The horses moved very slowly, glancing left and right like the people riding them. They regarded the people with a kind of contempt and suppressed pity, just like the riders. Three men and a woman. Fierce faces, and even fiercer swords at their sides, leather caps on their heads, and spikes in their quilted leather jackets. They rode slowly, through the streets of a town that had once been beautiful, with white walls and houses, cheerful and lively people, the colorful costumes of merchants from Zerri and Alavon, richly attired knights from Seri, beautiful local women, and a magical tower, a beautiful, tall white tower of the Magi of Karamite, of which today only a legend remains, and the tower's foundation and piles of stones all around. People sat or knelt, leaning against the gray, white wall, covered with fungus, soot, dirt, mud, and God knows what else. People who were once happy, clean, smiling, renowned for their exceptional culture and kindness, now bald, dirty, sick, lepers, half-rotting, stinking, depressed, sitting in silence, here and there snatching a piece of food, ugly, and sometimes even repulsive. And that stench.
"It's from the river. Put on your scarves, or I'll make you all sick or die here," the first rider from the left growled through gritted teeth.
"Apparently there are so many corpses in the river that they're lying as thick as a bridge, and the water has turned brown from the venom of the corpses.
" "It smells of corpses, it smells of blood, it smells of death, it smells of misery and disease. Let's get out of here as quickly as possible. I don't intend to squander here. The disease that will overtake us will also take us out of here!
" "Look, the white tower!"
"She was white... Now she's the very foundation," the woman hissed ironically.
"Well! We're gone! Yaaa!" The first from the left yelled at his horse, the rest did the same, and they sped eastward, with the sunset behind them and the orange sun, which, falling on the surroundings, made them even more malevolent.
They stopped before a bridge.
"Sustainable?
" "We can make it, we'll cross, look down..."
Below, beneath the bridge, flowed a rather shallow river. The water was brown, but the sight of pale corpses floating unconsciously was both riveting and daunting. All of them looked up with wide eyes, staring with the whites of their eyes as if frightened, with mouths agape, some inflated like balloons. There were corpses of every age, from infants to the elderly, floating stripped of all their clothing, floating like ships, some bumping against each other, slowly and gently.
"Let's eat, or this stench will kill us!"
- That's right, let's get out! Heeeja!
"Oh! Brother, what we saw there! It's scary to say! I didn't see so many corpses, even though I fought so many battles and fights in my service! There were a hundred thousand human corpses floating there! And those in the city, the living dead! Their time is almost over, and they'll be floating along with them! But I'll tell you, brother, I pity them! I saw a woman standing there as we passed by, standing by a stone wall, a woman, her hair still black, unsightly, tangled, dirty, and in filth, and I recognized her as an acquaintance of mine, from when I used to visit her in the good old days when I was Salvaarg. And I'll tell you, she was such a woman, full of life, beautiful, and a good-natured woman! She knew what she could do to a man, I'll tell you what! And now? A wreck! A nose swollen like a potato! Eyes as big as thalers! Cheeks covered in scabs! What a monster!
"So how did you recognize her?" What a joke! You're making this up, Lviv! – laughed the dark-haired, middle-aged man with a scar under his eye.
– Where am I making this up? I recognized her! Because she had a pattern on her thigh and she was sitting in tatters, and I've seen her naked many times, I remember!
– And what pattern did she have?
– And a snake around her thigh! –
And this one has one like that? –
And she was the only one who had one!
– Maybe it wasn't her?
– She's Hrvost!
–
What are you talking about? – So why are you contradicting me? I know better!
– I'm laughing, brother, I'm taking you on like that, Lviv, because it makes me laugh when you insist on your own way! – He laughed loudly.
– Just give him a sword up the ass! – Lviv tipped the jug of wine, pouring its contents straight into his mouth.
– Peace has reigned now, though only superficially! Our people are reaching an agreement and calling a truce, the world remains as it was, devastated and depopulated after the war, once beautiful cities now mourned, people have lost so many loved ones... So what is peace after such a war? People cry more than for wars, when vengeance gripped them in its claws! Now fear? What kind of world is this? Fighting for the gods? And not, as before, living, drinking, sleeping, playing the harmonica! Is it worth fighting, not living in peace?
"Lwowicz, you're right, times were better back then. Now death lurks everywhere," Hrvost replied, biting off a piece of roast chicken.
The tavern was full, and every now and then someone was shouting insults, leaving, or being thrown out to settle their scores with another in battle. Two blondes and a third, the redheaded daughter of the innkeeper bringing food and drink, squealed every now and then as they were pulled onto their laps by drunken guests, only to break free from their embraces and flee to the kitchen. An old man, sipping a beer in the corner, kept turning around and shaking his finger at the youngsters who were making fun of him and throwing dice and other debris at him. Suddenly, everything fell silent as if by a thunderbolt.
Four armed individuals appeared at the inn's doorway, three men and a woman. Everyone present glared at the newcomers, then, muttering under their breath, returned to what they had been doing. Occasionally glancing at the strangers,
the newcomers sat down at one bench and ordered a mug of beer and some dish they couldn't quite identify. They ate in silence, ignoring the other guests.
Curious, the locals whispered quietly to each other. One, a broad-shouldered man on the last bench, utterly unafraid, whispered: "Three dogs and their bitch." Elsewhere: "Are they some scoundrels, they must have come from the sea?" Elsewhere: Probably mercenaries, but that bitch, I don't know...
Suddenly, the woman stood up, walked confidently, and with a look of hatred and gritted teeth, approached the man, grabbed him by the hair, and pulled him from behind the bench. He was sitting near the exit, where he quickly fell, falling headfirst into horse dung. The woman grabbed a pitchfork and struck him several blows to the head with the handle. The man lay unconscious. Another man rushed into the tavern, holding a wood-chopping axe. This one received a blow to the face, blood spraying onto the third man, who grabbed the falling axe and threw it at the woman. She dodged it, and the axe slammed into the wooden horse trough. The woman's companions calmly ate and drank, oblivious to what was happening. The third man, who had thrown the axe, also received a blow to the stomach, but he fell to the ground and, before he could finish some blasphemy, the pitchfork lodged itself in his neck. The fourth and fifth jumped out unexpectedly and just as unexpectedly, they received a sword slash in the neck. The woman stood for a moment, and when no one else was leaving, she returned to the table. She heard no more disparaging remarks about herself. Now she heard whispers: Warrior, Amazon, fighter, swordswoman. That suited her better. Lvovich and Hrvost watched the whole incident closely, but it didn't concern them and they didn't interfere.
They decided to leave the inn as it was already quite late.
They rode slowly, chatting about trivial and various matters, finishing the last drops of wine from the barrel. They heard horses galloping behind them.
"Who's chasing us?
" "It must be those warriors from the inn, because I can see four horses.
" "I hope there won't be any trouble
." You saw for yourself, they weren't looking for a fight.
"But who would blame them if they slaughtered us?
" "Don't worry," the younger man laughed.
"Me? Scared? Something's wrong with me! I'm just saying that! "
The riders approached.
"Who are these!?" the woman shouted to her companions.
"These are the ones from the inn!
" "Welcome, welcome..." Lwowicz said, a little frightened by the prospect of a fight.
"Who are you?" the woman asked.
"Us? So, wait, this young hak here is my nephew Hrvost, and I'm Hrest Lwowicz! And who are you?"
"We're Elevie from Don, the broad-shouldered one, first on the left, then Milv de Foe, and this lady, Katina Revel, and I'm Loove Hajv, are we heading to Staffengard? Could you help us show us the way?
" "That's where we're going! We're from over there! That's my brother's town! He's the steward there!
" "If we have a mission to fulfill, we have to hand him the letter in person, it's about Marco...
" "Lya!" he finished the name. "Follow us this way! It'll be more fun in a group," Lvowicz brightened up, but suddenly the thought flashed through his mind that this might be Hrady, to which Marco owes a few pennies and is behind on the payment, and they're on their way to collect the debt. However, as quickly as the thought appeared, it vanished.
They rode in silence, all clearly weary. Only occasionally did Lwowicz snore, dozing off on his horse. Then he'd receive a slap on the neck from the younger man to wake him up and prevent him from falling off his horse.
The gate to the city was closed; a gray stone wall surrounded it, and the guards slept, snoring loudly. Lwowicz immediately woke them, calling them rascals and idlers, and immediately assuring them that the steward would find out they were worthless when dawn came.
"Ravagers, you idiots! You'll remember me, yet!" The gate opened with a bark. They rode into a dark courtyard. The farmhands sleepily led the horses to the stables. The courtyard was wide enough for ten riders to ride, and quite long, leading to another smaller gate. Behind her was the city, now shrouded in the darkness and sleepiness of night, with only a few lights shining in the windows of the houses, which were arranged in three rows. The brothel was the most illuminated, emitting shrieks, squeals, laughter, and music. The brothel stood away from the rows of houses on the right, and the inn was identically situated, but on the left.
"Gentlemen can use the nearby Ven Shergrid pleasure house," to which the two smiled broadly with satisfaction. "And, young lady, Hrovst will take you to the innkeeper, and he'll free up some rooms for the woman.
" "Forget it, I'll manage myself," the woman replied curtly.
"I don't know if you can create a free room with a sword," Hrovst replied ironically, smiling slightly.
"I said I don't need anyone's help," and then she confidently turned toward the inn.
She opened the door without ceremony and entered. It was dark; the innkeeper was asleep at the bench; he suddenly jumped up.
"Who?" " You dare come here at this hour," he stammered sleepily.
"I'm looking for a room!
" "No, go away, woman!
" "I insist!
" "I said no! Everything's taken! Get out or...
" "Or what!?
" "Easy, Gvert! The lady's looking for a room," Hrvost appeared in the doorway.
"He'll kick someone out in a minute," he entered through a small door. A moment later, he emerged, holding an old man, pushing him out and finally giving him a sharp kick in the butt.
"Get out, you rascal, you haven't paid for the last two days! This way, please," he said, smiling at the woman, giving her a look at his teeth, or rather lack thereof. She gave him a menacing look and squeezed through the indicated small door, followed by Hrvost.
The room was very small, with a bed in bowls of water, and a candle.
"These bowls are for keeping vermin away. I'll light the candle in a moment, and please, I'm leaving you now." He left.
"I don't need you anymore, so goodbye," the woman replied coldly.
Hrvost leaned against the wall of the room and asked,
"Where did you learn to fight like that?
" "Are you interested?
" "Very..."
"Get out of my sight, please, I'm tired, I don't want to talk to you."
- It's the first time I've seen a woman fight like that
. - Then you haven't seen much. Leave.
- I want to stay.
- Do I have to stick a dagger in your throat to be alone?
- You don't have to... but...
- Listen, I have a request, bring me a bowl of warm water.
- Warm water? What do you need it for?
- Haven't you ever heard of washing?
- Oh, I understand, now...
She bolted the door behind him. The woman lay down on the bed and covered herself with a torn blanket. She fell asleep. She dreamed of being a little girl, sleeping in bed, and suddenly someone knocked on the door. She got up and opened it. After a moment, she stiffened with fear. A cold shiver ran through her whole body. She saw her father, deathly pale, reaching out with his clawed hands for her and with a faint, strange smile, trying to hug her. She didn't have the strength... to scream.
Hrvost knew she simply wanted to be alone; he didn't even bother to get water. He went with the rest to the legendary pleasure house of Ven Shergrid, who herself was not particularly beautiful because she was old and ugly, but her girls were famous for their incredible obedience, beauty and skills.
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