Chapter 11.

- Oh-oh-oh-oh! My friend! I heard, I heard... - The storekeeper's fat face broke into a smile, then turned into concern. - You volunteered against a sword and a dagger with a spear? Oh, how foolish! I gave you a sword, a sword of all swords! You'll simply chop up your opponent with it! Why a spear?

"I'm not very good with a sword, but I'm good with a spear," Ned explained serenely, for the twentieth or thirtieth time.

On his way to the warehouse, he had to explain the situation to everyone who wanted to. He could send the well-wishers to a known address, but why spoil the relationship? They weren't asking out of malice, Ned knew that. He just had to be patient, and they would leave him alone. Someday. And if they didn't leave him alone, then he could yell. However, Ned was close to yelling. Enough!

Why did he choose the spear? Why was he so sure of the outcome of the battle? He was not sure! But inside there was a firm, clear understanding - only the spear! No swords! And then there would be victory. Where did this understanding come from? Ned did not know. Or rather, he guessed, but ... he did not want to admit it to the end. After all, it was more convenient this way. From time to time, Ned recalled the fortuneteller's prophecy - he remembered her every word. And about his second essence, and about the dagger ... about the essence it was clear - some thing had entered him and given him special abilities. It, this nasty thing, makes him run from magicians and demands that he not reveal his magical skills. And Ned was convinced - until now, everything that this essence made him do, everything was right, everything was true. Everything for the cause. The essence did not try to take control of the body, did not do anything that would harm him or those whom he respected, who were dear to him. So why not follow the directions that came from within the mind? Ned did. And now he was told clearly - the spear! Only the spear!

– Well then, let's go and choose you a spear. No, no – nothing is needed! Old Pernal has his own concept of honor and conscience! You are going to fight a scoundrel, a bastard, and it is my sacred duty to help you with this! But if you insist… aha, put it here. What a clever boy you are, sergeant! Why are there only idiots around and few young men like you?! Today's youth is becoming petty – look how small they are, both in body and soul, so pathetic! And you – strong in body, handsome, a generous soul! And your hand… Aha, here. No, don't look – there are pathetic pieces of iron there. Take a look here! I'll offer you this one – look, the shaft is made of seasoned ironwood, you won't cut it right away, it's long, with one swing it will knock down the enemy! A bit heavy, yes. They are better off fighting from horseback. And here! Look at this! What are you looking at there? Yes, there were several of those. Or similar ones... Where did they stray from? Who the hell knows! This is from the southern continent, or something. Looks like they were captured during one of the expeditions. As a trophy. Or maybe they were found somewhere around here, in warehouses. Ancient. It is unsuitable for combat in formation and unsuitable for fighting from horseback. Hmm-m-m... but otherwise, yes... the steel is magnificent. Signed - see, the master's initials? And runes here... listen, it seems to go well with that sword I gave you. Interesting. Do you know how much junk is thrown around here? I'll bet you a copper to a gold coin that a lot of it hasn't been listed in any register for a long time. Like, for example, this spear. It's not in any registers! I'm giving it away! Take it! I see that it has sunk into your heart. Hmm… let it sink into the heart of that idiot Zasler, literally. By the way – such an asshole! He came once for some uniform, so he could at least have said thank you! Arrogant creature… I doubt anyone will feel sorry if you kill him. Not if! You will kill him, for sure! Well, good luck to you, Ned! Come visit old Pernal – let's sit and chat about this and that! I have no one to talk to here at all. Only idiots come…

During the entire conversation Ned couldn't get in more than three words. The storekeeper talked, talked, talked... Ned nodded his head in time, and by the end of the "conversation" it seemed that he had turned into a bobbing toy, a figurine on a spring, like the one on the colonel's desk - it was constantly nodding its head in time with the movements of the owner of the office. The colonel had a habit of touching the dummy's nose during the conversation, and the dummy nodded, nodded, nodded...

* * *

The spear was magnificent. Ned had gone through dozens of spears, but still couldn't find the right one. But when he cleared away the rubble covered in centuries-old dust, he saw It! It stood forlornly behind a chipped halberd, between a second-row spear and a horse spear with a three-sided armor-piercing tip.

It clicked in Ned's head - it! This is it! His hand reached out and grabbed the smooth shaft, never to let go.

The long blade of the spearhead is a blade, not just a spearhead. Leaf-shaped, double-edged, reminiscent of a sword, about seventy centimeters long. Sharp, like the sword Pernal gave, the narrow spearhead widened slightly toward the end. A familiar matte pattern, an interweaving of lines. Mounted on a short shaft of an unknown black wood, smooth and seemingly cold to the touch. The spearhead is about as long as Ned's eyes. Of course - what would you do in the line with such a spear? It's almost twice as short as even the spears of the first row! And this is such a sharp blade? You wave it - and your neighbors' heads will disappear.

Ned felt and examined the spear once more… There were no cracks on the shaft, no nicks – a magnificent example of weaponry. There were no decorations anywhere – an honest working spear that had drunk the blood of an enemy. Why did he decide that it had already been in battles, that it had already drunk blood? Small, almost unnoticeable – if you don't look closely – scratches on the shaft, probably left from the polished traces of blows.

Ned took the spear in his hands, closed his eyes and suddenly felt it tremble, twitch in his hands, as if it were not a spear shaft, but a hardened huge snake! Ned almost dropped the strange weapon and put it upright, leaning it against the wall in his room, where he went to change for the fight. And immediately everything became as before - the dimly shining spear, the room, neatly tidied and not yet acquiring the individuality of its owner, the reddening sunset, visible between two huge mountains covered with white snow caps. Snow glaciers, illuminated by the evening sun, turned pink, reminiscent of flowers and blood spilled by many people throughout the history of mankind.

Ned thought... He really wanted to learn. To find out what these mountains were. Where the human race came from. What was happening in the world and what would happen. He was torn between the desire to learn about the world and the desire to hide, to hide under a snag, like a fish afraid of pike. So far he was lucky. So far he had emerged victorious from situations in which any other person would have perished long ago. But how long could this go on?

He shook his head, driving away the dark thoughts, stood up, went to the weapons cabinet and took out the sword he had received from the warehouse. He took it in his hands – with his left hand on the scabbard, with his right on the hilt – pulled it out with a rustle and closed his eyes. No, nothing was happening. The sword was just a sword. Then he pulled out the sword completely, placed his left hand on the blade and concentrated again. No – nothing. An ordinary sword – expensive, high-quality, very sharp. But… nothing.

He left the sword on the bed and went to the spear, glittering in the semi-darkness. He took hold of the hilt… ​​a blow! Some pictures, flashes, smells, people in strange robes and black loose robes with their faces covered – they wave the same spears to the viscous, unfamiliar music, falling in time with the beats of the drum with a thick, low sound. Nearby, almost naked girls and women wriggle, slender and muscular, like real fighters. However, they are: swords glitter in their hands – long, narrow, predatory. The girls slowly, languidly bend, then instantly explode in a series of elusive movements, striking their partner-rival with such speed that they merge into a misty whirlwind.

Suddenly one of the girls falls. A red stripe appears across her chest, right between her beautiful hemispheres, the edges of which diverge, and blood spurts out from there. The girl's eyes glaze over, and a man in black rises from the throne, holding in his hands... a spear! The same spear as the one Ned is holding now!

The man dips his spear into the blood of the still living, shuddering girl and utters heavy, terrible words:

- Hesserannakarr! Shsshasar! I'm looking for a sanar! Arghhhh! Arghhhh! Arghhhh!

The room darkens, and the runes on the spear blade begin to glow. And… Ned saw it as clearly as if it were real! – the spear began to wriggle, and instead of a blade, a terrible face with glowing red eyes appeared!

Ned screamed and threw his spear, which clattered across the floor. The image disappeared.

The spear lay on the floor, a common instrument for taking life. The room was simple and shabby after the chambers decorated with gold and figures of creatures with terrible faces, similar to the one that had crawled out of the spear. The chambers of the man in black.

Ned grabbed his head, rubbing his forehead, breathing heavily and trying to get his thoughts in order.

Why did the sword not respond to his touch, but the spear did? Why had no one else sensed the demon in the weapon? Ned had no doubt that it was a demon. And what had the man said? What words? They reminded him of the words Ned had blurted out in a fit of hatred against his opponents in the village. Similar, but not quite.

Ned somehow knew that the words spoken were the Call and the Conclusion. What the call and conclusion were, he did not understand.

Fragments of information, fragments of memorable events flashed through Ned's head and tried to acquire a coherent structure, to nestle in his skull. He was aware of this and subconsciously interfered with the process, without realizing it. Ned, as if from a huge warehouse with goods, took what he needed, not allowing the memories to merge together. What he was afraid of - he did not know. But he knew that if he allowed himself to give in, it could be very bad. Again he remembered the fortune teller with her "black man" - maybe it was Him?

He quietly touched the spear. It was silent. There were no pictures. The runes flickered faintly in the darkness, and if you didn't look closely, you wouldn't see them. He picked up the spear, took it in both hands – nothing. He did a few exercises – a dive! A strike! There was little space – he almost ripped his new uniform. He exhaled and cursed. He needed a training ground to work at full strength. But… we have what we have.

Knock on the door:

- Sergeant! You are expected at the exercise grounds! Are you ready? Everyone is here!

He stood up, put on his military sandals, woven from strong leather straps, stamped his feet – they hold well, comfortably. And his feet don't get tired, don't sweat, like in these boots, which turn into ovens in the sun.

- I'm coming, I'm already coming! - he opened the doors.

Two lieutenants and Sergeant Drancon. They looked encouragingly, Drancon winked discreetly: as if to say, hold on. He didn't read his thoughts, turned off his hypersensitive hearing – let it not distract him, let it not hit his brain. And it was so easy to guess who and how felt about Ned and what they wanted for him. Of course, the entire garrison… well, almost the entire one – was for Ned. But that didn't mean anything. The procedure had to be followed. The duel had to take place.

The evening chill had not yet descended on the base, quietly seething with anticipation of the upcoming events. The long shadow of the Black Mountain dissolved in the twilight, dispersed by the fire of torches crackling in the evening breeze. Dozens of oil lanterns stood along the edges of the site, releasing black columns of soot from burnt oil and for some reason spreading the smell of cake, freshly crushed seeds.

Ned had always liked that smell. He drew in the evening air through his flared nostrils, took a deep breath, and walked toward a group of officers dressed in formal dress uniform.

"You're keeping me waiting!" Colonel Zaid said reproachfully, glaring at Ned. "A matter of honor doesn't wait! Are you ready for a mortal duel of honor?"

"Ready," Ned nodded affirmatively, leaning on the black spear.

- Then show us your weapon. We need to examine it for poison.

Ned stepped forward, took the spear in both hands, and, bowing his head, handed the spear to Zayd. He took the weapon and raised his eyebrows in surprise:

- Is this a spear? Interesting! It doesn't look much like a spear! Where did you get that?

"This is my spear." Ned's brow furrowed stubbornly. "The terms of the duel stipulate that I fight with a spear. THIS is a spear. If anyone can deny that this weapon is a spear, let them say so."

- No... - Zaid was slightly confused, - of course - a spear. Only some strange one, I have never seen anything like it. Look, gentlemen! Mister Colonel, have you ever seen anything like this?

Heverad looked at Ned's weapon with interest, stroked the blade with the gesture of a soldier who truly loved weapons, and said with satisfaction:

- A spear! A real spear! - And he added quietly: - That's what he was counting on! Well done, boy! This is better than a sword. The same sword, but a spear!

- Show me your fighter's weapon! - demanded Shentel and tried to grab Ned's spear: - Give it here!

- Look at what I have in my hands, - Heverad said with displeasure, - what, can't you see it? There is no poison. There is no coating on the blade. The weapon is clean.

- This is a spear? - Shentel was indignant. - A spear is what this sergeant runs around the parade ground with! And this is not a spear!

- A spear! - Heverad shook his head stubbornly. - The shaft is much longer than the blade! Besides, the tip is mounted on the shaft, like a spear! Shentel, don't throw a woman's tantrum! If an object bleats like a ram, looks like a ram - what is it?

"You're insulting me!" Shentel squeezed out. "It's against the officer's code!"

- Actually, I was talking about the spear, - Heverad calmly remarked to the laughter of the officers, - and what are you talking about? Or who? Don't you think it's time to start? We've already been delayed a bit, instead of half an hour - an hour and a half! It's already getting dark. It's time for exile, Shentel.

"We'll see who goes into exile!" the major exhaled furiously, turned to Ned, and his face distorted with hatred. "You pup! You'll die, you creature!"

Ned remained silent. What was the point of words? Everything was clear.

– The weapons have been inspected. The opponents are ready for battle! I order you to meet in the middle of the marked area and wait for the signal from the manager! The battle will begin after a white handkerchief is thrown onto the area. Forward!

Ned grabbed his spear and stepped into the square, with lanterns burning at the corners and sides. There was enough light for the spectators to see the fight, but not quite enough to follow the particularly treacherous blows. A fight is a fight, and there is always the possibility of losing, even if you are a master of the highest order. The gods sometimes play strange tricks.

Zasler knew about this. And therefore, he was as focused and collected as possible. In his right hand, a dagger was visible, and his left hand was occupied by a long, thin sword, which was used by most of the officers of the kingdom. Depending on the length of the owner's hands, the sword could reach a length of up to a meter, was flexible, elastic and relatively light - up to one and a half zusan. In skilled hands, it was a terrible weapon. A strong fighter could cut a man without armor in half with one blow of such a sword, and if he was wearing chain mail, cut it like paper.

Zasler's dagger was a half-meter blade - a smaller copy of a sword, only thicker in steel. Its purpose was to catch and beat off the tip of a spear in order to chop off the shaft with the sword, leaving the enemy with a mop instead of a combat weapon. This was allowed by the rules, and no one made any substitutions. If the sword broke, fight with the broken one. It was necessary to take a good sword or not allow the enemy to strike the flat part of it, so as not to allow a break. A straight, double-edged dagger was almost as dangerous as a sword. In the hands of a master, of course. And Zasler was a master.

The opponents met on the platform and stood a meter away from each other. It was quiet, and only in the pond behind the fence the frogs were screaming loudly, singing their cheerful love songs. The torches crackled, casting uncertain shadows in which Ned imagined people in black, making strange body movements reminiscent of a snake dance.

Ned didn't notice when Zaid's handkerchief flew into the center of the court. The white piece of cloth hadn't even touched the ground when Zasler rushed to attack.

He was very, very fast, and his sword was even faster. The blade curved at impossible angles, so that it seemed not a blade of the strongest steel, but a flexible reed, played with by a wild wind.

Ned barely had time to parry the blows: with the back of the spear – the dagger, with the blade – the sword. Zasler was always trying to get into close contact – at a long distance, naturally, the spearman had a clear advantage.

In the very first second, Ned received a cut wound on his forearm - not deep, but unpleasant, bleeding profusely. In his stupidity, he lost his head and missed a slashing blow from a dagger. A little later, the blade of a sword cut the skin on his side. The shirt in this place immediately became wet and turned red as a sunset.

Ned began to retreat under the deathly silence of the spectators, and Zasler kept increasing the pressure, although it seemed that there was nowhere further to go. In a minute, Ned received six wounds - all shallow, but nasty, bleeding and quite painful. And slowly but surely, panic began to arise in his soul.

The thing is, he knew how to handle the exotic spear – but! – he couldn't allow himself to relax and give in completely to the black thing that sat in his soul. His brain subconsciously slowed down his movements, didn't perform turns, strikes, feints clearly enough. Resisted the commands given by Ned's subconscious. And here's the result – a slowly but surely losing battle. Losing not to some pathetic Zasler – who was this pathetic boy with his two stabbers? No – Ned was losing to himself! Because he didn't want to submit. Because he didn't want to accept what had settled in his head. And now he would die.

The thought struck Ned so hard that his hair almost stood on end – what, he was going to die? Why? What for? And this after all he had been through? After all he had? So all his suffering was in vain? He, who had seen nothing, who had barely found friends, a good life, a future, who had never known a woman – was now going to lie down here and die, soaking the ground trampled by the feet of thousands of soldiers with his blood?! It was unfair! It was unfair! This could not be!

And Ned gave in. He let his soul go, just like he did when he killed the duelist, just like he did when he killed ten of his fellow villagers.

The blackness flooded his brain, bursting from the depths of his soul, and took over his body, completely controlling his movements, down to the very last particle of his organism. It was as if Ned were sitting by the window, watching what was happening outside, on the street. He was aware of his personality, but his body moved on its own, controlled by his subconscious.

Ned stopped at the very border outlined by lanterns, beyond which, according to the rules, it was forbidden to go. Now his body easily caught and repelled the swordsman's blows, not feeling pain, having fallen into a combat trance, having turned into a perfect combat weapon.

Ned's movements changed. Now he moved like a snake, baring his teeth, hissing through white teeth, flowing from pose to pose, and these poses were so strange, so bizarre, that the spectators stirred and, buzzing like a swarm of bees, began to point at Ned.

Zasler noticed the change too. The triumphant smile left his face, and when the flexible blade of the spear first touched his skin, he flinched and took a step back, to the place where he was destined to meet his last minute of life.

Ned hissed like a snake, looking at Zasler with black holes in his eyes, in which Zasler saw the fire of the underworld. And Zasler was not far from the truth...

The first wound struck the swordsman in the shoulder - the sharp blade of the spear ripped apart the dandy silk shirt trimmed with lace and ripped the skin to the width of one and a half spans. The second blow completely severed Zasler's ear along with a piece of scalp, leaving a hole in this place from which blood was spurting out.

Ned smiled evilly into his opponent's face, and Zasler realized with horror that he was going to die. But no - his time had not come. Now Ned was playing with Zasler, inflicting wounds on him just as the lieutenant had done a few minutes ago. Zasler's body was covered in long, painful cuts in a matter of seconds, as if Ned had cut the skin of an exotic fruit, trying to get to the tasty pulp. Finally - the time had come to kill.

With a powerful blow, Ned knocked the dagger out of Zasler's hand, chopping off three fingers at once, which fell to the ground like bean pods. Zasler screamed, covered himself with his sword, but it was too late - the next blow cut off Zasler's left arm along with a piece of his shoulder, and the last, finishing blow - from top to bottom - ripped open the lieutenant's chest and stomach, like a fisherman guts a fish, preparing it for the dinner cauldron.

It was a terrible, terrible blow – from the bridge of the nose to the groin, almost splitting Zasler in half. Those who saw the details of the fight reported it this way:

- The guy flew up, grabbed his demonic spear almost by the very end, and struck - like a lumberjack splitting a log! This guy, Zasler, was simply gutted, like a shark! Only blood spurted in all directions and intestines fell at his feet! A beast, not a sergeant!

Zasler's body fell forward and fell, convulsing in its death throes. Ned went to the fallen man and plunged the spear into his back, which trembled in his hands. It seemed to him that a muzzle with red eyes emerged from the blade, and Ned clearly heard the joyful howl of a demon. The spear seemed to drink fresh, hot blood, enjoying its spicy taste.

And then – the incredible happened! Ned's body was filled with strength, freshness, fatigue was gone, the wounds stopped hurting, and the blood oozing from the cuts immediately stopped. Ned was simply bursting with energy – he wanted to run, jump, laugh. It felt like he had smoked mazis – that's how those who were into this business described the effects of using this light drug to him. There were many such soldiers.

Having torn the spear from the body of the fallen enemy, Ned went to the officers, who were standing silently outside the area. No one shouted, no one greeted Ned - everyone was shocked by the rapidity and cruelty of the reprisal against Zasler. However, after a while, most of the officers decided that it was fair and beautiful - after all, the winner is always right? And applause was heard.

Ned stopped in front of Zaid, who was acting as the duel's master of ceremonies, bowed, and said in a hoarse voice, as if broken from screaming:

- Executed. The enemy is dead.

Zaid looked searchingly at the boy's blood-stained face and said loudly:

- The duel of honor is over! The winner is Ned the Black!

And the audience burst into applause again.

* * *

- Sit down! Sit up straight, and don't frown! You're not a woman! So... what do we have here... hmm... quite acceptable. That is, the wounds are clean, nothing dangerous. Strange...

- What's strange?

- They look like they were applied a few hours ago. And the scar tissue has started to heal... Interesting. You, boy, have a crazy recovery process! I've never encountered anything like that. Maybe you could tell me where you came from? It would be nice to show you to the mages... Okay, okay, what's wrong?! Sit down! What are you scared of? Sit down! I'm not taking you to any mages! I can't stand them myself and only turn to them when I can't handle it myself. Or I don't have time. They are such pompous asses! Yeah... let's wash this one off... be patient, your mother! Sissy! Phooey on you, donkey head! What are you twitching about! I boiled these tools for half an hour, and you threw the tray on the floor!

- What are you swearing about? I recognize old Zheresar! If you personally can stitch your skin alive with thread and you don't even wince, then surely not everyone is so insensitive? Sit down, boy, don't get up. How is he?

- It's fine, Colonel. I'll just put some stitches on a couple of wounds, that's all. A healthy and nimble, even too nimble boy.

- We need nimble ones. How much does he need to recover?

- A week, no less. This Zasler cut him up well.

- But he didn't stay in debt. It's scary to look at. What's going on in your head, boy? Sometimes you're a good guy, like few others, just some kind of girl, and sometimes you're a beast, like a watchdog! Why the hell did you cut him into pieces? You could have just poked him in the heart. You could have!

- I don't know, Mr. Geresar. Sometimes it comes over me. I can't help it. I must have gotten very angry.

- M-yes... you let him out in front of the troops, Nul, he'll get angry and chop everyone up! - Zheresar hooted like a swamp bird and came to his senses: - I apologize, Colonel! I forgot myself!

- Oh, come on... can't he see? I think even the cats in this gang know that you and I have been friends for a long time. Anyway, I'm giving him ten days to recover and rest, along with the three days you're supposed to get after receiving your sergeant's rank. But that doesn't mean you just have to hang around the barracks with your feet up on the back of the bed! You'll cram the guard regulations, study everything a sergeant is supposed to. Then Drankon will test you. And watch out: if you don't know, you'll get a reprimand. A monetary deduction. By the way, - the colonel took a heavy pouch out of his leather commander's bag, - here's your bonus for defending the honor of the corps. And my honor. One hundred and fifty gold pieces. The bastard's heavy, I barely carried it! I should have given him a promissory note, but I'm afraid the guy doesn't know how to handle them. Do you know what a promissory note is, boy?

- No, sir, I don't know...

- Who would have doubted it... well, okay, get treated. Thank you for your service, sergeant!

- Damn you and your service! What are you jumping up for, you bastard! You dropped the tray again! I'll give you a good smack on the head right now! They told me not to get up!

* * *

– Be careful for now, otherwise the stitches will come apart. No classes, otherwise you'll get blood all over your uniform. Be careful even with the girls – you'll probably rush straight into town, huh? Haven't visited those women I told you about yet? No? Why are you blushing like a girl? Uh-huh-huh-huh… Boy, are you still a virgin? Oh gods! What hole did you come from? That's it, get out of here. It's already night, and I need to go home. My Elsa nags me enough as it is for paying more attention to the soldiers than to my family. The children are growing up without a father. Do you think it's time for me to stop wandering around on business trips and looking down the throats of donkey-headed soldiers? My wife thinks that's enough. Are you silent? Be silent. How can you understand me when I don't understand myself? I look at you and think – what will become of you? The colonel wants to put you in officer school - if you survive the Isfirian standoff, of course. How do you feel about that idea?

- Which?

- Study to become an officer. Do you want to devote yourself to military service? Or will you serve five years in the corps and then go and have fun in freedom?

– I don't know. To be honest, I don't know what I want yet. You see, Mr. Zheresar… I'm an orphan. And I've lived very poorly up until now. Very. And I didn't understand it myself. I don't even know how to spend the money that the Colonel gave me. What do I need it for? I have uniforms, a roof over my head, they'll always give me food and drink. What else do I need? I can't imagine. I'm fine here. I have friends here, they respect me. I'm talking to you, you're asking me as an equal, but who am I? A worthless nobody, a boy from a remote village. What do I want? To live! I want to live. And for the fairy tale I've found myself in to never end.

– A fairy tale? Serving in the corps – a fairy tale?! Poor boy… you must have had a hard time. – The doctor walked around the dark doctor's room, turned up the light in the lantern and turned to Ned: – Listen, you have a day off tomorrow, come and visit us, huh? What? Why not! You've never visited the townspeople? Well, come. At noon. I'll run here in the morning, give orders to my subordinates, and then go home. We'll sit, talk, I'll introduce you to my family. I have such a nice wife! She'll be happy. And the kids – I have two boys and a daughter. They'll also be interested – who their daddy is dealing with. Because everyone hears about the corps from me, but they've never been here themselves. I try not to take them with me – dirt, blood, no point. They're on summer vacation now – school doesn't start for two months. They're wandering around God knows where, the bastards. Let them at least see what kind of military men there are. They're always loose, long-haired - they've been flogged so many times, they don't understand anything. So, are you coming?

Ned did not answer at once. He looked at Zheresar's face - the doctor was looking expectantly at the sergeant. The eyes, surrounded by a network of wrinkles, were smiling, and Ned suddenly felt a sharp envy of Zheresar's children - why, why do some get a beautiful, calm life, smart and kind parents, and others... why, oh gods?! His eyes stung, and Ned swallowed to drive away the lump that had risen in his throat.

- Yes... of course, I'll come. Where?

- And I didn't tell you? Green Street, house number 5. Ask where the military doctor Zheresar lives, and they'll tell you everything. Everyone knows me. It's mind-boggling how many of them I've treated. And I didn't take any money. So come on, come on. And now - go to the barracks. Sleep peacefully. You've done a good job. Wait, wait! You forgot your money bag! Be sure to take it to the office tomorrow and hand it in for safekeeping. Of course, an officer's barracks is not like a soldier's, all sorts of riffraff don't hang around, but... don't tempt people. You never know.

Ned walked out of the doctor's office, closing the door behind him. The wounds ached, itched, he knew that soon they would heal, leaving almost no trace. How did he know? He knew, that's all.

The spear felt heavy in his arms, and Ned unconsciously stroked its shaft. The terrible weapon nestled comfortably in the crook of his elbow, ready to swing around at any moment and strike at anyone who dared attack its wielder. Runes gleamed softly in the groove of the dull blade, and Ned felt that He Who Was in the Blade had fallen asleep, satisfied with the sacrifice made to him. Until next time.

Ned understood what had happened – this weapon somehow contained a demon, summoned by ancient sorcery. And this demon, having drunk the soul of his opponent, transferred part of his life energy, part of his soul, to Ned. It was certain – at the moment of Zasler's death, a stormy stream of Power had gushed through the spear, such that Ned had been overwhelmed, like a mountain river swollen by rain. That is, if we think logically – Ned had killed a man in order to feed the demon, and the demon had shared with him part of the life force of the dead man? That was it. And what to do now? How to live with this knowledge?

Having decided nothing, Ned reached the barracks, got the key to the room and stumbled in, throwing off his sandals as he went. He didn't throw the spear on the floor, however - he carefully placed it in the corner next to the bed. So that his hand could always reach out and... stroke it.

Ned was irresistibly drawn to the spear, and if it weren't for the thought that it was indecent and stupid, he would have slept with it, putting it next to him in the bed. This seemingly simple weapon was so attractive. Ned understood with his mind that such a craving was rather strange and that it had a magical basis - a strong connection had been established between him and the demon - but he couldn't do anything about it. Well, he wanted to touch this spear all the time, that's all. To stroke it, like a toy. Like... a favorite dog.

Nedu felt sad - he remembered Nardu, the only creature besides the old slave who loved him. Now she would run, barking at the cows, joyfully sticking out her tongue and smiling with a white-toothed smile. And now... now her spirit flies over the hills, knocking down blades of grass, free and happy, under the moonlight illuminating the ancient hills...

She died as a warrior, defending a friend, and she should have definitely gone to the halls of the gods. Ned rubbed his wet eyes and began to think - and to which of the gods would she go? To the god of the earth Ginoi? To the goddess of love Selera? No, most likely to the god of war Kualtuk - after all, she died in battle!

Ned had no doubt that she would go to heaven. Such a brave and brave dog would definitely go to the gods in their halls. And if she went to Qualtuk, then if Ned continued to serve in the army, they would meet her! Well, if they killed him, for example, or he died in retirement as an old and decrepit colonel or general (which he did not believe and did not hope to live to see) - he would still end up in the halls of the god of war. And then - Narda! And they would run with her over the hills again, as before, sharing a piece of bread.

This thought made Ned feel good and calm. He closed his eyes, smiled and suddenly heard a dog's breathing and a hot tongue licked him right on the lips.

- F-f-fu... Narda! - he said indignantly, opened his eyes...

The room was quiet and dark, and a huge red moon was peering through the window, and on its crimson disk, covered by night clouds, a smile seemed to spread.

Ned sighed - he had just dreamed it. He closed his eyes again and this time consciously fell into a deep sleep. The boy did not dream anything else that night.

In the morning Ned jumped up like crazy. Half asleep, he couldn't understand for a while where he was, what to do, then he figured it out and, sighing with relief, sat down on the bed. Today was a day off! Today he would go visiting! Today he was free and could do whatever he wanted! Oh, Gods, thank you!

Ned slid into the middle of the room, without dressing, naked as he was, and began to perform the special exercises that were stored in his memory. Of course, he realized that these exercises came to him from outside, from the entity that sat in his brain. So what? Why not take everything he needed for life. And for his life, which he had now firmly decided to devote to military affairs, he needed a healthy, trained body. A skillful body. A fast body. A body-weapon, a body-center of strength. And he pumped strength into himself as best he could.

Ned felt the blood flow, felt the renewal of his body, felt the Force flowing through invisible channels and renewing every corner of his body. From within, from the subconscious, came a quiet approval - yes, yes, you are doing it right! So, so! Turn... stretch... movement... so... so...

For about half an hour Ned performed all sorts of strange figures, without thinking about what he was doing, why he was doing it, and when he finished, his body was burning, reddened from the energy that overwhelmed it, and the sweat that covered his skin glistened in the rays of the morning sun like morning dew.

Ned went to the closet with clothes, took a towel and wrapped it around his hips. It was okay to go into the shower naked, it was the norm here, but… Ned was embarrassed. He felt a bit uneasy in the common soldiers' shower too. Probably because he was alone more often in his life. He wasn't used to such open mass events.

He took his pants with him, put on his sandals and then winced in annoyance – bandages! He forgot to take off the bandages! He was covered in bandages!

He took an army dagger out of the closet, carefully lifted the knot on his forearm and, having cut it, began to unwind the tight bandage. Here, in this place, Zasler's sword reached the very muscles, almost cutting off his arm.

The bandage smelled strongly of healing ointment, and Ned winced at the unpleasant smell. He rolled the stinking bandage into a ball and threw it to the threshold. He stroked the place where the wound had been. And that was it, because now instead of a wound there was only a thin strip of scar - during the night, while Ned slept, the wound had completely healed. No wonder the wounds did not bother him when he twisted his joints in strange movements! Ned somehow forgot that just a few hours ago he had been cut up like some kind of fruit. Or a vegetable.

A few minutes later all the bandages were pulled off, cut off, torn off, and Ned looked at the body with satisfaction - scars, thin, almost invisible. And nothing more!

Well, Ned noted with grim satisfaction, demons were sometimes useful too! Now to wash up, and… I wonder what time it is?

Ned grabbed the prepared clothes, soap, a sponge to scrub his body (Pernal had given him everything conscientiously - according to the list, from knitted socks and foot wraps to underwear), went out, closed the door and walked to the shower - fortunately it was only three rooms away. As he was leaving, his gaze caught on the spear, and it seemed to him that it shuddered, as if alive, moving after him.

The corridor was quiet, there wasn't even a sentry. He must have gone outside or to the toilet. Ned went into the shower room. The stone room with wooden gratings on the floor was empty. No wonder - someone was on duty, someone was in town or sitting in their room. The time for morning washing had long passed - the sun was already quite high.

Ned opened the tap that let the water into the pipe and stepped under the stream of icy, refreshing water. It burned him with such cold that he almost screamed in surprise - apparently, the contrast between the temperature of his skin, heated by exercise, and the temperature of the water flowing down from the mountains along a long viaduct was too great. The city was supplied with water through a system of viaducts, and the mountain glacial water was so cold that even in such heat it did not have time to warm up to a temperature acceptable for a bather. The soldiers always cursed, jumping under the streams of icy water with squeals and laughter, accusing their superiors of not wanting to create at least minimal comfort for their subordinates. They said that they took better care of livestock than of Marine Corps soldiers. The used water then flowed through the sewer system into the city sewer, and then into the sea. Voices had been heard for a long time saying that it was time to stop dumping all sorts of filth into the sea - there were fewer fish, the sea was dirtier, and if the dumping continued at the same rate, then in a hundred years there would be nothing left on this coast except shit. However, no one believed the predictors. The town had stood here for hundreds of years and would stand for hundreds more. And treatment facilities cost money. Where would they get this money?

Ned, of course, did not know about these difficulties of city life, he enjoyed the freshness of the water, the purity of the streams flowing around his body, the health and youth that were the only wealth given to him by fate. The water roared, drowning out sounds, and Ned had turned off his hypersensitive perception yesterday - so that it would not interfere with his rest. That is why he did not hear the light tread of feet shod in soft officer's steps.

A strange event saved him. As he was washing himself, he suddenly felt as if someone had pushed him in the thigh, as if someone's furry head demanded attention and affection. Ned turned, bending down to look... and a sword whistled right past his head, almost taking off a piece of his scalp.

Then the blows rained down one after another, striking sparks that were immediately extinguished in a stream of icy water.