- May I come in? - Ned awkwardly shuffled his feet at the entrance and, when the colonel casually waved his hand in permission, he walked up to the table and stood at attention. - I have arrived as per your orders! Yes, Colonel!
- Sit down, - the colonel waved his hand and took a sip of hot herbal tea from a porcelain mug, - do you want a drink? If you want, pour yourself. The kettle is on the stove, take sugar, honey, flatbreads. Don't want any? As you wish. Do you realize why I called you? After today's dressing down... I remember myself as a young lieutenant - every call to command is evil. They'll think up some dirty trick. And I'll think of it, yes. Have you recruited a squad for yourself?
- I've partially recruited. About ten people. The rest will come later. I can submit the list now - here, I wrote down who I'm taking.
- Leave it to the adjutant. Put it there, on the table where the cards are. Yeah, here.
The colonel took a sip from his mug with pleasure and, raising his tired eyes to Ned, said:
- Have you actually figured out what you're supposed to be doing? And who are you reporting to?
- As far as I understand, I report directly to you. If this is not so, please clarify. Regarding the tasks, I will do whatever you order.
- What I order. You noticed it correctly, - the colonel smiled out of the corner of his mouth. - You are an individualist, an excellent fighter, and I did not want your talents to go to waste. Well, so, your first task is to survey the city fortifications and find a way to capture the city. If we do not do this, we will have to quickly and in an organized manner flee wherever our eyes look, fighting off the enemy cavalry. I am sure Kheragh sent for reinforcements. How we lack the support of our cavalry ... - the colonel sighed heavily. - Infantrymen, of course, are a powerful force, but without cavalry, this force is not quite complete. The remnants of our army are hanging around somewhere between us and the capital. It would be nice to find them. This is your second task. That's all, basically. That's all for now. Do not expect help, do not expect praise - most likely, you will not have a very sweet time. But we all have a very hard time ... Any questions?
– Has the corps been through such alterations?
"An interesting question," the colonel chuckled. "For some reason I thought you would ask about something more concerning yourself. However, doesn't the fate of the corps concern you? I understand. No, we have never been in such a difficult situation. There is no help to be expected from anywhere. If we fail to turn the tide of the war, not only will the corps cease to exist, but the kingdom itself will cease to exist…"
The colonel stood up, took the teapot and put it back in its place with annoyance:
- Empty! Where is this demon servant? How did he disappear somewhere... and I let the adjutant go. Oh well. So it looks like our little Corps is the only combat-ready unit in the kingdom. And it depends on us whether our kingdom will exist... Go, rest. Tomorrow morning, go on reconnaissance.
Ned nodded and turned sharply towards the exit. Already at the door, when he took hold of the curtain that closed the door with his hands, Ned heard behind him some kind of wheezing, a clucking, as if the person making these sounds was being strangled or cut. Looking back, Ned saw that the colonel was lying on the floor, arched, as if he were in violent convulsions. Heverad's face was red, his eyes were bulging, threatening to fall out of their sockets, and his hands were helplessly beating the floor like fish tails. There was a smell of decay in the air, as if a dead cat was lying in the middle of the tent, and for some reason it became hot, as hot as if Ned were somewhere in the sun on the parade ground.
"Magic!"
That was the first thing Ned thought of.
The second thought was: "If he dies, my dreams of officer school, of a career, of moving up will be over. But I need to move up. I absolutely need to."
And only the third thought was: "I feel sorry for the colonel. Not a bad man."
There was no time to figure out which of these thoughts belonged to Ned and which to the Black One. Ned rushed to the colonel and began to read the spell of Liberation. By all indications (the smell of decay, the rise in air temperature, the convulsions of the victim) these were spirits that an unknown black magician of great power had sent to Heverad. Level nine or ten, no less.
The colonel had already lost consciousness, had turned blue, but was still breathing - his chest was noticeably and convulsively rising and falling, but he was definitely dying. His lips were turning blue, and his skin had acquired a deathly white hue.
Complex words, phrases, hand movements, more, more… will he have time? Finally, the air seemed to ring, as if the string of an iron had snapped – raz! Ding! The colonel began to breathe more evenly, but was still unconscious.
Ned immediately began casting another spell – Summoning. He was filled with rage at the unknown foreign mage who had almost deprived him of the colonel's support. Heverad was to go to the capital for promotion, and Ned would definitely go with him – such a plan was embedded in Heverad's mind. And whoever killed the colonel was harming Ned the Black, which meant he had to die.
The air alternately smelled of flowers, then suddenly a terrible stench spread, like from a rotten garbage dump, it became hot, then cold, and finally - two demons of the fourth circle rushed with a howl to where the messengers of death, released to freedom, came from.
Ned knew how these messengers were made. They were sent by a black magician who was not a demonologist and could not summon demons from the underworld, but wanted to kill someone. Two souls were needed, which, with the help of a sacrifice, obeyed the magician and were sent to the one he wanted to kill. After the murder, they returned to their bodies, and only then - to where the gods would take them. To send Messengers, the magician had to be very, very strong. Simply powerful.
Ned sent the demons back the way they had come. The spirits left a kind of trail, like the tracks of a cart crushing grass, and that was the trail that could be used to direct a counterattack. Each spirit carried the scent of the mage who had subdued it, a kind of magical scent, and the demons could sense it very well.
Ned had read all this in scrolls that he had accidentally gotten from a bookseller. Ned had often read and reread them and had learned a lot. Especially since he perceived this information as if he already knew it, but had slightly forgotten it. He only needed to read it once, and the knowledge was absorbed as if he had studied it for years.
So, two fourth-level demons rushed to the one who had done the Colonel a disgrace. What would happen there now – Ned did not know. He bound the demons to himself with a spell, then sent them along the "trail" of the spirits with the order – to destroy everyone who was near the final point of arrival. Most likely, the black magician was near the place where the road of the spirits began, and was waiting for news about the successful witchcraft.
It was quiet in the tent. The colonel's hoarse breathing, and behind the cloth wall the soldiers' voices - someone was calling someone, a sergeant was scolding a negligent soldier for a stain on his weapon, the sentries were talking to each other, asking if everything was calm - ordinary camp life.
Suddenly the colonel shuddered, groaned and opened his eyes. Turning his head, he looked into the face of Ned leaning over him and asked in bewilderment:
- What happened to me?
- Excuse me, Colonel, I don't know! - Ned made a simple, puzzled face and, holding out his hand, helped the colonel get up from the floor. - You were standing, I went to the door. You fell - I looked back, came up to you. Felt - you were alive. And then you opened your eyes. That's all.
"It hurts!" the colonel involuntarily complained and, unbuttoning his uniform in front, pulled out three small silver ovals with black stones embedded in them. Intercepting Ned's interested glance, he winced:
– Amulets. Magic protection against curses. I never take them off. One is already a guarantee against a medium-level spell, three – against a higher spell, twelfth rank. They burned my chest. So it was a magical attack. Most likely, the black spell hit my amulets, they worked, heated up and burned my chest. But they still saved me. Go to the magicians' tent and tell Brantar and Zaragor to come to me. And quickly… Oh! There he is! Lieutenant! Where are you wandering?! No need, sergeant, don't go. Lieutenant, quickly bring Brantar and Zaragor to me. And also – give me Irga, my chest is burned. Ned is free. Tomorrow morning you leave for reconnaissance, at dawn.
* * *
"These magicians are disgusting," the knight whispered to his comrade, who was also standing guard at the door behind which the magicians were performing their magic. "Whenever I see this black magician, my whole body shivers! And he doesn't look scary – some kind of… scholar. A scribe. A young guy still! But when he passes by, everything inside me goes cold. And how are you? Don't these guys make your knees tremble?"
"I don't like them either. But who likes magicians?" the second guard supported. "When I was a boy, the boy next door suddenly started doing magic. He would set something on fire with his magic, or he would inflict diarrhea on his neighbors, or even worse. Once, the neighbor's horse died, and people started blaming him. They wanted to kill him, but they changed their minds and told the mayor, and the kid immediately disappeared. They say they took him as a magician. There they are taught how to cast a stronger spell, and now they are in the army. I wish I could take them all, but... what's wrong with you?! Tobas, what's wrong with you? Ouch! Ouch! Aaaah!" the soldier's scream turned into a wheeze and gurgle.
First the first guard, then the second one turned red, their faces twisted in pain, and their bodies began to twist, as if someone huge was wringing out wet laundry. Bones cracked, skin burst, blood splashed, and a minute later in the place of the two guards lay twisted dead bodies, with pools of blood forming under them.
The demons, satisfied with the result, passed through the wall like black clouds – to where their main target was. To where the one the Master had directed them to was.
Sholokan was the first to be hit. He, like the guards at the door, was twisted into a knot and began to squeal in a thin voice, then fell silent, choking on blood and cracking with breaking bones.
Then it was Estrog's turn.
The black magician realized what was happening right after the demons started killing his colleague. He was just telling Sholokan about one of the ways to cook quails when his listener, sitting sullenly on a chair far from the dead bodies, began screaming wildly, writhing like a madman.
Without wasting time, Estrog began to create a magical defense against damage. In addition, he had special amulets for this case, protecting their owner from the return of their own curses. Therefore, the power of the demons significantly diminished, and the black magician received only fifteen percent of what he should have received.
The spell of protection was already finished when the demons began their main target, crushing his bones and tearing his muscles. Within a minute, the black magician was a broken piece of meat with shattered bones, a broken nose and knocked out teeth. Then the demons dispersed, heading back to where they came from, howling with rage and regret at not being able to finish what they had planned. The spell that counteracted them severed the connection with the demonologist and sent them to the underworld.
Estrog was alive. He crawled to the door, with difficulty reached the bolt that closed the door, pushed it back with broken fingers and fell out into the corridor, at the feet of a group of soldiers, looking in horror at the corpses of their brothers.
- Fefafa mfe foreee! - Estrog squeezed out of himself, looking at the retreating knights.
"What is he saying?" the corporal asked fearfully, crossing himself with the sign of protection from damage.
- He wants something... he probably needs a healer! - the gray-haired sergeant guessed. - Quickly, get a healer! Call the magician-healer! Only he will help... look how terribly disfigured he is. Now he will not be a handsome man, - the sergeant shook his head regretfully, and Estrog began to cry for his former beauty, howling from wild pain and dropping tears mixed with blood on the stone floor of the castle...
* * *
- Sit still, Colonel! It's going to get a little hot now...
- Aaah! Is this what you call "a little"?! - Heverad jerked and tried to jump up from his place, but was held back by the heavy hands of the magician.
- I warned you. But now you're healthy. See, the burns are gone. Hmm... you were incredibly lucky. If it weren't for your amulets... It looks like a powerful black magician was involved. Brantar, what do you think about this?
- What can I think? That's what I think - a black magician was at work. The Herald's spell. We really got on their nerves that they decided to do something like that.
"And what kind of spell is this – the Herald?" the colonel grumbled, buttoning his uniform and sitting down with relief on a chair at the table with maps.
- A bad spell. Black. You need a person to be sacrificed. His spirit obeys the black magician and goes to the object of attack. A very complex, very strong curse, accessible only to a magician of the highest level. One of the highest levels.
- What, Kheragh decided to torment me with curses? - the colonel spat angrily. - A warrior, so to speak...
- It seems that he has decided... - the black magician drawled thoughtfully. - I am interested in something else. Where did the demon's aura come from?
- What other demon aura? - the colonel was genuinely surprised. - What is this?
- Besides the Herald, a demon has visited you, - the magician shook his head, - the demon's aura is clearly visible. Where it came from, where it went - I can't understand. The trace has almost disappeared. Strange, very strange...
- Do you really think they have a demonologist? - Zaragor raised his gray eyebrows in surprise. - Where from? And if he is a demonologist, why would he send a Messenger, bother with sacrifices? He would have simply sent a demon, and that would be it. And all that would remain of Colonel Heverad would be memories.
- Hey, hey! What are you doing here?! Haven't you forgotten that Colonel Heverad is me? You're discussing my death like it's a trip to the tavern!
- Sorry, Colonel, - the head of the magical agara grinned, - we got carried away. For us, an attack on you is not only an attack on a person who is dear to us and whom we protect, but also an interesting scientific fact! A riddle! You see - both the Herald and the demon cannot attack you at the same time - it's illogical. And demonologists have not existed in nature for a very long time.
- What kind of demonologists are these? Why do you keep repeating - demonologists, demonologists - explain, finally, what these demonic demonologists are!
- These are black magicians who can control demons with spells, calling them from the underworld. We can't do that. They can. Special spells, special exercises, and just a natural gift - demons obey them, and that's it! But if we try to call a demon - it will eat us! That's how it is.
"It's a pity we don't have a demonologist. I'd really like to pay Kheragh back for this evening," the colonel muttered. "By the way, can't we send that very… messenger after him? Unfortunately, we don't have a demonologist. But can you send a messenger?"
"Hmmm… well, if you are ready to sacrifice one of your soldiers…" the black magician began promisingly, and the colonel immediately interrupted:
- Lights out for the messenger. No soldiers. I'll twist off Kheragh's head this way, without magic. What, animals are not allowed? Maybe we'll catch a cow or a ram, sacrifice it, and strangle Kheragh?
- You can't do that with animals. They have a weak spirit. There is an option - take an enemy soldier and sacrifice him, - Brantar chuckled, - even several. But I will need to get closer to the city. I can't act at such a distance - the alien black magician is clearly stronger than me. The distance at which you can influence an object depends on the strength of the magician. I heard about one magician, Isfir, who can work with the Heralds at such a distance. If he is here - we must all be extremely careful. I do not know a more vile, cruel and skilled in black magic creature...
- What, do you think it's Estrog? - Zaragor wrinkled his face in pain. - That's all we need!
- What is this Estrog? - the colonel raised his eyebrows. - What attracted your attention to him?
- A black magician. The most powerful in Isfir. Possibly in the whole world. A bloody maniac. A murderer. There is not a single crime against people that he has not committed. He should have been hanging on the gallows long ago, but he serves the Isfir king. If he is here, then it is clear how Estrog managed to get to you. Ugh! I don't understand, I don't understand – why did he have to summon demons and send Messengers at the same time?! These are two completely different types of sorcery! Not connected to each other in any way! And besides, demons are much more effective than Messengers and easier to work with. At least, that's what the old books say. Well, so what – if you catch me a few of the alien soldiers, I'll try to send a Messenger of Death to Kheragh. Shall we do it?
"We will," the colonel nodded sullenly and immediately added, "Why not? He can curse me, and should I watch? Honor is honor, but we are in such a situation that every stone thrown into the enemy's garden helps my soldiers survive. And that is above all else. I will tell the reconnaissance group to catch a couple of prisoners for me. They will go to the city tomorrow to reconnoiter. By the way, Sergeant Cherny, the commander of the reconnaissance group, was present at the attack. He said that I fell, and that was it, and then he opened his eyes. Thanks to your amulets, gentlemen! If it weren't for them…"
- If it weren't for them... - Brantar muttered vaguely. - The thing is, they wouldn't have helped you against demons. Roughly speaking, demons don't give a damn about magic amulets. They need their own, special amulets, and we don't know how to make them. That's the thing... How about talking to your sergeant? Maybe he saw something interesting?
- Stop it! What can he see? A good boy, simple, from somewhere in the wilderness. He's resting now - don't bother him. He's going on a raid tomorrow, and you'll be interrogating him half the night. I forbid you to bother him. And I say - there's no point! Well - he saw me fall, so what? And nothing. You'd better get busy preparing for a magical attack on that scoundrel Kherag. I'll show him how to do black magic!
The colonel looked after the magicians who left the tent and thought that only recently he would have been disgusted if someone had spoken in his presence about a sacrifice to kill an enemy commander. But when he was lying on the floor, suffocating from invisible fingers squeezing his throat, it turned out that black magic was not such a bad thing if you directed it in the right direction. Why not? An enemy is an enemy, and in war all means are good. Especially when you have very little chance of winning, and an entire kingdom is at stake.
* * *
- Sorry, Mr. Estrog - this is all we can do. Magic is not all-powerful either... - the healer spread his hands guiltily, sighed tiredly and began to collect powders and scrolls with spells.
- Are you talking to me, are you talking to ME?!! - the black magician literally squealed, choking on his screams and spraying saliva through the gaps where the old teeth had been. New teeth, activated by spells, were already breaking through the gums, but they still had a long way to go before they covered the cracks.
- Idlers! Incompetents! You can't even treat me properly! Why haven't I regained my former appearance? Why am I still distorted, like a street freak?! Are you kidding me?!
- A spell unknown to us was cast on you. Your tissues are resisting treatment. This black spell is, by the way, your specialty. In short, your body is resisting magical treatment. I don't know why. We stopped the bleeding, removed the damage, but we can't restore your previous appearance.
- And what do you mean, that I will remain such a... freak?! Do you want to die? - Estrog rose to his feet and, limping on his mutilated limbs, hissed: - Treat me properly right now! If you don't cure me, I will curse you so that no doctor will be able to cure you!
- Mister Estrog, calm down! You have been provided with the best mage-healer, if you are not satisfied with his level - look for another. We have no one stronger than Khasar.
- Then I'm leaving for the capital. I'll look for a better magician.
– But... the army? What would the army be like without you? After all, General Herag was counting on you.
- I don't care! I don't care about the army, about Kheragh, I don't care about anything! Don't you see what you've done to me?! What are you talking about?! Get me a carriage ready. I'm heading to the capital right now. I've had enough of your war.
Estrog turned, barely able to stay on his crippled legs, and limped out of the room. His terrible face with its drooping, paralyzed cheek twitched with excitement, his only remaining eye burned with hatred and malice. The appearance of the black magician was so terrible that the magicians in the room looked at each other and sighed with relief when he left. Tianor, who took the place of the chief magician of Herag's army, shook his head and quietly remarked:
- On the one hand, you can understand him - such injuries! But on the other - I wish he would leave soon. When I'm near him, it seems to me that I'm standing next to a wild animal that is about to jump on my back and bite my head off. I've seen black magicians, but a magician like THIS is just creepy.
- What do you think, Tianor, where did the demons come from? We all see traces of the demonic aura. Where did they come from?
- This is bad. It looks like there's a demonologist in Heverad's corps. If so, we're out of luck. He alone could be worth an entire army.
- So, we all can't handle him, or what? - the young white magician asked incredulously. - Demonologists are a legend! A fairy tale!
- You're young. You don't know. This isn't a legend. They just wiped them all out, that's all, - the gray-haired magician next to the young man muttered, nervously twirling a button on his uniform in his hands. - I've read a lot about demonology. Well, here it is - a terrible thing, gentlemen. If he takes us seriously - we'll get into trouble.
- Why didn't he use all his skills then? Why are we still sitting in this city? - the young man chuckled incredulously again.
- Who knows... black magicians' brains aren't that way. Maybe he's playing with us, or maybe he's preparing to strike. Maybe he's doing his magic right now, and then everything will be filled with demons... how do I know? Ask him something easier - like where the world came from!
Estrog was seething with hatred, with anger, with the desire to kill. His heart ached with self-pity – secretly the magician was proud of his former appearance. He really was handsome. And now? Now he was ugly. He was ugly. He was a monster! And who should answer for this? The one who did it. The one who sent demons after him. The magician-demonologist of the Zamara Kingdom. Estrog did not know who it was. But he was sure – he would find out. He would find out anyway. And he would find him. And then – the revenge would be terrible. This demonologist would die, he would definitely die. But before that he would suffer greatly. But first he needed to try to recover. Now all that was left of Estrog was a pitiful parody of a man. A shadow, not a man. No – he had not lost the ability to do mischief, curse and cast spells. Only now he looked in such a way that his ugly essence, his soul, was immediately visible, as vile as his current body.
Estrog will forever remember the aura of the one who sent demons to him. He will recognize it even after many, many years.
* * *
- Check your gear. Jump up and down, if anything clanks, you'll get hit on the head. - Ned was focused and didn't mince words when instructing his team. - We have a few hours until morning. In that time, we need to get to the city and see what's going on.
- Why are we going out at night? Couldn't we wait until morning? - muttered sleepy Oydar, rubbing his eyes and yawning painfully so that his jaw clicked.
- In the morning everything will be visible, they will shoot, - Arnot explained, - what nonsense are you talking? Commander, when are we leaving?
- We're leaving now.
- What are we going to eat? - one of the fighters intervened. - What are we going to eat all day?
- Take some dried meat, gnaw on it for a day, nothing will happen to you. And then, maybe, we'll shoot some game. Crossbowmen - you are our hope.
- It's fine, commander! I'm used to hunting with a crossbow, so we'll shoot a deer if necessary, - one of the guys grinned. - I shot a deer in the royal forest, and nothing... got away alive. And almost whole. True, I had to abandon the deer - the huntsmen caught me. But the fact is - I shot it!
- Hey, intelligence! - the colonel's adjutant entered the tent and stared with interest at the fully dressed and equipped soldiers. - What, are you ready yet? The colonel said we need two prisoners. Ned - got it? Two prisoners. Urgently.
- Got it. I decided to leave before dark, so we're leaving now. Tell the colonel - the order has been accepted, we'll do everything.
"Okay," the lieutenant nodded, turned toward the exit, then turned around and added: "Good luck, guys."
Then he went out, and the scouts remained standing, each thinking about his own, and all together thinking that they would really need luck...
It took them about four hours to get to the city. In the dark - the moon was covered by thick clouds. Stumbling and risking running into an Isfirian patrol.
However, Ned had turned on his mind perception after leaving the camp, so it was unlikely that anyone could have approached them unnoticed. His abilities were enough to hear the thoughts of everyone within a radius of twenty meters, and in the darkness this was a great thing - in such darkness you couldn't see anything five meters away from yourself, let alone twenty.
The city was visible from afar – torches were burning on the walls, visible from a distance of several li. And it was noticeable from below – the guards on the walls were not asleep. How to approach the city was absolutely unimaginable. Certainly – if the soldiers of the corps climbed the walls straight ahead – they would stay there. And there was no time to take the city by attrition – the colonel outlined the situation clearly and unambiguously.
The gates and walls of the city had to be observed from quite a distance - the entire area in front of the city at a distance of five hundred centimeters had been cleaned and licked, and anyone who tried to come closer would inevitably be noticed by the guards.
"Come on, let's go around the city along the wall," Ned ordered, and the soldiers trotted parallel to the city wall, taking cover behind natural barriers - trees, hillocks, bushes. However, there were few such shelters, so it was necessary to fear that they would be noticed.
The city was quite small – compact, "round", enclosed in brick walls – its diameter, as Ned estimated, was about three to five li. It was impossible to say more precisely – it was dark, and it was also hardly definable in the light – you can't measure it in steps. In order not to waste time, Ned sent scouts in different directions along the wall. He himself returned to the gate, watching what was happening, and thinking about what to do. And most importantly – where to take prisoners.
After an hour of waiting, he suddenly saw how the steel grate lowered at the entrance to the city began to rise with a grinding noise. In the pre-dawn silence, this grinding and creaking of the lifting mechanism could be heard from afar, as if the scouts were not lying on the bank of the river flowing into the city, but were standing right next to the city wall. After the grate rose, nothing happened for a while. Then, with the clatter of hooves, a detachment flew out of the gate - about a hundred fighters. Behind them were powerful Isfirian bows with a double bend, quivers.
It took Ned a second to realize what was happening and where they were headed.
- Wait here! Watch the gate! - he threw to Oydar and, jumping up, ran into the darkness, to intercept the squad of archers.
The archers were riding at a trot, and Ned, breaking into a full gallop, easily got ahead. He expected to intercept them somewhere near the field where the battle had taken place. There were still corpses of enemies lying around and crows circling, cawing – what better place for black magic? And Ned had in mind exactly black magic. He wouldn't be able to run to the camp – on horseback, the detachment would overtake him, picking up the pace. And even if they didn't overtake him – by the time Ned got there, by the time the camp rose, some of the arrows would have already found their targets.
The bushes slapped his cheeks as if to stop him from running, to punish him for something he had done or might do, the trees waved their branches like hands – stop, stop, don't do that! But Ned didn't pay attention and was only concerned that a twig or a gnarled branch didn't knock out his eye. Somehow he didn't want to wander the world with one eye…
He felt the power in himself, the power capable of withstanding a squad of a hundred fighters. The Black knew that these people, unprotected by amulets, were his rightful prey. Him - the beast, the predator, capable of ruling the world, and he must test his power! Can he, is he capable, has he come far enough into this world?!
The grey dawn finally parted the clouds and showed its dim face to the world, reluctantly announcing the coming day. The morning fog flooded the lowlands and began to spread from the river, like a milky sea, swallowing up bushes and small hillocks.
The commander of the archer squad noticed the man standing in the squad's path only when there were about fifty steps left, no more - it was quite dark, and the man's body was hidden chest-deep in milky-white fog. The man, seeing the squad, began to howl, making passes with his hands, and the lieutenant of the archers realized with a sinking heart - a magician! This is a magician! A black, battle magician, and he is doing his vile magic.
The warrior tore the bow from his back, ready to shoot, put an arrow on the bowstring, released it – it whistled, flew through the air, and… went to the side, as if it had run into an invisible obstacle. Another arrow, another – as they approached the target, they seemed to be jerked to the side, as if they were being blown out of an invisible huge mouth – phphhh! And it was already flying to the left, sticking into the ground. Phphhhh! Flying to the right.
- Forward! Kill him! Hurry! - the squad leader remembered, but it was too late. The man finished his manipulations and howls - a host of demons of the fifth circle, no less than ten, appeared in the air, swirled in a furious black whirlwind and rushed towards the fighters.
In an instant, the brave lieutenant of archers, who had served for ten years without receiving a single wound - everyone called him Lucky - turned into a bloody mess. But now luck had turned away from him.
In an instant, everyone who had galloped up to within ten centimeters of the black magician was torn to pieces; they simply exploded from the inside – the demons had a great time, tearing apart the bodies of people as if they were made of a soft sponge soaked in red paint.
The demons, like a huge scythe, mowed down the entire squad in a matter of seconds.
Black cast the Indiogna Scythe spell - everything alive within a hundred centimeters dies with the same effect as if they were hit by a giant scythe that cut them into small pieces. This spell cannot be used if you are walking with your army, and its effect is limited to a hundred centimeters, but its effectiveness is so great that sometimes it was necessary to use it.
Having killed people, the sweetest prey, the demons switched to killing horses. The unfortunate animals raced away, having lost their riders, but never managed to leave the hundred-cent zone, ending their lives next to their owners, drenching everything around them with hot blood. Horses have always and at all times suffered and died for nothing, for the interests of hard-hearted people. As now.
Having destroyed horses, birds, mice and worms – all living things that lived around – the demons turned their attention to the one who summoned them.
Rushing towards the magician, they hit the protection of the "Dome of the Underworld" that he had set up and howled, whirling in a whirlwind, powerless to reach the sweet flesh of the man, to drink his immortal soul.
The demons of the fifth circle – strong, powerful, eternally hungry, did not care who or what to eat. Their hunger could never be satisfied by anything, and their rage was the rage of fiery lava, burning everything in its path.
The walls of the dome shook from the blows of dark entities, falling on them like dark crumbs, gathering on the ground into a new form of a demonic body. A body? In essence, demons did not have a body. They did not have flesh, like humans. A pure entity, freed from flesh, capable of influencing the surrounding world - that is what a demon is. Or something else? A spawn of the Underworld itself? A dungeon where fire and lava are born? Who knows... no one knows.
As well as the one who FIRST learned to summon these entities into the human world, who managed to use them for his own purposes and how did it happen at all. But the fact is the fact - demons can be controlled. For the time being... if you have enough strength.
Bang! The smell of sulfur, the smell of blood, the smell of sewage - the demons were gone, sent away by the black magician, who wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand in relief.
Black said a few words, the dome disappeared, and the magician walked through the scene of the carnage, disgustedly stepping over rags of meat and puddles of blood smelling sharply of iron. The earth seemed to have been dug up, loosened, and greedily absorbed the thick dark red liquid.
It will rain, the seeds lying in the ground fertilized by the flesh of the dead will swell, sprout, and in a month the meadow grasses will rustle here again. And nothing will indicate that a hundred people and a hundred horses have ended their lives here. This is how life goes round and round.
The Black released the host's consciousness, and Ned seemed to see the battlefield for the first time, inhaling the smell of death. Then he shook his head, driving away the sleepy stupor, and hurried back to where he had left his comrades.
Everything that had happened was like a dream for him. It happens like that – you see some bright, vivid dream, you wake up… and you remember everything that happened to you. So it was here – the picture was in his brain, but somehow unreal, somehow illusory, as if not real. Ned understood everything – yes, he had summoned the demons, yes, he had managed to operate two, no – three powerful spells. But only he… and not he. The moment when the Black took over Ned's consciousness was perceived as a clouding of consciousness – it rolled over him, the world went dark, he woke up – everything had already passed. It was over. A dream. Everything was a dream.
He had walked about a li when he heard a rustling sound behind a bush. Instantly, his sword was drawn, he took a fighting stance… and Ned lowered the steel blade, barely stopping himself from swearing the foulest curse:
- What are you doing here?! Where did I leave you? How dare you leave the observation point, disobey the order?!
The sword was thrown into its sheath with a rustle and a clatter, and a hand grabbed Oydar's collar:
- Why did you disobey the order?!
- Sorry! I just wanted to help! To insure you - what if they capture you! And our people will suffer, and you will disappear.
Oydar was scared, so scared that Ned wondered if he had seen...
"Oh gods! He's going to kill me! I knew he was a demonologist! Why, why did I follow him?! Gods, I'm going to shit myself from fear..."
"Stop shaking. I won't touch you," Ned said sullenly, letting go of Oydar's collar, "I won't touch you until you start babbling about things that never happened. Do you understand?"
- Got it! I got it all! I'll be with you, I'll always be with you! Don't think anything - I won't tell anyone anything I saw! I swear to you!
- You. Didn't. See. Anything! - Ned said slowly, taking his friend by the shoulders and looking into his eyes. He cringed and, trembling, repeated:
- I didn't see anything! Ned, I'm really for you! I'm your follower! Teach me everything you know, please!
"We'll see," Ned grinned, "maybe I'll teach you. That's it, let's go. We still need to take a prisoner. I didn't manage to do that, and it's already dawn..."
They walked for a long time through the meadow grass. The drops that fell on the tall grass splashed onto his clothes, soaking them right down to his body, but Ned didn't notice the cold, the squelching boots, the fog touching his face with wet paws - he wanted to kill.
"Kill! Kill him! Kill!" the thought was beating in my head. "It's so simple – one movement… rrraz! And my head rolled. And there's no problem, there's no such person who can tell about you! He'll betray you, you know – he'll betray you anyway someday! All people betray. This one – he'll definitely betray! Take out your sword – strike – and it's all over. Well! Kill! Kill! Kill!"
Ned slid his sword back into its sheath with difficulty, gripping the hilt so tightly that his fingers turned white, slowed his pace and stopped near a pine tree, leaning his hand against it. His body shook violently, his face turned white and large beads of sweat appeared on it. Then he vomited and threw up for a minute, vomiting bitter bile.
Oydar ran up to Ned, looked sympathetically into his face and recoiled - Ned's eyes turned into two black holes. The guy even thought he noticed tongues of flame beating somewhere far, far away, as if he had looked into the underworld through two narrow wells.
"Stand back!" Ned croaked, his body convulsing with the desire to grab Oydar by the neck and snap it like a reed. "Stand back five paces and stay there!"
- What's wrong with you? Maybe I can help you somehow? - Oydar asked fearfully, taking a couple of steps back.
"I said step back!" Ned barked, losing control of himself and pulling his sword from its sheath, blazing with golden runes that burned in the darkness like never before.
Oydar ran away, watching with respect and horror what was happening to his friend, and Ned closed his eyes and continued to fight for his essence.
And this fight was hard. Very hard. For the first time, his black essence tried to take over Ned, making his real self secondary, unimportant. And if he, Ned, gave in now, nothing good would come of it.
The prophecy of the seer Sitara kept creeping into his head: "Don't let the Black One gain the upper hand!" – and Ned resisted.
Ned didn't know how much time had passed since the battle in his soul had begun, but when he opened his eyes, the sun was already rising above the horizon, and it was completely light around him. He lay on his back and for a few seconds couldn't understand what had happened to him, and only when Oydar's face appeared above him, Ned remembered everything and smiled:
- I don't want to kill you.
- And this is actually a joy, - grumbled the friend, - looking at your mug, I have already said goodbye to life several times. I am sitting here and enjoying the sun, the wind, the bugs - may the underworld take them! I am sick of falling by the scruff of the neck, the creatures! It turned out that I really love life. And today, next to you, I was afraid as never before in my life. Well - almost as never. In general - what was that? You were scary as death.
"Have you seen it, Death?" Ned asked serenely, putting his hands behind his head and mindlessly looking at the clouds.
"I saw it," Oydar answered seriously, "when we encountered Isfir's men-at-arms, it seemed to me that she was flickering somewhere between us. I almost wet myself with fear."
"A little?" Ned smiled.
- Well... he let me in a bit, yeah! How do you know?! You're a demon warlock! Nothing can be hidden from you! Just don't tell anyone, okay? - Oydar blushed slightly.
"Oh, come on… there were some who screwed up," Ned chuckled lightly, "so everything's fine."
- Thank the gods! And I scolded myself - coward! Coward! And then look how...
- Everyone is scared, Oydar. I am scared too. And others are scared too. But work is work. Our job is to kill. And survive. And we do it well. That's it, let's go, have a rest, time to join our guys. They're probably in a panic now - where did the commander disappear to? And the corporal. Didn't I say anything while I was lying here?
- Nothing. At first you were throwing up and screaming at me. Then you fell down and writhed - I thought you were finished. Then you passed out and lay here until I woke up. I was afraid to touch you - scared, more scared than when an armored, huge, tower-like horseman flew at me and wanted to stab me with a spear. By the way - thank you.
"For what?" Ned asked lazily, reluctantly rising from the ground.
- You cut down that rider. First you chopped off the horse's legs, then you cut his helmet.
"It's a shame about the horse," Ned grimaced.
- That's all you are, - Ned grinned, - you feel sorry for the horse, but not for the people. You feel more sorry for the people!
- People? - Ned said sadly. - Do horses kill? Do they attack villages, cities, take people into slavery? Why do they suffer, fear, die? Honestly, they deserve more pity than people.
- Don't tell anyone that, - Oydar shook his head, - they'll think you're crazy. A horse is for a man. The gods created it to carry a man, to give him meat and milk. And a man is a higher being, made in the image and likeness of the gods. That's how it is.
- Higher, you say? - Ned smiled strangely, picked up the sword, wiped it with the edge of his uniform and thrust it into the scabbard with a light knock. - I doubt it. Let's go, "higher being", catch our subordinates. Otherwise they'll run away.
- They won't run away, - Ned said confidently, - they fear you more than the Isfirians, more than the royal power of Zamara. They say that you are half-demon. No one can fight with such fury and skill, unless he is a demon. And survive. Tell me, maybe you really are a demon? They say that demons can copulate with human women, and from their games people with special abilities are born!
- Nonsense! - Ned said confidently, stepping out onto an animal trail visible at the edge of the forest. - Demons are not creatures at all. They are entities. Spawn of the Underworld. Spirits, so to speak. How can they climb onto a woman and produce offspring?! Don't listen to this nonsense.
- How do you know so much about demons if you're not a demon? - Oydar asked ingratiatingly. - Who else but demons could know so much about them?
- Are you stupid or something? - Ned spat. - If I know about women, what, am I a woman? Come on, stop talking nonsense! I've read books. Old scrolls. In an ancient language. Don't ask! I won't tell you where I know this language from! And in general - talk less, or rather - don't talk at all! Or I really will kill you.
- You won't kill me now, - Oydar retorted contentedly, - I would have killed you at night, yes. And now something has happened to you, it's as if you've become different, real. The last few days, after the battle, you became completely different, Ned. Alien, unfamiliar. Scary. Evil. And now the old Ned has returned, the one we loved. And thank the gods! I'm happy.
Different? He's different now?! Ned mentally searched the corners of his brain, looking for Black's thoughts - no, there are no alien thoughts, not typical for Ned. He doesn't want to kill Oydar, although he understands perfectly well that the guy is a chatterbox and can tell about him.
And also - Ned's ability to hear other people's thoughts has diminished. To hear Oydar's thoughts, he now needs to stand very close, and the thoughts are perceived as a quiet whisper, and if he moves three steps away - that's it. Empty. So empty, as if he never had the ability to hear the thoughts of others.
Ned smiled contentedly – this ability had caused him nothing but trouble. Even when he "switched off" his mind hearing, other people's thoughts would beat at his head, whispering something, begging to be heard. It was hard. No rest, no proper sleep. And now it was as if his "mind ears" had been filled with cotton wool. And that was good. Just wonderful! But unusual. As if he had come from a noisy city street to a quiet meadow, where there was nothing but the sound of the wind and the chirping of birds.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to Ned – what if?!… He stopped so suddenly that Oydar almost crashed into his back:
- What's wrong?! Be careful! Are you trying to kill me again?! Warn me to run away. I run fast, maybe you won't catch me.
"The spell will catch up with you," Ned muttered, "if you keep talking! Shut up and don't bother me."
Ned quickly cast a fire spell and was relieved to see the dry stump by the road burst into flames – thank the gods! His magical abilities were still there! The stump burned almost smokelessly, but Ned hurried away from it – you never know who might come to the smell of smoke.
Oydar's eyes widened in surprise as he watched Ned's magical manipulations, then he clicked his tongue and said with satisfaction:
- I knew you were a magician! From that very time when you broke me on the ship - I knew. I guessed. And tonight...
- Nothing happened last night! - Ned barked. - Oh, you bastard, if you say anything about this, I'll slit your throat and then piss in it! What did I tell you? Not to blab? What are you talking about?
- Oh, come on, come on... you've gotten carried away! - Oydar muttered conciliatorily and added slyly: - And how about you teach me?
- I'll teach you how to get kicked now! - Ned turned around and tried to kick the guy, but he deftly dodged and, running five meters away, said:
- Are you angry! Teach me? Do you feel sorry for me? I'm not asking you to teach me magic! And I will always be by your side, I will cover your back! I swear I will never betray you, even if demons tear me apart! Yes, I envied you. Always envied you. But I didn't rat you out! And I didn't rat you out to the security service. I didn't even tell Arnot what I thought about your abilities. So I'm loyal to you, don't think about it. Will you teach me?
"I'll teach you," Ned gave in, "if you behave properly and obey in everything. And if you don't, I'll kick you out!"
- That's it, that's it! Forever yours! - Oydar assured fervently. - Do you want me to kiss your hand, like a student kisses a teacher? Do you want to?
- And the ass? You won't kiss the ass? - Ned chuckled. - Go on, you fucking student. Pick up the pace. We've still got a couple of miles to go, no less.
- Ass... I'm ready to kiss ass for this knowledge! - assured Oydar. - Just don't send me away, just teach me! By the way - you're laughing in vain, a student kisses the teacher's hand in gratitude for the knowledge he's received. There's nothing bad or shameful about it. It's common practice.
- Walk... apprentice - Ned grinned and thought to himself - what happened to him, Ned? The magical abilities remained in place - only the mind hearing weakened. Or maybe the ability to summon demons disappeared? And how to check? Not to call here a warm company of demons of the fifth circle! He will check again. And what if these very abilities really disappeared? And the demon with them. Ned did not ask for them. He will manage. So - what happened? Did he really burn the Black out of himself? Unlikely. Most likely, he drove it deep into the brain. Well, let it sit there now. In the dungeon. Ned can manage without it.