Novel 1. Mercenary Company "Bright Heads". Full novel

The patrol car with the arrested man had already left a long time ago, but they were still standing near the gangway, looking at the port, listening to the whistles of steamers and the cries of seagulls.

— Why are your eyes white? — Leif suddenly asked, realizing that a couple more minutes, and he would not be able to muster up the courage for this question.

— Because I'm very old. — The detective looked at the inspector with a good-natured grin. — Have you ever heard how elves grow old, young man? I will not become gray and wrinkled with age, but my eyes are fading little by little. Grey, if you like. When they completely fade, I will fall asleep and not wake up. This is elven old age...

— What is your...

— You're talking to a woman, young man. — The elf narrowed her eyes slightly, but a soft smile still played on her lips. — A lot of. In that picture that the professor stole — do you remember what was depicted?

— Yes. — Leif shuddered, remembering the black and red stains on the canvas.

— I saw it myself. Do you want to listen to the tales of the old elf? About the last knight-queen of the continent and about the first queen-sorceress? About the fire in the sky and the death of dragons?

— Of course I want, Fru Veltritdotir!

— Well then, hand over the report — and take me to the Ludrian restaurant. — The elf flicked her cigarette overboard. — At your expense, of course, Inspector. Otherwise, I won't expect such a thing from your senior colleague... A drink and a portion of fried pork in sweet and sour sauce is on you, and a whole evening of entertaining stories is on me...

Part 1. No-man's land.

Chapter 1

Master Carlon woke up from the fact that someone persistently poked a finger into his left cheek. For a full minute, the retired warmage tried to ignore the jabs, wincing in his sleep and twitching his nose. Until he emerged from a slumber enough to remember that he had fallen asleep alone, in a room locked from the inside... Startled, the master opened his eyes and saw in front of him a young woman's face of amazing beauty — fair skin, high cheekbones, a neat nose, large violet-colored eyes, all this framed by lush golden hair, scattered over her shoulders. Long and pointed elven ears peeked out from under her hair. The spectacle would be simply amazing if Carlon did not know who was in front of him.

— You! — The magician jerked to the side and predictably slammed his shoulder into the wall. — Oh, damn...

— Good morning, Carlon, — the girl said cheerfully to him and moved away from the bed. She sat down on the only chair in the room, crossed her legs. The magician got out of the blanket and sat up too. Pulling up his underpants, he stared gloomily at the uninvited guest, muttered:

— Valria. How did you get here? I locked myself up for the night.

Just in case, he glanced at the window, covered with cheap, cloudy glass. The window was closed.

— I got a spare key from the innkeeper. — The golden-haired elf shrugged her shoulders with a charming smile. — Next time, rent a room with a bolt.

— I'll learn this. — The master paused, looking expectantly at his interlocutor. She, still smiling, began to straighten her cuffs. The guest was dressed simply and elegantly — a white blouse with a turn-down collar, gray trousers, a green vest with gilded buttons and small shoulder pads made of fine embossed leather, high boots covering the knees in front. The costume perfectly suited the tall and slender elfess, only it was already noticeably worn, especially the boots and vest.

— Well? — finally, Carlon could not stand it. — What happened this time? You're out of enchanted arrows again, and the shop refuses to trade with you, right? Or has the amulet on the hat run out? Something so important that you stumbled into the living room in dirty boots?

— My boots are cleaner than you. — The girl snorted. — A round-eared barbarian who takes a bath once a month has no right to talk to me about cleanliness.

— The round-eared barbarian studied for ten years as a military magician, and during these ten years of study he read more books than you did in your hundred years of life ... — Carlon, against his will, began to get inflamed — as always when talking with Valria. He did not care that the interlocutor was decades older than him — she looked like a twenty-year-old girl and behaved according to her appearance.

— Yeah, that's enough! — The elf unexpectedly forced a smile off her face and threw up her hands in conciliation. — Sorry, I don't have much time, so I'll get down to business. I want to hire you for one task. Need magical support and advice. Silver payment.

— I refuse. — Carlon finally remembered that he was sitting on the bed almost naked, and bent over his shirt.

— You don't need money? — Valria arched a golden eyebrow.

— No. I just got back to the city yesterday. — The magician put his hands into the sleeves, fussed with bone buttons. — I spent a week shaking on a cart at the tail of a merchant caravan, collecting all the dust on myself. We walked through the Dead Line, twice we had to drive away some kind of rubbish. I want to eat, sleep and have fun.

The elf got up, stepped towards the table, fished Carlon's skinny purse out of the traveling bag lying on it, and opened it.

— Hey! — the magician was indignant. — Hands off!

— Not much. — The girl poured three silver coins and a handful of copper coins into her palm. — If you do not throw out the item "have fun" from your plans, then it will last for a week, at most.

Carlon did not admit that he had a couple more coins hidden in secluded places — Valria herself knew that he is not a fool. Instead, the master asked:

— What can you offer?

— The task is for three days, no longer. — The girl poured the coins back into the magician's purse, turned to him. — Payment has not yet been settled, but my forecasts are half a gold crown per person, plus military booty is possible.

— Oh ... — The magician rubbed the back of his head. — Okay. When and where is the meeting with the employer?

— He's already downstairs, Dallan entertaining him.

— Crap! — Carlon let out a few savory curses, not at all embarrassed by the presence of a girl. Hastily putting on his shoes, he splashed cold water in his face from a basin in the corner of the room, in the absence of a mirror he simply felt his beard and mustache — they did not seem to have grown much since the last haircut.

— Well, you are growing a belly, a learned person, — the elf who was watching him from the threshold noticed.

— Go to the demons, — Carlon snapped.

— Come on, I know that for magicians, a beard and belly are mandatory attributes of the profession.

To restrain himself, the master began to rinse his mouth with water and a refreshing powder. In the meantime, the girl pulled out gloves from behind her belt and pulled them on — unlike the rest of her wardrobe, they were brand new, made of thick brown leather, with hard gaiters almost to the elbow. Carlon has long noticed that the elf rarely takes off her gloves, and even eats in them in front of strangers. Probably, the girl did not want people to see the rough calluses from weapons exercises on her long and thin fingers.

— Have you gone already? — she asked when the mage had finished dressing.

— Yes.

Together they descended the narrow stairs to the dining room of the inn. Carlon glared at the traitorous innkeeper, who hastened to turn away. Valria, however, gave the owner of the inn a smile, led the magician across the hall to a private office. Here, in a not-so-high class establishment, it was just a cramped room with a table and a couple of benches. In the office they were really already waiting. On one bench sat a tall, but thin as a stick, old man with a gray goatee, on the opposite — a girl in a man's black suit, who could be mistaken for Valria's older sister. Also slender, golden-haired and fair-skinned — but a head shorter, noticeably wider in the shoulders, more lean than graceful. And most importantly — not an elf. The hair gathered in a ponytail left open ears — ordinary, human. The girl sat with her arms folded across her chest, her face and dark green eyes expressed serene calmness. She answered Carlon's greeting with a nod.

— Good morning, Mr. Sandr. — The elf sat down opposite the old man, so that Carlon had to sit down on the bench next to him. — You already know me, but I'll introduce myself again. I am the captain of the "Bright Heads" mercenary company Valria, daughter of Valtryt. This, — she pointed to the green-eyed girl, — is my second-in-command, Company Sergeant Dallan an Balran.

The old man raised his eyebrows. "And he knows the Old Elven language," the mage immediately understood. "Dallan an Balran" from the literary elvish language was translated as "The ninth of eight." Of course, it could not be a name, especially a human one.

— And, finally, our third partner, a military magician of the third stage, master Karlon. — The elf threw up her hands. — He is from the middle class, therefore without a surname.

— Specialization — support on the first line, — added Carlon, already habitually suppressing an outburst of irritation. — But over the years of post-war practice, I have mastered a lot outside of my specialty.

— Very nice. — The old man replied without a smile.

— Well, since we all know each other now, let's talk about business issues. — Valria leaned over the table and unscrewed the bronze candlestick hanging on the wall in two movements. Taking a bottle stopper from her pocket, she plugged the auditory hole hidden behind the candlestick. Mr. Sandr nodded approvingly, put a tiny hourglass on the table. The clock exuded magical energy. Carlon immediately recognized them as a simple amulet against eavesdropping and peeping. However, simple does not mean cheap.

— We are talking about big money, — the old man began right off the bat, looking only at Valria. — This is one of the reasons why I turned to you. I need honest and reliable people, and your reputation in this regard is impeccable. And the small number of your "company" is only for the better. The detachment is in this room at full strength, isn't it?

— Even in the expanded one, — the elf girl nodded. — Master Carlon on a one-time contract.

— So much the better, — repeated Mr. Sandr.

— I want to remind. — Valria leaned forward with a serious look. — My company's impeccable reputation is largely based on the fact that we don't take on the dirty work. All within the laws of the Duchy and the Empire. I also reserve the right to refund the advance and terminate the task at any time.

— I know, — the old man assured, lowering his chin a little. — I was making inquiries about you, and we already talked yesterday... Nothing illegal or morally dubious. So, if really...

There was a knock on the door, and Sandr interrupted himself in mid-sentence. The servant who came in put a dish of baked mutton ribs on the table, and a jug of wine sat next to it. Valria immediately grabbed one rib from the dish, dug her teeth into the flesh, tore off a piece, chewed it. By some miracle, she managed not to stain her gloves or even her lips.

— All my life I thought that elves do not eat meat, — Mr. Sandr remarked, not without curiosity.

— Only those who worship the old forest gods, — Valria explained without looking up at him. "Again, she didn't really eat for a couple of days," Carlon realized. "She spent the last of her money on new gloves. Here is the windy head ... ". — Even among them, only the most pious. I am anointed by birth in the temple of the One Creator, so no problem.

She took another bite and with her mouth full asked:

— You go on, I'm listening.

— So, I represent one of the major merchants of our duchy, — the old man began. — Who exactly is not important. Not so long ago, an interesting paper fell into the hands of my owner. Do you know that ten years ago, during the war, the line of contact between the troops of the Empire and the Western Coalition passed along the western border of our duchy?

— Of course. Now there is the beginning of the neutral zone.

— And it was there that the imperial troops broke through the defenses of the Coalition, wedged into the lands of the Iderling kingdom. Why did this happen? — The old man took a jug and poured himself some wine — a little, literally for a couple of sips. — Because the kingdom owes the troops a year's salary. The Iderling generals promised that the money would soon arrive from the capital and that the soldiers would finally be paid. But the money didn't show up. Riots began, desertion began — and the Empire took advantage of this. However, the money did exist. They just didn't get into the troops.

— And not because they were plundered by royal officials, am I right? — The elf took another rib, but did not eat. Now the girl did not hide her interest. Her silent friend, without further questions, shifted the rest of the meat onto two plates, served them to the magician and the guest, leaving nothing for herself. Carlon shook his head and handed the plate back to the green-eyed girl. She lowered her eyelids for a moment, expressing her gratitude.

— You're right, captain. — Mr. Sandr was not interested in food either. — My master has obtained a secret report from the royal office that the salaries for an entire army were secretly delivered to the front line, in one of the strongholds of the kingdom, in the midst of battles. From the fort the money was to be sent to different regiments. But this did not happen. The fort was suddenly attacked by imperial troops, and a battle ensued in which both sides used now-forbidden forms of magic. The fort was destroyed, however, and the attackers were killed almost all. The retreating Imperials did not take any trophies. The area around the fort became very dangerous for humans. Now this place is the very heart of the no man's land. We have every reason to believe that the gold is still there. Somewhere in the cellars of the fortress.

— And the gold belongs to the kingdom. — The elf moved her ears, removed the golden bangs that fell on her forehead. — So, from the point of view of imperial laws, it belongs to no one.

— The treasure belongs to the finder, minus the tax to the treasury. — For the first time in the entire conversation, the old man grinned — a very unpleasant grin. It contrasted markedly with the charming smile that never left Valria's lips. — According to my master, the information about the lost salary was hidden by the royal authorities. Iderlings cannot send troops into no man's land to get money. And individual adventurers did not meddle in the fort — the reputation of the place is very bad.