Posts from Insouciance

Reven, what did Arets do? Why are you waiting for his graphomania to become a more fascinating story?

"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.

A winter tale about how everyone around dies.

It happened in the wonderful land of Haveria, famous for its cozy towns and fertile fields, bright as though they had absorbed warm sunlight. People here live happily, the laws are reverently observed, the streets are clean, and the varied flowers and ripe, appetizing fruits delight the eye of any passerby who wanders into a garden. And what happens here in winter! The streets blaze with millions of evening lights, sleighs plow across the vastness of snow-covered roads, now and then showering hurried passersby with waves of snowflakes. It was during one such marvelous winter that this story took place.
Throwing back his hood, he leaned against the stone window opening and held a scrap of parchment under the moonlight seeping past the towering spires of the black castle. A smooth cap of white hair, broken only by a pair of fluffy pointed ears, stirred slightly in the wind. Several snowflakes settled on the map, making the man nervously brush them onto the filthy remains of the carpet. Heavy steps sounded behind him, and the room abruptly filled with orange light. A man encased in metal armor held a torch, whose light danced strangely over the shining red cloth of his garments.
- What are you digging around for here? – he thundered.
- This place is not marked on the map, - the ranger answered, looking somewhere down at the tower walls drowning in darkness.
It was not hard to identify the man as a ranger: light clothing, only a leather vest for armor, a compact crossbow on his back, and of course a special cloak embroidered with the guild's coat of arms. The man with the torch was an inquisitor; one glance at his red garments, embroidered with sacred scriptures, was enough to dispel any doubt. The heavy hammer hanging at his belt likewise gleamed with skillfully engraved letters.
- You can examine it by daylight, - the inquisitor said. - We need to return.
With those words the warrior left the room, leaving the ranger alone. After thinking for a second, he rolled the map into a tube, shoved it into the inner pocket of his cloak, and followed the little torchlight receding into the infinity of the enormous corridor. Being here alone was unsafe even for him, an experienced traveler, but at the moment he was far more troubled by the lack of fire and light needed to study their current position in detail. The place where they had ended up did not match the papers they had received at all.
The ranger caught up with the inquisitor near the long staircase descending into a large hall that had apparently once been a dining room. In one of the dark niches to the left of the stairs a campfire burned; when they came close enough, the sounds of music could be made out. It was a golden-haired bard, sprawled on a sack of clothes, strumming his lute and muttering something under his breath. His audience was made up of the expedition members who had remained in camp: a grim paladin sharpening his two-handed sword; a little sorceress sitting on a stone slab with her arms wrapped around the bag in her lap; and a red-haired bandit woman in a broad-brimmed hat, armed with a pistol and a curved saber. The others had not returned yet.
The white-haired man settled on the other side of the slab, closer to the fire, and began laying maps out from his pockets. Someone clapped him on the shoulder and sat down beside him. The red-haired girl handed him a mug of warm wine and whispered, "found anything?" He only shook his head in reply, muttering, "nothing matches." The little sorceress with yellow ears tore herself away for a moment from the bard's songs and cast a cautious glance at the whispering people, squeezed her bag tighter, and turned away offended. This man avoided a representative of his own kind, yet whispered without pause with that suspicious woman, pfft! Still, the ranger was always taciturn; he preferred studying dark storerooms filled to the brim with dust and cobwebs to human company, and answered any questions with two or three ambiguous phrases.
Some time later, the other scouts returned with less than cheerful news. The inquisitor's apprentice, a young swordsman in leather armor who looked wildly at the people around him, and an alchemist-scholar in glasses wrapped in two cloaks at once, had reached a dead end. Apparently it was a dead end like the one found by the inquisitor and ranger on the other side. It was now absolutely clear that the maps they had did not match the terrain.
- This is strange. Apparently we are in some kind of garrison, - the scholar suggested, - but there is a ravine behind it. How are we supposed to get to the castle itself?
The last two to arrive in camp were a lean warrior with a large, very sharp thin sword, probably a samurai, and a scout sent by the general himself. They had managed to find steps leading to a wide underground passage designed for a small army. The scout said she had often seen similar structures before. If her words were to be believed, there was an entire complex of rooms underground meant to aid the castle's defense.
Since the only defenders of the garrison were now fat rats rustling in the corners, the group immediately moved down. The frozen torches on the walls hissed softly when anyone tried to light them and crumbled in torn scraps onto the steps. Halfway down it suddenly grew colder, and the cold air rolling in waves smelled of rot. The sounds of night nature did not reach here; the silence was broken only by the rustle of torches, soft steps, and the clank of armor. The ranger stopped and signaled to the others.
- Do you hear that? – he whispered.
Among the crackling fire, nagging drops, and gusts of wind, another sound could clearly be heard, like a low growl. The white-haired man cautiously moved forward toward the passage blackening in the torchlight. The scout followed him. The last two steps were completely covered in ice, and the stream of rot grew so strong they had to cover their faces with their sleeves. Before the people's eyes appeared a large hall with twisted columns, so large that from where they stood its end could not be seen. The stench abruptly ceased, the low growl vanished, and before the scouts lay an empty, cold, dark hall.
When the group gathered on the fragments of a broken column, it became clear that a second tier lay above them and that they had to find a way up. They decided to split into two groups of five and move in different directions. The ranger led the group that included the inquisitor, his faithful apprentice, the eared sorceress, and the bandit woman. The other, led by the scout, included the enormous paladin, the lean swordsman, the scholar, and the bard, who was unquestionably the key member of the detachment.
After a while, a cracked black wall appeared in the torchlight. The scout slowed her pace, looking around. The sound of drops breaking on stone grew louder as they moved along the wall, becoming clearest near a dark passage in its lower part. But the staircase here led not up but down, and dampness breathed from it. On the other side, the second group found an upward passage closed by a barred door; the clean stone steps had plainly been used constantly.
Closer to the meeting point agreed upon at the opposite end of the hall, a strange noise began to reach the people. Scraping, slapping, countless taps. The scholar took from his bag a mechanism like a pistol, coughed, turned a lever, and fired a red flash into the darkness. For several moments, the twisted faces of living dead and the broken skulls of skeletons moving toward the heroes emerged from the dark. A wild howl and growl rang out, and a huge wolf with a crescent burned into its forehead leapt from its place and rushed into battle.
A couple of minutes later, all ten heroes, sheltering behind a heap of rotten furniture remains, were fiercely fighting off hordes of unclean creatures. The inquisitor's heavy hammer struck with incredible force, smashing bones and burning the flesh of risen corpses with sacred fire; the letters on it glowed red. Flaming bolts stuck into watery bodies, broke joints, pierced skulls, and turned enemies into moaning meat crawling over the floor. The pistols, with which only two were armed, sent streams of fiery shot forward, each burst lighting the hall red with a crash. Of course, the bard made the greatest contribution, maintaining his friends' morale with majestic melodies.
Huge teeth snapped in front of the inquisitor's apprentice's nose, forcing him to use all his agility to dodge. The gigantic wolf pressed the defenders, not even noticing their pathetic improvised barricades.
- We have to go! There are too many of them! – someone shouted.
- You cannot get away from this beast! – the inquisitor thundered angrily, raising his hammer again.
With a roar he lunged forward, aiming the hammer at the wolf's head. A powerful blow struck a sheaf of red sparks and caused the creature considerable pain. Along with an enraged growl, a cloud of green mist that burned the eyes burst from the wolf's mouth. The sacred letters dispersed the unholy stench, leaving the inquisitor and his opponent in a small circle of light cast by a torch thrown onto the stone floor. Nearby, in the greenish haze, cries, coughing, the howls of the dead, and flickering torchlights could be heard.
The wolf attacked first, swinging both front paws at once. Sharp claws left four black scratches on the surface of the armor. "This is my territory," the wolf growled, preparing to leap. What happened next no one could say for certain, but in the end the bard found the bleeding inquisitor beside the body of the slain wolf. He was breathing heavily and still clutching his chest, where ten neat black stripes darkened: two blows with two paws, as he later told it.
The undead kept coming, forcing the heroes to retreat. The bard and the weakened inquisitor hanging on him reached the grate that closed the way upward.
It turned out that the grate had long since lost any dependence on the mechanism that raised it; the white-haired man tried in vain to tear the heavy metal from the floor. The bandit woman, holding a torch in one hand, fired at the outlines of undead bodies flickering in the dark. The sorceress rummaged in her bag, quickly sorting through vials and pouches of herbs. The undead drew ever closer; in anger the young sorceress shook half the contents out of one pouch, searching with tears in her eyes for the precious container. The bard propped the wounded warrior against the wall, grabbed another torch, and began helping the girl search. At last their efforts succeeded: the sorceress poured a pinch of blue powder into a vial of pink liquid, making the potion grow hot like stew in the tavern "Abode of Hospitality."
- Drink it! – the sorceress shouted to the bard. – It will multiply your strength many times over!
- Give it to the inquisitor, he is much stronger!
- He is wounded, he will not survive it!
The bard shuddered at that news; the prospect of dropping dead from an unstable potion frightened him far more than the pressing dead, from whom one could at least run away. And of course, what would happen to these people if, by some stupid accident, he died such a stupid death?!
- No, no, let someone else drink it! – he shouted, moving to the inquisitor, who was gritting his teeth and writhing on the floor in pain.
The sorceress jumped up and ran to the ranger loading his crossbow. After explaining the drink's effect to him, she sighed and told him about the possible consequences. After receiving her assurance that the potion would work as intended in any case, the white-haired man drained the vial of bitter, burning liquid in one gulp. A few seconds later a violent, uncontrollable trembling ran through his body, his muscles cramped, and he fell to the ground with a cry. Another minute later he was roaring as he dragged the huge grate upward, opening the passage for the others. The bard hurried to drag the inquisitor inside, while the bandit woman leapt down from her perch and hastened to toss the bag of supplies into the passage. The dead were approaching.
The white-haired man looked back and saw the little sorceress hastily gathering the potions scattered over the floor. A roar came from a dead body that had emerged from the darkness. A pale hand seized the girl by the leg. She screamed as dead hands dragged her toward the crowd of living corpses climbing through a stone crack in the floor. With all his newly gained strength, the ranger jerked the grate sideways, making it jam in the stone. Running up sharply, he kicked the rotten body in the chest, and the upper half of the enemy flew into the air in a hundred slimy scraps. Throwing the squealing girl over his shoulder, he picked up her bag with everything she had managed to gather and ran to the others. Setting his burden on the steps, the ranger pulled the grate, hanging a meter and a half above the ground, down; it struck the stone with a heavy clang, blocking the undead's path.
Halfway up the stairs the group stopped. The sorceress gave the wounded inquisitor a healing draught, after which he immediately fell asleep. Having finished with one casualty, she approached the other: the trembling ranger holding himself against the wall. The potion of strength had ended its effect, leaving only painful consequences in his body. The eared man reacted to nothing, staring blankly at the staircase vanishing into the darkness. When the girl tried to seat him on the floor, he collapsed onto her unconscious. Finding herself on a wide step with the white-haired head on her chest, she had to ask for help from those who remained conscious.
The scout took the first step into the wide tunnel, whose floor was carpeted with murky water. It smelled of something sharp and alchemical. Tree roots that had grown through the walls and ceiling had an unusual bluish color. The torches trembled in a wind from no clear source, threatening to go out.
- The unholy water of the Irsus Sea, - the paladin concluded, looking at the cloudy swirls.
- Impossible. By all calculations we should be somewhere else entirely! – the scholar objected, trying to fish another map out of his wide pocket.
- One of its outflows is above us, - the lean warrior said, touching the tunnel wall with his hand.
- So what now, do you want to go back to the army of corpses? – the inquisitor's apprentice asked with a snort. – We go forward. This passage has to lead somewhere.
- Put out the torches. We do not know how long we will have to walk, - the scout said. - Stay close to one another.
Soon, the only source of light in the tunnel's pitch darkness was the torch in the girl's hand. Nothing disturbed the silence of the ancient passage, unfriendly to foolish accidental visitors. Nothing except the howling wind, the ominous slapping of feet through cursed water, the hiss of the torch, and the holy warrior's quiet prayers.
Someone persistently shook him by the shoulder, repeating the annoying "wake up" again and again. The ranger opened his eyes and immediately squinted at the bright light. The red-haired bandit woman stuck a torch into one of the many cracks in the wall and pulled a flask from her bag.
- Another potion? – the white-haired man asked with a grimace.
- Yep, straight from my cellar.
The burning rum pleasantly warmed his whole body, which was only just recovering from magical overload. Sitting up, the ranger looked over their small forced camp. The inquisitor, noticeably recovered, was chewing dried meat and washing it down with beer from a wineskin. The bard almost inaudibly plucked the strings of his instrument, singing suitable words in a whisper. The little sorceress counted the surviving potions and powders; a barely noticeable reddish light came from her bag.
- The staircase leads to the second tier, and from there a long passage stretches into the castle, - the redhead reported. - Some creatures definitely live there.
- Did you find this place on the maps? – he asked his friend.
- Hah! If we use them as kindling for a fire, they will be much more useful, - she laughed. - The ones that brought us to the gorge are right; the rest are just nonsense!
- Damned Order of the Phoenix, - the ranger spat.
The group moved upward. Snow flew through a hole in the ceiling, forming a small drift by the arch leading to the second tier. The inquisitor scooped up a handful and began rubbing it over his chest, in the place where the wolf had left its ten black scratches. Apparently the wounds caused the warrior great discomfort.
Below, beyond the parapet, there was pitch darkness and absolute silence, as if nothing had happened there for years. The bard picked up a stone from the floor and threw it down, hearing nothing in response except a soft knock.
- What happened to the others? Did they escape? – he said thoughtfully.
- Most likely, - the inquisitor croaked, clenching his fist in a fit of pain. - My apprentice is not so easy to take.
Before the heroes stretched an incredibly long passage. Moonlight entered through numerous holes and cracks, making it easy to estimate its length at least roughly. The ranger immediately understood what the redhead had meant when she spoke of creatures living here. The snow showed prints of paws, feet, and strangely shaped hooves, as though a circus of freaks had run through.
The first meeting with a local resident happened very soon: the bandit woman sharply shoved the bard aside and ducked. A large boulder struck a cracked column, and the one who had thrown it received a bullet in return. The heroes surrounded the creature bleeding green blood and showing no signs of life. Outwardly it resembled an upright goat with three human legs and horns protruding all over its body.
- I have never seen anything like this, - the ranger concluded after examining the corpse more closely.
- I feel the work of black magic, - the inquisitor rumbled.
- Creatures created artificially! – squeaked the sorceress.
As they advanced toward the enormous wooden gates leading into the castle, the vile creatures became more numerous. The ranger shot about twenty of them; the inquisitor killed five more hiding behind the shield of a broken ballista. The bandit woman conserved ammunition, stepping carefully with saber drawn.
A small door had been built into the gates, and it yielded without trouble to a couple of hammer blows. Inside awaited a hall that had once served as an armory. Rows of rusty armor glittered in the moonlight, blackened grindstones lay ominously on the floor among wooden debris. The ranger walking ahead stopped when he noticed a suspicious figure at the end of the room, passed the torch to the bard, and loaded his crossbow.
- Welcome! – a voice thundered in the darkness. – Be guests of our castle!
Several torches on the walls lit at once, illuminating the hall. The figure turned to the guests, giving them a chance to see a pale face, bright red eyes, and an impeccable suit in the latest aristocratic fashion. A black cloak, playing in the wind from a broken window, did not touch the floor. The figure floated in the air. Seeing that his appearance had produced a reaction satisfying to him, the man laughed.
- Who are you? – the inquisitor asked, proudly stepping forward.
- Who am I? – the man spread into a languid smile. – Ah, merely one who seeks knowledge, the secrets of the greatest scholar, into whose castle you have deigned to appear without any invitation.
- It cannot be... – the sorceress whispered in horror, clutching a table covered with gray film.
- Oh yes, that man was truly magnificent, splendid, brilliant! The creator of legions of creatures whose power exceeds every imaginable limit! His experiments brought many most wondrous discoveries...
- Creator of ugly cripples, heretic, false scholar, defiler! – the inquisitor interrupted.
- Ah, what conversation can there be with ignorance? Behold, then, what I have been able to create with a small portion of his wisest legacy!
The man clapped his hands and dissolved into gray smoke. From three wide doors poured disgusting creatures with weapons in their hands; they wheezed, gurgled, squealed, and screamed. Most of them looked like asymmetrical mixtures of pieces of random animals stitched together with tight threads. The heroes retreated to the wall; the ranger picked up a decrepit wooden shield from the floor and covered himself with it while loading his crossbow. Several monsters shriekingly fell onto the stone floor, stung by the red-haired bandit's accurate shots. The main restraining factor was a flask of oil that flew into the crowd of approaching creatures and wrapped the bodies of the ugly beasts in fire.
- Got any more?! – the inquisitor roared after the throw.
The little sorceress immediately began searching for other fiery mixtures.
- There! – the ranger shouted, pointing to a closed door apparently leading to an officers' passage.
- And then what?! – the red warrior shouted, stepping forward toward the enemies. – There are hundreds of them here!
- The sphere. We must bring it into the castle, - the white-haired man reminded him.
- It will help us! – agreed the eared keeper of the sphere of fire.
- Go! – the warrior ordered with a sigh.
- What do you mean, "go"? What about you? – the bard wondered.
In answer, the inquisitor ran a finger along one of the ten deep scratches, showing his friends blood blackened by deadly poison.
- I cannot go farther. Here my last battle will take place! Go!
After those words, the inquisitor moved toward the monsters cautiously approaching from the right side of the fire. More than a dozen enemies fell to the punishing hammer guided by the furious warrior's hand before he ended his earthly path in battle for a righteous cause. Breaking the lock in the decayed door, the four ran forward through a narrow passage hung with rotten tapestries and paintings.
Meanwhile, underground, the other five made their way toward the castle through a long tunnel. The caustic water of the Irsus Sea ended after a while, though it had managed to soak their shoes thoroughly. The torches went out, became covered in sticky residue, and refused to light again; the stench was foul. By the time the tunnel changed into open space, a semicircular platform cut into the rock above a precipice, the people had begun to cough. Below they could make out snow-covered trees, a snowy plain, and mountains in the distance. The moon did not light this place very well, protected as it was by an overhanging rock, but snow was falling in full, forming a cold half-meter carpet across the whole platform.
But ahead of the heroes waited the long-awaited gates leading to the lower tiers of the castle. Inspired by the prospect of at least some change from cold, damp, and stench to, at minimum, dryness and no wind, the people quickly crossed to the other side. Inside, a spiral staircase awaited them, leading far upward. After resting a little, they continued on, climbing the broad steps into the unknown.
At last, breathing heavily, the inquisitor's apprentice stepped onto the stone floor of a room resembling a cellar. The barrels had long since rotted and become covered with whitish cracks; the stones of a small oven by the wall had taken on a strange color. Everything suggested that alchemical experiments had been conducted here. The paladin approached the remains of a rack on which shards of several flasks lay and tried to examine them more closely in the torchlight.
- The reagents dried out long ago, - a voice sounded from the dark.
Everyone started at once, searching for the speaker with their eyes. He proved to be a medium-height spearman, bald-headed. The stranger's skin was black, and his eyes burned red. On his shoulder sat a raven no less black than its master. Moonlight entered the room only through a barred opening right under the ceiling, but the strange fellow apparently felt perfectly comfortable even in complete darkness.
- Who are you? – the paladin asked commandingly, placing a hand on his sword hilt.
- The one who will not let you pass beyond this laboratory, - the new opponent answered.
- One on one! – the inquisitor's apprentice shouted, drawing his blade. – Let us finish this quickly, unless you are a coward!
- Gladly, - the other nodded, throwing the raven into the air.
The next instant he was already beside the hapless duelist, slicing the armor leather at stomach level with the spearpoint. Only an astonishing reaction, trained in dozens of duels, saved the young man. The samurai, who had stood motionless until that moment, made a sharp lunge and brought his keen blade down on the attacker's head with a cry. The man managed to defend himself by putting the spear's metal shaft under the blow. Reassessing his chances of victory, the stranger shouted something to the raven in an incomprehensible language, after which the bird flew upward.
- He sent it for help. I have seen that before! – the scout shouted.
- Then we kill him quickly, - the samurai said firmly and rushed to attack.
The paladin gladly supported him, driving the opponent toward the wall with all his might. Unaccustomed to such fights, the inquisitor's apprentice advanced hesitantly from behind and suddenly ran into an invisible barrier. An arrow fired by the scout likewise bounced from the obstacle with a scrape. The spearman lightly struck the floor with the blunt end of his weapon, and barely visible gleams ran across the rounded glass wall blocking the friends' path.
- Nothing will save you, - he said grimly.
- We will deal with him! – the paladin called to those left beyond the barrier. – Go. We will catch up!
As the samurai later told it, something incredible happened inside the improvised arena. The spearman appeared here and there, mercilessly striking with his sharp spear. It seemed he himself was part of the darkness. Easily parrying the blows of two seasoned warriors, he found the tiniest gaps in their defense.
Holding his bloodied side, the defeated swordsman watched the stranger pierce the paladin's throat with the spear, and then, before the body had even cooled, perform a black magic spell. The holy warrior, whose body now looked more like chunks of bloody meat encased in armor, rose to his feet, looking at the world with the empty eyes of an animated corpse carrying out its master's will.
- Pursue your friends. Kill them all, - the spearman ordered.
They paid no attention to the still-living samurai.
The scholar shook the magical compass, trying on the move to make out the direction of the sphere of fire. The needle pointed somewhere upward; the other members of the party were close. In a wide stone corridor equipped with several windows, the three friends encountered several hostile creatures that caused no trouble. The corridor led them into a large hall with a very high ceiling; tall stone columns strangely caught the moonlight breaking through many holes in the dome above.
- We are in the ceremonial hall, - the scholar explained, stroking his beard. - The main laboratory, if I understand correctly, is behind one of the walls.
- How do you know that is where we need to go? – the duelist asked suspiciously.
- The Master of the Order told me, - he answered.
- So you knew where we had ended up?! – the warrior growled, grabbing the scholar by the collar.
- I was not sure! At first, I assumed we were heading...
- Shh! Do you hear that? – the scout interrupted, freezing.
A barely audible squeal of pain came from somewhere above; torchlight flickered in the farthest box, then people appeared. The scout whistled loudly, attracting attention. The ranger, immediately noticing the trio below, pointed his torch toward the end of the hall, where a large dark arch could be seen. As they moved forward, bodies of people and monsters began to appear, as if a great battle had taken place here quite recently.
- Look! – the scholar cried in a strangled voice, pointing to a huge circle of scorched stone located closer to the dais.
Heaps of ash, frozen in the cold, had probably once been disgusting local inhabitants. In the center lay two bodies: a mage in red, his back burned to the bone, held in his arms a black-haired girl stuck with arrows but almost untouched by the flame. It seemed someone had learned of this place's danger and sent a cleansing detachment, but had misjudged its strength. Just as had happened to the heroes themselves.
Approaching the arch, the trio saw the torchlight of their friends waiting for them. Now there were seven of them. The apprentice could not believe they had simply left the inquisitor to die and was extremely angry. The paladin and samurai could take care of themselves, so they decided to go on. The sphere of fire, kept at the bottom of the sorceress's bag, had grown very hot as they approached the laboratory. In the dark glass ball, fire seemed to be awakening, swirling in a hurricane of bright shades.
The gates to the laboratory, for there was no doubt that this was what they were, stood open. Moreover, creatures carrying firewood, coal, and boxes of unknown contents were constantly entering through them. Work was in full swing. Slipping in unnoticed was impossible; they had to look for another way. According to the information they had, the sphere was supposed to activate on its own, cleansing this place of evil, but how that would happen was unknown.
Suddenly, a familiar voice came from above.
- You managed to get here? My respects, - the pale aristocrat said, gazing down at the heroes from a high balcony.
A shout rang out, then another; there came the tramp of feet and the clank of armor. Realizing there was no choice left, the heroes dashed through the laboratory gates. Finding themselves in a very long room lit by dozens of oil lamps, they discovered around them a hundred, perhaps more, ugly monsters growling viciously. In the middle of the laboratory, on a wooden throne, sat a bone mage commanding the process. Arrows, jars of explosive mixtures, throwing knives, and bullets flew. The worker monsters, panicking, hurried to hide under tables, behind cabinets, in empty vats, or simply tried to run past the killers who had suddenly burst in. The gates abruptly opened to their full width, showing the heroes their former ally, dead and in bloodied armor. At the same time, the ancient mage hurled a chain of lightning at the guests, striking the scout dead.
Giving free rein to his boundless anger, the duelist instantly crossed the distance to the wooden throne and thrust his blade into the mage several times. The skeleton, deprived of the ability to cast, pulled the warrior to itself and seized his throat with bony hands. Unable to pull his sword from the enemy's body, the duelist did the first thing that came to mind: he in turn grabbed the bony neck with his hands, trying to break it. He suffocated without ever letting go.
With a pistol in one hand and a saber in the other, the red-haired bandit woman attacked the bolder enemies, clearing a path for the sorceress, who pressed the bag with the red-hot sphere to her chest. New enemies flew through the gates: several knights in black armor, and behind them huge monsters, three meters tall, growled. The little sorceress ran forward, hoping at last to find the position in which the sphere would deign to activate, but something strong seized her cloak and jerked sharply, making the girl fall to the floor. A huge sword pierced the bandit woman's back, after which the resurrected paladin's enormous fist finished the job, sending her on a short flight to the nearest boiling cauldron. Golden boiling liquid spilled across the floor, boiling alive a monster hiding under a table. The sorceress looked up at her former ally walking toward her and tried to rise. A heavy throwing knife smashed into the dead paladin's face just above the nose, stopping the enemy for several seconds.
- Forward! – the ranger shouted, drawing a second knife from his boot.
But he did not have time to throw it. One of the black knights slashed his chest with a sword, knocked him to the ground, and stabbed the bloodied body again. The scholar grabbed the sorceress by the shoulder and dragged her forward. The bard, of course, was at that moment fighting fiercely, one against five black knights, with fire in his soul, thirst for vengeance for fallen friends, and a desire to help the survivors. The sphere still refused to work, though it had heated to a high temperature. Time was running out, enemies were closing in from every side, the bone mage had almost thrown off the duelist's body, and the aristocrat was entering through the gates with an important air.
- Throw it into the cauldron! – the scholar advised.
- What?! We cannot! – the sorceress squeaked.
- There is no choice!
The scholar snatched the dark ball with fire at its center from the girl and pushed it into the boiling cauldron of golden brew. Some splashed onto his hand, leaving a severe burn.
- Now, prepare yourselves! – he commanded.
The small device in his hand sparked, clicked, and transported the three heroes to the hall of slaughter, straight to the couple asleep in eternal sleep. At the gates they met the samurai, who had managed to bandage his wounds himself. Heavy steps sounded; the heroes were being chased. Their only advantage was that the enemy did not know their exact location, and they had to use that! The samurai told them of a passage he had found into another underground tunnel leading toward the garrison.
Hardly had the heroes stepped onto the cold floor of the underground passage when a monstrous explosion rang out above. Later they would see the castle engulfed in flame, one part of it collapsing into the abyss before their very eyes. The sphere of fire, the "Phoenix Sphere," as they later learned, brought exactly that kind of cleansing. Only by a miracle did they manage to remain alive after that suicidal adventure. Their fallen friends would forever remain in their hearts, stirring only warm memories of the time they had spent together.

At last, it is finished!
The bard set down his pen with a smile and leaned back in a comfortable chair upholstered in soft leather. Now this story would become known to every resident of Haveria! Every person would be moved by the feat they had accomplished!
A girl with light hair entered the room, carrying a tray with a cup of tea and half-moon pastries. The bard coughed, stood to his full height, and proudly declared:
- Finished!
- Oh, congratulations! – she said, setting the tray on a small table in the middle of the room. – How long did it take you, thirty years?
- I simply had no inspiration! Who needs stories written without inspiration? – the bard sighed. – You know, you were my muse, occasionally.
- I am not even a real girl! – the muse laughed. – I am a homunculus you demanded from the Order as a reward, do not forget.
- Pfft! Who needs them... you are much better.
- All right, - the muse smiled, - let me see.
- Of course, here, - the bard handed the girl the written pages.
- Is this an accurate account?
- Yes.
- And here, is this true? I did not know you were good at fencing.
- Of course!
- And here? Mmmm... who are these people, anyway? And what castle is this? I have never heard of it...
- That is enough, give it back!
Pleasant snow drifted through the half-open window, the fireplace burned, the tea was warm, and the pastries were delicious.

The Last Day of Havenia.

It was an ordinary December day, life in the city flowed along its usual course, and everyone was busy with their own affairs. Even though a holiday was approaching, there were no visible external changes hinting at it. Only in one small tavern, located in the darkest and poorest quarter, could one notice a little commotion over the coming New Year. As in the previous several years, Revan was the instigator of the fuss. He stood in front of the stage and directed a couple of workers who were decorating it, preparing it for the annual contest.
- Well, did you absolutely have to sit here? - he addressed Vish in an annoyed tone; Vish was sitting on the edge of the stage tuning a guitar.
Vish did not answer, only gave him a slightly hurt but understanding look, then moved to a corner table. One table away from him sat Morni and Plesen, playing some board game. The neighboring table was even livelier: about five people were gathered there, the most noticeable of them being Ment, perhaps because he was standing rather than sitting. They were having some kind of quiz, about which the other tavern regulars knew almost nothing and did not want to know. Around the tables, a small orc with a club was making circles; he had appeared here quite recently. And although outsiders were usually treated coolly here and forced to leave the place as soon as possible, nobody threw this little fellow out, allowing him to stay despite the fact that he sometimes damaged the tavern. The last person present in the establishment was Arandor, who was trying to tune the jukebox standing to the right of the bar counter. He tuned it in the only way he knew: by pounding it with his fist.
- What a goatish piece of junk, - the elf grumbled. - Are you going to work today or not? - he continued scolding the tavern's property, hitting the wooden frame harder and harder.
- Leave it alone already, - came a voice from the staircase leading to the second floor. Nebo was coming down, followed by Heroist.
- No, it worked yesterday, so it will work now, - the lad did not lose hope.
- Just do not break your fists, - the white-haired elf smirked, heading for the bar. The knight followed him.
- If I break them, it will not be on the machine, - Arandor threw after him, then returned to his task.
When the bulb in the machine finally lit up and the record began to spin, Arandor turned toward the hall to boast to his comrades of his skill in repairing old technology, but his gaze stopped on the entrance door, namely on an unfamiliar girl who had just entered. At that moment music began to play.


The young man immediately forgot everything and fell into a stupor while the beautiful creature slowly walked to the bar, looking over the visitors and the establishment itself. The locals did not pay much attention to the newcomer; only a couple of people threw brief glances and returned to their business. When the girl stopped not far from Arandor, he could get a better look at her. She had long dark hair, a neat little nose, pretty lips, and coffee-colored eyes holding that gaze, so warm, gentle, and inviting, like a cozy little flame that moths fly toward, or like stars that are hard to make out in a cloudy night sky. At least that was how it seemed to the young elf. He was distracted from his thoughts only when the girl approached him.
- Excuse me, - she began timidly. - Could you help me?
- Huh? Me? - the young man was completely flustered, but at the last moment managed to pull himself together. - Yes, of course, no problem.
- I wanted something to drink, but I do not see a bartender here.
- There isn't one, - Arandor answered as if it were nothing. - We have an electronic ordering system here, though from the tavern's appearance you would never think such technology could be here, much less in working order.
- Yes, that is true, - the stranger giggled.
- Let me show you how it is done. - The elf stepped behind the bar, pressed a couple of buttons on the panel next to the "beer" tap, and held up a mug, which after a few seconds filled with liquid. - Here you go, - he handed the girl the drink.
- Mm, and what is it? - she asked.
- Oh, - Arandor blurted, realizing he had forgotten to ask what exactly the stranger wanted to drink, after which he apologized and told her what was in the mug.
- No worries, it is all right, - the girl smiled.
- You will like it, just try it.
- It is my favorite drink, but I have never had it made by this recipe before.
- Well? - the young man asked.
- You know, it really is good, - the beauty answered, emptying the mug.
After that Arandor talked with the stranger for another ten minutes, then they said goodbye and she left, waving her graceful hand to him one last time.
- I see you liked her, - Morning noted, approaching his friend.
- Eeeh... - was all the elf could produce.
- Since you are sighing dreamily, that means I was not wrong, - the shaven-headed guy said with confidence. - She really is pretty, and her skin is that pale-delicate kind you like.
- You can say that again.
- Did you at least learn her name, or how to contact her?
- Well... her name is Daya, and as for the rest...
- No? - Morni asked, frowning. - But why? You have to take risks, otherwise nothing will happen.
- Maybe, - Arandor began doubtfully, - but I think in this case there was no point, so...
- There was, - the cleric insisted. - I saw her look, and she liked you too, I am telling you for sure.
- Are you sure?
- More than.
- But she has already left, which means I will have to wait for the next meeting, or...
- Or run after her, - Morning interrupted his friend.
- Run? - the elf repeated in surprise. - You suggest running? Right now?
- Why not? Maybe she has not yet left the area.
- Maybe, but... I do not know, I need to think.
- If you think too long, you definitely will not make it, - the bald man warned. - But decide for yourself; it is up to you, - he added, then returned to his table.
Arandor stood behind the bar and thought about what to do. He understood that sometimes one had to take risks, simply had to, but fear of failure always held him back and prevented him from fully using the opportunities that appeared.
- Run or not, run or not, run or not, run or... - spun in the elf's head until his attention was drawn by the sound of a breaking table and shouts.
What the hell?! - Plesen and Morning yelled simultaneously.
- Are you completely *beep*? - the horned one pounced on Dubinkin.
- Why the *beep* did you hit the table with your club, *beep*? - the cleric backed him up.
- Hey, hey, easy, - Ment stood up for the little one. - He is still a child, and besides such a cu... - The druid looked at the culprit standing nearby and picking his nose, - wild one.
- Exactly, wild! He does not belong here, he needs to be thrown out.
- Yes, but first I will smack him.
- Wait!
The little orc started running around the tavern when the enraged pair tried to catch him. Looking at all this circus, Arandor nevertheless decided to take a risk and try his luck.
- I will do it! - he declared, though most likely nobody heard his words.
When the elf ran up to the door, ready to grab the handle and open it, someone beat him to it from the other side and flung the door open so hard that it knocked the young man off his feet.
Guys, we have problems! - Dag exclaimed in alarm, practically flying into the tavern.
- Yobrngyndy, - Arandor mumbled, lying on the floor and holding his nose.
What happened? - asked someone present, while everyone else merely thought it.
- The Third Quarter, it has literally vanished completely, - the messenger began anxiously.
- Vanished how? - Ment was surprised.
- The buildings started getting covered with something like ice, then simply evaporated, along with the people inside them. I barely managed to get out.
- Guys! Guys! - came a voice from the street, belonging to Kosha, and soon she herself appeared in the doorway. - There, uh, the mafia quarter...
- Is disappearing?
- Yes! But how did...
- The Third has the same problem, - Dag explained, not letting her finish.
- But it has not vanished completely yet, and there are people left there; they need help.
- Of course we will help, - Ment volunteered. - But where do we go afterward? We cannot just sit here when something like that is happening in the neighboring quarter.
- Right, we need to look for a way out, and quickly, - Morni concluded.
- Maybe to the city center? - Plesen suggested. - It always seems safe there.
- But how do we get there? We do not have keys.
- We do not, but there are some in the coordinator's tower.
- Then we need to split up, - Ment concluded. - I and a couple of volunteers will go for the keys, since I have access to the Fifth Quarter and we can quickly reach the tower, while the rest follow Kosha.
- But... what about the girl? - Arandor asked, sniffling.
- Apparently another time, - the cleric answered him, at which the elf sniffled again.
- Heroist and Nebok, come with me, - Ment called the pair sitting at the bar.
- Then Plesen, Morning, and Dag are with me, - Kosha decided. - Ar, are you coming?
- No, I had better warn the others about the danger.
- I can go, - the guy with the guitar, still sitting in the corner, perked up.
- Good, Vish. - Then the girl addressed Revan, who continued decorating the stage.
- No, - he answered categorically, - I think it is safest here.
- Why?
-Because this is the gloomiest, grayest, most disgusting place in the entire city, resembling a dump or a waste pit where useless and worthless people have gathered: outcasts, the sick, people with deviations, and simply those who have lost all hope of finding their place outside this garbage heap. Do you think this calamity will come here on top of everything else? By the design of the universe or by the Creator's will? No, no, and no again! That will not happen, otherwise it would be too much for this place and for all of us, - Revan declared with complete seriousness and absolute confidence in his words.
- Well... all right.
When everyone had gone on their assignments, Arandor approached the bar, poured himself some water, and looked around the room. Now there was nobody here except Dubinkin, who was eating something from the table where people had been sitting only recently, and Revan, diligently preparing for the holiday contest. Having quenched his thirst, the elf filled his flask with water and fastened it to his belt, then looked toward the stage again. He liked the devotion to the cause and the diligence with which his comrade worked. He himself would have abandoned the idea long ago, perhaps for some made-up reason or simply because of laziness. Arandor also found it funny that these two in particular were here, because Revan too had once been an unbearable little fellow and could easily have found himself in the young orc's place. But much had changed since then, and now this man kept this place alive, a place that would long since have sunk into oblivion without him. Smiling at his thoughts, the elf headed for the exit, though he did not know exactly where to go or what to do, or whether there was any point in leaving at all.
Once outside, Arandor looked around and saw Heroist and Nebok near the moderators' hut. Going up to them, he asked where Ment was and why they were standing there.
- He asked us to wait, - the knight answered.
- Business, - Nebo added.
- I see. Well, all right.
At that moment Neyra appeared from around the corner. Noticing familiar faces, she headed toward them.
- Hi there. Why are we standing around?
The three greeted her in return and then told her what was happening.
- Well, *beep*, - the girl said, dismayed.
- Exactly.
- By the way, Nebok, why are you so pale? - the redhead asked, abruptly changing the subject.
- It is nothing...
- He has been like that for a long time; you just rarely visit us and do not know what goes on here, - Arandor interrupted.
- I see, - Neyra looked the young man over appraisingly. - Still, you looked better before, - she added.
- I like how Nebo looks, - Heroist defended him and immediately became embarrassed, as did his friend.
- Umm, - Neyra looked at the pair suspiciously. - I see.
- Oh, extra help will not hurt, - Ment said happily, finally coming out of the house.
- Were you changing clothes all this time? - the elf asked curiously, noticing that the druid had come out without his deer helm and mechanical armor with gear-shaped shoulder pads.
- Well yes, who knows what awaits us ahead, so I decided to choose something more comfortable.
- So you are going to the coordinator's tower? - the girl clarified.
- Yes. Coming with us?
- Why not. We can also pick up Morni; he is sitting in the pub with Vis right now.
- In the pub? - Arandor was surprised. - Was he not supposed to go with Kosha?
- Yes, but Siver went instead of him after meeting them in the street, so everything is fine.
- Well, if so, good.
- I think we can manage as we are, - Ment concluded after looking over the volunteers.
- All right, good luck with the tower; maybe we will meet again, - Arandor said and headed farther down the street.

At that time the other group was approaching the mafia quarter, which looked much better than its neighbor. A wall had been built around it, and one could enter only through the gates, but Kosha had the keys to them, so there was no problem with that. They were looking for two mansions: one definitely contained people, the other might. Some houses were already covered with ice or were just becoming covered, so Kosha decided to divide the group into two parts so as not to waste time. Plesen and Dag went to the main building in the quarter, while the others went to house number 101.

Meanwhile Arandor met Alex, and the two talked and briefly discussed the latest news. The elf even mentioned the girl from the tavern, and that determined his next actions. As it turned out, Alex had seen her too and said she had gone toward the Fifth Quarter. This time Arandor did not think long and immediately set out.

When Plesen and Dag reached the right house, they remembered that it too had a fence around it. Not as tall as the wall around the quarter, but quite impressive, and they had no keys. Fortunately for them, a tree grew nearby, and Plesen climbed it easily. Hanging from a thick branch by his tail, he pulled Dag up, and together they climbed to the other side. A man's voice came from the mansion.
Things were worse for Kosha and her companions, because the door would not open even with a key, while there were definitely people inside and, on top of everything, the building had started freezing over. They decided to break in through a window, but the first-floor windows were boarded up, and the second floor was rather high. First Kosha tried standing on Siver's shoulders, but that was not enough, so Vish had to join in as well. When the girl reached the needed height, she tried to open the window, but it would not yield.
- Try the next one, - Siver suggested.
- All right, - Kosha answered and began carefully moving along the cornice.
Reaching the target, she saw people inside and began knocking on the glass. Seeing her, the prisoners rushed to the window. Among them was Sezam.
- Faster, - Vish urged, noticing the ice crust beginning to approach.
When the window finally opened after another tug, Kosha lost her balance and fell, but fortunately Siver managed to catch her.
- Jump! - the girl shouted.
- Now, - came the answer.
At that moment the ice had already spread onto the window frame, and apparently Sezam noticed it too late. Climbing onto the windowsill, she grabbed it, and in an instant the ice leapt onto her hand, pinning her to the window. The girl tried to break free, but unsuccessfully, and before her comrades' eyes she turned into an icicle. They were shocked by this outcome, but time pushed them on and they hurried to the exit, especially since the ice had already begun spreading even across the ground. Running out onto the central street, the would-be rescuers saw their comrades, now three in number. Along with Dag and Plesen, Shaman was walking with a limp.
- What happened to him? - Siver asked.
- Got hurt during the rescue operation, - the other answered.
- And... - Plesen wanted to ask.
- No, - Vish anticipated him, - we failed.
They stood for about another minute, coming to their senses after what had happened and resting a little, then headed for the gates. When they reached them, the group discovered that the path was blocked by some transparent white veil.
- What the hell is this? - Dag fumed.
- Ugh, disgusting, - Kosha added.
- Let us check, - Vish said with curiosity, picking up a pebble from the ground and throwing it at the barrier.
The stone hit the veil and fell. A few seconds later it began to shake and divide into pieces, turning into scraps, and another moment later those pieces of white filth began rising, taking the shape of humanoids.
- I do not like this, - Shaman commented on what he saw.
- They look like... - Plesen began recalling stories from the book about Havenia.
- Mapstobs! - the girl exclaimed.
- Exactly! - the guy confirmed.
- Run! - someone yelled.
Dag and Plesen took Shaman under the arms, and the whole company ran in the opposite direction. There was another exit from the quarter, but the way to it was not short and led across a bridge. As they ran, buildings vanished before their eyes here and there, while more and more ice monsters appeared from gateways. Turning into yet another street, they saw a whole crowd of these creatures moving toward them.
- Faster, faster, - Siv urged the lagging trio.
Suddenly a group of mapstobs jumped out in front of them. Dag immediately drew his two-handed axe and began fighting them off. Vish, Kosha, and Siv wanted to help, but several monsters ran out at them too, appearing from around the corner of the nearest mansion; however, the bard managed to slip between them and reach his comrades.
- Run through the alleys, we will meet at the bridge, - Siver shouted to them and disappeared with Kosha behind one of the houses.
Picking up Shaman, Vish and Plesen followed their friends' example, except they had to move the other way. Dag, meanwhile, covered their retreat, masterfully wielding his axe and cutting off enemies' heads.

Having reached the Fifth Quarter, Arandor made sure that it too was empty, although there were no signs of the ice virus. Passing through the gates, which Ment apparently had not closed behind him, the elf hurried deep into the streets, but found no one. In the end he came out right at the coordinator's tower, where his friends were sitting and arguing about something.
- I see you have not gotten the keys yet.
- Your search seems not to have succeeded either, - Nebo said sarcastically.
- Glad to see you, - Heroist said happily.
-Well, we are thinking how to get into the tower, since it has no doors, at least for those without access inside, - Ment explained.
- But there is a window! - Neyra added nervously.
- Which is at fourth-floor height, - the white-haired elf summed up in an imperturbable voice.
- We made something like a kaginawa here, but the rope turned out a bit short, - the knight changed the subject.
- Lucky for you I came back, - with these words Arandor took a piece of rope from his backpack. - If we tie them together, the length may be just enough.



Having quickly finished work on the homemade grappling hook, the group approached the tower and began carrying out their plan. With a stick, the druid drew on the ground an approximate flight path the hook should follow in order to land exactly in the window.
- Maybe we tie the end to an arrow and Neyra shoots it from the bow?
- No, the hook is too heavy.
- We can throw it as is, - Nebo declared confidently.
- Oh, so you are a master hook-thrower, are you? - Arandor replied.
- Maybe I am, - the pale one took the hook in his hands and began spinning the rope. - Watch and learn.
- Maybe do not? - Heroist asked anxiously.
Choosing what seemed to him the right moment, Nebo loosened his grip and the hook flew from his hands, but it did not go up; it flew behind the elf and hit Ment, who was standing behind him, squarely.
- Are you all right?! - Neyra asked anxiously, running up to the druid.
- Seems so, - he answered, rubbing his head and moaning slightly from pain.
- You really are a master, - Arandor said with a chuckle.
- I can smack you too, - Nebo burst out furiously, stepping right up to the elf and threatening him with a fist.
- Come on, try. Maybe you are also a master of hand-to-hand combat?
- You are asking for it...
- Enough! - Heroist cut into the two elves' verbal skirmish. - You seem to have forgotten why we are here, yes?
- Tell them! - Neyra supported the peacemaker, helping Ment get up.
- Now I will try, - Arandor said, lifting the hook from the ground.
The other elf's throw proved more successful, because the hook shot straight up vertically, at an absolutely right angle, forcing everyone present to scatter so it would not fall on their heads. This time Ment wanted to spare himself injury for certain, and for that very reason decided to run farther away from the tower. Only he failed to notice the treacherous tree root sticking out of the ground, which caught his foot. After such a trip it was hard to stay upright, especially in armor. Finding himself on the ground again, the druid cursed, then in a commanding tone asked Heroist to throw the damned hook.
- Finally, - Ment sighed in relief when the hook flew into the window and caught firmly on something.
- Well, who climbs? - Nebo asked, clearly making it known that he did not want to be that volunteer.
- Ment is in no condition, I am in heavy armor, so...
- But why not you? - Arandor addressed Nebo, who had no visible reason to refuse.
- Because, - he answered.
- Oh, you men, - Neyra said disappointedly, grabbing the rope.
While Ment rubbed his bruises, the others stood by the tower and watched their friend climb.
- Now that is a... woman, - Arandor remarked, watching the process in fascination.
- You can say that again, - Nebo agreed.
- Yes indeed, - Heroist added.
- Hey, you down there, are you looking at my ass? - the girl shouted, remembering her somewhat revealing outfit.
- No, - the trio answered in chorus.
Having climbed into the tower, Neyra began searching for the key, but without success.
- They are not here!
- Are you sure you searched everything?
- Yes, though there is another door here, but it is locked and I cannot open it.
- Well damn... - Arandor thought, foreseeing further developments.
- We will have to help her, - Ment concluded.
- So, let us play rock-paper-scissors, and the loser climbs, agreed? the elf suggested.
- Fine, - Nebo agreed.
Luck was on Arandor's side, so the white-haired one had to climb the tower. Once upstairs, he and Neyra managed to knock down the door and continue the search. The others stood outside and talked. Having completely lost vigilance and forgotten the danger, the trio did not notice white creatures approaching from the other side, along with the icy "blanket."
- Hurry! There are mapstobs here! - Heroist's voice sounded.
- Mapstobs? - Nebo repeated aloud while searching a desk.
- Mapstobs, mapstobs, mapstobs... - Neyra tried to remember what that word meant. - Something familiar.
- All right, I think I found it, - the elf exclaimed joyfully, feeling something metal in the desk drawer. - Got it! Is this it? - he asked the girl.
- Umm, I do not know, - she answered honestly.
- We need to check with Ment, - with these words the pair headed back.
Returning to the window, Nebo and Neyra saw their comrades fighting ice creatures that resembled either people or some other humanoids.
- All right, take the key and climb down first, - the young man said firmly.
- But... - the girl wanted to object.
- Do not argue, - the elf insisted.
Seeing Neyra descending, Arandor ran to the tower, ensuring a safe descent for his comrades.
- Come on, faster, - he urged, fighting off ice monsters with a short sword.
Heroist and Ment were a little aside from the tower, fighting off a larger group. The knight fought with a two-handed sword, and the druid used an oak staff.
- Behind you! - Nebo shouted, noticing an enemy going around Arandor from behind, and threw his buckler at one of the mapstobs, hitting it right in the head.
At the last moment the elf managed to leap aside after hearing the warning, but stumbled and fell to the ground, thereby leaving the dangling rope unprotected. One mapstob quickly took advantage of this, grabbed it, and began yanking. Although Neyra was not far from the ground, jumping was still dangerous, especially onto an icy weirdo, and descending became difficult with such shaking. Unable to withstand the intense pulling, the rope either snapped or came untied, which ultimately led to the girl's fall. But she was lucky and the landing was soft; however, enemies were already waiting on the ground. Two mapstobs threateningly surrounded Neyra, raising their blades, when suddenly a knight in heavy armor crashed into them at a run, literally punching through the creatures' icy bodies and sending them flying into pieces.
- Thank you, - the girl said in relief.
- You are welcome, - Heroist answered, helping the redhead up.
Seeing that the rope had become much shorter, Nebo realized he would have to find another way out, if there was one at all.
- You goat, Arandor, - the white-haired one yelled, - Next time you climb yourself!
After these words the elf disappeared into the tower, while his comrades continued fighting the advancing mapstobs. About twenty seconds later the structure suddenly began to be covered with an ice crust, and so quickly that in less than a minute it turned into an ice spire, and another moment later vanished.

Passing the bridge, the four friends looked around, but Kosha and Siver were nowhere to be seen. Plesen suggested they had already left the quarter, to which Vish objected.
- So what, do we wait for them or go on? - Dag asked.
- I would rest, - Shaman answered.
The travelers decided to wait for their comrades and rest a little. After several minutes, silhouettes appeared at the far end of the bridge, and behind them a large white mass of mapstobs.
- It is them! - one of the guys exclaimed.



The pair were running with the last of their strength, and Siver held Kosha by the hand so she would not fall behind.
- A little more, - the guy encouraged his friend. - We will make it.
When they reached the bridge, one of the mapstobs placed a hand on the railing running along the whole road, after which it began to be covered with an ice crust that soon started spreading over the entire bridge.
- Run, run, run, - Kosha tried to urge herself on, but that did not add to their speed.
Watching their comrades, the four friends did not notice that they themselves had ended up in danger. An ice ball flew over their heads and hit the bridge. Ice immediately formed there and instantly began spreading. Turning around, the travelers saw a mapstob on the roof of the nearest house, one that looked different from the others. It pointed its hand at the people, and another ball appeared in the air, rushing downward. This time the shot was more accurate, but the targets proved nimble. In addition to the shooter, several more groups of monsters appeared on the street. The four had no choice but to flee. They rushed through narrow streets, trying to break away from their pursuers. Glancing toward the bridge, Vish saw Siv and Kosha stop, cut off by ice crust on both sides as it spread faster and faster, approaching them. The guy embraced the girl and pressed her tightly to himself. They stood like that until they were completely covered with ice and turned into ice statues.
*Whoosh-whoosh* sounded in the sky. Plesen raised his head and saw a dragon flying above them.
- I will land on the workshop roof and wait for you there, - the winged one roared in a bass voice. - Hurry!
Rushing toward the needed house, the group did not think much about exactly where to turn, only about moving in the right direction and along streets free of enemies. That became their mistake, leading to them ending up in a dead end, surrounded by mapstobs.
- Where now?
- Into the house! We will try to get through the roof.
Clearing the way with his axe, Dag led the others to one of the nearby mansions.
- Open the door, - he commanded.
First Vish tried to knock it down, but failed. Then Plesen joined in; the two threw their weight against it, and on the second try the door yielded.
- Where are the stairs?! - the bard panicked.
- Hell if I know, - the horned one answered.
- Search!
While the trio searched for a way up, Dag held the defense at the door.
- Found it! Shaman's voice came from the back room.
Everyone hurried to him, but mapstobs had already climbed into the house through the windows and blocked their path.
- You go, I will hold them back, - Dag said with fury in his voice and rushed at the ice monsters.
When Plesen and Vish reached Shaman, they saw him fighting off an enemy with a broom. Drawing his sword, the half-demon ran a mapstob through. Then, picking up their friend, he and the bard dragged him upstairs. Reaching the roof, they began calling Wistrit, who was several houses away from them. Noticing his comrades, the dragon soared into the air and headed toward them. But he could not land, because the mansion was not very wide and there was little space on the roof. Calling to Dag, the trio never received an answer, hearing only the sounds made by the mapstobs climbing toward them. Quickly tying a lasso from the available rope, Shaman and Vish held onto Ples, who with an accurate throw looped the rope around the dragon's tail when it flew above them again, thus leaving the ill-fated quarter.
Returning to the tavern, Ment's squad met the remnants of the rescue group, but Vis was no longer with them. After exchanging news, they jointly decided to honor their comrades' memory, then went outside and continued discussing further actions.
- I am not going any farther, - Vish said, unexpectedly for everyone. - I have had enough adventure, and besides, I am starting more and more to think that Revan is right and that it is safest here.
Nobody tried to dissuade the bard, so he calmly returned to his corner table, where he could go on playing his favorite melodies and watch the two regulars who were still inside the tavern. The others did not want to abandon the original plan, especially after everything that had happened.
- By the way, where did Wistrit go? - Arandor asked.
- He went back to the pub; he needs to refuel. - Plesen answered, scratching his horned head.
It was not that their comrade was a great lover of drink; rather, it was a necessity, because thanks to beer Wistrit could take the form of a dragon, but it lasted only a few minutes after transformation, so he often had to drink.
- Then we need to go there. If Morni is still there, he will patch Shaman up and we can move on.
- You are still alive, - came a voice from the side.
Turning around, those gathered saw Mortulus, as always dressed all in black.
- Hello to you too, - the druid greeted him good-naturedly. - Want to come with us?
- No, thank you. Failure clearly awaits you ahead, and I would rather wander the deserted city enjoying the sepulchral silence.
- As you wish.
- By the way, Arandor. I heard you are looking for a girl, is that true?
- Yes, why?
- Then you should look in the Chaelfe Quarter; I saw her there.
- Thank you, but that is exactly where we were going.
- In that case, hurry.
Watching the necromancer walk away into the street, everyone in the squad thought how strange Mortulus was, and then set out.

- Here we are at the pub, - Ment tried to cheer up the wounded Shaman.
- I will call them, - Neyra volunteered and entered the building.
- How did Wistrit know you needed help? - Heroist asked.
- He explained it by saying we had been gone too long and he decided to fly reconnaissance. As it turned out, not in vain, - Plesen said.
At that moment, in just a few seconds, the pub was completely covered with ice and then disappeared, leaving behind a cloud of icy particles.
- Nooo! - one of the guys screamed.
When the icy dust settled, those remaining outside saw a mapstob standing just on the other side of the house.
- That thing killed them! - the knight shouted in fury.
The enemy did not wait for action from the group and attacked first, conjuring its usual ice sphere. Ment stepped forward, trying to protect his comrades with staff and magic, but the opponent's magical power proved stronger. In an instant the druid turned into an ice statue. The others froze at what they saw, while meanwhile the mapstob mage began creating a second sphere. When he was already ready to launch it, a mighty blow from above split him into pieces. It was Morning and his fiery mace, appearing in Alex's company.
- Are you all right? - the cleric asked worriedly.
- We... you... you are alive? - he heard in response from the elf.
- Yes, I left the pub shortly before that. It is only a pity I came back too late.
After healing Shaman, Morni began asking about the group's further plans. It turned out that Neyra had given the coordinator's key to Arandor when they returned from the tower, and therefore there was no point in changing the plan.
- So which way do we go, if the Fifth and Third are already inaccessible?
- Definitely not through the Sixth and Seventh, - the elf said. - Especially since construction work was going on in the latter, which means it is even easier to get lost there than in the Sixth, where I have never been.
- Maybe the Fourth? - Shaman suggested.
- No, they say it is dangerous there because of some dark phantoms or spirits of the past, and we already have enough enemies, - Plesen explained.
- Decide faster, - Alex hurried them, adjusting his eagle helm.
- Then the First and Second remain, - Heroist stated.
- Decided. We go through the village, - Morning announced.
Locals called the first and second quarters the village, although in reality they were not one. The thing was that half the area of those quarters was occupied by various parks and natural zones, making this one of the most beautiful and romantic places in the city.
- Ah, how I love being here, - Arandor said blissfully, forgetting everything for a second.
- True, a pleasant little place, - Plesen supported him; his pale pink skin, typical of half-demons, became even paler in the sunlight.
- Do not get distracted, - the cleric grumbled.
- By the way, - Alex snapped out of it. - Mortulus told me that perhaps through the United Quarter we can not only leave the city, but fix everything.
- How is that? - Heroist wondered.
- I do not know, but he said something about the Creator's system building. If we can get in there with the key, maybe we will manage to get rid of all the mapstobs and return the vanished buildings along with the people.
- Interesting thought, - Morni noted. - That is exactly what we will try first. If it does not work, then all that remains is to leave this place once and for all.
The group moved purposefully toward its goal, weaving between the two quarters, which were practically merged into one. This was done to avoid possible encounters with ice creatures and, if possible, to confuse them. Reaching the United Quarter, the squad switched to cautious mode, especially since there were far more buildings here and the enemy could appear from any corner.
- What does it even look like? - Shaman asked.
- Hell if I know, - Alex answered.
- It is tall, like this, - Arandor tried to explain.
- They are all tall here, - Plesen objected.
- It has a sign on it... In short, you will understand when you see it.
- Fine, - the horned one sighed.
Coming out onto Moderator Street, the squad finally saw the coveted building.
- That is it, - the elf confirmed excitedly.
- Then let us go, - the cleric commanded.
Lagging slightly behind the group, Arandor called Heroist over and said something to him, handing him the coordinator's key as he did. After that they caught up with the others and continued in formation. When only a few houses remained before the target, about fifty mapstobs came out to meet the squad.
- Well, shall we have some fun? - Morning addressed his comrades, anticipating battle.
- Looks like we have to, - Alex said without enthusiasm.
The group of six rushed at the ice monsters, including Shaman, who had armed himself with a spear found in the tavern. And although they were succeeding in destroying mapstobs, their number did not decrease, but rather seemed to grow.
- Where are they coming from?! - the knight grumbled.
- I will try to distract them, and you move toward the building, - Arandor declared resolutely.
His comrades said nothing, only nodded in agreement.
- How do you like this surprise?! - the elf asked loudly, taking some object from his pocket, then threw it to the ground, and a large cloud of smoke filled the battlefield.
Plesen, Heroist, Morning, Alex, and Shaman rushed toward the system building, while Arandor ran the other way.
- Hey, you! - he shouted to the mapstobs and turned around the corner of one of the houses.
The ice creatures raced after him, and he kept running along the streets, sometimes turning into neighboring ones. Noticing that the monsters had fallen behind, the elf decided to catch his breath and sat on the porch of one of the houses.
- Psst, kid, - someone called him.
Turning, Arandor saw a vagrant hiding in the front garden.
- Who are you? - he asked the homeless man.
- Not important, - the man answered. - Have the mapstobs gone?
- No, they are nearby; apparently they cannot find me.
- What a calamity. As if we needed these vile creatures too, - the stranger said, upset.
- Yeah, - the elf agreed.
- I hope they did not grab that girl.
- Girl? - Arandor asked again.
- Yes, one was running around here, could not find the way out. Seems she is new in the city.
- What did she look like?
- Well...
From the vagrant's description, the elf understood that he was talking about Daya. In addition, the little man said she had gone into the building of the newspaper "Heroes' Herald," which was across the street.
- Thank you, thank you very much! - the young man exclaimed joyfully and rushed down the road.
Reaching the right house, Arandor went inside. The building was dark and creepy, but that did not stop him. The elf had time to think that this was one of those rare cases when he would have been glad to have a large crowd of people nearby. Carefully making his way through the rooms, he looked for the girl, but unsuccessfully. Climbing to the third floor, the young man approached a window, deciding to inspect the street for pursuers. There was nobody there, which let him sigh in relief. Quite by chance, he glanced at the neighboring building and saw a person in its window. Looking closer, the elf recognized Daya. It was definitely her. He began knocking on the glass, trying to attract her attention, but she did not hear. Then Arandor opened the window and began shouting. Only on the third try did the girl notice him and smile. She also tried to open the window, but could not. At that moment the young man saw a mapstob approach the building and place its hand on the wall, causing it to begin freezing over. The elf began shouting to the girl that she should run, but because of the closed window she did not hear. Then Arandor decided to act himself and rushed downstairs, but on the second floor several ice creatures blocked his way. The young man ran first into one room, then another, but mapstobs appeared everywhere. Soon the walls inside the building also began to be covered with ice crust, leaving even fewer options. Running into yet another room to escape the freezing virus, the elf found himself in a large hall with no windows and only one door ahead, not counting the one through which he had entered. He headed forward, but it was too late: someone slammed the door before him, and it began turning into an ice wall. Trapped, Arandor closed his eyes, saddened that he could not save the girl and preparing to accept his fate.
When he opened his eyes, there was nothing around, only blinding bright light, which immediately forced him to close them again. On the second attempt everything was different: no white light, only a bed and his own room. Getting out of bed, he washed, put on the kettle, turned on the computer, and immediately launched the player.


Pouring himself hot tea and taking cookies, the young man stood by the window, admiring the morning snowfall. Noting that the weather was wonderful today, he decided to add some variety to his usual weekdays, considering this day suitable for going out into the real world.