Black magician Evgeny Shchepetnov

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Title: Black Mage

About the book “The Black Magician” Evgeny Shchepetnov

Behind is the hateful village, behind is life as a slave, behind is the Marine Corps training camp. There is war ahead.

What awaits newly minted Sergeant Ned Black? How does he use his abilities, the abilities of a black magician, a demonologist - an adept of magic forbidden in this world? And how to hide these abilities - otherwise Ned risks ending up at the stake on charges of using forbidden magic!

And it was not for nothing that he took the prefix to his name - “Black”. What is in his brain cannot be called white.

Battles, blood, magic, magical artifacts, friendship and hatred of comrades - that’s what awaits Ned. Where will the bloody whirlpool of war take him? He doesn't know this yet. But he knows one thing - do what is right. And come what may.

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The white magician looked into Ned's eyes and quietly asked:

Do you understand me? Can you talk?

“I can,” Ned answered quietly.

Sergeant Ned Black.

I know you call yourself Sergeant Ned the Black...hmmm...interesting. A name that speaks! And we, we! And Brantar interrogated him! And I couldn’t figure it out! Why? How were you able to hide your aura?

I didn't hide it - Ned lied.

You hid it, hid it, otherwise Brantar would have seen through you at first sight. It looks like you got hit on the head, and all your settings are gone. Probably he was casted, so the aura was not visible. Changed the aura. By the way, among magicians this is considered indecent. It's like a man dressing up as a woman.

“I don’t remember anything,” Ned continued stubbornly, “apparently I was hit on the head, and how, what happened to me, I don’t know.” And how I ended up here, I don’t know.

“Arnot brought you,” Zheresar muttered, looking from Ned to the magician and back again, along with Itrok. They saved you. Are you sure you don't remember anything?

“I don’t remember,” Ned answered quietly and closed his eyes, feigning loss of consciousness.

He was not allowed to lie in an “unconscious state” for a long time. A couple of minutes later he heard excited voices, smelled incense and herbs, then a familiar voice said:

I knew there was something fishy with this guy! I knew it! Well, now I’ll dig into his brain! Quickly - load the stretcher and drag it to our tent. We'll figure it out...

* * *

Lie still...come on! What a demon! It doesn’t work... Why?

He has protection. Hey, whoever you are, take off your protection, otherwise we won't be able to treat you!

Brantar, what, you yourself can’t remove the protection? You are a black magician, just like him.

I’m black, but here he is... his demon knows what he is. If his aura substitution had not failed, we would never have guessed what he was like! And he was hiding for so long... The demon gets at you - take off the protection, otherwise we won’t be able to cure you!

Yes. And then you will turn me inside out? Better to die...

Well, you'll die. By the way - you will die anyway - demonology is prohibited! Better answer the questions, and then maybe your fate will be softened.

Brantar, what are you talking about? - Zaragor took the magician aside - how can his fate be softened? Shall they sharpen the ax sharper? Or will they lather the rope more strongly? Why are you deceiving the guy?

How else will you get information? Are you not interested in who he is, where he comes from, what he can do, and what he has to do with the strange events in the city and around the Corps?

Interesting. But I'm not going to cheat for this. I consider it unethical to do this to a fellow magician.

That's why you are white magicians, and we are black. The main thing is achieving the goal. For us. For you - stupid conventions. When the Archmage asks you what you achieved in interrogating a criminal, what will you answer?

Same as you - it is unethical to deceive your colleague to get information. He is not our enemy, I am sure of that. Moreover, I think that it was he who protected General Heverad from death. I don’t know whether he was involved in the events in the city and in the battle, but if so, then this again testifies to his loyalty to Zamar and the Corps. I will report to General Heverad and let him make a decision...

I’m here - Heverad approached from behind so quietly, so quietly that the magicians, in the heat of argument, did not notice him and flinched when the massive figure of the commander grew up behind Brantar’s shoulder - what do you want to report to me, Mr. Zaragor?

This is about Sergeant Ned the Black... - Zaragor began, and the general interrupted him:

What about the sergeant? Is he alive? I heard you took him from the doctor's tent. What, is he badly injured? Can it be cured? Nice guy, it would be a pity...

This “good guy” of yours is a black magician! - Brantar muttered angrily - and, moreover, he is a demonologist! And you don’t know what to expect from him! Demonology is prohibited throughout the empire! And anyone who practices demonology is subject to immediate execution after the verdict of the Agaran court! This is the law!

Prologue

Senerad walked along the cobblestone street, leaning heavily on his cane. I stopped near a fried octopus vendor, bought one, a small one, and began to eat it along with fresh flatbread, blowing on my dirty fingers. The octopus was fresh from the fryer and very hot.

Between the houses, in the distance, under the sun’s rays, the sea shone, blinding the traveler’s gaze with its brilliance, and on the surface of the sea, like white clouds, the sails of ships slowly moved... beauty! However, Senerad winced, turning his back to the sea.

The sea voyage a few months ago did not cause the slightest delight in Senerad. The doctor did not like the sea at all and preferred never to see it, especially since even a slight pitching made him seasick. But what can you do if the capital is located on the seashore, and besides, you can’t drag yourself across half the country on horses or oxen? Still, of course, sea travel is the most comfortable and safest way to travel around the world. And fast. After the Ardian pirates were brought under control, the sea roads became safe, traffic became more active, and more and more people began to travel by ship.

Remembering the Ards, the doctor immediately remembered the one who had occupied his thoughts for the last months. The one for which he spent weeks of his time - alas, to no avail. However, he did not forget him.

How many times Senerad cursed himself with the last words - he had to grab the guy and not let him go even one step! After all, he knew, he knew that this inconspicuous boy, the most insignificant, offended and downtrodden resident of the village, a shepherd boy, practically a slave, was a black magician! And as it turned out later - WHAT A MAG! Demonologist! A magician who can summon demons, using them to harm people. And not only to people. And he, stupid Senerad, left the boy in a village consisting of stupid villagers who wanted to assert themselves by humiliating the boy.

And what was it worth to guess that the boy, Ned, would now not tolerate humiliation or insults? That he will kill his persecutors and disappear in an unknown direction? Where was Senerad's head? I got dumb, yes, I got dumb, sitting in this village. If the doctor, as before, lived in the capital, moved among smart people, he would never have made such a mistake.

Where did he live for ten years? In a blind hole! Close to pearl divers, fishermen and goatherds! Well, or cattle herders... yes, the demon is with them, idiots. Now there are eleven fewer of them. Or rather, this: there are four more real idiots - Ned bewitched the four offenders, depriving them of their minds - and there are eleven fewer residents - the guy simply killed them. Why are you spitting into a black magician's cup? Why do you come with a crowd of people to beat the unfortunate guy? Well, they deserved what they deserved.

Senerad deserved a good kick for his stupidity. For Ned, he would receive a good sum from the community of magicians and from the state. Such that it would be enough for him to open a practice in the capital. Now - I had to look for funds, take out a loan from the imperial bank, ask moneylenders. And due to the war, finding money became much more difficult. Bankers and moneylenders do not want to lend to anyone in troubled times. What if tomorrow the debtor's head is cut off? And who will then pay off the debt? There was only one hope - a pledge - a house in the capital, which Senerad left ten years ago, hiding from the persecution of the angry relatives of a nobleman poisoned by his drug. He, Senerad, was selling certain means that could either bewitch or send a husband or lover to the next world. So I paid the price. Money is money, but everything came out. I had to scurry almost to the ends of the earth, to the filthy village of Black Ravine. And there was a treasure - Ned! And the doctor so stupidly missed the guy...

Two weeks. For two whole weeks, Senerad ran around the town and asked everyone - had they seen such a guy - tall, with a gloomy face? Ned - haven't you seen?

Ned's traces were lost in the port. How many ships were there at that time? Which ones? Where could he go? Unknown.

Well, after two weeks of useless searching, I had to give up trying to find the guy and go where I wanted - to the capital.

Ned will show up someday anyway - a demonologist, this is the kind of thing that you can’t hide. All the same, he will have a desire to release a spell, to use his power to the detriment of his enemies. And then... well, what then? Then they will either kill or capture the magicians and take them to agara. But this will no longer be of any use to Senerad. Alas.

Ned, Ned... where are you now? What are you doing? Do you remember your village and a certain doctor Senerad? Will we see each other again sometime in this life? The paths that the gods give us are inscrutable...

Chapter one

Ned watched his company dig into the ground. The paratroopers, swearing and groaning, crushed the hard ground, digging in for the night's quarters. There was half a day of march left to the front line, and there was no need to relax. We need to prepare a safe camp.

Yesterday morning they landed on the shore - before lunch they transported the entire mass of paratroopers, in an organized manner, quickly. Of course, there were some incidents - about thirty people fell into the water, but were rescued by people specially assigned for this purpose. The guides were waiting on the shore, and the five-thousandth corps set off on the road.

Months of training had taken their toll, so they moved quickly, despite the fact that each of the paratroopers carried at least fifty zusans of weight. Food, fencing stakes, weapons and armor - the weight is very serious. But where to go? Without all this it is impossible to fight.

Senior officers rode horses, some of the cargo was also carried on horses - tents, for example - but the soldiers carried the main thing. You can’t take many horses on ships; horses are only for senior officers.

The sergeants, just like the soldiers, walked on their own feet, and also dragged a bunch of junk, the only difference from the soldiers was that they were exempt from carrying general cargo and food. Only yours. But his own was enough for twenty zusans. However, everyone only has enough food for a week. The rest of the Corps must either be obtained locally - bought from local residents, or taken from the enemy. Or he will be placed at the mercy of the main army.

Being a thorough man, Heverad never left things to chance, and each soldier could live independently for at least a week. And then... then the dice will fall - if you are lucky, they will put you on allowances, if you are not lucky - the soldiers will rob the residents.

The colonel looked at the world realistically and knew that if the soldier was not fed, he would either rebel, or go to great lengths - he would rob and steal. Of course, the soldiers will not be allowed to mutiny, and it is better to lead the robbery and call it “purchasing food from the population.” The soldier must be well-fed. This is the rule. And the Corps command adhered to it always and everywhere.

Twenty miles passed in a day. The enemy was about ten miles ahead, and the colonel sent out scouts to find out what was going on there. In the meantime, the soldiers pitched tents, lining them up in orderly rows, lit fires, preparing to cook. Cereals, dried meat, fat, salt - all this was in their bags.

Each squad cooked separately, and each soldier allocated a portion from his supplies. The corporals strictly monitored the process and did not allow ratting. However, there was no urge to hide their products. Today you will not share it with your comrade-in-arms, and tomorrow, when you are dying, waiting for help, he will remember how you “squeezed” a handful of cereal, and... no one knows what will happen. The front is the front. Here everything is in sight, and everything is in one day - today you are alive, and tomorrow you are not.

Separate tents were set up for sergeants, for lieutenants too, and senior officers also spent the night separately. There has always been a division by rank. Meals for sergeants and officers up to and including majors came from “one pot”; colonels were prepared separately.

* * *

Ned received his portion of meat porridge with a flatbread, a mug of water flavored with red wine, which kills infection (the water was from the stream near which the Corps stood), and, sitting down on a log of a felled tree, began to slowly, with pleasure, absorb the hearty, hot food . The last time he ate was in the morning, when they were fed on the ship, and a “walk” in the fresh air with a load on his shoulders is very conducive to a good appetite. Especially if you are less than two decades old...

-Can I sit next to you? – a voice was heard, Ned turned around and saw Oidar, hesitantly perching on a log nearby.

- Of course you can’t! – Ned answered grumpily. “I’ll now attack you with a sword and cut off your head for such impudence!” Oida, what are you, a blockhead? Sit down and eat! Why are you asking? Like a stranger...

- Well... you're so important now, officer... and who am I? A simple corporal. You are the winner of the tournament, the winner of duels, the master... will you deign to talk to a simple soldier?

“You pig…” Ned remarked, licking the spoon, “why are you making fun of me?” Have you forgotten how you slept on the bunks next to each other? How did you tell each other about your dreams?

“I was telling the story... you listened more,” Oidar grinned, sticking a spoon into his bowl and scooping up a delicious mound of porridge. - I remember everything, but haven’t you forgotten? You've moved away from Arnot and me. Now we are on our own, and you are on your own.

The guy noisily inhaled the porridge and began to breathe, getting burned:

- Hot! Oh, how hungry I am! Now I'd like a side of lamb grilled over coals! Yes wine! Yes the girl! Where have we gone?! We can’t even eat properly. What do you hear about the fighting?

“I don’t know any more than you,” Ned answered gloomily, “if they give an order, let’s go forward.” If they give us an order, we will sit here until the end. All I know is that it’s too hot up there ahead. Most likely we will move forward tomorrow, leaving our things here. Tomorrow we'll go straight to battle. That's it.

-Are you angry? For what I said about you? – Oidar suddenly asked. - Sorry. I'm jealous, of course. You were just like us. Simple guy. And suddenly - already an officer. I received a star on my chest... Everyone knows you, you are so... so... famous. I even got married already. And the wife is so beautiful that it takes your breath away. What about me? Who am I? Just a corporal who is still unknown whether he will live through the week or not. I'm sad.

– Why are you pestering our sergeant? – Arnot smiled, looking at Ned. - It’s already hard for him. He needs to think for all of us. Congratulations, Ned, on your star, on your victory, and on being alive. It’s necessary to kill thirty people! With a sword! Who - slave traders, desperate guys! You were the one protecting your wife. I would kill everyone for such a beauty too! Did she cry and see you off?

“I cried,” Ned smiled wryly, remembering Sanda wiping away her tears: “I’m sorry... I’ll wait for you, but just... let’s think a little about how we should live further, okay? Everything was so scary, so unexpected... I won’t tell anyone about you. Nobody, don't worry. But for now we will live separately..."

- Here. “I envy you,” Arnot said sincerely, “I also want a beauty to accompany me, wiping away her tears and throwing herself on her neck!” And also, to...

“We’ve already heard,” muttered Oidar, “kids, house, blah, blah, blah and all that stuff.” I'm already fed up with my home and children. Is there another topic? Whatever you talk about - home - children, home - children!

“You’re evil, Oidar,” Arnot spat, “you have nothing sacred!” What would you like from life, besides money, wine, women and... the title of master? Well, is there at least something useful in your dreams?

– So, all of the above isn’t practical, or what? And in general, do you even understand what the status of a master is? It gives everything! And money, and women, and wine... and a house. Yes. Try to achieve first, and then you will make faces! Fat faces!

– Hmm... and not so fat! – Arnot felt his face and glanced sideways at Ned. – By the way, I’ve lost a lot of weight. Some people chased me so much that even my stomach disappeared.

“Come on... I got more workload in training,” Oidar waved it off, “I just had to retrain here, but it’s no big deal.” It was harder for the “grandfathers.” The men are already forty years old, and they are forced to run around like young people. It's hard for them, of course. Ned is lighter than ours. Now he doesn’t carry anything except two pieces of iron!

Ned sat and looked at his two friends... or former friends? It's very difficult to be friends when you know what your friends think. Their thoughts beat into the brain, and it resembles some kind of baring of the soul. It can't be like that. It is not for nothing that the gods did not give people the ability to hear the thoughts of others. If it is impossible for people to hide what they are thinking, how can they live? Here sits Oidar. A great guy, a master of martial arts, who won the tournament as easily as if in front of him were not skilled, experienced fighters, but children who had barely risen from the cradle. It would seem that everything is fine with him, everything is wonderful. And yet - he is jealous. He is so jealous that this very envy eats him alive.

“Why, why are all the benefits for this hillbilly? And he became a sergeant, and was given a star... and what kind of girl does he have?! I am forced to go to corrupt whores, and this guy, uneducated, stupid, who can’t even drink wine, reads syllables - and here you are! A beauty that takes your breath away and makes your legs cramp when you look at her! Gods, for what? Did you give him all this to punish me? Well, yes, apparently I’m guilty of something... but why so cruel? Unfair. It's not fair! I am more worthy! So he’s a good guy... but still. I would like to find out where he learned the ancient martial art of shantso... I wonder if one of the magicians finds out that he masters this martial art, would he be interested in such a circumstance? And he doesn’t want to teach me... Demons are arrogant! Wait until I hand you over to the magicians! No, I won’t, of course... you can’t rat out your friends. Well, I'm still a bitch. But he did it himself! He abandoned his friends, forgot, became great, or what?”

“And why did Oidar pester him? He talks all sorts of crap. And his girl is really beautiful. I would give anything to have a wife like that. I wouldn’t be able to breathe on her, I’d blow away the specks of dust from her. Ned doesn’t understand her happiness... I wonder if she could love me? They say the girl worked in a candy store. There he met her. One of the guys spoke. What if Ned dies? A random arrow, or something else... and I went straight to her. Let me express my condolences... She will cry on my shoulder, and then... ugh... why am I saying this! Gods, don't listen to me! It’s not the head that thinks, but... In general, forget what I thought here. May Ned live, long life to him! But beauty... oh all-beautiful goddess Selera! Why didn’t you give me such a beauty?! Her hips... her breasts... and what an ass! No - get it out of your head! Throw it away! Sorry, Ned, I didn’t mean... Hehe – I definitely didn’t want you, but your wife...”

Ned sadly listened to the thoughts of his comrades, then turned off his “mind hearing”. Why would he hear this? Shouldn't you make it a rule for yourself to NEVER listen to your friends' thoughts? Gods, maybe you can remove this gift altogether? Or, rather, it’s a curse... It causes only troubles, only problems. If then, at the tournament, I had not overheard Shusard’s thoughts, I would not have known that he killed Colonel Ivarron. There would be no duel. Zadara and her friends would still be alive. Sanda would not have left.

But, on the other hand, if he had not found out about the plans of the lieutenant, who was preparing to kill Ned at the first opportunity or make sure that he was put on trial, then in the near future... he would not have had a future.

People do not know the plans of the gods who play with human destinies like people play with dice. Nobody knows how the numbers will fall on whom. One - an empty edge with one dot, called “Curse of Fate”. And to the other - six numbers - “Gift of the Gods.” Now he curses his gift, but he already saved his life once, so is it necessary to anger the gods by giving up this skill? No, but still, you need to stop listening to thoughts. Unless, of course, there is danger.

- So, he went... Ned, are you even listening? – Arnot peered into the face of his comrade, and he smiled shyly:

– I’m listening, Arnie, I’m listening. I’m still listening... Don’t give a damn about this alien sergeant - you have your own. If he forces you, say that you are following the orders of your immediate commander, and that’s all.

“Okay, immediate commander,” Arnot smiled, “there will be a clear signal now... do you think the losses will be big tomorrow?”

“Ask something easier,” Ned frowned, “there will be losses, yes.” You know it yourself. The main thing is to keep the line and cover your comrade. Do you remember what Drancon said at the very beginning? Like this. Okay, friends, let's go to our tents. Rest. If anything, come in, I’m always glad. I'm bored without you.

– And we’re like your comedians, right? Are we having fun? – Oidar grinned.

Ned became gloomy, silently, without answering, stood up, took his bowl and went to the sergeants' tent. Arnot looked at Oidar and asked sharply:

- Why? – Oidar made a face.

- You're a bitch, Oida. – Arnot waved his hand in anger, turned around and went to the tent where they were supposed to spend that night. Oidar remained in place and, when Arnot left, he raised his head to the starry, shining sky, flickering with lights and said quietly:

- Gods, for what?

* * *

The night passed quietly, calmly. The sergeants were snoring in the tent, each on his own mattress. Folding beds during the campaign were only for senior officers. No one tied their sleeping bags - the night was hot. In general, the closer to the capital, the warmer it became. If the heat had already subsided at the base of the building, then here summer was in full swing.

When the sky began to turn gray and the stars dimmed, the scouts returned, sweaty and hot. Were they the last ones to almost run? The camp guards pushed back the shields made from logs blocking the exit from the perimeter, and three scouts immediately headed towards Colonel Heverad's tent. He was sleeping, but when the guard said in a low voice: “Mr. Colonel! Intelligence!" - He immediately jumped up, pulled on his socks and pants and put his feet in soft boots. He didn’t put on his jacket, remaining in his shirt, he went out to the scouts standing at the entrance:

- Report. Take a seat here. Adjutant, more light! Bring two lanterns!

They sat down at a table on which a map of the area was laid out. The colonel waited patiently for Sergeant Hassel to rub his eyes, slightly blinded by the bright light, and calmly asked:

- Ready? Report.

– The enemy dug in around the city. As we know, this is the city of Estcar, with a population of fifty thousand people. A tract leading to the border passes through it. Previously, when there was no war, cargo was transported along it to Isfir. This is the key point...

- Enough! Why are you lecturing me? Don't I know this?! That's not why I got up at dawn! – the colonel stopped abruptly. - Get to the point!

“Excuse me, Mr. Colonel,” the sergeant, a man of about thirty-five, thin, short, strong and nimble, was embarrassed, “trained to report in detail.” So, it was not possible to clarify the number of invaders. But... apparently there are at least twenty thousand of them. Four buildings.

– Where does this data come from? – Heverad raised his eyebrows in confusion. – If you couldn’t count, and suddenly such accuracy?

“I managed to get into the city.” He took one of Isfir's soldiers and interrogated him. So he gave this amount.

- Composition of the army? Who's in charge now?

– General Herag, relative of the king of Isfir. The prisoner said - an efficient commander. Composition - ten thousand men-at-arms, light infantry - about eight thousand, and archers. They have practically no crossbowmen. This is Isfir! – the sergeant pouted his lips disdainfully. “They don’t respect crossbowmen.” As I already said, it was not possible to verify the data.

- Magi? How many magicians do they have?

“The soldier didn’t know this.” There are magicians, that's for sure. And a lot. But he could not know the exact number - like us, magicians live separately and almost never appear in public. However, maybe they show up, just not in their army mage uniform. They don't know their faces. Everything is like ours.

“Everything is like ours...” the colonel repeated thoughtfully. – What kind of fortifications?

- Serious. The city walls were reinforced, there was a ditch around the city - they forced the residents to dig. By the way, they are now their slaves. Those who did not have time to escape were caught. They work as servants, dig, carry - slaves. Women, of course, serve the soldiers. Like whores,” the sergeant calmly shrugged. - The whole area has been robbed, there is nothing to eat. It was like locusts passing around. No grass, no fields - everything was trampled, the peasants' houses were looted and burned.

“Stupid...” muttered the colonel, looking at the map.

- What, Mister Colonel? – the scout did not understand.

“It’s stupid to treat the residents of those territories that you want to turn into your property this way.” A sure way to provoke violent opposition. This means that this General Kherag is not so efficient.

– Or maybe they don’t need local residents? – the sergeant shrugged again. - They will drive their peasants, and the locals into the depths of the country, into slavery.

“Maybe so,” the colonel admitted reluctantly. – Did you find any weak points? How did you enter the city? Is there an underground passage?

- A river flows into the city. Right under the wall. And it flows out accordingly. Covered with bars. I dived, in one place I managed to get through the bars - I’m thin, small, I got through, but with great difficulty. The side was ripped off. Someone bigger than me won't get through. There is a wall above the bars with guards at the top. Torches. Arrows. I dive well, I can hold my breath for a long time - so I passed. He left through the second grate, downstream - the same thing. Closed. The gratings are powerful, nothing can take them away. It’s more likely that the wall will fall apart than the bars will give in. If only the magicians would do something...

- They won’t. They need to be two steps away from the grate in order to enchant it. Is this the first time you've heard about magicians? Don't be stupid. Anything else? What weaknesses are there? It can't be that it didn't happen!

- No, Mister Colonel. There are no weak points. They have strengthened themselves well. And there is no trace of our troops nearby.

- Why not?! – Heverad frowned. “There should have been three infantry corps up the river!” Where did they go? What did the prisoner say?

- He said it badly. Ours were completely defeated three days ago,” the sergeant said hoarsely and coughed, as if knocking out a tight plug from his throat, “several thousand were killed, the rest fled, abandoning their equipment.” Now it, this equipment, everything is in the city. As far as I understand, this city is used as a stronghold and will remain so forever. Or rather, they plan to leave it forever. The garrison will soon change, more soldiers will come, and these will go forward again. They are like ants, they eat everything in their path. And there are four such strongholds. Each group contains twenty to thirty thousand. We can't do it without support, Mr. Colonel! We have neither cavalry nor slingers. Five thousand people, and that’s it! And if they manage to send for help, then it will definitely be the end. All the strongholds are within a day's march of each other, this one being the one closest to the sea. And yet, they are waiting for us. Moreover, they come out here at dawn. Their intelligence has already reported about us.

- This is to be expected. – The Colonel closed his eyes tiredly. - Lieutenant, wake up the colonels. Let them come here. Raise the majors, then let them raise everyone - a general wake-up call. The chief magician to me. Urgently! Sergeant is free. Rest. It will be hot today. Very hot...

Everyone, including the adjutant, stood up and quietly left the tent, leaving the colonel sitting in a folding chair. His eyes were closed, and Heverad seemed to be sleeping. But it was apparent calm. His brain was intensively processing the information received. Heverad tried to find at least some opportunity to avoid the death of the Corps and saw only one way - to maneuver. You cannot allow yourself to be driven into the perimeter. Go out and give battle out of the blue, where the discipline and skill of the paratroopers will overpower the skill of ordinary soldiers. Drive the enemy back into the city. Either... or run. Run before the Corps gets caught in the pincers.

The colonel relied heavily on the help of the infantry corps, over which he was to take command. But they were now unknown where, or rather, what was left of them was now unknown where.

No, the colonel did not start to panic. During his service, he saw everything. The corps suffered greatly, and often only half of its fighters remained. But... they had never been in such a difficult situation. In fact, the Corps was stupidly left to plug the hole. And not just a hole, but a huge hole in the mattress, from which feathers are falling in a stream.

Only now did the colonel truly understand the magnitude of the catastrophe that had befallen the country. The threat of being captured by Isfir most definitely loomed over it, for the first time in dozens, and maybe hundreds of years. King Isfira Sholokar the Third prepared well for the war and did everything to win it. Before this, Sholokar brought order to the country, cutting off the heads of all those who were dissatisfied with his power, strengthened the army, squeezed money out of the people, and now the result of his reforms is visible.

Zamar is bursting at the seams, torn apart by powerful army factions. And how it will end is unknown.

* * *

Ned gradually emerged from the embrace of sleep, and when he opened his eyes, for several seconds he could not understand where he was. People were sleeping around - snoring, farting, whistling, smelling of socks - Ned will remember this smell of socks all his life. Sour, tart, turning inside out. But try walking around for days in boots, in the heat, maybe twenty a day! You don't stink that much. There was nowhere to wash - the stream was used only for drinking. However, if we had stayed at this place longer, we would have dug a pond downstream, and everyone would have washed there. But today I didn’t have the strength for it.

Ned blinked his eyes - what kind of demon did he wake up so early, before the wake-up call? And immediately, as an answer to his thoughts, the sound of a trumpet sounded, roaring menacingly and loudly: “Duuu! Duuuu! Duuu!” - rise!

There was a stir in the tent, people began to dress, pull on clothes and boots, and urgently attach armor and weapons to themselves. A strictly limited time was given for everything, and many sticks were broken on the backs of the soldiers, accustoming them to quickly packing up. Or, rather, the back is broken with sticks.

- Doo-doo-doo! Doo-doo-doo! - “Construction”.

The soldiers jumped out of the tents, looked for their place in the ranks, and a few minutes later a square of soldiers in full combat armor lined up on the camp square. Spearmen in front, swordsmen behind, crossbowmen behind them. The sergeants are slightly ahead of their company, in front of the formation, the lieutenant of a full company is next to them, the rest of the officers are in front, next to the colonels. The three regiments are separated by small gaps, and in front of all is Colonel Heverad, in steel armor and a helmet with a raised visor. His face is gloomy and concentrated, and there are black shadows under his eyes. The colonel looks at the orderly ranks of paratroopers, is silent for a while, then says loudly:

- Soldiers! We have a difficult task ahead of us. However - as always. The enemy is before us. He knows about our approach and has prepared for the attack properly. Our salvation lies in our training, in our ability to fight in formation, in our tactics. For every soldier in the corps, there are four enemy soldiers. This is nonsense! Each of us is stronger than ten of the enemy! Let's show these idiots what the Marine Corps is! Hail Corps! Hail! Hail! Hail!

- Aaah! Ahhh! Ahhh! - the soldiers roared, rattling their shields with spears and swords. The veterans looked gloomily at the sky to see if it was raining. It's harder to fight in the rain. The sky was clear, dark blue, almost black. The last stars sank into the heights, becoming small, dim and unnoticeable. Today is the last time many see these stars...

- Duuuuu! Doo! Doo! - “To the right! March!" – The phalanx turned around in unison and, in the same formation, similar to a long snake, stomped towards the exit from the camp, which had already been opened by the guards. Only Security guards remain in the camp, guarding the property of the Corps, and healers, preparing to receive many crippled soldiers. Today they will have to work hard...

The camp remained almost unprotected, and there was no guarantee that the Corps would return here at all. There have been such cases in history. In order to save the main personnel, they abandoned all their property and retreated, maneuvering until they brought the Corps out of the danger zone.

What was done after the defeat with the property, guards and healers left behind? Anything happened. Sometimes the Corps managed to return and recapture the camp from the enemy, putting him to flight, but more often the guards died, besieged by the enemy.

As for healers, the unwritten law of war said: “Do not kill healers!” However, this only applied to those healers who did not take up arms. Of course, if a doctor was seen with a weapon, he was killed in the same way as the guards, just like the rest of the soldiers. Or they were taken into slavery. That the essence is also death. The rest, the “peaceful” healers, were temporarily detained - they treated their own, treated strangers, but in the end they were released. When? How tired of holding it? When the need arises. Thank you for not killing me at all...

After just one moment it became clear that they were waiting. The wide field, previously planted with rye, was filled with an army - in front stood horsemen bristling with long spears with sharp tips that shone dully in the morning gloom, behind stood rows of men-at-arms, and behind them were archers and slingers.

“Dueeeee! Dueeee! Doo! Doo! Doo! - the trumpets roared. - Close ranks! Battle order! Shields!

The corps, as a single organism, clearly worked as it had been taught all these months. Covered with shields, it resembled a strange creature like a turtle. The large shields looked like pieces of tortoise shell.

- “Doo-doo!” - "stand!" The body froze, bristling with long spears. Three horsemen advanced from the enemy ranks, with a red shield on a pole, and Colonel Heverad, making a sign to Zayd and Evor, rode slowly towards them.

The Isfirians stopped exactly in the middle and began to wait for the Zamarans, who were in no hurry to negotiate. Heverad rode leisurely, looking at the sky, with an absolutely carefree look, as if he was going not to negotiate with an enemy four times his size, but for a walk with his mistress Mrs. Burogas, the young widow of the merchant Edmond Burogas, who disappeared somewhere on a long voyage five years ago. years ago.

Judging by the insignia, similar to the Zamar ones, the main Isfirian was a general, and, as one might assume, the same Kherag the scout was talking about.

Herag looked to be about fifty years old - an old warrior, somewhat reminiscent of Heverad himself, tough, strong, a real commander, a military bone. Heverad would like him if he were not an enemy who threatens his future and his very life. Professional soldiers, not court sycophants, easily recognize each other even in a crowd - this expression of the eyes, always wary, looking for hidden danger, this readiness to strike, jump, kill, if necessary - only years of mortal danger can develop the bearing of a real warrior. Kherag would have liked the colonel too... but fate separated them on opposite sides of the shields.

Evgeny Shchepetnov

Black magician

Senerad walked along the cobblestone street, leaning heavily on his cane. I stopped near a fried octopus vendor, bought one, a small one, and began to eat it along with fresh flatbread, blowing on my dirty fingers. The octopus was fresh from the fryer and very hot.

Between the houses, in the distance, under the sun’s rays, the sea shone, blinding the traveler’s gaze with its brilliance, and on the surface of the sea, like white clouds, the sails of ships slowly moved... beauty! However, Senerad winced, turning his back to the sea.

The sea voyage a few months ago did not cause the slightest delight in Senerad. The doctor did not like the sea at all and preferred never to see it, especially since even a slight pitching made him seasick. But what can you do if the capital is located on the seashore, and besides, you can’t drag yourself across half the country on horses or oxen? Still, of course, sea travel is the most comfortable and safest way to travel around the world. And fast. After the Ardian pirates were brought under control, the sea roads became safe, traffic became more active, and more and more people began to travel by ship.

Remembering the Ards, the doctor immediately remembered the one who had occupied his thoughts for the last months. The one for which he spent weeks of his time - alas, to no avail. However, he did not forget him.

How many times Senerad cursed himself with the last words - he had to grab the guy and not let him go even one step! After all, he knew, he knew that this inconspicuous boy, the most insignificant, offended and downtrodden resident of the village, a shepherd boy, practically a slave, was a black magician! And as it turned out later - WHAT A MAG! Demonologist! A magician who can summon demons, using them to harm people. And not only to people. And he, stupid Senerad, left the boy in a village consisting of stupid villagers who wanted to assert themselves by humiliating the boy.

And what was it worth to guess that the boy, Ned, would now not tolerate humiliation or insults? That he will kill his persecutors and disappear in an unknown direction? Where was Senerad's head? I got dumb, yes, I got dumb, sitting in this village. If the doctor, as before, lived in the capital, moved among smart people, he would never have made such a mistake.

Where did he live for ten years? In a blind hole! Close to pearl divers, fishermen and goatherds! Well, or cattle herders... yes, the demon is with them, idiots. Now there are eleven fewer of them. Or rather, this: there are four more real idiots - Ned bewitched the four offenders, depriving them of their minds - and there are eleven fewer residents - the guy simply killed them. Why are you spitting into a black magician's cup? Why do you come with a crowd of people to beat the unfortunate guy? Well, they deserved what they deserved.

Senerad deserved a good kick for his stupidity. For Ned, he would receive a good sum from the community of magicians and from the state. Such that it would be enough for him to open a practice in the capital. Now - I had to look for funds, take out a loan from the imperial bank, ask moneylenders. And due to the war, finding money became much more difficult. Bankers and moneylenders do not want to lend to anyone in troubled times. What if tomorrow the debtor's head is cut off? And who will then pay off the debt? There was only one hope - a pledge - a house in the capital, which Senerad left ten years ago, hiding from the persecution of the angry relatives of a nobleman poisoned by his drug. He, Senerad, was selling certain means that could either bewitch or send a husband or lover to the next world. So I paid the price. Money is money, but everything came out. I had to scurry almost to the ends of the earth, to the filthy village of Black Ravine. And there was a treasure - Ned! And the doctor so stupidly missed the guy...

Two weeks. For two whole weeks, Senerad ran around the town and asked everyone - had they seen such a guy - tall, with a gloomy face? Ned - haven't you seen?

Ned's traces were lost in the port. How many ships were there at that time? Which ones? Where could he go? Unknown.

Well, after two weeks of useless searching, I had to give up trying to find the guy and go where I wanted - to the capital.

Ned will show up someday anyway - a demonologist, this is the kind of thing that you can’t hide. All the same, he will have a desire to release a spell, to use his power to the detriment of his enemies. And then... well, what then? Then they will either kill or capture the magicians and take them to agara. But this will no longer be of any use to Senerad. Alas.

Ned, Ned... where are you now? What are you doing? Do you remember your village and a certain doctor Senerad? Will we see each other again sometime in this life? The paths that the gods give us are inscrutable...

Chapter one

Ned watched his company dig into the ground. The paratroopers, swearing and groaning, crushed the hard ground, digging in for the night's quarters. There was half a day of march left to the front line, and there was no need to relax. We need to prepare a safe camp.

Yesterday morning they landed on the shore - before lunch they transported the entire mass of paratroopers, in an organized manner, quickly. Of course, there were some incidents - about thirty people fell into the water, but were rescued by people specially assigned for this purpose. The guides were waiting on the shore, and the five-thousandth corps set off on the road.

Months of training had taken their toll, so they moved quickly, despite the fact that each of the paratroopers carried at least fifty zusans of weight. Food, fencing stakes, weapons and armor - the weight is very serious. But where to go? Without all this it is impossible to fight.

Senior officers rode horses, some of the cargo was also carried on horses - tents, for example - but the soldiers carried the main thing. You can’t take many horses on ships; horses are only for senior officers.

The sergeants, just like the soldiers, walked on their own feet, and also dragged a bunch of junk, the only difference from the soldiers was that they were exempt from carrying general cargo and food. Only yours. But his own was enough for twenty zusans. However, everyone only has enough food for a week. The rest of the Corps must either be obtained locally - bought from local residents, or taken from the enemy. Or he will be placed at the mercy of the main army.

Being a thorough man, Heverad never left things to chance, and each soldier could live independently for at least a week. And then... then the dice will fall - if you are lucky, they will put you on allowances, if you are not lucky - the soldiers will rob the residents.

The colonel looked at the world realistically and knew that if the soldier was not fed, he would either rebel, or go to great lengths - he would rob and steal. Of course, the soldiers will not be allowed to mutiny, and it is better to lead the robbery and call it “purchasing food from the population.” The soldier must be well-fed. This is the rule. And the Corps command adhered to it always and everywhere.

Twenty miles passed in a day. The enemy was about ten miles ahead, and the colonel sent out scouts to find out what was going on there. In the meantime, the soldiers pitched tents, lining them up in orderly rows, lit fires, preparing to cook. Cereals, dried meat, fat, salt - all this was in their bags.

Each squad cooked separately, and each soldier allocated a portion from his supplies. The corporals strictly monitored the process and did not allow ratting. However, there was no urge to hide their products. Today you will not share it with your comrade-in-arms, and tomorrow, when you are dying, waiting for help, he will remember how you “squeezed” a handful of cereal, and... no one knows what will happen. The front is the front. Here everything is in sight, and everything is in one day - today you are alive, and tomorrow you are not.

Separate tents were set up for sergeants, for lieutenants too, and senior officers also spent the night separately. There has always been a division by rank. Meals for sergeants and officers up to and including majors came from “one pot”; colonels were prepared separately.

* * *

Ned received his portion of meat porridge with a flatbread, a mug of water flavored with red wine, which kills infection (the water was from the stream near which the Corps stood), and, sitting down on a log of a felled tree, began to slowly, with pleasure, absorb the hearty, hot food . The last time he ate was in the morning, when they were fed on the ship, and a “walk” in the fresh air with a load on his shoulders is very conducive to a good appetite. Especially if you are less than two decades old...

-Can I sit next to you? – a voice was heard, Ned turned around and saw Oidar, hesitantly perching on a log nearby.

- Of course you can’t! – Ned answered grumpily. “I’ll now attack you with a sword and cut off your head for such impudence!” Oida, what are you, a blockhead? Sit down and eat! Why are you asking? Like a stranger...

- Well... you're so important now, officer... and who am I? A simple corporal. You are the winner of the tournament, the winner of duels, the master... will you deign to talk to a simple soldier?

Evgeny Shchepetnov

Week Black magician

Senerad walked along the cobblestone street, leaning heavily on his cane. I stopped near a fried octopus vendor, bought one, a small one, and began to eat it along with fresh flatbread, blowing on my dirty fingers. The octopus was fresh from the fryer and very hot.

Between the houses, in the distance, under the sun’s rays, the sea shone, blinding the traveler’s gaze with its brilliance, and on the surface of the sea, like white clouds, the sails of ships slowly moved... beauty! However, Senerad winced, turning his back to the sea.

The sea voyage a few months ago did not cause the slightest delight in Senerad. The doctor did not like the sea at all and preferred never to see it, especially since even a slight pitching made him seasick. But what can you do if the capital is located on the seashore, and besides, you can’t drag yourself across half the country on horses or oxen? Still, of course, sea travel is the most comfortable and safest way to travel around the world. And fast. After the Ardian pirates were brought under control, the sea roads became safe, traffic became more active, and more and more people began to travel by ship.

Remembering the Ards, the doctor immediately remembered the one who had occupied his thoughts for the last months. The one for which he spent weeks of his time - alas, to no avail. However, he did not forget him.

How many times Senerad cursed himself with the last words - he had to grab the guy and not let him go even one step! After all, he knew, he knew that this inconspicuous boy, the most insignificant, offended and downtrodden resident of the village, a shepherd boy, practically a slave, was a black magician! And as it turned out later - WHAT A MAG! Demonologist! A magician who can summon demons, using them to harm people. And not only to people. And he, stupid Senerad, left the boy in a village consisting of stupid villagers who wanted to assert themselves by humiliating the boy.

And what was it worth to guess that the boy, Ned, would now not tolerate humiliation or insults? That he will kill his persecutors and disappear in an unknown direction? Where was Senerad's head? I got dumb, yes, I got dumb, sitting in this village. If the doctor, as before, lived in the capital, moved among smart people, he would never have made such a mistake.

Where did he live for ten years? In a blind hole! Close to pearl divers, fishermen and goatherds! Well, or cattle herders... yes, the demon is with them, idiots. Now there are eleven fewer of them. Or rather, this: there are four more real idiots - Ned bewitched the four offenders, depriving them of their minds - and there are eleven fewer residents - the guy simply killed them. Why are you spitting into a black magician's cup? Why do you come with a crowd of people to beat the unfortunate guy? Well, they deserved what they deserved.

Senerad deserved a good kick for his stupidity. For Ned, he would receive a good sum from the community of magicians and from the state. Such that it would be enough for him to open a practice in the capital. Now - I had to look for funds, take out a loan from the imperial bank, ask moneylenders. And due to the war, finding money became much more difficult. Bankers and moneylenders do not want to lend to anyone in troubled times. What if tomorrow the debtor's head is cut off? And who will then pay off the debt? There was only one hope - a pledge - a house in the capital, which Senerad left ten years ago, hiding from the persecution of the angry relatives of a nobleman poisoned by his drug. He, Senerad, was selling certain means that could either bewitch or send a husband or lover to the next world. So I paid the price. Money is money, but everything came out. I had to scurry almost to the ends of the earth, to the filthy village of Black Ravine. And there was a treasure - Ned! And the doctor so stupidly missed the guy...

Two weeks. For two whole weeks, Senerad ran around the town and asked everyone - had they seen such a guy - tall, with a gloomy face? Ned - haven't you seen?

Ned's traces were lost in the port. How many ships were there at that time? Which ones? Where could he go? Unknown.

Well, after two weeks of useless searching, I had to give up trying to find the guy and go where I wanted - to the capital.

Ned will show up someday anyway - a demonologist, this is the kind of thing that you can’t hide. All the same, he will have a desire to release a spell, to use his power to the detriment of his enemies. And then... well, what then? Then they will either kill or capture the magicians and take them to agara. But this will no longer be of any use to Senerad. Alas.

Ned, Ned... where are you now? What are you doing? Do you remember your village and a certain doctor Senerad? Will we see each other again sometime in this life? The paths that the gods give us are inscrutable...

Chapter one

Ned watched his company dig into the ground. The paratroopers, swearing and groaning, crushed the hard ground, digging in for the night's quarters. There was half a day of march left to the front line, and there was no need to relax. We need to prepare a safe camp.

Yesterday morning they landed on the shore - before lunch they transported the entire mass of paratroopers, in an organized manner, quickly. Of course, there were some incidents - about thirty people fell into the water, but were rescued by people specially assigned for this purpose. The guides were waiting on the shore, and the five-thousandth corps set off on the road.

Months of training had taken their toll, so they moved quickly, despite the fact that each of the paratroopers carried at least fifty zusans of weight. Food, fencing stakes, weapons and armor - the weight is very serious. But where to go? Without all this it is impossible to fight.

Senior officers rode horses, some of the cargo was also carried on horses - tents, for example - but the main thing was carried by the soldiers. You can’t take many horses on ships; horses are only for senior officers.

The sergeants, just like the soldiers, walked on their own feet, and also dragged a bunch of junk, the only difference from the soldiers was that they were exempt from carrying general cargo and food. Only yours. But his own was enough for twenty zusans. However, everyone only has enough food for a week. The rest of the Corps must either be obtained locally - bought from local residents, or taken from the enemy. Or he will be placed at the mercy of the main army.

Being a thorough man, Heverad never left things to chance, and each soldier could live independently for at least a week. And then... then the dice will fall - if you are lucky, they will put you on allowances, if you are not lucky - the soldiers will rob the residents.

The colonel looked at the world realistically and knew that if the soldier was not fed, he would either rebel, or go to great lengths - he would rob and steal. Of course, the soldiers will not be allowed to mutiny, and it is better to lead the robbery and call it “purchasing food from the population.” The soldier must be well-fed. This is the rule. And the Corps command adhered to it always and everywhere.

Twenty miles passed in a day. The enemy was about ten miles ahead, and the colonel sent out scouts to find out what was going on there. In the meantime, the soldiers pitched tents, lining them up in orderly rows, lit fires, preparing to cook. Cereals, dried meat, fat, salt - all this was in their bags.

Each squad cooked separately, and each soldier allocated a portion from his supplies. The corporals strictly monitored the process and did not allow ratting. However, there was no urge to hide their products. Today you will not share it with your comrade-in-arms, and tomorrow, when you are dying, waiting for help, he will remember how you “squeezed” a handful of cereal, and... no one knows what will happen. The front is the front. Everything is in sight here, and everything is in one day - today you are alive, and tomorrow you are not.

Separate tents were set up for sergeants, for lieutenants too, and senior officers also spent the night separately. There has always been a division by rank. Meals for sergeants and officers up to and including majors came from “one pot”; colonels were prepared separately.

* * *

Ned received his portion of meat porridge with a flatbread, a mug of water flavored with red wine, which kills infection (the water was from the stream near which the Corps stood), and, sitting down on a log of a felled tree, began to slowly, with pleasure, absorb the hearty, hot food . The last time he ate was in the morning, when they were fed on the ship, and a “walk” in the fresh air with a load on his shoulders is very conducive to a good appetite. Especially if you are less than two decades old...

Can I sit next to you? - a voice was heard, Ned turned around and saw Oidar, hesitantly perching on a log nearby.

Of course not! - Ned answered grumpily. “I’ll now attack you with a sword and cut off your head for such impudence!” Oida, what are you, a blockhead? Sit down and eat! Why are you asking? Like a stranger...

Well... you're so important now, officer... and who am I? A simple corporal. You are the winner of the tournament, the winner of duels, the master... will you deign to talk to a simple soldier?

You pig... - Ned remarked, licking the spoon, - why are you making fun of him? Have you forgotten how you slept on the bunks next to each other? How did you tell each other about your dreams?

“I was telling the story... you listened more,” Oidar grinned, sticking a spoon into his bowl and scooping up a delicious mound of porridge. - I remember everything, but haven’t you forgotten? You've moved away from Arnot and me. Now we are on our own, and you are on your own.

The guy noisily inhaled the porridge and began to breathe, getting burned:

Hot! Oh, how hungry I am! Now I'd like a side of lamb grilled over coals! Yes wine! Yes the girl! Where have we gone?! We can’t even eat properly. What do you hear about the fighting?

“I don’t know any more than you,” Ned answered gloomily, “if they order, let’s go forward.” If they give us an order, we will sit here until the end. All I know is that it’s too hot up there ahead. Most likely we will move forward tomorrow, leaving our things here. Tomorrow we'll go straight to battle. That's it.

Are you angry? For what I said about you? - Oidar suddenly asked. - Sorry. I'm jealous, of course. You were just like us. Simple guy. And suddenly - already an officer. I received a star on my chest... Everyone knows you, you are so... so... famous. I even got married already. And the wife is so beautiful that it takes your breath away. What about me? Who am I? Just a corporal who is still unknown whether he will live through the week or not. I'm sad.

Why are you pestering our sergeant? - Arnot smiled, looking at Ned. - It’s already hard for him. He needs to think for all of us. Congratulations, Ned, on your star, on your victory, and on being alive. It’s necessary to kill thirty people! With a sword! Who - slave traders, desperate guys! You were the one protecting your wife. I would kill everyone for such a beauty too! Did she cry and see you off?

“I cried,” Ned smiled wryly, remembering Sanda wiping away her tears: “I’m sorry... I’ll wait for you, but just... let’s think a little about how we should live further, okay? Everything was so scary, so unexpected... I won’t tell anyone about you. Nobody, don't worry. But for now we will live separately..."

Here. “I envy you,” Arnot said sincerely, “I also want a beauty to accompany me, wiping away her tears and throwing herself on her neck!” And also, to...

“We’ve already heard,” muttered Oidar, “kids, house, blah, blah, blah and all that stuff.” I'm already fed up with my home and children. Is there another topic? Whatever you talk about - home - children, home - children!

You’re evil, Oidar,” Arnot spat, “you have nothing sacred!” What would you like from life, besides money, wine, women and... the title of master? Well, is there at least something useful in your dreams?

So, all of the above is not practical, or what? And in general, do you even understand what the status of a master is? It gives everything! And money, and women, and wine... and a house. Yes. Try to achieve first, and then you will make faces! Fat faces!

Hmm... and not so fat! - Arnot felt his face and glanced sideways at Ned. - By the way, I lost a lot of weight. Some people chased me so much that even my stomach disappeared.

Oh well... I got more workload in training,” Oidar shrugged it off, “I just had to retrain here, but it’s no big deal.” It was harder for the “grandfathers.” The men are already forty years old, and they are forced to run around like young people. It's hard for them, of course. Ned is lighter than ours. Now he doesn’t carry anything except two pieces of iron!

Ned sat and looked at his two friends... or former friends? It's very difficult to be friends when you know what your friends think. Their thoughts beat into the brain, and it resembles some kind of baring of the soul. It can't be like that. It is not for nothing that the gods did not give people the ability to hear the thoughts of others. If it is impossible for people to hide what they are thinking, how can they live? Here sits Oidar. A great guy, a master of martial arts, who won the tournament as easily as if in front of him were not skilled, experienced fighters, but children who had barely risen from the cradle. It would seem that everything is fine with him, everything is wonderful. And yet - he is jealous. He is so jealous that this very envy eats him alive.

“Why, why are all the benefits for this hillbilly? And he became a sergeant, and was given a star... and what kind of girl does he have?! I am forced to go to corrupt whores, and this guy, uneducated, stupid, who can’t even drink wine, reads syllables - and here you are! A beauty that takes your breath away and makes your legs cramp when you look at her! Gods, for what? Did you give him all this to punish me? Well, yes, apparently I’m guilty of something... but why so cruel? Unfair. It's not fair! I am more worthy! So he’s a good guy... but still. I would like to find out where he learned the ancient martial art of shantso... I wonder if one of the magicians finds out that he masters this martial art, would he be interested in such a circumstance? And he doesn’t want to teach me... Demons are arrogant! Wait until I hand you over to the magicians! No, I won’t, of course... you can’t rat out your friends. Well, I'm still a bitch. But he did it himself! He abandoned his friends, forgot, became great, or what?”

“And why did Oidar pester him? He talks all sorts of crap. And his girl is really beautiful. I would give anything to have a wife like that. I wouldn’t be able to breathe on her, I’d blow away the specks of dust from her. Ned doesn’t understand her happiness... I wonder if she could love me? They say the girl worked in a candy store. There he met her. One of the guys spoke. What if Ned dies? A random arrow, or something else... and I went straight to her. Let me express my condolences... She will cry on my shoulder, and then... ugh... why am I saying this! Gods, don't listen to me! It’s not the head that thinks, but... In general, forget what I thought here. May Ned live, long life to him! But beauty... oh all-beautiful goddess Selera! Why didn’t you give me such a beauty?! Her hips... her breasts... and what an ass! No - get it out of your head! Throw it away! Sorry, Ned, I didn’t mean to... Hehe - I definitely didn’t want you, but your wife...”

Ned sadly listened to the thoughts of his comrades, then turned off his “mind hearing”. Why would he hear this? Shouldn't you make it a rule for yourself to NEVER listen to your friends' thoughts? Gods, maybe you can remove this gift altogether? Or, rather, it’s a curse... It causes only troubles, only problems. If then, at the tournament, I had not overheard Shusard’s thoughts, I would not have known that he killed Colonel Ivarron. There would be no duel. Zadara and her friends would still be alive. Sanda would not have left.

But, on the other hand, if he had not found out about the plans of the lieutenant, who was preparing to kill Ned at the first opportunity or make sure that he was put on trial, then in the near future... he would not have had a future.

People do not know the plans of the gods who play with human destinies like people play with dice. Nobody knows how the numbers will fall on whom. One is an empty face with one dot, called “Curse of Fate.” And to the other - six numbers - “Gift of the Gods”. Now he curses his gift, but he already saved his life once, so is it necessary to anger the gods by giving up this skill? No, but still, you need to stop listening to thoughts. Unless, of course, there is danger.

So, he went... Ned, are you even listening? - Arnot peered into the face of his comrade, and he smiled shyly:

I'm listening, Arnie, I'm listening. I’m still listening... Don’t give a damn about this alien sergeant - you have your own. If he forces you, say that you are following the orders of your immediate commander, and that’s all.

Okay, immediate commander,” Arnot smiled, “there will be a clear signal now... do you think the losses will be big tomorrow?”

Ask something easier,” Ned frowned, “there will be losses, yes.” You know it yourself. The main thing is to maintain formation and cover your comrade. Do you remember what Drancon said at the very beginning? Like this. Okay, friends, let's go to our tents. Rest. If anything, come in, I'm always glad. I'm bored without you.

And we’re like your comedians, right? Are we having fun? - Oidar grinned.

Ned became gloomy, silently, without answering, stood up, took his bowl and went to the sergeants' tent. Arnot looked at Oidar and asked sharply:

Why? - Oidar made a face.

You're a bitch, Oida. - Arnot waved his hand in anger, turned around and went to the tent where they were supposed to spend that night. Oidar remained in place and, when Arnot left, he raised his head to the starry, shining sky, flickering with lights and said quietly:

Gods, for what?

* * *

The night passed quietly, calmly. The sergeants were snoring in the tent, each on his own mattress. Folding beds during the campaign were only for senior officers. No one tied their sleeping bags - the night was hot. In general, the closer to the capital, the warmer it became. If the heat had already subsided at the base of the building, then here summer was in full swing.

When the sky began to turn gray and the stars dimmed, the scouts returned - sweaty, hot. Were they the last ones to almost run? The camp guards pushed back the shields made from logs blocking the exit from the perimeter, and three scouts immediately headed towards Colonel Heverad's tent. He was sleeping, but when the guard said in a low voice: “Mr. Colonel! Intelligence!" - He immediately jumped up, pulled on his socks and pants and put his feet in soft boots. He didn’t put on his jacket, remaining in his shirt, he went out to the scouts standing at the entrance:

Report. Take a seat here. Adjutant, more light! Bring two lanterns!

They sat down at a table on which a map of the area was laid out. The colonel waited patiently for Sergeant Hassel to rub his eyes, slightly blinded by the bright light, and calmly asked:

Ready? Report.

The enemy dug in around the city. As we know, this is the city of Estcar, with a population of fifty thousand people. A tract leading to the border passes through it. Previously, when there was no war, cargo was transported along it to Isfir. This is the key point...

Enough! Why are you lecturing me? Don't I know this?! That's not why I got up at dawn! - the colonel stopped abruptly. - Get to the point!

Excuse me, Mr. Colonel,” the sergeant, a man of about thirty-five, thin, short, strong and nimble, was embarrassed, “trained to report in detail. So, it was not possible to clarify the number of invaders. But... apparently, there are at least twenty thousand of them. Four buildings.

Where does this data come from? - Heverad raised his eyebrows in confusion. - If you couldn’t count, and suddenly such accuracy?

I managed to get into the city. He took one of Isfir's soldiers and interrogated him. So he gave this amount.

Composition of the army? Who's in charge now?

General Herag, relative of the King of Isfir. The prisoner said - an efficient commander. Composition - ten thousand men-at-arms, light infantry - about eight thousand, and archers. They have practically no crossbowmen. This is Isfir! - The sergeant pouted his lips disdainfully. “They don’t respect crossbowmen.” As I already said, it was not possible to verify the data.

Animals