Novel 1. Mercenary Company Bright Heads. Story 3. Where all paths converge

Novel 1. Mercenary Company "Bright Heads". Story 3. Where all paths converge

Winter came to Elvart early, pushing autumn almost a month ahead of schedule. Heavy rains were replaced by a gray drizzle that quickly turned to snow. The Duchy dozed under a white blanket. In the city's ice-free harbor, ships slept, and the dense forest of tall masts swayed gently, crackling in the wind. Trading lanes emptied, troop movements ceased — the imperial armies had winter quarters along the Duchy's borders. Ordinary mercenaries were left virtually jobless — neither the merchants nor the War Office needed their services. Many free companies left the city, heading south. But the "Bright heads" had their work cut out for them — and master Carlon was certainly not left out.

It took the first month after the coronation to get Dallan back on her feet. Although the cottage rented by the elf and the sergeant was visited several times by the duchess's personal healer, and Valria herself surrounded her friend with care, the wounds inflicted by the weapon from the other world were slow to heal. On the day the first real snow fell — white feathers, not ice-crumbles — the sergeant was finally able to pick up her sword and perform a few exercises in the courtyard. So far she had practiced without her armor, but it was already progress. When the green-eyed girl had finished her last set of blows and lowered her blade, breathing heavily, the happy elf rushed over to her, hugged tightly, kissed her on the lips, not at all shy of Carlon who had come to check on them. The mage, however, had long been aware of the mercenaries relationship, but averted his gaze politely.

Dallan recovered just in time. Contrary to her threats, the captain never sold the precious watermelon granted by the duchess — it now adorned the shelf of one of the cabinets. The fee the girls had received from Mr. Sandr was nearing the end, and the purse of the MaНtre had begun to show the bottom. They had to look for assignments-and they found them. Winter had no effect on the dangers of the neutral zone, and the imperial regiments camped along the border had little idea of the local threats. The experienced elf-herder was needed everywhere — together with Dallan and Carlon, she scouted the Deadlands, trained imperial trackers, tracked border creatures, found their nests and lairs, which were then cleared out by the soldiers placed under her command. The profits made it possible to extend the lease on the cottage and garden, to stock up on food and medicine. Though the trio, as usual, had no spare cash left. At the end of the first month of the new year, they celebrated Valria's 105th birthday rather modestly. After raising a glass of wine in her honor, the mage said that now if you subtract zero from the resulting figure, you can find out the real age of the elf to human standards. For which he was exiled from the festive table to polish the duke's miracle watermelon with a rag.

One day at the end of winter, a visitor came to the garden cottage. The mage was chopping wood for the fireplace when he saw a short figure, wrapped in a warm cloak with a hood, outside the gate. He was convinced that he had been spotted and the cloaked man walked down the path, stopped in front of Carlon, and threw back his hood. The guest turned out to be Lady Emilia of the Duchess' Guard.

— Good morning, Master, — said the little brown-eyed girl, smiling. — Do you remember me? We've only met once before...

— Of course I remember you, lady. — The mage leaned his axe hastily against the wall, hesitating, unsure if he should bow. Her Highness' bodyguard dispelled the mage's doubts by simply extending her hand for a handshake. Carlon gently squeezed the dainty palm in the suede glove.

— I am, with your permission, looking for Captain Valria. — Lady Emilia glanced at the door of the house. — Is she here?

— No, she and her sergeant have gone to the market for groceries, — the wizard shook his head. — But they will be back soon. Can you wait?

— Yes.

— Then I invite you in for tea.

— It would be my pleasure, Master. — The little girl smiled again. It suited her very well — Lady Emelia's round, dimpled face looked as if it had been made to smile.

The fire was blazing hot, so Carlon immediately took off his fur-lined jacket. The guest also hung her warm cloak on the brass hook near the entrance. She was dressed rather lightly for winter-a short blue camisole over a white blouse, blue tight-fitting pants, and long, mid-thigh boots with narrow lapels, like those worn by all girl guardsmen. The tiny lady was unarmed. She sank into a chair, tucked her gloves behind her belt, and stood there with her hands in her lap, staring out the window. Carlon, fiddling with the kettle by the fireplace, looked in her direction not without curiosity. Until then, he had known more or less intimately only one defender of the Duchess — Lady Jana, who had died on Coronation Day. Lady Emilia bore little resemblance to her in appearance. If Jana stood tall and impeccable build like an antique gymnast, her named sister looked more like a glass statue of a dancer — fragile and airy. If the collected and serious lynx-eyed girl looked older than her twenty-four years, then the smiling Emilia Master Carlon would not have given even eighteen, even knowing that all the guardsmen were of the same age. And yet, the two girls were in fact extremely similar. Not in looks. Something else, elusive. Maybe their ability to stand or sit perfectly still, as if they weren't even breathing.

— How is Sergeant Dallan feeling? — the guardswoman wondered as the master docked the kettle on a special grate inside the fireplace. The question from the quietly seated girl made the mage flinch. With an awkward chuckle, he replied:

— Fully recovered, lady. Though she should spend more time in the warmth.

— Glad to hear it. — The guardswoman looked away, tracing a thin finger across the rough tabletop. — I was worried about her. Losing two sisters in one day is a difficult ordeal. Thank you for saving her.

— Dallan was saved by Her Highness' healer, — the mage brushed her off. — And... you two knew each other before, didn't you?

— We have. — Without looking at the wizard, the guest nodded slowly. — We grew up together. Her name was Anna then.

— And you don't know how it happened that she... well... — the mage was embarrassed, and instead of words he simply held up his hands.

— I know. But if she didn't see fit to tell you herself, I'm not sure...

— Yes, of course. — Already regretting having brought the conversation to this subject, Carlon turned away to the kettle. The kettle was just beginning to whistle steam.

— She's made a mistake, — Lady Emilia said quietly behind his back. — She broke her oath right after she took her vows. Not out of malice. Christina forgave her, and so did we. But the law could not forgive. She had to die either by her own hand or by the hand of one of us. But Jana intervened. She convinced everyone to leave the decision to the princess. And Christina found a way out — in the old books. Lady Anne died. That same day, a girl with no name came out of the palace.

— Dallan an Belran. — The mage took the kettle off the fire and put it on the table. — I've already figured that out. The Ninth of the Eight. That's why the nickname is...

— Name, — Lady Emilia corrected, raising her head. — It is her name now. That's all I can tell you. Except... to me a sister remains a sister, even if I am not allowed to call her by the name I know. I am grateful to those who are willing to take care of her in her time of need.

For the next quarter of an hour they sipped tea in silence. The guest watched the path across the garden, and Carlon pondered what he heard. Had he learned more than he should? About Dallan's past, perhaps, it was worth asking Dallan herself.

At last there were familiar voices from the courtyard, and a few seconds later the door swung open. The elf-woman said something with laughter to Dallan, who was following her, but she frowned when she saw Lady Emilia. In a rather unfriendly tone the captain said:

— Good morning, Lady Guardsman. Are you on business?

— You are perceptive, captain. — Smiling at Valria, the guardswoman caught the sergeant's eye, nodded to her. Dallan, after a moment's hesitation, nodded back. — I am on behalf of Her Highness.

— The Duchess has a job for us? — The elf smirked, setting the basket of food on the floor. Dallan, meanwhile, closed the door, took off her winter cloak, and hung it next to their guest's cloak.

— Yes. Will you listen to her request?

— Go ahead, lady. — Valria gave her cloak to the sergeant, walked to the bed in her boots, and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Not at all offended by such impoliteness, Emilia began:

— As soon as the last of the snow has melted, Duchess Christina will travel to the Imperial capital to pay her oaths to His Majesty the Emperor. She has been delayed as it is, albeit for good reason. The Imperial Intelligence Service has informed us that they believe the assassin from the other world who murdered the Duchess father has left Elvart. However, he did not go back to the Coalition lands, but into Imperial territory, where his trail was lost. The Empire has strengthened security for all important people. But we cannot rule out the possibility that the assassin might make another attempt on the Duchess's life. She will be vulnerable during the trip.

— Uh-huh. — Valria patted the bed with her palm, inviting Dallan to sit beside her, but the sergeant remained standing by the door, leaning against the jamb. — And you need people who've encountered the alien before, right?

— That's right. My lady asks you to accompany her on her journey. Besides, the Archmage of the Duchy is dead. Her Highness has only a healer with her. A new archmage from the Imperial University won't be available until after the duchess's homage. — The guardswoman turned to Carlon. — In this regard, Her Highness would be especially pleased to take vaster Carlon into her entourage for the duration of the trip. Even if the Bright Heads do not accept the assignment.

— Yes they will, don't worry, — Valria grinned. — Dallan, you don't mind, do you?

— I... would be happy to defend my mistress again, — the swordswoman said uncertainly. — But may I...

— You won't need to go into the palace, — Lady Emilia reassured her. — We'll be the only guards on the road with Christina. It's all right.

— It's settled, then. — The elf twitched her ears and slammed her fist into her palm. — The order is taken. Have you finished your tea, lady? Then I'll show you out.

— Wait. — The guardswoman rose from her chair, shook off invisible dust from the sleeves of her blue camisole. — The Duchess has one small condition. She believes that your past encounters with the assassin would have ended less miserably if you were better skilled in unarmed combat. We're still a couple of weeks away. I offer you my services as your trainer. The Duchess has given me permission to take half a day off every day to train you.

— Oh! — Valria stood up with an unkind grin and approached her guest closely. The elven woman was tall only for a girl, but Lady Emilia barely reached her chin. — Training with a real guardsman? I don't mind it at all. Why don't you show me your skills right now, lady?

— Why not. — Emilia nodded with a polite smile. — And I'll see what you can do. Shall we go out into the courtyard?

— Why does Valria have such a soft spot for the Guard? — muttered the mage to himself as the elf maiden and her guest stepped outside. — She was very rude to Yana at first, too.

— Because of me, — Dallan replied quietly. She finally pulled away from the jamb and sat down at the table where the window overlooked the courtyard. Carlon sank into a chair beside her. — She's... resentful of the Guard. Because of my past.

— So that's it... — said the Master in a neutral tone. Outside the window, the elfess and the guardsman stood across from each other. Emilia was not wearing a cloak, and Valria had dropped her warm jacket, leaving her in a blouse and vest. Both girls' breaths rose to the gray sky in clouds of steam.

— She's doing it in vain, — the sergeant sighed suddenly. — Emilia and Jana were always on my side. Even in my worst moments. Jana didn't let me die. And Emilia carried food and money when I hadn't even met Valria yet. She took a great risk.

On the other side of the window, the rivals exchanged ceremonial bows, like before a sword duel, and Valria immediately rushed to the attack. For ten minutes the mage and sergeant watched the scene in the courtyard. It was hardly a duel. At last the girls returned to the house. Drenched in snow, disheveled Valria laughed heartily, patted her opponent on the shoulder, trying to stroke her head. Little Lady Emilia, not even a wrinkle in her clothes, shied away from the elfess advances with all possible delicacy.

— Okay, — the captain announced, shaking off the snow doggishly. Her pointed ears perked up. — Carlon, from tomorrow, you'll come to us at two o'clock in the afternoon. We'll embarrass ourselves together.

* * *

In perfect accordance with the predictions of the palace astrologer (who was more often engaged in predicting the weather than in making horoscopes), winter came early and left the duchy earlier than usual. Little Lady Emilia now came to the garden cottage without her cloak, flaunting her costume of armorial colors. Though the streets of the capital drowned in puddles, the girl's soft brown boots never had a drop of mud on them-although she made her way from the palace to the mercenaries' dwelling on foot. Every day the guardswoman raced the trio to the sweat. Her swordsmanship was on par with that of Valria, and even noticeably inferior to Dallan's, but when it came to unarmed combat, only the sergeant could match the duchess' bodyguard. The first training sessions were truly humbling. The frail brown-eyed girl didn't teach them anything, just tested their skills — and at the same time demonstrated how defenseless all three mercenaries were when they didn't have a blade in their hands. Lady Emilia's sincere friendliness, her warm smile, and her attempts to cheer up the overgrown students did not help at all— Carlon still felt as if he had been beaten by a teenage girl. It was not until the fourth day that full lessons began. And the master, who considered himself a man of experience, discovered many new things. He had always known that there were many ways to kill or cripple someone without magic or weapons. But he had never imagined that there could be such a... systematic approach to these ways. It turned out that the science of hand-to-hand combat could be studied as long as the high art of magic. And, of course, the mage realized at once that in two or three weeks you would learn nothing but the very tops. Even with such an infinitely patient and benevolent teacher as Lady Emilia. The tops, however, were enough to make sense of past failures. The skills of an assassin from another world no longer seemed supernatural-just unfamiliar. Nothing beyond the abilities of an ordinary man. Nothing that could not be resisted.