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

Novel 1. Mercenary Company "Bright Heads". Story 1. No-man's land.

Master Karlon 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. — 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 elf, 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? — Valeria arched a golden eyebrow.

— Not. 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 was 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 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 one. She lowered her eyelids for a moment, expressing her gratitude.

— You're right, captain. — Mr. Sandra 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 Valriya'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.

— But do you think we'll go there? — the girl put the baked rib aside, intertwined her fingers in front of her face.

— Why not? — The old man threw up his hands. — In ten years outdoors, any dangerous magic will wear off. The living creatures there are probably unpleasant, but no one is forcing you to fight with it. I don't expect the three of you to haul a cartload of gold from a dangerous area. Your task is reconnaissance. Find out what condition the fort is in, whether there is gold, where exactly it is stored, whether access to it is free. Are there any other valuables worth grabbing. After your report, I will assemble a larger expedition and send it out for prey. You will receive one percent of any profit from this case. Well, I will not count every coin in the chests, of course. I hope you have roomy pockets ...

— Prepaid expense? — the elf asked shortly. The tips of her sharp ears began to move again — they trembled lightly.

— Three gold crowns ahead. — Mr. Sandr laid out the coins on the table without unnecessary ceremony. The girl immediately moved them to her, handed one to her partner, the other to the magician. Said:

— Well, perhaps we agree. — She glanced at her partners one by one. — Do we agree?

The sergeant nodded silently. During the conversation, she managed to gnaw on the ribs and now looked even more serene and indifferent than usual. Carlon stroked his beard:

— In principle, I agree... But I would like to know in advance what kind of magical threats may be encountered in the area of ??the fort.

— After signing the contract, I will provide you with all the information that my master could get, — Mr. Sandr promised.

— Perfect! — the elf exclaimed with sudden enthusiasm, clapping her hands. — Get paper and pen. And Mr. Sandr...

— Yes captain?

— You still don't eat, I'll take your ribs?...

* * *

The rest of the day and the whole evening the company spent on replenishing supplies. Valria exchanged one of the gold coins in the ducal bank and divided the silver into three parts. The purchase of provisions was undertaken by the elf herself — here she could be completely trusted. The sergeant went to the street of gunsmiths, but Carlon had to pretty much wander around the city, since the shops he needed were located in different quarters. The consumables associated with the craft of a magician were always the most expensive, and in order not to be left with an empty wallet, he had to be resourceful. In other circumstances, the master would save money — he could brew some useful elixirs himself, for example, from cheaper raw materials. However, there was no time for that now. The captain, fired up with enthusiasm, was about to set out in the morning. Seeing the radiant face of this pointy-eared adventurer, the magician was filled with foreboding. Again — as always, when he had to work with her. On the one hand, these forebodings were invariably justified. On the other hand, he is still alive, and so is the elf. Maybe it's not so bad...

Before going to bed, putting on glasses in a thick tin frame, Carlon read the papers handed over by the customer, dedicated to the purpose of their journey. Nothing particularly interesting was found in them. The pre-war stone fort was once a border fortress, then became a stronghold for the royal armies. A standard set of protective charms and amulets for its time. During the siege, the Imperials used a wide range of combat spells. But what it all turned into now, years later, even a magician more inquisitive than Carlon would not have undertaken to predict. Recordings were interrupted by an unsuccessful assault. After, obviously, no one followed the ruins of the fortress. Expeditions to those places, if any, did not leave any reports. Or the customer simply did not get to them.

After reading everything twice, the master blew out the candles, hid the glasses in a leather case and lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling beam. The thought was circling in his head that it was not too late to refuse. In the end, he is exhausted from the last contract, and he still has money. But ... with great reluctance, Carlon admitted to himself that he himself was interested in how everything would turn out. But what the magician did not admit was that he did not want to let the restless elf go on a dangerous task without supervision. Carlon drove this thought into the farthest corner of the subconscious and rammed there with his feet until he fell asleep.

The company failed to meet in the morning at the agreed place. With the first rays of the sun, an imperial dragon barge entered the city port, and the quarters adjacent to the embankment were tightly blocked. Firstly, there was no need to give the Coalition spies an extra opportunity to see the pride of the imperial fleet, and secondly, so that the dragons nesting on the barge would not devour someone. There have already been precedents. For a time, even local loaders were kicked out of the docks, and they stifled their drink in the halls of taverns, the fire of the Imperials, for a little while. Carlon rode for an hour on horseback through the free streets until he noticed a familiar golden-haired head flashing at the crossroads.

— While they were waiting for you, we managed to have breakfast for the second time,— Valria informed the magician who caught up with them. — All goes to good.

Both mercenaries led by horses — Dallan had a tall gray stallion, the elf, of course, had a snow-white thin-legged mare with a long mane. Getting ready to go, Valria added to her costume a light blue cloak and a brown hat with a dashingly folded brim on the right. The hat was decorated with a magnificent white feather and a round copper medallion on a ribbon. The same locket that Carlon had mentioned the previous morning. An insanely expensive and stunningly useless magical toy with the sole function of keeping the hat owner's hair clean in all conditions and never tangled. The former war mage knew exactly how much such a medallion cost, and how much it cost to recharge it every month — for him this served as more proof of Valria's empty head.

Unlike her partner, the sergeant completely changed her outfit. The green-eyed girl was dressed in a rather tight-fitting dark blue suit of a jacket with a stiff stand-up collar and trousers girded with a narrow belt. A light silver cuirass with a blue notch pattern covered only the chest and upper back, there were no shoulder pads and a lower plate protecting the stomach — although they could be attached to it. On the hands of the girl were long, to the elbow, leather gloves, reinforced with thin metal plates on the back of the hand and gaiters, which made them look like gauntlets, on her feet were high boots, also reinforced with metal in front. Moreover, silvery plates, looking like hoplite greaves, rose above the tops, covering the knees. Complementing the outfit is the same as the captain's light blue cloak, fastened to the cuirass with gilded clasps.

— All is ready? the mage asked, exchanging nods with the sergeant.

— Of course. — The elf unhooked a square bag from the saddle, handed it to the dismounted Carlon. — Your share of gourmet delicacies. I personally tried crackers — they don't serve them on the duke's table, I assure you.

— I have no doubts, — the master chuckled. — And this is for you.

He handed the elf three enchanted crossbow bolts, all bronze-tipped, of course. Iron and its derivatives, such as steel, do not tolerate any magic near them. Two arrows sported bright scarlet plumage, one blue.

— Fire and ice, — the girl nodded with a satisfied look, hiding the arrows in a case on her belt. — There was no wind?

— No, but I ordered for the future. I know how much you love them. They promised to deliver in a week. Now in the duchy they only conjure on fire, everything else is imported from the Empire. The demand is small.

They went on foot to the outpost in the suburbs, already on the merchant road they climbed into the saddles. Soon they had to turn off the well-worn road, and for several hours the small company made its way through the copses, moving away from the sea. The elf tried to entertain her companions with chatter about all sorts of nonsense, and she succeeded so much in this that Carlon began to have a headache at the mere sound of her voice. Unable to stand it, the magician tried to interrupt his companion:

— Listen, did you manage to make inquiries about our customer? At least some? You also have connections in the merchant guild and in the town hall.

— I tried, but to no avail, — Valria shrugged her shoulders. — In one evening, at least, I did not learn anything.

— So maybe it was worth the delay?

— Why? — the girl with a surprised look put two fingers to the tip of her nose and moved her sharp ears. Do you think we are being deceived?

Karlon took a deep breath. The elf smiled back.

— Do not worry. Even if there is no gold in the fort, or if it is a trap, the adventure will turn out great. And that's the most important thing, right?

— You do understand, — the magician said slowly, looking at the mane of his horse, — that this is precisely the reason why you have two people in your company? And no one, except Dallan and me, agrees to go under your command even for gold?

— I don't need more, — the girl assured. — It's not my fault that the emperor's military cabinet does not issue patents for free detachments smaller than a company. I don't want to join someone else's group. But they turn to me with such orders, with which they don't go to ordinary mercenaries. And this, you see, is great.

Carlon was about to vigorously disagree, but changed his mind at the last moment. However, after these words, Valria took out a huge biscuit from her bag and began to gnaw it, gracefully pouring crumbs into the palm of her hand — which means that blissful silence reigned temporarily. The trio arrived at the border of the Duchy of Elvart just before sunset. Determining where the no man's land begins was not difficult even without border posts. Behind the wanderers, another forest was green, lush grass was rippling in the wind — and in front of them the ground was bare. Here and there, the blackened trunks of dead trees stuck out, which for the past ten years had not been touched by rot. In obedience to an old military habit, Carlon ran his fingers along the sling of equipment. Attached to the straps that crisscrossed his chest were pockets of amulets and flat leather flasks of potions. The magician remembered how during the war years some young dandies wore glass bottles like that. It was fun for them to fall prone under enemy fire. Especially on the hard rocky ground, baked from the blows of fiery magic. In addition, a wide infantry cleaver hung on the belt of the master, which did not need to be checked.

The magician's companions also rattled their weapons without further ado. Sergeant Dallan, in addition to her long sword, took with her a hunting spear, now strapped to the saddle. This spear with a thick shaft and a crossbar behind the point was created for hunting big game, but in the Deadlands it will always find use too. Attached to Valria's saddle was an elven infantry crossbow. It differed from the imperial army crossbow, which fell out of use with the advent of gunpowder, by a complex mechanism for instantly pulling the bowstring. Another crossbow, a small cavalry one, with a flat magazine for five arrows, the girl constantly kept on her knees. On her left hip she dangled a bag-quiver with ordinary arrows, on her right — with enchanted ones. Behind the back, under the cloak, a case for two five-shot magazines was attached to the belt. Finally, at the pommel of the saddle was fixed a sheathed combat sword, a narrow sword fashionable among the nobles of the Empire, more suitable for thrusting than for any other fencing techniques.

— Shouldn't we be up for the night right now? — Carlon asked. — It's getting dark.

— No, I planned the route on purpose, — the elf shook her chin. — We'll drive for a couple more hours, set up camp at sunset. Close to the border Deadlands are not too dangerous. But if we move out in the morning, we will get to the fort before dark. This is more important.

The magician did not argue, and gave the horse a leg. The neutral zone met the wanderers with deceptive calmness. They plunged unhindered into the scorched lands, easily found a convenient hollow in which they set up camp when the sun's disk touched the horizon. Dry tree trunks rose around, but the travelers made a fire from the firewood they brought with them — it was not worth touching the trees in the Dead Lands without extreme need. The bonfire was a worthwhile risk — the fire might draw unwanted attention to the camp, but it also served as a defense against far more potential dangers. While Karlon was cooking porridge in a camping pot, the elf dozed off, putting a rolled up blanket under her head and covering her face with a hat. Her friend devoted her free time to sword exercises. Without taking off her armor, the sergeant entered into a duel with several invisible opponents at once — and the magician only had to feel sorry for the girl's imaginary enemies. Usually, against the background of Valria, the swordswoman seemed less feminine, a little rough — but in battle this feeling disappeared. Each movement of Dallan was not only swift, but also graceful, each swing of the sword — verified to the split second. The master had no idea where the girl came from and what she did before meeting the elf, but he had no doubt that she had a personal fencing teacher. And that in itself can say a lot.

— Your sword is quite light, sergeant, — the mage finally noticed. Unlike Valria, he addressed the sergeant as a real military officer — he himself did not know why. Maybe because of her calm and serious nature. — Do you always hold it with both hands?

— Almost always, — the green-eyed girl replied calmly, without stopping. She didn't seem to be afraid to hold her breath. The girl's voice was low and soft, almost velvety. In this, she also differed from her partner. — Most of my opponents are stronger than me.

— However, if necessary, you can hold it with one hand?

— Yes. But I will quickly get tired, and the blows will be weaker. — As if to confirm her words, the girl made several stabbing attacks with her right hand, deftly threw the weapon into her left palm, and repeated the movements. She was quick and agile, even in a cuirass, but she really could hardly have pierced chain mail or leather armor with such injections.

— And the dagger? I haven't seen you practice with it in your left hand.

— I usually use the dagger separately when there is no sword. — The sergeant suddenly spun on her heels and froze, looking at the interlocutor. She put the blade on her shoulder. — But my left hand is also "working", I can deflect blows with it.

— How? — this conversation with Dallan was the longest for all the time of their acquaintance, and the magician asked the question more to continue the conversation than out of curiosity.

Instead of answering, the girl simply clenched her fingers into a fist and raised it, demonstrating the steel plate sewn onto the glove — from the wrist and almost to the elbow.

— Any serious blow, even with the bluntest blade, it will not withstand.

— My bones will not withstand a serious blow, they are too thin and fragile. — The swordswoman seemed to smile slightly. He wouldn't vouch for it — but the corners of her lips lifted for a moment, and something flashed in her eyes. — But the sliding one can be deflected, or simply deflect someone else's blade without the risk of cutting yourself.

— The porridge is ready. It's going to burn now, — the elf said muffledly from under the hat, and Carlon had to interrupt the conversation in order to remove the cauldron from the fire.

After supper they divided the watch. Valria was the first on the clock, her friend was the last. Carlon got the darkest hours before and after midnight. He didn't mind — it really was the right thing to do. At the appointed time, the elf woke him up by grabbing his nose with two fingers and tugging. Having listened to the well-deserved curses on her head, the girl climbed under the covers and immediately sniffed comfortably with her nose, putting her gloved hand on the butt of a magazine crossbow. The magician began to walk around the fire, sometimes throwing pieces of wood into it. The sky remained clear, but the young crescent of the moon gave almost no light. Outside the circle, lit by the fire, the darkness seemed impenetrable. Carlon was tempted to use the owl's eye spell to see through the darkness, but maintaining it required an expenditure of energy that should be saved for tomorrow. At some point, the master found himself sweating, and goosebumps ran down his back. "What nonsense. — he thought. — Like a rookie. You went through the war, what are you afraid of?" But the goosebumps turned into anxiety, anxiety turned into real fear. Carlon froze, clutching the cleaver handle in a sweaty palm. Outside the circle of light, something flickered, and there was a rustle, reminiscent of the steps of soft paws. The magician choked with horror, was dumbfounded ... and closed his eyes, hastily building a barrier in his mind. "You've let your guard down, fool! — he scolded himself. — Discipline of the mind!". The master could have understood earlier that the creeping fear that penetrated his soul was not real. Someone watching him from the darkness was trying to paralyze the mage with terror or send him into a stampede. After all, a person running without looking back is a convenient victim.

— Oh, you scum — whispered Carlon. Still standing like a pillar, not letting go of the handle of the cleaver, he cast a sidelong glance at his companions. The girls slept peacefully. Getting into the mind of a sleeping person is even easier, but this requires a completely different gift, from a different sphere of magical talents. So it's best not to wake them up. The master focused on his own feelings — and at the same moment an invisible wall, exposed around his mind, seemed to be hit by a cast-iron cannonball from a siege bombard. The magician grimaced at the phantom pain, clutching his head in his hands. The blow was full of wild, raw power — and Carlon realized that he was not dealing with a man. One of the rare creatures, endowed with innate abilities to manipulate the mind, crept up to the fire. That's because he was "lucky" — there are only a few such creatures in the neutral zone. A predator that preys on thought intrusion is both better and worse than a mage with the same powers. Carlon realized that he could not withstand another blow — his composure would collapse. Because the magician ... removed all the barriers and let the enemy inside. It hurt — it hurt like hell. It's like voluntarily sticking an arrow in your stomach. Having let the predator dive into his soul, Carlon began to build new walls — but not in front of him, but around him. A former war mage was building a labyrinth. Memories, feelings, emotions became the material for the walls. The night hunter darted among them, more and more lost — powerful, but stupid. When the beast was completely confused, Carlon parted his lips and croaked:

— Val... Valria! Va...

It seemed to the magician that he was whispering — but both girls instantly woke up from his words. Seeing how the master stands, staggering and holding his head, the elf jerked the lever of the crossbow, cocked the bowstring, and only after that she threw back the blanket. The sergeant was already on her feet, blade drawn in her hand. She even managed to put on her boots.

— There ... — Carlon waved his hand in the direction where, as it seemed to him, the enemy was hiding. — Kill... quick...

The sergeant gave a short nod and plunged into the darkness without hesitation. The elf followed her with a crossbow at the ready. For another minute or two, the magician held the beast in a trap, then experienced a flash of sharp pain — someone else's pain. And contact with the mind of the night hunter was interrupted. Groaning, the magician fell to his knees. Convulsively, he felt for the necessary flask on the bandage, tore off the cap with his teeth, greedily drank a portion of the elixir that strengthens the nerves. By this time, the mercenaries had returned to the camp. Dallan carried in her free hand a large bundle that was dripping. Judging by the size, someone's head could fit in the bundle. Valria hurried to the magician, bent over him, took him by the shoulders. She asked without hiding her concern:

— How are you?

— I'm going to be sick now, — the master admitted, dropping to his heels. — I'm too old for this...

— Was it alone? This creature?

— If there was a flock, I would notice.

— Then lie down and sleep. — The girl helped him up and led him to his bed. — Right now. We'll take care.

— I ... yes, perhaps, — the magician muttered in a slurred tongue. — Necessary. But if you suddenly feel ... yourself ...

— I'll wake you up right away, — the elf promised, laying him on the blankets. Without any warning, the girl leaned over and pressed her lips to his forehead. — Sleep well.

And although Carlon absolutely knew that the captain of the "Bright Heads did" not have a spark of magical talents, her kiss still seemed to have some kind of magical qualities. During the war, after such fights, the master was tormented by nightmares for weeks. This time he fell asleep instantly, and slept soundly, dreaming of something very pleasant — although in the morning he could not remember what it was...

* * *

The night incident did not affect the plans of the detachment in any way. The elf woke Carlon in the dark, in a surprisingly merciful way — the captain carried a bowl of hot stew in front of his nose until the magician woke up from the smell. The travelers had breakfast and gathered quickly in order to move out at dawn and not lose an hour of daytime. Nevertheless, as soon as it began to get light, the first thing the master did was go to check on the corpse of their intruder. Apparently, once upon a time it was an ordinary domestic pig. Or one of the creature's ancestors was a pig. Pigs, of course, do not have a bone sting on the tail and small black scales instead of a skin, but in general the origin of the creature was still guessed. Carlon spat heartily at the decapitated remains before returning to camp. The girls were already in the saddles and were talking in an undertone about something, waiting for him. Taking his place in the saddle, the magician grumbled:

— If such "pigs" wander around in one day's march from the border, it's time for someone in the ducal palace to point to the gallows. Where are the patrols looking?

— I think it wandered in here recently in search of prey, — Valria shrugged. — Perhaps it was driven from his familiar places by someone bigger. I would look for traces — where the beast came from, was there one... I think I will return here after, if the military office gives an order for an investigation.

— We have proof. Sergeant Dallan leaned over and patted the tightly zipped leather bag in which she had hidden the creature's head. But it will soon start to stink.

— Then let's not delay. Forward! — the elf raised her hand theatrically and hit the horse with her heels — she did not wear spurs.

The sun rose to its zenith, and the detachment crossed the wasteland scorched by magic in a chain. The relatively safe "doors" of the neutral zone ended, the group went deeper into the very heart of the lands unfriendly to all living things. The company was led by Valria, unusually attentive and silent. The elf vigilantly looked around and listened — it was noticeable by the way the sharp tips of her long ears rose and fell. The girl constantly kept a loaded infantry crossbow on her knees. The second was the magician. Watching the captain from under half-closed eyelids, the master listened more to his inner feelings. He was not afraid to miss a material threat, relying entirely on his companions. Dallan closed the short column. The sergeant unhooked the spear from her saddle and placed it across the pommel.

The farther, the less monotonous the terrain became. There was no grass, but a tough thorny bush appeared, creeping along the ground, in places braiding dead trees. They had to dodge — in the thickets, horses could easily prick their legs into blood. From time to time there were crumbling ditches, funnels smoothed by time, round and elongated mounds of different heights. Some of them were mass graves, some were the remains of field fortifications. Once the detachment came across a completely normal-looking grove of two dozen young trees — healthy, with lush crowns. In their shadow, an equally ordinary lawn turned green, a spring spouted from the ground. A kind of oasis in the middle of the desert. The company traveled around this place in a wide arc. Valria looked over her shoulder for a long time, as if expecting the trees to give chase.

An hour later they got into trouble again. In appearance, the dry plain did not change a bit, but blue lightning the size of a fingernail danced around the magnificent white feather on the elf's hat. Carlon closed his eyes — and found that he continued to see lightning through his lowered eyelids. One of the signal wards in his baldric began to heat up. The magician pulled out a copper plate of the amulet, looked at it, hiding it from the blinding sun in his palms. Transparent pebbles set in copper shimmered the same color as lightning. Their light was also visible through the eyelids.

— We are not going further, — the master said resolutely to his companions. They turned their horses around without question. They had to return in their tracks and set a new detour, losing more than half an hour on this — but no one reproached the magician with a word. Valria gave him a questioning look as they walked, but Carlon just shook his head and there were no questions.

It was well past noon, and the captain sometimes stood up in her stirrups, looking for a convenient place to stop for lunch. But the bush fields and groves of dead trees looked too inhospitable. So, at the request of the elf, Dallan distributed crackers and thin pieces of dried meat to the detachment, which were eaten right on the go. While eating, the wanderers let their guard down a little and almost ran into a strange structure. Across their route, something like ship frames stuck out of the ground — two rows of black beams, curved towards each other. Only when he got close to them, Carlon realized that these were not beams ...

— Those are ribs, — Valria voiced his thoughts aloud. — Dragon ribs.

The elf jumped down to the ground, walked over to the giant bones. Ignoring the warning exclamation of the magician, she put her hand on one of the ribs. She said quietly, without turning around:

— Poor fellow... Very young...

The dragon, judging by the size of the skeleton, was really small, almost a teenager. In any case, by the standards of land breeds. Most of the bones were covered with earth, even the skull was not visible. But to Carlon's surprise, Valria's voice trembled, as if she were standing over the body of a kinsman. The tips of the girl's ears drooped, her shoulders drooped.

— Probably shot down during the war, — the master said the first thing that came to mind.

— Yes, probably ... — the elf agreed. She walked along the skeleton to the last ribs, examined something there, beckoned to her companions. The magician dismounted, approached, leading the horse by the bridle. He saw what Valria was considering. Where the last ribs should have been, two short stumps protruded from the cracked soil. The edges of the cuts had not yet had time to darken, the bone seemed yellowish-white.

— Someone was here recently. — The girl sat down and carefully touched the cut with thin fingers, tightened into the thick leather of the glove. — A loner or a small detachment like ours, otherwise they would have taken everything away. Dragonbone is valued...

— Or someone scared them off, — Dallan put in. The sergeant remained in the saddle, ready to shield her comrades from any threat.

— Yes, or someone scared. — The elf straightened up. Her voice has already changed. — But mind you, there are no tools lying around. So they left without panic.

— Traces? — Carlon asked. Instead of answering, the girl hit the ground with her heel. She stepped back so that the barely noticeable dent, knocked out by the blow, became visible, ironically asked:

— Here? If we stay until the evening, I'll find something, I promise.

Of course, they did not linger — on the contrary, they increased their pace. After the dead dragon, they came across a broken artillery battery — perhaps even the dragon died attacking it. Cannon carriages, baskets of earth and palisade stakes rotted away, now the battery was a long earthen rampart, from which in some places protruded bombards eaten by rust.

— Judging by where the guns are looking, we are going to the battlefield, — said Carlon.

— Do you know what kind of battle was here? — Valria moved her horse to a walk, took out a flask of water.

— I have no idea. I fought in the south.

— The Imperial Seventh Army, supported by two cavalry corps of the Duchy, has stopped the advance of the army of the Royal Marshal de Abrozzi, — Dallan announced unexpectedly. — With the marshal were the king's plate cavalry, mercenary infantry from both republics, and a dozen dragonriders. Probably the one we saw is one of them.

— Do you remember the battle plan? — the elf clarified, pretending that she did not enjoy Carlon's surprise at all, but simply unscrewed the tight cap.

— No, I'm sorry.

— Then we don't know how wide the dead field is. — After drinking a couple of sips, Valria put away her flask, adjusted the quiver at her belt. — One more detour and we won't reach the fort before dusk. We're going straight. Scientist man, what do you think?

— In ten years, there are hardly corpse-eaters out there. — Carlon scratched his head. — Spirits, ghosts, petty demons won't appear in daylight. Skeleton warriors don't rise by themselves, you need a necromancer. My opinion is that the risk is justified.

— Here you go. — The elf touched the brim of her hat with a smile. — Now if something happens, it's not all my fault. We can keep going.

A sure sign that a battle had once taken place in these parts was not the bones of fallen warriors, not scattered shields, helmets, fragments of armor, broken swords and spears, arrows sticking out of the ground. No, ten years later, the remains of the battle were mostly traces of excavations. Even here, in the neutral zone, those wishing to profit from the property of the dead penetrated. Some of the rectangular pits dug by the marauders had collapsed, others looked quite fresh.

— You know ... — Carlon said slowly, looking around. — I take back my words. Corpse-eaters can still be found here. They have something to eat.

— Yeah. — Valria didn't even let out a taunt about it. She drew back her infantry crossbow, unfastened both quiver-bags at her hips. Taking a large crossbow in her hands, she put the repeating crossbow on her knees and now controlled the horse with her legs.

The company probably reached the middle of the dead field, when something flashed on their right in the thickets of thorns. Despite the risk, the captain deviated from the direct path, wishing to know what it was. It turned out that the trunk of an arquebus lying on the ground was shining. There were no other traces of a person nearby — just a gun on the ground, that's all.

— Not rusty, — Carlon frowned.

The elf leaned out of the saddle, deftly picked up the arquebus, miraculously not losing her hat, and handed the trophy to her partner. She sniffed the section of the barrel, examined the matchlock, the gun stock. Ran a verdict:

— They shot from it. Not later than at night. There is a drop of blood on the butt. Haven't been able to reload.

— We can't help the owner of this thing, — Valria sighed. — Company, in battle order.

The detachment formed a wedge. Dallan was now leading the group, the mage and the elf moving behind her, keeping an eye on the flanks. The far part of the dead field was overgrown with bushes so densely that it was necessary to let the horses through, despite their plaintive neighing. Valria was turning her head more and more anxiously, spinning her ears like her white horse. Finally, she raised her clenched fist.

— Stop!

When the detachment stopped, the girl pulled out an enchanted arrow with scarlet plumage from her quiver and put it into her crossbow. She said cheerfully, with a slight smile:

— They are here. They creep, but I hear them in the bushes. A few behind, the rest on the sides. Ahead is quiet, only stinks of rot.

— They are leading us into an ambush, — Dallan nodded, removing a spear from her saddle pommel.

— Do you have a plan? — Carlon said it in such a way that Valria immediately understood that he was quite sure that she had no plan. Usually such a tone acted on the elf like a hole in a pentagram — on an imprisoned demon.

— Of course have! — the girl pulled the cloak over her shoulder, stroked the bow of the crossbow. — We break through the right flank, go around the ambush and leave at a gallop. First I lead, then you, Dallan, and I cover. Carlon constantly stays in the center, helps according to circumstances.

— How exactly are we going to break through? — the master frowned.

— Like this. — The elf raised crossbow to her shoulder and pressed the trigger. An enchanted arrow flashed in the air in a red-gold stroke, hit somewhere in the bush a hundred paces from people. It rumbled, a sphere of dark crimson flame grew in the place of impact, burning dry branches flew in different directions.

— Forward! — Valria waved her hand. The sergeant promptly spurred the horse. Her tall warhorse, not noticing the pain from hundreds of needles that dug into his legs, broke a path for the rest in the thorny thickets. The detachment rushed straight to the bald patch scorched by an arrow. At full gallop, Valria managed to hang an infantry crossbow from her saddle and pick up a multi-shot one. Two gray figures of human size darted across the riders. Carlon did not really consider them — one immediately capsized with an arrow in her head, the other tried to block the path of the column, and received a spear in the chest. An inept horseman would have been knocked to the ground by such a blow, because the spear was not created for mounted combat, but Valria's green-eyed friend did not even stagger in the saddle. The corpse-eater flew back into the bushes with a spear wedged between its ribs, a rider in silver armor rushed past, drawing her sword. Other hunters howled behind them, realizing that their prey had deceived them. Branches crackled — the flock rushed in pursuit. But the flames also crackled — the dry thorn burned perfectly, in many places where the smoldering pieces of bushes fell, small fires took place. It could be played with. Carlon removed the flask marked with the required letter from the sling, pulled off the cap, spat inside, plugged the neck and threw the vessel over his left shoulder. Ten seconds later, the flask exploded, creating a cloud of black smoke, impenetrable and terribly acrid. The cloud stretched out to the sides, creating a barrier a hundred steps wide and fifty steps deep.

The company escaped from the dead field, moved away from it, without slowing down the gait. The howling of the corpse-eaters and the crackling of the fire soon died down, but the smoke behind them grew more and more — the thicket provided enough fuel for a serious fire. The captain ordered a stop, but only to pull the thorns out of the horses' legs, wash their wounds with at least water — and drive on.

— At night they will try to find us, — Carlon warned, returning to the saddle. His bay stallion did not suffer much — all the spikes went to the sergeant's horse. — These creatures are vengeful.

— I don't plan to go back the same way anyway, — Valria waved her hand away. A successful fight with monsters cheered up the girl, she even sang something — glory to the Creator, under her breath. — And they will lose track.

In confirmation of her words, the elf fished out a paper bundle from the saddle bag, tore it up and generously scattered some kind of powder on the ground — black, with red grains.

— Don't try to sniff, — she warned Carlon. — Lick — even more so.

— Leltord's Pepper? — the magician remembered. It was believed that the infernal mixture, which beats off the scent of not only dogs, but generally anyone up to dragons, was personally invented by the leader of the elven rebels of the last century.

— Almost, — Valria nodded, closing the bag tightly. — Home recipe.

In the next hour, the detachment several times slightly deviated from the intended path, and each time the elf launched a bag of "pepper". Only when the horses began to noticeably run out of steam did the travelers take a step, move straight towards the goal. The walls of the ruined fort rose on the horizon as the sun dipped low enough to cast long shadows on riders and dry tree trunks.

— Finally! — very pleased with herself, the elf took out a strip of hard dried horse meat on this occasion, bit off a piece of it. — Almost done. The rest is a business for twenty minutes. Came in and out. Get ready to fill your pockets with coins, Carlon.

* * *

Even from afar, the destruction that the fort had undergone during the siege was visible. Round gate towers lost their tops, and one of the corner towers melted like a candle stub. The walls gaped with breaches, the dry moat was barely visible in the lush thickets of thorns.

— Do you feel anything? — the elf asked Carlon.

— May be. — The mage scratched his beard. — Nothing specific.

Closing his eyelids, he saw a shaky green flicker, repeating the outlines of the fortifications. At the base of the least battered of the towers, an emerald light burned — a still-functioning fortress amulet, embedded in the foundation. It blew wild magic — like an electrified wind, foreshadowing an imminent thunderstorm.

— It's better not to go to the western tower, — the master said, opening his eyes. — Everything else seems to be clean.

— So the catch is something else, — Valria chuckled. She jumped down, tossed her horse's bridle to the sergeant. She took off her cloak and threw it on the saddle. — Wait here, I'll scout out the approaches.

Grabbing only a magazine crossbow, the girl dived into the thick of the bush, instantly disappeared from sight. For a minute or two the magician saw a white feather flickering among the branches, then he lost sight of that too. And almost immediately began to feel growing anxiety. For some reason, it always seemed to him that if he let Valria go somewhere alone, she would definitely get into trouble — fall into a hole, be devoured by someone, or, at worst, struck by lightning in broad daylight. Interestingly, he felt this excitement only when working with an elf in a pair. While she was turning her extravagant adventures without his participation, the magician did not worry about the girl in the slightest. Fortunately, the master did not have to toil for a long time in the company of the silent Dallan — Valria returned in half an hour. Appearing from a completely different direction from where she left, she waved her hand to her companions. Without saying a word, she went up to her white-maned mare, took a large flask from her saddle bag, and drank some water. Wiping her lips with a glove, she busily began to untie the scabbard with a sword from her saddle.

— Tell me already, long-eared! — Karlon flared up — although he knew that Valria expected this from him.

— We must hurry, we have competitors. — The girl tightened the sword belt on her chest, moving the quiver from her left thigh back so as not to interfere.

— Who? How? — Dallan asked in a calm voice. Carlon, in fact, was not dumbfounded by the news either — he knew from the very beginning that something would go wrong. The only question was what exactly.

— I don't know yet, but there are traces of battle in the courtyard of the fortress. — Valria slipped on her cloak, fastened a sling to her infantry crossbow, and slung it over her shoulder. — Puddles of blood, a dozen corpses. And horses. Two harnessed carts, six riding horses. Tied. The corpses are stacked in a row — it means that someone took care. There is no one else in the yard. They must have gone underground. Pulls gunpowder when the wind is in our direction. Shot recently. Let's go take a closer look. I alone did not dare to go there.

The group entered the shadow of the towers shattered by cannonballs and magic, leading the horses by the bridle. The moat crumbled so much that it no longer served as a barrier, they passed the wall through a wide gap. Everything that the elf told about was found in the square courtyard of the fort. Other people's horses were tied to a still strong stone hitching post near the blocked gate. They greeted the appearance of strangers with alarming snorts and neighs. Valria, not at all afraid of a kick or a bite, approached the worried herd. She stroked one horse on the forehead, another on the neck, said a few tender words to them, which she probably never said to any man — and the neighing subsided. Carlon, meanwhile, went to the corpses piled under the far wall. Taking a closer look, he raised his eyebrows.

— What kind of rubbish is this, in the name of the Creator?

Three of the dead turned out to be people — judging by the clothes and simple leather armor, mercenaries. The other five are strange. In general terms, humanoid, they did not even resemble each other. One gray-skinned creature had a tuft of tentacles protruding from its shoulders instead of a head, while another had a horny beak on the front half of its skull, with no trace of eyes or nose. One creature had no skin at all — through the mesh of the muscles of the torso, strangely twisted, blackened internal organs were visible. Three of the monsters showed no signs of sex, two were undeniably male. Valria, who came up, glanced at the latter, wrinkled her nose:

— I don't know if these guys have a mind, but they definitely don't have shame and conscience.

— A bit like corpse eaters, — added the swordswoman who joined them. Unlike the magician and the elf, the green-eyed girl only cast a short glance at the bodies, and now looked around vigilantly, closing her fingers on the hilt of the sword.

— But definitely not corpse-eaters — the captain shook her head.

"Maybe...were corpse-eaters. But rather, people. — Carlon couldn't take his eyes off the ugly bodies. Bullet holes and traces of chopping blows did not add beauty to them. — It's... flesh distortion. This happens due to exposure to raw magical energy. Per person, per animal. A living being changes chaotically... but does not die. Combat magic does not give such an effect. Any magic turned into spell form does not. It's something else. And that something was here. The distorted do not have the intelligence to go far from the place where they were transformed.

— That's our catch, then. — The elf furrowed her eyebrows, staring at her hand. — Won't we become the same if we climb into the cellars? I... got used to my appearance. Especially for hair.

— Don't worry, we won't. I appreciate your hair too, — Carlon reassured the girl almost without sarcasm. — If your appearance does not compensate for your character, you will become completely impossible... Hey!

Thanks to the reflexes developed over the years of mercenary work, the master managed to block a blow to the liver and took a step back:

— Sorry. In general, if the residual background of wild magic was so strong here that the flesh was distorted from it, I would feel it from afar. Even through earth and stone. No, it was something like a flash, a splash, years ago. I bet something happened during the siege. And these poor fellows are people, soldiers. Were.

— And they've been living here ever since. — The elf pursed her lips. — But they could keep...

— No.

— Then it's our duty to put them to rest, — Dallan said without turning around as she watched the buildings at the back of the yard. — Their bodies are alive, which means that their souls cannot get to the Creator.

— Only on occasion. — Valria shook her bruised hand and flexed her fist. — For now, we need to go down, and I'll be glad not to meet a single local resident along the way.

— And what are we going to do downstairs? — Carlon asked. — If we catch up with competitors — will we arrange a fight?

— You'll see it there. The main thing is to catch up.

— Everything is as usual, — the master chuckled. — Your signature methods...

— I am one hundred and four years old. At this age, it's too late to change habits. — The elf's smile, as always, was completely disarming.

There was no need to look for a descent into the cellars of the fort — like in all similar fortifications, it was located on the lower floor of the central tower. But here new problems arose. The passage under the ground turned out to be tightly sealed with a solid door upholstered with rusty iron strips. The elf put her ear to the door and tapped it with her knuckles. She stretched out, retreating:

— Thick ... And door hinges inside. How did the door survive the assault?

— The records say that the Imperials dug into the cellars of the fort, — Carlon recalled. — And they broke in when the defenders were on the walls. So the door wasn't locked. But why is it closed now?

— What's the difference? — Valria wiped her dusty ear with a handkerchief. — Can you take it down with your magic?

— There is no amulet on the door, so... — the master unbuttoned the pocket of the sling, pulled out a disk woven from gold wire with a scarlet stone in the center. — I can do this thing. But there is a risk that the corridor will collapse, especially if it turns just outside the door and the fire hits the wall before it weakens. And I also need to pour so much energy into the amulet that you will drag me further on yourself. And then you'll fatten me up with meat pies for a week. Mind you, I do not like it when there are a lot of onions.

— You will not get it. — The elf snorted and put her index finger in the middle of her forehead. — I will not share pies with you... We need another option.

— Digging, — the sergeant said calmly.

— What? — Valria tossed her head.

— The tunnel through which the besiegers entered the fortress, — Dallan explained patiently, as for a small child. — Let's find a tunnel. Master Carlon, do you remember where it starts? The customer showed you a map.

— Yes I remember. — The mage rubbed the back of his head. — But in ten years it has definitely collapsed.

— Still, it's worth checking out. — The violet eyes of the elf flared with familiar fire. — Come on, hurry up!

The grove, which once hid the beginning of the dig from the eyes of the fort's defenders, was now visible through and through — after all, there were no leaves left on the trees. The sharp-sighted elf was the first to notice the boards sticking out of the ground, pointed to them. The group reached the place at a trot, dismounted. Carlon cursed through his teeth, muttered:

— I told you...

Where the Imperial military engineers had first struck the ground with picks and shovels, there was now a deep, oblong pit, merging into an even deeper ditch that stretched towards the fort. Of course, the hastily dug tunnel did not survive the test of time.

— Let's drive along it to the end, — Dallan suggested, not a bit upset.

— Why? — The elf turned to her.

— If the tunnel collapsed along its entire length ...

— Wait, I understand, — Carlon interrupted the girl. — But it all depends on pure luck.

— I have no problems with luck. — Valeria winked at them both. — What should we be lucky in?

— You'll see. — The magician did not miss the chance to repay the captain with her own coin. Dallan unexpectedly supported him without saying anything either.

They rode back to the fortress, following the ditch like a guiding thread. All this time, the elf frowned at the magician from under the brim of her hat, clearly cherishing plans for revenge. Knowing what she was capable of, the master did not torment the girl for longer than necessary. Already approaching the ruins, he pointed with his finger:

— Look. Where the tunnel passed under the wall, it also collapsed. If we're lucky, the debris from the wall didn't completely fill the hole...

They were lucky. A black hole was visible in the inner wall of the moat, only partially covered with fragments of stone and clods of dry earth. The sun was now setting on the other side of the fortress, and the gap was sinking into shadow. The mercenaries descended into the ditch. Carlon drove a peg with a ring into the ground, secured a long strong cable. Dallan pursed her lips tightly as she cut down a couple of thorny bushes blocking the passage with her sword. The captain all this time stood on the edge of the gap with a crossbow at the ready, peering into the darkness.

— I hear something, — she said, twitching her ears. — Looks like someone was shooting downstairs.

The master unhooked another flask from his belt and handed it to the sergeant:

— Have a drink. Night vision for two hours.

— Military mixture? — the green-eyed swordswoman clarified, taking the flask.

— Of course, — Carlon nodded. The military version of the potion not only increased the sensitivity of the eyes to light — after it, the vision reacted flexibly to changes in lighting, allowing not to go blind from a sudden flash of fire. — Valria, you don't need to?

— No, round-eared barbarian, I'm still an elf, in case you haven't noticed, — the captain snorted without turning around. All her attention was riveted on the failure, the tips of her ears were trembling. The girl listened to the sounds coming from the catacombs.

— Well, good. There may not be even weak light sources underground, so take these things and hang them on your belts. — The magician took out three bluish transparent pebbles from the waist bag, exuding a barely noticeable radiance. More than enough for night vision.

He closed his eyes tightly, drew the necessary sign in the air with two fingers, read the spell and sent a bit of magical energy into his own body. The sensation was as if ice water had been splashed on the eyeballs from the inside of the head. Hooting, the master lifted his eyelids. The dim light of the dying day hurt his eyes, but Carlon stoically endured the pain, not even grimacing — the feeling was familiar. The magician had to stand night guards even after the war.

— All down! — the elf commanded. — Dallan first, Carlon closes. Don't get stuck with your belly.

The magician grumbled something under his breath, but did not respond to the prompting. He let the girls go first and went down last, holding on tightly to the cable. He was not in danger of getting stuck in a hole, but sliding down a pile of earth was easy. Sintered dry clods slid under the soles of the boots, only the edges of stone blocks sticking out here and there, which had fallen into the old dig along with the ground, could serve as a support. At the very end, he slipped, but Valria, who was waiting at the ready, supported him in time.

— I didn't even doubt that you would stumble, — she said, helping the magician get off the earthen heap.

— Thank you, — Carlon squeezed out gratitude through force, looking around. The dip led them into a large square room, completely empty. Half of the room was filled with earth from the sinkhole. On the other side was a door, covered with a flap hanging on one hinge. Dallan stood in front of the door, sword at the ready.

— Imperial soldiers entered the basement here, — the elf said, standing next to her friend. — This should be the second level of the dungeons, the first one we skipped. The customer believes that the gold is stored on the last, third. Where are our competitors...

Her answer was the echo of a rifle volley, booming under the entire dungeon.

— Yeah, — the girl nodded in satisfaction. — Somewhere around here. If we hurry, we will get to the goal first, take up defenses there and talk with the guests, sitting on the chests.

— Do you still think there's some gold in there? — the mage asked skeptically.

— I'm sure it isn't. — The elf straightened her hat that had gone astray, smoothed the feather with her palm. — But there is a mystery, and this is much better.

She gently touched the crookedly hanging door with her fingertips... and it collapsed outward, throwing a cloud of dust in half with wood dust. Valria coughed, covering her mouth and nose with the hem of her cloak, her eyes filled with tears. The sergeant, obviously holding her breath, stepped into the corridor, looked left, right, and gestured that the path was clear.

The dungeon of the dead fortress met new intruders with cold and dust. But there was no talk of silence — somewhere on the left hand, volleys of several arquebuses rumbled measuredly, completely eerie sounds were heard, vaguely reminiscent of animal cries and howls. Whoever the people who descended into the cellars first were, they moved slowly, without unnecessary risk, methodically sweeping away all obstacles in their path with fire. Obviously, all the indigenous inhabitants of the dungeons were drawn to them. So far, Carlon and his companions have seen paw prints on the dusty floor and unpleasant-looking scratches on the stone walls as signs of life. The magician mentally rejoiced that in front of them lies an ordinary abandoned basement, in which one should not be afraid of any ingenious traps. The danger was represented only by the creatures that settled in the forgotten tunnels. Nevertheless, they advanced with all precautions. Sergeant Dallan walked first, followed by an elf woman a little to the left. Valria's sword rested in its sheath. Instead of a blade, she held a repeating crossbow at the ready, relying more on a successful point-blank shot than swordsmanship in such close quarters. Covering the backs of the girls, Carlon stroked the handle of the infantry cleaver — the master could snatch it very quickly.

The corridor led them first from north to south, then turned sharply to the east. Then came the crossroads, where the thunder of gunshots and the howling of monsters became more audible. The map provided by the employer helped to choose the right direction, and after a couple of minutes, leaving the shooting behind, the travelers found themselves in front of a stone staircase to the lower tier.

— Almost there, — Valria said quietly. The sergeant nodded and cautiously descended the chipped steps. She looked around at the lower platform, waved her hand, calling her companions. Three corridors led off the stairs.

— We have to go straight ahead. — The captain took a step towards the middle aisle and froze. She said worriedly: — I hear footsteps. There...

A moment later, from the darkness of the corridor, a blurry gray mass darted straight at the elf like a cannonball. Reflexes did not let any of the mercenaries down — Valria jumped back, and Sergeant Dallan appeared in the way of the attacker as if from under the ground. A crossbow clicked, a blade whistled, steel-sliced ??flesh slurped as a severed claw flew over the sergeant's head. The monster that attacked the elf recoiled back, allowing himself to be examined. Bipedal, covered in a rough gray hide, as tall as Carlon, but much narrower at the shoulders. The thinness of the creature was compensated by long arms, separated behind the elbow joint — so it seemed as if the creature had four arms. Now one hand was missing, a crossbow arrow was sticking out of the monster's chest — but the wounds did not bother him at all. "Gray" opened its mouth full of sharp fangs, let out a guttural roar, and again rushed to the attack. The second arrow Valria drove the creatures in the forehead — with no apparent effect. The sergeant deftly ducked under the monster's outstretched paws, letting its sickle-shaped claws click on her cuirass, slashed from bottom to top, ripping open the enemy's stomach. The creature collapsed on its back... And long black tentacles burst out of its opened belly and reached for the green-eyed girl. She backed away, holding her sword out in front of her. And Carlon finally fished out from the bottom of his waist bag a tightly stuffed pouch, tied with a red ribbon. He loosened the braid with a jerk, stood side by side with Dallan, threw out his hand with the pouch, whispering the right words. Obeying the movements of his brush, the orange powder left the bag, rushed like a sinuous ribbon to the gray-skinned creature, braided it, intertwined a bunch of tentacles, like a real ribbon a bouquet of flowers. The mage snapped his fingers. And the powder turned into a liquid flame. In less than a second, the magically distorted creature was completely drowned in the fire. The tentacles fought for a short time, trying to reach people, but in the end they also drooped. Dallan took a deep breath as she lowered her sword.

— It was his intestines, — Valria said in a completely emotionless voice from behind the mage. — What I just have not had time to see in my life, but this...

— It's always like that with magic — you can never say you've seen it all. — Carlon swallowed. He looked around, smiling nervously. — That powder was already worth more than my advance on this case. Saved this thing for a year...

The elf silently took out a gold coin from somewhere under her vest and put it into the magician's hand. He shook his head.

— No, it's your share...

— Take it, or I'll shove it up your collar at night while you sleep. — The captain slapped the master on the shoulder and walked past, on the go removing a half-empty magazine from her crossbow. The sergeant silently patted him on the back from the other side and followed the commander. Sideways, they squeezed past the smoldering remains of the monster, deeper into the corridor.

The ghostly breeze of raw magic got stronger, Carlon literally felt it on his skin. The wild energy did not pose a threat yet, but the feeling was not pleasant, as if you had plunged into a web with your whole body. They were approaching the epicenter of the outbreak that had spawned the monsters that filled the fortress. The master noticed how the usually imperturbable Dallan ran her hand over her face — apparently, she felt a faint echo of what the magician was now experiencing.

— There is no gold there, — for some reason the master said aloud, and Valria looked back at him, put her finger to her lips. After the battle, it hardly made sense to keep silence, but Carlon obediently fell silent. All three mercenaries quickened their pace. If there were enough doors in the corridors on the second tier leading to warehouses and closets, empty or clogged with rotten barrels, then here they had not yet come across a single one. Attacks from the flank were not to be feared, and the target was waiting straight ahead.

A vaulted tunnel lined with gray stone ended in a tall double door. The elf carefully examined it, looked inquiringly at the mage. He nodded. The captain stepped back, letting Dallan to the door. The sergeant pressed the door first. Then she pulled out a ring-handle. Then she hit the sash with her shoulder and the door gave way. Apparently the entrance wasn't locked, just the hinges had been covered in dirt and rust over the decades. The magician joined the girl, leaning against the other door — the door swung open with a piercing creak. The sergeant immediately jumped back, raising her sword, Valria aimed the crossbow over her shoulder — but the master froze on the threshold. He banged his fist against his palm, and with a satisfaction incomprehensible even to himself declared:

— As I said.

The room that opened before their eyes was definitely not a treasury. Tables filled with alchemical utensils, cupboards lined the walls full of magical equipment, and a huge arch of black stone in the center of the room. The vault of the arch collapsed, some of the tables were overturned, a couple of cabinets collapsed, and the floor, in addition to dust, was covered with glass crumbs mixed with scraps of paper.

— A magical laboratory, — said the already obvious fact Carlon. — With fixed portal.

— And I'm ready to pawn my hat that Mr. Sandr knew where he was sending us. — Valria's voice sounded almost enthusiastic. Entering the room, the elf knelt down, picked up a dusty sheet of paper from the floor, brushed it off. — Carlon, can you tell me what they were doing here?

— Perhaps, if I look around. — The master went straight to the black stone arch. Behind him, the sergeant closed the door and stood before her, blade in hand.

— Do you think everything that happened here is because of... this? — Straightening up, the captain pointed to the archway with a nod.

— Surely it is. — The magician climbed onto the stone pedestal that served as the foundation for the arch. He took out a sturdy leather case from his bag, where his glasses were stored on a soft lining. Putting them on his nose, he began to examine the signs dotted with black stone. — An improperly opened portal is the best source for raw magic. Therefore, they are forbidden to open in cities. But in order for the ejection to cover the whole fortress... They had to pump dozens of times more energy into it than usual.

— How many people can go through such an archway? — Valria asked. She left the rubbish on the floor alone and now studied the dishes that had survived on the tables.

— Five, six. And the last two will seriously risk their health. Then you need to open it again.

— So maybe the iderlings were trying to open... a kind of portal through which more people could be brought through? To transfer reinforcements from the rear, for example? — The elf removed a pot-bellied retort from the table, wiped the dust off it and looked inside, almost touching the glass with her nose.

— 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.

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