Unfortunately

,

Hengist was still asleep in his room on the upper floor of the Uncut Copper Inn when he was awakened by a terrifying noise coming from outside the window. He reluctantly rose and, with a curse, opened the broken and worm-eaten shutters. Across the street, a blacksmith was hammering on his anvil, clearly unconcerned by the noise. Hengist thought he'd gone deaf after just one month of such work.

"Stop banging on that iron, you son of a dog!" he shouted hoarsely from his quarters on the inn's second floor.

The blacksmith looked up, never pausing in his work. In the dwarven fashion, he showed a bent elbow, making his opinion of it clear. Hengist dressed in a foul mood. He hated this city.

In Gastenburg, as he remembered from his last, as usual, mandatory visit, the smell of manure, urine, and excrement wafted from the city gates in the north to those in the southern district. The city once had sewers, but because of too many and too large, one might say, "entrance hatches," the city's population began using them as garbage dumps, and the sewers became clogged. The mayor decided to unclog them several times, but the suburban ecosystem proved to be quite developed. A few repulsive scum, later dubbed the Gastenburg Giant, took up residence in the rainfall, shit, and excrement. Sporadic disappearances of people, pets, and livestock began. According to the testimonies of witnesses, most often tipsy and vividly embellishing the events, large, ulcerated tentacles, at least ten meters long (Or twenty! For my mother's grave!), emerged from the sewer and dragged unsuspecting passersby into the stinking abyss. The mayor knew this well but did nothing due to the minor social impact of the practice – the tentacles most often kidnapped beggars and other poor people. Of course, for a while. The practice began to escalate, and disappearances also occurred in the southern district, where important figures lived. The mayor ordered something to be done.

"Weed out this scum! Poison it or kill it! We'll show these scoundrels who's boss!"

Unfortunately, the city guard couldn't cope with this monster (I hope there's only one!). Word spread that the city would pay handsomely to anyone who could slay the hideous monsters and rescue the poor townspeople and virtuous maidens from the yoke of Gastenburg Gigantia. A few brave souls were willing to tackle such a difficult and stinking task. Mercenaries, soldiers, assassins, warriors, and others arrived, but none managed to defeat all the creatures, who felt so at home in the garbage. Even a knight appeared, eager to make his name known and forever etch it into history as a worthy and virtuous defender of maidens and poor townspeople. Unfortunately, when he saw how things were going, he despaired and decided that wallowing in garbage and excrement would be a disgrace to his honor and a great disgrace for a hero. After him came the priests.

"You listen, but you don't hear!" You look, but you have no eyes! God's punishment overtakes sinners! Wrath for evil deeds is just! You are like whitewashed tombs! Smooth and white on the outside, but within, rot and filth are hatching! Remember my words, great will be the punishment for your sins! Humble yourselves and pray for salvation!

Unfortunately, the priests also failed to tame the monster.

The mayor had to send an embassy to the wizards' chapter and plead for help. Several showed up. They cast their spells for nearly two weeks. After that time, they came to the mayor.

"Yes, you could say it didn't work... but I can assure you that no more Gastenburg will be born."

So the wizards achieved only partial success. Somehow, they prevented any more monsters from breeding. The mayor took this indifferently. They decided to wait until the creatures died out on their own. Unfortunately, nothing has changed so far. People still throw garbage into the sewers, and you can still hear voices about giant tentacles snatching passersby at night, and the city still reeks of excrement. Gastenburg's narrow streets snaked between gray buildings. The people were gloomy, grumpy, and unkind, and there were plenty of beggars and prostitutes offering dubious pleasures and unmistakable gonorrhea. This is how the city had looked for over five years.

Yes, Hengist hated Gastenburg

.

Hengist was a tall, wiry man, around thirty. He had jet-black hair and steel-gray eyes. His angular face seemed carved with a dwarven axe. He rarely shaved, so he almost always sported a few days' stubble. His teeth were fangless and his pointed ears indicated he was at least part elf. He wore his sword on his back, a convenient style, albeit one he'd learned from an assassin whose name he couldn't remember. As a young man, his father had sent him to a school of magic because he showed some aptitude, but the studies neither fascinated him nor went well. However, he didn't stop until his father, an adoptive one, of course, as he never knew his real parents, died in the war and could no longer pay for his education.

He then enlisted in the Imperial army. Initially in the infantry, he was quickly transferred to the cavalry because he was a skilled horseman. He was expelled from the army when his commanders learned of his magical abilities. He'd been a mercenary ever since.

Hengist closed the shutters and began dressing, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head. He was in a foul mood, had a migraine, and probably had to live in this shitty city for a few more days. He locked his room and went downstairs. There were already a few guests in the inn. Everyone was eating breakfast and drinking beer, as usual. Hengist didn't feel like breakfast. He went out into the street. On the front wall of the building across the street, he read the tarred inscriptions "Stench to all nonhumans." Only now did he realize that there were indeed few dwarves or elves in the city. In the city, he was supposed to meet a certain Terraem at the Greenvale inn.

The inn looked decent, probably the best in the city. The walls were freshly painted, the shutters and doors looked solid, and the owner was probably doing well. He went inside. The smell of bread and sausages wafted around him, and the smoke from the pipes stung his eyes. At a table in the corner of the room, he saw the man he was supposed to meet. The innkeeper brought him a large, roasted chicken on a wooden platter.

"May I sit down?

" "May I sit down, sir," the fat, bald man replied, separating the leg from the chicken. "Hengit, I presume?

" "I was supposed to pick up a box." He didn't like his name being misspelled, but he didn't correct it because he knew it would be useless.

"Yes." Terraem looked as if he'd been waiting for these words for a long time. He pulled a small leather bag from under the table and set it in front of Hengist. "This is it."

Hengist lifted the bag and peered inside. Inside was a round, black stone.

"Wait, you have to say you're accepting this willingly." Terraem was strangely agitated, looking as if he couldn't wait for the answer.

"What's this all about? I have to take this stone, and then the guards will find me somewhere for theft, right?"

"No, no…no," sweat beaded on Terraem's forehead, "it's legal. You just have to accept it.

" "Listen, Terraem," Hengist said, getting angry, "if I don't find out what this is about soon, you'll regret it very much…"

There was something in Hengist's voice that made him believe him immediately. Terraem began to think feverishly. Should I tell or not? What if he doesn't? Maybe lie? I have to tell him…

"It's cursed…" Terraem avoided Hengist's gaze, sweating, "and it brings bad luck… and misfortune…

" "What nonsense is this? Give me that pebble and don't tell tales." Hengist suppressed a snort of laughter and took the bag.

"But it's true! I'm not lying, I swear on my mother's grave!" Swearing on one's mother's grave was probably a custom in Gastenburg.

"Okay, okay," Hengist took the bag, tied it tightly, and put it in the pocket under his jacket. "Hmm... I think I'll have breakfast after all..."

He ate breakfast and returned to his room. He was in a good mood, thinking he'd have to stay in this mess for a few more days, but he was so lucky, he could leave the city even now and deliver the stone to his client in Keadwen. He gathered his belongings and left the inn. He went to the stables at the "Uncut Copper" to collect his horse. Czarna, for that was his horse's name, was a temperamental black mare with a white stripe between her eyes, just an average horse, neither pretty nor nimble. He saddled her and set off towards the city gates. Now he didn't even mind the stench, which had been irritating him mercilessly just twenty minutes ago. Czarna also seemed to feel better, knowing she would soon be leaving the city.

Several wagons and horses were already parked at the southern gate. People were shouting at the guards at the gate. Hengist rode closer; they were very excited.

"I have to get back to the kids! Do something about this, sir!

" "I won't wait here all day! Fix this or I'll complain to the voivode! Do you know who I am? My husband is on the city council! They'll lock you up and hang you!" a woman in a rotten green dress lectured the guards very loudly.

"What happened here, grandpa?" Hengist asked an onlooker.

"Wow, sir..." the old man waved his hand. "The chain broke and the wagon was crushed! It split in two like nothing! You won't get through now, the gate won't be fixed until tomorrow at the earliest, you have to go from the north gate. Things were better in my day, the chains were strong! Not like now!

" "Fuck, franca, plague, plague, and leprosy." Hengist turned his horse and headed towards the north gate.

The closer he got to the northern gate, the less the stench became, and the narrower the streets. The buildings on this side of the city were much taller than in other districts. He passed through the market square, where merchants usually displayed their wares. Most of them, however, bypassed the city and headed for Gororog, a few hours north, or Keadwen to the south. Currently, there were only a few stalls in the market square. A large red-and-white striped tent with a sign depicting a sword and shield in front of the entrance, a small stall selling bows and arrows, a stall selling fish, sauerkraut, and potatoes, and a stall selling clay pots.

The street leading to the northern gate was already quite crowded; the accident in the southern quarter had probably occurred early in the morning, and many merchants had been forced to leave through the northern gate, circle the city, and take the road leading to Keadwen from the west. Hengist decided to skip the queue to the gate and set off through the narrow streets between the buildings. From what he remembered from his last visit, the narrow street he was riding down should have led him right in front of the gate.

"Stop, my dear... Where are you in such a hurry?" He heard a soft, rough, ominous voice from behind. "Dismount your horse... quickly..."

The second robber stepped forward and stroked Czarna's nostrils. Hengist dismounted as instructed, seeing that the one behind held a loaded crossbow, while the one in front had a club studded with nails and a dagger.

He couldn't see anyone else, but he suspected someone else was lurking somewhere in the shadows.

"Give me your purse, you changeling! Quick!" – the one with the club spoke up, he seemed more impulsive and clearly disliked individuals with the slightest signs of elven or other non-human blood. Hengist remained as calm as possible, slowly untied the bag of gold from his belt and tossed it to the robber – Give me BOTH bags! – The robber had clearly noticed the bulge under his jacket, indicating the package he had received that morning.

Hengist reached for the bag containing the stone and threw it at him. He hoped the pebble would indeed bring him bad luck. With a quick movement, he pulled a small dagger from his sleeve and threw it at the one with the crossbow. The knife sank deep into his neck. The robber in front dropped both bags to the ground and swung his club at Hengist with great force. Hengist, however, managed to dodge, and the club hit him only in the shoulder, causing excruciating pain. Instead of a hole in his skull, he heard the crunch of breaking bone and felt the nail from the club tearing at his skin, and something warm trickled down his arm. He drew his sword from the sheath on his back with his right hand, while his left hand was bent and pressed against his stomach, trying to ignore the pain. He heard quiet, quick footsteps behind him, turned, and slashed his sword in a backhanded motion in that direction. He severed the third robber's dagger-wielding hand. He didn't have time to look at it because the wooden club missed his head by only half an inch. The robber lost his balance and stumbled, and Hengist plunged his sword into his back, furious. He turned and slowly approached the thug with the severed hand, striking him in the teeth with the sword hilt, knocking him unconscious. He casually kicked him and took his purse, along with the other four. He didn't forget his throwing dagger either. He wiped it on the corpse and placed it in a small pocket in his sleeve. He earned thirty crowns and a broken arm. He refrained from killing the unconscious man, missing his right hand and teeth.

With difficulty, he mounted his horse and turned back. He didn't have the strength to curse.

***

"Well, that's it. It didn't hurt, did it?" said the young medic. She was probably the only person in all of Gastenburg who wasn't grumpy, bored, and unpleasant.

Hengist thought. The bandaged splints that immobilized his arm were very cumbersome. He wondered if he could reach Keadwen with such an arm without encountering the bandits roaming the forests. True, they were often bands of one or two, so they didn't bother armed travelers, but a man with his arm in splints was easy prey. He decided he had to go; he had no intention of sitting in Gastenburg with his arm bandaged for two weeks.

"It didn't hurt, thank you." He smiled as best he could under the current circumstances and tossed a small, clipped silver coin into a bowl of copper coins. The room contained a comfortable armchair for the patients, a rectangular table with medical supplies, a cabinet with medicines, mostly herbal remedies, and a shelf of medical books. Entering, he couldn't hide his surprise, for it was one of the best-equipped medical facilities he had ever seen, and he had seen a great deal. Their usual equipment consisted of dirty rags disguised as bandages and bloodletting knives. He put on his jacket and left the office. Czarna stood in front of the building, probably a little impatient, because at the sight of him she snorted and struck her horseshoes on the cobblestones.

"It couldn't have been faster."

He immediately set off for the gate, this time along the main street, which was less crowded. He drove through the gate and took the road that skirted the town to reach the road leading to Keadwen. He felt relieved to finally be out of Gastenburg. The air outside the town was clean and crisp; the trees at this time of year attracted a multitude of birds, whose trilling made their journey more pleasant. The road was firm and slightly damp, so there was no dust in the eyes, a nightmare for travelers. Halfway between Keadwen and the town was the inn "The Full Tankard." Hengist decided to stop there, feeling instantly thirsty and hungry when he saw its sign. He tied his horse in front of the inn, alongside the others, and went inside. The inn was almost empty; inside he saw only three people, each eating separately. Hengist took a table in the corner, a rare vacancy in inns, and ordered scrambled eggs, beer, and bread. The innkeeper brought a large plate with a generous helping of scrambled eggs with bacon and onions. Hengist ate slowly, taking his time. Later, he began to regret this, as a royal messenger entered the inn, wearing the Kedanian coat of arms on his cloak and light leather riding jacket. Everyone in the inn ducked their heads, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. It was common knowledge that, by royal law, a messenger could take a person's horse in exchange for their own.

"I need a horse," the messenger said, pulling out a piece of paper with a seal. "Here's a royal order. I'll take that black mare over there."

Everyone in the inn breathed a sigh of relief; there was only one black mare in the yard, Hengist's. He approached the messenger, read the royal order, and examined the seal. There were plenty of impostors, but he rather doubted the messenger could be anything but a messenger. Everything seemed to be correct, unfortunately. He returned to the table and finished his scrambled eggs. The messenger left and immediately set off again, this time on Czarna's back. Hengist was forced to wait several hours for the messenger's horse to rest and continue his journey. Unfortunately, it was a little after noon, so he rented a room and went to bed, deciding to set off at night.

He woke up in the evening, put on his boots, and went to fetch his horse. The messenger's horse, as he'd checked yesterday, was a brown stallion, with a good saddle, suitable for fast riding, like a messenger's saddle. Hengist climbed into the saddle, careful of his hand, and set off towards Keadwen. The forest was very quiet at night; the only sounds were the howling of wolves and wild dogs at the moon. He rode at a walk; he liked traveling at night. He could think and talk to himself, and no one would hear him. Besides, he liked solitude; at night, especially a quiet night like this, he felt as if he were alone; there were no people, no problems. But there was something. Ahead of him, around a bend in the road, he heard someone running towards him. He quickly rode into the trees; he didn't think this person had friendly intentions. It was a woman in a beautiful purple dress, torn and ripped to the knees; she was clearly fleeing from something. Behind her ran two men in sheepskin coats, swords at their belts and blood on their clothes. Hengist wasn't a full elf, so he couldn't see as well in the dark as elves, but he could see better than any human. A bald thug with a scar on his forehead grabbed the woman by her dress and threw her to the ground. The other quickly caught up with them.

"Why are you running? We'll shag you, miss. Spread your legs. Heswal, help me hold her." The woman struggled with all her might, but she couldn't do anything against the two strong thugs; she didn't scream.

Heswal laughed lewdly and ripped the dress off her. Hengist waited until she had removed her trousers and pulled out a dagger.

"Hold her, Fulk," Heswal ordered, "I'll go first..."

The knife whistled through the air and sank into Fulk's scar. The thug squinted, groaned, and collapsed to the ground. Heswal tried to pull up his pants as if his survival depended on it, but he couldn't make it in time; Hengist was already running towards him. However, before he could strike, the woman stood and held out her hand. Flame burst from her fingers. The face and chest of the thug called Heswal were completely charred, his eyes bulging, and his teeth shattered. Recognizing the corpse would now be utterly impossible.

"Thank you for your help," the sorceress said, smiling prettily. "My name is Roseann, nice to meet you.

" "Hengist, always at your service," he smiled involuntarily, seeming to look foolish.

"I'll go change, my carriage is around the corner."

Hengist stared at her in astonishment. A moment ago, two thugs had tried to rape her, both had died, and she was so natural. Truth be told, Hengist didn't know what he'd expected, but he'd rarely met such women… and sorceresses at that. When she disappeared around the bend, Hengist pulled the throwing knife from Fulk's forehead, wiped it on his jacket, and tucked it back into his sleeve, where it belonged. He dragged the body into the forest, first stealing all its gold. He found several clipped crowns; he rarely saw unclipped coins in this kingdom. When Roseann returned, she was dressed in a simple, dark green dress. Only now did he notice how beautiful she was. She had long, black, curly hair, large green eyes, and long legs.

"Will you take me to Keadwen?

" "Yes, I can take you," he said after a moment. He helped her onto his horse, and they set off south.

Rounding a bend, Hengist saw a strange sight that might have been laughable if it weren't so terrifying. The corpses of horses and people were everywhere. The four horses that had pulled the carriage, to be precise, lay at the edge of the road, and eight men, including the driver. The carriage was overturned on its side; the floor was gone, replaced by a large hole through which a grown man could easily pass. Inside were strewn Roseann's dresses and other articles of clothing. The driver had died with a bolt in his forehead, as had one of the horses. The three remaining horses had fallen, along with the entire carriage, and were frozen in that position. The ground around the small circle of dry sand was completely frozen, along with the four human statues. Blue lines of ice radiated across the road, all the way to the first trees, among which lay three more corpses. One simply lay cold and motionless, showing no signs of physical damage, but the other two… were pinned to the tree by a melting icicle, if one could call a massive spike the diameter of a human head and as long as a man. Hengist swallowed; the scene gave him some idea of ​​the sorceress's level of advancement. She had used only "silent" spells, no lightning bolts accompanied by a very loud bang, nor simple fire that could be seen for miles around. Roseann herself didn't even glance at her work. She stared at the stars the entire time, mouthing silently as if counting or reading. Hengist, however, had used this spell too many times himself to not recognize it now. It was the so-called "Sacrifice," a spell that slowly converted vital energy into magical energy. It was used when the mage's body had been drained of all magic in a very short time. Such "drying out" was dangerous for magicians, so they always tried to preserve at least a little magic. Roseann probably used everything she had in store, and then some.

"Roseann?

" "Mhmm?"

"Why did those two manage to get so close?" Hengist asked, and immediately realized how idiotic the question sounded. He waited for an answer, but it seemed Roseann hadn't even heard the question. She only answered when Hengist was about to ask again.

"You probably wouldn't understand; magic is usually quite difficult for someone who doesn't have any contact with it on a daily basis." Hengist suppressed a smile.

"Try me...

" "I got carried away and spent too much mana; there wasn't enough for those two. So, did you understand?" She began to treat Hengist like a curious child. However, the half-mage, half-mercenary decided not to say whether he understood. He had long ago decided that no one, or as few people as possible, would find out that he was also a mage. He wondered, however, where she had gotten the mana to incinerate the last of the band, called Heswal...

"

He drove her to her home in Keadwen and set off. He rented a room at the first inn he came across. He left the horse in the stable. He closed the door behind him, sat down in a chair, and placed the black pebble on the table in front of him. He thought. He wondered if it was because of this pebble that in the last two days he'd been robbed, perhaps even killed, had his horse taken, and had met Roseann, which probably wouldn't have been so unlucky if not for the circumstances. He was thinking about her too. Ever since he'd left her at her house, he couldn't stop thinking about her. But now he had an important matter to attend to. He had to deliver a strange, supposedly cursed, black pebble to the man who'd hired him for the job. He'd never seen him in person; he'd taken the job through an intermediary. He decided to go see him. He left the inn and headed toward the square in the center of town. The square in Keadwen was always full. And always noisy. Vendors and merchants were all over the place selling their wares.

"Fresh fish!! FRESHEST!"

- SwordsAxesBowsArrowsBoltsCrossbowsBuu ...

The square smelled of sauerkraut, fish, and freshly baked bread. It was crowded, as usual. Hengist headed straight for the building whose entrance faced the square. The sign read "Legal Advice," which was at best a half-truth, as they offered a far wider range of services than legal advice, if they even offered it at all. He knocked on the door and stepped back a bit, so that he was clearly visible from the second-story window. He knew well that if he wasn't in plain sight, the door, if it opened at all, took a long time to open. He heard the click of the bolt and the crunch of the security locks being removed. After a moment, the door opened with a terrible creaking sound, impossible to achieve naturally, probably achieved by artificial means, such as the installation of rusty hinges. A tall bouncer, his head reaching the ceiling, stood in the doorway. He stepped aside and allowed Hengist to enter. He headed straight for the room at the end of the short corridor. The interior was very well furnished. It was a library. In the center stood a large desk piled high with documents and books. Behind the desk sat an average-sized man, of average height, an inconspicuous and unassuming figure. Someone was studying a document when Hengist entered, not looking up from his desk.

"You handled it quickly, I won't lie," he said, still reading the document

. "Yes, I'm trying very hard," Hengist replied. Kattik smiled wryly.

"I have no doubt about that." He looked up at Hengist. Kattik revealed himself to be a man of about forty. He had many scars on his face, indicating he had once been a soldier, probably a soldier or mercenary like Hengist, but considering his unassuming appearance, he could also have been an assassin. "But you have nothing to look for here anyway. I was recently informed that you were to meet the client in person, as they don't trust my honesty. I can arrange a meeting, perhaps tonight?"

"Maybe, but where?

" "Come to the Drunken Magus Inn for magicians around midnight, and now, if you'll excuse me, I'm busy." Hengist left the room.

He went out into the square. He needed to buy new boots and a jacket. He stopped at a leather goods stall and chose a pair of high, decent riding boots and a studded jacket.

"Good choice," said the shopkeeper, boasting, as was his trade, "these boots are my new invention, you might say... You see... here... it slides open, you can put something small inside, like a piece of paper, a few coins. Good, isn't it?"

Hengist wondered if it was good, but something like that might come in handy? Especially if you were plagued by bad luck... He paid for everything and returned to his room. He decided to get some sleep, as he'd been sitting in his saddle all night. He noticed he didn't have his purse, but he was too tired to worry.

He woke up when it was already dark outside, noticing that he'd only slept during the day for the past two days. Actually, it didn't bother him; he liked the night. He left the inn and headed towards the Drunken Magus. The inn was very nice and clean; almost exclusively wizards came here, not counting the innkeeper. Hengist wasn't surprised to see Roseann at one of the tables; he'd expected her there. She, however, seemed unsure; she was clearly surprised. He approached her table.

"May I join you?" he asked politely.

"Of course, sir," she replied with a smile.

"Why, wizard?" Hengist couldn't hide his surprise. Until now, he'd thought he'd mastered the probing block quite well; no wizard had ever known he used magic.

"Why are you hiding it?" – she answered the question with a question.

He finally figured out that the only way to enter this place was by using magic… Even the innkeeper had magical skills. Perhaps faint ones, but he had… Now he knew why Roseann had been so surprised when he entered.

“Maybe I don’t like using magic…” Hengist replied, making it clear she didn’t want to talk about it.

“I understand you came here to return a certain stone?” Roseann asked.

“Yes, is this for you?” Hengist took a cursed, spherical stone from his bag and placed it on the table. “Here you go.” Roseann picked it up and examined it. She examined it for a long moment, then nodded thoughtfully and placed the bulging bag on the table.

“One hundred crowns, as was in the agreement. Perhaps you’re wondering why I need such a stone? It’s the blade of a cursed sword, used by Mortous the Terrible before he hanged himself. I happen to be researching such items, so I have the honor of finding all the pieces of this artifact.

” “Why are you telling me this?” Hengist didn't know why the sorceress was explaining her affairs to him.

"Because this pebble is already bound to you, you splashed it with blood." Hengist wondered when he could have splashed blood on this pebble, after all, he'd kept it tied up in a leather bag all along... Ah, yes, the bandits in Gastenburg, the club with nails driven into it, the blood must have fallen straight into the pouch with the stone, bad luck. "Now it's useless to me, it can no longer be connected to the hilt. Unless...

" "Unless what?" he asked, but he already guessed the answer

. "Unless you connect it, but then you'll have to use it, and you probably know it's cursed...

" "I don't believe in bad luck."

"You don't understand... it doesn't bring bad luck. This sword was created by magic, powerful magic, and magic is chaos. This sword contains a bit of chaos within it; it can bring you bad luck, good luck, kill you, heal you, who knows... If you agreed to use it, the chapter might agree to entrust you with the blade. It's a powerful sword, but it's unclear whether that's good for you or anyone else.

" "I understand, but I somehow don't believe someone hasn't already splashed the blade with blood. So the blade would be bound to someone else, and the blade to someone else?

" "Actually, yes, but only if that someone is alive, and I doubt anyone could splash their blood on the blade of such a sword and survive...

" "So I'll have to finish off everyone I wound?"

"We don't know, which is precisely why I'm inclined to convince the chapter to entrust you with the sword. We can test you to see what happens if someone other than the deceased King Mortous uses it.

" "What if I don't agree?" Hengist asked, though he'd already made up his mind.

"You simply won't have the sword, and you won't be able to get rid of the blade. As I said, it's bound to you, so you'll have your bad luck, or maybe you'll have that luck you don't believe in, but you'll be using ordinary iron..." Roseann's face expressed a mixture of excitement and curiosity. "Personally, I'm very curious what will happen if we combine this sword and give it to you...

" "Sure, I agree. When can I pick it up?

" "You have to assemble it yourself, we'll just strengthen its bond with you so you don't lose it too easily. Of course, I have to ask the chapter for permission for this experiment first. I'm not promising anything, but I think they'll agree.

" "Of course, when can I come pick up the blade?

" "I'll let you know, stay in town for now.

" "I'm staying at the Gestwald Inn." Hengist was about to leave the inn when he remembered something. "May I have a favor to ask you, Roseann?"

"I'll think about it, but you saved my life, after all, that's to your advantage," she smiled.

"Could you do something about my broken arm?" Hengist smiled too.

***

Hengist had been in town for a week and hadn't heard from Roseann. He'd taken a job as a security guard at a jeweler's. It was a well-paid, easy job, he sat in a chair all day, nothing happened. When he returned to his room, he found someone at the door.

"Hello, are you Mr. Hengist?" the guest asked.

"Yes, what's the matter?

" "I have a message for you." The messenger handed him a small note. Hengist gave him a few copper coins. The messenger thanked him and left the inn.

Come to the Drunken Magus tomorrow at noon; the chapter agreed to the experiment.

Roseann

Hengist entered the room, lay down on the bed, and immediately fell asleep. He woke up late, probably oversleeping, because it was already afternoon. He quickly dressed and went to see Magus. Roseann was already waiting for him at one of the tables.

"You're late, I was getting impatient," she said, and started toward the exit. "Follow me.

" "I've been impatient too, all week, I'm tired of guarding the jeweler."

Roseann didn't answer; she walked briskly toward the tall building, the School of Magic. A large number of young people studied there. Education usually began around the age of fifteen and ended around twenty-five, depending on whether someone had talent or not. More gifted children studied longer; less gifted ones were unable to reach a certain level of magical ability. Hengist studied for four years, and he knew little, but what he did, he did well. The school of magic was a large, tall, circular building. It could have been a tower, but it was too wide, more like a cylinder with a large dome and a protruding spire at the top, which acted as a lightning rod during storms. But wizards probably knew how to use lightning bolts, but Hengist wasn't good enough to find out. Many statues stood in front of the building, some depicting famous figures, others rare animals like unicorns or pegasi. A tall hedge surrounded the entire school, shielding the courtyard from the rest of the city. The courtyard contained small pools and benches.

Roseann and Hengist entered and walked down the long hall toward the spiral staircase. At first, Hengist tried to count the steps, but lost count at 988. After a long climb, they reached a nearly empty floor, save for two mages engaged in conversation. It housed libraries and "museums," storing artifacts, relics, and other priceless magical objects. The rooms only appeared deserted at first glance; every wizard studying at a school of magic learned immediately at the beginning of their studies who guarded the museums. They were the Taishee, air elementals, invisible to those not under the influence of powerful spells. Roseann led him to one of the museums. Inside stood a single table, and on it rested a sword without a pommel.

"We're here," Hengist was exhausted as hell, but Roseann showed no signs of exertion. "All you have to do now is connect this stone to the sword's hilt.

" "You said earlier that you would strengthen my bond with this sword or something...

" "We already did, it took some time, but we finally succeeded; the sword will be bound to the owner of the pommel—you."

- Okay, let's see if this works - Hengist pulled out the pommel of his sword and approached the blade, a slight trembling of power could be felt around it, Roseann backed away a little.

"If you can do it gently… it's possible there will be powerful energy discharges during the connection…"

Hengist brought the pommel closer to the incomplete sword; the black sphere flew from his hand and stuck to its former place in the hilt. To both their surprise, apart from the mere fact that the pommel had connected to the hilt, nothing unusual happened: no light, no lightning, no thunder, nothing. Hengist carefully lifted the sword. At first, he felt the weapon vibrate slightly, as if recognizing its owner, then it became an ordinary sword, distinguished only by its black pommel. Hengist swung it in a whistling motion.

"A magnificent weapon"—he touched the blade with his finger, a thin trickle of blood flowing—"and devilishly sharp.

" "Devilishly," is a well-placed word

. Hengist was examining the sword when suddenly the weapon slipped from his hand as if of its own volition… and… fell onto his leg. He cursed horribly.

- Damn, I don't believe in bad luck... but I guess I'll have to get used to it...