Novel 1. Mercenary Company "Bright Heads". Story 2. Someone who doesn't belong here

Novel 1. Mercenary Company "Bright Heads". Story 2. Someone who doesn't belong here.

Autumn crept silently towards Elvart Duchy, preparing to plunge its claws into it. The sky over the capital was still summer-blue, but from the north the city was already surrounded by leaden clouds, ready to move at any moment, obscure the sun, and rain down. An hour before noon, Master Carlon was found by a boy he knew from Crooked Flower Street and told him that Valria asked him to come at a convenient time. Several of these children were with the elf on a candy salary as spies and messengers. With children, the captain of the "Bright Heads" generally got along better than with adults, probably due to the closeness of the characters. The magician planned to devote the afternoon to making simple potions for sale, but this could be postponed until the evening. Therefore, he left the guest house as soon as he had dined. He walked, enjoying the last summer warmth, although the path was not close. Valria was waiting for him in the suburbs, where she rented a cozy house with a garden. The golden-haired elf moved to this house every time she had money. Then (usually after a week or two) the money ran out, and she moved back to the cheap rented rooms of some tavern, where she lived most of the time. The hostess, an elderly widow, was already used to it, and even allowed the girl to constantly keep some belongings in the house.

Having reached the place, Carlon walked past young apple trees along a gravel path, went to the stone porch, was about to knock, but the door swung open earlier. Of course, the elf heard his steps from the gate.

— Come in, come in. — Valria stepped back, letting the mage inside. — Take off your shoes.

Leaving his boots in a tiny hallway, the master followed the elf into the only living room. The place already looked inhabited. A round table near the wall was adorned with a wooden bowl of peppered croutons, half empty. Above the table hung an oil-painted portrait of a red-haired cat from the front, Valria's pet, who died of old age before Carlon was born. The neatly made double bed was littered with a dark brown leather breastplate, the only piece of armor the captain rarely wore. The breastplate looked brand new, without signs of repair, even without scratches — which spoke in favor of the luck and dexterity of its owner.

— With Mr. Sandr's money, I paid off all my debts! — the girl joyfully informed the master, while he was putting on felt slippers. — In general, everything, to the coin! I don't owe anyone anything.

— It won't be long, — the mage assured.

— And there's more, — Valria continued, as if she hadn't heard him. — I paid the rent of the house for two months in advance and bought a new suit. Does it suit me?

The girl went to the middle of the room, spread her arms, allowing herself to be examined. Carlon stared at her for a few seconds. The elf was dressed as usual. Except that the blouse seemed a little whiter, the waistcoat a little greener, the buttons shone a little brighter with gold. Finally, it came to him. All of Valria's clothes were indeed new. Exactly the same as the old one, but new.

— Uh... — he drawled, standing at the threshold. — I thought the word "new" implies some changes...

— I have an external image. — The girl raised her finger pointedly. — I've been making it for years. From shoes to hair. Why change something? A mercenary is a commodity that sells itself, and the image is very important.

— Okay, I don't argue, — the magician chuckled. He actually always liked the look of the captain. — But let me guess... Have you run out of money yet?

— Yes, — the girl replied simply. She sat down at the table, gesturing for the magician to join. She took a cracker from a bowl. — I also bought a blanket for Snowflake, warm. Winter is coming soon. I also changed her horseshoes. Stock up on arrows.

— Did you pay for the rent on your own? — the master clarified, sitting down on a stool without a back. He did not touch the crackers, suspecting that this was the last food left for the empty-headed elf.

— Who should have? — Valria arched her golden eyebrow gracefully.

— You and Dallan live together. — The mage nodded towards the double bed. — She could...

— Her money is her money, — the elf replied. — I rent the house, so I pay. You yourself squandered your entire salary, I suppose?

— Of course. — Carlon grinned. — But I put something into it. Look.

The master stood up and moved away from the table. He raised his hands, showing four silver rings — one each on the middle and ring fingers. He clapped his hands so that the rings hit each other, jerked his hands apart. Between the palms of the magician, an almost transparent plane appeared — a rectangular one, resembling a door leaf in dimensions.

— Power shield? — Valria asked, not without curiosity, tilting her head to her shoulder. — I remember seeing them in the war, only bigger...

— Yeah. — Carlon blinked, warding off undue surprise. He once again forgot for a moment that the elf only looks like a young girl, and during the war years she was not a child, but served as an army jaeger. — This one won't stop a cannonball, but a bullet or an arrow will. Here, throw something at me.

Valria pulled a copper coin out of her vest pocket with two fingers, flicked it flying. The coin whistled up, hit the ceiling beam and ricocheted, hitting Carlon right on the top of the head, passing over the top edge of the shield.

— Crap!

— Wait... — the elf frowned artificially. — Or did you want me to throw it at the shield? Did you say throw it at you?

— Okay, it's my own fault. — The master laughed shortly, brought his palms together. The transparent "sash" has disappeared. — I will have a lesson...

He returned to the table, resting his elbows on it:

— Showed off in front of each other, and that's enough. You didn't just call me for no reason. Are you up to something again?

— A trifling business. — The captain shrugged. — Contract for one day. They pay a little, but problems are not expected.

— And why do you need a magician, if it's trifling? — Carlon frowned.

— No reason. — Valria sighed. — Just need a second person. Dallan is on vacation.

— What? — Carlon couldn't believe his ears.

— Yes. Asked for the first time in six years. How could I refuse her? — The girl spread her hands. — Said she wanted to hunt. She left for Hordburk, where the forests are free. She promised to get a deer. I don't think it will. The huntress from her is like a reiter from me.

The elf spoke the last phrases slowly, in a low voice. There was no trace of her high spirits. Carlon narrowed his eyes again.

— She just left and you miss her already?

— I'm surprised myself. — Valria rubbed her cheek with thin fingers. — You know, elves rarely have more than one or two children in a family, that's why there are so few of us. I never had a sister, and Dallan... probably became one for me. Even more than a sister. I... until yesterday, I myself did not understand how much I became attached to her. Couldn't sleep at night. I'm used to hearing her breathing in my sleep next to me... All these years...

Carlon, not expecting such an emotional response, was silent. The elf smiled sadly.

— Sorry, I had to talk to someone. And who but you?

The master looked expressively at the portrait of the ginger cat. Valria followed his gaze, frowning.

— Yes, I understand ... But do you know what the advantage of working as a mercenary is? I have every chance not to live my elven eight hundred years, and to die before my human friends.

— I would even say that these chances are very good. — The mage decided it was time to change the subject. — With your way of picking contracts... so what's the deal for the day?

— First of all, what do you know about Ludria? — Still a little frowning, the elf crunched a cracker.

— Well ... — the master rolled his eyes, scratched his beard. — A continent across the ocean, the Republicans discovered in the last century... Savages, damp forests, poisonous reptiles... Unstable magical background, problems with portals...

"So," Valriya interrupted, "the Empire has a couple of colonies on the Ludrian coast. The other day, a ship entered the port of the capital, returning just from there. The governor of one of the settlements, Baron Vasily Tarakatos, arrived. He brought with him a mountain of curiosities. From golden savage idols to human-sized bipedal lizards. He will take all this to the emperor, he wants to ask him for a fleet and troops to conquer the forest barbarians. Well, to throw the Republicans off the coast. First, however, the baron requested an audience with our duke. He wants to bring gifts to him, and then ask for help with money and ships.

— So what?

— So... I found the baron and convinced him to hire me as a bodyguard. — A truly angelic smile appeared on the lips of the elf. — Exactly one day. It was not easy, but I proved that it would be more appropriate to come to the duke accompanied by an elegantly dressed beautiful elf than in the company of an unshaven boatswain.

— I see, — said Carlon. — I suppose if the baron didn't agree, you yourself would pay him extra for such an opportunity?

— No. — The girl shook her chin. She straightened a strand of hair that had fallen on her forehead. — I have nothing to pay. But the main thing you understood. I cannot miss such an event. However, I promised the client two guards. I did not know then that Dallan would leave.

— Basically, I don't mind. — The master drummed his fingers on the table top. — Only here the client will not be indignant? He was promised a ceremonial escort of two beautiful warriors, and instead of the second beauty, a bearded man would appear.

— A bearded, pot-bellied man, — the elf clarified. She recoiled as the mage leaned across the table and tried to grab her by the ear. — I didn't tell him anything about the identity of the second bodyguard, so you can do it too. And in general, a battle mage in protection is a serious matter. What is there to complain about?

— Well, then I'm in business. — Without reaching for the sharp ears of the girl, Carlon flopped back into the seat. — How much pay?

Valria named the amount. The magician covered his eyes with his hand. After a heavy sigh he said:

— Listen... if you don't have enough for food — come to me, I'll pay for the dinners.

— You said. I remembered. — The girl stood up and shook her hair. — Okay, get up, let's go.

— Now? Where?

— Where? Are you still asking? In the city baths, of course! — Valria took her long leather gloves from the windowsill and began to put them on. — And then to the barber. We will destroy strategic reserves of bread crumbs in your beard. I will pay.

— You've run out of money. — The master snorted skeptically. Of course, he intended to pay for his bath from his own wallet.

— I'll borrow on the way, from someone, — the elf waved her off. — For the sake of such a thing, it's not a pity to spend money...

* * *

They were almost late for a meeting with a client. It turned out that since early morning in the port of Elvart, a regiment of imperial infantry was unloaded, sent to strengthen the border. Many streets were blocked to clear the way for troops and baggage. Marching hundreds filed through the city, singing in unison "As the Angels Soar," a soldier's ditty so old that anyone involved in the military knew it. After a fair amount of winding through the alleys, having spent a lot of time at the crossroads, the magician and the elf finally reached the hotel, which was completely rented by Baron Tarakatos. Valria introduced the master to the employer, who measured Carlon with a glance and, apparently, was quite pleased.

— You, at least, look like a magician, — the girl whispered to the master, when the baron moved away to give instructions to the loaders. — Beard, belly, red eyes ... Not enough hat. Such, spiky, like the Archchancellor's.

— The Archchancellor wears that hat because there's a flask of booze hidden inside it, — Carlon snorted. He himself learned the basics of magic in one of the military schools, and did not see the Archchancellor, but the habits of the head of the Imperial University were widely known. — You would also offer me to put on a mantle, with moons and stars.

The master tugged at the sleeves of his black-and-silver doublet — terribly old-fashioned, frayed at the elbows, but handsome enough. All the same, there was nothing more decent in the wardrobe of a magician. Valria did without a formal dress, she looked great in her usual suit. True, the captain changed her thick leather gloves to thin suede ones, with a black floral pattern embroidered on spacious gaiters. A sword hung on the elf's hip, serving more as a decoration — anyway, before the audience, any weapon had to be handed over. For the same reason, Carlon did not take anything with him, not even amulets. There will be less fuss during inspection.

They advanced to the palace in a small caravan of two wagons and a dozen horsemen. One of the carts carried a cage with a two-legged lizard brought from across the sea. The lizard sat on the floor and showed no signs of life, but it still attracted attention. The baron's people had to wave their whips away from the carts of overly curious townspeople, especially children. Valria, who was riding stirrup in stirrup with Carlon, now and then looked gloomily at the cage. Finally, leaning towards the magician, she said quietly:

— It's not an animal.

— In what sense? — the master also looked at the cart with the lizard. The prisoner raised his head and their eyes met. The creature's round eyes were glassy, ??like those of a doll, and expressed nothing.

— In the sense that it's not a beast, — the elf repeated. — He's like me. Understand? Not human, but... human.

— Where did you get it from? — Carlon could not stand it, looked away first. Lizard immediately lowered his head, again became indifferent.

— That's noticeable. — Valria shrugged. — I don't know how you can't see it. He is a human. Just...different.

The girl looked unusually confused, bewildered. Carlon seemed to understand her feelings. The magician said carefully:

— You're not going to let him out, are you?

— Of course not. But ... it would be wrong if he was sent to the zoo.

— Let's think about it later, okay?

— Okay, I convinced you. — The captain sighed. The rest of the way she was silent — and this, oddly enough, did not please Carlon.

The ducal palace of Elvart was built back in the days of the old empire, as the residence of the imperial governor. Which, of course, affected the architecture and scale — white marble, arches, high domes, round towers, an abundance of stained-glass windows. The complex of buildings, surrounded not by a wall, but only by a forged lattice, included the palace itself, the temple of the One Creator, an ancient theater, a rectangular square with fountains, many outbuildings, from the guardhouse and stables to baths and an observatory. It was not possible to defend all this; in wartime, the ruling family moved to a castle specially built south of the capital. But the city residence looked incredible. Greatness, frozen in white stone — other, less banal words Carlon did not come to mind.