"Hey, open up!" Ned shouted, knocking on the door. "Are you alive in there? Hey, is anyone there? Maybe they died of fear in there?" he asked his companions in a low voice, shrugging his shoulders in bewilderment.
"Yeah, I think someone was moving. They even started shooting back," Harald chuckled and roared in a hoarse voice:
"Will you open up, you idiots? There's no one left to hide from! The travelers want something to eat and drink, and a room with clean sheets!"
The door rattled, the bolts clanged, and a woman appeared on the threshold! About fifty years old, wearing a helmet, chainmail that was too long for her, hanging down to her knees, and an army crossbow with a bolt already fitted.
She looked around suspiciously, her eyes flashing from under her pulled-down helmet, and, aiming the crossbow at Harald, calmly asked in a low voice:
- Why are you yelling?
Then she paused and added:
— Did they kill everyone?
She lowered the crossbow and walked onto the porch, sitting wearily on the top step, setting the crossbow down beside her—just in case. She removed her helmet, revealing a short, half-gray head and carefully examined the three young men with a piercing gaze of bright blue, almost radiant, "heavenly" eyes.
"Travelers? A room? You'll get a room," she sighed. "There are plenty of rooms, but few guests. All traffic has stopped here because of those freaks. The merchants are afraid. It's good you beat them up. Hey, you, what are you hiding there for? Come out! We need to clean up, pick up the trash... or people will shy away!"
She looked at the assistants hesitantly crawling out of the tavern and sighed regretfully:
"But now there's nowhere to put the horses—except in the corral, of course. They burned down the stables, the bastards. My guys tried to stop them… idiots. And that's what they got. So tell me, why the hell did they have to burn them? What's the benefit? Taking the inn—sure, that's the benefit. Taking the money, the food. But why burn them?"
"To scare you," Ned intervened in the monologue, "so that you see what will happen to you if you don't come out."
"That's what he said," the woman sighed again. Then she looked at Ned and said with pleasure:
"You're a fine fellow, a handsome one! I saw how you mowed them down. And you, girl, are simply death incarnate! And you, boy—a real lumberjack with your iron weapon—I saw how you split one in two, and even chainmail didn't help. Actually, you arrived just in time, as if the gods had sent you... well, what can I say—you have as much room as you need. There's nothing hot to eat yet, but we'll think of something. Feed for the horses. I must repay the saviors! And one more thing—are you going to rob the corpses?"
"Bodies?" Ned didn't understand. "Ah! I see. No. Let them go to you as compensation for the damage. The weapons and anything else you find on the bodies are all yours. Only… did they come on foot? We could use a couple of horses. Oh, and one more thing – there are more than three of us. We left our companions half a li from here. We saw the smoke and decided not to risk it."
"Are there many of you?" the innkeeper raised her eyebrows.
- Well...there are three here. There...five. Or seven.
"So, five or seven?" the innkeeper chuckled.
"The thing is, two more were supposed to join us, catch up along the way, so I don't know if they did or not. If they did, then there were seven."
"That's how it is," the innkeeper nodded, "we'll find rooms, don't worry. For you and your wife, and the rest of us."
"What wife?" Ned didn't understand. "Of course! Not a wife. A comrade-in-arms," he chuckled, looking at Amela, who had turned pink.
"And I thought you were newlyweds," the woman smirked. "She's looking at you like... oh well, it's none of my business. Settle in however you want. Invite your people. We'll clean up in the meantime. We need to drag the bodies to the backyard and bury them later. Just imagine—it's forty miles to the capital, and here we have such a disgrace! What are they looking at in the city?!" the innkeeper grimaced in annoyance, looking at the crumpled corpses of her workers. "What am I supposed to tell their mothers? They were decent, honest guys, they came to earn money, so what?"
"But didn't the Corps wipe out all the bandits?" Ned asked. "I think they destroyed them all."
"Right now! They've destroyed them, but not all of them," the woman spat deftly through her teeth, hitting one of the bandits lying on the porch squarely on the head. "They've taken out the bulk of them, yes. But they've scattered and are roaming the neighborhood, harassing farmers and innkeepers. And that was the biggest gang. The Black Corporal was the leader. The girl stabbed him to death, good job!"
"Why is he being rude to the girl?" Amela snorted angrily. "He started telling me all sorts of nasty things about what they'd do to me and how. That's what he got."
"And he deserved it," the woman nodded seriously. "If only you knew what he did in the villages! I don't even want to recount it! It's disgusting! And how many corpses of girls were found, with signs of torture? People were afraid to go into the forest – no mushrooms, no berries, no pine cones to collect! It got to the point where hunters refused to go hunting – if you went, they'd rob you, if only they didn't kill you. They have a lair somewhere in the mountains, no one knows where. They tried to search, but they never found it. Well, they didn't search very hard. Scary. Oh well… it's time.
The woman sighed, picked up the crossbow, pulled the bolt, released the string, which clanked dully in the evening air, and without looking back, walked toward the group of her men standing at the entrance, looking around, lost. There were two women about forty years old, three men of the same age, and two young men of about fifteen, menacingly clutching swords that looked more like sharpened iron than works of art like Ned's or Harald's. The boys looked very much like their mistress—apparently her sons.
Ned studied her closely as she described the events around the tavern and concluded that she wasn't over fifty, but rather in her early forties—life, worries, and problems had left their mark on her face, and especially on her hair. Going gray at forty probably wasn't a sign of a good life.
"Amela, fly for our people," Ned ordered. "Hara, let's help them clean up. There aren't many people, they won't be able to finish before nightfall."
"Yes, of course!" Harald agreed easily. "Should we leave the horses there, or here, by the hitching post?"
"Let them stay there. They're already scared of fire. Let's go..."
The woman nodded gratefully as the boys approached and began dragging the bodies into the backyard. She was noticeably tired, with dark circles under her eyes. It turned out she hadn't slept for at least a day, holding the line.
While they were dragging her, Ned asked how she managed without a bouncer. After all, all sorts of people come here, you never know. And he got the answer:
"I handled it myself. I was a bouncer, and a hotel owner, and... everything, basically. My husband was an old warrior; he taught me how to fight. And my sons helped, too. Look at them, what fine fellows I have!" She looked proudly at the boys, panting as they dragged the corpses of their enemies, leaving bloody trails behind them—they didn't even squeak when the enemies attacked! They fought like grown men. They took after their father; he was a real warrior.
"Where is he now?" Ned asked, watching the boys thoughtfully for a long moment.
"He died," the woman answered briefly, without going into details, and again dragged the robber's body.
Suddenly, he groaned and opened his eyes. The woman flinched, released his hand, and, making a demon-shielding gesture, said in confusion:
— Alive. So what should we do with him now?
"Finish off—what else?" Harald shrugged, drawing his two-handed sword from its sheath.
"Wait," Ned interrupted, "remember what was said about their base? Maybe we should see where they were hiding?"
"Heh heh... you want to find the loot?" Harald grinned. "But I doubt they have anything left. Why would they even bother coming here and risking it?"
"There's... there's loot!" the wounded man suddenly interjected, gasping and wincing in pain. "If you let me go, I'll show you where it all was. The corporal said this was our last chance to loot. Then we'll split it all evenly between everyone and then go our separate ways. I don't know where he hid it. But the treasure is there, that's for sure."
The boys looked at each other, looked at the innkeeper who was listening to the conversation, and Ned asked doubtfully:
— Are you sure there is? It's not a waste of time? Is your den far from here?
"Fifteen to the mountains, by the river. You won't find it without me. The corporal found it by chance—there's a cave there, and a tricky one at that. It still needs to be opened. So, will you let me go? Have mercy! I just happened to fall in with the gang, and they took me by force..."
"By force!" the innkeeper growled. "He's lying like a brute! I remember him, that bastard! He's the one who killed one of my boys! Death to him!"
"I was defending myself," the guy winced, "he came at me with a pitchfork! Was I supposed to put my ass on the line or something? I had to kill him..."
"Why did you chop it up? Why did you kick the corpse?!" the woman bared her teeth. "I'd slit your throat myself, you monster! You'll see – she'll lead you into the forest and run away!"
"He won't escape us," Harald muttered menacingly, easily lifting the boy by the scruff of his neck and hoisting him to his feet. "Where's he wounded? Why is he still alive?"
"My side looks cut," he groaned. "Be careful! Unless you want me to bleed to death. The chainmail saved me. By the way, I found it there, in the cave."
"Come on, show me!" Ned asked curiously, and pulled the wounded man's jacket off. The boy was left wearing chainmail—strange, silvery, as if it were truly made of pure silver.
"And he says he ended up in the gang by accident," the innkeeper snorted. "Just look at that! They'd pay as much for that chainmail as it weighs in gold! You're lying, you brute! You're not an accident at all! The Corporal's First Mate, are you?"
"I stole chainmail... and I didn't show it to anyone," the boy protested feebly. "Take it, I don't need it... I won't fight anymore. Let me go—I'll go to my village, to my parents, to work the land... I found it in a cave, buried in the corner, in the sand. The corporal would have taken it away right away, but I didn't show him."
"Take off your chainmail," Ned ordered. "Harald, help him. By the way, it looks like that was your blow."
"Mine," the guy nodded grimly, "but I don't understand how I didn't break him in half... Look, his ribs look broken. And there's not a single notch on his chainmail. What nonsense is this?"
"It's Tamil. It's ancient and expensive. Very expensive. It costs as much as a ship! Maybe more. You're lucky. This thing alone is worth the trip. A rarity! They made it in ancient, prehistoric times. And they say—not without the help of the gods..."
"It's Tamil, guys," Ned muttered, reading the memories that surfaced, "ancient chainmail. I wonder where it came from... it can't be pierced by any existing weapon."
"However, it doesn't protect against fractures and bruises," Harald chuckled, "his whole side is swollen. He needs treatment... by the way—look, our guys are dragging themselves along. And with them... aha, I see. Two young men next to Gerlat. Are you talking about them?"
"About them," Ned chuckled, adding, "this chainmail also protects against magic. Dispels spells. A valuable thing. Mistress, we're taking it from you, please don't hold it against us. We need it more."
"Go ahead and take it," the woman waved her hand with mild annoyance. "But will you share the treasures from the cave? The barn needs to be restored, carpenters brought from the capital, timber purchased..."
"We'll share," Ned laughed, looking into the innkeeper's cunning eyes. "Now I understand why your inn flourished. You won't miss out."
"I won't let it slip away," the innkeeper laughed, "I need to think about the children. And about them too, so they can get their salary." She became serious:
"And the boys' parents need to be compensated—at least some, for the burial. They died defending my property, honorably, as befits soldiers. Honor and praise to them."
"Honor and praise," echoed Harald.
The caravan slowly approached the inn, and Ned made out the faces of the new members of the group. They were battered, one eye almost completely closed by a massive swelling, the other was better preserved – only badly scratched, as if he'd been fighting his way through thorny undergrowth.
Isa sat there, pleased, as if he had received a gift, Arnot and Itrok grinned ironically, and Gerlat was darker than a thundercloud, cursing every other word, not paying attention to Amela, who was wincing.
Having reached Ned, they dismounted, and Gerlat immediately approached the commander, angrily pointing a thick finger at the uninvited guests:
— Did you see?! No – did you see?! Filthy deserters! Oh, the creatures! Oh… the bastards!
"Okay, stop swearing!" Amela muttered, apparently for the umpteenth time. "What's done is done. It'll be even more fun. Right, guys? Just looking at that guy with his twisted face makes me laugh! It's pure fun, that's all." Amela burst into laughter, looking at the sad boy trying to smile with his swollen lips.
"Why don't you treat him?" Ned asked, hiding a smile. "Gerlat, don't you feel sorry for your nephew?"
"Not a bit!" the mage declared belligerently, pulling a flask from his bosom. "The scoundrels were strictly forbidden to follow us! Mother will go crazy when she finds out they're gone!"
"You can go to war, but not on a trip?" Igar protested. "Don't you think that's just plain stupid? We're adults, we decide for ourselves what we can and can't do! You're treating us like children!"
"Adults have a sense of responsibility. You signed a contract, and now what? Desertion?"
"Why did you go and deliberately tell them not to let us go?! If it weren't for you, they would have let us go for sure! And we won't come back! They'll drag us along. Hungry, tired, and your conscience will kick in, Uncle, and you'll realize how wrong you were."
"Have you seen what bastards they are!?" Gerlat roared. "I'll... you right now!"
"That's enough," Ned said quietly. "Don't attract attention. We don't need any more noise. We've already made enough noise... If that's the case, let them come with us. You should treat him—his face is really scary. By the way, good job hiding for so long. You haven't forgotten my school, have you?"
"We haven't forgotten," Igar grinned. "Only you could recognize us. And these..."
"What are these, what are these?!" Amela flared up. "I've been following you since midday! I've been watching you peek your faces out from behind the bushes! Morons! Should I give this one a black eye too? So you'll look more alike. Like brothers!"
"Why didn't you treat them?" Ned chuckled. "Some kind of punishment?"
— Yeah. Let him walk around with a black eye. And if this one heals it, I'll give him one too. Isa was right to pet them! That's not enough!
"What are you petting me for?" Magar proudly put his hands on his hips. "By the way, your Isa is a real oaf! I knocked him to the ground, and if all this had really happened, there'd be a knife sticking out of his stomach by now!"
"Really?" Ned asked reproachfully, glancing at the embarrassed Isa. "Is that really true? I told you to be careful. So what? How could you let this happen? Grandfather would have been displeased with you. I knew who I was sending you to. I warned you!"
"They put on quite a show! One of them was supposedly strangling the other, and when I went over to break it up, they pounced on me. They're treacherous creatures, like filthy rats! I didn't give them enough for their treachery!"
"Yes, that's what it is – cunning as rats," Gerlat repeated with pleasure and took a sip from the flask, accompanied by Ned's displeased look.
Ned stared at him for three seconds, then walked over and silently took the flask from the mage's hands. He stepped back, tossed the container into the air, and, instantly drawing his swords from their sheaths, transformed the flask into something resembling a sliced meatloaf ready for the dinner table.
The liquid that flowed from the flask hissed, soaking into the dust and mixing with the bloody splashes, and the remains of the dried pumpkin thudded to the ground. The air smelled strongly of alcohol, and Gerlat said regretfully:
— Fifty years old, "Marzanskoye". You're a beast, commander.
"If I see you drinking on the journey, I'll send you to accompany your brothers to their mother," Ned said coldly. "We're stopping for the night—drink. But I want you to be like fresh fruit in the morning. I didn't ask you to come along—you asked for it. And you're just like everyone else in this company. Do as I say, or leave. Deal?"
"That's how he is with his teacher!" the magician said plaintively. "And after that..."
"Agreed or not?" Ned interrupted sharply, tapping his boot impatiently on the hard ground.
"Agreed," Gerlat shrugged with a sigh, and immediately pounced on the twins with a string of curses:
— Filthy creatures! … … Mother-mother! It's all because of you… … If it weren't for you… .. I would have killed you!
— Take the horses to the hitching post. Itrok guards. Bordonar with him. The rest of us, help haul away the trash.
"And what about this one?" Harald pointed at the bandit who had managed to get dressed.
"Hmm... right now," Ned grabbed the innkeeper's sleeve as she ran past and asked, "Where should we put this one? Is there somewhere? Something that locks? So he can't escape."
"Yes!" she responded immediately. "I have a 'cold' one, for the rowdy and the seriously drunk, something like a small dungeon. It can't be opened from the inside, and the bolts on the outside are locked, so you can't just open it. Come on, I'll show you."
"Hara, take him there," Ned ordered, and looking at how Amela was getting ready to drag the bandit's huge corpse, he winced:
"Amelchik, go to Bordonar and guard the horses. Carrying corpses isn't a woman's job."
"As you say!" the girl answered cheerfully and with relief, and, dropping the dead man's blue hand, ran to the horses.
Half a minute later, Bordonar came from the hitching post and, biting his lips, suggested:
— Let me carry it too? Help?
"So it's disgusting?" Ned was surprised. "And what about your high birth then?"
"Come on," the prince said, embarrassed, "stop it. I'll help. Everyone else is carrying things, so I'll do it too."
"Well then… come on," Ned nodded and grabbed the hand of the big guy that Amela had left behind.
The corpse slid unexpectedly lightly across the ground, as if weightless. Ned looked back – the robber had been cut in half, and his intestines trailed behind the upper half, spreading an unbearable stench.
The prince immediately doubled over in a fit of vomiting, and Ned winced and pulled the dead man further – someone had to do all this, right? It was disgusting, yes, but so what? That's life.