a medium one. Than grinned at Armando's disapproving look:

— The Free Company has its own rules, Don.

Armando did most of the work, using an axe, a small drill, and other tools from his camping kit. Valria stood guard on the wharf with a crossbow in her hands. The rain had died out and the sky in the east was beginning to brighten when the all was done. De Gorazzo and the captain left the crossing as stealthily as they had appeared. The bound watchman was mooing under the shed, trying to spit out his gag, and near the quay the ferry was sinking slowly with its bottom broken in several places.

Armando and Valria watched the commotion at the crossing in the morning from the top of the wooded hill at the foot of which they hid the horses. Or rather, it was the sharp-eyed elven woman who was watching. Don could only make out some vague stirring around the wharf. But his eyesight was enough to see a cavalcade of black dots appearing on the other shore. The dots merged into a single blur at the water's edge, stood for a moment, then moved in a chain along the shore, downstream.

— They? — The former royal bailiff asked.

— They are, — the captain confirmed. The girl had partially cleaned herself up, even changed her blouse into a dry one, but her voice still sounded hoarse. — Fifteen riders, the same ones. Carrying two dogs on their saddles. We moved on to the next crossing. Just as I thought — down the river. We've won a day and a half or two, and then maybe they'll lose the trail.

— We'd better not lose the trail ourselves... -Don grinned.

— We won't, — Valria assured him with a touch of smugness. She pulled up her long gloves with the wide cuffs, kneaded her thin fingers through the thick leather. — They have only dogs, but we have me. I'm better. And besides, I've got a posse travelling on my orders. We'll catch up with them after lunch. Better before. I want porridge or soup, hot. Carlon will probably make porridge.

Without wasting any more time, they walked down the hill to the horses and climbed into the saddles. The elven woman trotted her well-groomed, white-breasted Snowflake, and De Gorazzo followed, leading the two winding horses. The border river and the Kingdom of Daert were behind them. The pair of riders were travelling deep into the Erdo Republic.

Chapter 2

The raid on the crossing took place on the fourth night of their escape. Armando did not remember the first two days well. He seemed to ride in the general formation, ate at rests, slept at overnight stays... But he did it mechanically, without thinking. His thoughts were covered with a dense fog, which was sometimes broken by bright but short flashes of pain and despair. It seems that the first night the former royal bailiff had cried, pulling the blanket over his head and biting his fist. The memory of it seemed dim and shaky, as if the matter had been years ago. Destroying the portal to a world where technology had surpassed magic had cost the composite squad dearly. But especially cost Armando himself. Big Gotech, oldest and most loyal friend, his fianc"e Minerva, her dragon — all those with whom he had started his journey were left behind in the blasted mountain fortress. Even the Lady Jana, the silent ghost girl to whom de Gorazzo had managed to become imperceptibly attached, was gone, having paid her comrades one last debt. Now he was all alone — and alone in his grief. The Imperial mercenaries were friendly to the don, but still, after all the hardships they had endured together, they were strangers. In the mess of emotions that possessed Armando, a blind, unjust anger against them reared its head, but the don suppressed it with an effort of will. The Imperials had not dragged him into this war. On the contrary, they had come to his aid when Armando was already up to his neck in a confrontation with outsiders.

On the morning of the third day de Gorazzo awoke with a terrible headache. His heart ached and the back of his head throbbed, but the fog had receded. In his cleared mind there was one distinct thought: "It's not over yet". The aliens and their accomplices who had taken power in Daert had not disappeared after the portal had closed. Queen Octavia's murderer now sat on her throne, feeling victorious, and somewhere hiding from her former fellow judges was Donna Vittoria, the best girl in the world. Armando could feel sorry for himself all he wanted — but in a way that didn't stop him from carrying out the queen's last command. To live. To fight. To stop the outsiders. And no one but the Imperials would help him do that. Rubbing his eyes forcefully with the palms of his hands, the former royal bailiff rose from his bed and went to the campfire to help prepare breakfast. For the first time since the battle. He was in dire need of something useful to do. The change in de Gorazzo had not gone unnoticed. Master Carlon, the black-bearded imperial mage, had offered the Don a sip of wine before the meal with a wry grin, and Captain Valria had joked about his odour and stubble. It was then that Armando realised that this was the first jest he had ever heard from the ever mocking elf. For two twenty-four hours the captain had kept her wit in check, speaking to the don in an exceptionally tactful manner. It is scary to think what torment she was experiencing. In gratitude, the don smiled, promising to go to the barber if possible.