The interior of the hall seemed cold. But only superficially. The walls were stone, in places covered with tapestries depicting all sorts of magical symbols and historical and mythical events. The roof was wooden, painted black on the inside. There were no windows anywhere. Dim light filtered in through the wooden doors. But not for long, as they too were eventually slammed shut. Someone among the gathered people lit a candle and then walked around the table in the center of the room, lighting the others on it.
No normal person would have lasted long in such a place, but fortunately, everyone present was a sage. They were all accustomed to all sorts of smoke and fumes, so they could afford to be in one room with a multitude of candles and torches. They intended to hold a meeting.
It was approaching evening. This was the time when most guests arrived at the inn. Peasants, tired after a long day's work, traders who always flocked to the most densely populated areas, and warriors for whom virtually any time was a good time for a mug of beer.
"Do you think Fenris is really gathering his armies somewhere on the outskirts of Midgard?" someone asked Gord, lowering his voice.
"Why do you ask?" the warrior asked in surprise. He gestured to the seat opposite him. "Please, sit down."
"Thank you," the stranger replied, placing his mug on the table before taking his seat. "The mercenary claimed he was going to kill Fenris. But from your story, it seems you encountered something completely different there."
Gord pondered, taking a long swig from his mug, buying himself a moment to think.
"Nobody said he'd be in that cave. But if the mercenary had something in mind... I knew him quite well. It's a pity...
" "It's a pity, indeed; in case of war, we could use someone like that..."
The night passed rather peacefully. There was no fight in the inn. People simply didn't feel like fighting each other, terrified by the specter of war. A dozen or so days had passed since the Mercenary's ill-fated expedition, and people were still talking about it. Usually in larger cities, and Måne was one of them, the novelty wore off within a week at most. Here, there was never a shortage of topics for conversation.
The council of sages lasted a very long time. Another hour and someone would surely have succumbed to smoke inhalation. Fortunately, nothing of the sort happened. The exact steps to be taken were agreed upon. They had even selected a sage who was to inform the king of everything the next morning. He was an elderly man with a gray beard. He was called Hexer. A name worthy of a sage like him. Few surpassed him in knowledge and skill.
***
The white wolf. He couldn't stop thinking about it. It was the first time he had seen such an animal. It was a pity he had to kill it immediately.
Niell walked slowly, seeming to listen, as if afraid of something.
"Is something bothering you, my friend?" the rider asked rhetorically. When there's no one to talk to, a man even tries a horse.
And why not?
Sages supposedly managed to do this. But they supposedly managed everything. It was for one simple reason: the people who admire them see them as almost gods. And what isn't attributed to gods?
The snow was falling harder and harder. The horse would have liked to stop for a rest, but it feared being buried. Completely unfounded, for these mountains had never seen such heavy snowstorms. But how could the poor animal know that?
***
"Bring in!" ordered the ruler of Måne. "Måne" was both the name of the most powerful country in Midgard and the name of its capital. The word itself simply means "moon." It was apt, but not everyone immediately realized it. This country was the northernmost of the continent. And midnight, understood in the sense of "time of day," was somehow associated with the moon.
"Respect, Sir," the old man bowed, entering with two guards.
"You may depart," the words sounded like an order. A moment later, only two people remained in the chamber.
"How large an army does the kingdom have?" the sage asked, his tone suggesting the seriousness of the question rather than mere curiosity.
"Currently, it would be about a thousand men," the king replied without hesitation, "but if a full mobilization were to be announced, we should gather twice as many.
" "I see..." the old man pondered, as if calculating, "that would be roughly a thousand professional soldiers, two hundred veterans, fifty thousand robbers, mercenaries, and the like, and the rest would be peasants who knew only how to use an axe to chop wood...
" "Yes... probably..." the ruler replied. He couldn't think of anything more sensible.
"Fenris's army will likely include all the warriors who didn't end up in Valahla, Odin's palace, after death.
" "Possibly...
" "And that will probably be more than two thousand, and only veterans.
" "I see... you want to join forces with other kingdoms?" the king guessed.
"No, that wouldn't be a good idea. We considered that possibility at yesterday's council. If war breaks out, we'd better try to keep the enemy at home as long as possible, to give our neighbors time to prepare," he explained.
"So you want to sacrifice us?" the ruler asked in surprise. "The entire army, the entire country, the entire... nation?" The ruler stood up and began nervously pacing the room.
"If necessary. This is for the good of all Midgard!
" "I won't allow it!"
"We wouldn't want to let something like that happen either. That's why we'll try to prevent war. I've come to give you this information.
" "Is this just a message, or perhaps a hidden request?" The king steeled his nerves and stopped in his tracks. "
Yes, we have a request. We'll need gold to equip a warrior.
" "One warrior?
" "Yes, one. It won't deplete the state treasury too much. Besides, our warrior is worth any investment.
" "And who is he?" the ruler asked, curious. "I'd love to meet him.
" ***
"We'll rest here for a while," the rider said, deciding there was nothing wrong with talking to his own horse. After all, it wouldn't hurt anyone.
"We've been riding for over five hours, I'm tired. You probably are too." He dismounted, removed his round shield, quiver, and bow from his back, then brushed the snow off the stone and sat on it. It was cold. Like everything around him.
"When was the last time I ate?" – He asked himself, and grasped the pendant hanging from a chain around his neck. It depicted an ear of grain. He didn't know what kind, and he didn't care. He was a warrior, not a farmer.
***
The forest here was quite sparse. The treetops didn't significantly obstruct the light. This gave the travelers courage. There were three of them. They wore red and black robes with long sleeves. They had brought no weapons, even though the forest was dangerous, sometimes even deadly.
They walked briskly, not wanting to waste time. They could just as easily have run, but that wasn't becoming of wise men. Even in a completely deserted place, they wanted to display their dignity.
"Stop," one of them suddenly said, his voice completely indifferent.
"Is something the matter?" the other asked, his tone also devoid of any emotion.
"I simply had a dream last night," he replied leisurely. "I think it was prophetic." He took a few steps forward, motioning with his hand for the others to stay back. He stopped between the trees, about three meters from his companions. He bent his elbow, straightened his wrist. He pointed, bent his thumb to the left, and flexed his pinky and index fingers. No one now had any doubts about what would happen next. No ordinary man could position his hand like that. It was a sign practiced for years.
Suddenly, about thirty meters ahead, something burst into flames. There was a squeal like a dog's, and then a burning, animalistic silhouette emerged from behind a tree. It immediately fell unconscious. A few seconds later, the smell of burnt flesh could be detected.
"Wolf?" one of the sages asked. The animal was dead, so it didn't matter anyway.
- Yes, a wolf - he replied when asked and straightened his fingers, which were sore from the mark.
"Did he..." asked the third sage, "in your dream...
" "Yes, he killed us all. We tried to escape...
" "Okay, don't say anything more."
They stood in silence for a moment before deciding to move on. All three wondered if meeting the wolf wasn't some kind of bad omen. Perhaps it had been sent by Fenris himself? Although the thought had independently entered each of their minds, they preferred not to discuss it.
***
An hour had passed since he stopped here, and the snow was beginning to fall again, but this time much less heavily. He gathered his weapons and mounted his mount.
"We're going, Niell. Who knows, maybe someday we'll return to our homes?"
The animal obediently moved on.
***
"Come out of this cave and stand here, opposite!" the sage's voice seemed to echo throughout the forest.
WHO ARE YOU?
The question came from within the cave.
"I've come for you, and I'm not leaving without you!" He knew how to act. He spoke loudly, clearly, but chose his words so that the other person couldn't understand. "
I AM A DEALER! GO AWAY!
" "I'm waiting for you!
YOU'LL REGRET IT!"
A sound like iron scraping against stone came from the cave. It wasn't an ordinary sound. This one was chilling, because, inexplicably, it was clearly associated with death.
"He's trying to scare us," he said almost in a whisper to his companions. "He's simply afraid to leave. But I'll make him do it." There was a certain note of absolute faith in his own words in his voice. After all, he hadn't studied all those books for nothing. "
ARE YOU STILL HERE?
" His voice clearly suggested irritation.
"I told you, I won't leave without you!"
A scream erupted from the cave, seemingly in terror, seemingly in rage. A moment later, a black figure emerged, a two-handed sword poised to slash.
The sage, more instinctively than rationally, jumped back a few steps, while his companions, who had been waiting at the entrance, threw a net at the attacker. Remarkably effectively, judging by the figure's tumble and rolling a short distance, hurled by its own momentum.
No, this was no ordinary net. Anyone, properly educated, of course, knew perfectly well that the Death Dealer could tear the net apart with just one hand. This one was reinforced with iron threads and a specially prepared aura, restricting movement for several hours after it was removed.
"So it's like this..." the sage approached. "I've always wondered what a real Death Dealer looks like." He peered closely. From between the meshes of the netting, a rather large human figure in black full plate armor emerged. The plates were completely smooth, depicting no dragons, snakes, or coats of arms, as usual. On the helmet were two curled horns, probably ram's. "
I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS ONE DAY!"
He hissed with absolute conviction. His voice cut through everyone's bones.
"I don't think so," the sage's voice was calm, composed.
A man ran into the tavern, panting. Like most of the others, he wore leather trousers and a slightly too-short jacket that didn't cover the entire chainmail. The belt, of course, didn't hold up the trousers; it held a heavy weapon.
Everyone recognized the regular immediately. It's hard to forget that face that, when it's had a few drinks, sings soldier's songs, singing horribly off-key.
"I have breaking news!" he exclaimed, unable to fully control his volume. "War really is coming! And probably our entire country is going to be sacrificed so that our allies have time to prepare for defense!"
"What?" the innkeeper gasped. Nothing more sensible came to mind.
"How do you know about this?" asked Gord, who had been sitting in the corner of the room until then. He, too, was known for his frequent drinking. "Don't you know where Gord is? He's not home? Then you'll definitely find him at the inn"—that was the simplest way to put it.
"One of the guards overheard the king's conversation with Hexer, the wise man!" He spoke incredibly quickly. It was barely understandable. "Of course, completely by accident," he added after a moment.
"By accident..." Gord knew perfectly well what it meant when a guard overheard his employer's conversation by pure chance—that glass had just happened to be placed by his ear... He took a little more than usual from his mug. The story that was about to unfold was clearly not suitable for sober listening.
"The news isn't good. So tell me, what else did your friend overhear by accident?"
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