Chapter 5

The ship took two days to get to its destination. Two days locked up in the stale air of the living hold.

From time to time the hatches opened, letting in fresh sea air and people grabbed it with open mouths, enjoying every sip. By the end of the second day, many began to be indignant - they were not slaves, after all, to sail without food for so many days, and it was not clear where!

Then boxes of thin bread, hardened from long storage, were lowered into the hatches, and everyone who wanted to could eat them, soaking them in warm, stale water that smelled of rottenness.

The ship's crew had virtually no contact with the recruits - either they considered it beneath their dignity to talk to such rabble, or they had been given orders not to communicate - in any case, they got off with just "yes" and "no" when loading boxes into the hold and pouring "fresh" water into barrels.

Ned endured the hardships quite easily - his survival school was tougher than sitting for two days in a semi-dark hold, lit through barred hatches. Oydar and Arnot didn't moan either, they behaved quite decently.

Over the course of these two days, the three guys became friends. It happened somehow unnoticed - a day later they ate together, slept next to each other. No one bothered them - they were afraid of the reputation of Oydar and Ned, who had already become famous as strong fighters. If it weren't for them, Arnot's bag of food would have been taken away long ago, without leaving a crumb for the owner. This happened all the time - fights, swearing, indignant shouts.

The three guys didn't pay attention to what was happening - they were fighting, and the demons were with them. The main thing was that they weren't touched. And if they were touched, they would suffer. They weren't touched.

For two days and two nights the ship rolled on the waves, causing seasickness in its living contents, which surprised Ned very much – he did not experience any unpleasant sensations. And why should it? On such a huge thing, and to get seasick? This is not a nimble boat dancing on the waves.

However, his friends also felt fine. Oydar was always telling something, Arnot would add to it, or tell something of his own – also interesting, and Ned silently absorbed the information, like a dry sponge absorbs water.

He enjoyed it. What? Everything! You can sleep as much as you want, lie down as much as you want – no one will kick you, demanding you go to work, no one will offend you – just because he is in a bad mood. He is among equals, he is respected.

There's just not enough fresh air. But it won't last forever. Someday they'll still sail to their destination.

And that hour came. In the morning, when the recruits were still rubbing their eyes after the stuffy, hot night, the ship shook noticeably – it moored to the pier. For about another hour nothing happened, then the thick wooden gratings covering the hatches opened, falling to the side with a crash, and a loud commanding voice shouted:

- Recruits, get out! Quickly! With your things!

The people in the hold rushed up the wide wooden stairs. A crush formed, several fights and scandals broke out. People were rushing for fresh air, the taste of which they had almost forgotten during two days of confinement.

Ned stopped his comrades from giving in to the general hysteria, and now they watched with pleasure as people fought their way to freedom. It would seem - what's the big deal if they waited a little while - everyone would be released, they wouldn't go anywhere! No - they had to break through, they had to fight for a place on the stairs, pushing their comrades off it.

"That's human nature," Oydar said thoughtfully, watching as one big guy pushed a skinny man with a village knapsack over his shoulders down the stairs. "The stronger ones always try to climb to the top step, crawling over the heads of their comrades. That's what my master said, and as usual, he was right.

"Why didn't he buy you out?" Arnot asked with interest. "He's rich enough, isn't he?"

- Well, how can I tell you... who needs other people's problems? Besides, there was no talk of money there. If the victims were ordinary people, like you and me, that would be a different matter, but this way... That's it, let's go too, otherwise we risk getting hit in the back with a stick for not coming out in time.

The boys walked towards the nearest exit and fell in line with the last recruits leaving the hold.

Ten steps, polished by the feet of thousands of people, and here it is – freedom! The sea air fills the lungs, the sun shines in the eyes so that they water and close, as if covered with sand.

Ned lingers on the deck, trying to see where he is, but he is not allowed to stand - a blow from a stick on his back burns like boiling water and a nasty, broken voice screams loudly:

- Forward! Forward, you hornless beast! Run, run, to the shore! Enough idleness! This is not your father's house - this is the army, you runts!

Cursing under their breath and rubbing their bruised places, the recruits run in a line along the gangway to the shore, and crash into the crowd of those who got off earlier. There are many of them, so many that the shore is swarming with people. Around them stand soldiers in full combat armor, in chain mail, helmets, with spears, swords and rectangular shields on their backs. They watch the crowd with a smile, talk to each other, and drive away with the shafts of those who try to approach them to exchange a few words. It is clear that for them the recruits are lower than the lowest, on the level of worms or toads.

- Stand up! Stand straight! Straighten up, you bastards! - the same voice screamed. - What kind of brainless creatures are you! At least create some semblance of a formation! And what are you grinning about, idiots? - the man shouted at the soldiers watching the formation. - You yourself weren't far behind them, the morons! Stand up, everyone stand up! Pull yourself together!

A not very tall, but strong, broad-shouldered man in a shabby uniform ran along the rows of recruits, lined up by several people in the same uniforms, hit the particularly slow-witted guys in the stomachs several times with a stick, and finally - something like a square was lined up, made up of future comrades in arms breathing down each other's necks. Conversations died down, and silence reigned over the pier, which was interrupted by the clatter of the boots of a man in an expensive uniform decorated with silver embroidery. He walked accompanied by several people similar to him, dressed more poorly, but also distinguished by a military bearing - chest forward, shoulders back - as if he had swallowed a stake.

- Colonel! The recruit regiment has been unloaded onto the pier and is preparing to move to the waiting barracks! There are one thousand two hundred and thirty-three men available! There are no sick or wounded!

- Thank you, Lieutenant.

The colonel looked carefully at the silent formation, and smiling, said loudly:

- Recruits! Tomorrow you will take the oath to the army and the king. Tomorrow you will be among those who will bring glory to Zamar! Our king is counting on us, and we will not disgrace him! Isn't that right, recruits? I can't hear you! Louder!

- We won't disgrace... - the unfortunate recruits roared dully, shifting from foot to foot, and the only thing they were thinking about was not how not to disgrace, but much more mundane, so to speak, matters. The rotten water acted as a good laxative, and many of the guys were holding their stomachs, trying not to disgrace themselves in their pants and on the pier.

Finally, the colonel's speech, admiring himself and showing off in front of his subordinates, ended, he commandingly waved the white leather gloves clenched in his hand, and the lieutenant and sergeants began to yell again, driving the human herd into his pen.

* * *

Senerad was almost jumping up and down in anticipation as he watched the sailors on the pier tie the small vessel to the huge wooden posts. The gangway rattled along the side, and using his smart stick, the doctor quickly climbed onto the pier. Then he looked back and waved to two guards in faded uniforms:

- Come on, let's hurry! Time is of the essence! They are waiting for us in the agar in the evening!

They looked at each other, sighed, like people who had resigned themselves to a difficult fate, and climbed over the side. The last thing they wanted was to wander around the backwater villages at the edge of the world. And the fact that this was the edge of the world could be seen without leaving the ship - the wretched little houses on the slope, the trampled earth covered with cow dung, the stupid faces of the villagers greeting the ship.

Well, of course – it's not every day that a guard ship shows up! Something really out of the ordinary has to happen for the guard to show up here. But then – hasn't it happened?

"How did you find out?" Brank asked in surprise, meeting the guards and the healer on the way up the hill.

"What did you find out?" Senerad was unpleasantly surprised, and his heart began to pound as if it wanted to fly out of his chest.

- Well, about Ned? You came for him, didn't you?

"Behind him," the doctor answered, his eyes wide open, "and how do you know what's behind him?"

"Listen," one of the guards intervened, a man of about forty-five, a man who had seen a lot and who was not going to stand in the sun longer than the service regulations required, "take us to where this Ned lives, and we'll talk there."

Brank nodded and led the whole company to his home. The healer was the last one. He was very puzzled by the meeting and forbade himself to draw conclusions, although deep down he understood that something irreparable had happened, and it was connected with Ned. The only thing he kept saying to himself was: "If only I were alive! If only I could make it in time!"

The large room was empty, although the curious eyes of Brank's servants were peering around the corner from the kitchen. He made a sign with his hand, and soon a jug of cold milk, straight from the cellar, stood on the table, fragrant fresh flatbreads, and salt in a dark clay salt shaker cracked with time. The guards happily took off their helmets, dropped them with a bang on the bench, sat down next to each other on the wide board of the bench, and poured milk, temporarily forgetting the purpose of their visit. However, they were not allowed to forget completely.

"So how did you know about Ned?" Brank began again, looking at the puffing doctor who was settling down next to the soldiers.

"What did you find out?" the doctor asked, spitting bitter saliva right onto the floor. His throat was sore, and Serenad noted with regret that he had most likely caught a cold on the deck of the ship.

- So Ned killed ten people?

- What did he do? - Senerad even stood up from his seat, and the guard choked, coughed, and spilled milk all over his pants. He cursed, took a rag from the table, and began to wipe his chainmail.

- Tell me from the beginning - said the guard - everything in detail. I see that you live happily here in a quiet village.

- It was quiet - Brank muttered, while that bastard... Anyway - it all started with my slave suddenly getting sick. He - Brank pointed at Senerad - supposedly cured him. By the way - give me back my silver coins! Anthur is dying. He's lying there in the room. Bloody diarrhea - as if someone is eating him from the inside. I want to sue you! Fraudster!

- Get to the point! - the guard muttered - then you'll drag each other through the courts. What's that about murder?

- Well, so - it seems he cured him. Only the next day another strange thing happened. Three guys and a girl went hunting in the hills, and came back crazy. Well - completely! They walk, and drool flows from their mouths. If you tell them to do something - eat, drink - they eat and drink. But if you don't tell them - they die of hunger.

"Alive?" interrupted Senerad.

- They're alive - Brank grimaced - only now they've become even worse! They're screaming, going crazy, banging their heads. The girl tore off all her clothes and ran out into the street naked - they barely caught her. She was biting, screaming...

- Did you try to interrogate them? Ask how it all happened? - another guard asked, adding milk to his mug.

- What's the point of interrogating them? They're crazy! - Brank chuckled. When all this happened, the girl's father came to us. He was the headman here.

"Was there?" the doctor quickly asked.

- He was. Ned killed him, - the man nodded his head, - well, let me finish telling you in order, okay? Why do you keep interrupting?

- Sir Doctor, be quiet, - the guard nodded his head - and we, sir, are supposed to ask questions! You are having a good time here, piling people up! Soon the king will have no one to collect taxes from! We will still find out what is going on here, and who should answer for it!

Brank was slightly embarrassed, and in a half-tone lower, slightly ingratiating voice, he continued:

- Well, that's what I'm telling you - the headman came to me and said: "Has anything happened to you lately? Has anyone been sick?" So I told him about the slave. He asked him questions - the slave was still fine then, seemed healthy...

- You see - he's healthy! Did you hear that, gentlemen?! And he's trying to pin claims on me! He probably poisoned him himself, and now he's talking nonsense! - Senerad couldn't stand it. And he gestured - I'll keep quiet, I'll keep quiet!

- He talked to the slave, then in my presence he questioned the servants. One girl, a slave, testified that Ned, when Anthur felt ill, mumbled something and made some movements. As if he was throwing something. The elder left, and before leaving he said that his daughter screamed in delirium: "Ned! Ned!" So he came to find out what Ned was doing here.

"Did you recognize him?" the guard asked calmly, his eyes fixed on Brank's rough face.

- Apparently he recognized him, - the man shrugged, - after a while I see - the headman and his guys are heading towards the hills, where Ned went. No one saw them alive again. Like Ned.

- What, is he dead?! - Senerad jumped up - was he killed?!

- He killed them all. And where he is now is unknown. I'll tell you the rest. In the evening - no cows, no more, the herd was gone. The people waited and waited, and then dispersed. In the morning they gathered to search. Especially since the headman and the guys were missing, and Ned was missing. They found them. All ten people were lying dead, mutilated as if they had fallen from a cliff onto the stones. Broken arms, legs, ribs, broken necks and spines. And Ned's tracks were all around. And dogs. A good dog, by the way. Yes, there was! They killed it. The hunters reconstructed the whole picture. It happened like this: the headman and the guys came to Ned and started talking to him. What happened there is unknown, only Narda stood up for Ned and started to beat them. They killed her. And Ned got angry and killed the guys. That's all. I always said that these Ards were crazy! But what if he had gone crazy earlier? He would have killed everyone in the house! Me first of all!

- And you're saying that a seventeen-year-old boy killed ten grown men? - the guard asked incredulously. - What, have you all gone crazy?

"He's not just a kid," another guard noted, "you can expect anything from him. Maybe he's even turned into some kind of demon!"

- A demon?! - the healer stood up from his seat - oh gods! What a fool I am... ah, a fool... the ends came together. Everything came together. Oh, you...

- No, no demons! What do demons have to do with it? - Brank explained, confused. - There are only traces of Ned! He ran away, having undressed one of the guys. Most likely, he went into the city and got lost somewhere there. We went after him at night - the hunters and I. But we didn't make it in time for the gates to open. And we didn't find him in the city. Perhaps he hired himself out to one of the merchant ships at dawn and sailed away from the city. He turned out to be a smart guy, I never thought he was so dexterous. He looked like a real moron. And he behaved as if he was mentally retarded. Everyone considered him a half-wit. But you see what… The elder was certainly wrong - why kill my dog? But Ned took revenge for her... I even respected this Ardian cattle a little, - Brank finished unexpectedly.

- Have you talked to his household? I mean the elders, of course. What do they say?

- His wife said that the headman went to sort things out with Ned. It seems that he is to blame for what happened to their daughter and three boys. The boys were going to find Ned during the day and teach him a lesson. Everyone in the village thinks that Ned cursed them. That's it. And he cursed my slave. Before the slave got sick, he spat in Ned's cup. So, why did you come here? Senerad, why did you go to the city? Did you bring the guards?

- I did, - the healer answered, lost, - but now it doesn't matter in the least. Since Ned is gone. Here, read it! - the healer took a tightly rolled scroll from his bag and threw it on the table, - this is why I came to the city. And the guards ensure that the order is carried out.

Brank unrolled the scroll, read for a long time, moving his lips, then his eyes widened in surprise, and he asked, stuttering slightly:

- What, really? Ned is a black magician?

- Blacker than it could be - the healer answered sullenly - be glad you didn't burst into bloody diarrhea. Everyone who offended him would have to pay dearly for it soon. Here's the moral - don't humiliate anyone, insult them, drag them through the mud - what if tomorrow this person turns out to be a black magician and your meanness comes back to you many times stronger, and kills you! You, and only you, are to blame for what happened to Ned. And your fucking village. That's it, guys, there's nothing to do here. Ned is not here - the healer sighed and rose to his feet - I'll go and pack my things. I'll go to the city. I'll look for him there.

- Stop! What will happen to my slave? - Brank cried out indignantly - what should he do?

- To die, of course - Senerad answered indifferently, lingering in the doorway - there is a demon sitting in him now, eating away at his insides. The black magician had no business spitting into a cup.

- Then cure him! You took money for the treatment! You swindler!

- Shut up, you son of a bitch! You drove Ned to murder! If it weren't for your village... eehhhh... - the healer waved his hand and went outside, then returned and added - you can all be sued, idiots!

"And why is this?" Brank asked belligerently.

- For stupidity! - Senerad grinned, turned around, and resolutely walked towards the house where he had spent the last ten years of his life. He was sorry that it had all ended this way, but at the same time the trumpets were playing in his soul - enough! It was time to return to the city! Away from this village with its stupid, insensitive inhabitants! Away from the brancas and the elders, away from this backwater that turns a person into an insensitive beast, entertaining himself only with the suffering of his neighbor. In the evening he would be in the city, he would find shelter - fortunately, he had a stash, saved up over ten years. He would settle in - and start looking for Ned. It was impossible that he had not left some trace. The guy had never been to the city, so he should have gotten confused and left a trace. There is always some trace, always.

* * *

– Hold your leg, hold your leg! What kind of brainless creatures are these?! Rrraz! Rrraz! Rrraz – two! Turn! Creatures! When you hear this signal, you need to turn over your shoulder without stopping walking! Legs slightly bent, spear lowered and looking at the enemy! Why did you lower it, you damned moron? Where is the end of your spear pointing? Is this your end?! How are you going to stab, where? Into cow dung?! Oooooh…morons! Every year the recruits are more and more stupid! Soon there will be complete idiots recruiting! I wouldn't let you near a weapon, you'll prick your neighbor like a bug! Hold on, hold your step! Rrraz! Rrraz!

"I hate it," moaned Oydar, stumbling and struggling to lift the huge pole, called a spear here, "my arms are already falling off from this crap!"

- Here you go - Ned grinned - if the Dragon sees it, he'll give you a real beating! Remember that guy from yesterday?

Oydar nodded with a pained expression, and clutching the shaft tighter, he began to march on, carefully aiming the blunt tip of his spear towards the "enemy", Sergeant Drankon, whom, naturally, everyone called the Dragon. Yesterday on the parade ground he had beaten a careless recruit with a stick - personally, and so hard that blood spurted from his broken back. Fifteen blows with a stick - that's no joke. The guy was stupid and didn't know where and when to turn. And he also dared to argue with the commander.

Now the recruits finally realized where they had ended up - as the Dragon said - "This is not your home! You are all meat! And by the end of your training, I will either make soldiers out of you, or you will die on the punishment bench, idiots! If you thought you came here to lie on the grass and get gold - you are mistaken! Every gold will be washed in your sweat and blood, fools! But - those who leave the gates of the training camp alive and well have a chance to survive when they get to the battlefield! Then remember old Drankon with a kind word!"

"I'll remember him every time I go to the toilet - imagine that I'm doing it on the top of his head!" Oydar whispered to his friends, and they giggled for a minute, biting their lips and grimacing so that the Dragon wouldn't notice their smile.

There were precedents - one guy who smiled in the line and caught the Dragon's eye, got five sticks, and now stood pale and concentrated, without smiles or grimaces. Sergeant Drankon's methods were incredibly effective, and also very, very painful - all the recruits noticed this.

- Halt! Recruits! Now we are all marching in formation to the mess hall! Keep your legs straight! Show that our company is the best! And if you don't show it, I'll pour boiling soup on his head, don't doubt it, idiots! Paaa…let's go! Rrraz! Rrraz! Rrraz-ddd-two!! Stretch your legs, donkey-heads, stretch! What are you limping for, you damned oaf? Have you chafed your leg? And haven't you chafed your fat ass, you pimply toad?! Walk straight, you bastard, the shame of your fucking village! Rrraz! Rrraz!

"I wonder why he hasn't been killed yet?" Arnot asked, choking from the heat and dust raised by the feet of his fellow soldiers. "The invalid told me that there were cases when soldiers quietly killed particularly evil commanders as soon as they got to the battlefield!"

"And what, they didn't find the killers?" Oydar asked with interest, thoughtfully looking at the stocky figure of the Dragon.

- They found them. Always - Arnot sighed regretfully, and also watched the hated sergeant, who had been tormenting them for a week now as if he had set himself the goal of making the recruits' lives as miserable as possible.

- What did you think of there? - Ned smiled slightly, holding the same pole on his shoulder as his comrades. - Let him live. We don't need any problems. And how, I wonder, did you find out who killed him, that officer?

- And you there too? - Arnot chuckled - the magicians were called. They raised the corpse and questioned him.

"How did they lift it?" Ned stumbled, and then straightened up, carefully glancing at the Dragon, who was patting his polished boot with a wooden cane.

- Well... some black magicians master the art of necromancy. They can breathe a soul into a dead body - for a while, of course. And the corpses themselves tell stories... oh! oh!

- Talk in line, idiot! Hold the line, donkey face!

Tears of pain flowed from Arnot's eyes - the Dragon hit him right on the top of the head. The guy straightened up and walked stupidly looking ahead, and the Dragon nodded with satisfaction, looking at Arnot's neighbors before doing so - as if to say, did you see? The same thing will happen to you!

– Spears – into the pyramid! Quickly, quickly, cattle! Run! Take your places in the dining room without pushing and shoving, but quickly! Whoever makes a mess will be left without lunch! March!

The recruits ran in a chain to a special rack and placed "shafts" there, which they carried in their hands for days on end.

The sergeant spent the entire week training the recruits, ensuring that the soldiers kept their formation, understood the trumpeter's signals, and carried out commands without delay. By the end of the week, the recruits were moving quite clearly, understanding their place in the formation, and also learned a lot about their origins, sexual preferences, and mental abilities. Sergeant Drancon was inexhaustible in composing colorful definitions of the soldiers' physical and mental state.

It was hard for the new recruits. Even for Ned, who was used to hard work and hardship. It was not easy to learn to keep up a stride in a tight formation, especially while holding a huge spear.

The spears were of different sizes - the third row carried three-meter spears, the ends of which stuck out further than the first row, the second row had shorter spears, and soldiers with very short spears were already standing in front. This ensured that when the enemy went to the line of spearmen, he would see a solid forest of spearheads in front of him. They had not yet worked out interaction with slingers, archers and swordsmen. This would come later.

The bad thing is - as Arnot said - that spearmen are the real meat that dies in the first minutes of the battle. They always stand in front and take the full brunt of the enemy, raising the adversaries on their spears. And they retreat last, covering the retreat of the main group.

- Let's run, don't sleep! - Oydar whispered, and rushed after the others to the dining room door, clapping the thoughtful Ned on the shoulder. He woke up from his thoughts and also dived under a long canopy, where tables with narrow benches on the sides stood dug into the ground. Carts were already rolling between the rows, from which the soldiers-distributors poured and poured food into the bowls of the recruits. Everything happened quite quickly, clearly and smoothly. And also - the food was quite decent, and for the unspoiled Ned - very tasty. Meat, cereal boiled in broth, thick soup with a piece of flatbread - eat as much as you want, but only at the allotted time for lunch. If you didn't have time, you remained hungry. If you managed to eat, you want more - even gorge yourself.

The army did not skimp on food for the soldiers. The more food, the more can be written off as what the soldiers ate. And the command will get tidy sums. In the general mass of food flow, it is easy to steal a little from a large one. And if they saved, the portions would be small - you can't steal anything from zero. Besides, if you don't feed this "meat", they won't even survive to the battlefield. A good owner feeds his dogs.

Vegetables and fruits were placed separately on the tables – no one needed soldiers with loose and falling out teeth, swollen from scurvy.

Within minutes, the only sounds in the mess hall were the clatter of wooden spoons on wooden bowls and a slurping sound like boots in a swamp. Most of the soldiers were not well-mannered. Oydar always winced as he watched his neighbor across the table grinding up his food, his mouth open like a trash can. He constantly complained to Ned and Antor that the sight of the chewed food in the throat of this pimply oaf took away his appetite. However, this was not true - nothing in the world could take away the appetite of these guys - the food was gone in an instant, and soon many of the recruits raised their hands, demanding more from the waiters.

In the lunch break, besides food, there was another good point - after lunch there would be the coveted two hours of rest, when the soldiers could take a nap in the shade, go to the toilet, dry their foot wraps soaked in acrid sweat and unbutton the boring uniform that was rubbing their necks. After the rest there would be more training, until dusk, but for now - these two hours belonged to the soldiers.

- Oh, how I stuffed myself! - Arnot plopped down on the bench by the fence and leaned back, blissfully closing his eyes - they feed us well here... if it weren't for this drill, and the Dragon...

- Be quiet! - hissed one of the soldiers sitting and lying nearby - there he is, pacing like a guard dog! Ooooh... I hate him! I could just stick a knife in his back!

- Don't blab, - frowned the older soldier with a lush drooping moustache, - they'll report you, you'll find out what it's like to have the skin on your back hanging in tatters! Why do you need him? Walk right, hold your spear properly, and everything will be fine.

- Oh! - Arnot shuddered and looked back to where the old-timers usually drilled the fence - what is this?

Click! Click! - the hard peas clicked along the bench, and the recruits jumped up from their seats to the friendly laughter of the soldiers behind the fence - they stuck tubes made of reeds into the cracks and subjected the boys to a brutal fire.

"What, you don't like it, chicks?!" the soldiers behind the fence laughed, continuing to shoot the recruits sitting in quarantine.

- Idiots! - Oydar got furious - now I'll twist your heads off!

He jumped up on the bench, jumped up, grabbing the upper crossbar with his hands, and let go with a curse, falling down - his hands were torn to the point of bleeding. On top of everything else, there were small nails hammered into the high fence; apparently, the organizers of the military camp were well aware of the soldiers' predilections for hanging around where they shouldn't. All contacts with the outside world for the recruits were reduced to a minimum.

- Go to the doctor, - Arnot shrugged, - you need to cover the wounds with ointment. If you don't cover them, inflammation may start and they'll cut off your hands. You'll be disabled. But you'll get a pension - a whole gold coin a month, and tax breaks.

- Pah on you! - Oydar spat furiously, and, to the laughter of his comrades, he hurried to the white building behind the parade ground. The duty medic serving the regiment was sitting there.

After the recruits arrived at their place of service, he had a lot of work - he had to treat a lot of people - from banal diarrhea and scabies, to broken fingers and cracked jaws. Despite the fact that the soldiers walked out of the hold of the ship that brought them, about thirty percent of them were sick to one degree or another. These were illnesses acquired in civilian

life, and injuries, illnesses acquired during the short, but unpleasant journey. The doctor had plenty of work.

"Hey, idiots!" a voice said from the right, and Ned, who had been lying down in the shadow of the fence next to the bench, opened his eyes. He had been floating in a half-sleep, and he had just dreamed of Narda poking him in the cheek with her cold nose, which made his soul feel warm and cozy. And then - some idiot rips him out of the embrace of sleep.

"They say you have two fighters here?" the voice continued, mercilessly and finally tearing Ned from the embrace of the god of sleep. "We propose to put yours against ours!"

The guy, tall and sinewy, looked mockingly at the group of fighters from the third company of spearmen, in which Ned and his friends found themselves. Next to the guy stood about ten of the same sinewy, strong guys - they were immediately selected as swordsmen, who were chosen according to a criterion that Ned did not understand - why did they end up as spearmen, and these as swordsmen? Arnod assumed that the swordsmen took the more reasonable-looking ones, and those who were more of a pity to immediately turn into meat, which caused a storm of indignation in the proud Oydar.

Ned just laughed at his words, and suggested that perhaps the swordsmen really were those who looked quicker and more skilled than the rest. Inconspicuous, dressed in a rustic style and looking slightly slow, Ned and his friends did not fit into the category of quick and skilled. So there was some sense in Arnaud's words.

Ned didn't want to move, so he closed his eyes with a clear conscience, ignoring the stranger's suggestions. He hadn't seen him before - the guy wasn't on the ship, this guy had arrived with another batch of recruits for the annual draft.

- What's the stake? What are we going to wager? - one of the guys from the third company lazily inquired.

- As usual - silver pool against silver pool, copper against copper. And if you want to bet even harder - you can shake some gold! - the guy grinned - and the winning fighter gets a gold one! We'll chip in for him, a copper from everyone - and that's gold! But there will be something to look at, huh, guys? Or are you shitting your pants with fear? I heard - all of you in the third company are stupid country bumpkins, spear fodder, but they say you have two fighters. So, shall we have some fun?

- You're stupid... sword meat! - the man with the moustache on the bench lazily replied - and one fighter - there he is! See, he's coming from the doctor? He just tore his hands up, wanted to punish the punks behind the fence. Do you know how evil he is? Give him free rein, he'll kick you all out! He's a master of uatsu!

- Holy shit! - the swordsman grinned - all these pirouettes and jumps are one thing, and a real fight is another! We also have prize fighters, those who actually performed in the arena!

- And how come your prize money ended up here? - the man asked, yawning. - Did they always beat their faces in or something?

"But this is none of your business," the swordsman became angry, "so will you send out your fighters from the company, or not?"

- You ask them... Oydar, they came here and offered to fight, for money! Do you want to try?

- What? With these hands, or what? - the guy showed his hands, bandaged with cloth ribbons. - They smeared some ointment on me, everything stings! What kind of fighter am I now?! Let Ned go. Hey, Ned! Ned, or what?! Stop sleeping! Look at him, he's sleeping like a log! Ned, go punch those idiots in the face!

- You're idiots! This country bumpkin is a fighter? Oh my god! One is some kind of freak, the other is a country bumpkin - I'd better go and see the crossbowmen. What's there to talk about with morons like you?

"What's the stake, you say?" Ned opened his eye.

- Gold - the guy stopped - and nothing for the loser. However - I can give you two coppers if you stand for five heartbeats!

- And if it takes longer?

- If you stand for a hundred heartbeats, you will receive five silver pools!

- And what if a thousand heartbeats?

- If you stand for more than a thousand heartbeats, or - what the hell - win - our entire company will chip in for you, and we'll crawl on our knees across the entire parade ground! - the guy laughed. - Agree! Only if you lose - your entire company will chip in for us! And crawl across the parade ground! Agreed?

"I might agree, but the company," Ned shrugged doubtfully, rising from the ground and looking at his fellow soldiers, "what if they don't agree? And what will the commanders think about this? The dragon will kill us if we start a fight."

- Stop it! It's obvious that you're new! Command encourages competitions between companies, it's believed that this maintains morale and strengthens comradely support. Our sergeant is aware of it and has given his permission.

"What are the rules?" Oydar asked, his eyes shining excitedly. "Are there any rules?"

- One thing - if possible, do not kill. But if something like that happens, no one will pursue. Some recruits always die during training, that's normal. So, are you ready?

- Wait a minute - we need to ask the Dragon, we need to talk to our comrades - after all, it's a whole gold coin, it's not a copper coin! Come a little later, we'll consult for now, right, guys?

- Yes, we need to consult! - voices were heard from behind. Ned looked around and saw that a crowd had gathered around - the entire company, without exception, was listening to the guys' conversation. People from other companies had pulled up - the second spear company, the first sword company, two companies of crossbowmen - a whole crowd had already gathered.

- Guys, are you scared out of your minds or something? - someone from the crowd shouted, and another voice picked up on it - these spearmen are just assholes! They'll recruit rednecks! Swordsmen are the strongest! Swordsmen! Crossbowmen! The strongest crossbowmen! Swordsmen! Crossbowmen! Swordsmen! Crossbowmen!

There was a commotion – everyone was shouting, laughing – Drancon, who shouted: "Silence!" – managed with difficulty to drown out the discordant chorus of voices. He pushed his way into the circle formed by the crowd of people and asked sullenly, waiting for the shouts to die down:

- What's going on here? Who's disturbing the peace?

- Mister Sergeant! We are from the first sword company, we propose that the third spear company put up a prize fighter. If we lose, the whole company will chip in a gold piece and crawl on all fours across the parade ground, shouting: The third spear company is the coolest! And if they lose, they will give up a gold piece and crawl across the parade ground, shouting: The first sword company is the coolest! What do you think, may I do this? In our personal time, without detriment to the service!

- Hmmm... - the Dragon's face, furrowed with wrinkles, with a scar on his left cheek and broken ears, smoothed out, as if he lit up from within and became kinder - interesting. It would be possible and not at the expense of personal time. The colonel really likes duels, he makes bets. I propose this: if the third company agrees to put up a duelist, I will go to the colonel, ask permission to arrange a duel during duty time. At the same time, he will come, watch, and other officers too. Martial arts are good for soldiers, they discipline, raise morale (the swordsman smiled contentedly and looked proudly at his comrades, as if to say, what did I tell you?). So, the third company agrees to a duel? Why are you silent? Ugh... shame, but I didn't get a company! - The Dragon grimaced and shook his head - not soldiers, but some kind of shit!

- Yes, we agree! Why the crap right away? - several voices picked up, and they were echoed by the uncertain voices of their comrades, who did not want to risk their gold, but who did not at all dream of being taken for cowards and cheapskates. Sometimes it is worse than losing all your money...

- Since you agree, I'm going to see the colonel. Wait here, - Dragon nodded his head contentedly, and quickly walked across the parade ground to the headquarters.

Ned lay down again in his place by the fence on the grass mown with sickles and closed his eyes, not paying attention to the excitedly chattering soldiers from all the companies gathered at the place of conversation. The news that a duel was planned flew around the quarantine territory like lightning. In a small world, without an influx of any information from the outside, in the absence of any way to entertain themselves, the swordsmen's offer fell like a sprouted grain into fertile, rich soil. Everyone was simply shaking with excitement, wanting to see this spectacle. The guys were looking forward to how they would place bets, and besides, if it all happened during duty time - then they would not be stupidly driving their feet into the trampled earth of the parade ground all this time! The rest would last! It was simply magnificent, and many clasped their index fingers to bring good luck to the undertaking - if only it would work out! If only the colonel would agree!

The dragon appeared about twenty minutes later. No one left, they were waiting for him, jumping up and down with impatience. The entire parade ground next to the third company of spearmen was covered with soldiers sitting and standing, impatiently and heatedly discussing what had happened.

The sergeant was pleased. He paused for importance, twisted his thin lips into a smile, and cleared his throat, saying:

- The colonel gave permission.

- Glory! Glory to the gods! Glory to the colonel! - roared the crowd. And when the sergeant raised his hand, calling for silence, they fell silent, greedily catching his words:

- Right after the end of personal time, on the physical training ground. Two fighters - one from the first company of swordsmen, the second - from the third company of spearmen. I will judge the duel. What are the conditions, what did you agree on?

The satisfied swordsman stepped forward and said:

- We agreed that if a fighter from the third company could stand against our fighter for longer than a thousand heartbeats, then the whole company would crawl across the entire parade ground on all fours, shouting - The third company of spearmen is the coolest! And we would each chip in a gold coin to the winner. If their fighter doesn't hold out, they will do the same for us.

"And what if both of them can't continue the fight?" the sergeant asked.

"Then no one will get anything," the guy chuckled.

- Okay. I understand. Then here's what - the third and first companies run to the barracks for the money, hand it over to me, and I'll hold the deposit. The winning company gets everything. And here's another thing - the colonel said that the company that wins will be released into the city for one day, under the supervision of their corporals, to sit in a pub.

- Hurray! Glory to the Colonel! Glory to the gods! - the recruits cried out, and hurried to the barracks - some for money to secure the duel, others for money to bet on.