Novel 1. Mercenary Company "Bright Heads". Story 1. Noman's land

— No. — Carlon squatted down to get a better view of the signs on the bottom of the arch. — Research in this area has been going on for centuries, and everyone has long understood that simply adding more magic will not solve the problem. Here is something else. These signs...

— What's wrong with them?

— These are... magical symbols that show the way. But... they are not what we were taught. They are not related to space. Ah... I don't even know. With time. With energy. With otherworldly plans.

— You mean, — the captain turned to him, returning the retort to its place, — that the Coalition tried to open a portal here to move not in space, but in time?

— No. There is something much more complex here. — The master gritted his teeth in annoyance. — I... just don't have the education to figure it out. Here we need an archmage, moreover, a theoretician, not a military one.

— Then draw it all, — the elf ordered. — I have no doubt that the customer will figure it out himself. Then check these pieces of paper on the floor and tables, maybe we'll take something with us. And I...

— Captain! — Dallan called out to her.

— We have guests, — Valria chuckled. The master also heard quick steps in the corridor — a booming echo carried them far away. He hastily took out an amulet of gold wire, which was not useful upstairs, whispered a few words over it and threw it to the door — so that it would be hidden by the right wing when the door opened. Dallan, meanwhile, stepped back from the threshold, standing between two tables, blocking the direct path from the door to the portal arch.

The high doors swung open from a powerful blow, almost flying off their hinges. People in identical leather armor burst into the laboratory. Three... four... five. Two are armed with arquebuses, two with short swords. The fifth held in his hand a slightly curved saber with a hilt without a cross. He was outwardly different from the rest — short, thin, fair-skinned, slanting eyes, black hair gathered at the top of his head in a bun. A typical native of the Republic of Erdo, a descendant of refugees from the Cherry Islands. Seeing the mercenaries and the magician, the five skillfully reorganized — the arquebusiers stepped back, throwing up their guns, the swordsmen covered the Republican with themselves.

— I thought there would be more of you, — Valria remarked, calmly standing to the left of her sergeant, so that a massive table remained between her and the guests.

— Losses, — the Republican replied calmly. — We were careful, but we did not avoid losses. Please lay down your weapons and leave.

Are you going to check your pockets? — the elf inquired.

— Of course, — the man nodded.

— And then let go?

— We don't need you. Only the contents of this room.

— Ah-h... — The elf's long ears stood erect, touching the brim of her hat. — Stop lying. The Republic is part of the Coalition. You are not an adventurer, you were sent here. You know what's here. You know that the most valuable thing in this room is information. You can't let us go because you think the Empire sent us and we might learn something.

— And you are right, perhaps, — the Republican agreed, as if reluctantly. He raised his hand, giving the command to the companions. — Ki...

Carlon breathed out an activation word and snapped his fingers. The golden talisman, waiting for its moment behind the door leaf, came to life. The "Fire Disc" was created for battle mages serving in assault units to break through field fortifications and strong doors with a narrow beam of flame. Now the disc has thrown a jet of fire into the floor directly below it...

The force of the explosion went into the stone slab on which the talisman lay. But the shock wave hit the ears of everyone gathered in the room, raised all the dust that had accumulated on the floor and walls, and also ... slammed the door leaf, which knocked the arquebusier down on the way. The second shooter frantically fired somewhere to the side — and tumbled back with an arrow in his eye socket. Valria jumped to the side, tugging at the lever of her crossbow, Sergeant Dallan rushed to attack the stunned enemies. The first swordsman did not have time to come to his senses — the girl pierced his neck with a stabbing attack. The second one closed with a blade, but immediately received an arrow from the elf in the back, and the sergeant finished him off with a cutting blow to the neck. The arquebusier, knocked down by the door, was about to rise, trying to aim at Dallan, but the magician flew at him, brandishing an infantry cleaver. The sergeant was left alone with the Republican. He skillfully shifted so that the girl covered him with herself from Valria, brought down a hail of quick blows on her. Dallan fought back, but backed away, barely keeping up with her opponent's rhythm. Suddenly, the republican made a deceitful feint, and instead of a new chopping blow, he jumped forward with his whole body, aiming with the tip of his saber at the girl's stomach not protected by steel. The sergeant, with a movement similar to a dance step, turned half-turn, letting the enemy's blade pass, and struck down. The Republican dropped to one knee, blocked the sergeant's blade with his own... and at the same moment an arrow from a magazine crossbow pierced his temple. Carlon, meanwhile, cornered the enemy, who was fighting off with the butt of a gun, and finished off, first cutting off his fingers on his right hand, and then driving a cleaver into his collarbone.

— Are you okay? — Leaving the crossbow on the floor, Valria ran up to her friend, who was still standing over the corpse of the Republican.

— Yes, — without taking her eyes off the dead body at her feet, the sergeant lowered her sword. — This...could be a good fight.

— Could be. — The elf took the green-eyed girl by the shoulders and turned her around to face her. — Only you're not a knight to arrange duels, right?

— Yes. Not a knight, — Dallan replied with a strange expression and covered her eyes with an armored glove. She shook her head. — Not a knight.

— Did you finish there? — Carlon asked, wiping the blood from the cleaver on the sleeve of the jacket of the arquebusier still trembling in agony.

— Yes. — The captain let go of her friend's shoulders and walked towards him. — Both are intact, thanks for asking. How is it yourself?

— My muscles hurt, — the mage admitted. — And I don't even have the strength to support the "owl's eye". Will you take me upstairs by the hand?

— You deserved. — The elf smiled and really took his hand. — Let's just finish the job first.

While the magician, by the light of a trophy oil lantern, redrawn the signs from the arch of the portal onto a piece of paper, the girls dragged the corpses to the wall and stuffed a travel bag with tattered papers collected from the tables and the floor. Then Valria busily searched the dead, stuffed a couple of tight purses into an empty crossbow magazine bag, sheathed the Republican saber. Handed the weapon over to Dallan:

— Your trophy. Do not argue.

They ran upstairs, remembering that there should be no more threats in the basement, and it was getting dark on the surface. The mercenaries and the magician came out through the very door through which they had not been able to enter recently — it turned out to be bolted from the inside, the hinges were soundly oiled. In the courtyard, the elf ordered the cart horses to be unharnessed.

— We'll take everyone with us, — she said decisively.

— How can we drag ourselves through the Dead Lands with such a herd? — the master was indignant. — We will be heard throughout the neutral zone!

— I won't leave them here, — Valria lifted her chin stubbornly. — And then, horses are money. I have some doubts about how much we will receive from the customer ...

The mage couldn't find anything to say. Leading a dozen horses, they rode away from the ruins of the fort and set up camp already in complete darkness...

* * *

The neutral zone, such an impression, decided that there was enough trouble with the trio of travelers — they reached the borders of the duchy without problems, and even very quickly, thanks to an excess of spare horses. A couple of times, Carlon's amulets began to sound the alarm, and they had to go around dangerous areas, but they did not meet either corpse-eaters or mind-manipulating creatures along the way. Leaving the trophy herd in a suburban stable, the three of them, without saying a word, went to the same guest house and rented rooms closer to each other — just in case. In the evening, a messenger from the innkeeper told Valria that a certain important gentleman was waiting for them in a room on the ground floor ...

The second meeting with Mr. Sandr took place at a much more richly laid table. Having done all the necessary manipulations with the candlestick, the auditory opening and the cork, the elf first of all set to the roast, and for about five minutes she wielded the spoon with indescribable grace under the cold gaze of the client. Finally, emptying the bowl, she leaned back on the bench and asked without a smile:

— Mister Sandr, tell me, please... Why didn't His Grace Lord Povikasis address me directly? Why all these games in the dark? We've known him for a long time.

The thin old man chuckled, not at all ominously, contrary to Carlon's expectations. He said, tapping his finger on the rim of the glass of wine:

— Lord Povikasis has been the chief of imperial intelligence for a year now only formally. He is old, and the gout has finished him off. Now all affairs are conducted by the deputy and student of the lord, Baron Antonikos. He does not know you personally, but he listened to the recommendations of the mentor when it came to this matter. Just added some precautions. I think your insight will please him. I promise this won't happen again.

— I suppose it was no coincidence that we got to the fort at the same time as the Coalition detachment? Imperial intelligence was stirred up when they learned about the enemy's intention to send an expedition, right?

The old man silently drank from his glass. He nodded.

— What about payment? — Valria raised one eyebrow. Carlon always envied her this ability — he himself did not know how to do this.

— I cannot estimate what one percent of the information you obtained in gold is, but I am authorized to pay you twenty crowns, regardless of the outcome of the case. — Mr. Sandr put a pleasantly clinking bag on the table. — It's not a treasure, of course...

— But it suits us. — The elf pushed her wallet towards her. — Carlon, pass the papers to Mr. Sandr.

The master moved a tightly stuffed bag towards the customer with his foot, put on the table a piece of paper with symbols copied from the black stone arch. The customer took a quick look at the sheet, hid it in his bosom. He asked, looking into the magician's face:

— And what do you think of your find, master?

— I think that this is not a matter of my rank, — Carlon replied, holding his gaze. — As you remember, I'm just a combat mage practitioner. And then there are some subtle things.

— Well. — The old man shrugged. — Ladies, master, you did a good job. I do not want to deceive you — this whole thing can have consequences. Perhaps I will contact you more than once. Of course, the pay will be decent, and for cases that Lady Valria deems unacceptable, we will look for other performers. For now, I must say goodbye.

— Wait. — The elf raised her hand. — I would like to ask you for a small favor.

— Yes?

Valria leaned against the edge of the table and smiled charmingly.

— You, I see, an influential person with useful connections. Could you help me sell a dozen horses for a better price?...

End of the first story.

27