Chapter 8

The ride was pleasant. Ned sat next to the big doctor, looked around and enjoyed the sun, the breeze from the mountains, the sight of the lovely girls rushing past and glancing at the young corporal, looked at the houses and shops, reading the signs syllable by syllable. All this time, his friends, on the instructions of the sergeant, taught him to read and write, and he quickly grasped the essence, as if he had been studying for years. He could already write, though slowly, and read, also slowly. His progress was so great that it surprised his friends. They said that they themselves had studied the art of writing and reading in elementary school for a whole year.

The doctor shouted loudly, demanding the road, and passers-by ran off the pavement, skillfully cursing the "damned soldiers", for which they received ornate phrases consisting almost entirely of swear words. The doctor was a master of swearing. Army service, as Ned noted, greatly contributed to the development of these abilities.

The carriage arrived at the place where the magicians lived and worked in about an hour and a half, having traveled through the entire city to the very outskirts, where the families of officers and magicians lived in houses built behind a high fence - white and black, healing and training in their combat skills. The agara - the school of magic - was also located here. The corps took over the agara, putting training at the service of the army.

The cart was not allowed inside, and the order was given to leave these nags outside. The soldiers were lined up in a column of two people and led to the territory of the military town.

Ned stayed outside with the horses, waiting for the first healed sufferer of love affairs to appear. He hoped that Oydar and Arnot would be in the front ranks of the healed - he was bored, and with them it was more fun to kill time on duty.

The horses, tied to the hitching post at the entrance to the town, stood quietly, their heads down, their whole appearance expressing the hopelessness of existence. Ned listened to their thoughts - but apart from simple, dull thoughts like - "Gadfly! Bad! Hot. Stop" - he heard nothing. Boring!

The pavement, swept clean in front of the military town, reminded him of how he had once dived into the sea near the cape, and having dived especially deep, he noticed a cobblestone road leading into the ocean. It was exactly like this street near the military town – like two peas in a pod. There was no one to ask where this underwater road came from and where it led – by that time Silan had already died, and he did not talk to other people about such topics.

Turning away from the pavement, Ned lifted his head and began to look at the sky, leaning against the van. The sky was clean, blue, as if washed with a rag and a soldier's laundry soap - smelly, but it washed away both sweat and blood.

After a short time, he got tired of looking at the sky, especially since nothing interesting was happening there except for two birds flying by. One of the birds, flying by, released a white stream, and Ned made a wish - if it hit the horse's head, everything would be fine. And if it didn't hit, then... it didn't hit. Then he began to convince himself that he hadn't managed to finish his wish, and therefore it didn't count. And that's where he came to terms with his conscience, giggling to himself like a ten-year-old child.

Looking down, Ned noticed a sign: "Predictions of the master of magic Sitara of Salud. I will predict your future by your hand - inexpensive and accurate!"

Ned stood for a moment, wondering if he needed this. Then he looked around, and leaving the tethered horses, he strode resolutely across the street to a peeling white door with a black robe painted on it.

Approaching the door, he hesitated – should he go in? He had heard from the guys that not all magicians are considered magicians. That is, there are people who are not considered magicians, but have certain magical abilities – for example, the gift of prediction. However, half of them are real swindlers, extracting money from simpletons. And maybe more than half.

Ned was afraid that the fortune teller would hand him over to the magicians. But he desperately wanted to know his fate! After all, he was still a young man, almost a boy, prone to rash actions. And Ned pushed the door.

The bell rang softly, and Ned was immersed in an atmosphere of coolness, incense, and the smell of antiquity that came from the old scrolls that were lined up in rows on a shelf behind a wide table filled with magical paraphernalia.

Ned shuddered at the sight of such a clear sign of the magician who owned these treasures, stepped back - but it was too late. The passage was blocked by a fat woman, fatter even than the healer Zheresar. She looked at Ned kindly, and thought:

- What an interesting, nice-looking lad! Oh gods, where are my twenty years?! I wouldn't let you go, I'd bite into your rosy lips, saddle you like an unbroken stallion and until I sucked you dry - you wouldn't leave here! And how cutely he blushes! I would never have thought that today's young men could blush like that. Infantryman, oh Dinas! Poor boy. Only a third of them survive. If not less. Probably came to find out - will he live to the end of the contract? Darling, you're dear... how should I know? Aunt Sitara has lived through her best years, now her epiphanies come too rarely to have a lot of clients. But you have to live somehow!

- Well, little bird, do you want to know your destiny? - the fortune teller said affably. - Sit down, I'll tell your fortune now. I'll tell you everything as it is - Aunt Sitara is the best fortune teller in the whole area! (She was! - Sitara thought sadly - she even once gave hope for a white magician! But... it didn't work out. Weak.) Just three pieces of silver - and I'll tell you everything, everything as it should be, as it will be. My eye sees for years ahead! Do you see my eye? - She leaned forward like a five-masted landing ship and pulled back her eyelid, demonstrating her insightful eye - there! It sees everything!

- I think I'll go, - Ned tried to defend himself, - I only have a silver coin. No more! Such an important lady would hardly tell fortunes for one silver pool!

(This damn important lady told fortunes cheaper, too – Sitara thought disparagingly – it's time to go to work as a prostitute, there are no clients for fortune telling! And you're talking about a silver coin! It's time to sell magic items and live on the saved up stash. Life has come! But who needs me as a prostitute, an old deck! Give me your silver coin and don't bother me – I'll lay down my life before I let you go! You still have to give the greengrocer five coppers, and the milkman seven – where will I get them?!)

- It's okay, it's okay, sit down - you get a discount! Since you're such a fine fellow, a warrior! Here, here, give me your silver coin... yeah, fine fellow. Sit down and relax. Why are you always looking out the window? - Sitara turned and looked at the sad army horses standing under the window - ah! You're guarding the cart! Don't be afraid - no one in their right mind would squeeze that stupid medical cart - everyone knows it. Probably, Zheresar has dragged some guys with a bad disease again - as soon as he gets leave, they immediately drag about twenty people here the next day. They brought the disease from somewhere on the southern continent, and it's taken root here so much - all it takes is for a lad to dip his penis - five hours later he can't even go to the toilet! They say - our bodies, Zamarians, are so susceptible. Black people don't get sick that much, they don't care about this nastiness. Remember - don't climb on anyone, at least sniff. If it stinks - run from it like fire! (Why am I telling him all this? The kid probably has six months left to live, maybe less - climb on anyone you want, my boy, try whatever you want - your life is so short that you might not have time. Don't listen to the old fool...)

- Well then, give me your hand. The service is paid for, take it.

The woman smelled of sweat, some kind of incense, and cheap powder, which she had smeared on her drooping jowls. She was slightly out of breath, like all fat people, but her eyes looked young and cheerful.

At first, Ned regretted coming here. No, not because he had to give away the silver coin – he had money, and quite a lot by the standards of soldiers, but he didn't want to feel like a fool, cheated out of money. But when he listened to Sitara's thoughts, he didn't feel sorry for the silver coin. She was a good woman. And she sincerely cared for him and worried about him. And there are so few people in this world who worry about him, and not a single woman among them. He always wanted to have a mother…

Ned held out his hand, Sitara took it in her plump-looking hands, which were surprisingly strong and hard, closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. For a moment nothing happened, then she began to chant:

- I see you standing on the battlefield, beautiful, powerful and warlike, and the enemies are falling around youu ...

Suddenly she fell silent, jerked, and grabbed Ned's hand so tightly that his palm began to ache, then she exhaled, opened her eyes, and said in a tense voice:

- There are two of you. He is terrible. Black as death! Fear him! He will try to take over your soul, to destroy you! Do not give in! Think with your head! Feel with your heart! Trials, blood, fire, losses and gains await you... and a great future. If you survive. Fear! Fear him!

Sitara shook, then froze, threw Ned's hand away and sat silent for a minute, as if speechless. Ned tried to probe her thoughts - there were none. The woman seemed to be dead, or in a deep sleep. Then she looked up and continued:

- A journey overseas awaits you. Don't touch the dagger!

- What dagger? - Ned couldn't resist, Sitara shuddered and stared at him as if she was seeing him for the first time:

- What other dagger?

- Well - you said - don't touch the dagger - what dagger?

- I don't know - the fortune teller was confused - it dawned on me. To be honest - it happens less and less often. The last time was six months ago, when I predicted to the city treasurer that his wife would cheat on him with the groom. He didn't give me money for the prediction, and even scolded me - like, such a nice girl like his Yusta can't cheat on him! And when it happened, and everything was revealed - he accused me of bewitching her! Ungrateful creature! And what did you hear?

- Well... about some dagger, about a trip overseas. What could that mean?

- How should I know? - Sitara spread her hands guiltily. - It's your prediction, you understand. Here's the thing, son... most predictions are such that until the event happens, you won't know how to prevent it. It seems to me that the gods do this on purpose so that people can't change their predetermined fate. What will happen if everyone knows what they need to do and what they shouldn't? After all, then they will be able to avoid what the god is preparing. And that's wrong.

"Whose side is it wrong?" Ned asked unexpectedly.

- Hmm, right...well, yes, from the gods' point of view - wrong. But from the people's point of view - everything is correct. You are a smart boy.

- So if all the predictions are still incorrect, vague and good only for chatter, then why guess?

- Now here's an interesting question! - Sitara perked up - not all predictions are vague. Sometimes it happens that the prediction comes in advance, long before the event, and it becomes clear what to do. Why does this happen? They say - the gods allow it. They let the chosen one understand what is contained in the prediction. And the rest - of course - is empty chatter and chatter under a magical entourage. That's how it is with me - the woman grinned - but I worked off your silver coin in full. You received the prediction. And it's time for you - I see your comrades with crumpled faces tumbling out of the gate. Run, son! And good luck to you! Survive!

"Thank you, Aunt Sitara," Ned chuckled, adding, "I'm sure you were a wonderful beauty in your youth. It's a pity I was born too late."

- Ha ha ha... you killed me! Well done! A real man! Or here, I'll take you - mmm! Wipe off the kiss, otherwise they'll think something... and let them think - for you guys, it's considered valor to seduce a beauty. You can think of something. Okay, let me wipe it off. What a sweetheart you are... you blushed from the kiss on the cheek. There you go, now you're clean! Run, son!

Sitara watched the boy go with a moistened gaze, sighed, and wiping away an uninvited tear, began to get ready for the market. She needed to stop by her niece's on the way, pick up the re-turned dress from her - she made a living as a tailor. Then to the market - to pay off debts. Today had been a good day.

* * *

- Where are you wandering? - Oydar was as gracious and contented as a cat - we went out, and you were gone! That's it, the trouble is over! We are healthy and happy!

- I see - Ned chuckled - it would be worth leaving you in a sick state for a week. For memory, so to speak. So that you think ahead!

- What are you doing, like an old man? We thought and thought! I'm thinking! Arnot, are you thinking? You see, he's thinking too. Where's a shop nearby...I could buy some mazis, huh?

- Again? Wasn't it enough for you to get drunk, do you want to get stoned too? Sit here and don't interfere - Ned frowned - that's all we need! Better tell me what happened there. Who were these magicians, what were they doing...

- Mages? Mages like magicians...haven't you seen any magicians? Ordinary-looking people. A decent-looking guy in a robe, started waving his hands and muttering something, and before that he gave me some nasty stuff to drink. Very bitter, by the way. As he muttered, it was as if I was burned by fire! I even gasped. And he, like you, said, "Be patient, you shouldn't have stuck your nose into things!" Well, that's it - "Next!"

- I have the same thing - Arnot butted in, smoothing down his protruding hair - and you know, our hangover is over. It's so good now... I won't get drunk like that again. Ugh, it's disgusting even to remember! Where did you go anyway?

- He asked about the future. You see the woman at the crossroads - she's a fortune teller. For a piece of silver she told me the future.

- And what did she say? - the friends' eyes sparkled with curiosity - well, don't hide it, tell me!

- Nothing. Why are you making faces? She didn't tell me anything - she was talking nonsense - don't take this, don't grab that, and that's it. She said - I'll soon go overseas.

- Tyuuuu... any idiot knows that! - Oydar drawled disappointedly - that's what the marines are for, to go overseas! Damn swindler! Your silver coin is gone!

"I cried," Ned agreed easily, "so be it. I was interested, and I helped her."

- He's a kind guy, - chuckled the friend, - and you wouldn't think that it was him who tore a man's head off not so long ago! By the way, you still haven't said why you did it? Everyone is gossiping behind your back, they can't understand. Why such a brutality? Well, I could have just killed him, right, Arnot?

- True. It was scary even to look at. You were so cold, and your eyes were like two black holes into the Underworld! Exactly, exactly! You couldn't even see the whites of your eyes - black holes, and that's it! I was sitting close, I saw everything, and the blood from your severed neck got on me - I almost threw up! You weren't you. I had bad dreams for a week - like you got out of bed, walked through a dark barracks, and tore off guys' heads. And then you came back and said: "You saw everything! Now you have to die!"

Arnot winced and fell silent, looking up at the sky and chewing a blade of grass he had picked somewhere along the way. Ned frowned, staring at the ground – he didn't know what to say to his friends. Then he turned and quietly climbed onto the box of the wagon, putting his hands on his knees and looking into the distance, along the street that went down to the sea.

- Are you offended? Don't worry so much - Oydar said guiltily - we always support you, no matter what. We do this in a familiar way... you are such a mysterious person... we told you everything about ourselves. And you - nothing about yourself. No, no, we still love you, you are like a brother to us. But... okay, I won't talk about that. Do you want me to tell you what it's like there, in the city of officers?

"So how are things there?" Ned perked up.

- Good. Why are you grinning? It's true, it's good - flower beds everywhere, clean, paths covered with fine gravel. Ladies strolling with their daughters. Daughters - mmmmm! I could give myself to them! Five at once! No - ten! No - a hundred! So nice, so clean... just a dream! And the way they looked at us - with wide eyes! I bet they've never seen such handsome men as we have, they keep them locked up...

- Every dog ​​here knows that after dismissal, a crowd of idiots are taken to the magicians-healers for treatment - Ned winked - the fortune teller told me. So don't invent fantasies. For them, you were a stupid soldier, with a bad disease to boot. That's it.

- You're always like this! - Oydar answered, making a pitiful face and shaking his head - there's not a drop of romance in you, and where on earth did they raise you like that?

"In the village," Ned answered unexpectedly, "with sticks, stones, kicks and slaps. As befits raising an orphan ard. A hated ard, a pirate and a robber."

- And did you learn martial arts there? Or from the Ards? I'm keeping quiet, I'm keeping quiet! Oh! Another portion of healthy "war meat"! Well, guys, shall we repeat our run through the taverns sometime? No? Oh well... a week will pass and you'll forget! Personally, I'll definitely forget!

* * *

After the trip to the mages, life in Ned's unit settled into its usual routine. Rise at dawn, wash, breakfast, train until lunch, rest for two hours, and train again until you start to drop from exhaustion. However, now almost no one fell. The flabby, untrained recruits turned into tough fighters, like those carved from dry wood. The excess fat was gone, and those who didn't have it had grown muscles that easily carried huge spears and a pound of iron armor that they put on their shoulders. Yes, the soldiers were already training in steel armor - shoulder pads, chain mail, greaves, a heavy helmet that covered even the bridge of the nose and protruded from the sides. This way it protected better from blows, but you had to turn your head more - the field of view was reduced by at least half.

The soldiers were trained to use all the weapons that the infantry corps had in its arsenal – from knives to crossbows, but the main thing was still the distribution by specialization. Practicing movements to automatism, to such a state when a person does something without thinking, completely unconsciously. Signal! Turn. Signal! U-turn. And so on endlessly, endlessly, to madness, to the boiling of the brain in the hot summer sun.

It was hotter here than in the Black Ravine – the proximity to the south was taking its toll. The soldiers, drenched in sweat, paced and paced the parade ground, jogged into the attack, stabbed, hacked, shot – endlessly, endlessly. They were not allowed into the city for three weeks – not because the last time they had done something really weird – all that was nonsense, nothing terrible. Severely – that was when they had killed a dozen people and burned ten taverns (And that had happened! Heverad had to grease the palms of some people so that the stench would not reach the king, make expensive gifts and compensate for the damage in double the amount. The guilty parties later paid with their skins, and sometimes with their lives…). No. Not because of that. They said that in a couple of months they would have to sail to the border with Isfir and the command was in a hurry to beat as much knowledge into their soldiers as possible. And not because Heverad loved his soldiers so much - large losses of personnel would have a bad effect on his image as a knowledgeable, efficient officer, and some might think that he did not rightfully occupy his, such a lucrative position. And he was not planning to retire yet. There was money, yes - mansions in the capital, a large account in the imperial bank, his own business, which Heverad's brother managed, his own small fleet of merchant ships... but the more you have, the more you want. To lose a stable source of income when money itself flows into your hands - that would be simply stupid.

So the unfortunate recruits were screwed to such an extent that the doctor Zheresar, on one of the last days of the week, made up his mind and went to see the colonel to express his opinion on this matter. What did he have to lose? They wouldn't send him further than a doctor's booth and an ambulance van to the battlefield. They wouldn't take away his salary. Fire him? Who would take this position when you can just sell powders to sneezing townspeople without thinking about the fact that tomorrow a line of sick soldiers would form to see you, and "for free."

"Please enter, Colonel!" boomed the doctor, squeezing his powerful body through a doorway that was not designed for his size.

- Come on, Zheresar! Come in! What happened? - the colonel tore his gaze away from the pile of papers, which reported on the latest deliveries of food for the needs of the corps. The colonel never left papers with the accountant - he personally checked each account and, it must be said, he was very successful in the merchant business of counting and accounting. And it couldn't be otherwise - it was his bread and butter!

– I have to report, Colonel, that if the corps is not given a rest in the near future, you risk being left without some of your soldiers. There is obvious overfatigue – the soldiers have been doing heavy exercises from morning until night for three weeks, and the accumulated fatigue – physical and mental – will soon make itself felt. Believe me, I know from experience in previous years. If we are going to send healthy regiments to war, we must give them at least one day a week to rest. This is my opinion. We are simply driving people around, some will get sick, and those who remain on their feet will not be able to perform their combat missions as they should, appearing before the enemy as half-dead donkeys. In addition, the increase in training time for the entire daylight hours, adopted by order of the corps headquarters, does not allow the soldiers to recover properly. They sleep for five or six hours, and this is after hard work from dawn to dusk. This is impossible. Every day there is a line of patients in the doctor's office who have to be excused from classes, and every day several people end up unconscious on the parade ground from overwork and overheating. We will lose the corps. That is my opinion.

"I see that this is your opinion, not someone else's," the colonel chuckled, getting up from the table. He went to the open window, wiped his sweaty forehead with a white handkerchief, stood there for a moment, and said into space:

- Yes... it's hot. No wind, no rain... however, we don't need rain either.

Then he turned around and looked carefully at the doctor, asking:

- Is it that bad?

- It's even worse, - boomed the doctor, - they might start dying. I'm surprised that no one has decided to rebel yet. Apparently there were no leaders.

(Found it! – thought the colonel – and how found it! Only they are already in the next world... there is much you don't know, friend Zheresar).

- Do you think we need to reduce tension?

- Yes. Certainly. Make the classes ten hours long, as before, and every seventh day for recovery - rest, leave for the guys who distinguished themselves. Not for everyone, of course. Let the capable soldiers rest, those who are the highest in indicators, and the rest strive to catch up with them. There are plenty of them - for example, that same Ned the Black! Remember him, Colonel? Well, that one, the winner, who tore off his opponent's head? A very capable guy, correct! He doesn't even drink wine. He doesn't hang around with dirty girls. Always does his job silently, without groans or complaints, and his platoon is the most skilled and combative. Well done, boy! I wanted to take him with me, offered him, and more than once - as an assistant. Alas - he refuses. He says - he is not going to become a doctor. It seems he wants to make a military career. But this is not about him - the general condition of the soldiers today leaves much to be desired. My duty is to report to you on the state of affairs in our regiment. All the doctors under my command are of the same opinion. All ten of them. I'm done.

The colonel sat down in his chair again, put his hands on his elbows, clasped his fingers and lowered his well-groomed head with its perfectly combed parting. He was silent for a long time, then looked at the doctor and said:

- Do you think it would be better if they were killed on the battlefield? Okay, let's say we've reduced the intensity of the training. But we're sailing in two months. What kind of soldiers are we going to take with us? Half-baked soldiers? I don't care if they're going to be killed - they knew what they were getting into! But the king is counting on us, so what? We won't accomplish the task! What will they say about us later? What will they call us?

(They'll call you, you bastard! - Zheresar said to himself - are you afraid for your own ass? But what about setting up the boys? Aren't you afraid of ruining them here, with exhausting training? What kind of an idiot are you?!)

The colonel was silent again, and looking at the gloomy doctor, added, softening his voice:

- I understand your concern for the personnel of the regiment and the corps as a whole, but understand - your task is to treat, and my task is to carry out combat missions. I don't understand at all why I discuss such things with you. Probably simply because I have known you for twenty years, and I know that you have always cared for your subordinates. Zheresar, my friend - stop these stupid thoughts! Do your job, and don't meddle where you don't belong!

- Nulan, I knew you when you were a lieutenant, we were friends once, haven't you forgotten? - the doctor went for broke - don't be an idiot, you'll ruin the boys, you'll have no one to go into battle with! Don't you understand that even a horse needs to rest, otherwise it'll drop dead?! Is your head not working, or have you forgotten how you fainted when Major Schetzel made you and your unit run through the mountains in the scorching heat? And you honestly ran with your soldiers until you fell off a cliff and broke your arm! And how many soldiers died then, because the tyrant decided to make superhumans out of them and didn't believe that not everyone could do it?! What happened to you, Nulan? Where is that lieutenant who personally accompanied the soldier to the infirmary and swore at his superiors because your subordinates were unfairly treated? After you married the minister's daughter, you changed dramatically and became a merchant from the army, not a soldier! Come to your senses!

- What are you doing, you bastard! - the colonel stood up from the table, his face turned red and his eyes almost bulged out of their sockets - I will kick you out of the army, with a yellow notice, for failure to follow the command order and violation of subordination! Have you forgotten who you are?!

- You forgot who you are! - the doctor roared. - You are a merchant from the army, and I am a doctor, without whom everything here will fall apart, and all the soldiers will die like chickens at a careless peasant's! Idiot! I am not holding on to this job, here, take it - the doctor tore off his white coat with the doctor's emblem and threw it on the table - put it on and treat! And I will go to the city, start a private practice and I will spin your corps and you along with it in one place! Treat, maim, do whatever you want, idiots! But when the rabbit asks you - why is your Marine Corps taking a break like a rabbit hutch from a plague - you say - I drove them away during training! And I don't have any doctors - I stupidly dispersed them all! Bring your precious mages here - all three mage healers, and let them dig around in the soldiers' asses! They shouldn't be sitting in their agar! That's it, I'm done! If you deduct this from your salary, choke on it!

Zheresar turned and, ignoring the stunned colonel, walked quickly out of the colonel's office, shaking the floor with the weight of his powerful body. He walked past the clerks pretending they hadn't heard anything, past the adjutant, Lieutenant Sirtak, the colonel's wife's nephew, went out onto the parade ground and strode toward the doctor's office, beating out the rhythm of the movement with his clenched fist. Everything inside him was boiling, and red circles were spinning before his eyes. Whether from the heat or from rage - it was not for nothing that he was once called Mad - he and Lieutenant Kheverad had broken many heads in taverns. They had had fun. They were friends. Until he became a nobleman and important, having married the daughter of a nobleman. And then the friendship ended. A nobleman cannot be friends with some military doctor.

Zheresar had almost reached the doctor's office when a breathless messenger caught up with him:

- Sir Doctor, wait! Sir Doctor! Sir Colonel asks you to return.

"What does he want?" Zheresar asked sullenly, looking at the young lad, the son of one of the staff officers.

- I don't know, Mr. Doctor! - the messenger answered, and his boyish face lit up with a smile - he's not reporting to us! This is Mr. Colonel!

- Okay, - the doctor chuckled, - I'll be right there. Run, tell your... mister colonel. The messenger nodded and ran across the parade ground, kicking up dust with his polished boots. Zheresar sighed and slowly wandered to headquarters.

The colonel was sitting at a table near the window, and in front of him stood a bottle of wine, from which he had already taken a fair sip. There were also fruits, dried smoked fish, candied and salted nuts of all kinds - there are plenty of them at the market and they are a good snack for wine.

The colonel looked gloomily at the tumbled in Zheresar, was silent for a moment, then said in a muffled voice:

– Close the door more tightly and lock it with the latch.

"Are you going to kill me?" the doctor chuckled. "But I won't give up without a fight."

- Idiot! Cover me! It is beneath me to drink with all sorts of medical scum - Heverad grinned - take a clean glass. I will not drink from the same glass with you - you will be messing around with all sorts of infectious soldiers. Drink! - he gurgled from the bottle, and turning around, poured himself some - come on, for old times, for us young ones! Drink, don't act like a virgin! That's it!

The wine went down their throats easily, and the colonel remarked with satisfaction:

– Collectible, Isolskoye. There's a vineyard on the mountainside, they only collect a little grapes from it. And they make five barrels of wine. For the king. Well, and… a barrel for me. What? Haven't I earned it? Twenty years of faithful service, twenty years in the shittiest places! And the corps always won, because always, tell me, my former… old friend. I've always known how to fight! Yes, I make money, yes, I look for profit everywhere, but I don't forget my service either! No one can blame me, except for my old… former friend. You know, buddy. Over the years, you stop trusting people. It always seems like they want something from you. Some kind of benefit. And that's often the case. And you yourself start thinking – what can this person give me? Why do I need him? What benefit can he give me? You're the only one left with me – you say whatever comes into your head. There's no one else to talk to. Your wife? A pompous fool – sits in the capital and has affairs with young court guards. They report everything to me. Children? They don't need me – a daddy sitting in the boondocks, a soldier with provincial manners. But they are mannered, smelling of perfume… disgusting! Disgusting, Zhera! Money? I have so much money that you can't even dream of! And why, why do I need it?! Honestly – I was happier when you and I were fighting off a whole squad of swordsmen together! Remember how you threw that big guy with the stool out the window? Ehh… those were fun times! And we were young. Today I imagined that you were gone – and my soul felt disgusted. No one else around me that I trust. Only sycophants, ass-lickers, flattering and lying creatures. Pour some wine… for both of us. Come on – for old times' sake. Then the girls were more beautiful, the sea was cleaner, the friendship was stronger, and the soldiers were stronger.

Glasses of expensive blue crystal clinked, the old friends drank, crunched on nuts, then Zheresar, smiling into his beard, boomed:

- You called me to cry on your shoulder? You could have gone to your mistress for that, buried your nose in her smooth ass and complained about your hard life. Why are you telling me all this? I can't violate the chain of command!

– Oh, come on, stop it… well, sometimes I got carried away. What the hell are you going to make faces at like a little girl now? You can understand me too – I need to get things done. And as soon as possible. Yes, I understand that the soldiers are exhausted, but it's bad for them now, but later, in battle, they will survive, having received training here! We have little time! The King is sending dispatches, demanding that untrained soldiers be sent into battle – it looks like things are just shitty on the border, and he needs to plug the hole with the Marine Corps, which – mind you! – has never lost a war! Agree, I have some credit for this! I've been commanding this corps for five years, I've been working towards this position for fifteen years, and I occupy it by right. No one can command this unit better than me, no one! We are the best! And now they demand that I throw these boys into hell – untrained, weak, uncoached! How is this side of life for you? Or do you only see them falling from exhaustion on the parade ground? And if they fall with a split head, or with their intestines spilled out – how is that for you? Is that better? You, the chief physician of the Corps, are an intelligent man – don't you understand this? Yes, I earn money. But have you seen my soldiers starve? That they have no clothes, or shoes? That they don't have enough chain mail or greaves? That's it… I can be accused of anything, but not of unprofessionalism.

- Okay, I got carried away too. I didn't know it was that bad. But I'm telling you for sure - we need to ease the tension a little, we need to let the guys rest. I've been a doctor for over twenty years, I know what I'm talking about. They need a day off - let them relax. Otherwise there could be a riot.

- There won't be any riot, - the colonel waved his hand, - pour us some, yeah... that's it... let's be healthy! May the enemies perish! Remember how we raised a toast in the "Silver Horse"? There was such a beauty there then... we fought with the crossbowmen, and then made up, drank. Oh, if only I could quit! I'm sick of it!

- You won't give up, - the doctor grinned, dabbing his mustache with a handkerchief, - you've been sucked into this swamp. You won't be able to tear yourself away from your money.

– Money, money… by the way – you also get some of the pie, it's not for you to talk about money! Every week, neatly, in a bag. What are you frowning about? That's it… no need to talk about money. Let's think about how to do it better. Yes, I'll have to follow your lead, you old brute who doesn't observe subordination! By the way – if you yell like that throughout the entire office – I'll order you to be flogged with sticks! Are you an idiot or something? Are you yelling at the whole district? I'm supposed to yell at you, you're not supposed to yell at me! Okay, forget it… but in general, you could have apologized to your superiors!

- Sorry, my high-ranking one, - the healer smiled, - my voice is like that. My mother told me - go study to be a singer, now you would be standing in the temple of Dinas, and would not know any worries, just singing psalms, and that's it. And the demons carried me off to be a healer! Do you have any more wine? It doesn't seem to take me. And it's delicious, you always knew a thing or two about wine.

- Of course! It was only you who always tried to guzzle beer and pour some kind of nastiness into the mug. I taught you and taught you how to distinguish good wine, but I never taught you.

- What good stuff? Usually at the front you drink triple-distilled wine, the kind you use to wash your instruments. You gulp down a glass and your soul feels better. We have no time for refinements.

- Stop playing the poor guy... you've probably saved up a decent amount of money by now. That's why you started talking about your practice. You're probably tired of running around on business trips too. How's Elsa, is she healthy?

- Yes, thank God, everything is fine - the doctor softened - he is taking care of the children. He scolds - I disappear all day at work, living like a single wife.

- Oh, what a beauty she was! - the colonel smacked his lips - I was just grinding my teeth when she fell in love with you!

- She loved you at first, - the doctor smiled sadly, - but when she realized that you needed her as a lover, not as a wife, she left for me. And you married your...

- Don't talk about that bitch - the colonel winced - look, I have everything - money, status, but no happiness. There is none, my friend. I envy you. A beloved wife, loving children - what else do you need for life? Let's pour another drink - for love!

"We should drink to that," the doctor nodded, "isn't that enough for you? The sun is still high, duty…"

– Am I drunk or something?! Just remember how much I could drink! Well, yes – not more than you, it's impossible to outdrink you, but I was good too! After three bottles of wine, I could still fight against five idiots! Where do young people get such strength, such power nowadays?! Weaklings, freaks… they faint from the heat! Although – there's that same Ned – a beast! The way he tore that fighter's head off! A song! And you know – I offered him to become a prize fighter – he refused. He said – I don't want to kill people! Did you hear that? He doesn't want to kill people! But he joined the army! It's just ridiculous! And I liked the guy. You say he's right? I thought so too. Listen, maybe we should put the guy in officer school? Why waste his abilities? Although – he's illiterate…

- Literate. Already literate. He learned, and very quickly. The guy is quick, smart, the squad fears and respects him. You know - when he looks at them - they even shudder. And he doesn't beat them, doesn't chase them - he says it quietly, calmly, and they run to obey. He's a real officer - if he lives long enough.

- If he survives, - echoed the colonel, - when we return from the Isfirian border, I will try to send him to the capital, to the officer school. There is such a thing there, when low-born soldiers who have distinguished themselves in military operations are accepted for training at the suggestion of the command. The grandfather of the current king started this. There is always a shortage of good military personnel. I myself am not very well-born - impoverished nobles from a backwater town. My dad sold all his cattle to bribe the director of the officer school, and they took me. And how much shit I drank there - of course, no normal horse, no uniform. Everyone on leave to the pubs, and I sit in the room, cramming tactics and strategy. I have nothing to hang out in the pubs with. My father did not live long after that. As he knew - when he sent me away, he said: "Son, I could not give you what the descendants of the Heverads deserve. Forgive me. I give everything I can. Remember me with a good word, don't forget. Take what you deserve from life. I believe in you! " He died when I was at summer maneuvers, I couldn't even come to the funeral. His brother buried him. They say his heart failed. When his mother died, he really gave in, he was sick. He passed away quickly, he just burned out.

- I remember, Nul, you told me. I haven't forgotten anything - the doctor said softly, and looked with pity at the colonel, who had laid his head on his crossed arms - I have to go. By now, there's probably already a crowd of sufferers standing at the door, after a glorious sweatshop training.

- Yes, go - the colonel wiped the moisture from his eyes, rubbed his reddened face with his palms - we'll reduce the training to ten hours a day, every week there will be a day off - but we won't let everyone out into the city. Only those who deserve it. And those who were not guilty of being released last time. Those who don't go - let them sit here and envy. An additional incentive for good service. As for the guy, well, that... Ned - maybe you'll really take him? I'll give the order to transfer him, and that's it. They'll kill the little demon!

- By force? I won't translate by force. You know, not everyone wants to dig around in the dirt, in the shit, like doctors. What's the point if you force them to do it? Let them serve. But...

- What? Speak...

- Maybe we should promote him to sergeant? You can do it. Easily. For special merits.

- And what merits? - the colonel grinned. - Tearing off the enemy's head?

- Well... some. I'll keep an eye on it. By the way, you can just use the wording for impeccable service. That's all. Let everyone see how we elevate those who serve well, who are an example for other soldiers!

- And won't the other sergeants perceive it as the rise of an upstart? They got their ranks in combat, and before that they spent five years as simple soldiers and corporals!

- Do you care about their opinion? Who are you, a colonel or a shabby doctor?

- Heh heh... you speak the truth... a shabby doctor! That's why I love you - you never buttered me up, never played on my friendship, never wanted anything material from me, unlike the others. Whatever you think, that's what you say. I'll do it. For the sake of the cause. Not for the sake of friendship or this guy himself, but for the sake of the service. Such personnel must be protected, and as a sergeant he has a better chance of surviving. And now he will have more free time - let him study. Make him read, let him learn good manners - an officer will need them. The army needs good officers. Someone has to actually fight, and not wipe the parquet in palaces!

- That's for sure - the doctor nodded and rose from his chair - I'll go, that's it. We had a good time.

- Yes, good. I immediately felt better after talking to you. I felt so bad inside, so bad that I can't even put it into words! I'll go now and get some sleep for an hour. I'll give the orders according to the schedule, order the documents for the guy to be prepared, and go to bed. It's hot, I'm a little overtired. Tell the office rats to come in here, I'll give the orders here! - the colonel unbuttoned his pants, loosened the collar of his uniform, and leaned back blissfully in his chair. His head was buzzing, the world was swaying, and he felt very good.