"Ned! Ned!" Arnot rushed to the mage and hugged him like a family member. Ned gently patted the boy on the back, and he released him, wiping his suspiciously shining eyes. "You're alive! You're still alive!"
"Hmm..." Ned looked himself over with a demonstrative, careful eye and confirmed with a smile: "Looks like I'm alive, yeah. Did you doubt it?"
"Actually, yes," the guy smiled broadly, "your idea was so crazy, so dangerous, that… in general, I'm very glad that you're alive!"
"Where are the others? Where's Oydar?" Ned inquired, looking around.
"The guys are up ahead, about two li from the camp. We're waiting for you. I told them you were out scouting and told them to wait. We sat there all night, then I left the guys and said I'd go meet you. And now—lucky luck! You're alive and well! And you even managed to change into clean clothes! Where did you get all that junk?"
- I picked it up in the city.
– What am I talking about, all this nonsense, about the plan being a success? What's there in the city?
"In the city?" Ned's face darkened. "There's nothing in the city. Absolutely nothing. Not a single living soul. Anyway, Arnie. Let's say I went on a reconnaissance mission alone, so as not to attract the enemy's attention. While I was exploring the city, I saw a rope hanging from the wall, and someone from the village or a soldier climbed down it—maybe they were sending a scout, I don't know what kind of rope. I took a chance and climbed up the wall. And so on. Understood?"
"Got it," Arnot nodded, satisfied, and then his expression darkened. "Ned... I need to tell you something. Just don't get too upset, okay?"
"What happened?" Ned asked, alarmed. "Did we run into an ambush? Did you kill someone? Oydar? What happened to Oydar?"
"Nothing's wrong with Oydar," Arnot shook his head, "nothing good. He's escaped. Can you guess where and why?"
"I can guess," Ned replied gloomily, "the bastard! I thought my words about the spell cast on the treasure would deter him."
"So, you did cast the spell? Or... didn't you?" Arnot raised his eyebrows.
"No," Ned said curtly, "there wasn't time, nor was there any desire. I think he decided to escape after I went to the fortress. Most likely, he's already far away from here."
"What are we going to do? Report the desertion?" Arnot asked, looking down.
"No. He's missing in action, that's all. They won't be paying attention to him, that's for sure. That's it, they've forgotten about him and are off to the camp to report."
"It's a shame about the treasures. Imagine how much we could have bought with that money!" Arnot grimaced, pained.
"I don't care. This money will be too much for him to swallow. It's a small world, maybe we'll meet again," Ned replied dryly and walked along the path, picking up his pace. He felt rotten. He knew Oydar was unreliable, but he still thought his fear of the curse would overcome his greed. It didn't.
Half an hour later, they met up with the main group. They rushed to Ned—it was clear the boys were genuinely glad he was alive. They questioned him about what he'd seen in the city, but got nothing beyond the words, "That's a secret for now. I must report to command first. Then I'll tell you everything." The boys fell silent, slightly offended, and fell behind their commander, who was clearly not in the mood for lengthy stories.
Ned was in a very bad mood. Because of Oydar, of course. After all, he hadn't expected the boy to betray and steal from them. But hadn't he heard his thoughts? Didn't Ned know that Oydar loved money and that he'd once belonged to a gang of thieves? It seemed that his association with thieves and robbers had taken its toll on the boy, and Oydar hadn't stood the test of money.
If Ned had reported Oydar's desertion, he would have been declared wanted, and after the war ended, a warrant would have been sent to every town and village to apprehend the fugitive. This happened often; Ned had seen such a royal messenger in Black Ravine. He was reading something from a scroll adorned with large red seals, and from his shout, Ned realized that they were looking for some innkeeper who had robbed his guests and escaped while being escorted to court.
Yes, it was possible to evade justice. To do so, the criminal would have to cut all ties, move far away from where he once lived, and stay hidden from the mire into which the fugitive would have to burrow.
But most fugitives, as far as Ned knew, were caught. Sergeant Drancon had told him this. Why were they caught? Because they thought everyone had forgotten about them and that no one needed them as criminals. Which meant they could return to their city, to their former friends, to their wives and husbands, to their families. And that's where they were caught. The guards were quite effective, and informing on neighbors was encouraged. And for every escaped criminal, a reward was offered – the amount varied depending on the fugitive's degree of culpability. The more important it was to catch the enemy, the higher the reward. But a few gold pieces didn't hurt either.
Would Oydar be able to hide? Unlikely. He'd likely return to his city, take a false name... and still associate with his old acquaintances. And that's where his weak point lies—vanity. He'd probably want everyone to see how he'd risen, how rich and powerful he'd become. And then... Ned didn't yet know what "then" would be. He was simply certain that if he wanted, he'd find Oydar.
The guards at the camp entrance, seeing the scouts' group, immediately pulled back the logs blocking the passage. The guard leader approached Ned:
- Sergeant Black! The Colonel has ordered that you be brought to him immediately as soon as you appear at the gate. Please follow me.
"Boys! Rest, wash, eat. I'm going to see the colonel," Ned said to his subordinates and rushed to catch up with the guard, who was quickly advancing toward the center of the camp, dodging the soldiers moving swiftly through it.
"What's going on?" Ned asked, puzzled. "Where is everyone running?"
"They say a large unit—at least a corps—is approaching from the north. The colonel has declared readiness for two hours."
"How did you know she was coming?" Ned asked, wary. "Who reported it? We didn't see anything like that."
"You might not have seen it, but the patrol on horseback did. It's unclear who they are. It seems the colonel is calling you to check things out. Are you a scout or not, after all..."
A flurry of activity—soldiers running, making noise, carrying junk. One of them recognized Ned and greeted him. Ned nodded and smiled involuntarily—the familiar bustle even warmed his heart. Somehow, imperceptibly, the Corps had become his own, and Ned felt as if he had come home…
Colonel Heverad's tent, like the other two colonels', remained in the center of the camp, guarded by Security guards. Officers kept running in and out, apparently after receiving orders.
Two magicians came out and walked towards their tents, talking worriedly and not paying attention to the soldiers.
Ned faltered slightly as he saw those he feared most, but they passed him by without a glance. What was Ned to the mages? More fodder for the battlefield, why bother looking at some sergeant?
However, he didn't look like a sergeant at all now. He had to leave his uniform, soaked in blood, behind in the city. It looked simply disgusting. Just scare the crows. Ned rummaged through the houses and found himself some civilian clothes – clean, not stained with blood. He also washed himself, taking a dip in the river that runs through the city.
"Stay here, I'll report to the colonel!" the guard ordered, disappearing behind the tent flap. The guards posted near the entrance eyed Ned with interest, examining him as if he were a strange creature—a man in civilian clothes in a military camp—and it drew attention. Especially if that man was the well-known Sergeant Ned the Black...
One of the guards wanted to comment on Ned's appearance, or perhaps wanted to ask him something, and opened his mouth... but before he could, the guard who had accompanied Ned stuck his head out of the tent and ordered menacingly:
– Get to the colonel quickly! He's furious!
Ned pulled back the flap, walked through the vestibule of the tent and found himself before the dark and menacing eyes of Colonel Heverad, whose eyes widened in bewilderment:
"What the hell is this?! Sergeant Black, what are you wearing?! Where's your uniform?! You've lost your mind! When did I tell you to bring the prisoners? And what's happened? Where have you been? You've already changed into civilian clothes – are you planning on deserting or something?! You've all lost your mind! Every single one of you should be brought to trial! You're no good, you slackers! What they call reconnaissance – they can't even catch a single prisoner for over a day! Why are you silent, demon sergeant?"
"Nulan, you don't even let him say a word!" Colonel Zaid chuckled. "You've scared the boy so much he's probably speechless. He's one of your favorites, and yet you're treating him like a common spearman."
"I don't have favorites, what are you lying about?!" Heverad snapped angrily. "And if he doesn't serve as expected, I'll write him off as a soldier! What the hell do I need officers for, who can't carry out the simplest order—capture a couple of worthless prisoners! Why are you standing there like a statue? Your face is as insolent as a market trader's, look at that! You'll scare him, right? Report, you bastard! And if your explanations don't satisfy me, I'll write you off as a spearman! No—as a guard! No—as..."
"Make him a healer, a healer!" Evor said, grinning. "Besides healers, there are also guards, who else is there? Riding horses! There! Nulan, your imagination is running wild, but let me remind you – time is short, and you won't let the boy speak. Let him report, finally!"
"Everyone's against me, you bastards!" Heverad shook his head dismissively and suddenly added, turning to Ned, "Want a drink? Would you like some warm brew to wet your throat? Not yet? Then report..." The colonel swore so masterfully and at such length that Ned couldn't help but admire him—even he, a former shepherd, couldn't swear like that. It's well known that cows respond best to commands given with choice curses. Why? Who knows... maybe they sense the energy invested in swear words. Commanding soldiers, traditionally, was also done with choice curse words, but Ned had never heard them from the colonel. Apparently, he was truly very agitated.
"I report, Colonel!" Ned began calmly, his eyes glaring at Heverad. "We've conducted a reconnaissance of the area around the city and within the city itself..."
"What? In the city itself?" Zaid's eyes widened. "You penetrated the city?"
"Don't interfere," Kheverad stopped Zayd, suddenly becoming serious, and froze in anticipation, biting his lip.
"I've penetrated the city," Ned nodded in agreement, "there's no garrison. They're all dead."
"Whaaat?! What do you mean dead?!" Now Heverad's eyes widened as if he'd been stabbed in the ass with an awl. "Details, everything you know! What you saw!"
"I saw a rope hanging from the wall and climbed it onto the city wall. Then I descended into the city. Every Isfirian soldier, every living creature in the city, was dead. Torn to pieces. I spent the night in the city, then descended and hurried to the camp to report to command. So, I couldn't carry out your order to capture prisoners for one simple reason—there was no one to capture. I couldn't open the gates—they needed several men to operate the lifting mechanism. I didn't consider it possible to lift scouts into the city, wanting to quickly reach command and report what had happened. Report complete.
Silence fell, broken only by the distant swearing of the soldiers and the breathing of the three colonels and the adjutant, frozen in amazement. Then Heverad tried to speak, but only a hoarse croak escaped his throat. He grabbed a mug from the table, greedily drank the dark liquid, dripping onto his uniform, and asked:
"What do you think? What happened to the Isfirians? Any information about the cause of the incident? And what happened to the general? Well, that's not interesting anymore. If you're saying EVERYONE is dead, then... well, answer other questions. So?"
"Witchcraft," Ned stated confidently, "I can't come up with any other explanation. I don't understand it, but... the Isfirians probably found some artifact, accidentally activated it, and paid for it with their lives. I was lucky. I arrived in the city long after all this happened."
"Then who left the city?" Evore asked incredulously. "If the rope remained on the wall, then someone survived?"
"Maybe some mage?" Ned shrugged. "Who else could have survived there besides a mage? However, it's not my job to speculate. I infiltrated the city, saw, inspected some of the houses, confirmed that everyone in the city was dead, and then returned. That's where I picked up civilian clothes. Mine were so bloody and dirty that I considered it improper to appear before command in such disgrace. Donning an Isfirian uniform seemed even more improper.
"You're right about the Isfirian uniform," Kheverad drawled thoughtfully, pondering something. "That's it, plans change! We're going to the city! Now we'll have a fortress—if the Isfirian armies are coming at us, they won't succeed. What a timely move, oh, what a timely move... maybe he should get some kind of medal? Or a kick in the ass?" Kheverad laughed. "How good you were to take the risk and break into the city! You deserve a reward for that. And a kick for reporting on time! You should have run right away in the middle of the night, and straight to me!"
"I wanted to make sure I wasn't mistaken," Ned shrugged, "and the garrison was destroyed. Sorry, Colonel."
"Come on... well done! Remind me when we get home alive to send you for the Star of Courage. What's the matter? A lad could use a little something if he's going to officer school, right? Those idiots—his classmates—will die of envy! I can just picture the faces of those daddy's and mama's boys! Okay, enough—to business. Ned, you'll lead a group of soldiers now—have them scale the city wall, open the gates. And we'll raise our corps—and into the city! You know there's an army marching on us? Yeah, you know. So—your next task is to go there and see who it is. They're currently about thirty li from here, camped. I need to have information about this army in no time.
"Where did you get the information about the army?" Ned shrugged, puzzled. "Someone saw it, so why didn't they figure out who they were?"
"The guys caught a local, a peasant," Heverad explained, "a so-so, dumb kid. He says he saw the army and ran away, afraid to catch their eye for fear of being taken into slavery. He couldn't see the banners, or the uniform. He doesn't even know what a uniform is. He tried to escape from us, too, but didn't have time. The patrol caught him. Now Security is interrogating the guy, trying to get something out of him. Do you need him? Will you interrogate him?"
"Yes, of course," Ned nodded, "and besides, he must lead us to this very army."
"Okay..." the colonel scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it to Ned. "Give it to Major Sert, tell him to hand the boy over to you. Zaid, give orders for the group; they'll be leaving with Ned now."
– Or maybe the scouts will open it themselves?
"What scouts? They need to go! He'll show us where he climbed the wall and then off we go, scouting! And let them get on with their work. Okay, okay, let's get to work!" The colonel clapped his hands loudly, urging everyone in the tent on. "Adjutant, take Black to Sert, he doesn't seem to know where he's sitting right now. Don't know? The lieutenant will take us. Disperse!"
* * *
Ned looked at the boy and saw himself. That old self—the shepherd boy in the village of Black Ravine. Afraid of everything, expecting nothing good from life.
His heart ached – why do the gods give some people a happy childhood, loving parents, prosperity and wealth, while others get nothing? Is this fair? Why are the gods so cruel?
He chuckled – the gods never condescend to mere mortals. All they can do is "hint," and these "hints" can cost lives...
- What is your name?
"Itrok, sir military man." The boy winced when Ned asked him a simple and harmless question.
"Were you beaten?" Ned frowned.
"No... just a little," the guy looked down, and Ned thought with fury that he would have gladly punched Major Sert in the eye, who was smirking over his shoulder.
"Major," Ned's voice was colder than ever, "I'm taking the boy. You received the colonel's orders, so there's probably no complaint."
"I'd like to watch your interrogation," the major said indignantly. "It's a security issue!" (It would be interesting to see how this amateur, this country bumpkin, conducts the interrogation! He's as stupid as this village freak!)
"Please direct all questions and complaints to the Colonel. We need this man for reconnaissance. I'm taking him!" Ned declared even colder, so coldly that it felt like a chill had blown in, and added for the boy: "Get up and follow me!"
(The colonel gave them a lot of freedom! This rabble has become insolent! An impudent sergeant, a rootless bastard!)
Ned didn't bother listening to Major Sert's dirty thoughts and, ignoring his angry expression, walked out of the Security tent. Then he suddenly thought: why are the people in Security always so nasty? Maybe the work leaves its mark on them? Suspecting everyone, airing other people's dirty laundry—how could you not go berserk? However, if a person isn't very good to begin with, such dirty work will certainly increase their nastiness, while nothing can spoil a good person. The statement was, of course, debatable, but Ned dismissed the thought, pushing it from his mind. He needed to think about the pressing issues, and then about any trivial matters unrelated to the primary tasks. And the most primary task was the upcoming campaign to an unknown destination, to an unknown army.
The scouting party's tent was still standing, and the scouts were lined up outside. They were discussing something, and when they saw Ned, they immediately fell silent, waiting for him to approach. Arnot separated from the group and, coming out to greet Ned, explained:
"Everyone's worried—Oydar's missing, the guys are worried. What are we going to do?"
"What should we do?" Ned asked sullenly, and, approaching his subordinates, announced, "We're heading for the city now, and from there, on to a new mission. There's an unknown army somewhere ahead, and we need to determine who they are. Here's the guide. He knows where the army is and will take us there. Will you take him?"
"I'll see you out..." the guy answered fearfully, looking at the soldiers who had surrounded him from all sides.
"Very well," Ned concluded, "get ready. Take a small supply of food with you – dried meat, flatbread."
- Should we take down the tent?
- No. Let someone else clean up. No time. Don't take too much. We're traveling light.
"What, should we abandon our things?" Ugras asked.
"We can't drag them thirty li. That's it, guys—load up and go! The main group, those who'll be heading into town, will be arriving soon, so let's hurry!"
"Commander, you still haven't told me what's going on in the city," Ugras asked cautiously. "Maybe you could tell me?"
"Everyone's dead there," Ned explained briefly. "They unleashed some kind of magic that killed them. The group that comes with us must open the gate. That's all the information we have."
"Wow," Ugras whistled. "Commander, how did you get into the city? Arnot kept telling me about some rope hanging from the wall! Where was it hanging? Where was it? We walked all over the city—there wasn't any rope anywhere."
"What are you talking nonsense about?" Arnot interjected. "There weren't any, and then they dropped them! Why bother the commander with all this nonsense?"
"Nonsense, you say?" the swordsman shook his head. "For some reason, miracles always happen around our commander. Strange, very strange... And where did Oydar go? Was he sent on a mission?"
"I don't know where he went. He'll be found," Ned shrugged and commanded, "Spread out! Ready in ten minutes! Stand by the tent in ten minutes, ready!"
"Ned, aren't you going to change? Into your uniform, I mean," Arnot asked quietly.
"No. If anything happens, I'll come closer in civilian clothes and see who's scaring us," Ned chuckled. "Tell you what, feed the boy. And get ready too. Make sure he doesn't run away—look at him, his eyes are darting around. He's thinking he's going to run away. Boy, until you lead us to the enemy army, you're not going anywhere."
"Will you let me see you out?" the boy asked timidly.
"I'll let you go. I promise. But if you try to run away, I'll beat your face in. Keep that in mind. Go with Arnot, he'll feed you. You're probably hungry, aren't you?"