Chapter 2

He arrived home by dusk. The villagers were waiting for the cows at the edge of the village and immediately drove them home – well-fed, happy, full of hot, fatty milk.

Ned drove the family's three cows to a stall, where two young slaves, recently bought by the owner at the market in Shusard, were already waiting, then he went to the well, drew water and poured it with pleasure on his head, which was splitting with pain. He could not understand his ailment - either his head was baked, or there was some poison in the shells - Silan had never warned him that this could happen - he said he should be careful with unfamiliar shells. So he did not eat unfamiliar ones...

The mistress, a woman of about thirty (the master's third wife – the previous ones had died for some reason), always scared, a sort of grey mouse, invited him to have dinner with the other slaves.

Ned had a strange social status - he was not a slave, after all - he did not wear a collar, and it was difficult to sell it - officially he was the adopted son of Brank, the owner of the estate, but in fact Ned's position was lower than that of the slaves. And even the slaves constantly reminded him of this. And now, the kitchen slave Anthur plopped a bowl of porridge down on him so that it almost fell into the mud, under the feet of the slaves. Everyone giggled, and Ned calmly sat down at the end of the table, taking the required piece of bread and a mug of beer. What's the point of fighting? Try to start a fight, and you will definitely end up under Brank's belt.

Ned ate and listened with interest to what was happening around him. As soon as he entered the village, he felt that everything had changed. He began to hear the thoughts of people and other living beings!

Cows thought stupidly, simply, dogs were smarter, people – oh people! And what he hadn't heard when he was walking to his house! What dirty secrets he hadn't learned! For example – a quiet housewife running to the neighbor's guy when, supposedly, she was going to her friend's to talk about this and that, and when she invited him to dinner, pictures of love encounters floated through his mind, and in such detail, from such angles, that Ned almost blushed, hiding his eyes.

Two young slave girls, who had probably heard about Ned, were thinking that if he weren't a damned ard, any girl would not refuse to roll around in the hay with him - look at his greedy hands, how he squeezes... and what a height! With such height, apparently, he has a decent "tool"... bigger than his master, who can't be forced to get properly excited!

It turns out that Anthur prefers men to women, and today he was going on a date with the fisherman Inuk, who lives on the edge of the village. Actually, these same relationships between men were not persecuted in Zamara, but they were not considered the norm either - something like a harmless perversion, who knows what people are into? But the thing is that Anthur always boasted about his victories over women, so the discovery was rather piquant.

Other people's secrets were pouring into Ned's brain so much that most likely all these thoughts were the reason his head started to hurt.

Thoughts were mumbling, flying in the air, and he, seriously concerned about what had happened to him, began to think - how did this happen? How did it happen that he could hear thoughts?

After some thought, he realized it was a cauldron. It looked like he'd gotten his hands on some ancient magical object and had foolishly put it on his head. No – who could have known? How could he have known that this demon cauldron had magical properties? It was all dented, as if it had been crushed between huge boulders. Although – that was probably the case. And Ned had managed to straighten it out without even breaking it into pieces. The metal of the cauldron was thick and heavy, how did it manage to be processed so easily? And why was it always so shiny? And when Ned found it on the shore, and when he used it for a long time afterwards – there were no traces of the green that forms on the copper. He should have asked Silanus… alas, the old man is not there.

- Hey, what are you sitting there for, idiot?! Here you go! Eat it and get out of here! - Antour leaned over the table and spat into Ned's cup, ruining the unfinished porridge. Ned was already full, but it wasn't his habit to leave food - there might not be any tomorrow.

Ned looked silently at the green-yellow slime in his bowl, and a fire of hatred flared up in his soul. He quietly said three words out loud, and made a gesture with his right hand. Anthur suddenly stopped laughing and clutched his stomach:

- Ouch, oh, it hurts! How it hurts!

The slave doubled over and collapsed on the floor, writhing in pain, pale as a sheet. Everyone froze, not understanding what to do, then one of the slaves rushed to the exit and a few minutes later appeared with Brank wiping his oily mouth. It seemed that he had been torn away from his dinner.

- What's going on here? - he asked discontentedly, looking at the writhing guy. - Did he eat something or something?

- Nnnno... - Antour squeezed out with difficulty, writhing on the floor - suddenly it started to hurt, and that's it! I don't know what happened! It was like a stake was driven into my stomach!

- We'll have to call the doctor - Brank said dejectedly, and commanded - Ned, run for the doctor! Tell him how it all happened. Let him go faster, otherwise this idiot will die while the old fool is dragging himself through the village. But don't let him hope for a generous payment! He's a total rip-off, every powder seems to be sprinkled with gold, the bastard!

- Okay. I'll tell you everything, - Ned said indifferently, and slipped through the gap between the owner's sloping shoulders and the doorframe, managing not to even touch Brank with his clothes. He had to wipe the doorframe with his back, but better the doorframe than that hateful mug. "Daddy!" - damn it...

Ned walked through the village in the early twilight, looking at his shadow cast by the red moon, and thought about this: WHAT was that? He had cursed Anthur, that was clear! He had said some words he didn't know the meaning of, made a strange gesture with his hand, and now there was a big fellow lying on the floor, writhing in pain! Interesting, very interesting. Today was truly amazing.

A cauldron! That's it. A cauldron. You have to be careful with this - the villagers have a very negative attitude towards the manifestation of any magic, especially curse magic. If healing magic is perceived very positively, then curse magic, as they say, came from overseas, from the same Ards, evil sorcerers, and if someone finds out - he will be in trouble.

It was quite a long walk, through the entire village, which stretched for two li along the seashore, on a hill. The village was cut by a small river, from which, in fact, almost all its inhabitants drank. They collected water in buckets, carried it in barrels, and the most efficient ones diverted water from the river to their houses through canals to water their vegetable gardens. Not all houses had wells, only the most well-off ones, like Brank, who kept a shop with everyday goods - from cereals to needles, from flour to shovels.

A stone bridge spanned the stream, built so long ago that no one remembered when it was built. They said that the bridge was left over from the time when other gods ruled the world, not the current ones. Ned did not believe it, although looking at this bridge one could think that this was the case - the bridge was so mossy and old that it left a feeling of incredible antiquity. Even the stones from which it was built had a bizarre shape and were not fastened together at all - they simply lay on top of each other, and that was all. And besides, it was impossible to pull out a single stone from the bridge, they were so firmly held in place. They said that they were held together by ancient magic, now lost.

The bad thing was that young people always gathered near the bridge. There was a platform by the water, thirty by forty centimeters, where the village boys and girls usually walked. They played musical instruments here, ran into the bushes to kiss or something more serious…

Ned had never been there, it was not a place for slaves, and certainly not for him, but he often spied on what was going on there, sneaking up to the platform from the darkness. He lay in the bushes and listened to the conversations, painfully dreaming that someday he would be able to walk like this with a girl, hugging her, bite her full lips and undress her in the bushes, seeing how her full breasts and slender hips would shine in the darkness. Dreams, dreams...

It was dangerous for him to pass by the site - to appear in front of the hot youth meant immediate aggression towards him. Therefore Ned picked up speed, and keeping to the dark side of the street, not illuminated by the lanterns sticking out of the windows of the houses, rushed to the bridge. To immediately run into five of his haters, who seemed to be waiting for him by the river on purpose.

The main one, the innkeeper's son, Shisor, was at that moment recalling with satisfaction Sally's firm breasts, which he had groped the night before, another guy, his friend Evore, was thinking about how he envied Shisor, who had persuaded Sally, the third... in general, all the minor sins immediately fell upon Ned, who had stopped in front of them and was getting ready for a beating. And it didn't take long to come.

- What a gift! Look who came to us! - Shisor said mockingly. - You ran away from us this morning, and now you came yourself! What, did you like my fist? Or Evora's knee? Listen - maybe you even like men? Guys, he's a man-lover, for sure! This thought never occurred to me before, but when I saw him, I realized - for sure! Him! Listen, Ned, I have a proposition for you - serve us, and then go wherever you need to. We won't touch you. And we'll also protect you from other guys. Right, guys? Will we?

- We will - Evore chuckled contentedly - only if the service is good. By the way - I heard that men serve men better than women! They seem to know how to give pleasure better. So we need to compare!

- Have you tried this with women yet? - asked Nart, the blacksmith's son, a healthy fellow, as tall as Ned, but one and a half times thicker, incredulously - you're lying!

- Fool! - Evor said contemptuously - you have to know who to persuade! It's a very pleasant thing, I tell you. More pleasant than ordinary tumbling.

"You know better," Ned said, unexpectedly, "how it is with men. Your uncle cornered you in a barn when you were twelve and made you be a woman - in every way. Did you like it?"

There was silence, the kind of silence that comes before a storm, when thunder is about to strike and lightning will tear space apart with a crackle and a hiss. Evore opened his mouth like a fish trying to catch air, then coughed, and with difficulty forced out, said:

- What are you talking about, creature? You creature! To disgrace a free man?! Damned slave! I'll kill you, bastard!

Ned unexpectedly deftly dodged the blow, tripped Evora, and ran into the gap between the guys.

All went well, and Ned would have slipped past the stunned boys, but the blacksmith's son had not only strength and quick reflexes, but also a lack of imagination. He did not stop, startled by the unexpected performance of the most unresponsive man in the village, but grabbed Ned by the collar, stopping him as if he had hit a fence. Then he grabbed the boy across the body, so that Ned's ribs cracked, and in a voice surprisingly thin for such a massive boy, he screamed:

- I've got him, guys, I've got him!

Ned, without thinking twice, kicked Nat in the big toe of his right foot with the heel of his foot, who yelped, loosening his grip. Immediately followed a blow with the back of his head right in the lips, turning them into two bloody dumplings, and then, when Nart raised his hands to his face - a grab, and a throw over himself, right under the bridge, into the babbling river, which responded with a big - PLUMP!

The road is clear! - and Ned ran as fast as he could to the doctor, thinking along the way about how he would get back. It was obvious that he couldn't cross the bridge now. The boys would be waiting for him, and perhaps not with bare hands.

Ned was stunned by his own behavior - he had never fought a freeman before, he had practically never fought at all. And what was even stranger was that he did it with such knowledge, as if throwing a Stozusan boy into the river was a normal thing for him. His body was doing something on its own that he could not do, that he had never been taught. And again the thought - a cauldron! Was it even a cauldron?!

The lantern in the window was not lit - the doctor had probably already gone to bed. But Ned didn't care - he or the doctor - who was more important? There was no point in getting punished for not following orders.

And then Ned thought - maybe it really was time to run? What the hell was he doing sitting in this remote corner, enduring humiliation and beatings, when there, beyond the outskirts, was the whole world?

This thought stirred him so much that the guy stood there for about five minutes, thinking it over, sucking it in from all sides. Not having come to any conclusion, he punched the window frame, assembled from small pieces of glass, several times. Only the rich had enough money for large panes of glass. A doctor in a remote village could not be considered rich - the villagers turned to him only at their last gasp, and even then they tried to get treatment on credit, and if they had money, they haggled over every copper like crazy.

"Who's there?" the healer shouted in a sleepy voice, and Ned heard his thoughts: "Someone's here, may the demons take you... someone's probably dying again, the damned beggars! They're trying to get in, but there's no money to be had. Soon there'll be nothing to eat, the greedy creatures!"

- This is Ned, from Brank. There the slave got sick with his stomach, and the master sent me for you. He only said that you should go faster, otherwise if Anthur dies, you won't get a copper. And he also said not to count on a generous payment, your powders look like they're sprinkled with gold.

- Creatures! May you all perish! My gold powders? I charge the lowest rate, almost at a loss! Damned beggars!

The doctor's voice was dry and boring, and only after a few seconds Ned realized that these were not words, but the man's thoughts.

In fact, Ned had already slowly begun to distinguish what people thought from what they said – thoughts were dry, boring, despite the fervor with which they were "uttered." That is, it was clear that the author of the thoughts was worried, that he was speaking from the heart, but these "words" were heard as dry, colorless phrases. Words spoken out loud were the opposite – they were colored by shades of pronunciation, in addition, their tone was higher or lower, while thoughts were heard with the same volume – like the speech of a person speaking at full voice almost right next to the ear. Loud, in general.

Yes - and besides - Ned discovered that he could listen to everyone's thoughts at five centimeters, but if he concentrated he could hear one person at a much greater distance. But only one. The others would immediately fall silent, even those standing nearby. He had discovered this when he was walking through the village to his home and, for lack of anything better to do, experimenting with his new abilities.

The healer came out shaggy from sleep, like a yard dog. His eyes, having seen everything and everyone, looked sullenly and bored from the height of their fifty-odd years. No one knew how this man ended up in a remote village on the edge of the world - he came, said that he was a healer, and began to heal. By and large, no one was interested in why a man with such abilities suddenly settled in the village - they live, so what's wrong with that? However - even if they were interested - they did not show their interest - he heals, and that's fine. Other villages cannot boast of a real healer, and even more so one who lays hands on the sick. Powders are powders, but good healing magic is the best of all. You can't cure everything with powders, especially if they are not charmed. And a good magician-healer charms his powders, and does not just pound them in a mortar.

- Well, what am I doing here, in this backwater? - the doctor's thought was dry and boring, but then it struck Ned - and it was me, the court doctor, running to a stupid merchant to treat his equally stupid slave! For pennies, for a pittance! Well, why the hell did I agree to make poison for that bitch? If I hadn't made the poison, if she hadn't given me up during interrogation... I would now be sitting in a white-stone palace drinking good wine with a beautiful woman... eeehhh... Why is that moron staring at me like that? Hmm... he has an interesting aura... the guy is a potential magician. Only if the local idiots find out, they'll kill him. His magic is black! His aura is red with black veins. But he's still weak, the most he can do is send diarrhea. Hmm... interesting... I need to ask.

- Hey, boy, what's up with that slave?

- My stomach is a bit... sort of hurts.

– With the stomach... very interesting... was it him who sent it? And what if it was unconscious, he is untrained. A black mage... a rarity, however. A battle mage. The kingdom is running off its feet, looking for potential mages, and here he is, sitting in a remote village, herding cows! And who else – a black mage, one in a hundred mages! Isn't that a paradox? Maybe I should send a letter to the city? To the local mayor? After all, the reward is ten gold pieces for reporting a potential mage. They are not lying around on the road. I'll send it tomorrow. But for now I have to go – this creature may really not pay anything if the slave croaks. He'll say – it took him a long time. I wonder if they've stopped looking for me or not? After all, ten years have passed. If only I could get back to the capital... eh. Or maybe they'll give more for a black mage, not ten gold pieces? I think there was such an order – more for a black mage. I'll throw a feast and drink for three days without drying out!

- Come on, lead the way! - and the doctor hobbled along the road so quickly that Ned could hardly keep up with the man. He wanted to ask him a lot of questions, but of course he did not dare. How could he explain that he could hear thoughts? They would either consider him crazy, or... just kill him. Who wants to realize that everything you think becomes known to some idiot?

Ned fell slightly behind the doctor, painfully thinking - how to cross the bridge, where the guys he had offended were waiting? If he tried to ford the river... but the banks were steep, and he would get completely dirty. He would tear his clothes. There would be a scandal. But what if he stayed closer to the doctor? Maybe they would be afraid to touch him in front of him?

Ned quickened his pace and caught up with the doctor and took his bag:

- Let me help you! It will make things easier for you.

- Hmm... well, take it - the doctor slung the bag over the guy's shoulder with relief - just watch out you don't fall! There are valuable powders and vials in there - if you break them, they'll cost me so much that I'll just tear you to pieces! I'll curse you!

– No matter how he curses me, – the healer chuckled to himself, – he'll give me such diarrhea that I'll be shitting for a month, I'll be covered in shit! You have to be careful with the black ones. Then, fifteen years ago, one black magician cursed the entire advancing regiment, fifteen hundred men – they went into the attack, shit pouring out of their pants! What a sight. And the smell! They became completely useless fighters after that. Of course, he's far from a professional, but at the peak of his efforts – in irritation or despair, he can cast a very powerful spell. Such that the diarrhea he sent will be just a drop in the bucket. There were examples. I wonder how he managed to manifest his abilities at such an age? Magicians usually show themselves at ten years old, or even earlier, and he… he… how old is he? Twenty years old? More? Hmm… no… he only looks older, but probably sixteen or seventeen. A skinny guy. If he could just put on some meat, he'd be a killing machine... He couldn't break a lantern - damn rocks! But he's a decent guy - look how he volunteered to help. Today's youth are nothing but boorish creatures! And what surprises me - they're raised by the same creatures. Cattle. Ehhhh... where's the capital, where are the avenues lit by lanterns, where are the crowds of people strolling at the Autumn Harvest Fair... cliffs, sea, wind... and cattle that don't bother to retreat into the bushes to defecate, shitting right on the path! I got into trouble yesterday, the bastards! It seems like someone did it on purpose so that I'd get into trouble. And what - nothing surprising. Can you expect gratitude from these people? Here they go again - standing by the bridge and chatting! They have nothing better to do, hanging out and chatting!

The boys were waiting for Ned at the bridge, blocking it like a cork blocks the exit of wine from a bottle. Sticks in their hands, they were quite determined.

Ned moved closer to the doctor, and the latter, belligerently lifting his spiral beard, walked straight into the crowd, threateningly waving his cane, at the end of which there was a silver knob in the form of a dragon. The doctor was very proud of his cane and always walked only with it, although he clearly did not need support - he was a nimble and energetic man.

- Now get out of here! Lazybones! Just chatting and spitting sunflower seeds! Unwashed country bumpkins! Get out, I said! I'll cast a spell on you now, and you'll shit for a month without a break! Stupid creatures!

The boys stepped aside warily, Ned slipped behind the doctor, and the following words were heard after him:

- Never mind, we'll meet again. Tomorrow. Where are you driving your cows?

Ned felt a chill run through him - this was the last thing he needed! They hadn't bothered him outside the village before...they had limited themselves to mocking him in public places. And now...who knew what would happen next.

They were waiting at home. Anthur was lying on a mat that had been placed under him. His face was pale, and a heavy smell was coming from underneath him, indicating that the guy had really shit himself. The owner was cautiously looking at the patient from around the corner, and when the doctor entered the house, he rushed up to him and asked excitedly:

- What's wrong with him?! Is it a plague? Otherwise we'll all die here!

- I'll take a look now - the doctor grumbled - just pay in advance for the examination. Silver pool. And give me water. Soap. Am I supposed to go around in powders with shit-stained hands?!

- Here! Bloodsucker... - Brank muttered quietly, handing the doctor a silver coin. He hid it with a satisfied look, then said:

- The cost of the powders is separate. The treatment with hands is also separate. Do you think everything is cheap? In your shop, you don't give away very cheaply, but here you are all greedy! You probably hid a hundred thousand in gold in secret places, but you can't bring yourself to feed the slaves properly?! No wonder they are suffering from stomach pains!

- Don't blab what you don't know - Brank muttered and added mentally - a hundred, not a hundred, but sixty thousand. I'll have to check in the cellar, so that no one finds it, bury it deeper! "picture - a barrel with mushrooms, under it a wooden floor, a hatch in the floor, under it a box with gold."

- Enough chatter, Senerad! Do your job! As much as I have, it's all mine. Manage to earn it, and then count other people's property.

– I'll make money with you – thought the healer – damned tightwads! Heh heh – damned indeed! It will be funny if the boy curses them! Alas, most likely he doesn't know how to consciously cast a curse. Only in a fit of anger. And what, alas? If he could – the whole village would be in pieces. Or worse. It's better if he doesn't know how. He needs to be controlled, otherwise there will be trouble. But I really want to leave him here – if only he could bring order to this snake pit. They would bring me a ton of money! Stop! Stop! That's an idea. What do I have to lose? I can always turn him over to the authorities. And if he cast a spell on me… oh, and I'd have money! It's easy to remove, no powders needed – a liberation spell, and that's it. His level is around the first, it doesn't require much strength. And I'm still a healer's eighth. Not so tall, but against him - like a dog against a chicken. Only one thing - how to make him cast a curse on my command, and also - how to make it so that he keeps quiet about it? Without blabber? And how to take him away from this idiot? Now I'll think, think ... No. Looks like I'll have to hand him over to the authorities. It would be too difficult a task. This Brank is such a bastard - he will never give the guy to me as an assistant. Better to get money right away than to get into trouble. Oh! That's right - he cast a curse. The fool does not know that each magic leaves an individual trace, a trace of his aura. He cast a curse - and now everyone knows that he did it. If it were impossible to distinguish spells - black magicians would do whatever they wanted. Although ... they said that especially malicious magicians can put up a deceptive aura instead of their own. Change shades. But it seems to me - idle tales. Wow... he's at least level four! How come there haven't been any mass plagues and diseases here before? Okay, okay... why am I making up all this nonsense? I need to leave the guy alone for a while and see what happens! Let him do his best to cast a spell, I'll treat the sick, and when the time comes, I'll send him to the city. Like, I've found an elemental black magician. And I'll get a reward. No need to force him, coerce him, and no one will know anything. Everything is neat and elegant. Wow, I'm a good boy, wow - a smart one!

- That's it, your slave is ready. Healthy - the doctor disgustedly rinsed his hands in warm water, lathered them with soap, and winced - stingy Brank even saves on soap - stinking, for slaves.

"What happened to him?" the owner became worried.

- Three pieces of silver! - the doctor extended his hand eloquently and wiggled his fingers. Brank placed the coins in his palm, Senerad put them in a purse tied to his belt and explained contentedly:

- You need to feed your slaves better. Ate something stale. I'm surprised the other slaves haven't fallen ill. Judging by where they live and what they eat, it's high time they did. That's it, I'm going to bed. If you need anything, you know where I live.

"Are you sure he doesn't have a plague?" Brank asked incredulously, looking at the pink-faced Antour rising from the floor.

- I told you - no! Let him wash his bottom, and it will be as good as new - the doctor grinned, and, knocking his elegant cane on the floor, he went out into the corridor. From there, a crash and curses were heard - apparently he touched a copper basin for cooking jam and knocked it to the floor, then the door slammed, and everything went quiet.

- Go to your places! Everyone, everyone go! What are you staring at? - Brank looked angrily at Ned and swung the rag he was holding at him. Ned did not bend over as usual, did not flinch, and the owner wrinkled his forehead thoughtfully - what could this mean? But the foundling had already turned and left. Brank did not think long about his strange behavior - it was night, he wanted to sleep. No time for lousy idiots.

In the morning, as usual, Ned got up at dawn, with difficulty opening his eyes - it was necessary to lead the herd to pasture. He went to the well, trying not to make a noise, lowered a wooden tub on a hemp rope into it, splashed ice-cold water on his face and, shuddering from the morning breeze, went to the kitchen to grab something for breakfast.

Today he was lucky - the cook was in a good mood (all her thoughts were about the night games with the neighbor, and this time he tried his best!), gave Ned some ham scraps, a fresh flatbread, just baked in the oven, and he, almost purring with pleasure, ate everything in the blink of an eye.

Then he was handed a small bundle of food, also quite a large one. Whistling a tune he had heard at a youth gathering one evening, Ned went to the outskirts to gather the herd.

That's where they spoiled his mood - there was the blacksmith's son with his swollen face - as if a wild animal had walked over it (Ned remembered - there was a wonderful blackthorn growing under the bridge!), and Evor, with his dirty boyish secrets, and Shisor, with his perverted dreams. Sally was standing there, looking with some interest now at the blacksmith's son, now at Ned, and remembering how yesterday she had hugged Shisor - her pictures were so clear, so bright, so juicy that Ned almost blushed.

The whole gang had obviously been waiting for him, and when Ned appeared on the horizon, they perked up and came closer. The boys' faces were serious, and Ned caught that Shisor and Evora had sharp knives in their pockets, with which they were going to... no, not kill. Injure Ned. Cut him up properly. Scare him. Not here - later.

They didn't say anything, they just looked silently, then Shisor smiled crookedly and nodded promisingly to Ned – as if to say, soon, soon…see you.

Ned didn't say anything either, he gathered the cows and, urging the last one - the lazy cattle belonging to the fisherman Nustar - with a switch, he drove the herd into the hills, away from the cultivated fields, to which the villagers had already dragged themselves - no one had cancelled the weeding and hilling.

Ned's main task was not even to make sure that the cows didn't disappear - this happened very rarely here - but to make sure that the cows didn't get into the vegetable gardens, the fields, and didn't cause any damage. Then he would get it from the headman, and his "father" would pay a fine - he gets money for the shepherd, so he has to pay. And Ned, of course, would have to answer with his own skin.

The day started well, but how it will continue...that's as the gods wish.

Well, Ned wasn't particularly religious - well, yes - gods. Yes, you have to make offerings to them sometimes. So what kind of offerings can a de facto slave have? If he has nothing at all? So - be patient gods, if there is money - there will be offerings.

After some thought, Ned decided to drive the herd to the distant meadows – to the bend of the sea. He hadn't been there for a long time – the grass had grown, and there was a good watering place… and further from the village. Ned had no doubt that he would have problems today. But he wasn't going to let himself be beaten anymore. What would he do? Who knows what he'll do. Who cares about them! He'll do whatever he wants!

Ned watched his thoughts with surprise - why had such a fearless rebel suddenly awakened in him? Was it only because he had put on the "cauldron"? Or maybe the time had come, and the blood of his pirate ancestors had awakened in him? In any case, he liked his current state. As well as the fact that his belly was stuffed with delicious ham, the knapsack with lunch pleasantly pulled at his shoulders, the sun was warm, the breeze cooled, the sea was roaring and smelled of fish and something bitter, fresh - what else could this be? Maybe he should hold off on escaping for now? He was living quite well now. What was that healer thinking about diseases and curses? As Ned understood, that demonic old man was going to use Ned as some kind of walking disease. Ned curses someone, and the healer heals and collects money for it. But for some reason it didn't occur to the old fool to ask - would Ned agree to this? It didn't even occur to the doctor that he should somehow interest the guy, somehow butter him up. They were used to using the slave's labor without giving anything in return, it seemed normal. But it wasn't normal at all!

Ned was surprised again – where did he get these thoughts from? He had never been able to think so coherently, and so…reasonably, or something. No one had taught him to think, to build logical chains. And now…now everything had changed. And again – he liked it!

Whistling and urging on the flock, which glanced sideways at the shepherd with fear, Ned reached the hill of Lone Oak, which was three li from the outskirts of the village. It took a long time and the sun was already quite high above the sea, which glittered on the horizon.

The solitary oak tree that gave the hill its name stood in its place, its roots dug into the ground so that it could probably hold up the entire imperial fleet without even shaking. It was several spans wide, gnarled and knotty, like an old warrior, strong but ugly. Ned liked to dine under it – there was good shade, and you could see in all directions. If a cow decided to wander off somewhere it shouldn't, you could spot it and bring it back with a curse and a stick. In the hollow there were springs that fed a stream that flowed to the sea – an ideal place for rest and grazing.

Having settled down by the trunk of an oak tree, Ned sat down, crossing his legs in his torn, hundred times mended boots, and contentedly closed his eyes - Narda was watching the herd, he could take a rest. He had slept only a little - four hours, no more. Ned closed his tired eyelids, and sleep immediately pounced on his tired body, covering Ned with a soft patchwork blanket.

Ned woke up from Narda's barking - she was almost wheezing, barking at someone else, and Ned immediately jumped to his feet, preparing for the worst. And sure enough! They.

Ned almost groaned in frustration - why, why could it never be okay? Why did the gods send more and more trials to his battered body? Why did they send these idiots?

"Hey, don't touch the dog! Don't touch him!" he shouted desperately, seeing Shisor nock an arrow to his hunting bow. Silly Narda continued to rush at the enemy, protecting Ned, as if she sensed the danger coming from these people. She had never done this before. Why did she decide to rush at people today?

- Shisor, don't! - Sally shouted uncertainly - I feel sorry for the dog!

- Shis, this is Brank's dog, a shepherd's dog, he paid money for her, - Nart intervened, - look, there will be a scandal. She is worth money. They say - the best shepherd's dog in our village. Brank will drag you to court to the headman, and daddy will beat your head in. She is worth no less than five gold coins.

- What the hell is he letting her loose for then?! - Shisor got furious - maybe she's mad, she's gone mad! Yes, she's definitely mad - and you'll confirm it later! Look, she almost grabbed me by the pants!

Shisor released the bowstring, and the arrow, singing its funeral song, almost pinned Narda to the ground. It drew a bloody line under the dog's belly and stuck into the ground, trembling as if from disappointment. Narda squealed and rushed to Ned, seeking protection in him.

The foundling stood with his fists clenched, choking with hatred. Then he squatted down, keeping his eyes on his enemies, and hugged the dog, who was shaking with excitement. She bared her teeth, growling at the strangers, and in her head she kept thinking:

- Enemies! It hurts! Master, love! It hurts! Tear the enemies! Bad people!

- Bad, bad, Nardushka - Ned said tenderly, and carefully felt the dog's wound. It was nothing serious - a scratch. It had been worse - it will heal. Once she ran into a sharp branch in a ravine, chasing a rabbit. The branch stuck in her chest and she thought that that was it, she would die. No - she pulled through. Ned then carried her in his arms for several li, and nursed her in his nook for two weeks.

"Give it to me!" he heard Evora's voice, and saw him take the intricately curved, expensive weapon from Shisor's hands. "I'll pin them both down like insects!"

- You're crazy, Evor! - Sally said decisively - our games are going too far! It's one thing to punch him in the face, laugh at him, but another to kill him! Can you imagine what that will be?

- Nothing will happen - Evore was pale and determined - we'll say that he attacked us, set the dog on us, wanted to kill us with a stone - there's the stone lying there. So I had to shoot him! He's not really a slave - that means he's not worth any money, and we won't have to pay for him. We won't touch the dog - he's expensive, why do we need problems, and he's a worthless, worthless creature. And let him die. Sally, stay out of it! Or you'll get a slap on the head!

- Hey, hey! This is my girlfriend, why are you giving orders! - Shisor was indignant - and for "on the head" you will get a hit on the head yourself! Get your own girlfriend, then hit her on the head!

- What are you so upset about? - Evore was confused - well, you've ruined the whole mood!

He lowered his bow and looked at Ned, who was calmly watching what had happened:

- You're lucky, dirt from the sole - live. But we'll beat your insides! So that you'll piss blood! And so that you never look at girls again! Let's castrate him, guys? What? He'll be able to work, but he won't spoil girls! Funny, huh?

- Sally, how can you go around with such bastards? - Ned asked suddenly. Do you know why he's so mad? I've discovered his dirty secret - he's been tumbling with a man. And he's pretending to be a normal guy. But it's all nonsense. He's just a beast, a dirty, vile beast! And your friend? Do you know that he tells all the guys that you have a mole between your legs in that very spot, and that yesterday you agreed to what he's been persuading you to do for two months? He's as talkative as a woman! And those two bastards consider Nart a dumb animal that they keep running around on a leash, and they let him out when they need to beat someone up. Do you need friends like that? And after he rolled on you in the hayloft yesterday, he went and squeezed his younger cousin and said dirty nasty things to her, telling her how he had you in every possible way. They giggled and shared their impressions – she's good too, she's lying around with all the guys. A slut. You're all dirty creatures! Bastards! How I hate you, if only you knew! Damn you, creatures!

The air suddenly smelled of rose petals, this smell was replaced by the disgusting smell of a corpse, or dead fish - stinking, unbearable, turning you inside out. Then the smell of pine needles, and again the stench, this time sweetish, as if manure and honey were mixed.

Ned said a few words quietly, with increasing pitch, petrified like a statue - only his hands moved, weaving a bizarre ligature, leaving glowing, incomprehensible signs in the air.

Then everything became quiet, and Ned looked in bewilderment at his hands, which had done something against his will, and at the four young men frozen on the ground in different positions, with their eyes wide open and streams of saliva running from the corner of their mouths.

Ned rushed to the lying ones, felt them - they were alive. Their hearts were beating evenly, rhythmically. The young people seemed to be sleeping, or were in oblivion.

Then they stirred and began to rise to their feet. Ned bristled, ready to attack - now they would begin to take revenge on him for those offensive words that he, for some reason, said, fishing information out of their heads. But they stood silently, and seemed not to recognize either each other or the place where they were now.

Ned walked around the boys and the girl, but they were still standing there, just as they had been five minutes ago, staring blankly into space with glassy eyes. Ned whistled in shock, stood nearby, and quietly began to walk away from the oak, picking up his treasured bundle along the way. He didn't know what to do. Leave them here? And then what? They'd definitely tie them up with him... and don't expect any mercy.

Suddenly it dawned on me:

- Go home and say you hit your head! And don't remember anything! Pick up the bow and arrows!

Why he said that, he himself didn't know. Why should they listen to him? But they did.

Shisor picked up his bow, pulled an arrow out of the ground and trudged limply towards the village, like a living corpse. The others followed, dragging their feet and drooling.

Ned rushed in the opposite direction, towards the barking of Narda, gathering the cows into a bunch - it was necessary to change the place urgently. It would be better if someone came to see what kind of stone the four idiots hit…