The sun was shining right through this window, and multicolored reflections played across the faces of the diners as they greedily devoured their dinner. Ned and his new acquaintances drank nothing, but Cenerad ordered a liter of light beer, which he now savored, eyeing Ned seated before him with interest.
Yes, the boy had changed greatly. Nothing remained of the shepherd who had lived in the village of Black Ravine, whom only the lazy or overly compassionate villagers hadn't tried to offend. Before Senerad sat a young man of about twenty, with a stern face, as if carved from stone, handsome, but somehow... dangerous—Senerad couldn't find another word. Ned's green eyes were intent, sometimes peering into his interlocutor's soul, sometimes piercing him, like someone turning over a game carcass. His massive, claw-like hands, entwined with large veins, bespoke immense physical strength, and his slender, precise movements spoke of Ned's superb coordination. He resembled a predator, a wild animal resting before a new hunt. The fear and self-doubt had vanished from his eyes—Senerad noticed this immediately. Ned glanced at the healer occasionally, and then a glimmer of a smile would flicker in his eyes—as if he knew what Cenerad was thinking and was also studying the old healer. Finally, after looking at each other for a while, the two old acquaintances smiled, and Ned asked:
"So, how's Black Ravine doing? Hasn't it slid into the sea yet? How's 'Papa' doing—didn't he drown himself out of anger?"
"He didn't slide down, he didn't drown," Senerad grinned. "What will happen to them? Sometimes I think that even if the whole world falls apart, these lousy villages will go on as before, and nothing will be able to affect their sluggish, boring lives. How did I end up back in the capital? When you ran away, I couldn't live in this hole anymore. So, now I live here. I haven't gotten rich, but I live very decently, well-fed, and well. Better than in that shitty village, that's for sure. Your adoptive father was very upset when he couldn't find you and skin you alive. Don't you miss him?"
"I missed you," Ned nodded seriously. "I really want to come over someday and punch him in the eye. By the way, am I by any chance wanted?"
"By chance? After what you did?" the doctor laughed. "By chance—wanted, yes. But everyone's forgotten about it already. Probably."
"Even if they haven't forgotten—after I joined the Marine Corps, I was told all my crimes would be written off, that I'm cleared of wrongdoing. It's in my contract. So let them shove their manhunt..."
"What did you do?" Isa asked eagerly, and immediately received a slap on the back of the head from his brother:
"Don't interfere! It's none of our business! Never ask people anything they don't want to know. Then you won't get lies! That's what our grandfather says," Harald grinned.
"Your grandfather is wise," Ned nodded seriously. "But it's okay, I can tell you if you promise not to spread the word throughout the city. Besides, I don't care about that either. It's all in the past. I killed ten of my fellow villagers."
"What do you mean killed?!" Isa choked. "Just up and killed?"
"Well, it's not that simple," Ned smiled. "They came to beat me, to kill me, and they killed my dog. I got angry and punished them all. That's how it happened!" He shrugged.
"Exactly," Senerad nodded, "that's how it was, the trackers were following the tracks. And then you went to the city and enlisted there, right? It never occurred to me to look for you in the army. I thought you'd sailed away somewhere on one of the merchant ships. I asked around, but... no one knew where you'd gone. And how did you end up 'burned out'?"
"I tried to master a twelfth-level spell," Ned replied shortly. "I did, but it burned me out during the cooldown. Now I live like a common soldier."
"A simple one!" Isa snorted. "He nearly hacked my brother to death today—the school's fencing champion, by the way! And then he finished off five unknown fighters! It's their swords we're happily eating up right now. By the way, they gave me a good price, surprisingly. I didn't think simple swords could be so expensive."
"They're not ordinary," Ned shook his head, "they're made of the best steel. These are very good swords."
"Harald's is better!" the boy boasted. "It's his grandfather's sword, and he got it from his grandfather! It's ancient, made of the finest metal! And have you seen the way he spins it? Like a windmill with its sails! And he can spin it for hours! He's a winner! He's the best!"
"Cough, cough... Enough," Harald cleared his throat. "If I'd been the best, I wouldn't have lost to Ned. By the way, I'm glad it turned out that way. I couldn't resist killing you, Ned. I was so angry..."
"Care to reveal the reason for your anger?" Ned asked curiously. "Frankly, I'm tired of trying to put presumptuous cadets in their place. And today, I was going to kill you, too. But I didn't. So I have a right to know why the hell you got so mad at me that you decided to kill me. At least, I think I have a right to know..."
"I think so too," Harald nodded, taking a sip from a tall mug of herbal infusion sweetened with honey. "Yesterday, I was walking through the school courtyard, and a cadet from the second group came up to me and said, 'Did you know we have a mage studying here?' I replied, 'I think so. But I don't care.' Then he said, 'Challenge him to a duel, and you'll get a hundred gold pieces.' I thought: I really, really need a hundred gold pieces. But why would I kill you even for a hundred gold pieces? I'm not a mercenary from a port inn! And he said to me, 'Ease your conscience, this guy claimed you bought the title of tournament winner, that he could beat you with one hand, and also that all hereditary officers and nobles are thick-headed asses who shouldn't even be allowed in the stables—they'll ruin all the horses there.' My blood boiled. I waited until the end of class, walked over… well, you know the rest."
"You took the money upfront?" Ned asked mockingly. "And anyway, what mattered more: a hundred gold pieces or insulting the entire officer corps?"
"Hmm..." Harald choked on his next gulp, confused. "To be honest, the gold was more important. I don't really care what anyone says behind my back. And I really wanted the money. Sorry for being so frank. But insults mattered, too, when I was making my decision."
"What's wrong?" Cenerad interjected, listening curiously to the conversation. "He's a swordsman and makes a living from his skill. It's all within the law, but... whoever hired him essentially sent him to his death. If Ned had killed you, I'm sure something would have happened. For example, they could have accused him of somehow unfairly defeating you, then murdering you—wouldn't that be grounds for expulsion from the school and even a court of honor? And if you had killed Ned, that would be even better. For them. And who hired you?"
"The headmaster's son," Harald managed to say reluctantly. "Yes, they played me like a dice: if I kill Ned, so be it; if he kills me, so be it. That bastard! I'll twist his head off!"
"You won't," the healer chuckled. "You can't touch him, you understand. He's the director's son, and besides, he'll just go back on his word. I'm sure the director knows everything. He sent his son this way, or I don't understand intrigue. And when that didn't work, some outside forces stepped in, determined to finish everyone off. Someone really doesn't like you, Ned. By the way, will you tell me what happened to you after you left the village? How did they discover you were a mage? And anyway, what does that mage stripe on your cadet uniform mean? How did the agara react to your appearance?"
"You know what... let's do this another time." Ned winced slightly, making it clear he wasn't comfortable with the topic. "It's such a long story, so complicated... Besides, excuse me, gentlemen, there's one thing—some information is classified. General Heverad forbade me from telling anyone about my service in the Corps. After all, I was a reconnaissance commander, and I also rendered some services to the Corps as a mage. It wasn't for nothing that they gave me the Star of Courage."
"You have the 'Star of Courage'?! Wow!" Isa, who had been silent until then, couldn't contain himself. "Our grandfather also has the 'Star of Courage'! He received it for cutting his way through an Isfirian regiment with his battalion and saving the regimental flag! He's a guardsman, served on the border. And also..."
"Enough, Isa," Harald interrupted. "There's no need. Why are you interrupting the conversation without permission, interrupting your elders? I'll tell Grandfather about this, and he'll be very displeased!"
"Forgive me," Isa blushed, "forgive me, gentlemen... I was so surprised that Ned... Just one question: why don't you wear it, this star? You know, most officers are ready to bleed themselves dry just to get this award! It's not given out for nothing, only for heroism on the battlefield! It's a real reward!"
"Brother is right, even though he intruded into the adults' conversation," Harald interrupted again. "It's a military decoration, and if you had worn it, perhaps people would have treated you very differently..."
"Hardly," Ned chuckled. "The headmaster knows all about me, about my award, about being accepted at Heverad's direction. So what? And nothing. Look what happened... You know, I'm glad it worked out this way. Otherwise, I wouldn't have met you guys or found Mr. Senerad, my old acquaintance. Frankly, it's rather unpleasant to constantly be surrounded by people who hate you..."
"You're used to it," Senerad chuckled, "have you forgotten?"
"I've forgotten," Ned nodded gravely, "and I don't want to remember. I don't understand how a person's origins can matter. Does it really matter what family you were born into—a fisherman, a baker, or a hereditary nobleman? Why are commoners less respected, while nobles are more? Can you explain this to me?"
"You're speaking sedition," Senerad chuckled. "The boys probably nearly fell out of their chairs listening to your speeches... After all, they are hereditary nobles, from a very old, respected family in the kingdom."
"Yes, we are of an ancient line," Harald retorted coldly, "but we have never treated commoners like dirt. We were raised to respect anyone worthy of respect. Our grandfather always said, 'Respect not for rank, but for skill.' Although I know many nobles raise their children quite differently. But I cannot answer for them. And please do not lump us in with these idiots. My family has served the kings of Zamara since time immemorial. My ancestors fought, shed their blood for the state, for the king. And they did not acquire great wealth from it. Accept us as we are, and not as you imagine us to be."
"Sorry," Senerad said, slightly embarrassed. "I didn't mean to offend. After all, I've often encountered, and continue to encounter, noble arrogance and boorishness; I've seen enough of it in my life. For high-ranking nobles, a commoner is little different from a slave. So, Ned, imagine a man branded as a slave showed up at the officer school. A slave. And this slave wants to rise to the level of those who consider themselves the elite, the best people in this world. And what will happen as a result? I'm surprised you ended up in this school. Nothing worthwhile will come of it. You would have been better off dedicating yourself to a career as a mage."
"At first, I didn't even think about such a career," Ned admitted, "but then everything just fell into place, as if on a well-worn path. I couldn't imagine any other path. Besides, at first, I was afraid the mages would find out I was a demonologist—a mage who could control demons."
Isa gasped, but immediately covered his mouth.
"Yeah, kid, I used to be a demonologist. Now I'm no mage at all. I've lost my powers. How can I learn magic now if every attempt to cast a spell makes me sick? So what? I know hundreds of spells, from first to twelfth level, maybe even higher, and so what? I'm completely powerless! I'm still under the magical protection I put on myself months ago! And I can't even summon the simplest firefly orb, you understand?!"
Ned sat up, breathing heavily. He hadn't even noticed he'd risen from his seat and was looming over Senerad, who was calmly and slightly ironically regarding his former charge. The healer wasn't afraid, as if he knew this tall, broad-shouldered man wouldn't harm him.
The brothers were slightly taken aback by Ned's outburst, and Isa clutched Harald's hand in fear, looking at the terrible magician with distrust, as if expecting him to rush in and tear to pieces everyone sitting at the table with him.
"Forgive me," Ned looked away, "but this topic is too sensitive. Imagine, guys... You're Harald, a master swordsman. And then one day you lose the ability to hold a sword—as soon as you pick it up, you drop it on the ground. And then—the mere sight of a sword makes you sick. Can you imagine that? Exactly..."
"I can't imagine," Harald admitted, "I probably wouldn't have survived something like that. I understand what you're saying. Yes, it's very, very unpleasant."
"Idiots!" Senerad suddenly declared, his face turning angry and red, like he'd just been in a steam room.
"Who are the idiots?" Harald was taken aback. "We are the idiots?"
"No!" Senerad grimaced with annoyance. "Our mages are idiots! Stupid, inert idiots!"
"Why?" Ned asked curiously. "How does this manifest itself?"
"The thing is, while they know how to heal with magic, they pay almost no attention to herbal treatments and medicinal preparations! And sometimes they're not only more effective than magic, but can even enhance the effects of that magic! Guys, I once worked in the palace. I won't go into details; why I don't work there now is none of your business. I'll just say one thing: I was, if not the best, then one of the best. And the fact that I now work on a backstreet street in this city means nothing. I remain the best. The best of all healers."
"What did you... what did you say?" Harald shrugged, puzzled. "What does what Ned said have to do with it?"
"It needs to be treated. Those who are 'scorched' can and should be treated. With medicine and magic. It's not fast, but everything can be restored. I conducted research back in the day, and I can say with complete confidence: 'scorched' is almost 100% curable! If you know how to treat it. And I do."
"If I understand correctly, you can help me?" Ned said slowly, looking hopefully into the healer's faded eyes, which were squinting contentedly like a cat who'd eaten sour cream. "How much will it cost? Will you undertake the treatment? I have some savings, and I could also apply for a loan from the Corps—General Heverad is unlikely to refuse me; he himself is interested in my recovery. So, will you help?"
"Hmm… how much?" the healer grinned. "My services are invaluable! I'll tell you right away, my method has never been used to treat the 'burned out'. I didn't have time to use it; I had to… hmm… quickly leave the capital due to certain circumstances that arose in my life. Oh, no, no need to make such a sour face! It's your good fortune that it hasn't been tested. It will work out cheaper. I'll only charge you for the herbs I have to buy from the procurers, and a few ingredients for the potions. But you'll owe me a favor—if I cure you. Don't worry, I won't demand anything indecent or shameful," Senerad chuckled contentedly. "Just when you rise to the top—and I'm sure you will—you mustn't forget the old healer and, if the opportunity arises, give him a chance to find himself at the rich trough. Deal?"
"Agreed!" Ned nodded contentedly. "When shall we begin? Now?"
"Oh, you're in a hurry!" the healer smiled. "No, not now. I need to look up my notes, remember what needs to be done, order herbs, stones, mushrooms. And you need to arrange for yourself to come to me for the entire day twice a week—on the second and fifth days. We'll be carrying out the treatment. It might take several months. So make arrangements with the school administration."
"Months?! That long?!" Ned asked, disappointed. "I thought..."
"What, what did you think?" the healer responded irritably. "That Senerad would just throw up his hands and shout 'Alla-ulya!' and you'd become a mage again? Why are you so impatient, young ones? Nothing comes without effort, remember that! You can lose everything in an instant, but to find it again… Anyway, I'll expect you on the second day of the week at ten in the morning. Next week. I'll have everything ready by then. And have ten gold coins ready—I'm certainly not a beggar, but I don't want to throw money around. I'm not that rich yet. Anyway, I'll be waiting."