Готовый перевод Общий файл / Does Force Bind to Responsibility?: Глава 14

Chapter 14

A few years ago, Princess Renner turned her attention to the roads. The Tract became the direct property of the Crown, regardless of whose fiefdom it passed through. The Lords have traditionally resisted such a decision. They rightly felt that it was a dangerous precedent of secession. But Renner was able to exploit the greed of the feudal lords by taking the maintenance of the tract accountable to the crown to the balance of the royal treasury. So, at the annual meeting of the lords, the decree concerning the ownership of the tract was tentatively approved after all.

In the end, everyone benefited. In just one year, just in time for the next meeting of lords, the simple country road became a wide, comfortable road, fortified with wood and stone in the swampy areas. Wooden bridges appeared on small rivers that previously had to be crossed by wading. In-season mudslides stopped hitting internal logistics, and it became much easier and cheaper to move troops.

Gentlemen of Fortune, who had decided that their golden time had come, were outlived in the first few months. The Golden Princess, when she took on a case, always approached it very thoroughly. Gold poured generously into the coffers of all kinds of snitches and adventurers, noble but penniless knights gained recognition and sometimes even endowments in the places where they had distinguished themselves. Bandit caches were ablaze, and hundreds of hangmen adorned the tree limbs along the trail. Trade flourished unprecedentedly.

Though, of course, it wouldn't have been the Golden Princess's idea if it didn't have snags under the water. The noble lords were speechless when they realized that the toll of the new track went to the Crown, not to their coffers, and they had no right to impose additional tolls. Moreover, they themselves were obliged to pay for the use of the new tract. What then began...

Gazef Stronoff, as the king's trusted representative, was present at that meeting. His position and his lowborn status obliged him to many things, including keeping his cool under all circumstances. Only the gods know what it took for him not to burst into laughter at their lordships' faces crimson with indignation. He always remembered that day in the dark times, and every time his mood improved.

But not today. Today, like the last couple of weeks, the good road seemed like a curse. It was so convenient, not just for the Allies.

Gazef, stony-faced, stared at the destroyed village without leaving his saddle. It was the sixth since the beginning of this month. The pain of powerlessness was heavy in his stomach. They were too late again.

A little village with the funny name of Flea. Twenty-two families, thirty houses, a small apiary, a wheat field. Mutilated bodies on the smoky ashes.

His men were now clearing the wreckage in search of survivors.

The Imperial bastards had made a habit of leaving a few survivors behind, and this time it was the same. They found several guys crucified in the trees nearby. The poor people had seen everything that had happened with their own eyes, in every detail. Their account confirmed Gasef's hunch. A detachment of imperial soldiers, half a hundred infantrymen, and a dozen horsemen came into the village and, without speaking or hesitating, simply massacred it. And as before, they left several witnesses to their atrocities.

He spotted his lieutenant among the men on the burn site. He seemed to sense his gaze and turned around, shaking his head. Gasef waved a hand, signaling him to stop searching. The lieutenant gave a few short commands and the other two dozen men stopped searching through the charred debris.

Stained with soot and ash, the smoke-soaked lieutenant approached the unmounted Gazef.

"My captain, what are your orders?"

"Give the survivors some silver, we can't help them anymore. In ten minutes everyone should be ready to go. I think I know where they'll be next."

"As you say, Captain."

While the soldiers were packing up, the lieutenant approached Gazef again.

"My captain, I suggest we turn back to E-Rantel, get some reinforcements, and make a real raid. I no longer think we can overtake them with one small squad."

Gazef shook his head regretfully as he looked at the warriors gathering for the march.

"No, we can only rely on our own forces. It would take too long to gather reinforcements, and it wouldn't do any good. Even if we demand troops from this feud, we won't get cavalry. The bastards are clearly on their way to Baharut, and the border is a stone's throw away. The best we can do is tear our veins out, but catch up with them while they're still on kingdom land. The nearest village to their destination is Karn, a short distance from here, and we'll try to intercept them there."

"Captain, are you sure it's the Imperials at all? They look a little too flashy."

Who else to think on? The fields around E-Rantel are burning, and so it turns out that this is where the troops will gather for the war this fall.

"Why aren't the local lords doing anything?" The lieutenant spat angrily. "I understand, the king sent us as the most mobile. But could they at least leave the garrisons behind for a while? Do something for their fucking people?"

Gazef hummed sadly.

Maybe they could have. But all of them are afraid to disperse their troops, and all of them don't care about the common people. It's even good for them - in the coming famine, the grain supply will go for double the price. The king will buy for the army at any price. Don't think too highly of yourself, lieutenant. Our job is to catch up and deliver justice. Concentrate on that.

"Sir, yes sir."

The lieutenant glanced at the riders who were ready for the road. A variety of armor, mostly plate or chain mail - plate armor was good for fighting, but any march turned into a nightmare. Hardy, wiry horses in worn-out blankets, each saddled with a set of weapons for any situation. A crossbow, a sword, a shield, a spear, and a few Bec de corbins.

Each of them had worked with Gazef over the years from a desperate peasant to a savage thug, and who knows what would have happened to them if not for his great talent as a swordsman and his noble spirit. Gazef kept them from becoming a common band of marauders, and with his sword paved the way to the mercenary elite. And even if they have reached their limit, the commoners could never be true knights. But what they had achieved at the hand of the world's greatest swordsman gave them boundless faith in their commander. It made them willing to carry out the most senseless, the most suicidal order without hesitation.

The lieutenant was uneasy. Gazef had always thought rationally, and though noble, was never naïve. His view of the enemy's motives was quite logical. Still, the actions of the imperial soldiers, on whose heels they had followed for so many days, looked too foolish. Ostensible brutality, living witnesses. It was as if they were deliberately treading on the sore calluses of Gazef, who had not forgotten his roots. They made him angry on purpose.

Gazef commanded to go, and the lieutenant banished extraneous thoughts. The captain said to concentrate on the job. All questions will be answered later by the Imperials.

* * *

"I see you've met our recruit, Mistress Tia. Not disappointed?" Miran glanced ironically at the pale adventurer over his glasses.

Tia walked a little tensely into the office, looked out into the hallway, and shut the door. She sat down in a chair and didn't answer right away, going over the details of the fight and what she had read earlier in the file in her head.

"I'm rather astonished. I want to clarify something that I didn't pay much attention to before."

The Guildmaster put aside the folder he had been studying when Tia arrived and put his hands on the table.

"I will be happy to answer any questions."

"Her extreme religiosity is mentioned. What exactly is meant by this?"

This was a really important moment for Tia. Religious people are prone to various oddities, sometimes quite dangerous ones. For example, adherents of the Church of Heroes, absolutely dominant in the Theocracy, saw nothing wrong with abusing and possessing ordinary people. Followers of the Good Sun often demanded no reward, providing medical services on behalf of the guild. The worshippers of the Blood God - well, rare enough - were constantly pitted against each other in duels, and at times served as perpetrators of riots.

One way or another, the Guild has always found a use for talents, even those with rather specific inclinations. But knowing exactly what you were dealing with was a must. Especially for Lucky and her companions.

"She sincerely believes that she is guided personally by a certain Faceless God, and she has mentioned it repeatedly. I am not familiar with the pantheon to which this god is assigned, but the Dark Maiden, she believes, is the most powerful god there is. I also note that she does not deny the existence of other gods and is very respectful of other faiths. She prays every evening and every morning, always at the same time. During these moments it is highly undesirable to try to capture her attention. Prayer time is sacred to her, and at the slightest disturbance of her peace during these moments she falls into a terrible rage. One day the girl receptionist neglected her requests not to be disturbed, and nearly paid for it with her life."

"What has been learned about the dogmas of this... Faceless One?"

"Almost nothing. I asked, but she dropped the subject, saying that only the most worthy can serve this god, and there are none in E-Pespel."

Tia suppressed the urge to snort venomously. This stranger did have a point. It wasn't easy for Tia to accept that, but she was foolish to deny the obvious. No one here was really her equal.

Even though nothing was yet clear about religion, other questions remained. Normally, they were not mentioned - there was no need. But when there is a candidate for adamantine rank right in front of her eyes, everything changed.

"How were you supposed to keep her from breaking the law if she did something like that?"

"I must assume that the issue grows out of a complex character and tremendous power. I will not lie, of all the possibilities I consider as real only the call of adamantine teams or the personal intervention of the Head. I have checked something during our conversation with her, and I will tell you at once - any artifacts and poisons at my disposal will be useless."

What was said gave Tia an oppressive impression. More than once, people endowed with talent had begun to put themselves above the laws and rules. Within the guild, it was always met with a harsh, even brutal response, and very quickly. Now Miran had told her, quite bluntly, that the usual, failsafe tools were useless. And faith in the capabilities of the adamantine teams had cracked badly even earlier. Even considering that she alone is a far cry from the entire team with its artifacts and information.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. On the other hand, her religiosity plays into our hands. From what I understand, her god does not approve of senseless violence. And the hard character - well, that's not the hardest case in my practice. In fact, she's more like a child. Capricious and arrogant, but quite obedient, if you set your sights right. So, nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about? What if tomorrow her god demands the blood of innocent people? You said yourself that you know nothing about this faith."

"Well, if this unlikely event were to occur, there would indeed be cause for concern. There might even be a catastrophe, but the solution to such a situation is beyond what I can do. I will put my trust in you and the Head." Miran threw his hands together thoughtfully.

"Why do you think this is unlikely?"

The Guildmaster hesitated and didn't answer right away.

"Because the moral character of the woman we are discussing is far cleaner than that of most adventurers I know. Completely absent are any of the vicious predilections characteristic of strong men. Yes, her contemptuous attitude toward those around her can hardly be called a positive character trait. But there was never a hint of unmotivated or even simply excessive violence on her part."

That really made sense. Tia understood that she had to be quite concretely pushy to get a sparring session.

"What about that gold-ranked team?"

"I can tell you that if you had been in her shoes that day, they would have suffered a lot more."

"You talk as if you want to let her go."

"I don't. She is extremely valuable to my branch. But my position requires me to be objective in my judgments."

A guild master's professional opinion, regardless of the branch, was always worth a lot. Tia knew that. Of course, even the information he had could in no way be complete, but the conclusions were worth taking into account. The important thing was that this recruit really wasn't making trouble just for fun, and it didn't seem to be in her nature at all. Lucky would take care of the rest.

"Your attitude is respectful. Have you received any news of other... unexpected recruits?"

"I have not yet received any significant news. But the overall picture looks as if it is some united group, fragmented for an as yet unclear purpose. Perhaps espionage or an attempt to infiltrate the Guild. No interaction hinting at the possibility of remote communication has been seen yet either. Either way, the only really notable figure so far is Mistress Draga. There is also a healer with an amazing gift, but I don't have the details yet. If you want them, you'll have to ask the E-Rantel branch, he's registered there."

"Thank you, Guildmaster. What time did you say the Dark Maiden prayed?"

"Draga had to be dragged to E-Rantel anyway and held there until Lucky arrived. And spoiling her mood by coming at a bad time was definitely not the right thing to do."

"At a quarter to seven in the morning and evening. It usually doesn't take long."

"Okay," Tia stood up. "Tomorrow morning I hope to leave to E-Rantel, tonight I'll stay here."

"Here is the key to the VIP rooms. Have a good night." Miran handed her the ornate key and bowed politely.

* * *

The conversation with the Prophet had been over for several minutes, but Draga was still in a prayerful pose. Recalling the words and intonations given to her, it was as if she heard Him again and again. As she followed His instructions, she always felt a kind of rightness, her own part in something great, her own necessity. Draga had become unforgivably accustomed to being close to Him, and she was scolding herself for it. Now in the distance, she had to be content with just a voice. Those moments of connection through [the message] had been the most important precious thing in her life since she had left Dawn City. And as long as the sense of His presence did not melt away, she considered it sacrilege to rise from her knees.

But no rest for the wicked. Prophet praised her for her efforts and gave her a new goal.

She had been contacted by the "powerful" of this world, just as He had predicted. Now she should accept their offer and come to E-Rantel to further her career and connections with these "powerful".

'It would be great if you became a hero to the locals.'

'You should not publicly destroy the authority of local champions, for no reason. Even if you are much stronger. It's better to earn their trust.'

It was a challenge. But she could do it.

There was no point in delaying her departure, and it didn't take her long to pack, since she had only a few things. There was only one sword, one armor, and a bag of household items. The real stuff was stored in the inventory. She didn't need them, but the image demanded their use.

As she was about to leave the room, there was a knock on the door. Draga listened to her senses. Judging by the smell and the heartbeat, it was the same person who had insisted on a duel yesterday.

"I'm here. Come in."

* * *

Tia got the timing right. Draga had already finished her prayer and let her in immediately after knocking. Tia entered and looked around. An ordinary middle-class room, the kind usually used by silver adventurers and above - income allows, and status does not oblige to more. The bed was slightly crumpled, but the rest was clean and tidy as if no one had ever lived in there.

Draga met her gaze with piercing black eyes. She was silent. Her face expressed nothing. Tia, habitually assessing her facial features, noted that they were truly perfect. More like the work of an idealistic artist than a living person. Perfect symmetry, the complete absence of wrinkles, and traces of characteristic facial expression. A masterful illusion would have created such an effect, but there was no trace of spells used here. There was also something about her that Tia could not explain. Something inexplicably attractive.

Tia was neither a fool nor a prude. But this attractiveness was akin to what she seen in some men.

It was weird and wrong.

"Come in." An inviting gesture. "What's your business?"

Draga held herself a little differently than she had yesterday. The condescending contempt that exuded from every gesture and every intonation didn't get on her nerves. Tia took the offer and came in, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Have you considered my offer?"

"Yes, comprehensively. Now I'm off to E-Rantel."

" I'm glad to hear it," Tia was inwardly surprised at this quick decision. "Yesterday I was afraid I'd have to talk you into it."

"There's no need for that. God sent me there."

Tia decided it was a good time to ask about her faith.

"I heard that your god speaks to you personally, is this right?"

Not a trace of emotion on her face.

"Yes."

"May I know more about your God? With followers like you, he is a very prominent divinity..."

Tia noticed the barely perceptible pause before the answer. That's something.

"The day you can dodge my sword, I will gladly tell you everything you want to know about him."

Tia smiled.

"To dodge the blow of a master like you is out of the realm of possibility."

"Exactly. Only the strongest are worthy of my god. He has no need of the others. Is that all?"

"No. I want to offer you my company again for this trip."

Draga thought for a few moments.

"No. You couldn't keep up with my pace."

"I've heard a lot about your stallion, and if at least some of the rumors are true, he's very much your type. But I, unlike him, know all the trails and shortcuts to E-Ranthel."

"It doesn't matter. I have to go."

Draga left the room, clearly expecting Tia not to follow her.

She leaned back on the bed, again fighting senseless irritation.

/Lakyus, was it really that hard with me?

* * *

The road to E-Rantel didn't go directly in that direction; you had to get to the crossroad before you could turn east. Normally it would have taken a rider a couple of days to get to the crossroads without stopping. Draga could get there in less than half a day, a riding nightmare - much better than a normal horse. But there was no point in taking the regular route.

Draga kept the semblance of an ordinary rider until the road entered a thick pine forest and the town was out of sight. When she was sure no one was following her, she snapped her fingers demandingly.

An elf in a camouflage cloak and a mask immediately emerged from the shadows of the trees nearby.

"What can I do for you, Mistress?"

It was one of the stalkers assigned to her on behalf of the Overlord. Draga didn't like having to interact with Illadria's servants. The sly bitch was clearly intent on sneaking into the Prophet's bed, and Draga was angry about it. Not that she seriously thought she was his only woman. But the fact that Illadria had taken the initiative was outrageous.

Illadria knew of Draga's every move outside E-Pespel. Draga knew nothing about Illadria's actions.

However, the Prophet ordered the constant surveillance of every agent outside the walls of the Dawn. The benefit of the stalkers was also quite obvious - without the help of these quiet elves, Draga would have to spend a lot more time looking for her targets.

"I have to get to E-Rantel. Quickly as possible, by land."

"There's no straight road from here. Keep strictly to the east, through the woods. After seventy miles, you'll find an orc-occupied village. From there, there's a road a little farther south that leads to the outskirts of E-Rantel."

"Copy that. Do you have orders to follow me at all times?"

"No, Mistress. I watch over you while you are here."

"Tell Illadria I'm changing locations. If she sends another spy, tell her to inform me."

"Got it." The elf bowed briefly.

"Draga spurred the nightmare, and it sped straight through the woods. If it had been an ordinary rider, it would have been killed by flying into a tree or a ravine at that speed. But shadow demons have many advantages over mortals. Their ability to become a disembodied black mist, helpless, almost blind, but virtually invulnerable, is one of them. Being in a disembodied state drained her strength, and sometimes she needed a break. Draga took advantage of these breaks to make sure she stayed on the path."

It took her a couple of hours to get to the orc-occupied village. She missed it by just a mile. There was little of interest here.

She noted for herself that the boys were getting on well - they'd converted the lean fence into something that looked more or less like a wall, put a couple of towers and patrol posts in the trees up in the distance, within sight. The wall was covered with tents for most of the free space inside, and the shaman's canopy on the outside of the wall could be recognized by the stench it emitted.

Not far away was dug a solid size pit for burning garbage and remains. The natives who had been driven out of the Tob forest often stumbled upon this village. The orcs were happy, but there was no place to bury so many bodies. Previously all the bodies were sent to Marius, but after the large-scale conquest, there were so many that even the Archilich began to "overfeed". Now only the intact remains and the occasional survivor were sent to him.

There was no point in lingering, and after checking the direction with the local elf overseer, she moved on.

* * *

"Sir Nigun, our target will arrive in half a day at the most. What are your orders?"

"Sir Nigun stroked the scar on his face habitually. A decision had to be made."

The plan went like clockwork. A few villages, a few words in the right ears. Gazef, as expected, spared no effort, chasing the mercenary mercenaries. They did not even know who they serve - they were recruited in the Empire, paid with Imperial coin. Nor did they know their end goal. And they did not care. They were doing what they loved for decent pay, and in this profession, it is not customary to ask questions. Perfect performers. Of course, they would all die, it was inevitable. Not even little knowing witnesses are needed.

Their role is only to draw Gazef out, make him lose his head in anger and lust for vengeance, and fall from his hand, tying up the fight for a short time. The real work falls on the people of the Church already.

The operation was approaching its final phase. It could have been finished sooner, but Sir Nigun tried to delay the inevitable. Gasef Stronoff must be killed, and the thought filled Sir Nigun's heart with bitterness. A man of perfection, embodying the ideals of Theocracy. A man in whom the legacy of the ancient Heroes was fully revealed. Such a loss to the entire race, and because of what? Because of the foolishness, the ridiculous stubbornness, and devotion to the false ideals of heretics.

Oh, the holy church has tried many times to open Gasef's eyes to his purpose of serving the ideals of humanity, the Church of Heroes. To convince, to buy, to kidnap, in the end, all in vain. With the tenacity of a donkey, the bearer of the legendary gift clung to his loyalty to the country that wiped its feet on him. With no reasonable solution in sight, the supreme council even reached an unprecedented compromise. The theocrats were willing to pay Gazef fabulous sums for the simple impregnation of selected women.

But the stubborn idiot just laughed at the suggestion. It is against his morals in general and against his opinion of Theocracy in particular, he said.

He simply left the holy church no choice. The kingdom has no right to possess such a man and his descendants. No one has the right, except the true bulwark of human ideals. And since Gazef is unable to understand or at least accept his role, so the tragedy is inevitable.

Sir Nigun understood perfectly well what the Council of Six had in mind when enforcing this plan. But that didn't make it any easier.

"Sir Nigun?"

Sir Nigun sighed heavily.

"Send in the mercenaries. Tell them there's no hurry now. When Stronoff shows up, disperse the cordon of summoners. You may go." Nigun waved his hand wearily.

He had to prepare himself, too. No matter how well planned the operation was, Stronoff was still the second most dangerous man in the world. It was foolish to think the battle would be easy.

* * *

In the vicinity of E-Rantel, Draga was forced to move along the trails. It was no longer desirable to run the usual way through the forest - there was a risk of being seen.

The sense of smell that had returned to her stirred her. From somewhere in front came a subtle but distinct scent. It beckoned, bewitching every cell in her body.

The smell of terror. It was the strongest, clearest scent she had ever encountered. The monsters she hunted didn't smell like that. A creature incapable of death awareness is incapable of real fear. The adventurers she beat weren't afraid of her, either. There was something similar except in the orcish village, but there the smell was old and almost weathered.

She was glad she was going the same way, and spurred the nightmare on.

Less than a minute later, she first heard and then saw a man running desperately toward her. A woman, in tattered clothes, with bloody legs. She was running with the last of her breath, stumbling and wheezing. She was running from something, but she was totally oblivious to what was going on around her. The smell was coming from her.

Draga gave the nightmare a slight shove to the side and, as the woman ran past, deftly grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and lifted her up. The victim gave a short shriek and froze, curled up. Draga effortlessly lifted the light body and brought it close to her face. She inhaled with pleasure. The scent of wild terror stupefied her head, and the pounding of her heart pounded her ears. The desire to tear this lump of flesh became unbearable.

At that moment, the victim opened her eyes, and the smell of fear was joined by other notes that could not yet be understood.

"Lady Knight, please help!"

A lady knight? Ah yes... Draga's sanity broke through the veil of desire to kill. She ought to be a hero. She let go of the girl's collar with regret.

"What's up?"

"Soldiers are chasing me, they want to kill me. I beg you to help me!"

"What kind of soldiers?"

"I don't know!" The girl burst into sobs. "They came to our village and started killing everyone! We didn't do anything to them!"

How funny, thought Drega. Heroes kind of protect the weak, don't they? Could this be the case?

Her brief contemplation was interrupted by the crackling of bushes and a metallic rustle as two panting men in light armor, with the lion symbol engraved at the heart, appeared on the path on the same side from which the girl had fled. Both held swords in their hands. When they saw the rider on the horse, black as blindness, they stopped and looked at each other.

The girl screamed in rage and tried to hide behind the horse. Nightmare tried to kick the cheeky girl but was yanked back by the reins. One of the men, sheathing his sword and spreading his arms, approached Draga and spoke, choosing the words carefully.

"I beg your pardon for this... ugly scene, madam. Will you let us take the criminal and get out of your way?"

"I am not a criminal! It was you who attacked our village!" The girl screamed desperately.

" You're so brave right away, bitch. Wait a minute." The man snarled at her and then turned back to Draga, who was contemplating the scene with equanimity. "Again, I apologize for my rudeness. There has been a riot, and she is the one who must be punished. You needn't waste your attention on this incident, really."

Draga hummed.

"What's the emblem on your chest? The King's warriors I've seen have a different one."

"Oh, that's..." The man shook his head sadly. "I wish I had meant it nicely. Joy!"

With that last word, he quickly drew his sword and stabbed the nightmare in the neck from below, while the other soldier moved jerkily around the other side.

The sword blow did not reach its target. With incomprehensible grace, the black horse turned, and the rider slightly bent from the saddle, lazily swung her sword. And when did she have time to snatch? - thought the warrior aloof, barely able to see the broad, straight blade cut off his arm above the elbow without a sign of resistance. The detachment vanished the moment he lost his balance and fell, putting his arm out in front of him. There was a cry of pain and fear.

The second soldier, not seeing what had happened to his partner, rushed toward the horse, also intending to hit it. Almost there, he heard screams and hesitated, just for a moment. Something was wrong. He didn't have time to think about what. Draga turned in her saddle and cracked his head with a second swing of her sword.

Draga felt a sensation akin to an orgasm. It was nothing compared to killing monsters. With a flick of her sword, she shook off the blood and brains and pointed the nightmare toward the wounded man, who wheezed, frantically trying to clench his arm. Her mind fluttered with the scent of terror and a desperate unwillingness to die.

A divine sensation, it could even compare to the one she felt from the praise of her lord. The nightmare crushed the victim's head with its heavy hoof, and once again feelings of freshness, strength, and dizzying happiness pierced Draga's body for a brief moment. She inhaled and exhaled with pleasure, and stared into the girl, who was looking at the massacre with fear and a hint of hope.

"You said there were a lot of them. Where are they?"

The girl pointed to the path with her hand.

"T-there..."

Drega grinned predatorily, and, barely restraining herself from becoming disembodied, drove her steed in the direction indicated.

It didn't take her more than a minute to reach the village. The nightmare, sensing her mistress' fierce thirst, rushed like the wind. Beyond the edge of the forest began the gentle hills, with a few columns of smoke rising between them.

The three-meter-high paling that surrounded three dozen houses and barns must have been a good protection against wolves and other predators. Now it had become a death cage for those who sought its protection. The nightmare, snorting contemptuously, swung across it at full gallop.

The massacre of the inhabitants was in full progress. The dead and dying of all ages were everywhere in sight.

A teenager, about ten years old, bent in an unnatural pose, lay at the entrance to one of the houses, in a pool of freezing blood. An old woman with a chopped face, in a carefully cultivated garden. A large man mutilated beyond recognition, still not letting go of his pitchfork. Right against the wall, a woman with an arrow in her back. She was still bleeding. The doors of almost every house had been kicked in, and the stench of death and despair was everywhere.

Draga glanced briefly at the scene and moved toward the center, where the wave of fear was so strong that she felt a little dizzy.

In the center, in a sort of square by the well, there were quite a few people - a few dozen survivors on their knees, packed into a tight crowd. Their hands were all tied. Three dozen more, wearing the same type of armor Draga had already seen, surrounded them. There was wailing, lamentation, pleading by one and scornful banter by another.

Not far away, under the canopy, three half-naked men, laughing and growling, were satisfying their lust. The girls beneath them were no longer even crying, not even reacting to the resounding slaps and bites.

The largest house in the settlement, the only one with two stories. The square was, in fact, its courtyard. It was tightly locked. The doors and shutters were propped up with wooden bars, and two more soldiers were jokingly fencing with lighted torches nearby. Draga sensed a multitude of people inside, and these people clearly did not yet know what was in store for them, but they did not expect anything good. The screams of the infants were intermingled with the howls and pleas of the women,

She could barely keep from bursting into laughter with the anticipation that overwhelmed her. The thirst for blood and death and suffering filled every muscle with a pleasant itch. She used to want to kill the poor fugitive and taste her death, and she thought that would be the best thing she could get out of this world. But now she tasted something else. A taste of the suffering and death of someone who thought she was the ruler of the situation. That moment when certainty turned to confusion, disbelief, terror, and hope that it was all just a bad dream.

By the time her appearance was noticed, she had already jumped from her saddle, right onto one of the swordsmen. When the others were just trying to comprehend the new circumstance, she was already on her feet, tearing the victim's head from his body. The next moment, the body, lavishing blood all around, smashed against the wall with a juicy pop, pushing the logs of the log cabin inward.

Holding a head with a piece of the spine in her left hand by its hair, she drew her sword. Dozens of people froze, trying to comprehend what was happening. The incipient panic made it feel like something exploded sweetly in her groin. Without giving anyone a second thought, without making a decision, she hurled the severed head at the one who looked to be in charge, and with all her might she sliced the nearest enemy across, from the bottom to the top. The sword sliced through the metal of the armor and the body with barely perceptible resistance. Inertia tore through the flesh, practically exploding it. Droplets of blood rushed out, forming a ball of purple fog for a moment.

Death.

Time almost stopped. In the thick, unyielding air, she lunged for the next victim, reading the slowly growing terror in her eyes with pleasure. An oblique blow from her shoulder and another cloud of red dust graced the square.

Death.

The sword gliding toward the next victim left a beautiful slash in the bloody haze. Red droplets smashed against the polished steel and glided gently across it.

Death.

A few of the warriors seemed to start reacting. Slowly, awkwardly, they began to move - in the course of each of their movements, Draga would have had time to chop each one into small pieces. But she wanted to stretch out the pleasure. She stopped, swinging her sword in the air with a heavy thud. The settling bloody dust caressed her face.

The soldiers hastily pulled away, leaving the bound villagers behind, hastily forming a semblance of a formation. A strained, disruptive voice was heard:

"What the hell are you?!"

She grinned happily.

"I am a Hero."

She couldn't contain herself, so she lunged into the middle of the line, chopping up two of them in one fell swoop. Their remains, scattered in different directions, knocked down those standing beside them. There was a panicked shriek from somewhere on the other side of the line:

"I didn't agree to this!"

One of the soldiers dropped his useless weapon and took off running. Another swing of the sword, another corpse, and the rest followed suit. Draga laughed heartily as she watched them go.

/Yes. Yes! YES!

For the next few minutes, she was having a lot of fun catching up with and killing people. It moved chaotically, without consistency, giving hope to those who thought they had been spared, and taking it away a moment later.

Last came the rapists' turn.

One hid in the darkness of the empty house, huddled under a bench in the corner. Draga could feel, literally see through the wall, his soul blazing with terror. She went into the house, sniffing the air noisily, pretended not to hear the strangled wheezing and teeth clattering, and went out. She walked around the house, and, piercing the log wall with her hand, grabbed her face and slowly crushed it against the inside of the wall.

The other covered himself on top of his murdered comrade, and feigned death. Draga walked past, and, after waiting for the scent of hope, turned back to him. Sobs could be heard in the rhythm of her slow steps.

"No... No... Please..."

"No? Why?" She raised an eyebrow, peering into the trembling, swollen face.

"Please don't! I'll do anything you want, don't!"

"I want you to die."

A blow with two fingers to the eyes pierced the eye sockets, and he granted her wish. Not immediately.

The third was more boring. He was waiting for her, huddled in a corner of the house, his sword drawn forward. Its tip shook, but the spirit was resolute and strong. As she approached, he lunged, trying to strike her.

" Die, monster!"

"No."

She easily intercepted the attack, grabbed the base of the blade with her palm, and squeezed. The weapon cracked with a thud. The shards that remained in her hand, Drega hammered into his mouth, breaking his jaw and neck, and left him for dead.

It had been a wonderful day. It could have been better, only if she could have completed what those soldiers had started. But she was supposed to be a hero, and heroes don't do that.

When she returned to the square, the faint hope of continuing the fun by killing the arsonists had melted away. The nightmare had already torn them apart, and was now feasting on their guts through the torn cuirass of one of them. Draga looked anxiously at the captives, but all as one lowered their heads low to the ground. She shooed sternly at her steed and wagged her finger at it, and it displeasingly ceased its meal.

The bloodlust was fading, leaving a pleasant weariness in her body.

She walked over to the man she had first thrown her severed head at. He was alive, and already regaining consciousness. Draga saddled up, leaning over to face him, fixing the blood-stained curls. She patted his cheek:

"Hello."

Looking silently into her eyes, the man grayed before her eyes.

"Do yourself a favor and lie still for a while. Okay?"

The man nodded finely. Draga patted his stubble again, got up, and walked toward the twisted, bound men.

"Hey, you. Who's in charge here?"

* * *

The frantic galloping of the last hours was a success. As they approached the village of Karn, Gazef saw no pillars of smoke. One of two things - either they made it in time, or the Imperials were not here at all. Both were good enough, though in the second case the chase would continue.

As he rode up to the gate with his weapon at the ready, Gazef knew at once that the Imperials were definitely here. Open gates, broken doors of houses, and bloody puddles testified to that for sure. But there were no fires in sight, which meant that there was a chance of saving someone.

"Quick, to the center!"

The squad galloped to the village square, but just before the square, the road was blocked by a fine female figure in black armor, sword drawn. Unusual weapon - the blade is of normal length, and the hilt as a two-handed, and without a guard. The unusual weapons, the unusual armor, and the complete lack of awe in front of the whole troop immediately alerted him.

Gazef knew what talented people are capable of, regardless of gender. He raised his hand signaling his squad to stop and prepare for battle. At the same moment, he glanced around the square.

The picture was shocking. Apart from this woman, not a single living thing was visible. On one side of the square lay two small rows of filthy sackcloth-covered bodies. Fewer than there should be inhabitants here.

On the other side... A wild mishmash of limbs, torsos, and who knows what else. And everywhere, everywhere was blood. In stale puddles and rivulets on the ground, in blots on the walls of houses. Gazef had seen enough in his life, but the sight of it made him sick to his stomach.

Tears welled up in his eyes at the thought that they hadn't made it after all. But the muffled cries of a child and the anxious hissing from one of the houses gave him hope. And most importantly, there was no fire.

Struggling with his growing anger and hoping for the best, he turned to the woman, moving a few steps closer.

"I am Gazef Stronoff, captain of the King's personal guard. Who are you and what happened here?"

The woman defiantly hid the sword in its sheath at her waist.

"I am Draga, also called Dark Maiden, an adventurer. On my way to E-Rantel, I found out that the soldiers of another country were rampaging here, and I intervened to protect the people. Can you confirm that you serve the King?"

Gazef was surprised.

"I am well known in our kingdom, and I am known by sight to almost half of it. But I can also show you the royal warrant."

He pulled a thick scroll with a magic seal from his saddlebag. The woman nodded, and Gazef continued.

"Did the residents survive?"

"Not all of them. There, under the burlap, are those who were unlucky. And over there are the ones who attacked. Four dozen."

"Their commander I let live, for now."

Gazef sighed in relief. It didn't sound like she was lying about survivors.

" I am grateful for your intervention. You saved many good citizens of the kingdom from a terrible fate. Let me get this straight: did you do it alone, or do you have a group?"

"I don't need a group."

"Excuse me, but what is your rank?"

As an answer, she pulled a chain from under her armor, with an iron badge.

"Iron Rank? Lady, I'm sorry, but I find it hard to believe that you could handle so many professional soldiers on your own."

"I don't care what you believe. All I can tell you is that I'm new in the Guild."

"That explains a lot." Gazef took another look around the square. "Where are the rest of the villagers?"

"When they heard that a new armed unit was approaching, they hid and asking me for protection again."

Gasef dismounted.

"I see. I apologize, but I'd like to talk to the headman, or whoever is in his place if the headman is dead. In your presence, to confirm your version of events. Is that all right for you?"

"Actually, I've already spent more time here than I planned. But if you insist, it's ok."

"Thank you for understanding."

* * *

"Sir Nigun, Gazef's squad has reached the village."

Nigun sighed and clenched his fist with a crunch.

"Let's start."

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/82326/513609

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP