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Chilled exorcist
Александр Алексеевич Алексеенко
"The first two ages have vanished into oblivion. The third is already moving towards its peak. Ancient legends and myths rise from their graves. Lords, mired in intrigue, are ready to play their game. A dreadful infection spreads across the lands of the living. And you are just a splinter. A cog in the wheel that still rolls forward out of inertia…
– Oh? So you’re the one who’ll be the killer of the frostbitten? Yesterday, werewolfes stole my goat; maybe you could get it back? – Naively, the old man leaned forward and scratched his balding head.
I looked skeptically into his eyes: 'Are you serious?'
Estimated age rating: ~16+ Dark Fantasy.
P.S.The work of final editing and proofreading is complete. The text has been updated."
Книга написана на современном американском английском (США) Саванна. Книга переоформлена (Прямая речь и прочее, согласно тому как принято в западном обществе сейчас оформлять текст.)

Александр Алексеенко
Chilled exorcist



Preface One: "What is this book about?"


Dedication: This book is dedicated to my father
Preface One: "What is this book about?"
The action of this book takes place in the third era of Terresia. The protagonist becomes a prisoner of the treaty and is forced to participate in the events of the new development of the Rube Tract. Castle Feanoth has high hopes for a mutually beneficial treaty with Kostegrad, and even Lord Stag is willing to give up his youngest daughter for the Keeper of those lands. The only difficulty is that almost the entirety of the Rube Tract is mired in gray earth, an infestation dangerous to humans, animals and vegetation alike.
At that time, Count Myrtel Feanoth, heir to the castle of the same name and the Barrier Lands, decides to hold a tournament to cull those too weak to participate, to select the most trustworthy warriors who will travel to the Rube Tract to purge it of the hordes of chilled and infected creatures of the Polog of Ignorance. "Anything larger than a perotl must go into the ground," the Count orders.
Finding it insufficient to develop the tract with knights and mercenaries alone, Count Mirtel sent out a call to the Order. He needed specialists who had fought the monsters of the Zagorje – hunters who had spent five years holding back far more fearsome creatures, serving under the control of the Guardian of their fortress. And then the Council of the Fortress of Rukh, having previously assessed the situation, formed a battle group to clear the tract – fourteen fighters, ready to fulfill the Order's commission and bound themselves to it by a treaty.
Separated from kings and edicts, the Hunter holds a very high position in the hierarchy of the Empire. However, he is considered "unclean" by the priests of Hoth. Emperor Retreath Grave Mohawk himself has separated the hunters and given them a special position to allow for trials and investigations of crimes.
Envnir, the book's protagonist, receives not a simple assignment from the Order, but a murderous mission to mop up the tract along with thirteen other hunters of the Chilled. Becoming a participant in the events, he is forced to seek a solution to the problems heaped upon him, and the reaper of the dead has all the means to fulfill the tasks set before him by the Count. Whether he is driven by predestination, or whether his future depends on his will alone, or perhaps both, and whether he will be able to reach the end of the Rubezhny Tract – he will find out on the way.



Preface Two: "A horror tale is…"


Yet the genre of fairy tale horror suggests something like the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm. In the practice of some parts of Europe, there was a tradition of telling children scary bedtime stories to make them "sleep better." Growing out of these stories that we read to you and me as children, the actual fairy tales are like the system of modern chess (chess used to have different pieces before they were generally standardized). They were trimmed down and presented in a way that would amuse a child, but not scare them. It is only when you read the older, older versions, where the Tsarevich goes deeper into the forest and he comes across the third Baba-Yaga, the Bone Leg, that you begin to wonder what a modern story in the folkloric horror genre should be like?
The fairy tale style involves small stories. Events that the traveler encounters along the way, whether it's a waystone or the next occupant of the house on chicken legs. This is also the style in which the first stories of the witcher are composed. Geralt arrives in a deserted village and is discovered by a monster, welcoming him in. And it's not just any monster, it can grant wishes. Andrzej Sapkowski worked masterfully with speech and even suggested its progressive development, reflecting the movement and trends of the Russian language when writing his work. In doing so, he set the bar high for anyone daring to try their hand at the dark fantasy genre. In the aftermath, these small stories will grow into something more, a child of purpose will appear. And then people will show and tell for a long time that "this man came from the north…"
I've long been driven by the desire to write something like this. The preparation of a whole, dark, special world dusted on the shelf and waited for the hour when I will return to it. And the time came. I saw a new contest from LITNET and immediately realized – I want to participate in this contest. I have a clear idea of what I want to write about.
If you want to learn about Terresia's past and read additional material, check out the appendices of this book. Appendix One: "Memo". This piece of paper was the reason for the contract. Appendix Two: "The Ages of Terresia" will tell you about the bygone times of this world. Appendix Three: "The Expedition of Jodmungheim and Grave Mohawk", or otherwise "The Legend of Sunset and Dawn". Will elaborate on the events of the journey. Appendix Four: "Letter from Inquisitor Flawkins". Highlights the report that the Inquisitor compiled. Appendix Five: "Map of Terresia: Towns and Villages". Tells briefly what places have been developed by people on Terresia. There is also a visual map here (hopefully I remembered to add it). Appendix Six: "The Prophecy of the Mute-Birth and the Forgotten Monolith". This describes the events that took place immediately after the prophecy, and about Liyam the Grave Mohawk, the first to be killed by his own. Appendix Seven: I decided not to add since I posted pictures in the text.
Ah, yes, of course… ahem… "In a land far, far away lived three people. A Mother, a Father, and their little tiny son, who was barely four…"



Chapter 1: "The New Hunter"


The autumn thunderstorm had finally raged. It hissed and spat splashes into the glazed windows, rare for those places, having taken its turn at the bright and prolific sister-neighbor in caring for its mother – nature. "Here she is again washing dishes and rattling," complain the villagers of those places. "So she'll break all the dishes," others will shake their heads. "And we'll get it too!" will exclaim, as the rushing gust passes over the roofs. And Yellow-Eyed, glancing fiercely at her green-eyed sister, threatened to evict her from the house. Here and there her yellow outfits showed through. But they too disappeared as the dark and starless night fell. The Great Host of Light did not wish to look at the wayward one and did not appear in the heavens. She sat down at the threshold and howled, offended at herself and the whole world, tearing her golden garments to shreds.
And the house was warm. The fire of the fireplace crackled cozily. It was blazing, warming everyone with its dance. The heat from the fire spilled in waves into all the rooms from the huge stone stove. The orange tongue was busy eating the wood, making noises in an unknown crackling language about its cheerful life, or maybe it was just asking for more food.
Time seemed to stop here, and the inclement weather and the Yellow-Eyed One howling under the door no longer disturbed the mother and child. The woman stroked the head of her firstborn, who would not go to sleep without another story. She placed her hand on the child's back. In that moment, nothing existed for them.
"Tell me a story!" the child demanded, rising from the bed. He was barely four, and he still couldn't pronounce the first sound of "runes". He was a baby. The young mother smiled and smoothed his unruly strands of hair.
"Good. You'll have a fairy tale," she said kindly, oblivious to the weather outside the windows.
"It was a long time ago. Back in the olden days, when the Titan Jodcheim had not yet passed through these parts. To the shores of the largest island in the Deep Gulf, the one named Amberlight by the first humans, came a group of living people who had defeated the distant darkness and the Canopy of Ignorance in their homeland. There, on their distant continent, after defeating the named Light, they pursued evil, and, imitating the celestials of the night sleep, destroyed it completely." The mother placed her hand on the child's back. She felt his cautious breathing. She adjusted the blanket. The hide of a boar covered the timbers of the hut in the headboard, it seemed, and she listened intently to the story.
"They were brave heroes that slew many spawn of the dark cover, and therefore they were not frightened by sea monsters. The men of the expedition sailed on two ships, across the Great Dark Frontier. One of the ships was called 'Dawn' and the other was called 'Sunset'. A vast black expanse of water raged beneath them, and the impenetrable Canopy of Ignorance approached from all sides. But the brave mariners overcame their fear, their ships moving farther and farther from the lands where they were born," mother spoke, and her eyes shone brightly. The firelight danced and reflected in them.
"Is the canopy the village land?" questioned the child. His eyes were wide open, wanting to understand new things about the world. The woman smiled, "How could such a thing even occur to her?" And then she realized that the child could see the connection between this and that. And again she was glad to see how clever he was.
"No, come on, Envnir, they're floating on a vast body of water! The Great Dark Frontier. There's no land there at all. Neither dry nor wet, neither light nor gray," she leaned toward him and, seeing the realization in his eyes, kissed the top of his head.
"You have correctly observed that they are of the same nature. They say the Hollow went into the earth, made it bad," the woman nodded, confirming her words. The small crib, more like a bench, was shaking with the movement. "And he hasn't flown since."
"What if he flies again?" the curious child, in its spontaneity, would not stop.
"It won't. The shroud was defeated long ago. The shroud of Ignorance is a kind of darkness that hangs in the air and wants to swallow up the careless traveler. Neither fire nor water can help against it, only special ancient crystals left by hunters and priests. And the gray earth…" The young mother thought for a moment. "…It came afterward. You saw it yourself, remember?" the storyteller noticed the glint of understanding in the child's eyes, and he nodded readily.
"And so, when the brave heroes landed on the island that is now near the mainland on which we live..... The first to land on it was D?mmal Grave Mohawk, the Emperor's distant great-grandfather and the first king of men. His descendants still rule the entire land of Terresia and the archipelago from this Amber Island," the door creaked open and the child's mother turned around. The father of the family finally entered the house and appeared on the threshold. In his hands he was holding damp wood that smelled of fresh tar. "Had to chop some new ones," the young woman guessed. He kicked the mud from his shoes against the threshold and stood motionless.
"The landing near the mainland was the first milestone in the development of new lands that were still hidden by the Hollow of Ignorance." The woman looked up at the man. Their gazes met. He called out to her with a nod to the side and walked into the other room.
"Darling, let me tell you the sequel tomorrow?" she asked, and a traitorous tear ran down her cheek.
"Are you crying?" his question sounded somehow particularly piercing.
"No! I'm just very hot from the fire – my eyes glistened. Please, I've told you a story. Go to bed and tomorrow you'll hear the rest. Okay?" She pulled up the blanket and covered him, got up and walked from the room to the door.
"It's a deal," the child agreed, and the woman went out.
The boy lay and looked at the fire, listening to his calm breathing. The flames played with him, caressing his face and closing his eyes.
"Did you recognize it?" came a muffled voice.
"They will come for him tomorrow," he sighed and answered sadly.
"Didn't you try to challenge the decision?" the first voice persisted.
"How could I…" there was a pause in the speech. "I tried, it didn't help."
"Why don't we just run away?" a tinge of slight madness and hope came into the voice.
The answer was silence.
The silence went on and on. The flames swirled, and the child was distracted by them. He fell asleep without realizing what his parents were saying.
Only then did he hear a muffled sob. Another and another. The hail pounded the roof and swept like a broom under the doorstep. The storm was right over the house. The storm pounded harder and harder at the windows and shutters on all sides, and soon the sobs were inaudible. Yellow-Eyed howled again; she did not regard the grief of others as more important than her own.

Chapter 2: "The Forgotten Village"


The waters of memory flushed as abruptly as they came up to his eyelashes.
Standing at the triple crossroads was a man in black robes. Clothes worn in the Order by the messengers of the night. A tattered cloak flapped in the wind, and a long-brimmed hat pulled upward more like a hood. The wanderer's mouth was safely hidden behind a milchemist's mask to filter the air, but believe me, he crinkled at the taste of memories. Like a cat squeamishly jerking its paw at water, the gloomy traveler tried to forget it as soon as possible. The unpleasant past, it seemed to make him weaker, more vulnerable. He no longer recognized himself in it. There was someone else, naive, with eyes open to the world, ready to believe anything. And here stood a completely different person. A huge block of granite stood in front of him, pointing the way. It was just like him. Like that cold, guiding piece of rock from his memories.
The horse snorted behind him, digging its hoof into the ground, leaving another pothole. The animal demanded to move on again. The man was uneasy, too. A chill ran down his back. Here the hornet had penetrated far to the south. All around, as far as the eye could see, was poisoned gray earth, and only the forest ahead burned with the green fire of life. The traveler lowered his head. His long and black Order cloak whipped around his leather boots with protective metal inserts.
He intercepted his crossbow. On the handle of his weapon, a sling swung up. And on it jingled a token for shooting the chilled. The grim reaper of the restless dead looked forward. His thick, clinging goggles gleamed two scarlet lightning bolts in the reddened strands that hung over the forest of Titan Jodcheim. The lights of the blue vaulted. The cover of night was closing in.
You want to know about the past of this world? I'm not the best storyteller. Look ahead, friend. The titan of the sky, Jodcheim, always walks his usual path, soon to disappear into the distant mountains. There, according to legends, he will fight all the evils of this world and win the battle against Tlekorz the Apprentice. Remembering this name, the exorcist, and judging by his crossbow, it was exactly the killer of uncleanness, spat on the ground, revealing his protective mask.
You want to know why he's called the Apprentice? I have to disappoint you. I don't know. I was taken from my family too soon by the Order's minions, and they don't care about legends. All they care about is that we're good at killing the restless dead. So we don't die every time we meet a cold one in our path. But this isn't about the Order, it's about the legend. Where was I? Oh yes… But in that ancient battle, Jodkheim himself would die, only to be reborn across the sea and follow his own path, returning to the continent from the west of the Light Continent, where the first ships came from. Only he will walk along the blue vault instead of sailing through the Great Dark Frontier to light up the ancient island and the capital city of the same name – Amberesvet the Great – with his mane of hair from afar. The Chill Killer examined his gauntlet.
The first fork road led to the castle of a rebel lord who had decided to no longer serve the Crown of Grave Mohawk. And so his domain lay desolate, and his servants were cold and wandering among the ruins of the castle on a lonely cliff. Many small lords have sought to gain more autonomy, or even independence. Now that the gray earth is spreading so rapidly that I do not recognize even the blooming places where I once was, all has been devoured by the ruinous wasp. And so Fortress Rukh kills anyone who comes within ten paces of the Second Gate of Light. And this is now that the High Priest of Hotta has fled the islands from the amber capital to the Fortress of Rukh. He stole the Titan Child of Jodcheim with him and proclaimed the Thunderbird Lands as the Last Possession of the Light. Now that the dastardly Cult of Bones is influencing the mind of Emperor Retreat of Grave Mohawk, the ruler will only laugh back at the messenger and his troubles. And will drink more wine, looking through the rims of his glass at his subjects – small bugs with insignificant problems. Many have tried, but not all have succeeded.
Lonely walls and stones are what remains of this castle. The name of the local lord is gone from the pages of the annals, and now no one knows who lived there. Perhaps if the village near the castle had been alive, people would still remember, but it was not spared by the oser. People either left or died of starvation. "Perhaps the Light will be merciful to their souls," I thought angrily as I fired an arrow from my crossbow at the rebel who had carelessly approached me. He let out a cry of something akin to surprise and fell to the ground. The rebel lord's dead guard tried sharply to break free, pinned to the ground by the arrow. He flailed his arms, dislodging several emerald green mushrooms that came out from under the visor of his helmet. One of his gauntlets came off, exposing black, rotting flesh. The guard began to groan and lash out, but I knew he wouldn't make it.
"The hunter has decided on a path. The hunter will take the long way," the words of the prophecy of the oracle of Light Jodkheim's oracle rang out again. 'The hunter will go straight to the Dark Forest. There are still survivors there. The village is half a day's journey away.
Why did the hunter choose the central path? Because the last road led back. Through the desolate lands and the small bridge where he once grew up, and went to the dwarves and the Northmen. And the man didn't know it, nor did he guess why he was visited by the memory that the hunter had tried so eagerly to dismiss. Or rather, he knew, for it was at such a stone that he had been given to the Order. But whether it was this one or the other, the hunter couldn't remember. He hesitated, trying to figure it out, but he couldn't guess, too much had changed here. He jumped into the saddle and galloped towards the Darkwoods. There were many stones, and he was alone.....
…


I reached the clearing near the settlement with only two arrows in my quiver. The forest creatures ate them like crazy. They ate the horse, too. Quite ragged and tired, covered in dirt and small cuts, I looked more like a cold than a living person, especially after running away from a nocturnal predator – a Blue Claw, a large and dangerous forest cat. Why was I running away from a stalker? The answer is simple – I don't get paid for them. And there are many like him.
I staggered forward to the fence. From afar, the villagers noticed me and lined up on the walls with weapons. The old townsman didn't want to open the door to me at all, he didn't believe that someone could overcome the forest at night. He ordered the crossbowmen to fire a volley at me, mistaking me for a cold traveler – a common thing. But he changed his mind immediately when a black arrow struck a meter from his head.
"It's a hunter!" The old man shrieked as if for the last time. The liquid and sparse strands of hair that knew no shearer surged in all directions, and his eyes swiveled madly. I had already gotten close enough to get a good look at his image. The silly palming had stopped. The villagers weren't firing in the opposite direction except for the accuracy of their shots, so terrible was their accuracy. One of them had managed to discharge a crossbow into his leg. So in the background, while it was not up to him, one curly-haired boy with freckles kept reloading his crossbow and shooting arrow after arrow. The headman had to come closer and give him a cautionary slap and personally confiscate the weapon.
"Have you got fenugreek in your ears? Didn't you hear the orders?" the old man reprimanded the child.
The chains of the gate rattled, and I covered my heart with my black-gloved hand against the dust as they thudded to the ground. More on instinct than with any benefit. That's what we were taught in the Order. "Whoever covers his face with his hand is dead! You have to cover your heart!" The dust cleared and two men in half armor stepped out cautiously toward me. I thought to myself that I had only seen such armor in Feanoth Castle with the Count's dancers, and it didn't cover anything.
"Look, a living man!" exclaimed one of the guards. The golden-haired one even tried to poke his finger at me to make sure that he wasn't an obsession, but stopped halfway when he met my hard stare.
"He's a creature hunter, so he's already dead…" the other man said, but he had to stop halfway through, the crossbow bolt in his forehead. I was staggering, which made the picture even more graceful.
"Why am I dead?" I asked demandingly. "Oh! I was really very curious!"
Very slowly, as if reluctantly, the villagers raised their crossbows a second time and pointed them at me.
"Don't be angry, all of you who have been in the mountains, well… haven't become half-dead, that's why you cover your face," he was almost choking. He swallowed convulsively, threw a slanting glance at the comrade behind me, who waved his hands, confused. I scrutinised the sweat trickling down his forehead. He rolled his eyes out of his orbits, too. How he was shaking!
"No, they didn't." I unbuckled the mask from my face with my free hand. The lock clicked. The mask crunched rubber and paper, revealing my face. Then I tucked the crossbow into its mount on my back and entered the settlement. If the guards wanted to search me, they seemed to have already changed their minds.
In the meantime, the village chief had descended. He was supported by two young men. It was evident that the descent from the wall, which was mostly of fences and a mound of stones between the old walls, was no longer a feasible task for him. Once at the bottom, he leaned on a knotty but polished stick.
"It's been a long time," he began, and squinted at me, "It's been a long time since we've seen travelers here, but I haven't seen your brother in ten years."
"The creatures coming down from the mountains are more and more dangerous, and the neophytes of the Order are more and more often killed in fights. It takes all their strength to contain them, and almost no one survives the five years it takes to finish their service and return to the world of the living."
"And you survived, then?" the redneck asked. "What a question to ask," I thought. Confused by the age-old wisdom, I even thought about the past. I remembered many things from my past in fragments. How I had passed the rite of passage into the guardians of the fast and how I had woken up after five years of oblivion, lying on my back in the snow.
It was thawing then, the snow was wet, but I remembered the sky, shining with a silvery white light like a pearl. I had seen them when I was still a novice of the Order, unloading boxes in the harbor. The Order's herbalist used them to brew something. The blue light flickered between the clouds, and somewhere high up, strands of Jodkheim flowed, caressing my face. Some marvelous birds were singing, hopping from branch to branch of a pine tree. It was then that I realized that my debt to the Order was paid, that I was free.
Realizing that he would get no answer, the Elder pursed his lips rather nastily. He looked at his companions as if he had forgotten where they were, or was looking to them for support and guidance. And then, having gathered his thoughts again, he turned to me.
"We are pleased to welcome you to our village, mylsdar. What business brings you here?" The headman scratched his gray and sparse hair. I could see three large brown moles on his head through the thinning gray.
"The Earl of Feanoth Castle is going to ride to Kostegrad next month, and he needs the hunters to clear the Rube Tract of particularly dangerous creatures of the cold and cold. Especially the cold ones."
"The Rubezhny Tract?" the Elder wondered. "It runs south, right by the old castle. I remember, in the old days, there was a village called Sgulli. It was fun in those days! We had caravans and times. Not like now…"
I bit my lip, I knew it was in the middle of nowhere. But I also knew that the locals would be quicker to bring me up to speed. I needed to understand what was troubling the village and what was dangerous in this land.
Another boy ran down from the wall, looking like two peas in a pod like the bounty hunters behind the old man's back. I looked around. The villagers coming down from the wall were all basically the same face, like close kin. "Seems like they've been living here in isolation for years, in this very wilderness. And really, where would they go? It's the darkness around them that has made them prisoners of this wilderness." The boy handed me my black arrow wrapped in a white handkerchief.
"Your arrow, sir," he bowed and handed me his great treasure. I thanked him and took the instrument. As soon as the boy handed over his burden, he immediately ran off somewhere and disappeared among the courtyards. I looked at the village headman talking about the rich past, the merry days, the frequent visits of the southern traders and the harsh living conditions, and decided that it was time to take the initiative. This way, we can negotiate until Jodecheim's demise.
"These are dark times! I'm telling you," the old man, who had become hoarse from his long speech, wagged his finger.
"Do you have any black arrows?" I interrupted the Elder.
"We don't have black arrows, Mr. Hunter," the old man began to shake his head. He shook it for a surprisingly long time.
"Not quite so," replied a tall man who was accompanying the old man, "we do not have arrows, but there is an ancient crypt near us. Another hunter was buried in it ten years ago."
I nodded. If he had any arrows left, we should look for them near him. Ten years ago, the Order gave almost every hunter his own crossbow. But things change, only the general law seems immutable. The Grave Moss Emperor's command is as categorical as a double-edged knife. "Whoever steals a hunter's property from him shall be executed, and if any hunter steals from others, let him do the same, let him be put to death."
The old-timer almost dragged out his earlier speech about the old days again, taking advantage of the pause.
"Is there any uneasiness in the village?" I tried to look into the old man's eyes. He blinked and stopped his shuffle, standing there flapping his eyes.
"What do you mean?" finally the old man looked at me questioningly.
"Have the hunters gone missing? Are all the children healthy?" I was beginning to feel a little sick, weak.
The other man, who had thrown the Elder off the wall with his partner, grinned. With his powerful neck and working shoulders, however, he shook his round belly.
"There is such a thing. Why shouldn't it be, it's commonplace. Hunters disappear every now and then, children get sick when they lick the gray earth, or when pestilence blows from the north, the same thing." It was a very eloquent mocking look. He didn't seem to like me, and because of some of his beliefs he despised me.
I looked down, and then glanced sideways, eye to eye with my laughing companion.
"What dashing thing ever happened? One that would make the whole village afraid and unable to do anything," I said firmly.
All around froze. It felt cold. Another big man shivered, and the Elder continued, "It was, it was! It happened…" He began to remember and worry. "Last week, I remember, it was yesterday. Three of our village hunters were brought to us, all pale, as if they had never seen the light of Jodkheim. They couldn't put the memorial relic in the crypt."
"I see," I nodded. "Anything else?"
"As my grandson said, there is an ancient crypt here." The village head pointed in the direction with his hand. "We used to bury everyone in it, but there's someone dangerous there now, growling and roaring, and I don't want to go inside and check who's there."
"Grandson?" I ran my gaze once more over the broad shoulders of the young man, and he smiled proudly back at me, catching my sleepy and slanted gaze.
"I see," I nodded again and moved on to the slippery subject. "What will you pay with?"
At that moment a boy appeared. He was carrying a rag full of something heavy. The Elder waved his hand, beckoning him to come closer to him.
"My great-grandson is a bright boy," the old man said, rubbing the child's head and pursing his lips.
The man on my right unfolded the bundle and showed me the contents. Inside were precious jasper earrings with emeralds, a silver necklace upholstered in gold, and a gold ring so rich in content that one would not find such a thing in Count Feanot. Here also lay someone's wedding ring, signed "I love you T.T."; it seems that the villagers cannot read. Next to it was a tourmaline-encrusted hair comb, without two prongs, made of a rare alloy that had been brought from the Light Motherland. A handful of fanciful antiquities, so mysterious that I twirled them thoughtfully in my hands. Their purpose was unknown to me. And there were forty coins in gold underneath all the jewelry. I struggled to resist the urge to take more than the Order's code allowed. "I wish I could shoot you in the head with that black arrow," I remembered the words of a stingy mercenary who had once traveled with me. Meanwhile, noticing my hesitation, the village chief continued, "Travelers and caravans rarely come to us…" "We don't even remember how much it costs? It must be a lot, right?"
Looking at the Elder again, I answered, "I'll take as much as my work is worth, no more." I took two gold coins from his hand. And in my mind I thought, "How about that! They're burying him in crypts! No, just stealing his valuables."
Everyone had a look of utter amazement on their faces. Apparently, they had no idea of the wealth they possessed. The young men standing behind the old man looked at each other. One of them quickly took the gold for himself. The boy lowered his head, and without waiting for the bag of coins, he kicked a roadside stone.
"In the morning, since there are no blacks..... I need simple arrows. It won't be easy to get through the woods to the crypt. You have some dangerous predators here. Now I'd like to get some sleep, I'm tired from the road."
"Go to the house on the right, Revva lives there. Her husband died not so long ago, so she'll take you in for the night," the old man explained.
I slightly raised my pointed hat and left. I was terribly sleepy. The boy darted forward, apparently to warn the woman who lived there.
When I arrived, everything was ready. The woman invited me to the table and put a simple plate in the form of a flat board with meat and leaves. I took the meat with my hand and took a few bites, swallowed it almost without chewing. Promising to cook something else for me, she disappeared into the next room. I picked up a bottle of murky tincture and took a sip of something very strong. That was the last straw.
Dumpling wanted to give me something else to eat, but I wasn't much of a gourmet, so the naked woman found me sleeping with my face in the salad. I was soaked by the burning fireplace, and as soon as I sat down, I fell asleep. Two days on horseback through one of the most dangerous regions of the Empire. I bet anyone, even the toughest of men, would have passed out after that. So at the first opportunity, my body took its own, feeling safe.
The woman sighed and sat back in her chair with her foot on her leg, pouring a strong drink. Wake up the dangerous black bird that had flown into her house? A hunter? A killer of the chilled? She didn't dare.

Chapter 3: "Crypts and Guardians"


A small black-backed varan with luscious yellow flanks blocked the way, opened its bright scarlet collar, sharply poured with blood, and hissed, chasing the intruders away. He was not intimidated at all, so he preferred to move out of their way, noticing the glint of glass and metal and the confidence with which the intruders were advancing. Folding its crests and blowing its yellow flanks, the varan hid in a burrow beneath a boulder overgrown with rusty moss.
The two travelers emerged from the Dark Forest where not a single strand of Titan reached the ground. The well-lit edge, however, allowed a few rays of Titan Yodkheim to fall upon their serious faces. Before them stood the burial ground of the ancient highborn. A stone-walled cemetery with the same centuries-old marble slabs and mounds of forefathers who had been the continent's explorers. Behind them, a mysterious crypt was in a light haze, waiting for rare guests. Five feet high and with a massive colonnade, it could have rivaled the small walls of the First Gate that stood on the road in front of the Fortress of Rukh. Only here the archway led not to the last Lands of Light, but somewhere deep in the centuries, into the impenetrable darkness.
The fog was not uniform. It flowed like a marshmallow, parting under their footsteps, swirling along the trunks of trees, and creeping over the ground. The bottom layer floated and drifted right over the dirt as if it were smoking. The soil squelched and implied a swamp, in time safely hidden behind fall, moss, and bumps. The branches did not crunch underfoot, they remained damp in such depths of dark woods.
A man in black robes took the first step onto the cemetery ground, right through the masonry of a marble arch that had long ago collapsed. With the arc of his crossbow he cautiously beckoned the other man behind him and walked along the stone fence, leaving a direct path along the same stone path to the steps up to the colonnade in front of the crypt.
Serenity reigned over the ancient ruins. Centuries-old elms and oaks swayed on all sides from the wind walking through their crowns here. The leaves murmured, shimmered, whispered. But the travelers shunned going out into the open, they walked along the masonry fence along the edge of the burial grounds. This fence, heavily pierced by roots, had been the only barrier to the darkness since the cemetery had been here. On three sides, surrounding the space of the buried, it served as a solid defense that had stood there for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. On the last, fourth side, there in front, stood the crypt, a gaping passageway leading down into the depths of darkness. Two rows of massive columns, right and left, gradually protruded from the golden haze of mist. They stood on a level elevation of slabs. And behind the immense columns rose equally smooth high walls that closed off the back side of the cemetery from the forest. They shaped the burial ground into a regular rectangle. And even the trees of the Dark Forest were afraid to enter it and preferred to avoid it.
One of the men looked carefully into the center of the ancient cemetery. There, among the shriveled tombstones, two open marble sarcophagi floated in the mist in the middle of the burials. One carved lid, with a knight depicted on it, had fallen apart and was in three pieces. The other was too sturdy and lay there, beneath the marble bed. Two sarcophagi, two hollow coffins for the number of guests.
…
Taking another step, I brushed the dewdrops off the last blades of grass and stepped onto the white steps. As I walked up the rough surface of the steps, I touched the wet marble of the side wall of the crypt with my hand. It was as smooth as if it had been polished yesterday, the damp drizzle gathering right on it and flowing down a small stream in a chute. My companion took his time, looking around, he picked his way among the ruined tombstones. "I think it's the right decision to go around along this whole long white wall. The marble seems to have flecks of jade," I looked closely at the stone. Ahead, two rows of columns again emerged from the fog. Finally, my companion caught up with me, and we moved forward without making any noise.
Titan Jodcheim was nearing sunset. Even though I'd ordered a wake-up call in the morning, none of the locals dared to get me up at the crack of dawn. Especially after my "greeting the guards," they didn't want to get a crossbow bolt or worse in their foreheads. Having slept well among the lettuce leaves, I gladly sent one of the leaves wilted on my sweat into my mouth, "Mmmm..... That's a flavor I'll never forget." Afterward was a conversation with the deputy Elder, the young man who had balked in front of me yesterday. He clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling a kind of insecurity while talking to me. I looked at his shattered fists, "Did he really fight with his twin over gold in the middle of nowhere like this?" The deputy told me that the head of the settlement was sick from all yesterday's worries and asked him to choose a guide for me.
Borna, my guide, followed suit as I froze near the crypt. The woodcutter's ragged and anxious breathing turned to vapor with each exhalation. His stick was slipping from his sweaty hands, and he gripped it tighter. Borna fumbled himself so hard, that when I turned to him, I made him flinch.
"Why don't you go back, there's not much going on inside?" I glanced at him obliquely, leaving the first pair of columns behind and keeping my eyes on the passageway. He looked as if I'd invented speech for him again. And it poured out of him like a full-blown river.
"No, no, my lord! Have mercy! I don't walk in the woods alone! I'll be eaten, I'll be calmer with you at least," the man wailed, taking away the trembling in his knees. "If he continues to tense himself up like this, then our business will definitely not end well," I thought. "We've got to distract him somehow."
"Do you have the relic?" I tossed the question casually over my shoulder, treading carefully on the marble slabs, which were surprisingly tightly fitted together.
"Yes, yes, she's here." Borna dropped his hand to the bundle lying on top of his shoulder bag.
"Try to keep up," I whispered to him as I ducked closer and closer. "One more thing. Light a fire. You have a torch with you, I hope?"
"Yes, yes, here, wait, wait, I'll light it," Borna paused to get what he needed from his bag, and I stood waiting. With two flicks of a flint, my guide lit some caustic cloth with shaking hands. Then he stood up and grasped his club with his other hand, and then he smiled.
"It's a bit of a thrill," he exhaled with a sigh of relief.
I knew the feeling. Fire always adds confidence and determination when nothing else does. "Fire is plain and simple, it's always at hand. And if a hunter enlists its help, then maybe I can do something too," such a person will cheer himself up. How many times I had to use this trick with the novices of the Order during the trials. Well, and if there was no fire at hand, then I gave them a knife in their hands, and they were immediately encouraged, even if they did not know how to use it at all.
"All right." I pulled from my bag a green glowing crystal in a small cage and with a hanging handle. They say that back then, when the first settlers arrived on the island of Amberesvet the Great, the prisoners went under the Canopy of the Unknown with such emerald crystals. Then, long ago, at the dawn of the first age, as I said, they were worn by the prisoners to dispel the darkness of the Canopy. And now we hunters wear them to ward off the infected creatures of the ancient night. These crystals are like a short leash, made only to keep the convicts from straying too far from the expedition. The crystal sucks the life force of its wearer. And now I felt a kind of wind blowing through me and taking my vital juices inside the crystal, which was burning with new vigor. The skin on my fingers would gradually become flabby, like a bath, then begin to cool, and if I delayed, it would suck everything out. Belatedly, familiar otherworldly disordered voices sounded. They wailed, whispered, sighed. They say they are the moans of the souls of those whose lives this crystal has already consumed.
And everything was stained with the red blood of Titan Jodecheim. The columns were lost in the gloom, the thick fog coming up on the right and left in a scarlet glow. Behind was the graveyard, huge stone tombstones. To the right and left towered columns of reddened white marble, they reflected the light, casting a scarlet veil over everything. The haze ahead shrouded the blue shadowed passage into the darkness of the unknown past with a bloody shawl. Footsteps whispered between the columns with a resounding echo, disappearing into the tomb. And then there was the pounding of his heart, unexpectedly loud for such a late hour.
Borna behind me stepped on a branch. It crunched, shattering into ashes. I turned my head slightly in his direction, and he spread his arms. Ahead came a hoarse and harsh growl and a series of wheezes from a predator sniffing for prey. He roared, already more clearly guarding his territory. I had a few guesses as to who might be inside. All that remained was to confirm or deny them.
I crouched down carefully and looked at the floor. There were claw marks on it. "The predator was huge, and not so long ago it had dragged some large prey into its lair…" I put a drop of blood on my tongue that was clearly visible on the stone, "a young deer, by the looks of it." I ran my hand over it and examined it, "Hmm. The layer of dust has been wiped away, as if it had been swept with a broom." No creature matched the description.
The cage with the crystal dropped to the floor, and it went out almost immediately. If rumors are to be believed, there is another crystal, a light crystal that can dispel darkness without taking payment in the form of life force. Thunderbirds, the Rukhs, decorate their nests with it. It also stands on the ancient lighthouses in every big city. The capital city is named after him – Amberlight the Great. He is the light of Titan Jodcheim enough to dispel the darkness. It's also known as the blood of the Son of Light. You ask why I don't use it? We are forbidden to possess it. The crystal is inaccessible to hunters because they have fought the peculiar contagion that reigns on the other side of the mountains, and in five years have absorbed dangerous concentrations of it. Therefore, it is forbidden for the killers of the cold to possess it. After their service, each hunter is released into the lands of the living to use their experience to fight the weaker spawn of the blight. In all my time here among the living, I have never seen such a jewel.
All my assumptions fell apart. And I was wondering what kind of people were here, when the unexpected answer came to me: "What unusual footprints. Madness! They're not extinct after all, are they? Yes, that would answer all questions! It can't be! And is it really an owl bear? It makes sense. The male carries food to the egg-laying female. He hunts in the forest, and the crypt is a very good and protected place to nest. It's late evening. The male owl bear has just gone hunting. We seem to have missed him."
Taking a couple flasks of paralyzing smoke from my bag, I tossed them inside, "In a closed room, the smoke should put everyone inside to sleep. The female owl bear, if it's really her, can't see us yet, which means she won't be aggressive."
"We have a few minutes. After that, the predator will wake up," Borna wanted to rush forward, grabbing his club, but I held his elbow.
"You can rejoice, you have a family of owl bears here," I shared with him, and a rare slight smile went unnoticed beneath my milchemist mask.
"What is there to be happy about, Mr. Hunter?" the puzzled guide inquired. He still looked worried.
"They eat all the small creatures in the area, kill the cold ones, and shun humans. There's a whole nest of them out there, go put up your relic," I explained my joy and let go of his hand.
"Milsdar, we need the crypt, you know? We can't survive here without it. You know what happens if the bodies of the dead are left in the village," the woodcutter explained his logic to me. I gloomed.
"If you kill the owl bear and cubs, the other one, the one who is hunting now, will take revenge," I instructed him. He seemed to understand, or pretended to understand.
"Good, I'll go put the guardian relic back in its place," Borna replied.
I turned around and walked toward the steps. To the tombstones, blue and pink in the glow of the Titan's extinguishing light. Sitting down beside them, I scrutinized my surroundings. There were two open graves, and I didn't like them very much. I had to think…
…
In the sky the firstborn of the Bright Sonm glimmered. Over there, Urnat the Bear flared; to the right, the Trap Net frolicked and the Red Giant shimmered with its light. Borna emerged from the passage with a club in his hands. Behind him were drops of red blood. His boots were smeared with something yellow and draughty. I turned away and looked toward the cemetery. It was almost invisible in the dim light of the thousands of Light Sons that kept appearing in the black depths of the blue vault.
Crickets chirped. An unknown bird answered them with a whimsical chirp. The fox, glinting his black eyes in the glow of the green lantern, went about his business. You want to know why I didn't go to see the body of the hunter on the chill? It's simple. He was not of the group that came out of the castle with me, but died here ten years ago, as the Elder said.
Even though the Order has stopped issuing crossbows to hunters, it still assumes that the killer of the frozen ones can use them, and that's why the ancient mount for this weapon was left on his back. True, it is usually now occupied by a spear or dart. It alarmed me that no one had visited this village before me. There didn't seem to be anyone ahead. I hoped that the hunters in my group had simply passed this place by, not even knowing about this, forgotten by all, village in the thicket. It was possible. I wanted to believe it. "The places here are dangerous, so they might not have lingered," I concluded.
I was brought out of my musings by Borna, addressing me impatiently,"Well, it's done – I've put the relic up." The guide put his hands to his sides. Having poured in front of me about a dozen more black arrows, he pointed towards the forest, "Why are you sitting, let's get out of here!"
"That's not all. It wasn't an owl bear that killed your villagers," I explained and counted the new black arrows, "twelve more. Fourteen along with the one I already have.
"What are you talking about?" A grimace of fear crept over the guide's face.
"Do you see two sarcophagi open here?" I started from afar. "Yes, and someone drank all the blood from those people."
Bourne had all the blood drained from his face now. I think he was starting to get the point of what I was saying. Now he was really frightened by the juxtaposition of the two facts. I cringed.
"Wolfhounds! Werewolves!" The redneck blurted out the name of the dangerous undead he knew. I covered my face with my hand and rubbed my eyes. "It's the same thing every time. All the villagers are obsessed with them. I thought I'd get something else in the middle of nowhere."
"It's definitely not wolfsbane. If it was, there would be numerous bites all over the victim's body, if the body had survived at all. But most likely there would be nothing left of the body," I explained to him.
"Sir, then who could it have been?" Borna asked. I was about to answer him, but the hair on the back of my neck stirred, and I turned to where my guide was already looking-right behind me. Without looking away, I started to get up. The villager behind my back ran to the crypt with a wild cry. "Right decision," because now it has the relic of the keeper, and she will not let the coolie into the crypt. With a swift movement I snatched the crossbow from my back.
Two red lights burned between the trees. The beast tilted its head to the side, a red line running down its spine to its razor-sharp claws. Its sternum glowed a bright scarlet light from within, illuminating its ribs and the prey it had devoured not so long ago. Another ghastly creature echoed his call. Flaring with infernal fire, it hung from one of the crypt's columns, under the very parapet of the colonnade.
I fired my crossbow vertically upward, and the dwarven mechanism clicked demandingly, waiting for another arrow. And it was not long in coming. The beast had already made three big jumps in my direction when another black arrow flew out of the crossbow. Usually I didn't miss, but this time the arrow went sideways, as if deflected by something. The chilled man squealed, and his womb flared brighter.


I had a strange feeling that these were no ordinary ghouls, but something older, something to do with this crypt. I hesitated and rolled to the side, because the monster covered the distance in a few sharp jumps, and only then its carcass swept past me. The floorboards of my cloak rang out, reflecting the impact of its claws. "Ugly bloodsucker of the underworld – he reached me after all!" I was angry. The enchanted cloak held the blow from the back.
I put a third arrow into my crossbow, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed that the second enemy was already on the ground and blocking Bourne's path, blocking my guide's passage into the crypt. In a flash, the creature began sucking the woodcutter's life energy out of him like a huge red funnel. Borna collapsed, and his legs gave out. "Looks like he passed out from fright. Found the time," my head rushed through my mind.
Turning around, the huge infernal bloodsucker came nose to nose with my crossbow. "Now pure casino, right or left?" I fired the arrow forward. The ghoul jumped to the right, much to my delight. Something fell from the sky, pinning the monster to the ground and piercing through his torso. The bloodsucker screamed and exploded. My first arrow found its target. "Fool, you're dead!" This time I covered my face with my free hand for some reason, despite all my training. Thinking back on that moment after the battle, I decided that I must have realized then that without my eyes scorched by the explosion, I would definitely not be able to continue fighting.
The cloak withstood another blow, and the crystals inside it went out. The second creature roared pitifully, before it could harm my guide. The monster jumped over him and came at me.
The crossbow jammed, and I tossed the useless mechanism aside. I reached for my belt pouch and realized I'd made another mistake-my bag was still where I'd been sitting! I had taken it off to put new arrows in my quiver!
I gripped the crystal cage tighter, and it glowed brighter with its cold green light. The howls and whispering voices intensified. A small dirk appeared in my other hand.
The beast was running at me, and I made a swift dash at it. The moment was seized by a roll, and I ducked under a leaping foe. This bloodsucker was less nimble than its counterpart, or I was able to successfully weaken and blind it with the crystal. My pointy hat was removed by the belly of the behemoth, and then the knife sliced along its entire length. Its hind paws slammed into my back and pushed me and my bag forward, sprawling me on the ground. The crystal cage was knocked out of my hands.
The bloodsucker of the underworld laughed. The flames in his chest went out, and the monster disappeared from sight. All I had to do was stand up and orient myself by hearing. My eyes couldn't get used to the darkness around me. "I can't imagine how ancient passersby fought them in the past," I stood up as the shadow seemed to surge toward me, then again, and again. "Yes, where is it? I see nothing!"
And the ancient ghoul showed himself. Its sternum glowed, and it pulled on its power. I lunged sharply; you have to be quick here to keep the monster from sucking you dry. I didn't let it do that, but the creature disappeared into the darkness again and pulled power from the other side. I screamed, it didn't hurt, I just felt my reaction speed going away and my body getting absorbent cotton. And this beast had just fed off Bourne, and now it was feeding on me! There was laughter in the darkness.
"I won't leave a bite of you, you're delicious," the ancient ghoul said, drawing some of my life force again. I waved him away with the barely clenched object in my hand, causing only laughter.
"But this is a moment I'll savor…" And he pulled his power again and jumped aside. I released my reserve of strength, as the novices had taught me, and grouped myself, preparing to straighten like a bowstring. But the creature, sensing the stored energy, laughed again and fled. "If it keeps acting like this – I'll pass out! Come on, just show yourself!" rushed through my thoughts, and I realized I was losing. As if reading my thoughts, the bloodsucker glowed again. Its chest lit up brightly behind my back to let me know it was too late to do anything. The beast leaped at me though. Perhaps its released reserve and hunger drove it to do so. The monster probably thought that since it was so tasty and nutritious, it was better not to waste the extra… Who knows who they are, these ancient ghouls? In the pouch I wore on my belt, I clutched a magmobomb. "If I am to perish, it is by taking the choler with me, as the Titan Yodkheim does when restraining Tlekorz the Apprentice before each night." Such is the motto of all hunters. Slowly, as if in a muddle, I turned around, trying to close in. But I could sense that the bloodsucker's perfectly calculated plan had left me with no role other than to run into the claws flying at me, when suddenly a swift, blue-green bolt of lightning shot up from somewhere in the darkness and struck the monster in the side, knocking it away from me. Everything went dark again.
There was a screech, the crunch of claws grinding. Stepping aside, I hit the crystal cage and immediately picked it up. Ahead of me was a pitched battle. I suspended my crystal over my head and risked shining a brighter light. A huge owl bear lifted my opponent over my head and tore the bloodsucker in two.
I stood there without moving. The mythical monster owl bear separated the monster's head from its body with one powerful blow, and tilted its head to the side and looked at me expectantly. His whole look said, "Are you going to fight?" I dimmed the fire and lowered the crystal candle. The forest beast scrutinized me, sniffed me, and took its prey and carried it to the entrance of the crypt. Borna had come to his senses and was huddled against a column, whispering something. He seemed to be repeating one word, "No."
I knew what was coming next. Grabbing my crossbow and my bag, I ran into the forest without turning around. Behind me there was a wild roar, a clack, and then the short, shrill cry of a man. The smell told everything.

Chapter 4: "The Count's Reception"


I pondered as I viewed the inner vineyards through the window of my room in the tower of Castle Feanoth. Once upon a time, this inner valley, hidden from outside troubles, had been a source of food and valuable herbs for the region, allowing the warriors to push back the gray earth that had then approached the castle itself, spreading most heavily in the early days of the infestation.
The uneven stones of the walls were smoothed as only dwarven craftsmen could. The walkers, artisans, and miners hired by the first lord of these lands have furnished the castle to their liking, and so it is common in the shire to settle mostly within the castle itself. Of course, there are small houses and wooden buildings in the inner lands, but most of them are still on the fertile plains. Of the more recent buildings inside the castle, there was a hippodrome, a trade and crafts quarter near the gates. But mostly the servants and inhabitants were housed according to the custom of these places inside the castle walls, underground chambers of the castle and towers. And in the highest spires of Feanot the sages and magicians found their shelter.
The history of this amazing castle is full of intrigue and unexpected turns. The very first count was able with great difficulty to gain an audience with Grave Mosshovik, where the question of the right to own this land was raised. The Emperor listened to the nobleman and agreed that if he could build a fortress in a year, he would get possession of such a vast land.
Promising to pay his tithes faithfully, the ancestor of the Dreir Feanoth family made a secret pact with the underground travelers of the Blue Mountains and several ancient mages of Zakat. The castle was erected by the wizards in the shortest possible time, with its exterior splendor and tall spires, and polished by the dwarves on the inside for another ten years. For such help, Theanoth promised great freedoms for the mages of his county, practically making them independent. And the dwarves were promised all the gold to be found in the bowels of the mountains.
The tunnelers, hearing of this generosity, designed a deep network of tunnels beneath the castle in the likeness of the royal chambers of Onyx the Merry. It is said that Count Dreir Feanoth twisted and bit his elbows when he saw the carts loaded with gold leaving towards the Blue Mountains. And yet, the resulting castle was a good place to house all the people of the county. And perhaps it was worth even more than what its builders had gotten.
Thus, Theanoth gained its uniqueness and became known as a castle reaching both the heights and depths of the mountains. Towering over the valley with its sharp Gothic spires, it completely isolated it from the outside world with its fortifications. It was as if he had placed a hand with its thumb jutted upward in the shape of a gate tower, saying, "I have fulfilled your commission, Grave Mohawk. This is now my domain."


The fortifications were truly inspiring. All along the valley's perimeter, mountain spires echoed the towers. "If I were a painter, I might even want to paint them," I thought.
But still, the fame of the largest defensive fortification in Terresia does not belong to it. It is rightfully held by the Fortress of Rukh, which was built among the thunderbirds' nests to completely isolate the southern coast from the north. The Sand Mountains have only one crossing, bridging which back during the First Age a small outpost gradually turned into a fortress. At the time, it was smaller than all the cities of Terresia.
Gradually more and more fortifications were added to it. To this day that castle still provides breeding and nesting grounds for thunderbirds. There was the First Gate to the Native Lands, and then the Second Gate in the Pass of the Claw. There is also the Abode of Light, the Order's Oplot, and the Castle of Thane, which is more of an ancient ornament than a serious defensive fortification. Also of note here is the Cathedral of Titan Jodkheim, where the Firstborn of the Amber Isles escaped to in modern times.
And even the second and third places on the list do not belong to Feanoth. Innesent, with a coastal port and a white belt of walls around it, erected on an island at the source of three rivers. It is virtually impregnable thanks to its white fortifications. Next in size will be Kostegrad, whose city walls, which defended the city once upon a time, have been left behind by beggars camped around an ancient stone heart. Only these cities would be followed by Feanoth, completing the four largest fortifications of Terresia. A castle built with dwarves and mages alike.
And strangely enough, the capital of the Empire itself, Amberesvet the Great, as well as Red Port, Iron Grip and the large but wooden Burning Cauldron would only take the last place. Here the main emphasis was placed on the Lord's castle and the fortifications for it. Without that fortification, they would be no different from the cities of the Homelands north of Fortress Ruch, stretching all the way to the First Gate. And the Forbidden Cape, or otherwise known as Ghost Cape, where the people of the whisperers-in-the-night live, would be barely larger than the outposts in the mountains, where only the guardians rule.
Why did I wonder about a contest in the size of the fortifications of all the castles of Terresia? Probably the upcoming tournament put me in that competitive mood. But I digress....
Today, Castle Feanoth was more crowded than ever. People in the valley were hurriedly stopping work in the vineyards and rushing to the castle. It seems that the Count's tournament had attracted many brave men, both heroes – knights from all over the lands, and mercenaries – hunters for profit.
Mercenaries crowded the corridors, guards and servants scurried here and there. Even here, away from the feasting hall and the exits to the arena and arena, it was crowded. Every now and then someone passed by the open doors. Not so long ago a passerby knocked on my door, and when I asked him what he wanted here, he said that he had mistaken this room for his own and hurried away. I was thinking how many people like that are here now, looking for something to eat.
I was contracted by the Order for a mission. I still blame myself for that emotional outburst and for agreeing to it. Except that I was a little relieved that everyone who signed the contract now had their own private room in the castle, as a special gift from the Lord. I walked over and sat down on the bed, taking in the view from the window, and met my gaze again with the dwarf standing across from me. My friend and faithful companion had finally finished his long contemplation.
"You know what, I'm not going with you," the dwarf shook his head. "My instincts have never failed me before – it's a lost cause, my friend!"
I waited for my friend to think. I was looking out the window, thinking about the cities of Terressia, when his voice came from behind me. He finally spoke again after my question and long deliberation. And walked to the now my private room and sat down across from the dwarf.
"Suit yourself," I shrugged. If the Order does sign the contract, I'll have to fulfill it as a mercenary. K'Yoevghahn's contract is up, and he's free to go wherever he wants.
The dwarf stood up and grasped his crossbow with determination. I thought he was going to point it at me again, but this time he did something different. K'Yoevghahn stroked the hilt of his crossbow once more and held out his weapon to me.
"Here you go, you saved my life, and it will replace your spear." In his usual careless manner, the dwarf pushed me in the stomach with his weapon, only this time with the handle. He did this whenever I took one gold for a new contract, threatening to shoot me for my stupidity and stubbornness.
I wanted to object, but met the dwarf's steely gaze. The dwarf shifted his steely eyebrows for effect, and when I took the weapon, he folded his strong arms across his chest as if forged in the crucible of the forges:
"Take it before I change my mind. And I will not tolerate any objections," he waved me away with square fingers and clenched his fists so that the knuckles turned white on his strong hands. History says, "Fear the dwarves who bring gifts…" and it's because they're pathologically stingy. It is very difficult for them to give gifts, and so my friend was torn between two opposites.
"I'm grateful to you, K'Yoevghan. This is an invaluable gift." He seemed to let go a little.
"If I'd known," K'Yoevghahn said in a low growl, "that you, humans, had such a mercenary mess, I never would have come to you."
"You didn't complain much the last time we gathered gold," I grinned, remembering my recent contract.
"Gold," the dwarf said, raising his index finger, "shines brightly, but here, if it's not a trick, it's just bad smelling.... foolishness! What was the point of you binding yourself to the Order again? You should have smashed a couple of dragon eggs over their heads instead of agreeing to it. You're very wrong, buddy!"
I sighed.
"I don't understand it, absolutely not!" The dwarf waved his hands away again. "Don't ask, I'll never go with you," he turned away, waiting for something to happen, and froze. He must have been expecting me to talk him into it. In that moment, I realized how much my friend trusted me. If I insisted right now, he would go, even in spite of his premonition.
"I understand you, K'Yoevghan. I'm not asking you to, it's my personal thing, you know?" I tried to give him a hint.
"Personal, you say?" He rubbed his beard from top to bottom with his right hand. That gesture meant many things to dwarves. K'Yoevghahn shifted his eyebrows and said, "I have a wife and children in the north, and that's personal, I understand, but what you find 'personal' in the Order, I don't know," I shrugged.
"Friend, I'm not asking you to come with me this time." The words sounded as if they weren't spoken by me. So different from my usual tone. The dwarf stayed still for the first time in our long journey, then shuddered as if startled out of his thoughts. He shook his head again and nodded, "All right, have it your way, old friend," he patted my shoulder. The dwarf could only do that because I was sitting up. "When you're done with your business, come visit us in the Blue Mountains. I'll be waiting for you."
"It's a deal," I gave him my hand, and we shook hands on the verbal agreement.
"Not goodbye," the dwarf said angrily and walked away. Without turning around, K'Yoevghahn went to the door and slammed it so hard that the plaster flew off, covering the entire threshold. My heart skipped a beat. I shook my head, "How childish is that?" And after a little while, I walked out towards the playpen.
The dwarf was gone in the hallway.
There was a half-human-sized porcelain vase in a deep alcove across the hall from my room. A cart of fruits and vegetables passed me in the hallway. The peddler, not letting go of the hand luggage on wheels, nodded at his wares, offering them to me, but I shook my head negatively. Then he walked on down the mosaic laid out here.
As I went lower, I saw a dwarf blacksmith pouring some kind of liquid into a kind of furnace mechanism. The splashes flew in all directions, hitting the fire, which was eagerly embracing them, and the apron, which was already very unattractive and shabby-looking. Looking down, the dwarven smith took a pair of tongs and began to extract the small bronze plates coming out of the machine. "Lamellar armor!" I guessed. "Looks like preparations for the upcoming tournament are well underway here."
Further down the underground corridor, three girls sat at a loom. I had to go down two more floors and through the dwarf halls to reach the central hallway with festively dressed merchants and similarly dressed craftsmen. Then it would be easy to get to the inner valley from those rooms.
…


The crowd was cheering! A rare spectacle for Theanotus was about to begin. A man in brightly colored festive clothes entered the arena to a standing ovation. The people in the stands stopped whispering when they saw Herold. With a smile, he held his hands up in the air, showing everyone his inflated and worn over his wrists cloth doughnuts – dumplings. It would not have been easy for him to shout over such an excited community, so he had to show his palms in three directions before everyone gathered paid attention to him.
"The Trial of Chivalry, to select the noble and elevate them to dignity, as well as the Tournament of Recognition for the best mercenaries of the County of Feanoth and other lands, cannot be opened without the traditional battle between two mounted knights!" proclaimed the Herold, and then, gaining air, continued, "Therefore, Count Feanoth has chosen two brave and noble men to fight for the honor of the Castle of the Stag's Crest, and thus open the tournament!"
Finally, the trumpets sounded and the knight Ulrich appeared on the arena. It is he, and Ser Wimal Yaneso, who should open the honorable tournament. They are honored for their exploits. Ser Wimal Janeso, a knight from the Fortress of Ruch, who left the Lands of the Last Light to fight evil, and it should be noted that he fought very successfully. No sooner than yesterday, he identified two sectarians from the Cult of Bones right here in the capital of the county, in the castle of Feanoth, right in front of the ring. For this feat, he was awarded a medal personally from the hands of the ruler of these lands and the honor of being the first to clash his lances in today's tournament. His horse, a rare color for our lands, was as white as snow. Clad in armor, it thumped its hooves and snorted in impatience, waiting to begin. The same whitened cloth that covered the armor of the knight who sat upon it bore the mark of a blue heraldic sprout unknown to me. Sir Wimal gripped his spear tighter when he saw his opponent.
Knight Ulrich, in bright green robes, made a small circle of honor, warming up the crowd and shaking his lance, and so, a little later, took his seat. His black horse snorted and bellowed almost every time he pulled on the reins. I knew nothing of him, but the Herold, who had before announced the exploits of Wimal, spoke of Ulrich, "This honorable knight named Ulrich Stormwind, on his way to Castle Feanoth, defended the village. After single-handedly slaying at least a dozen dangerous foes on his horse, he also helped the wagon reach the settlement and provide food for the starving inhabitants! Meet the knight Ulrich of the northern frontiers! And may the noblest man win!"
I looked around at the unusual colors, "Green robes, not at all peculiar to northerners, he must be from the lake dwellers in the very east." A golden swan glittered on the fabric, a small, barely noticeable detail.
Ulrich threw up the visor, and it closed. Wymmal began to accelerate, casting a light shield over himself. The green knight responded by activating the runes on his cloak. "How interesting," I thought, "where did a mere knight get the Order cape of a guardian of the foothills?" The hoofbeats intensified. The crowd held its breath. A peal of thunder! The two riders fell out of the saddle.
Ulrich rose at once and, throwing off his crumpled helmet, bared his sword, showing that he was ready to continue the fight. But Wimal rose slowly, a splinter from a spear that had been shattered to pieces embedded under his right shoulder. With a fierce determination he also drew his sword and stood in a defensive stance, more like a swordsman than a swordsman, holding the weapon with his left hand. His right hand he preferred to throw behind his back.
The crowd roared as the knights began to circle each other. Ulrich made a lunge, but Wimal did not react to it, and then abruptly went on the attack himself. A swing to the right, a swing to the left. The knight took advantage of the fact that his opponent was holding a sluggish sword rather than a swift rapier and was able to sidestep his opponent and kick him in the back, causing him to slip forward on his knees. However, such a dangerous maneuver almost cost him his helmetless head. The crowd gasped in horror again.
Wymmal rose, intercepted his sword, and lashed out with chopping blows at his opponent. Gracefully parrying the next lunge, Ulrich crouched down and tried to reach his opponent from below, poking him in the other knight's forehead. The one from Fortress Ruch was now helmetless as well. The Herold looked at the Count to see if he had the will to stop the fight, but Theanoth shook his head, willing them to continue. Oh, and could he really stop this fight even if he wanted to? I think so, but then the tournament would not have taken place, and would have been postponed for two weeks at the very least.
"It looks like Wimal has decided to use his main arm despite his injury!" Herold shouted, and the crowd roared again. Wrinkling his nose, Ser Janeso drew his weapon with his right hand. After a couple of swings, both knights froze, stopping their blades at their opponent's neck.
"An even match!" Herold announced. The crowd erupted in cheers and turned to shouting.
Wimmal Janeso extended his hand to the green knight, and the latter shook it firmly with his gauntlet.
Count Theanotus rose and, raising his hands, called for silence.
"I admire the skill and nobility of the brave knights of the first contest of the tournament! At this solemn conclusion of the duel, I consider the Tournament of Order Trials open!"



Chapter 5: "Laughing Sister"


My breath hitched as I stumbled over the roots. My side stung mercilessly. Through the forest, deeper and deeper into the thicket. I ran for my life. An owl bear was on my trail. Goosebumps of foreboding ran down my back, and I jumped back sharply. Just in time! The mythical beast tried to make a dash, to knock me off my feet, but blue-green lightning flew forward, breaking the shrubbery and low branches. Changing direction, I found myself on a natural stone bridge over the dried-up bed of a deep stream. I turned and plunged into a small ravine, nearly breaking both my legs on the small rocks. I couldn't confuse him; he was already here. His pecking sounded from above, "Click, click, click, click." He lagged behind only a little and ran after me along the steep bank, still hesitant to jump down.
I screamed because I had stepped on a sharp rock with my heel, but I didn't even think of slowing down. For some reason I remembered the Order's conspiracy. The belief was that it was supposed to help before a hard fight. I didn't want to fight an owl bear, but I had to cheer myself up somehow.
"Where darkness does not enter the heart,
Where the dwelling of the brave stands.
I am the blade that fights darkness,
The protector of men who adds to the days,
A new dawn will come – yes."
The creek bed ended in a full-flowing river. I stood on the bank, gathering my courage to step into the rapid. To the right and to the left there was a thicket of brush like nothing I had ever seen, except in this forgotten wilderness. A pecking sounded right behind me, and I turned around. The owl bear was slowly approaching. He saw that there was nowhere else to run-the river blocked my path. His beak snapped, his eyes burning with the fire of rage. I turned away, not wanting to look at him.
Securing my crossbow behind my back and stowing my lantern in my bag, I jumped into the river. The swift current swept over me. I was immediately swollen. My feet hit something. Miraculously avoiding the rocky rapids that made the water gush over them, I heard a growing noise.
"Shh, shh, shh, shh," the water murmured. Fish were jumping out of the water, spreading their wings.
"Oooooh, asshole righteous follower of Yodckeim," I bellowed, almost in tune with the raging water, getting hit in the face with a fish tail.
A few moments later I felt weightless over the abyss. My hands tried desperately to grab onto something. The waterfall was soaring, and I couldn't see where I was falling. I barely thought to brace myself-the impact of the water knocked the breath out of me. A splash of blood tasted.
Consciousness faded like a candle that had previously illuminated the world around me and was extinguished by a sudden gust of wind.
…


The huge blue-haired cat dragged its prey out of the river like a kitten and threw it on the steep bank, unable to retrieve it entirely from the water. The cat growled, sniffed its face. The predator's vibrissae twitched. She looked at the man again and abruptly, with two paws, stood on his chest.
Consciousness returned to me, but I couldn't breathe. I was twisted and bent and started coughing. Every time I tried to frantically inhale, I collapsed again, expelling the remnants of water from my lungs. It seemed like this hoarse coughing would never end.
Finally, I was able to catch my breath and looked around. There was a beautiful girl next to me with no clothes on. I froze in surprise. She was sitting right in front of me with her hands on my chest. When she saw that I came to my senses, she smiled. I even stopped coughing, "Am I dead or still alive? Who is it then?" An unusual feeling of euphoria spread throughout my body.
"Shade, stop it, there's no need to try to eat him. He's our guest," a woman's voice came from behind me. I couldn't turn around and look back, staring ahead mesmerized. The next moment, when I blinked, the obsession stopped. In front of me was a huge predator – a cat. It was blue-boned. Her soft paw pads rested on my chest, and her released claws left marks on my cloak. With a growl, the beast gracefully retracted its daggers into its pads, stood up, and walked to where the order had come from.


A demanding female voice sounded, "Are you going to sit like that, hunter?"
I cautiously got up – all my legs and arms seemed to be intact. Only my whole body ached from the recent impact with the water. The cloak seemed to have saved my life by blocking the blow, and it had completely discharged, losing two charges at once. Its green, rune stones were slowly being infused with new life energy.
Then I turned around and saw one of the forest sisters. She was wearing savage clothes, a crude garment sewn from leather. I wrinkled my nose, but the girl smiled as she noticed my reaction. Oh, I knew the witches of this forest well!
Back on the wall, where I'd served my five years, we'd had a witch from the Dark Forest come to visit us. She helped us against some kind of contagion that was spreading rapidly through the camp. Her potions and herbs were the only thing that saved us. But I remember the sensation for a long time. The hallucinations were such that it was the first time I was out of the control of the fortress keeper. I remembered it very well. Too well, in fact.
"Catch up or stay! And then you'll be eaten by an owl bear for sure," she giggled, reminding me of my pursuer, and strode forward, pushing the leaves of a tall fern. What was left for me to do? Only to follow her.
The fallen and browned leaves with their carpet of moss sprung softly under my feet. Around me, in the crowns of the giant trees, there was a white haze. I gradually came to my senses, taking note of my surroundings. It was eerily cold. "A little longer and I won't be able to get a tooth on a tooth," I thought. But still I found strength in myself and caught up with the girl. She turned to me and asked, "Man, what brings you here?" The witch asked it so sharply and strictly, as if she had just seen me for the first time.
"Hunting," I answered briefly.
"Hunting," the girl emphasized the word, and then bent like her cat to pass under a large branch, "and what do you hunt?
"Anything larger and more dangerous than a perootle," I grinned. "Count Feanor wants to take the boundary road to Kostegrad, and he doesn't want dangerous neighbors on the road."
"And how much did he pay for it?"
"Nothing. I have one contract with the Order, and I'm serving it," I answered, and the girl stopped.
"An Order hunter, then? Why did you come to the villagers and not to us?" She met my gaze.
"I don't know how to find you," I fought the urge to throw up my hands.
"It's good that you don't know," the girl smiled again and turned away, "and, yes, we need help."
"What kind of help?"
"Later. Let's go to our village first," the girl answered mysteriously and once again pushed the branches apart and walked through the shrubbery. As we moved through the forest, the memories and knowledge of the guardian of the fortress came over me.
The sisters of the forest have long supported the humans in their battle against the creatures of Polog. When the ship Dawn reached the island, supporters of the Cult of the whisperers-in-the-night were found aboard. Due to strange circumstances, the Senior Inquisitor of Sonma ignored their presence. And what's more, the Grave Mohawk Dynasty openly recognized their rights and granted them the Cape of Ghosts on the island of Amberlight for eternal use. It was an impregnable arm, framed on all sides by rocks. Here the sectarians of the whisperers-in-the-night had made their home. To keep the peace, they supplied the palace with a mute-born girl, who was in the king's retinue along with the bishop, counselor, and inquisitor.
I distinctly recalled the feelings of the guardian who ruled the fortress. Perhaps he had been there. I thought I could feel the waves crashing against the rock, and the wind howling as it carried me away with the memory.
Later, at the very end of the First Age, at the behest of the mute-birth, after the first ships had landed from Amber Isle and the founding of Fortress Ruch, Kostegrad, and Innesent, she ordered the establishment of a settlement in the Dark Forest. Thus came the "laughing sisters" – the witches of this already inhospitable forest. And there's one of them up ahead, leading me through the forest.



Chapter 6: "Ancient Guardian"


The young man sank his fingers into the spear. He was terribly afraid, despite all his training in the Order. He knew that these moments of life could be his last. His thoughts raced, frantically searching for ways to escape, to save and deliver. He succumbed to them for a moment and looked up at the fortress wall of the mountain outpost, the only barrier to the infected creatures of Polog. Huge and massive, made of immovable blocks of stone, it was taking roll call right now, taking guard and passing guard.
The young man glanced back without anyone noticing, not even the boys standing next to him. There was a sloping path down to the lower gate. Not so long ago an Order novice had used it to bring them to this inhospitable place, and now stood to the right, smiling. He himself would be leaving soon enough, when the initiation into the guardians of the foothills was complete.
Mute cliffs towered around them, and the ground drew heat rather than warmth. Snow swirled near his feet, blown in from all directions. It was so cold around that I could even feel the wind blowing the warmed air from the other men in the formation toward me.
I stood straight. And in front of me was the passage to the inner rooms, here ahead of me lit a torch. Too late to think of escape. The torch illuminated the darkening vault of the passage in front of me. One of the boys on the right exhaled, as if he thought it would be over now. Maybe it would be, because not everyone comes to their senses after merging with a fortress keeper. The thoughts began their dance around the circle again, they were in a round dance, constantly reminding him of this. Now the old man would come. Or, right now, his gaunt figure would appear behind this or that novice of the Order.
The bitter cold seemed to intensify. I couldn't feel my feet and I couldn't look at them. They must be all blue by now. I have to stay focused. I must stand straight. Those are the orders of the order's novice.
There was a procession coming out ahead. It went on and on. Ministers in long robes with candles. The novices with vessels and scented oils. Men with blessed weapons. Order adherents with clean new robes.... They were all coming out, and there was absolutely no expression on their faces.
Suddenly, a gaunt old man suddenly appeared from behind.
"Well, weren't you expecting it?" he asked. One of the novices wet himself on the spot, right under himself, like a horse in a stall. The other ran. Silently. Because Order novices don't yell. But I heard his body fall, pierced by bolts. I glanced up, the guards on the wall were reloading their weapons. I thought to myself, "He was the third one who couldn't get away. Couldn't escape."
The old man laughed. He walked between us and spoke, "Should I choose you? Or you?"
The Ancient Guardian did not point his finger, as he should have, but amused himself with us. He bent down and hovered in front of each one's face. Suddenly the fear was gone, replaced by anger. My knuckles crunched from that unpleasant memory, so hard I clenched my spear.
"Don't move," I told myself.
There had been two yesterday, but the order's novice had let it slip that they hadn't run far.
The old man's long beard flashed in front of my face. The old man froze in front of me and, leaning toward me, asked almost in a whisper:
"Should I choose you?"
I did not express any emotion. He stopped smiling and hesitated, "Aren't you afraid of me?"
He looked puzzled. He straightened up and looked behind me.
"Really, you're not afraid of me?"
I didn't move, "You can't."
"Then I'll show myself to you." His figure melted away. It was an obsession. And, oh, the horror of what I saw! At that very moment four novices carried out the withered mummy of an old man with his unnatural body parts bandaged around the poles. Huge wooden poles, smaller and smaller sticks. Like a rack, an endless torture. "Relentless guard," a mysterious whisper suggested, its voice seeming to echo from everywhere. Bandaged in the most ghastly of forms were hands to a tree. One finger to one side, the other to the other. One of his hands was free, but he didn't need to lift it – I met his gaze. His clouded faded eyes opened. "Is he really still alive!" An unexpected conjecture struck me. "Withered, but still alive," the space around me said benevolently.....
I woke up. Birds were singing outside the window, quiet music was playing somewhere. There was a woman's quiet laughter. I lay on the bed and looked at the ceiling. This dream torments me every time I fall asleep. Ever since I got my freedom. The memories are as fresh as the first day. It's as if it's the first time. That's why I try to exhaust myself before I fall asleep, so I don't dream about it. "Well, how are you? Still alive? I'm so handsome, aren't I?" came a voice in my thoughts. I jumped up. He was about to say something else funny, but the connection to the Fortress Keeper had dissipated, as had the remnants of the dream.
And I was left sitting. Alone in bed behind a wooden screen. The wind blew fallen leaves right into my bed. It was better to get up right away than to listen to it, especially in slumber. I put my hand to my forehead and yawned sweetly. "Where am I? How beautiful! Embroidered with colorful threads… a fabric blanket? Looks like I slept like a king tonight!" flashed through my mind, and the memories of the previous day came over me in a rushing wave that swept away all obstacles.
I was surrounded by an unfamiliar interior, but it gradually rose in my memory. There was that window with the thinnest white cloth, from which the whitish light streamed. The ancient stone walls. Opposite me hung a painting, or even an ancient, ornate tapestry depicting an ancient event – the landing of the Dawn expedition on the shores of Amber Island. A small but richly decorated room. There's my bedside chest, where my belongings lurk. Here was the plaster that had crumbled to the floor when K'Yoevghahn had slammed the door in his usual rude fashion yesterday.
I got up. It was unusual to feel unclothed as an undead assassin. After wrapping and securing the straps, I checked and set my crossbow forward. The locking mechanism was multi-shot. I lifted the crossbow's affix with my thumb, and beneath it was a branding with the Dwarven numeral three. A circle, symbolically representing the Titan, and three points in different directions. I see, so it's a three-shooter. It's the kind of fake that the dwarves of the Blue Mountains supply to the special guards of Kostegrad.
I shook it, "It's strong!" ran my eyes over the smooth wood once more and fastened it behind my back – it fit perfectly. I bent down. Sat down. It doesn't constrict movement – "just what you need". I took my hunter's bag from the back of the chair and left the room.
A servant of Count Feanoth's house approached me. If one paid attention to his demeanor, he must have never had to leave the castle in his life. He walked down the corridor with his fist clenched in front of him. I didn't understand these mannerisms. It's one thing to hold your hand up, defending yourself from the creatures of the cover, and another… "this."
"Hunter, are you awake yet?" He was thinking about something of his own, so he faced me nose to nose in the doorway, "What carelessness! On the other hand, maybe that's why we exist, to protect people like him. Those who can't stand up for themselves." I looked at him from head to toe, "Put him in that caftan against Ulrich, the fight would be over immediately. And the knight won't even spare such an inexperienced opponent. I wonder if he can overpower a hound? Yes, no! Where can he go!"
His eyes widened as they met mine. What he read in them was a mystery to me. The servant's voice trembled, "Count Feanot is waiting for you. Come along." He waved a graceful, slender hand in a white glove, inviting me to follow him politely. Turning on his heels so that he even made the hem of his clothes rise up, the servant, beating a rhythm with his heels, headed down the corridor in the right direction.
"I don't think you could kill even a perootle!" I shouted after him. "Oh! That would be a terrible insult. If I said it to Ser Wimal Yaniso, he would challenge me to a duel. Even the boys of the Order can slay the lowliest wretch from the lowest creature of the cover. What to speak of seasoned warriors like the white knight. Turtlenecks, gown and white collar… Ugh! How can you fight in that?"
"We all have a job to do, hunter." But this guy didn't even bat an eye. The man turned around politely, raised his hands and folded them in some special gesture, grasping the edges of his cuffs.
"What is this? Magic?" I squinted at the unusual gesture. "Maybe he's a court magician, just with a quirk," I thought to myself.
"Oh, you mean that," the servant smiled and waved his hand lightly, then folded his arms across his chest, "it's just gallantry and fashion. I apologize for embarrassing you. Please come along, Count Feanot doesn't like to wait."
"So 'this' is called 'gallantry,'" I finally explained to myself this phenomenon, so sharply at variance with my picture of the world.
"He's probably right," I thought, and for some reason I got cold feet. Someone has to defend the wall, and someone else will walk around in a caftan and fold their fingers in an exquisite manner in front of their guests. I sighed and followed. When the servant saw that I had followed him, he continued on his way, turning around just as gallantly. The hem of his robe swept into the air again.
…


The feasting hall was being used for a meeting today. Fourteen hunters, who had been sent out by the Order to fulfill the Count's assignment, were seated here. Two hunting dogs were warming themselves by the fireplace. The exorcists settled down, removed their bags and other articles of clothing, and hung them on the backs of massive oak chairs. Spears and swords were laid out. I was the only one with a crossbow. I laid it down in front of me.
The huntress girl across from me had her feet on the table, swinging on the oak chair. I'd never seen a girl hunter before, so I looked in her direction. She pulled her hat over her eyes, showing with her whole look that she was ignoring me. We're loners.
To my right sat a hunter so ancient that he literally had glowing mushrooms growing on him like a chill. His hand twitched involuntarily from time to time, and saliva flowed from his mouth now and then. His shoulder was adorned with a servant's patch that read, "Meritorious Service to the Order of Hotta".
Opposite him, a thieving-looking assassin of the cold ones ran his eyes. With one arm over the back of his chair, he was picking at his teeth with a dagger. When he met my gaze, he nodded. "What do you want?" he said.
To his right sat the Best of Us. His hands were folded, his chin resting on them, and he was thinking about something. His ancient milchemist mask looked like a raven's beak. Once upon a time, one of the Archmages of Theanoth had cursed a fellow hunter of the Chill to never die. What drove him to such a strange curse, no one knows. But that hunter had somehow found a way to twist the spell, and now it worked differently, becoming a title among the exorcists. The Best-of-us really can't just die from the paws and claws of monsters. However, if he is in a group with other hunters, he may well die. And then will be chosen by lot again, among the survivors. Or as in the case of the current hunter – the last surviving member of the group will be recognized as The Best-of-us.
"Gorevetr! Is that you?" asked one of the hunters with a sword.
"I am," nodded one of the hunters with an axe.
"Don't die," grinned the killer of the creatures of the canopy.
"Don't fall off your hooves like your horse. By the way, where is she now?" Gorevetr answered him with a reciprocal grin.
"Feeding fish," the swordsman said, grinning.
"Fish? You can tell me later where you found fish in the depths of the continent," the axe-wielder shook his head approvingly.
I knew very well where one could lose a horse that way. Here, near the Castle, there's an old quarry filled with land fish. The locals often ask to rescue some livestock or get something out of it. Or who. There's piles of gold down there. Fools' gold. People go down to get rich, but all they find is a pack of land fish and hungry fish. They can be very hard to kill, especially in winter. These strange creatures survive even after a few blows to the head. Rumor has it that even the brain-deprived body of one of these amphibians continued to hunt for several more months.
Finally, Count Feanoth appeared. The honor guards froze to the right and left of the entrance, the hound dogs ran past and sprinted out of the hall. The Keeper of the Castle stood across from us, directly beneath a large hunting trophy in the form of a stag's head. It was the Horned Stag that was the symbol of Castle Feanoth. For this reason, two white and blue banners with the image of this noble animal were hanging to the right and left of the effigy. The castle Feanoth, the namesake of the clan, was an ancient barrier separating the lands of Fortress Ruch, which left behind its traditionally white color, as well as the lake fjords of the Northmen and the dwarves who lived in the Blue Mountains.
Myrtel Feanoth, to be precise, a hereditary nobleman and owner of these lands, looked around at everyone gathered. Apparently this meeting was unofficial or private, because the herald did not announce his appearance to all assembled. Stopping at "The Best-of-us" with a heavy gaze, of all those present at the massive table, the Count nevertheless addressed everyone, "Hunters, murderers of the fell! Of the plague that is spreading through our lands. I need your help in clearing the Rube Tract." He once again looked at everyone sitting in the hall with his penetrating eyes, but no one uttered a word.
And so the Count continued, "I wish to send my youngest daughter to Kostegrad and marry the son of the Keeper of those lands. To make the journey safe, I have asked the Order to provide fourteen brave men to clear the way of the most dangerous cold and infected creatures of the canopy."
"How much are you paying?" addressed the hunter who sat to the right of The Best-of-us. Everyone in the hall looked in his direction.
"I've already paid the Order. Didn't you receive your salary?" The Count studied the man who dared to ask the question with genuine interest. There was a royal condescension in his tone. The question itself was provocative. According to the laws of the Empire and the Order's statutes, hunters are forbidden to take more than one coin per task on pain of death.
"According to the king's decree," the mercenary tossed the gold coin carelessly onto the table, "we are entitled to this as payment for our work. Yes, it is! But it's not enough to even take a piss in your town. If that's all, you can slaughter me in the square for refusing to serve the Order and canceling my contract."
One of the hunters, tall and broad-shouldered, stood up and pounded his fist on the table. "The employer must provide his hunters with good, or even the best weapons he has. That is the law!" roared the huge man, who looked more like a bear.
The Count turned his head and leaned to the side.
"You will have a full hunter's kit. You'll get everything you need near the stalls, as well as a horse," the descendant of the Feanoth family commented disapprovingly on the assassins' performance.
"That's another matter!" The big man rejoiced and sat down at the oak chair. It rattled under such a large man. I realized why the giant had stood up. He would not let the earl say anything, such as rebuking the other hunter for insulting the dignity of his house. I don't think the Count would do that, though. Except that he doesn't blow dust off us.
The lord of the borderlands raised his face and addressed the crowd. His tone was now completely impassive, "We have held a tournament and summoned knights to fight evil. They will march ahead of you straight down the path and crush everything they see on and along the road. Your task is to go near the path and destroy all the lairs and everything that will be farther away, but represents a serious danger when moving along this path. You need to make sure the knights don't miss anything."
There was a creak in response, one of the exorcists of the chill took out a knife and scraped it across the beautiful oak table, leaving deep nicks. Then he raised his weapon and looked at its sharpness.
"You don't need to tell us how to do our job. It will be done…better. As best as it can be, after this shitty oser...." he spat out.
"If that is all, then I dare not detain you any longer." The Count's response was a mass shifting of chairs and a clamor of black robes.

Chapter 7: "The Descendant Witch"


The whisperers-in-the-night, are a strange group of people, among them are assassins and hunters, witches and enchanters. More like castes, the ruling system can't tolerate one thing: a mute-born. This girl is born every time the previous one dies. To the whisperers-in-the-night, she is an outcast that must be banished, but to the Crown of Grave Mohawk, she is a valuable advisor. Because of this, when the mute-from-birth reappears among them, she is whisked away at the age of sixteen to the Emperor's court when she finishes her training.
Back in the era of Terressia's exploration, the mute-born ordered a settlement of sisters to be established in the Dark Forest. All because of what dwelt in those forests. Kostegrad's expedition threatened to simply end up in these parts if no one could confine the monsters of the eerie thicket that stretched as far north as the mountains and swamps to the south. It was only the help of the whisperers-in-the-night that remedied this situation. The Laughing Sisters had mysteriously subdued the wild beasts that had attacked the tiny outpost of Kostegrad, a piece of land that people had clung to with their teeth.
And now we were walking with my companion of the forest huntresses through the remnants of a once great oak forest. The last green spot on the maps, north after the endless swamps. Wild stunted trees sprouting in all directions had been replaced by noble giants with spreading crowns, and gullies with broad roots. I knew from the Castle Keeper's memories that Darkwood had lost much of its lands to the north and east. It had disappeared beyond Kostegrad and near the rebel lord's fortress, losing nine-tenths of its forests. And only in this place, where the Laughing Sisters live, did the oak tree mysteriously still stand and successfully resist the infestation.
The cliff lifted the small, forgotten village above the verdant sea of forest. Perhaps it would have been utterly wild, being in the depths of the Dark Forest, were it not for the ancient stone walls and equally ancient temple buildings at the very top. There was a fire burning in the middle of it, with an old witch sitting by it. When she saw us, she broke away from the hazy brew on the fire and, splashing her hands like a kind grandmother, sat down on a small bench.
"Come, child," she beckoned closer to the girl who had brought me to this place.
"Sister Huntress, you have brought a man into our camp..... A man," the Old Witch wagged her finger. Her voice creaked at the last word, and then she laughed with recognition, and realizing who I was, she continued in a softer tone. "You have brought us a hunter of the creatures of the canopy!"
The woman looked at me eagerly and even fidgeted on her stool like a frog, preparing to spit her tongue at me.
"All the old women in the camp have exhausted their strength. I'm the last one to keep the gray land from moving south of the Dark Forest for untold years. My domain, by the way!" The witch's eyes fixed on me with greed.
"There in the north of Darkwoods, the gray earth cuts into the forest itself, and in the south before the sanctuary, the river serves as a natural barrier to the oser." The witch's unblinking eyes fixed on me. She was like a blue-barefoot, peppering the wooden beads with small fingernails. For a moment I saw her facial features grow younger, and so I turned my head slightly to the side to avoid making the connection. The witch giggled at her innocent joke; apparently she had already read my thoughts. Then she turned serious again.
The witch wiped her face with her hand, becoming old and tired again. A wrinkle creased her forehead.
"The castle, in the south. I sent my sisters there, but no one came back. That weakened me even more." She grabbed my hand, peered down and looked at my palm, studying the old scars and calluses from the crossbow. She drew my hand to hers for some reason, almost under my nose, and then let go, losing interest. "I need you to clean it completely. Only then will my children be able to read the ritual on top of it. It should help stop the sulfurization of the southern lands."
"Do you have any black arrows?" I got right to the point.
"Now you're talking!" clapped her hands and beckoned the two girls over. "Better, my dear, better! Here, back-splitting arrows!"
She pulled back the cloth, and I saw the arrows shimmering with secret incantations.
"She'd pulled forty from her stockpile, and it had been a long time since we'd had hunters." The witch's eyes lit up, or maybe it was the fire's glow from the new wood.
"I've never seen one of these before, how do you use them?" I lifted one arrow that shimmered with light.
"Have you seen Kostegrad's arrows?"
"Yes, I have seen them," I agreed.
Kostegrad is a dark city with a grim reputation. Poverty-stricken neighborhoods along the walls, fighting arenas underneath. They say they keep the spite down with the beggars' blood. And as for arrows, yes, they have a special guard that protects the Lord Protector and the Bourgeois.
"Every shot fired by Costegrad's special arrow hits its target. Then the arrow disappears and reappears in the quiver, and so three times," I voiced my knowledge.
"These arrows are better, better! Precious, where do you come from? Their wizards are no match for my skill, I am a descendant of the whisperer-in-the-night. Maybe the last true witch on the continent. My arrows will go back ten times, and then blacken, not disappear like a Milchemist fake," the hag smiled conspiratorially. She looked like a kindly grandmother slipping a sweet candy to her grandson while no one was looking.
"These are very valuable arrows in a case like this. The law…"
"And yes, the law forbids," she interrupted me, raising her hand, "to take more than a gold piece. But you're not forbidden to take equipment more expensive than you need."
I shrugged my shoulders in agreement.
"Then the fee is one gold piece," I folded my arms across my chest in a playfully serious manner.
"What a sneak," she wagged her finger in a kindly manner and smiled.
"My girl, escort this rascal out of my sight, let him rest," the witch said kindly, and then suddenly squeaked her voice like a cutoff." Then you will take him to the castle.
She laughed again, and then she looked at us.
"Come with me, killer of the cold, there's a place where you can rest," the girl beckoned me after her.

Chapter 8: "Spear and Crossbow"


Many hunters of the higher undead piled up near the stables, causing the land to be full of rumors. The local servants were scattered around the castle in terror and recounted the news that the stableman had a terrible illness and now the hunters, acting alone as usual, had come to kill him all together. And the local garrison officer is issuing the killers with cooled ammunition, since the young man is about to turn into a creepy monster, and that's why they need so many weapons.
Here was another local commoner, stopping in the corridor, and wishing to impress, interrupting himself with his voice, whispered to the maid he had met another version of this unprecedented sight. The maid froze in front of him and covered her mouth with her hand, hiding her fear. I just waved away – I'd rather stay near this unfortunate man than walk around the castle listening to all this "folk art". But to be honest, there was nothing to do there while the local quartermaster went for weapons.
Clinging to the parapet, I climbed to the roof. A light breeze filled my cloak, and then a gust blew downward, where the cook boys were whispering, peering out from under the cook's hem. She herself, too, was wary of such a cluster of hunters in one place from behind the kitchen door. One of them spotted me on the roof almost immediately and spat on the ground, complaining about the speed of the weapons.
Castle life moved at its own rhythm. Guards were taking off and taking up their posts, servants were going somewhere. Five noblemen were chatting on the balcony about the past tournament, and in the garden walked the one for whom everything was planned. And she was really beautiful. She was tearing red roses in a lush dress and putting them into a huge bouquet. I stopped, mesmerized by this sight, and she raised her eyes to me. Her eyelashes fluttered. The girl was staring into the deep shadows, and I met her gaze. Flawless in her beauty and young years.
The instant the earl's youngest daughter saw the monster killer, she pricked her finger on a rose thorn. Licking the snow-white skin, the heiress of Theanotus gave a quiet yelp, but when she looked for the mysterious hunter again, she no longer saw his silhouette in the shadow of one of the columns. I am sure she will long remember the massive figure propped up on the marble pillar with his shoulders, and the strange gleaming, even in the gloom, glasses. She looked for him, standing upright and lifting her flower basket. But he disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared. The hunter left no trace.
I was back in time. One of the hunters was fixing a saddle by the stalls. And the stableman was unconscious in the mud for some reason. The castle quartermaster had just finished distributing weapons. When he saw me, he handed me a bundle of forty black arrows.
"Here, just as you ordered. Here, this one too." The officer went to the wooden side of the weapon stand near the stalls and took a spear with an iron point from it.
I accepted the weapon and unwound it in my hand. Perfect balance, a little tilted toward the tip so I could comfortably grip it and throw it if I needed to.
"I need a horse," I reminded the supply officer of my needs.
"Come into the stalls and choose for yourself. The stableman has already had enough advice for today," the man assigned to us told me, checking the pulse of the young man lying in the mud.
"And who did he advise?" I grinned.
"This mare," the hunter pointed to the horse, who had hesitated with the saddle and was now watching me with interest.
I walked around the wooden stalls near the stone wall of the courtyard. There were still a couple of stunted horses here. It looked like someone had taken offense at being advised against a stallion. This horse looked much better against the others. I'm not proud.
"I'll take this mare," I pointed to the horse.
"Take the horse," sighed the anxious quartermaster, lifting the young man carefully out of the mud. With his other hand he called several servants, who, however, keeping order, surrounded the boy on all sides.
The hunter who had pointed her out laughed and rode out of the courtyard. Out of the shadows came a girl, unnoticed by me, the one who had been sitting in the meeting opposite. She winked at me approvingly and jumped on her horse, following the hunter. I decided that it was all foolishness and that the boy had been hurt for nothing, and then I sped up to keep up.
The long and piercing gaze of Count Mirtel from a small elevated terrace did not escape me. Now Pheanoth might even have regretted hiring us. He hardly cared about the fate of the stable boy; rather, he wanted to see who had snuck into the enclosed garden to see his youngest daughter. And this young man's story is just another stone in our garden.

Chapter 9: "The castle by the road"


As I walked away, the hag put a bag of food in my bag. The water in the flask was splashing again, "Take it, my dear – you need it more," she said kindly. We broke through the forest predators, and I wielded with dexterity the new carga's spear. My companion led me to the edge of the forest.
"We can't go any farther, there's the castle," she pointed ahead. Her bluish-black cat walked along the edge of the forest from side to side. The cat hissed and lost all patience when she saw the gray earth. Covering her nose with her paws and getting angry.
"Good." I stepped forward, and the ash-gray dust that had engulfed the plants near the forest crumbled to ashes under my boots, as did the grass itself, devoid of life. The girl looked at me again, probably wanting to say something. But she changed her mind, then ducked down and, beckoning the panther, disappeared into the forest.
I walked straight toward a barely discernible target, which for a moment appeared in the haze. The disease-ravaged brushwood crumbled to dust as soon as I touched it with my boot. The skulls of small animals that had been exposed to the sulfur that had forced them out of the forest crunched beneath my feet. Here, on the border, one could feel the struggle of the last guardian of the Darkwoods and the eerie gray earth pulling the life out of the entire forest.
"Yes, this was the castle to which the waystone pointed. There, at the crossroads, I made a note to the other hunters that I was leading the work here for them to move on. But it felt like there was no one behind me. How many of us were there? Fourteen? Fifteen if you count the hunter who took part in the tournament itself? This is definitely the place the forest villagers were talking about. Nearby, near it, there must be a village, what did they call it? Sgulli… Sgugli? I don't remember." The headwind gutted the remains and ashes, and even through the mask my throat choked and I coughed. I had to cover myself additionally with the edge of my cloak. The fine particles floated like mist, so I didn't see the charred hulk of the village building right away.
I wandered around the ashes. It was all that remained of what had once been a fairly large settlement. I saw an anvil among the ruins of one of the houses, and an unpleasant feeling came over me. With bitterness I remarked to myself, "There was even a smithy here long ago, but despite its size, the settlement still perished." My face was covered by the mask of a milchemist, so I wasn't afraid to breathe. But the air in this small depression in front of the castle where the village was located still felt stifling. Burnt houses and huts. What had happened here? The dust storm had intensified, but the Titan Jodkheim was at the zenith of its power, shining through everything for twenty meters around. A premonition visited me, and I raised my green lantern higher. Ahead, the silhouette of a stray dead man emerged from the shadows of the haze around him. He took a couple more steps forward, then jerked sharply and turned toward me. He saw me.


"Wheeewurrrgh!" came the shroud of mischief from all directions. The dead man ran when he saw his prey, and another and another followed him out of the mist with his hands out in front of him.
I stood in the protective stance of an aspid, lowering the sting of my spear downward. As soon as the enemy approached, I sliced him open with a swift thrust of my spear. Another swing followed, and then another. One blow, one corpse. All the dead came at me from the same direction. It was as if all the former inhabitants of the village had gathered in one place for some reason. I took step after step back under their onslaught, chopping up the mindless bodies.

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