Insouciance

"You've lost your touch, Ebon. Your immoderate desires led us to this," I said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth as I tried to sound cold and hard, but my trembling hand gave me away. "If only you had listened to your people, no one would have died."
My hand still wouldn't obey, and the knife clutched in it scratched the ataman's throat, thin trickles of blood already seeping from the cuts. I looked the chieftain in the eyes, trying to find in them at least an echo of understanding, remorse, or any human feeling at all, but I couldn't.
Ebon bared his teeth and spat, aiming at my face, but the glob of blood fell short and splattered onto his own forehead.
"So this is how you thank me for everything I've done for you? I picked you up off the high road, gave you a family and a profitable trade, and you decided to take my place. I should have strangled you right there in the ditch, you bastard," Ebon thrashed against his bonds, but he was tied very tightly.
"Grrr!" he snarled, pushing his throat right onto the blade. "You haven't got the guts, you Judas! You were always too weak and too stupid — at least be grateful you got to serve as my cannon fodder. Set me free and I'll beat you so badly you'll be dying for a week by the roadside, which is exactly where I'll throw you back once I'm done with you!" he laughed, howled, and writhed like a snake.
I saw sparks in his eyes, a sign that the ataman had once again lost his grip on reality.
"You forced me to do this yourself, Ebon! If only you had!.. If only..." I realized I was repeating myself, so I fell silent and decided to get it over with quickly.
I took a deep breath and steadied my hand — one strong thrust to the throat should be enough. The chieftain kept on laughing and cursing. He had, it was true, saved my life once and taken me into the crew, but the hard years had taken their toll — little by little his mind had left him. It would be better for him this way, I thought.
All right, then. Time. I gathered my courage, raised the knife, and... saw the sharp tip of a sword emerge from my chest, punching through my quilted jerkin, and a moment later I felt a piercing pain.
"I never liked you," a familiar voice drawled near my ear.

***

A voice from the driver yanked me out of the dream.
"We're here!" he called over his shoulder. "My, what a crowd!"
And a crowd there truly was — a aged doorman was barely managing the noisy queue of freezing guests all eager to get inside as quickly as possible.
I touched my chest, breathing heavily and trying to gather my thoughts. Just a dream.
"I said we're here, sir! The von Dragoon estate! Hey, are you all right? You look a bit pale," the driver leaned away slightly — he'd evidently decided I was plague-stricken, sick, or something of the sort.
"N-no, th-thank you, I just dozed off. Yes, the estate. We're here. Thank you," I held out a few coins to the driver, but he didn't take them.
"Uhh, just leave them on the box, sir, my, well, my hands are dirty. Good evening to you, sir, and may you, ah, have a pleasant evening!"
Stepping away from the carriage and glancing over my shoulder, I saw the driver cursing and circling the three coppers I'd left behind, trying to scoop them up with a rag.
Shaking the foolish fellow out of my head, I strode with a confident step toward the estate. Neatly skirting the queue, I thrust the invitation under the doorman's nose and showed my credentials. "Duke Bruz," read the embossed document, which I'd produced myself in my lair a couple of days earlier.
"Name?" the old man inquired in a quavering voice.
I was momentarily at a loss, but then realized he most likely couldn't read.
"Bruz. Von Kiluch," I added a few steely and haughty notes to my voice.
"Ah yes, of course, an honored guest, do come in, do come in," the old man fawned, bowing and opening the door for me, much to the crowd's great displeasure. "Please, this way to the banquet hall, sir. Right through there, if you would. The master is engaged at the moment but will join the festivities shortly. Do try the snails in vinegar — our chef today..."
"Thank you," I cut off his stream of words drily.
Putting on a bored expression, I made my unhurried way toward the banquet hall, surveying the surroundings from the corner of my eye. Apart from the nominal guards at the entrance, there was no watch in the manor's corridors — only servants with pots and brushes scurrying to and fro, fixing their gazes on the floor every time they passed me. Rumors, it seemed, did not lie, and the stern von Dragoon Senior had drilled his slaves very well indeed. Fine by me — hardly any of these plebeians would dare get in my way.
Passing a mirror, I looked myself over. A rich doublet embroidered with false gold, boots polished to a shine, an expression of icy calm on a swarthy face — the very image of Duke Bruz; I wouldn't have tangled with him myself.
Lucky for me that the good duke had departed the day before yesterday to restore order in his lands. Well, not so much "lucky" — I'd had to pay a tidy sum to some not-very-reliable people, but everything had gone surprisingly smoothly. By the time the duke reached his province a week would pass; I needed only a single evening. The main thing now was not to flit before the eyes of anyone who knew Bruz.
In the course of my reconnaissance I passed a stairway leading down, to the dungeon — it was guarded by two sentries. That, then, was my target — the famed treasury of Sitritv von Dragoon, guarded day and night. Sliding an indifferent glance over the watchful guards, I made out a massive door with a heavy padlock at the bottom of the stairs. In my boot rested my trusty set of lockpicks, which had served me for years, but a lock like that would take far too long to wrestle with.
Rounding a corner, I headed away from the guests' hall. Prior scouting had been out of the question, of course, but this wasn't my first big job, and I had prepared several plans, which I refined on the fly. Removing the guards would be easy enough; for that I'd need to stage a small diversion. A brawl with the guests? A duel? Not an option. A fire? Possibly. Either way, the main problem was, of course, the lock. I couldn't pick it quickly, and breaking down that door was out of the question. I'd most likely have to get hold of the key here. Some petty, paranoid little lords liked to keep the keys to their pitiful savings on a string around their necks, but Sitritv was not such a man. No one would dare rob the second-most powerful and wealthy man in the realm after the king — the man who, as the common folk whispered, tore out the eyes and tongues of every bandit who reached his ears with his own hands, impaled their heads on stakes, and planted them along the road as a lesson to would-be criminals. Turning all these thoughts over in my head, I made for the second floor. Perhaps I'd be able to find the key or some clue in his own quarters?
The second floor was deserted — no servants, no guards, no other inhabitants of the manor could be seen; only laughter and clamor drifted up from somewhere below. I quickly located von Dragoon's study. Listening for any sounds within and hearing none, and seeing no light seeping from under the door, I decided the moment was right. The hinged plate released a pair of lockpicks stowed in a slit in the thick sole of my boot. Within half a minute I was inside. Before entering the study, I closed my eyes and reopened them about ten seconds later so they could adjust to the dark. Twilight still seeped into the room through the poorly drawn curtains, and that was enough for me. Quickly but carefully I began rifling through the desk and all the drawers of von Dragoon's working study, but stopped myself in time. All I needed was the key, which meant I should only search where it might plausibly be. Yes, exactly — good thing I'd realized in time, or I'd have left a pile of evidence behind.
I swept my gaze around the room and settled on a particularly large container secured with several locks. Very well, then — to work! After fiddling for several minutes I began to lose patience. I could feel the lock, but it refused to yield. I had a strong urge to smash it with something or wrench the pick with all my strength to break the stubborn thing, but I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. No getting nervous — I'd only break the pick and leave it stuck in the lock. I had to remember what I'd been taught. Closing my eyes, I slowly worked at it a little more. How joyfully my heart beat when the nasty lock finally clicked and gave way! Encouraged, I was about to move on to the second one when a woman's voice cut into my hearing:
"Papa?..."
My hand reached for the dagger at my belt, and I slowly turned to behold a young girl in a light green, richly decorated dress. From her wide, frightened eyes I understood she was about to scream.
"Forgive me," I slipped the tools unseen into the folds of my clothing and put on the most welcoming smile I was capable of. "I was looking for the washroom, and then... then I was looking for Lord von Dragoon — I have business with him. I found his study, and it turned out to be open. Perhaps the servants were cleaning? Well, and... I decided to wait for him here. I was just thinking of going back down to the banquet hall. My name is Bruz von Kiluch, and you, then, would be Lady..."
"Shoka von Dragoon. It's my sister who's getting married," the girl relaxed slightly, then tensed up again. "But what are you doing in the dark? And the servants don't have keys to my father's study..."
Fortunately, over the course of the exchange I'd managed to get to my feet and take a couple of steps toward the girl. Without waiting for her conclusions, I lunged straight at her to grab and clamp her mouth, but stumbled in the dark over that damned carpet and sent us both tumbling to the floor, tearing her dress with a loud rip in the process. And as if that crash weren't enough — she managed to let out a piercing shriek, and the marble corridor carried the cry across the entire floor. After a brief struggle I finally gagged her screaming mouth, only to hear with horror the heavy thud of several pairs of feet — the kind of sound only soldiers' boots can make.
I leapt to my feet, hauled the girl up in a single heave, and at that moment three guards burst into the room.
"Don't move!" I shouted, finally drawing the dagger and pressing it to Shoka von Dragoon's throat.
The guards hesitated. I didn't know what to do — this hadn't been part of my plan. My chances of reaching the exit were very slim, even with a hostage in my arms. I could feel her trembling with my whole body, and warm tears ran down the fingers clamped over her mouth.
The largest and most menacing guard stepped forward and raised his sword at me.
"Boys, he thinks he can bargain for his life! Ha! Remember, you scum, our lord pays us well to catch the likes of you. You've got unforgettable sensations waiting in our dungeon — the rack, needles under the nails, red-hot iron. And afterward — your tiny head will decorate the highway. As for Mistress Shoka," he surveyed the girl contemptoriously from head to toe, "we've got a leech here. If he fixes her up — good; if not — so much the worse for you. Although, you know, we could very well have arrived too late. And no one would judge us for it."
The lanky brute gave another hoarse chuckle, while his companions scowled and raised their weapons. I didn't wait for him to savor his monologue and did the only thing that came to mind: gripping von Dragoon's daughter tight, I dashed for the window. Thank the gods I didn't get tangled in the curtains. In a shower of glass we tumbled out of the second floor together straight into a snowdrift — lucky. I noticed a host of frightened faces pressed to the windows, and blessed the architect for having placed the lord's study on the side of the house opposite the entrance.
"Catch the thief!" the bruiser bellowed, leaning out of the broken window. Hoisting himself onto the sill and grabbing the frame, he cursed as the jutting shards cut him, and rather than ruthlessly following me he tumbled out of the window like a sack and landed with a very loud and unpleasant crunch, after which he moved no more. His companions, cursing and spitting, didn't dare repeat the feat and disappeared into the depths of the room — gone, then, to give chase through the door. Shoka von Dragoon had stopped screaming and fallen into a strange catatonic state. Fortunately, she could still stand on her own feet, and I managed with mixed success to drag her after me, knee-deep in snow. Despite what the guard had told me, I was certain the lord's daughter was my trump card. In any case there was no sense in leaving her there — they'd pick her up and continue the pursuit. My only option now was the escape plan I'd prepared in advance.

***

Furiously, sparing no effort, I forced my way across the snow-covered field toward the edge of the forest. I didn't look back, but I knew my head start would soon run out. Perhaps at that very moment the guards were loosing the hounds to send them after my trail. Fortunately, it had grown dark quickly outside, and a strong wind with snow had seriously cut visibility, so if I was lucky I had a chance of reaching a safe place.
After a while the girl stumbled and sprawled on the snow. I understood that if I didn't reach my hideout soon, she'd freeze to death in her weightless torn dress right in my arms. Hoisting her onto my shoulders, I pressed on and finally reached the edge of the woods. Truth be told, by then I was myself completely numb, but there was nothing for it. Mentally patting myself on the back for having carefully walked this area in advance and memorized every landmark, I reached my way-station fairly quickly. Pacing the agreed distance from the crooked tree, I scraped at the snow with my stiffening hands until I hit a board. Beneath it lay the entrance to a small cave dug into the frozen earth — I'd dug it myself, by hand, over the course of a month while preparing for the operation. During that work I'd cursed myself more than once for not choosing an easier plan, but it was too late to turn back from what I'd set in motion. In this hideout I'd fitted out a place to sleep, brought dry, clean clothes, and a modest stock of provisions. Here I was meant to lie low for a day or two and stash the money and jewels I'd carry out of the von Dragoon estate, to retrieve them later. Now I'd be hiding his daughter instead. The poor thing had long since lost consciousness, so the first thing I did was build a fire. It took several minutes' fussing with flint and steel, but I finally coaxed a small flame, which I fed with kindling. Hissing in pain as the blood returned to my frozen fingers, I laid the girl closer to the fire and covered her with a blanket, then peeled off my own snow-soaked clothes. At last, finished with every pressing task, I allowed myself to lie down beside the flames.
I watched the fire and prayed to all the gods that the girl would live. The job was ruined, but perhaps I could at least get a ransom for her. In the morning I'd have to move on at once — the blizzard wouldn't blow forever, and when it stopped, look out for trouble. In the forest it was at least a bit warmer, and the snow didn't blind the eyes; I could get quite far. From this forest I'd make my way to a small town, from there catch a ferry across the river that never froze, and then play it by ear. I sighed and closed my eyes for a minute, and when I opened them, I saw my hostage pressing my own dagger to my throat. Was that not irony? And why in this life was everything decided by a piece of steel pressed against one's vital organs?
"I..." I began, then coughed. It turned out my mouth had gone dry.
Shoka stared into my eyes without blinking, her face wearing a rather pretty shade of anger.
"Only I know where we are. How to get here, and how to get out. If you kill me, you'll never get out of here."
"Is that so?" the girl replied bitterly. "Well, I know where we are — in the southern forest, still within my father's lands. I played here a hundred times as a little girl, gathered mushrooms and berries, and I know it like the back of my hand. As does my father, who hunted here all the time."
That was when I lost my footing. I'd spent six months devising an exhaustively detailed plan to rob one of the most powerful men in the realm, and it turned out that even some snot-nosed girl could figure out my hiding spot without any trouble.
"What were you even counting on? Do you think you're the first to decide to rob my father? Ask any of the heads along the highway."
I didn't know what to answer to regain control of the situation, but then her face softened and she tossed the dagger aside.
"I could easily kill you right here and now, but it's your lucky day that I'm so tender-hearted," — I considered what to do with her — strangle her a little and tie her up, or maybe clock her on the head? — "I can guess why you kept me alive, no need to pretend. You want to blackmail my father and demand money for me. Well — it won't work."
I raised an inquiring eyebrow.
"I'm the youngest of the daughters. I have neither dowry nor prospects. After the new year my father meant to marry me off to a vile old baron — a common enough story for girls like me. In short, my father has no use for me."
She sighed heavily and sat against the wall, and I suddenly noticed that she'd found the cache of clothes and changed into them while I slept.
"You, of course, couldn't care less about my troubles — you wouldn't even call them troubles, you're a bandit. But you couldn't possibly understand the hopelessness of my life."
I was silent. Perhaps she took me for the strong, silent type of brigand, but I simply didn't know what to say to this sudden monologue.
"They really would have let you cut me. Those guards. That was Sergeant Urtumols with a couple of his men — my father's closest subordinate. I no longer remember where he dug him up, but that man has ruined no few souls beneath our manor. He used to... look at me. It's a good thing he got himself killed."
This time the silence dragged on so long that I broke it first.
"There's some food in the chest. N-not that I care whether you starve, there's just no sense leaving it here — it'll spoil."
Just then I felt how hungry I was myself — I hadn't managed a bite at the banquet — and so we spent the next half hour over breakfast. For a while the girl was quiet, but then she began to talk again. She told me how she had dreamed of becoming a physician, a poet, a scholar, but her father had rejected every one of her dreams, forcing her to embroider, practice curtsies, and prepare to be married off. I felt no sympathy for her pitiful stories — it's hard to move me in general; I'd boiled and eaten bullfinches. But still I couldn't help feeling some understanding for her story, since I'd had no abundance of choices in my own life either. I may not have lived on a featherbed like this little miss, but I could grasp a thing like that.
"I've been meaning to say — you've got dried blood on you," Shoka rummaged through the things, produced a handkerchief and a waterskin. "Must be the glass... let me..."
In the rush of adrenaline I hadn't noticed I'd been hurt. As she scrubbed my mug, I watched her hands without blinking — let her just try to pull some trick. But she pulled none. When she was done with me she sat back down and smiled.
"There, that's better!"
Shrugging, I turned away.
"So what do you plan to do now?" she suddenly asked the very question that had been tormenting me all morning and to which I still had no answer.
"None of your business," I snapped, perhaps too hastily. A mistake, of course — no point showing doubt in front of a hostage. "I'll finish up my business here and move on. Before your precious daddy finds me and flays me alive."
"Take me with you," she said.
"What do I need you for? If I can't get a ransom out of you, then off you go, every man for himself."
"And you're not going to kill me?"
"The hell with you. All I wanted was the von Dragoon treasure. Didn't work out — what can you do, I'll find another job. And for that I at least need to get out of here alive."
She anxiously took my hand; I flinched.
"I can help you! I know everything here, every path and trail, I can lead you out of this forest in a single day! Oh please, just take me with you! What does it cost you? I don't want to go back! I can leave later, just take me! You want me to get on my knees?" Seeing no reaction from me, Shoka decided to resort to tears.
Tears — on me? Naive. I pulled my hand from her clinging grip and shifted a bit farther away.
"Now, let's have none of that. It won't help you. When I've made up my mind, that's how it stays, and you won't change it."
Well, I'd known what I was in for. For the next few minutes I watched indifferently as she sobbed her heart out, but she showed no sign of winding down, and I got tired of it.
"All right, enough. Maybe you really can be useful to me for getting out of this forest more quickly — just shut up."
She stopped instantly and a happy smile lit up her face. Truth be told, she looked much better that way than with her face twisted from crying.
"Thank you! Thank you! I won't let you down, you'll see!" She probably wanted to throw her arms around my neck, but I'd lived on the wrong side of the law for too long to leave myself exposed to chance acquaintances like that, so a moment later she was sprawled on the floor.
"Uhh, forgive me," I was a little disconcerted. "It's a reflex. Right, I'll change, then we'll get ready, burn the old clothes, and set off. But mark this — I go at my own pace. Fall behind, twist an ankle, freeze — not my problem."
"Yes, yes, understood. And, um... thank you for saving my life. I hope I'll be able to repay you in kind! Oh, I mean, I'm sorry, of course I don't wish for you to end up in a situation where I'd have to... well, you get the general idea."
I didn't get much of anything, and saw no logic at all in thanking one's kidnapper, but I didn't argue. Pulling the prepared winter clothes from the hiding place, I tossed her a jacket and a pair of boots. They were my size and cut, but there was nothing else for it. As I was changing, she flinched and stared in horror at my chest.
"What an awful scar. As though you were struck right in the heart."
I had no intention of telling her the story of my life, so I decided to nip this conversation in the bud.
"Life on the high road. The man who was your comrade can stab you in the back at any moment. That's something alien to you, of course — you've lived your whole life in family and comfort," I couldn't resist a bit of sarcasm.
Now she looked at me with a very different gaze. Staring spellbound at the scar, she reached out a hand to touch it, but I pulled on my quilted jacket.
"Get dressed. We leave soon. Hand me your rags." Soon the preparations were finished, every trace of our recent presence in the cave had been swept away, the board lay back in its place, and I dusted it over with snow. It was already getting light, the forest birds were waking and chirping, and it was so cold that after the warm hideout my teeth were chattering.
"I might not have found it after all," Shoka muttered, surveying the hiding place. "At night. By day I'd have found it with one hand."
I headed south through the windfall and she hurried after me.
"So what's your name? Your real one? You know mine, but I don't know yours!"
Did the silly girl really think I'd tell her that?
"If you like, you can call me Dalv," I told her after a minute's silence.

***

"You know, I think we'll be there soon. There, you see?" the old man pointed a finger into the thicket.
"I don't see anything, Father."
"Why, right there! Notice the bark on this tree. It's, how should I put it, covered with moss! That means we're riding the right way. Well, do you see?"
I sighed.
"No, I don't."
"For pity's sake!" the priest leapt off his horse and ran up to a tree, sinking into the snow nearly up to his waist. "There, you see! Moss always grows on the north side, you understand?"
He ran a hand down the trunk, then grunted.
"No, that's not the right tree. Maybe this one?.. Ah, here it is! Oh, no. Must be that one over there..."
I sourly watched the old codger capering along the trail, trying to find the right moss-covered tree. Since morning my head had ached terribly — the aftermath of what I'd drunk the night before. Life experience told me that in these godforsaken village taverns they served only foul moonshine, and I'd once again had occasion to confirm it. We'd set out before dawn, and it had taken nightmarish effort just to pry my eyes open and get ready for the road. I'd hoped the icy morning would buck me up; instead I felt like opening my veins. With the vilest taste in my mouth, a splitting head, and unbelievable cold, I rode through the forest while the priest chattered nonstop the whole way. An elderly man, an early bird. I'd felt thoroughly wretched watching him out in the yard, gamely hollering as he washed his thin, age-spotted torso, dipping water from a barrel in whose ten-centimeter crust of ice he'd first smashed a hole with a hatchet.
"Father, please... let's not lose time, or we won't arrive by nightfall. The locals told us how to get there; everything will be fine."
"Well you know, Leif, I don't much trust those locals! These parts are wild and remote — what if they're luring us into a trap? Trust but verify. I spent all my youth as a forester — I'm a master at this sort of thing. There's never been a forest where I've gotten lost! Spruce and fir — those are my friends! And larks and woodpeckers too!" the old man returned to the trail and briskly leapt back into the saddle. "Now, did I ever tell you about the time I got out of a swamp? When I rode to visit my brother on Christmas Eve?"
I sighed heavily again.
"Yes, Father. Three times this morning."
"Oh, it was a vile mire, heh-heh, yes. That episode didn't pass without a price — I'll remember it to the end of my days. Well, and rightly so — it was a lesson! I knew there was no good reason everything was overgrown with bilberries there; well, the Lord granted me some wisdom in old age at least, that He did. I shouldn't have taken a shortcut — though those parts are uninhabited too..." the priest launched once more into the tale of how he'd nearly drowned in a bog half a century ago.
I bitterly regretted not bringing earplugs on this outing, and even more that I'd agreed to escort the good father across this wild country. But we were headed the same way, and I'm no fool to turn down extra coin — especially in my position as a wanted man.
"My mother used to say — you mind you don't swill vodka, or you'll end like your father. And my da, oh my, my da was something else, but the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Forty years now since he died, my old man — I'm on my way to his grave, in fact. Quite an anniversary! He's buried right on that bit of land; I visit every year — this is the fortieth time I'm riding through all these wilds!"
It was time for decisive action.
"Grandfather, please, wait here. Forgive me — I need to answer a call of nature," I slid off my mare and hopped about a bit to warm up before ducking into the bushes along the roadside.
"Oho, in a hurry now! Always in a rush! Well, you're right about that! Why, there was a time at the parish too — I was conducting a service once with a good friend of mine, he's on the other side now too, Lord rest his soul, oh what a saintly man he was..."
I no longer heard whatever the priest was holding forth on, because I'd withdrawn behind the trees and bushes. In truth I simply wanted to stretch my legs, catch my breath, and spend a couple of minutes in silence — the damned old man had sucked me dry with his chatter. For several minutes I stood with my eyes closed, leaning back against a tree, gloomily musing on how badly everything had turned out.
The heist of the century had fallen through before it had even begun, and my portrait hung on every post in every town and village for miles around. More than once or twice I'd wrestled with the strong temptation to slit the wretched girl's throat just to let off steam — yet she had, in fact, helped me get out of the forest. One thing led to another, and she'd stuck to me like a burr. Several times I'd tried to give her the slip during the journey, but she always caught me up. And she chattered, and chattered. I'm not a violent man by nature, but I genuinely considered quieting her properly and dumping her in a ditch. Still, everything should be all right now. I'd sent her off to the next village to find out how the manhunt for yours truly was progressing, while I myself had ridden off in the other direction. A reliable trick — always works. By the time she got back I'd be long gone. Ugh, if only I could keep from losing my mind with this tireless priest.
Having collected myself, I returned to the trail only to find that the good father, along with both our horses and baggage, had vanished. I nearly howled with fury and was ready to tear my hair out, but then I noticed a trail of several pairs of footprints leading off the path to the other side, into the forest. There were small prints and large ones, so I set off after them into the thicket. About five minutes of good pace later I began to make out faint voices somewhere far ahead, so I drew my sword and plodded on, hiding as best I could — though in deep snow and burdened with heavy gear, that was a rather token effort.
I pressed on, and the voices grew closer, until at last I reached the clearing where the business was taking place. Through the trees I saw our horses tethered to a sapling, and the good father, bound hand and foot and seated on a hummock with a rag in his mouth. Beside him bustled two armed men of decidedly thuggish appearance: on the chest of one, who was rummaging through the priest's satchel, I made out an eagle crest, while the other was long-haired and wore a black patch over one eye.
"Hey, heh! Look what I found!" the crested one announced gleefully, and from his voice I understood that he was quite young — practically a boy. He shook the gold priest's chain and was about to try it on, but the one-eyed man snatched it from him and tossed it aside.
"Fool!" his voice creaked like an old saw. "All that is worthless trinketry. THIS is what matters!"
He showed his accomplice the robbed priest's book and ran his fingers over it greedily, yet at the same time tenderly.
"There may be things in here you will never see anywhere else, ever again. Let's see..." he opened the book, his eyes skimming the pages. He turned a page, then another, then another — with every new page his movements grew sharper and more irritated.
"Damn it! Theology? Is that all?!" he flung the holy writ against a neighboring tree, making the priest flinch as if he'd been struck with a whip. "Hey, old man!"
The one-eyed man yanked the gag from the priest and seized him by the collar.
"Thought you could trick me? Where are the right books?! Speak! I know all about you, you murderer! Where is my secret of gunpowder? Where are my siege-engine schematics?! Where is my cure-all formula?!"
The father clenched his teeth and defiantly met the bandit's eye.
"You don't know what you're doing! You've strayed from the right path and your deeds are paving the road to the abyss! Repent, before it's too late! Yes, I am a man of learning, and I tell you — these secrets are beyond your understanding! So the Lord has ordained, and so it shall be forever and ever!"
The one-eyed man narrowed his eye and drew his blade.
"I see there'll be no talking with you, fanatic. And since that's so — you'll go where you've wanted to be your whole life."
At this point I realized I'd been sitting still quite long enough, and moreover had missed the convenient moment to fall on the cutthroats unawares, so I rose to my full height from my ambush and charged at the men.
"Hey, you!" I shouted loudly, taking up a threatening stance. "Two of you on an unarmed, bound old man?"
The bandits reacted quickly to the new threat and turned to face me.
"And here's the second one!" the one-eyed man noted. "Come on — drop that razor of yours or I'll gut him."
The young fellow held himself a little stiffly, but about the long-haired one there hung the intangible scent of much spilled blood. I rated the situation in favor of neither myself nor the good father, so I resorted to a trick I already knew.
"Then gut away. He and I struck a bargain that I'd lead him through the forest. I can lift the same purse off his cooling body once I've dealt with you," I screwed my iciest stare into his eye.
"Oh, is that how it is?" the long-haired one smirked crookedly. "Axel, finish off the old man — I'll handle our new guest. Don't damage his expensive cassock."
The one-eyed longhair took a couple of steps to the side and began to circle me in a half-moon. I knew this gambit, so I knew how to answer it. The moment the robber lunged at me, I dodged his thrust and slashed him across the face. I should have finished him with a single blow, but he proved nimble and managed to escape my sword. I expected him to press the attack, but the bastard skipped back a couple of steps — cautious.
"Stop this madness at once!" the priest began to wail. "It is against the commandments and against common sense! A population cannot survive when individual members act to its detriment!"
The crested one hung back near him and, for some reason, hesitated.
"Shut your mouth, you cursed fanatic!" he barked at the priest. "Or... or I'll knock your teeth down your gullet and shut it for you!"
"Why is he still talking?" the one-eyed man growled over his shoulder. "Finish him!"
I took advantage of the leader losing concentration for a second, kicked up snow in hopes of blinding him, and struck. By some miracle the one-eyed man avoided my thrust, slashing blindly with his weapon and even slicing open my sleeve. Trying to blink the snow from his eye, he tore off the patch and I saw that beneath it was a second, perfectly intact eye.
"I can't!" the crested one suddenly declared. "I won't take a sin on my soul — I won't kill a clergyman! So I'm the one doing the killing, and I'm the one who ends up in hell?"
"Devil!" the two-eyed man snarled. "What a trial it is dealing with all of you, damn you. Then at least kill this one, and I'll handle the wretch!"
He seized the young one by the arm and shoved him toward me, then himself bent over the good father.
"Everything I have to..." the villain didn't finish the phrase, because the old man suddenly surged up, drove a knee into him, and bowled him right over into the snow. It turned out he'd managed to free his bound legs by simply slipping out of his own boots. The longhair's weapon flew a few paces away, and a heavy, scrambling bout of grappling ensued between them.
I didn't lose the moment and pounced on the disconcerted crested one. To give the boy his due — his strength and reflexes were something else, but I'd beaten better. Long ago I'd learned that in combat what matters most is experience and resolve of spirit, and that was exactly what he lacked. We danced for half a minute; he barely attacked at all, only desperately parrying all my blows. I felt sorry for the youth and wanted to disarm him or merely wound him, but I misjudged my strength. After that half-minute the fellow slowly slid off my blade and stretched out on the snow, which quickly began to melt from the hot blood. Glancing in bewilderment at the grappling pair, I noted with surprise that the good father had the longhair completely pinned and twisted his arm behind him. Evidently the old man was far sturdier than he appeared at first glance.
"Hey!..." I called in a breaking voice.
The priest turned and saw the crested one's body. Stunned, he clouted the longhair on the head to finally quiet him and stood up. Picking up the leader's weapon and hurling it far into the brush, he lifted his own chain, wound it around his arm, sank to his knees beside the body, bowed his gray head, and read a prayer. By the time he finished, the accomplice was just stirring. Sitting up in the snow and clutching his head, he sat that way for several seconds before coming to his senses and seeing the body.
"Axel! Axel! Brother!" he gaped and looked at me. "Why, you..."
He didn't finish the phrase, catching the priest's steely gaze.
"Enough. Stop. You've lost. Everyone here has lost," not a trace remained of the good father's carefree tone. Now he was simply an old and weary man, his voice carrying an unexpected understanding and a world-weary sorrow. "I've read the funeral rite — all that's left is for you to bury him."
The priest gave me a look of distaste, picked up his ransacked satchel, and trudged toward the horses.
The bandit sat in a daze, then pulled himself together.
"And what now?!" he cried bitterly and angrily after the old man. "What's the moral of this fable?! Chapter and verse?! The message?!"
The old man stopped, stood for a few moments, bowed his head, but said nothing. Utterly at a loss, I followed him.
"I didn't want..." I began once we were back on the road.
"Leif," the old man cut me off. "You're not safe from mistakes and circumstances; no one expects absolute foresight from you. What's in your power is only to live with the consequences of your actions and to strive to prevent them the next time. And I hope you find a person who will help you with that. Otherwise a sad fate awaits you."
The rest of the way we rode in silence. I took no money from him.

***

I didn't like this little burg one bit. The streets were too narrow and too dirty — step around a corner and before you knew it you'd catch a shiv between the ribs. But I didn't have to live here; I'd stopped for one day to meet my employer and get paid. The last little job had badly frayed my nerves, which was hardly surprising. Never again in my life would I set foot in a crypt. I'd found no ghosts or curses there, but the traps had nearly taken my head off. They hadn't taken my head, but I'd left a finger behind. Good thing I had a flask of moonshine and managed to disinfect all my wounds — nearly losing consciousness from the pain in the process — or I wouldn't be enjoying this stroll now. But the pay was worth it. I'd been hired to retrieve an ancient tablet covered in hieroglyphs I couldn't make heads or tails of, and they'd promised so much that I could quietly retire. Perhaps, without the index finger on my right hand, I'd have to do just that.
Of course, this wasn't my first big deal, and I understood the risk perfectly well. I'd already dealt with very — in their own opinion — cunning employers: some of them had ultimately parted with their money according to the bargain, others with their lives as well. Either way, I was being very careful.
And here was the alehouse — the favored gathering spot of all the working stiffs. My employer was a busy man too, so I could find him here at any hour of the day. Stepping inside, I spotted him at once. An impossibly fat man at a far table in the company of two bruisers. Same as always.
I walked up to the table and calmly sat down in silence. The bulls were taken aback by such cheek, exchanged glances, and started toward me, but the businessman stopped them.
"Easy, boys! Are you blind? It's Risve, our loyal comrade and partner. I assume you bring good news? Hey, red, bring beer here!" he slapped a buxom wench passing by with his ring-covered hand.
"Hello, Rigoest. No beer for me, I won't be long. Yes, I brought it — your relic's with me. Not on me, of course. What about the money?"
The fat man smiled nastily.
"What, you don't trust me, Risve? We've been working together more than a day!" his antics stirred no interest in me.
"Please, let's not waste time. I'd very much like to leave your hospitable town as soon as possible."
Rigoest stopped grinning and sent his boys outside for a smoke.
"Don't worry, the money's all there," he said at last. "The truth is, there's no point in my setting you up. I know the right people and I'll fence this thing for sums you wouldn't even dream of."
He was interrupted by the reappearance of the wench with a tray bearing two mugs of beer. Rigoest barked at her and sent her away. She snorted.
"Your dough's with me, down to the last penny," he went on. "You can have it right now. The boys'll come back and bring you a pouch. And why don't you, in the meantime, tell me where you've stashed the relic?"
I forced a smile.
"Because I'd like to receive my pay first. It's not that I don't trust you, but you understand how important attentiveness in the work is to me. Any man might wrong a poor vagabond like me."
Rigoest burned me with his slit-like little eyes, then called the boys.
"Bring it," he ordered. "You know, Risve, I don't like people like you. You're too much onto yourself, and you're hard to deal with. I see right through you, because I'm the same way. And so I know you wouldn't dare cheat me — you understand that I can get to you anywhere. And don't think I'm not having you followed. Got it?"
I calmly nodded. We had nothing in common except that we were both criminals, but let him chatter as long as he paid. And here, by the way, it came — the boys carried in a weighty sack of gold crowns. I opened it, looked, bit a coin to test, reached deeper in, bit again. Rigoest kept drilling me with his gaze — waiting for me to go through all my rituals. It was perfectly plain how furious he was that trash like me suspected him of cheating, but I didn't care. At last I was satisfied of the gold's authenticity, told the businessman where I'd buried the relic, and even drew him a little map on a napkin.
"That's all. You can start digging it up right now if you like. And I must be going."
"Listen, Risve. I've got another little job brewing here — your skills would come in handy. Stay on! It's a bigger thing than the last, and I won't be stingy with the reward. Well? Interested?"
"Maybe. I'll let you know, Rigoest. Good luck," I headed for the door without looking back.
As soon as I got out of this town, my foot would never land here again. Truth be told, I'd shifted my views somewhat over the last half year — I was tired of risking my hide for nothing. It was only a matter of time before my way of life did me in and I died from some chance blade or noose. So I'd decided to save up some money and open my own business. We'd decided it would be an apothecary's. People would buy medicines and healing herbs at fair prices, which would ensure a steady flow of customers. "We'd decided"? I meant — I'd decided. Lost in thought, I walked toward the inn. I'd collect my things and leave. Somewhere out west, for instance — I'd never been there.
I had only a couple of blocks to go when I finally got what I'd been waiting for. A narrow alley, three in front, two behind. I was handy enough with a sword, and after losing the finger I'd trained hard to relearn. And though I wasn't at my peak form, I'd have no trouble with these ragamuffins. They shouldn't have picked so tight a spot for a fight — they just got in each other's way, and I cut them down like pigs. True, one of them nearly took my head off with a club, but I dodged by a hair and came out fine, with only a scrape.
"Weak, weak. I see you've gotten rusty."
I started and whipped around in a single motion. At the end of the alley stood a man perfectly well known to me, one whose encounter I had dreaded for several years — my former ataman, Ebon Ruetti. The same mohawk-with-ponytail, the same goatee, the same coin-sized pupils — though gray now showed in the beard. Of course. As always. The gods, as ever, had a splendid sense of humor.
To say I lost my composure would be slightly understating it. From the outside I must have looked like a ferret in front of a python.
"And how did you not die? Did Revi miss the heart? Or is it on the other side, perhaps? Never mind, we'll fix that soon," Ebon bared his teeth and lunged at me.
I couldn't stand against him even in my best years, and still less now. Tongue lolling, roaring madly, Ebon dealt me blow after blow; I barely managed to parry and dodge. That was his secret — the ataman had always been very fast and utterly insane. No one living could read his strikes and react to them, while he himself spun like a top. In all likelihood the key lay in the substances he took on a constant basis — they made him very talkative and hyperactive.
And now as well — I took one blow, then a second, then a third. All shallow glancing cuts, yet my body was already obeying with difficulty. I knew perfectly well this was the end, and he was simply toying with me before killing me. In open one-on-one combat I had no chance against him.
"Oof, I'm a bit tired," the bandit theatrically wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. "How good that I ran into you here! Thank that fat pig from the tavern — he spilled everything the moment he sent you on the job. So I decided to wait for you in this lovely little town — I've missed you so."
Ebon threw back his head and brayed with laughter.
"And get this! That one — he says, 'teach the scoundrel a lesson, he disrespects me and undermines the spirit of free enterprise.' Imagine that, eh? Some kind of arbiter of fate, ha-ha! But you and I, we know which of us is which. I think I'll pay him a visit after I'm done with you — he gets on my nerves something awful."
The ataman didn't manage to finish his own sentence before launching another attack. This time I didn't get away with a couple of scratches — one of Ebon's blows sliced off my earlobe. A couple more centimeters and I'd have been lying on the cobblestones.
"You know, you left a lot of tracks behind. Picked locks, emptied vaults, a string of robbed nobles, an exotic traveler. At first I refused to believe it, but then I thought — why the hell not! And here you are! Hey. How come you're alone? Every report mentioned some woman you've been trailing around with. Maybe I should drop in on her after you, too? Hm?"
I understood the bandit was trying to provoke me, but I didn't rise to it. Partly because of how badly wounded I was. Seeing I wasn't reacting, Ebon came at me again. This time there was little I could do — I could barely hold the sword in my weakening fingers. Ten seconds later I was already sliding slowly down the wall, the blade slipping from my numbed hands, blood streaming from the many wounds on my body.
"Silent? Silent? Silent! Why are you silent, Risve? Hm? Hah?! Why did you betray me, Risve? Why? You were like a son to me, damn it! Why? Why? AAAAAH!!!" Ebon dropped his weapon, swayed, and clutched his head, going on with his questions and outbursts.
With a titanic effort I got to my feet and unhooked the dagger from my belt. Even that was hard to hold, but I clenched my teeth. I took one step toward the ataman, then a second. He didn't react, still muttering. I came right up to him and he lifted his gaze. Tears streamed from his bloodshot eyes.
"Why? Why? Wh... gurk..." Ebon choked as the blade entered his neck. "Wh... gurk... Rsv..."
At last he sank heavily to his knees. The dagger, buried to the hilt, still jutted from his neck, but the bandit paid it no mind — he went on staring at me with his wild, tearful eyes, gripping his temples and gurgling as he tried to tell me something. Half a minute later he had given up his soul to God.
"Don't worry, I'll be keeping you company," I said in a weak voice.
"Agreed," the sharp tip of a sword emerged from my chest. "It's about time."
I didn't need to turn around to know who was talking to me. I slumped to the ground and saw before my face a tall boot with an iron toe. Revi rolled me over and fixed me with his empty, dead stare. Ebon's left hand, his second lieutenant. At least, that's what he'd been when I'd been part of this gang.
"I'm a calm man, you know that. But you played a bit on my nerves once we learned you'd survived. The one thing I could always pride myself on was my skill at killing — clean and quick. You crossed out my tally, Risve, but now it's over. You know what? I'm going to cut off your head and put it in a jar of spirits. I hope that does you in. And as a parting word — thank you. I'd been thinking for a long time about finishing Ebon myself; he'd gotten far too unreliable. But the sly fox must have begun to suspect something, and I never did get a convenient—" Revi didn't finish; he went pale, blood frothed on his lips, and at last he toppled heavily beside me, twitching convulsively. From his back, around the region of the heart, protruded the ataman's sword.
Shoka von Dragoon wiped her palms on his clothes and rushed to me. But one look at me was enough for her to understand that calling a leech was pointless.
"Risve, then," she said drearily. "Another of your names. I knew — I knew you didn't need to take this job... How dare you die in my arms?! I thought... I hoped we'd work everything out. How could this happen?"
My eyes were starting to darken and my ears were ringing. Shoka had long since stopped crying, but her face was full of suffering.
"Risve, you're bleeding. Let me..." with a trembling little hand she drew out the familiar handkerchief, which the moment it touched my face was soaked red through to the last thread.
She started to sob, then pulled herself together. Life on the road had changed her, and little remained of the nobleman's daughter who'd once dispensed curtsies — gaunt, with uneven, brittle hair and a weather-beaten face, in worn traveling clothes, yet at the same time full of resolve. I wanted to take her hand, but I couldn't move a finger.
"My... real name... is Dalv..." I took a couple more weak breaths, and sank into darkness.