A long summer day was coming to an end. Twilight took over their rights, which would then give way to their short night. Somewhere far on the horizon, which was now painted in red tones, a storm cloud appeared. Driven by the wind, she quickly approached the evening capital, promising the desired coolness. The suburbs of the capital continued to live their lives. The shops of blacksmiths and tanners, jewelers and alchemists were closed, taverns were opened. The guild of thieves, which was present in almost any city, was preparing for a night hunt for rotozei, late travelers and wandering citizens. The owner of the tavern "Fighting Rooster" was preparing for the evening opening. In the morning, the tavern served only guests, in the afternoon, those who were in a hurry to have a cheap snack were added to the guests. In the evening, the tavern opened its doors to all who wished. To the tavern adjoined an inn with a stable and a forge, where they could shoe a horse, make a small repair of wagons or carriages. For the sake of truth, I must say that in the entire history of taverns, the carriage was repaired only once and then quite accidentally. Then some drunken nobleman, sitting in the place of the coachman, jumped the wheel on the stone, and the carriage burst axle. The bouncers had already taken their place, the peddlers lazily quarreled in the kitchen. The cook, and at the same time the wife of the tavern owner, shouted at the assistants and tried the prepared dishes. Apparently she didn't like something, and she wrinkled from time to time. By nature, adorable, overweight from constant tasting, she more and more often ripped off her evil on her assistants and husband. Her only joy was her granddaughter, a mischievous girl of about seven years. She allowed her to do almost everything, only affectionately said: “Oh, you are my golden beloved.” She forgave broken dishes, dirty clothes, spoiled food and rare whims. In the room at the tables were mainly shops. Tables with chairs were intended for “tall” guests, in the role of which, as a rule, were merchants carrying their goods to seasonal fairs. Sometimes merchants were joined by mercenary leaders who were hired as guards by the same merchants. In the off-season, when trade was slowing for a while, mercenary leaders sat in the tavern. As soon as trade revived and the demand for the services of mercenaries increased, the tavern was again filled with merchants and their servants. But in the evenings, anyone could go to the tavern, pass the evening, or even miss another one after a working day or in secret from his legal wife. Also came and just lovers to sit for an evening playing dice or cards. The order was followed by four hired bouncers. This is usually enough to cool the hottest heads. But if there was a scuffle, the guards arrived quickly enough that the tavern would not suffer great losses. For broken furniture and broken dishes counted after scuffles with those who remained lying on the floor. But today, an unusual company has been added to the usual contingent. A little girl, apparently from a well-to-do family. She is either a nanny, or a governess hired by her parents, who also performed the role of a servant. Three silent warriors were accompanied. In the tavern they appeared, as soon as the last diner left her. Having asked the owner about the availability of rooms in the inn and the presence of a forge, they silently paid and went up to the rooms allocated to them. After a while, the governess appeared, asked to apply hot water and again retired to her. However, a couple of hours later, one of the soldiers came down and took a place at the table with chairs. - The master," he cried out loud, "in two hours make a dinner for five. Milk for a girl.
The owner of the tavern, who first wanted to ask to move to another table, and opened his mouth, immediately closed it, as soon as the warrior raised his eyes at him. The words stuck in his tray and he just nodded his head. Ask him what he saw in the eyes of a warrior, the tavern owner couldn't tell. But the right of a warrior to give orders that are carried out unconditionally, the owner of the tavern felt the spinal cord. Gradually the tavern was filled with people. A company of regulars appeared, who ordered beer and an unsophisticated snack, took out the bones. Several merchants appeared. A couple of guards came in, talking fun. Apparently, the duty is over, and on their way to the brothel, they decided to skip the wine cup. Next came the trinity in cloaks, which can be worn by both secret squeakers and experienced travelers. This trio, according to the owner of the tavern, most likely belonged to the latter. Sit down at the table, ordered wine and began to have a leisurely conversation.
Twilight, so unstable, took over the baton of the day, when a girl appeared in the hall with a governess, accompanied by the remaining soldiers. The warrior, sitting alone at the table, rose, and moving the chair, helped her to sit down. The girl nodded her head in gratitude, but the next moment raised a questioning glance. "Mistress," the warrior bowed his head respectfully, "don't worry too much." Dinner is coming.
The girl stared at the warrior.
- I think you've had some wine. You know I can't stand the smell of alcohol. If you please sit down, the girl said firmly, and the warrior, without raising his head, took a few steps back. Hardly anyone else heard these words, but the innkeeper could have sworn that these words were uttered. The warrior, stepping back, looked at the innkeeper, and the latter disappeared. Literally a second later, a peddler with plates and a jug of milk appeared. Quickly putting plates on the table and asking "what more ladies and gentlemen will please" left to serve visitors for other words. The soldier, who was suspected of taking "on the chest" went to the exit and sat down in a free place right at the exit.
The door opened again and musicians entered the tavern. They were greeted with shouts, but since the audience was not yet "for fun", the cries were quiet and short. The musicians sat down on the bench, which was taken out of the closet, and began to play simple village tunes. One of them sang in a clear and high voice. Singing a couple of songs, and collecting a few coins from visitors, they ordered wine, and arranged a short break. Suddenly outside the window thundered, and immediately large drops of thunderstorm drummed through the windows. The cloud, which had been making its way to the city all day, apparently lost its patience and decided to start shedding its tears from the suburbs. The door slammed more often, apparently not having time to hide at home, residents decided to wait out a thunderstorm in the tavern, which was only in the hands of the innkeeper. More visitors, more profits. The conversations got a little louder. The last one came in was an old man in good clothes. - Oh, old Moore," greeted his innkeeper, "come in. It is true that today you have competitors, but you are always welcome. - What competitors, the old man asked, making his way to the owner of the institution. - Musicians? So they're not competitors.
The old man was greeted, understanding the mugs up, and the old man nodded his head in response. The innkeeper handed him a jug of wine, the old man reached into his pocket for money, but he was shrugged with his hands. - It's all right, Moore. Your stories always give me pleasure, so we are even. The old man smiled in his beard, apparently the praise gave him joy, besides, it was possible not to pay. Nevertheless, the old man handed a coin to the innkeeper and asked for another dinner. The musicians finished their break, and again went out to entertain the audience. Now they clapped more actively, even sang a few songs in choir. Coins were thrown more willingly now. The musicians went on a break again.
The storm continued to rage, now the wind has added to it. His howls at times drowned out the hum in the inn.
- Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww The tavern was silent. Before that, it sounded terrible that some visitors ran frost on the skin. Someone began to remember all the gods, both pious and not so much. Someone grabbed the amulets.
- Furious souls went out to hunt, muttered the old man.
- “What are the furious souls?” one of the cloaks asked loudly. - The furious," the old man simply replied, "say that whoever saw them hunting became either dead or gray. - What nonsense? asked the same cloak.
- It's not crazy. Only a few people can hear, and even more so see their hunt. - “Who are they after?” someone asked. - No one knows for whom, but if they have outlined a victim, it is doomed. - And what, have there been many victims already? asked another voice. - No one knows for sure," the old man simply said, "it's a legend. - And do you know her as always? asked another guest with some skepticism. - I know, the old man replied proudly and sip a bottle of wine. - I heard voices from different sides of the room.
Even the cloaks turned to the old man, preparing to listen to the story. The old man steadfastly put the jug on the table, looked into the ceiling, as if gathering his thoughts and began the story:
- It was a long time ago, the old man began.
It's been a long time. In those days men were not yet united under the rule of kings and emperors, and the gods still appeared to the call of their flock. Or they could just show up to communicate their will and laws to those they created with this world. In those days, people already lived in small cities, and the wisest, bravest and bravest ruled them. It was an honest time, when they did not throw words, but confirmed them with deeds. In one of these cities, which now would not pass for a rich village, said people who worshiped the Sun. They were proud and brave, hospitable and honest. Men hunted and plowed the land, and women kept the hearth. Nature was kind and generous with them: their herds grazed in vast meadows, and rivers and forests were full of fish and game. The land gave a rich harvest, and they did not know what hunger was. One winter, they hosted a stranger. They say he came to them in one shirt and pants. Barefoot. There was no food on his shoulders. They gave him shelter and shelter, and in return he told them different stories from the places he had visited. And in the spring, when the snow fell, he asked to go. He was given clothes and no obstacles, because each person had his own way. And if the gods intended him to wander, who are they that would go against the will of the gods? And it was summer and it was winter. And the following spring, their town was attacked by troops under the leadership of the one to whom they gave the writing and shelter a year ago. That's after he almost wipes out all the people he'll be called the Common Enemy. And at that time he preferred to be called by another name, no one remembers what. He came with an army under the walls of the town and demanded that the inhabitants renounce their gods, worship him and become his slaves, for the place of servants was already taken. And of course, he got rejected. He ordered his army to attack the city. It was one of those battles after which people realized that evil is not only possible, but must be resisted. That evil is also mortal.
The fight lasted two days. Many defenders fell on the walls, but the town held on and then the Enemy ordered the city to be set on fire. Thousands of arrows of fire flew into the sky and night became day. There was a fire in the city, because almost all the buildings were built of wood. Walls and houses, temples and barns were burning, cattle were howling. And then the remaining men went on their last attack. Let's go, men and women, old people and children. Even the wounded, who could stand on their feet, came out for their last fight. Those who could not stand on their feet asked to put them forward like human shields from arrows. And so they came out, maybe a thousand, maybe a hundred, against tens of thousands. No, they couldn't win, they fell pretty much everything. Several seriously injured people were captured.
Evil is raging. It has not yet endured victory. After all, the defenders took a good price, they exchanged one of their lives for twenty-five attackers. And then Evil ordered the execution of prisoners, not just execution, but brutal death on the pole. He ordered the dead to be thrown to the wild beasts. When a detachment of the victorious army rushed to fulfill the orders of its Master, one girl, who was considered dead, managed to escape from the blood-hungry servants of the Enemy. She saw how her fellow tribesmen were put to death, how the bodies of her fellow tribesmen were abused. "Gods," she begged, "Gods, how did you let this happen?" and tears rolled silently down her cheeks. But the gods were silent, apparently horrified by the massacre that took place on the land they had created. And then, seeing that the gods are silent, the only surviving girl decided to reach the gods. You. After all, it could happen that the gods simply did not know that her tribe fell in an unequal battle. What she was hoping for, only she knew. We can only speculate. But the fact remains that she decided to go to the dwelling of the gods. On the fourth night, she got out of her hiding place and began to make her way to the forest. She almost managed to walk when the guards shouted at her. And she ran, ran into the woods. She managed, and the riders who chased her did not venture to pursue her in the night forest, because they knew that even children from this tribe skillfully shoot with bows, and the night is not the best time. However, in the morning, a small squad followed her in pursuit. The girl walked day and night, and when the forces left her, climbed trees or burrowed into the foliage of the previous year. Still, apparently she was born under a lucky star, but the chase came back with nothing. And she kept going and going, forward, into the forest, where not even the bravest hunters of her people went. When she passed through the forest, she found herself in the lands that had not so long ago been walked by those who left her orphaned. During the day she hid and slept, and at night she walked. She ate forest berries, and small animals, because of the weapon she had only a knife. Gradually she did not learn to see at night, because only night was her ally, and during the day she continued to hide. She learned to hear the footsteps of a running mouse and the wings of a night bird, because there were enemies around. She learned to walk silently. Her clothes broke and she continued to walk naked. She felt neither warmth nor cold. It was washed by rain and dried by the moon. Once beautiful hair fell into a lump, and the hands were covered with herons with broken nails. But she kept walking. Did she know the way? No one knows that.
Her journey continued for many days and nights, merging into weeks and months. And one day or two, she arrived. - Who are you, my child, one of the gods asked her. - Why did you allow all the evil that is happening now? Why did you let my mom and dad get killed? What have we done to you? asked the girl.
- “Who are your parents?” asked God. - I hate you, and I sat on a rock and cried. For the first time since he started his journey.
- But I do not see them in the world of the dead, said the God of the Dead. - And I do not see them among the living world, the God of Life echoed him. - We do not see you in any world, the gods said to her, What do you want from us? - Give me back my mom and dad! - But how can we bring them back if they are neither in the world of the living nor in the world of the dead? - What can you do then? the girl cried out, Why do you need you, since you are so helpless? - How dare you? began one of the gods. - But she is right, – heard behind the back of the gods. Everyone looked where the voice came from. But only they saw darkness, thick, opaque darkness. - Do you not see that your soul has come to you? Her body lies in the woods, and not even the animals touched it. You can do nothing with her soul, the Darkness repeated and assumed the shape of a young and beautiful, probably beautiful woman. How could it be otherwise?
- Mom!' cried the girl.
- Come to me my little one," said the Darkness, "I am your mother. And the girl, or rather her soul rushed to her mother, because there is no one more important than her mother. She threw herself on her neck and tears and tears rolled down her cheeks. Would you say that the soul cannot cry? Maybe. The soul can weep, because when you love hard, wait and believe, then everything human that was in the soul will remain with it forever. And the darkness patted her on the head, combed her hair and whispered tender words. - Who are you? asked one of the creators of this world. - I'm Dark. I came into this world and I don't like what's going on here. - Mom, will you not die again? the sobbing girl asked. - “I will not die,” replied Darkness, “we will always be together now.” Darkness lifted the girl in her arms, looked into her eyes and the girl fell asleep. - I will give her soul power, said the Darkness to the Gods, a power you never dreamed of. I will give her everything because she is one braver than all the armies of the world. And she's my daughter! The darkness turned and left, taking the girl with him. The gods looked at each other and continued to engage in their divine affairs, trying to rectify the situation with the Enemy who attacked their world. A year later, the attacking army began unexplained losses. Someone destroyed guards and traveling at night. Small detachments fell under the sword or swords of the unknown, and large ones suffered losses, forcing them to take refuge in the captured cities. Then the first rumor appeared that it was the Darkness that raised her daughter to the destruction of the invaders. But the gods did not know who was helping them, what kind of force intervened in their confrontation. And then they called this force Raging Soul, or Furious Souls.
- Grandpa Moore is the granddaughter of the tavern owner, unknown as being among the audience, and these Souls will not harm us? Old Moore patted her on the head.
- No, they won't. You are not evil, you are a good girl. - It's all lies, - on the verge of hysteria shouted one of the cloaks - what souls? Old man, you're lying! - It's just a legend," old Moore shook his head, "and to believe in it or not, it is a purely voluntary matter. - Is that a lie, too? a quiet voice rang out. No one noticed that there were new visitors in the tavern. Five soldiers, something elusively similar to each other, placed on the table where the trinity sat in cloaks severed head. - Ah, - rang out all over the tavern, and to the five fighters rushed staff bouncers.
The three men sitting at the table reacted more quickly and jumped out of their seats, pulling out swords. The bouncers did not have time to run, as they collapsed to the floor under powerful blows of fists, where they safely and reached the end. Two of the three rushed into a suicide attack on the five who entered, and their main, taking advantage of the turmoil and the uproar, rushed to the exit. But already at the door, the warrior, who was sent by the little girl with a sharp blow knocked the fleeing from his feet, and after a second he was knitted on the hands of the remaining two. The soldiers who appeared so unexpectedly did not linger either, and soon the whole trinity appeared before the eyes of a little girl. Do you remember me, Deruma? she asked. - I don’t know what you’re talking about, the person who wanted to run away replied. A powerful blow to the stomach bent him in half, but held on both sides he did not fall. - “Talk to the lady politely,” one of the soldiers said gloomyly. - Then I will remind you, the girl said affectionately, but her words smelled grave cold. Visitors to the tavern sat unmoved. Someone began to remember all the gods, even the most drunken sobered up in an instant. - So, Deruma, I saw you listen carefully to the old man's story. Do you remember how you executed the wounded? - “Is that you?” he said, “hatred in his eyes.” “I,” the girl replied, and addressing her companions, “take them away.” They will be treated by their mother.
Then she turned to the owner of the institution, and in front of the astonished visitors began to turn into a young girl. Thrown his wallet on the table, which the innkeeper caught on the fly.
- This is for the damage, she said and looking at the bouncer lying down added, Give them a day off for tomorrow. Then I walked to the exit. At the exit, one of her people stood bent his head.
Thank you, Sir Brig, your plan is as perfect as ever. You even envisaged that he would rush to save his own skin. - Glad to serve you, madam, - bowing his head even lower answered Brig.
Arneo, prepare the horses, we are leaving immediately. “Mistress,” the voice of the granddaughter of the tavern owner rang, “is it really you, Furious Souls?” - Yes, my dear, the girl replied, it is us. - So what Grandpa Moore said was true? and there was so much question in her eyes that it was unthinkable not to answer. - Well, almost everything is true, she replied with a smile. - Uh-uh, sorry mistress - this is old Moore - how was it really? “Almost everything was like that,” he received the answer, “let everything stay that way.” “A living legend,” said the granddaughter, “what was wrong?” The lady came up to her, patted her on the head, sat in front of her to look her eyes into her eyes. - In order that my Mother may bring my people back to life, she said, I must gather the restless souls of my people, which, as you remember, are neither among the dead nor among the living. And only when all those who fell defending their city, their home, their children are gathered together, then we will find flesh again. Having said that, the lady went out, closing the door behind her. In the tavern there was silence and only from somewhere the wind came out. - Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

Whoa cool, continuing where?)

Legend Two

The wedding was in full swing. The musicians have already changed several times, and the ladies’ shoes have already changed several times. About the number of eaten dishes and drunk barrels of wine, no one remembered. Comedians who filled the breaks between dancing and presenting gifts, tiredly rested at separate tables, so that none of the highly invited guests could see them. The viceroy of the Emperor in the province of Illimia married his only son. Married him very well. The young bride was the only daughter of the Imperial Treasurer. Marriage was calculated, as many of the guests gossip, but so that no one would hear them. Toasts to the health of the young rose one by one. But as it happens, many perceived the wedding as an extra reason to meet, discuss certain issues. A small hum hung from endless conversations hung under the vaults of the capital's castle of the Viceroy. Many married ladies brought their daughters to light in order to look after them for a better groom. The same can be said about the mothers of older male children.
In a quiet corner sat an inconspicuous man, smoking a pipe. The personal servant assigned to him stood not far away, but so as to see any movement of this guest. For the whole evening, the guest asked only a couple of times for wine, and the plate with vegetables that was put in front of him at the very beginning of the celebration remained intact. Waiting for the Emperor. He was supposed to attend all the celebrations of the first persons of his Empire. Perhaps it will come with the Empress. The wait was delayed, which gave nervousness to the numerous guards who, under the guise of peddlers, rode around the hall, looking for whether anyone was planning a dashing one. It would seem, well, what kind of troubles can be when all the invited are known, when the invitation was delivered by the Viceroy’s personal officers, and tried to hand them over personally. There was no interception of the officers or the invitations themselves. However, the head of security of the Viceroy frowned more and more.
Faith in the evening, on the eve of the grand event, he was whispered that an attempt was being prepared on the Viceroy. And that the customer is the Shadow Guild. That's it. The informant could not tell him more. By no means are they going to carry out the plan, nor the place. It was only known that the Viceroy would not survive the wedding. With this news, the head of security and acquainted the one who is obliged to protect on duty. The viceroy was not a timid ten, and could make decisions at lightning speed. It's impossible to cancel a wedding. So we need to make sure that the mouse doesn't get through. So that any fly that accidentally flew into the kitchen, was immediately caught and nailed. Having considered the upcoming route, in which the greatest fear was caused by the marriage itself, and the exit from the Temple to the people, the head of the guard placed so many of his people in the crowd that it seemed that he had two or even three citizens. The subsequent passage in an open carriage, although adding a few gray hair to the chief guard, also passed without incident. In the hall where the wedding was to take place, allowed only by invitation, which has already caused discontent of those who are used to freebies. And the last one was really a lot. Probably at all times there have been and will remain people who are ready to support any event for free, be it a wedding, the birth of a child, adulthood or funeral. Such had to be cut off, although, as they assured accustomed to free drink and snack, it is, they say, unworthy of the gods, they were just put out the door. The only people who were allowed, and then, after thoroughly searching, were versatile jesters, musicians and other people, whose vocation was to entertain the others. Not to let them, this meant that the wedding may not work out, as court musicians could not withstand the many hours of performance of certain melodies. Finally the Emperor appeared. He was alone, without the Empress. Having said a welcoming speech and handing a gift to the young, he wished the young to be fruitful and multiply, and departed. The head of security sighed with some relief. There was still a ceremony, when guests will begin to give gifts to the young and congratulate their parents, after which the event can be considered complete. And this is exactly what haunted the chief guard. The person who gave him the information could not have cheated. There has never been a case where he has deceived or his warning has not come true. The wrong people, the Shadow Guild, to put it off, which means there had to be an attack. The guard was not afraid of poisoning, since everything that went on the table to the Viceroy, he tasted personally, however, after the chef himself first tasted. After the Emperor’s visit, the wedding began to end. One of the last who wanted to amuse the audience with his performance, stood two young men in spacious clothes. They approached the entrance to the hall and now humbly waited for their turn. They had already been searched, but since they had nothing at all with them, they were allowed to enter a small room, where they waited for their turn the same as they did: skomorokhs, jesters and other people from art. The head of security had already seen them perform in the city, and at least he enjoyed their performance. The boys were something akin to tightrope walkers. Air acrobatics have always been popular in the Empire, and those who made a living in this way could always count on a bowl of hot porridge, at least. The truth and danger of this profession concealed not a little. Many ended their lives on the street, with broken backs, begging for alms and alms. - How much longer? asked one of the boys, who is clearly younger. - Yes, soon, probably, if at all they will call, replied the one who was older, and apparently was in this pair for the main one. - Should we have come here at all? It would be better to perform at the bazaar, continued to grumble the younger.
- I told you how many times," sighed the elder, "that here, if we like, they can pay generously and invite you to speak at the castle. And this, if you forget, at least, the opportunity to show yourself, and earn more. The younger sighed, raised his head and stared at the ceiling. The guard who heard the conversation laughed to himself. Yeah, where else would they go? The sluts are the sluts. No sword, no shield. But they're squirming, whatever it is. Finally, the door opened and they were invited to the hall to entertain the guests. "Dear gentlemen," began the elder, as they went out into the middle of the halls, "today we will show you the perfect mastery of grace and plastic." He turned to the guards and continued:
- Can I ask these strong men to take a spear longer, but stronger, and put it on their shoulders? The chief of security nodded his head and two powerful guards came out in the middle. On their shoulders lay a spear, at least three meters long.
- Is that enough? the head of security asked.
- Well, good lord, said the young man and addressing his partner, Orro, come on, show us your art. “I hear you, Schnaps Master,” Orro bowed, and approached the spear, which now served as a pole, and flew at him with one motion. Widely spread his hands, he made, as if warming up a few squats, and then twisted a flip forward. The audience gasped, and the guards holding the spear slightly sank in their legs. Standing for a few seconds, he just as easily flipped back. The audience gasped again, and the guards shook their heads with some astonishment. Walking along the pole to one of the edges, he waved his hand invitingly, and now the second young man stood at the other end of the pole. Taking one step to the meeting, the older one folded his hands with a lock, and the younger one, stepping as if on a step, was suddenly thrown up sharply. After doing a double flip this time, he landed on the pole again. The audience clapped, threw coins. Ignoring the ringing of coins, which at other times would surely have caught their attention, the pair continued their performance. All the attention of the public was focused on two acrobats, who, apparently, were preparing to show some very extreme number. The man sitting inconspicuous suddenly turned his head and with his eyes called a servant to him. - The words stuck in his throat, because it is difficult to speak when your neck is squeezed with powerful fingers, and a dagger sticks out from your chest, opposite the heart. Having killed one by the movement of his hand so disturbed by the observer, he left a dagger in his chest that he, as a cork stopped the flow of blood, with the second hand he quickly and deftly sent the falling body under the table. Having got rid of the observer, he turned abruptly, and examined the hall. Apparently, remaining satisfied with what he saw, he took out a black ball and looking into it whispered a few words. The armor of the knights, who were supposed to represent fully equipped and ready for battle, suddenly revived, and as if out of nowhere in their hands appeared raised crossbows. No one had time to understand anything, how the first victims began to fall on the tables, neighbors and just the floor. The very first, pierced by a crossbow bolt, the governor fell. His main guard survived his master literally for a few seconds. Panic rose, guests rushed around the hall, someone rushed to the exit, and the revived armor continued to shoot. Then, as on an unseen command, they dropped crossbows and pulled out swords. The guard, who came to his senses after such an unexpected attack, rushed to intercept, in order to prevent even more bloodshed. - You see her, through the noise and female squeal the voice of Schnaps Master came to Orro. - No, I'm looking, Orro shouted in response.
- Before they kill everyone!
Two young men, instantly transformed into warriors, rushed to the revived armor. Delicately shortening from blows directed including at them, as well as from guests seeking to exit, they made their way to where the first guards had already crossed swords. - Here he is!, Orro shouted.
- Take it, he answered, and I am looking for our beauty. Orro, changed his trajectory, and rushed to the man who did the whole massacre. Although few people could hear Orro, apparently he gave himself up, and the man turned to him. Seeing the sword aimed at him, he did not run away, but waved his hands at the meeting, something shouted in the face of the warrior running at him and disappeared, as if he was picked up and carried away by the wind. - “Gone, bitch,” Orro cried, and turned to look for the eyes of Schnaps Master. With the disappearance of the mysterious man, the armor suddenly revived collapsed with a pile of metal. In the heat of the battle, the guards continued to cut, but without receiving a response, and without removing their weapons began to look around and wait for further orders. - Did you catch her? asked Orro at Schnaps Master. - Spotted - confirmed Schnaps Master.
They took away their swords and appeared again as two young men. Ignoring the scattered money and jewelry that the ladies aspiring to exit lost, they looked at each other and went to the exit. Getting out of the room was not easy. The superiors who had arrived and the fiancé who had come to his senses ordered no one to be released, and the exit was now closed by the guards. But is it possible to stop those who could change their appearance?
"Scoundrels, scumbags and bastards," the old necromancer cursed. Remembering all the gods, including the damned forever, he rushed around the room of his house and never ceasing to curse his greed, these, do not understand as turned out to be a lot of souls, aphids of the living, who almost spoiled, and what there, almost ruined the whole operation. How did it all start out, huh? And nothing foreshadowed that at the very last moment, all his work would go to the dog’s tail. He settled in this city relatively recently, and ten years have passed. He began, like all sorcerers, by registering with a magistracy, with petty therapeutic alchemy. And no one knew that in fact under the guise of a modest magician hides one of the most powerful necromancers of our time. It took almost five years to get used to it, there were regular customers. He did not hesitate to help the most odious individuals who were sought by justice. I did, however, charge them a higher fee. And then slowly reported to one of the most unknown guilds, to the Guild of Shadows, that it is possible to carry out some delicate errands. His first victim was an unsuspecting merchant whose wife simply decided to get rid of her annoying husband. After a while, the merchant was stabbed on his way home, and the killer was never found. But the necromancer enriched another soul, which eventually subdued himself. He was very proud of the collection of souls he had collected throughout his life. Who wasn't here! The souls of merchants and nobles, peasants and even a few souls of those who formerly belonged to the Shadow Guild. These latter, he tamed with a special passion, so that he knew almost everything about Shadow. And in principle, he was already preparing the removal of the Master Tenevik when he decided to earn some more money. Not even like that, making a lot of money. For the sacrifice that was planned for him cost a lot of money. The order looked only seemingly simple, killing the old viceroy in front of everyone. It would be easier to negotiate with a new one. He went through all the options, and decided to stop at the temporary induction of souls in armor. At first the task seemed impossible, because to instill the soul, the object must be alive. You can't put your soul in a stone, it dies right away. The necromancer thought long before he came up with a brilliant plan. After all, if he is close, he can share the power, and hold the souls as long as necessary, while they follow his orders. It remains to decide how to get to the Viceroy. And the announcement of his son's wedding came in handy. No, he wasn't invited on purpose. He had to sacrifice one soul, which he instilled in the vicar's horse. It was she who told him that the invitations would be delivered by special people. And then he found out who the invitations were. Then it was a matter of technology. Arriving at the house of one of the guests, exactly a day before the events described, he simply killed him, taking his soul to a special vault. After that, he took the form of the murdered, and sent all the servants home, declaring the day off. Under the mask of the murdered, he came to the celebration, where in a box specially ordered for a gift, and carried the necessary number of souls. You just have to wait for the right moment.
The first signs that everything is not going as originally planned, he found at the entrance to the hall. An unusually large number of guards. The sorcerers, who sat not far from both the young and the vicar himself, closely covered the latter from any magical attack. Deciding to wait, he sat down in a far corner, referring to his poor health, where he was assigned a personal servant. Watching the work of the guard, the necromancer mentally wondered what was actually happening. After watching for some time, he realized that the guards knew about the assassination attempt, so what does this really mean? The advance has been received, we have to work. You can, of course, just quietly deprive the Viceroy of life, but this will be a blow to his vanity. If it is public, it means public.
The moment didn't come soon. The wedding inexorably began to move to its finale, when two young acrobats entered the hall. He, too, had a glimpse of their performance in the city. He was then very interested in the youth and dexterity of these boys, and he was already figuring out how it would be possible to use them from the heart if they were killed, like a disturbing bell in his mind banged hard enough. What caused the alarm in him? I think it's normal. Guests drink and eat, somewhere already chatting on quite abstract topics. What alerted him? Panic sticky snake began to crawl to him first in the chest, then began to spread to the stomach. The necromancer noticed that almost all the attention of the guests is directed to the performance of these wandering acrobats. It's time! The first part went well. So the servant hindered him, was killed by a dagger, after which he took out a ball with souls and whispered a spell, released them. Waiting until the souls had occupied all the worthwhile armor, he gave the command to act. And how well it all started! The first crossbow shots almost decapitated the entire assembly. The viceroy was killed, his chief guard was killed. Murdered Treasurer. And then he just gave the command to shoot, to create panic. The bell was already ringing the bell, when he lowered a little control, and weakened the control, looked where he cried out intuitions about the danger. A warrior was walking right at him, and when he looked at the latter, he realized that he was so restless. The warrior was neither dead nor alive. It is incomprehensible how the soul found in the flesh went straight to him, clutching the sword. At one point he gave up soul control and began whispering the spell of instant transference. He made it. However, he had to abandon all the souls he had so carefully selected for this task. But most importantly, he managed to leave.
And now he was running around the room and cursed everything and everyone. First, who were these incomprehensible souls? Who hired them? That they came for him, he understood immediately and unconditionally. What do they want? Not to them, but to the one who sent them. In addition, he lost control of a part of the souls, which now flew to where. He quickly reconnected. Okay, there! One soul, which he tied tighter than the others, began, clearly resisted, to return. - Come here, he whispered, come here to your daddy. You don't want to leave me an orphan! The soul he was pulling up, like a fisherman pulling a large fish, desperately resisted. Had it not been for the powerful spells imposed on her, she would have gone. The confrontation lasted almost an hour, but the experience of the necromancer, taking into account the fact that one, holding the spell, he sent others who caused pain and weakened the control of the soul, did their job. - “Wanted to get away?” the necromancer asked a rhetorical question. You must have forgotten that I can cause you such pain, such agony, that you will be my first mad soul. With these words, the necromancer rudely shoved his soul into a temporary vault and descended on a chair. So, first of all, take all the remaining souls. And before you leave here, start a fire. Let everything burn in blue flames. And he went back to the point where everything went wrong. Now you have to change your face, start over. But he has enough time, because time meant nothing to him. He got up, took out a large bag, more like a chest, opened it. First, to the bottom, he laid the filled containers. Then I spent the money I needed for the first time. The rest of the gold has long been hidden in places inaccessible to mere mortals, besides guarding its accumulations a couple of souls. Change of underwear, shoes. Some magical elixirs, drugs. He put his books and observations in his pocket. He was about to close his bag, as in the house millions of falcons, towards the inside, broke the windows, and after the broken windows in the house broke the same couple, from whom he so hastily retreated two hours earlier. - And here comes our warlock, - cheerfully said the one who was called Schnaps Master, - Orro, do you not find that the good gentleman is going somewhere? Orro, who wasted no time, also threw a light spell on the necromancer, which did not allow the latter to apply an immediate teleport. - You know," Orro replied just as cheerfully, "I don't think he's going anywhere with Master's. He is a well-mannered person and therefore kindly agrees to come with us. - Who are you? Who paid you? I'll pay more, the necromancer quickly spoke, frantically going through the options as to how quickly to withdraw from here. That he could capture and subjugate these souls, he did not believe himself. - You won't believe it anyway," Schnaps Master replied, "even if we say so. So stop talking, and please put this on yourself. In the hand of Schnaps Master swayed the knots. The necromancer slowly turned backwards, trying to approach the door. In an elusive movement resembling a blurred shadow, Schnaps Master and Orro began their movements. Orro, creating a false attack on the head, a sharp roll went into the legs, and the necromancer rolled on the floor. Schnaps Master with two jumps overcame the distance separating them, and one movement put the knots on the necromancer. The next moment the prisoner’s mouth was filled with a tight gag to avoid unnecessary spells. The necromancer pulled out his eyes, tried to soak something, but the fetters that held him did not allow him to move. "Lie still," said the necromancer Schnaps Master, "and we'll take what doesn't belong to you for now. Do you think Orro, where did he put the receptacles?" - I believe," Orro replied, "that he was about to leave his house, and therefore all the most valuable things are in his luggage. - I suppose so, Schnaps Master said. Have you contacted the lady yet? - Yes, and in ten minutes she will be here.
- Well, we're going to start looking at this lovely house.
Standing almost in the middle of the room bag, which the necromancer did not have time to close, now subjected to disassembly. Separately stacked amulets, notes, which the prisoner so carefully kept. Gold, on the other hand, was sloppyly thrown aside. And finally, from the bottom, carefully holding in his hands, one began to take out the containers of souls. It was for this occupation that the lady who entered with a small retinue found them.
"Mistress," bowed Schnaps Master and Orro.
- “Did you find it?” she asked.
- Yes, Madame, she is here, with these words Schnaps Master carefully stretched one of the containers. - Be patient for a second, dear, whispered the incoming, and after reading a short spell began to open the container. The necromancer looked into all eyes at what was happening, and could not believe it. He, who had spent so many years studying necromancy, had seen it for the first time. The released soul flew out of the receptacle, and quickly inspecting where it was trying to hide out the open window. - Wait! cried the lady who opened the receptacle, Come back! The soul of the prisoner, already rushing to the window, turned sharply. - “You?” she said, “but how?” Did someone survive? Did we get help?
- No, tears flowed down the cheeks of the Lady, we lay there all. - But I see you. I know those people who are with you, too. "How?" the soul asked again.
- Come with us, I'll tell you everything. - Where? - Where we are free, where we are reborn. - But we're dead! - That is not so, the lady simply replied. - Look, here's Schnaps Master and Orro, who found you and rescued you from this vile monster. Here's Kalif and Abzac. Your friends are waiting for you at home. - What are we going to do about it, Madam? asked Abzac. - I think that his fate will be decided by our El tequila," the lady replied, "although I personally suggest putting his soul in this vessel, and let Mother Darkness decide her future fate. We already have enough to do.
And the strange unexpected guests of this house hugged their found friend, went out into the street, where they were waiting for a carriage and horseback. The coach managed to leave the city gate when they overtook Schnaps Master.
- What took you so long? asked the lady. - I don’t like unfinished business, said Schnaps Master. - And how did you finish them? asked Orro.
- Let go of the souls of the others," shrugged Schnaps Master, "and fulfilled our guest's last unspoken request. - What's that like? - I think that as soon as we go over there on the hill, which offers a wonderful view of the city, you will see everything yourself. - You set fire to his house, said Calif. - How did you know? asked Schnaps Master. - “Your face is very sad,” said Kalif. The carriage and its accompanying companions came to the specified hill and stopped. Looking at the city, they saw a burning fire, emitted from a distance like a small light. Tears flowed down the cheeks of El tequila.
- Well, everything is over, said the lady, and the carriage continued on its way

Legend Three. About loyalty and hope.

For outstanding services to the Empire, I grant you lands in the Ravon Valley with forests, meadows and a river. Own for the good of the Empire!
The speech of the Emperor was pretentious and abounded in such verbal turns that any diplomat of our time could envy him. But, in fact, the whole speech was reduced to a very simple question. Baron Larouge extended the frontier of the Empire and petitioned for the new lands. Since the land lay far from the capital, and the family of the Baron was huge, the Emperor gladly granted him these lands. Moreover, the duties of the baron lay a lot, and taxes went to the Emperor. A week later, after handing over the papers confirming the possession of the land to the baron, the baron and his retinue left for their new possessions. There was a lot of work to do, it was necessary to build a castle, resettle the peasants. The baron hoped to seize more land if no neighbors were found. There's not much land. Two of his sons went along with him.
Fifteen years after the events described.

The shepherd drove the herd to a new pasture. Dogs that since ancient times helped herders in this difficult business, and at the same time guarded from wolves, obediently ran behind and from the sides, collecting lagging animals. Ahead appeared a bend of the river, and there, a little lower, found a ford. And now the shepherd was going to move the herd to this pasture.
The river was reached without incident. Even the ford crossed surprisingly quickly. But then the herd refused to go to the field. Neither the shepherd’s whip nor the dogs could force the herd into the field. Cows tried to push on the edge, some mooed complainingly and tried to cross the ford back. Surprisingly, the dogs also refused to accompany the shepherd to the field. Not knowing what happened, the shepherds took the herd back. The next day, the same story happened again. The animals refused to enter the field. They tried to mow grass and give animals, but they refused to eat mowed cows. Then they decided to invite the servant of God. Arrived from the temple near the priest, drank wine, ate, and then went to the field. He made some passes with his hands, walked from one end of the field to the other, but did nothing. In the end, he said that there is nothing here, and why cows do not go to the field, he does not know. Having crooked, the peasants let him go. There were no animals in the field.
Over time, the field was visited by clergymen of all available religions, several seers, shamans, charlatans, and many who took up this task, but left ashamed. The peasants eventually spat on the field like grazing, and decided to plow over. The next year, we didn’t get to work. The horses refused to go to the field. The old Baron Larouge himself came, but only marveled and went to the castle. And closer to the middle of summer, a shaman passed through the village. Staying for the night in the house of the headman, he learned this mysterious story with the field. In the morning, without taking food, he took some amulets and went out to the field. He laid out amulets, burned incense and waited.
... Do you think souls do not dream? Do you believe that souls who have not found rest wander the world? Then you know nothing about souls. Souls, like living people, know how to cry and laugh, love and hate, dream and dream. This is what happened to the soul of a man who loved his city, his people, his family with all his heart. They all died, died in battle, with weapons in their hands, and he did not wait for his grandchildren. Commanding the defense of the city, a small army and militia under his leadership were able to inflict maximum damage to the enemy. And for a long time the enemies shuddered to remember the city, which preferred to die, but not to surrender. How many more cities will there be? There are many cities that have died with their children. But first the husbands who defended him will fall in battle, and the wives and children will be sold into slavery. Only then will the walls of the city collapse. But this is still to come, and our story is about that distant past, when death was preferred to slavery, when the phrase "Honor above all" was the meaning of life and the symbol of death. A beautiful death. A death worthy of both man and the city they created. Then for the first time the land on which the city stood was plowed and covered with salt, so that even the grass could not grow on this place. Winner's revenge. What strange words, but it was. And for a long time there was a torn, charred wound on the body of the earth, on which there was not a single green stem. And this soul kept dreaming. More like a dream. The same dream that was repeated in different ways from night to night. A city surrounded by an enemy army and a choice: die or become a slave. The soul beat the lost battle, looked for the most cunning moves, changed tactics, changed strategies. The result was the same – the city fell. Then the soul changed the initial conditions, and still the result is one - loss. And now, not knowing which az, the soul again changed the conditions, changed the weapon, and... Victory. That’s the solution – a new, better weapon was needed. But, unfortunately, time has been missed.
After that defeat, souls, restless ears sought rest and did not find it. And if it were not for the soul of a warrior, who even after the death of the body tried to maintain order. But time, which in ordinary life heals many injuries, here played on the other side. Gradually, the souls of those who fought and died nearby lost hope. At first they believed that someone could escape the common fate, but time weakened faith and souls began their endless wandering. And now came the moment when the soul, commanding the army of the defenders, was left alone. For a long time, the grass was overgrown with plowed fields, no one alive remembered that there was once a city here, and the soul saw it. I saw walls and streets, houses and people laughing. Is she crazy? Someone will say yes. We have no right to judge.
And then there was a village nearby. And then the soul came to the people with words about what happened here many centuries ago and asked, begged not to disturb the memory of the deceased people and their city. But people do not hear voices from the spirit world, it is given only to a few. Is the soul offended? Nobody knows that. But she was the only one trying to explain something. But people, I repeat, remained deaf.
Then, when those who pretended to be great wizards and sorcerers began to come, trying cheap tricks to drive away the memory-keeping soul, she only laughed at these clumsy attempts. Until the shaman came.

... Who are you? asked the soul, not hoping for an answer. - People call me in different ways, answered the soul of the shaman, but I want to ask you, who are you? - A long time ago, my name was Brig, my soul answered, Why did you come? - I came to ask for the people who live in the village that is located across the river. Why don't you let them on the field?
- Field? Yeah, field. There's a field here. It used to be a city. The city that perished, as did all of us who defended it. How our whole family died.
- But there was always a field here, the shaman objected. Soul, it seemed that she sighed bitterly, and then said:
- Come, I'll show you, if you can see and talk to me, maybe you can see what I see. And two souls, one who had long been deprived of a body, restless, and the second, whose body was in a trance, slowly went into the field.
... City walls, more designed to repel lightning raids than to withstand a prolonged siege, slowly rose from oblivion. There were houses, barns, passers-by rushed through the streets of a small but tidy city. A joyful homon of children, serious phrases of adults, female and girlish laughter, animated cry of merchant barked.
The picture changed. And now the city has a huge army, and the parliamentarian demands to open the gates and accept a new god. A refusal is heard in a categorical form and then the first assault begins. Here are the first victims on both sides, but it is clear that the attackers often fall and can not get up. - Here, when the enemy made the first breakthrough through the city gate, two fighters, Kalifa and Abzac, stood up and held the enemy for almost three days. Even already dead, they managed to take with them at least a dozen enemies each. - And over there, as two warriors held the passage, preventing the enemy from breaking into the city, Lawyerrr, Schnaps Master, Dreniar and Orro carried out a counter-attack. None of them returned, but since then the enemy has always looked back, even when going to attack. - Here in this very place there used to be a tower on which the archers fell. They could no longer hold a sword in their hands, so they fired from the tower, and burned with it, striking enemies to the last. - And here, when it became clear that the city could not be held, its last defenders also fell. The shaman's soul sees how the remnants of the defenders, led by Brig, repel one attack after another. How the number of corpses around them turns into mountains, how the handles of swords and axes, battle clubs slide with blood. How to fall broken, unable to withstand powerful blows, shields. There's a dozen left, five left. Three who stand back to back singing their last song, hitting their enemies, no longer hoping for victory, but only trying not to fall, so that the sword would not pierce the back of a friend. There are two of them left, one... All... The last fell Brig, pierced by three spears at once. But even as he was dying, he took with him one of those who killed him. And again, a change of scenery. The enraged chief orders the execution of the few prisoners captured. Among them are children. His angry eyes will haunt the soul of a shaman for a long time to come. Here the leader takes out a huge sword and goes to one of his mended, and he, walking back, tries to justify himself: - My leader, it is not enough to kill them, they still need to be knocked down so that they would fall... – the flapping of the sword and the head of the military commander who commanded the assault on the city rolled, separated from the neck. Much later, almost word for word, the German Kaiser Wilhelm will repeat these words about Russian soldiers, and this phrase will go down in history.
But it was a long time ago, so long ago that no one will remember, the soul of a shaman, impressed by what he saw, continues the conversation. - For a long time," the soul of Brig agrees, "but is there not in men the filth which the worshippers of the new God carried with them? - Do you know, shaman, what it is like to see everything you love burn, and the bodies of your friends and loved ones are tormented by wild beasts? Do you know what it is like to try to grab a sword with a disembodied hand, and the hand passes through it, and you can only howl in impotent rage? - No, my soul goes on, I cannot betray my memory. Go away. We don't understand each other.

... The shaman returned to the village a week later, graying and thin, and barely standing on his feet from hunger. He had been in a trance all week, and now people were eager to know what he saw, what he had become completely gray. Only on the third day the shaman was pissing in himself.
- What did you see there? he asked. - I have seen grief and death," replied the shaman, "the best thing you can do is plant bright poppies that will remind everyone of the horror that happened here many centuries ago. And the shaman left. And the people followed his advice, and sowed the field with poppies. So the name of the field was fixed in the people - the Field of Bloody Poppy.
And the soul of the last defender of the city, left alone again, continued to dream. Dreaming and waiting. Time didn’t mean anything to her.

... Sleep, my little girl, sleep, At night, the stars lit for you. The bright fire of tomorrow...
Through a dream, the soul of Brig suddenly heard an old children's lullaby song, which was sung only by his people. But nobody knows her words. Even the language has long been forgotten!
... Tomorrow you will get up early in the morning. There are a lot of things to do tomorrow. You have to be strong during sleep.
But it can't be. The soul of Brig jumped to its feet and looked into the side from which the voice came. There was a tent on the field, two black horses grazed with poison, like the night itself. The song came from the tent. The soul rushed forward to the tent. The canopy of the tent reclined and a woman came out of it, who was holding a small girl in her arms. It's her, she sang that song to her! The girl opened her eyes and looked at Brig. - Hello Brig," the little girl said, "I wish you good luck in hunting, good land and a big family. - Thank you for the wish, the soul automatically answered, and you have a strong husband, a strong home and an unquenchable hearth. - I told you, the girl said to the woman who never let her go, he remembers everything, he has not forgotten. - Yes, my child," the woman replied, "you are right. Your people are really strong not only in body but also in spirit. The girl got off her hands and went to Brig, bowed, as was customary many, many years ago. Brig also bowed in response. Looked at the familiar features, the familiar clothes of his people. - I knew," my soul whispered, "that someone had survived, that we couldn't just leave. I have been waiting for countless years.
The girl shook her head.
- Everything you say, and it's not like that. I died, too. My mother will tell you better.
- Mother? But she's not like the women of our nation! - She came to the gods," said the woman who was holding the girl in her arms, "and her strength was so great that she came, not her. And her soul. Like yours, who could not forget all that had been experienced, so her soul longed to ask the gods a question. But your gods were deaf, they looked, but they did not see. And then I, seeing the pure soul and original power of this little girl, who was not afraid to challenge the Gods who had not come, decided that it was wrong to leave her there. - I'm sorry, Brig, I'm sorry I took so long to come here. I believed, I was hoping that someone stayed in our city, and now I met you. But where are the others?
- At first we were all here, but the years were decades, the decades were centuries. Gradually, everyone scattered. Sometimes they come, visit, tell the latest news. I'm the one who stayed here. One. Neighbors really, there's a village...

... In the morning, the villagers saw a picture that for a long time will seem unreal. Two horsemen, a stern, mighty warrior in shining armor and unearthly beauty, a girl, as dressed in armor, seated on two black horses as the Night itself, drove through the village. The field, which caused so many questions, which was called the Field of Bloody Poppy, suddenly blossomed with snow-white flowers.
The riders stayed overnight at the edge of the forest. From where their city once stood, and which they were able to keep in mind, there were more than two crossings. The warrior set up a tent, made a fire.
- “Go to bed,” said the girl, who had no sense in taking the form of an adult, “let you dream of a house.” The warrior dutifully closed his eyes and fell asleep. Once again, a city surrounded by an enemy army and a choice: die or become a slave. But now everything will be different.
Everything. There will be. Otherwise.

you're cool )) very cool! per cent

definitely cool

read out

I tried, thank you.