Guardian of the Empire

[RiP]

Translation of the original novel by Andrey Burevoy. Страж Империи
If you see any unclear places, please let me know. Help make the translation better.


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Waving to the driver, I moved away from the cart and returned to my usual place to the left of the gate arch. Squinting, I looked at the blazing fireball that had already risen above the distant forest and was noticeably warming, dispersing the morning chill. And there was not a cloud in the sky today... The stream of people, bursting through the narrow neck of the gate into the city with noise and hubbub, as if frightened by the approaching daytime heat, melted away as if by the wave of a hand.

Good... Consider the hardest part of the day behind. In the morning, you rush around the eastern gate like a wind-up toy, like those Master Guillaume sells, and then the service goes quite calmly. The peasants and small merchants who came to the city market, who tried to storm the gates at dawn, will lose all their seething energy and will get back out calmly, without haste, without pushing, shouting, and cursing. Blessings...

Idly looking at the carts entering the dark mouth of the passage cut in the stone, which seemed to be the arch of the city gate, I could not help but yawn. If only I could sleep... And I shook myself, peeling myself away from the wall for a few moments. This idleness is so relaxing that it immediately makes you sleepy. Sighing, I pressed my rounded shoulder pad into a chip in the stonework, which gave good support, and froze. There really was nothing to do for now. Right now, suppliers from dozens of Kelm shopkeepers were rushing through the gates with fresh greens, slaughtered meat, and other food; a huge amount is needed to feed the forty thousand armada of townspeople. And this is only counting the original residents of Kelm, but the visitors also want to eat...

"Kar, are you asleep or what?" As he approached, Veld noticed that I wasn't even moving my head, indifferently watching the line of carts.

"Not yet," I responded lazily.

"I'd like to sleep too…" Veld said dreamily, ignoring my answer as usual. He moved his helmet, adjusting it more comfortably, and perked up: "Listen, did you manage to place your bet?"

"To today's show?" I asked, purely out of natural mischief, making a thoughtful face, as if I had just remembered the anniversary of the Battle of Meran.

"What else?!" Veld was amazed. He moved closer and whispered conspiratorially: "If you haven't bet on anyone yet, now is the time to do so. And I'll give you a friendly hint... I have a sure sign!"

"Which one?" I involuntarily became interested, although I had long since sworn off participating in Veld's adventures.

"Elmira, do you remember? That red-headed scribbler who keeps records at the Magistrate's office... She whispered to me: the other day the centurion scolded Dietrich for letting that gang of night robbers escape. He said he cursed him with the worst words, promising to demote him to a simple guard." And he concluded contentedly: "So it's a sure thing. We just need to put a decent amount of money on Dietrich. It's a pity I didn't find you yesterday. Will the foreman allow you to leave now?"

"And what benefit does she get from telling you all this?" I doubted the veracity of my friend's words. I remembered his red-haired girlfriend very vaguely, but the way they had a huge fight was clearly imprinted in my memory.

"I promised her a date at the Black Rose," Veld replied.

I looked at him in surprise. A visit to one of Kelm's most expensive taverns is expensive. Maybe just take a girl there once to impress her. But he seems to be well acquainted with this Elmira... What's the point of showing off if she knows he's a simple guard?

"I'm just trying to make a jackpot," my friend explained, catching my doubts, and said very quietly: "I borrowed gold for the stake… And I advise you not to be scarce."

"Are you crazy?!" I stared at him, dumbfounded. "Such a lot of money?! And if you lose?!"

"Be quiet!" Veld hissed, hitting me in the side with his fist. The blow was quite noticeable, since his hand was protected by a glove reinforced with metal pads.

"Oh, come on," I waved my hand. "Who can hear anything when the wheels hit the stones with such a noise?"

"That's no reason to shout about such a money-making matter to the whole district," Veld muttered. "Bets are accepted until midday. If everyone finds out about what I told you, then I won't see a fat jackpot. The bookmakers won't have anything to pay with... They're accepting bets on Dietrich at one to eight now."

"It's tempting…" I drawled thoughtfully, imagining for a moment how great it would be to get hold of almost ten gold coins out of thin air… They wouldn't hurt me at all… I could continue my studies at the sword school and with the greedy alchemist… And I sighed regretfully, driving away the sweet dreams in which I became a real rich man for a while: "I have nothing to bet anyway."

"Did you spend it all on teachers?" my friend asked pro forma - it was no secret to him where my money was going. And he advised: "Borrow from the moneylenders. You'll pay it back today anyway."

"No, I won't get involved with moneylenders," I refused point-blank. The last two years have taught me once and for all not to get into debt. From the salary that each guard was entitled to for a decade of service, I had a few coppers left, and the rest went to Trim the Rat to pay off the debt and interest on it. Life was not sweet at all back then, even if I managed to earn a good amount of money on my days off. No, I don't want to experience that pleasure again, so that in a year I'll have to pay back twice as much as I borrowed.

"And rightly so," the foreman approved of my decision. He had quietly approached us while we were engrossed in conversation. "Only usurers get rich from loans, while ordinary people suffer only losses from them."

"Yes, all this is clear," I waved my hand with annoyance, interrupting Roald, who intended to start lecturing. "You know yourself - I had no other choice then."

"Yes, you hadn't," Roald agreed. "And there's no point in sticking your head in the trap again."

I sighed, looking reproachfully at Roald. Of course, he was an old friend of my adoptive father's and had looked after me as best he could since his death, but sometimes he overdid it with his care. And he knew perfectly well that it was only the need to pay that damned duty of a quarter of the value of the inheritance that had forced me into the usurer's web...

"Foreman!" Roald was distracted from his intention to lecture by a man in a dusty travelling cloak. He jumped down from a grey-covered van that had pulled up to the gate.

"What's the matter?" Roald muttered discontentedly, turning around.

"Are you certifying papers?" the merchant inquired, coming closer. He moved the hem of his cloak and pulled out some rolled-up papers from a tube attached to his belt.

"So you won't be trading in the city?" the foreman asked, as expected.

"No," the bald man assured, throwing off his hood. He looked youthful, but the wrinkles around his eyes betrayed that he was not a youth. "We're going straight to the port, and then we'll load onto the Swallow and head to Aquitaine."

"Twenty-eight small barrels of 'Dark Vine' from Mother Rouillier's vineyards?" the foreman asked after examining the papers. He shook his head. "A solid load... It probably cost fifty in gold?"

"Something like that," the merchant smiled, not revealing the true value of his cargo. But Roald was unlikely to be mistaken, counting two gold pieces for a small barrel. The "Dark Vine" from the world-famous vineyards of Mother Rouillier cannot cost less. In a tavern, a glass of this wine will cost a silver coin, and in a barrel, as much as fifty liters.

"Kar, count," the foreman ordered. He unhooked a short staff from his belt with a small ball of transparent glass at the top, seemingly glued to the handle, and handed it to me.

Taking the anarch - a catcher of elemental flows of transformed bodies, as one of my teachers put it in a scholarly way, or, to put it simply, a determinant of the magic used, I moved the ring on the handle clockwise until it clicked and went to carry out the order. Having glanced briefly at the well-groomed, handsome heavy-duty horses, who, stepping with their shaggy legs, seemed eager to continue their journey, I approached the merchant's guards standing nearby.

I deactivated my protective amulet with the 'Shield of Light while still on the move so that it would not interfere with the anarch's work, and therefore, I began checking it without delay.

Two strong men in leather armor with crossbows and short swords reacted calmly to my manipulations. I circled them with the staff, as if trying to outline the enlarged contours of the figures. At the level of the neck of each of the guards, the anarch's sphere was filled with a dim blue glow. This clearly indicated that they had magical items with spells from the initial circles of the Air Sphere. Most likely, the simplest magical protection in case of unforeseen difficulties on the way.

The merchant's guards' weapons were, as expected, ordinary. However, even without an inspection, it was safe to say that no violations would be found. What fool would go straight through the guards with a prohibited weapon in his hands? But, in essence, the meaning of the anarch's inspection was different: the ball not only fulfills its main function, but is also used to identify night creatures that disguise themselves as people and are not afraid of daylight. And what if werewolves or, even worse, vampires slip into the city, as happened a couple of years ago in neighboring Marne? Then you'll have to chase them away, running off your feet, instead of calmly serving, occasionally strolling along the streets of our quiet Kelm.

After checking, the guards kindly lifted the curtain that concealed the expensive cargo, and I easily climbed into the cart.

The anarch's glass ball immediately filled with a smooth golden glow. Some harmless, and therefore permitted, magic, ensuring the safety of the valuable drink. Having moved the wand and made sure the glow it emitted remained unchanged, I turned the ring, extinguished the ball, and began counting the round-sided barrels.

I coped with this simple task easily; I didn't even have to move from my place. But to check whether the unknown merchant was trying to smuggle something in secret, I climbed around the cart, looking into all the cracks. As expected, nothing extra was found, but what can you do if the established procedure for checking cargo is exactly this, and you can't deviate from it?

After shaking my head one last time to make sure I hadn't missed anything, I couldn't help but pat the lid of the nearest barrel. Or rather, the magical seal that emitted a barely noticeable light yellow shimmer, certifying that this product was indeed made at Mother Rouillier's enterprise. It was funny to feel dozens of stinging sparks poking at my palm, as if trying to escape from the prison in which my hand had locked them.

But games are games, and the magic seals were not placed for my entertainment. And although I passionately do not want to part with these lovely barrels of fine wine, I cannot detain the merchant in vain. Sighing regretfully, I climbed to the back of the cart, to the thrown-back curtain.

As I was climbing over another row, I winced when my left hand, which I had leaned on one of the barrels for stability, went numb almost to the shoulder. Some kind of magic, a perfectly sensible thought flashed through my head. But the anarch showed nothing… Pretending that he had caught his foot on something and was now freeing it, I leaned over and once again touched the suspicious barrel, from which I had pulled my hand back in surprise at first.

A strange feeling... My hand feels like it belongs to someone else... And some kind of gnawing feeling goes straight to the very core. Incomprehensible magic... Something is clearly wrong here... Only my hands are not anarch. I won't be able to prove anything, even though I have the gift of feeling magical effects on my own skin. The duty mage will have to figure it out... And if I'm wrong, then many unpleasant days await me on guard duty somewhere on the wall... But if I'm not wrong and the prohibited cargo is discovered at the port during a full customs inspection, all ten of us will go to the same wall. And the guys will be angry with me. What if there is contraband there - when else will I get such a chance? No one has canceled the reward in the amount of a tenth of the value of the detained cargo. Eh, if only the feeling was familiar, then I wouldn't have to doubt, and I have never felt anything like this before...

Having finally gotten out of the cart, I waved to the guards to lower the curtain and went to report to Roald. He was holding papers in his hands and exchanging meaningless phrases with the merchant. I approached and cheerfully reported:

"Exactly twenty-eight barrels, Mr. Foreman!"

"Aren't you mistaken, Karridan?" Roald grinned without showing it, not taking my official address by surprise, although in our ten it was a conventional signal indicating an incomprehensible danger. "Looking at such wealth?"

"No, mister Foreman, I am not mistaken!" I barked, standing at attention.

"Well, as you say," said Roald, hinting that all the blame would fall on me if anything happened. Having attached the seal hanging on his belt to the papers, thus certifying the documents, the foreman reminded the merchant guest: "The road tax per cart is one copper coin."

"Yes, yes, here it is," the merchant remembered. Taking a large copper coin from his purse, he handed it to the foreman, and with a reverse movement of his hand deftly hid the returned papers in the tube.

"Go ahead," Roald commanded.

The bald man jumped into the cart that was moving towards the gate, waved goodbye to us, and turned away, having lost interest in the valiant Kelm guards.

"What did you see there?" Roald asked quietly, signaling to Veld to hold back the cart of Mark the greengrocer, who was about to quickly rush through the gate after the merchant.

"Who knows," I drawled discontentedly. It's annoying, but I can't figure out what kind of magic caused the strange sensations. "The anarch doesn't show anything... But when I touched it with my hand, it went numb. Either there's a tricky spell cast on one of the barrels, or there's a magic item hidden in that barrel."

"Okay, let's see," Roald decided, trusting my gift. He knew that I had never been wrong before, determining the magical content of various things by touch.

"Roald, are you really going to inspect my goods too?" Mark asked grumpily.

If we have to, we'll check it!" the foreman snapped, without even glancing in his direction.

The greengrocer puffed out his cheeks, preparing to burst into an angry tirade in order to expose the maliciousness and impenetrable stupidity of the guards, detaining a businessman, on whose neck a medallion adorned, confirming the status of a respectable citizen. He could not possibly be a smuggler or a vile saboteur who needed to be stopped for a thorough inspection of his cargo. All Kelm merchants specially acquired medallions so as not to be delayed at the gates, running from the city to the village and back. Annual checks by mentalist mages and a guarantee from the trade guild, issuing the sign, are sufficient evidence that this person is not carrying anything forbidden.

But no one was going to detain Mark for inspection. Roald simply needed the merchant's wagon to be the only vehicle under the gate arch so that nothing could prevent him from slamming the trap into which the bald man had unknowingly fallen. As soon as the wagon had passed the grooves cut into the stone bed, the foreman grasped in his left hand the green diamond-shaped crystal that hung on a thin silver chain at the level of the lower edge of his chest plates. With this magical key, he gave a mental command.

With a speed that was incomprehensible to the eye, a thick grating, gleaming with gray metal, fell down from a ceiling niche. The bared teeth on the ends of the bars landed right in the stone recesses that the van had just passed. Now this forged barrier could not be torn out by horses, nor could it be knocked out by a battering ram. And even a teenager could not squeeze through the narrow cracks.

At the same time, a second grate fell on the other side of the gate arch, blocking the merchant's passage into the city. And now he has nowhere to go. He will have to wait for the duty magician, who until now has probably been calmly drinking tea with his subordinates in the guardhouse near the city council building, to be raised by the alarm. And at the same time, investigators, priests from the Order of the Hand of the Lord, and a dozen more guards will descend. In short, the criminal has nowhere to go. Our city's defense is well organized.

"Mark, turn the cart around!" the foreman shouted at the gaping greengrocer. "You might get a bolt from a crossbow - and then I'll have to bury you at my own expense in the Temple of the Creator!"

Stunned, Mark blinked his eyes for a few seconds in confusion. And when the meaning of what he had heard reached him, he gasped and, flying off the cart on which he had been sitting so importantly until that moment, rushed away without even looking back.

Roald spat in frustration and barked:

"To battle!"

I pulled the bolt thrower off my shoulder and pulled the side lever, tightening the spring of the accelerating mechanism and driving the faceted arrow from the clip into the barrel. The loud click of the lock informed me that the weapon was cocked. And immediately after that, I began to shift to the left so that Roald, who was standing between me and the gate, would not interfere.

And Veld, being the most cunning and cautious, rushed to the cart abandoned by Mark and stood behind it. He always likes this... And what, actually, is there to be afraid of? Our protective amulets protect against magical attacks up to the Fifth Circle. The guard's reinforced steel armor cannot be penetrated by a regular crossbow.

It turned out like training. And the attitude to what was happening was somehow frivolous. I determined this by looking at my comrades. No one felt any danger. They did everything as they were supposed to, but it was hard to believe that these precautions would be necessary. Last year, a group of idiots who were trying to smuggle previously unknown creatures of Darkness into the city were caught in a similar trap. It didn't turn out to be anything terrible. We watched through the bars as clearly intelligent monsters tore apart their assistants who had failed to complete the task, and soon the magicians arrived and calmed everyone down at once. And these were ordinary people. And even if they were carrying contraband, they wouldn't flinch. They had a very real chance of getting off with a fine.

"Foreman!" the merchant called to Roald, approaching the grating. "Why are you greeting your guests so unkindly? You are harming the trade business..."

"I beg your pardon, esteemed tier, duty," Roald answered him calmly. "Perhaps there is something forbidden in your cargo, and therefore you will have to stay until the arrival of the duty magician."

"What nonsense!" the merchant said irritably. "Lift the grate, and I will immediately present any suspicious item from my merchandise for a thorough inspection."

Glancing sideways at Veld, I saw that he was looking at me with a grin. It seemed that he thought that I had caused a panic for no reason and was already figuring out what punishment awaited me for the unnecessary fuss.

I was distracted from my thoughts about my unenviable fate by the creaking of metal. The grate began to slowly rise, and at the same time, my eyebrows began to creep up. What had gotten into the foreman? After all, the trap wasn't supposed to be unlocked before the mage arrived, even in case of a mistake...

Looking at Roald with bewilderment, who had grabbed the magic key with his left hand, I saw that he was clearly shaking, as if he was shivering. Or as if he was overcome by terrible fear. What was wrong with him? We didn't accidentally trap the emperor to make him shake like that…

Shaking my head, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a crooked smile on the face of the merchant standing behind the bars, his gaze fixed on the foreman. Attacking Roald on a mental level? A panicked thought flashed through my mind. But how did he get past the defense? Anyway, later…

"Magician!" I exhaled and, raising the bolt thrower to my shoulder, made a quick and not very aimed shot. Flashing like gray lightning, the short arrow crashed into the grating bar near the merchant's head with a ringing sound and flew off to the side. And the bald-headed man didn't even bat an eyelid. However, I didn't really count on breaking the concentration of the mentalist magician. The bolt thrower needed to be unloaded: striking with a weapon cocked is a sure way to ruin it. I needed the bolt thrower now, precisely as a simple club.

Having shot the mage, I immediately rushed to the foreman and, having covered the distance separating us in three long strides, brought the butt of the bolt thrower down on his head with all my might. The helmet, padded with a layer of leather, of course, somewhat dampened the force of the blow, but Roald still got it good. He fell as if mown down. And at the same time, the grate fell back into the stubby openings with a clang.

"Sharras!" the bald man hissed in response to my actions and stepped back into the darkness that reigned under the arch.

"You..." I was at a loss, unable to find a worthy epithet in response to the false merchant's incomprehensible exclamation.

"You thick-headed ass!" Veld helped me with a suitable definition, expressing doubt in the businessman's mental abilities. "Sit locked up for now - think how many years you'll spend in hard labor for attacking a guard of the crown city!"

"Shut up!" I cut off Veld's fiery speech and sat down next to Roald to make sure everything was okay with him. "Or do you want your brains turned inside out, too? Let's sit quietly and wait for the magician."

"Oh, come on," Veld said quickly, excited by what had happened. "He won't dare do anything more. He's done enough." Unable to contain his joy at catching the criminal, he drawled contentedly: "How did we catch him, huh? Bam - and the bird is in the cage! And there might even be a reward for him..."

Pulling off my glove, I felt the rhythmically beating vein on Roald's neck and calmed down. Looking up, I saw Tim and Steve. The guys intended to move closer to us to find out what kind of commotion we had caused. I waved my hand at them to stay put. Rules are rules: even the braniac calms down, but still, we can't gather in one place. You never know... Although an attack by a magician is already an extraordinary event, we have always had always need to detain criminals, and even just suspicious people, but only a few tried to fight back. The court is such a thing - you can always wriggle out of punishment, especially if you have something to pay a good attorney, but resisting the guards will only skyrocket the price for release. It is unclear what came over this feeble-minded magician...

Shaking my head, driving away unnecessary thoughts, I looked at the prison of the false merchant, noticing where the arrow I had released was lying, so that I could pick it up later; otherwise, they would immediately attach legs to it. After all, it was a decent rod of good steel, and not some kind of wood. But suddenly, my gaze came across a small transparent-blue lump that appeared in the air near the gate.

"Ata..." was all I had time to shout when this air clot crashed into me with the speed of a fired bolt. 'Shield of Light' flashed, and that was all. The 'Air Fist' created by the magician hit me in the chest so hard that my vision went dark and my body soared above the ground. It was as if a giant had played lapta with me with a club. Having tumbled three times in the air, I fell to the ground about ten yards from the place where the magical blow had struck me.

"What the…" it escaped with a wheeze. This turn of events caused me genuine bewilderment. Coughing, I spat out a clot of blood and tried to rise. But, having barely lifted my body off the ground, I immediately fell back face down in the dust when my weak arms, for some reason, gave way. And I choked from a new flash of pain in my chest. I was hit pretty hard… The cracking of my poor ribs still rings in my ears.

And as if that wasn't enough, something fell from above and hit me in the back so hard that my eyes almost popped out of my head from the pain. How could I not curse the vile magician who started this mess!..

Everything was blurry before my eyes. With difficulty raising my head, I looked ahead and saw neither the cart behind which Veld was hiding, nor him, nor Steve and Tim. Apart from the prone Roald, no one and nothing up to the gates… As if everyone had evaporated. Gathering my strength, I pulled my arms under me and, leaning on them, was able to raise my head a little more and look around. And immediately, my comrades were found, as well as Mark's former cart, which had turned into a pile of rubble. And the wheel lying next to me was apparently the object that had fallen on me from above. It seemed that Veld's shelter was not very reliable… In any case, it could not protect him from the enraged magician.

"What the hell is going on?" I groaned, unable to understand and accept what was happening. Some mage scattered us like puppies, without even noticing our 'Shields of Light... And we don't have even fifteen mages in the entire city who could do that. An inspection? After all, everyone seems to be alive... They're moving around. No, such an inspector would have been quietly killed somewhere long ago. But why would a powerful Gifted One start such a massacre? He could have waited for the duty mage and explained to him that we made a mistake in detaining him, and then they would have reprimanded us. We know, we've been through this too.

Have we really caught a real enemy? Purely by chance... And he didn't kill us right away, not out of the kindness of his heart, but to buy time. After all, the reinforcement rushing to the gates is not in a hurry now, and if our lives are out, the whole city will turn into a disturbed anthill. Our amulets are tied to auras for a reason. The duty mage will immediately receive news of the death of the guard. But what's the point if the grate is still there? Only Roald, who is unconscious for now, can open it from here.

Having fixed my gaze on the grating that was doubling and tripling before my eyes and having confirmed its presence, I calmly lowered my head to the ground. It hadn't gone anywhere. And the mage, the bastard, wouldn't go anywhere either. He couldn't gnaw through the four-inch bars of reinforced iron or knock them out with the 'Air Hammer'... Even though the grating had turned brown from rust.

"Asshole!" I breathed out with hatred, realizing that the captured magician, having calmed us down, was now calmly engaged in his rescue from the prison. And, obviously, he has enough strength. Rust is pouring from the bars… Now, despite the pain, I will have to crawl to Roald, instead of calmly lying here, waiting for the healer.

Mentally indignant at the most vile magician who had invented such torment for me, I closed my eyes and stretched forward.

Damn... It hurts so much... And when you try to gulp air, it would be better to die quickly than to suffer like this. And I'm not a masochist to torture myself like this, but still, overcoming the pain, I crawl forward... Why? Why do I need this? To beg more from this enemy mug? We couldn't cope with this Gifted One, and that's it... Let the magicians catch him... And what can they expect from us?..

Trying to persuade myself to abandon the idiotic idea of trying to stop the magician, I didn't even notice how I crawled to Roald. I rested my head against his leg and tried to push the obstacle out of my way for a while until I realized that I had reached my goal. I opened my eyes and saw that I didn't have to crawl anywhere else. And I felt so good, as if I had won a dozen gold coins in the lottery. Indescribable happiness…

Having somehow wiped my dirty, wet face, covered in tears of pain, with the edge of my sleeve, I pulled Roald's bolt thrower towards me and, having unclasped the clip, pushed it away from me. Regular armor-piercing arrows won't help here. Although they can penetrate forged cuirass from five steps, against a mage, they are like a mosquito bite. But the ones that Roald keeps in a special case on his belt...

After a bit of struggling, I was able to lift the foreman a little and pull out from under him the case with a spare clip for the bolt thrower, which was clamped by his heavy body. While my hands were doing their usual job, unfastening the clips that fasten the case, I looked at the gate. It looked like the grate would hold for a little while longer… But I had to hurry.

The clip I got only had two arrows instead of the five as it should be, but I was incredibly happy about that. According to the 'City Guard' regulation, we are required to be issued weapons against creatures that cannot be put to rest with ordinary steel, so that's what it was. Arrows with ardolic grains fused into their tips, with the 'Frost Strike' spell. A magical embodiment of the Fourth Circle. True, its power quickly fades without daily replenishment. This is how they deal with "accidental" losses of these arrows, which could have become a very popular commodity.

Having loaded the bolt thrower, I suddenly encountered a big problem. I didn't have the strength to switch it to combat mode. I suffered so much, and all in vain... And anger did not help me master the damned lever that tightened the spring. Sweat poured down, and a crimson veil clouded my eyes. That was the only effect of my efforts. Angry at the whole world, I pulled the damned lever, and rested it on the ground, and then leaned on it with my body, but to no avail.

Coughing, I gave up the useless work and spat out blood angrily, watching as the rust-eaten grate split into two unequal parts, twisted out of its grooves, and flew to the ground. The magician knocked it out, not waiting for it to be completely destroyed by rust. And then he came out of the dark passage. Looking around, he did not start running, as he should have, but stopped and said something to his companions. He's not afraid of anything, the bastard... He probably blocked the second grate and calmed down.

Having caught my breath, I made another attempt to cock the spring – this time with my feet. I grabbed the barrel tightly with my hands and began to press the lever with my right foot. This was, of course, utter stupidity. If the locking device didn't catch properly, and this happens, then the bolt I had prepared for the magician would hit me right in my stupid head. But I couldn't let this bastard go…

And I did it! The lock clicked, clamping the spring, and the bolt took its intended place in the barrel. All that was left was to pull up the bolt thrower, aim better, and send the magician to meet his ancestors.

The bald one, however, noticed my movements and immediately turned towards me. I immediately pressed myself into the ground, feigning a lifeless body, but I doubt I would have fooled the mage with that. One of our men came to the rescue. The bolt thrower clicked, and a steel needle two palms long got stuck in a thickening lump of air right in front of the mage. And then, freed from the magical clutches, it fell onto the road. The gifted one sneered contemptuously and cast 'Air Fist', wanting to finish off the guard who had not surrendered.

This was the perfect moment to attack, and I did not miss it. I took careful aim and pulled the trigger, releasing the compressed spring. With a quiet whistle, the bolt set off on a short flight. And my heart sank in anticipation of the outcome.

Unexpectedly for the magician, a white flash flashed under his nose, and sparkling discharges scattered from the arrow stopped by the air shield. The 'Frost Strike' did not instantly penetrate the defense of the villainous merchant, which I sincerely hoped for, but it began to freeze him. The magician began to seem to be covered in an icy shell, so quickly did the moisture in the dense layer of air that protected him cool. The paved road under his feet immediately became covered with frost, and the sphere of cold began to rapidly expand, occupying its intended volume - six yards in diameter.

My shot caught the mage off guard, but the enemy managed to concentrate with a speed that was incomprehensible to me. Instead of freezing and turning into an ice statue, as he should have, he immediately strengthened his shield, pumping it with power. And no matter how hard the cold tried, it could not reach the mage, covered in a shell sparkling in the sun. And the effect of 'Frost Strike' is not infinite...

It became clear that the attack had not brought the desired result, and it was time to start worrying about my skin, since the enemy would clearly not ignore my zeal. But at that moment, the ice ball hanging near the mage shattered with a roar. The 'Air Fist, which had never been fully created, exploded, destabilized by the cold blow that froze the moisture inside it. Ice fragments struck the sides and scattered to shreds the transparent-shiny shell under which the mage was hiding. He staggered, and the cold surrounding him abruptly moved the vice, reaching almost to the body. Now it seemed that the ice crust was growing right on the mage's clothes, and not ten inches away from it. But this gain did not decide anything, since the Gifted remained alive.

As I watched the unfolding action, I had the seditious thought that we had accidentally captured an archmage. The city's protector, Tier Estin, a fourth-level mage, was much less effective during training duels. And I, a fool, took it upon myself to stop such a powerful Gifted One...

The reluctance to feel the wrath of such a serious enemy gave me strength, and I cocked the bolt thrower on the first try, ignoring the pain in my chest. Quickly aiming, I fired a second shot. The arrow pierced the icy shell with a ringing click and sank into the mage's forearm.

"Ar-r-ha-a!" The false merchant's mad cry hit my ears. I swallowed, imagining what it would be like to feel the wild pain in flesh torn apart by ice.

Having fallen silent, the mage swayed, no longer able to resist the attack of the cold, and looked at me. And such hatred was read in his eyes that I wanted to dig myself deeper into the ground to escape his gaze. I could not disappear from the scene of the incident, and I did not have time to roll to the side. The mage waved his arms with the last of his strength, destroying the ice covering him, and a clot of poisonous yellow fog flew at me.

I closed my eyes and quickly read a short prayer to the Creator, being sure that the end had come for me. But no, I felt nothing except goosebumps running all over my body. And when I opened one eye and carefully looked at the magician, I saw that he was lying on the ground like a frozen piece of ice and did not pose any danger. I sighed with indescribable relief and, letting go of the no longer needed bolt thrower, rolled over onto my back. This way, my ribs hurt less. A happy smile froze on my face, caused by the realization that I would not have to move anymore.

"What the..." Roald, who was lying next to him, groaned and, putting his left hand to the back of his head, tried to get up. Seeing what was happening at the gate, he shook his head in disbelief: "Kar, what have you done here without me?!"

It was difficult to describe what had happened in a few words. I thought about it, looking for a short and succinct phrase to blurt out right away and lie quietly, waiting for the healer and not disturbing my chest burning with fire. However, the foreman did not give me time to think. He leaned over me and, grabbing me by the shoulder, shook me, apparently deciding to bring me to my senses. Only it turned out even worse: my consciousness dimmed and I passed out for a while.

Apparently, I was out for quite a while. When I came to, a crowd of people had already gathered around. Reinforcements had finally arrived at the gates… A bit late, though.

"How are you feeling?" asked Tier Eldar, our old but still vigorous healer, noticing my movement.

"Great," I responded, taking a deep breath with pleasure and not feeling a drop of pain in my body.

"That's good," the old man nodded with satisfaction. "Calm down, they'll help you now," he said, watching me try to get up. "There's no need to strain yourself too much for now. And anyway, you'll probably have to do without any exertion for three or four days."

"So how is the hero doing here?" Timir Got, our centurion, who had appeared at the scene of events for some unknown reason, pushed the healer aside.

"Oh, nothing..." I drawled, not mentioning that I felt great, even better than before the skirmish with the mage. After all, it was the centurion who would decide how long I could shirk my duties, and a couple of extra days of rest never hurt anyone.

"The treatment will take four days and another decade and a half for full recovery. Nineteen days." Tier Eldar intervened. "And it is useless to ask him about his health, since I gave him a Tincture of Pagria."

No wonder I feel good, I realized. Of course, with such a painkiller... It's a pity I didn't have this tincture before, when the magician caressed me with 'Air Fist'.

"Two decades means two decades," shrugged Tier Got, agreeing with the healer's opinion. "Now they'll help him get home and let him rest..."

"Not so fast, centurion," interrupted a middle-aged man in the uniform of the Security Department. He approached with Roald. "First, we need to figure out what happened. The other guards can't give a clear answer about the fight at the gate yet."

"What is there to figure out?" the centurion frowned. "There was an attack on the guards; all their actions were justified."

"It's not that simple," the investigator shook his head. "There are too many uncertainties. There's even some doubt that the guards were aware of their actions... As if they all swallowed 'Sparkling Ice' and, having fallen into the clutches of illusions, did some mischief.

"Do you understand what you're saying, Lance?" Timir turned purple. "For such an accusation, you too can be thrown out of your uniform!"

"This is not an accusation," the investigator noted with a nasty grin. "An ordinary working hypothesis... And it has a right to exist when investigating such a strange case."

"When the guards have the same salary as the investigators, then we can say that we indulge in 'Sparkling Ice,'" I couldn't resist. "But for now, alas, unlike you, we can't afford such a pleasure."

"That's for sure!" the centurion chuckled approvingly.

"But nevertheless, questions remain," the investigator drawled.

"What?" I asked. "It was like this: a suspicious cargo was found, and it was locked in a trap according to the instructions. The merchant tried to break free. First, by mentally influencing the foreman, and then, having failed, he attacked the guards. And we, in response to obvious hostile actions, used weapons. That's all."

"No," Lance disagreed with me. "Firstly, nothing suspicious was found in the cargo. Secondly, the merchant's guards claim that one of the guards was the first to shoot their employer when he inquired about the reason for the arrest. All his actions were aimed at calming the inadequate guards. And the fact that you are all alive is direct evidence of this. The magician simply wanted to calm you down."

"Damn," I drawled, barely audibly. Suddenly, I felt uneasy. And the cramped little room of the Security Department suddenly seemed like a place of rest for the next two decades. What if I really had made a mistake and killed an innocent person?..

"There is no trust in these people," the centurion decisively dismissed the investigator's words. "We'll take them to the police station now and figure out what kind of lies they're telling."

"Of course, that's what we'll do," the investigator agreed.

"Lance, what have you dug up here?" The duty magician, Justin Olm, approached him and addressed him with extreme familiarity.

"Nothing significant yet, Tier Olm," the employee of the Second Department responded respectfully.

"I have nothing either," the magician said discontentedly. "There is no contraband in the cart."

"This cannot be," I said and rose from the cloak on which the kind people had laid me while I was unconscious.

They didn't hold me back; they even helped me stand up. And they let me slowly move towards the cart, which they drove out from under the gate arch. True, a group of people followed me. The centurion with Roald, the investigator with the duty magician, and the priest in a crimson robe hanging around nearby. I walked and tried not to think about what would happen if nothing forbidden was really found in the cart... Otherwise, that bastard investigator would definitely send me to hard labor, with his hostility towards the guards...

Someone had ordered the cart to be unloaded right at the gate, to make it easier to find the contraband. I had no choice but to turn to my gift, hoping to find that ill-fated barrel among its brothers, lined up in a neat row by the road. I even pulled the glove off my hand, so that nothing would dampen the magical emanations emanating from the contraband.

Carefully touching the tree, I froze for a moment, waiting for the sensation of gnawing emptiness to arise, and moved on to the next barrel. All to no avail. Tier Olm accompanied my research with a mocking snort. I had covered more than half the distance and had lost a fair amount of confidence in my abilities. But I still got what I was looking for.

"Here it is!" I breathed a sigh of relief and patted the lid of the barrel.

"Allow me," Tier Olm pushed me aside and activated his anarch, whose crystal ball immediately began to emit a rainbow glow.

But the riot of colors did not last long. Without waiting for an order, everyone gathered at the barrel blocked their magic trinkets and moved away. The ball immediately filled with a weak golden glow, and the magician, waving his staff, shook his head.

"Nothing?" the investigator clarified the fact that was already obvious to everyone and looked at me.

"The usual 'Cold Cover' for better preservation of wine and nothing more," the magician replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"Kar can detect magic better than an anarch with his hands," Roald stood up for me. "So the test you conducted doesn't mean anything."

"This is all nonsense," Tier Olm winced. "In order to sense magical emanations, one needs to be at least a master's level of fusion with the elements. And in order to determine the sphere of the magic being used with one's own hands, the boy must not be a simple guard, but at least a rebellious archmage. You must agree that this is nonsense."

It was as if the back of my head saw as ears of an official from the Third Department hanging around nearby perked up. His presence had stubbornly gone unnoticed by anyone. Unable to restrain my impulse, I glanced furtively at him and shuddered. The last thing I needed was the attention of these quiet, calm people in simple gray uniforms.

"Let's just open this barrel and be done with it," suggested the centurion. "Why waste time wagging our tongues?"

"I've already sent for the tool," Roald replied. "We'll get it done now."

As if sensing the impatience of those gathered, a cart rolled out from under the arch, driven by Bams, the owner of the Whoa tavern, just beyond the gate. Stan was riding with him. He was holding an empty barrel, bouncing on the uneven cobbled road.

Stan figured it out correctly. You can't pour such good wine on the ground. Especially since the smell will be so strong that guarding the gates will be torture for the guards.

"So, are we going to uncork it, honored?" Bams inquired in a businesslike manner, rolling up to us. Seeing such a representative group gathered in one place, he immediately realized that it would be better to do what was necessary as quickly as possible and disappear unnoticed.

"We need to carefully open this barrel," Timir told him.

"One moment," Bams promised, taking a tool from a canvas bag lying in the cart.

And literally in a couple of moments, he drilled a hole in the lid of the barrel. He just turned the handle of the crank, and the hole was ready. Experience is a great thing. Everyone was amazed by such dexterity. But the satisfied smile on the face of the innkeeper, delighted by the admiration of the tiers, quickly faded.

"It's not wine!" he explained, moving away. "I don't know what kind of nasty stuff it is, but it has nothing to do with drinking, I can vouch for that."

"Well, Lance, did you eat it?" our centurion smiled triumphantly. "So the guards are feasting with Sparkling Ice?"

"Tier Eldar, this is your expertise," the magician addressed the healer. "Please check the contents for poisons."

"Yes, yes, of course," the old man nodded. He fished out of one of the large pockets sewn onto his belt a diamond-shaped milky-white crystal, set in a silver frame connected to a short chain. The healer lowered the stone into the barrel through the hole made by the innkeeper, held it for a while, and took it out. The crystal still pleased the eye with its milky whiteness.

"The contents of the barrel are not poisonous," Tier Eldar delivered his verdict. In general, everyone already understood this.

"Bams, finish what you started," the centurion ordered.

"What's there to finish?" he grumbled, accepting the centurion's order without much enthusiasm. He no longer saw any benefit for himself in the matter at hand. "Tip over the barrel and let it flow out of it."

"No, the contents must be preserved," the investigator objected to this proposal. "Pour it into something."

Bams sighed, seeing the glances directed at his cart, or rather, at the empty barrel standing there. He didn't want to spoil his property with some incomprehensible nastiness. He had hoped to get some good wine. And here, who knows what... But would they leave him alone now?

He sighed again and muttered to Stan:

"Help me," he said, and climbed into the cart.

Having removed the empty barrel, Bams and Stan placed it next to the full one and began pouring… water. That's exactly how it all looked from the outside. The fake merchant's barrel was filled with water. And that's very sad… Some kind of crazy smuggler was caught. Now they'll torture us with investigations… I even felt cold, and I shuddered, as if I felt the cold cellars of the Security Department.

"Stop!" the magician suddenly exclaimed.

Our workers almost let the barrel slip out of their hands. But nothing terrible happened. Tier Olm simply reacted to the anarch's ball, which began to fill with blackness. He finally got it going! Now there is no doubt that the dead false merchant had a prohibited cargo. And that means all my problems are cancelled. On the contrary, I will even be rewarded…

"Go on," the Third Department officer ordered Stan and Bams, stepping forward.

No one challenged his right to command. Not even the magician. After a slight hesitation, he nodded to Bams, who was looking at him expectantly, confirming the order. He came closer and lowered the anarch into the barrel that was filling with water.

The darkened ball began to brighten very quickly, returning to its original colorless-transparent appearance. But as soon as the magician pulled it out of the water, the crystal again became pitch black.

"A clever idea," said Tier Olm, rubbing his chin. "We'll have to figure out what kind of water this is."

"That's it, the barrel is empty," Stan reported.

And Bams muttered sullenly:

And mine is not full. There are not even fifty liters here.

"That means there's contraband hidden inside," the centurion concluded logically and ordered, "Open the barrel."

Bams smoothed the hair on the back of his head, looked reproachfully at Timir, but did not become indignant. He simply took a mallet from his bag and, tapping on the rim that held the top of the barrel together, moved the metal. Then he used a small hatchet to pry one of the planks of the lid and squeezed it out of the grooves. The remaining planks could be pulled out by hand. Bams stepped back, leaving this honorable right to Stan.

At the same time, the respected tiers, bending over the uncorked barrel, almost bumped heads. The centurion even grumbled discontentedly:

"Don't push, everyone will see everything now."

I also became curious about what was hidden in the barrel. I did not move forward only because I remembered the warning of Tier Eldar: I cannot strain myself yet. And without considerable effort, I cannot squeeze forward.

Stan, who had the dirtiest job, pulled out a small knife and cut the cords stretched inside the barrel. He released the contraband cargo held by the guy ropes and pulled it out… A woolly cocoon of some sort with bits of string.

But under the unsightly felt shell, like under a nut shell, there was a valuable core. In our case, the prize was a rather large wooden box. Or rather, just a well-made box without any hints of decoration or polish.

"Wait a minute," Tier Olm stopped Stan and brought the anarch to the contraband he had found. The sphere was black, but that was all. The magician shrugged and said, "Open it."

Stan used a knife to break the small locking mechanism on the side of the box and opened it. Everyone gasped at the sight of half a dozen anthracite-black stones lying in specially made recesses. Huge crystals, each the size of a child's fist.

"Stones of Darkness for making wands for appealing to the elements," swallowing his saliva, Tier Olm enlightened those gathered. "What a find..."

The employee of the Third Department, who had jumped up to Stan, slammed the lid shut and snatched the box from the guard's hands. And, looking around busily, he beckoned to Bams:

"Dear tier, you will be thanked for your invaluable assistance, and now you may go." And he clarified: "I hope I don't need to explain to you that today's incident should not be talked about?"

"No one will hear a word from me," the innkeeper assured him with an oath, delighted at the prospect of quickly getting rid of the problems that had arisen.

"And leave the cart. They'll give it back to you in a couple of hours," added the man in the grey uniform and turned to the centurion: "Tier Got, load up all these barrels and bring them to our office. And bring the wagon there with the body of the so-called merchant. And don't forget the guards accompanying him. Replace our brave guards with others and bring them all to me, too."

I glanced sideways at the indifferent father-inquisitor. It was strange that he had not bothered to confiscate the cargo, which clearly smelled of Darkness. However, it was none of my business; let them decide for themselves who would handle the magical smuggling – the Security Department or the Holy Inquisition. And our task had been completed entirely.

"So, you are taking this case for yourself, Tier Сovan?" the interrogator asked a purely formal question.

"I have to do this, alas," the employee of the smallest Department seemed to express regret. But it was not noticeable that he was saddened by the prospect of dealing with today's events.

"Well, to hell with these smugglers," Lance waved his hand and went home.

I looked around and also moved from the scene of the incident to the guys standing nearby. I had no business hanging around near the grey uniforms. The further away from them, the fewer problems. But, unfortunately, I didn't manage to get far.

"Karridan!" the centurion called out to me. "You can chat with your friends later. Let's go to the police station!"

Cursing, I turned around and went to the carriage where Timir was standing. I had to go with him and Tier Olm. At the very last moment, Tier Covan also dropped in. I had hoped that he had already forgotten about me...

"So, our valiant guard, tell us," the grey-uniformed man suggested, sitting down opposite me.

"What should I tell you?" I asked cautiously, remembering that it was easy to talk with the employees of the Third Department to the point that you would never see the light of day again.

"Everything, Tier Steini, everything," Covan waved his hand. "Start right from the moment when you changed the previous shift at the gate."

"Okay," I replied, pretending I had nothing to worry about, although I was unpleasantly surprised by how knowledgeable this man was. We hadn't been introduced to each other, and he already knew my name.

Slowly, so as not to blurt out anything unnecessary, I told about the events of this morning. There is nothing to tell, really – everything was as usual, except for the incident with the smuggling.

"So it turns out that you, Tier Steini, can determine the magical component of objects simply by touching them?" Covan narrowed his eyes, listening to me attentively.

"Something like that," I replied.

"A strange gift," chuckled Tier Olm and asked, "You have no ability to create magic at all? Not even the slightest?"

"No, I haven't," I shook my head, trying to make my answer sound as convincing as possible. Well, I can't cast spells, that's all! And no one should know that I have a true fusion with all the elements. Otherwise, they'll definitely brand me as a rebellious archmage, and then I'll have my share of grief. Especially since my abilities are of no practical use. Neither for me nor for the city guard. All I can do is penetrate magical barriers. If I were a thief, such a talent would come in handy, but as it is…

"Have you ever considered, Tier Steini, that this gift could seriously help you in your career advancement?" asked Covan. "A man with such a unique ability would be very useful to us."

"I thought about it, of course I did," I nodded. "But here's the catch... I can only determine magical emanations by touching objects... And sticking my hands in random places is a sure way to lose them. So no, promotion at the cost of acquiring stumps doesn't appeal to me."

"Nobody will send you to check the magic traps, so the risk is small," the grey-uniform man objected. But seeing that I didn't want to hear about a new job, he calmed down. "However, let's leave it at that. We'll talk about this topic sometime later, when you've rested and healed your wounds.

"Yes, Karridan," the centurion supported him. "Now Tier Covan will take your testimony, then go home to rest." He smiled good-naturedly: "Just don't think about leaving the service during your rest time."

"Why would I even think of such a thing?" I was amazed. "To spend so much effort to get into the city guard, and then leave?"

"Well, you never know..." Tier Got said hesitantly.

"You're kind of a rich man now," the magician explained with a smile. "The reward for the intercepted contraband cargo will be very impressive. Even the twentieth share due to you will come out to no less than fifty in gold."

"That's right," Timir nodded in response to my bewildered look.

"Wow," I squeezed out, trying to imagine the size of the wealth that had fallen on me. It was a poor attempt. The house left by my adoptive father was valued at a quarter of a hundred gold, and this was twice as much. For such a premium, you could really fight the mages...

"There are, however, some bad sides to your heroism, Tier Steini," Cowan said thoughtfully, ruining all my joy.

"And what kind?" I asked in a low voice.

"I'm afraid that the cargo was transported not by ordinary smugglers, but by the followers of the Order of the Dark Advent... And among them there is a widespread superstition that the murdered will not find a worthy afterlife if the culprit of his death is not punished," said Covan.

"I don't think it's all that bad," Tier Olm shook his head. "Your words about some of the dark minions' prejudices are certainly true, but a mage was killed here. And they don't shift the matter of retribution onto the shoulders of their comrades. They prefer to do it themselves, making full use of posthumous curses. That's why there are such losses when destroying yet another dark coven that they manage to reach." Without going into details, he optimistically stated, "In general, Karridan would already be dead if he had managed to finish off a dark mage."

"So… so… some kind of spell hit me at the end of the battle…" I said hesitantly. After Tier Olm's story, I felt somehow unwell. Even sick.

"What?" The magician raised his eyebrows and asked angrily, "Why didn't you say so right away?"

"When?" I was indignant and wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, and then quickly said: "And I didn't think it was dangerous... The bald man threw some kind of poisonous yellow cloud at me, but it seemed to me that the 'Shield of Light' reflected it completely."

"Breath of Harm!" the mage exhaled. "Incredible! A third-level spell... That dead dark one was at least a master..."

"So what does this mean for Kar?" the centurion asked him. "He seems to be alive and well. Maybe he got away with it?"

"No, Timir, it didn't work out," the magician shook his head, looking at me with sympathy. "It's a spell of delayed death. Karridan has no more than three days left to live."

"Damn..." I muttered, shocked by the wonderful news of my imminent death. Even the promised bonus instantly stopped making me happy.

"So is there nothing that can be done?" the centurion continued to ask. "Three days is not a couple of moments. Is there any way to heal Kar?"

"I don't know of any such methods," replied Tier Olm. "Probably some archmage could have dealt with this nastiness, but there are no such masters in our city, and no one can save Karridan."

"Yeah, right," Timir grunted. "And there's no way to get to the capital in three days…"

"So, can't my death be postponed for a little while?" I asked dully. "It takes four days for messengers on replacement horses to get to Laidek."

"That's not the problem, Karridan," sighed Tier Olm. "You're not a royal person... It's unlikely that any of the archmages will accept you. And I'm not sure that they will be able to help."

"I see," I smiled bitterly and, turning away, stared out the window.

And yet, Tier Olm acted with dignity: he did not console me with unrealistic hopes, but told me everything as it was. It is understandable: who needs it - to save some unknown guard...

"Wouldn't Sir Roderick help Kar?" Timir asked the magician. "According to rumors, he didn't certify the transition to the next magical level purely because of his unwillingness."

Having stopped grieving over the unexpectedly ruined life, I pricked up my ears. The centurion was right - our military commandant, Sir Roderick de Stanbury, is no worse than the capital's archmages. And getting to him is much easier and faster.

"I don't even know," Tier Olm thought. "But you can ask him yourself. Sir Roderick seems to favor service people. Maybe we can convince him to help our valiant guard."

"Let's do it this way, Ker," the centurion turned his head towards me. "You urgently resolve issues with Tier Covan - and come straight to me. We'll figure out how to arrange a meeting for you with the commandant."

"Don't worry, I won't keep you long," the grey-uniformed man promised me. "We'll write down some of your story, and that's all."

Revived, I nodded, deciding to collect my thoughts and put my upset feelings in order. When the carriage rolled up to the four-story building in the center of Kelm, I was already almost calm. I drove the anxiety and despondency deep inside myself and locked them there, not allowing them to stick out.

Tier Olm and the centurion got off right at the square, at the doors of the Security Department, and I rode on with Covan. We turned the corner and got out of the carriage there. All the offices are located in one building, with only the entrances differing. This is beneficial for the investigators: they can sneak straight from the square and arrive, but we and the Security employees have to go around to get to work. The guards have the left entrance, from Uter Avenue, and the gray uniforms have the right entrance, from Bell Street. Although if necessary, you can sneak through the central entrance - inside the building, it is easy to move from one office to another. There is one problem: the investigators do not like us and always raise a howl that we are hanging around there for no reason. However, we feel the same way about them. And there are no fools at all who would poke their nose into the part of the building that belongs to the Security Office.

Entering the office after Covan, I looked around with curiosity. Everything is the same as ours. Except maybe a little cleaner, because there aren't that many people wandering around the corridors. But the underground cells are probably quite different. Ours is a regular dungeon, no frills. However, I hope that they won't give me a tour of the torture chamber.

"Let's go," Covan hurried.

I hurried after him.

We went up the stairs to the second floor. My companion, unlocking the penultimate door in the long corridor, waved his hand, inviting me to enter. I followed his instructions and found myself in a fairly spacious, light office. It would have suited even the senior attorney of the magistrate. Just think – three windows!

"Yes, it is possible to work in such conditions," I said barely audibly, looking enviously at the work desk and the bureau made of expensive sandalwood standing next to it.

"Sit down, Tier Steini," Cowan invited, settling himself at the table.

Having settled down on a soft chair with a curved, comfortable back, I calmly waited until Сovan unlocked the bureau with the key he had taken from his pocket and took out the papers. And then I repeated my story about the incident at the gate. The employee of the Third Department quickly wrote down what I had said, and at the end, he ordered me to read and certify the testimony. There was no intimidation, threats, or other things. Everything was quiet and peaceful, without any hassle.

"So, can I go?" I asked, looking at the wall clock. The hands pointed to the approach of noon.

"Yes, Tier Steini, go ahead," nodded Covan, writing something down on a new sheet of paper. "I can't keep you in such circumstances. And you explained everything clearly, without any inaccuracies. So in any case, there are no questions for you."

Having gotten up from the table, he walked me to the door, saying at last:

"Thank you for your help, Carridan. I hope you will still manage to escape death.. Here," he handed me the paper, "take it. This is a letter to the commandant asking for help for you. From the Security Department. Maybe it will come in handy."

"Thank you," I sincerely thanked Covan. He turned out to be a decent person, even though he worked in an institution known for its shady dealings.

Without going outside, I moved to my native Department. It was faster that way. And I couldn't care less about possible hints from my colleagues that I had started working as an informant in the Security. There was no time for such nonsense now.

Having reached the office of Tier Got, I knocked and entered. In addition to the centurion, Roald, Tier Olm, and our old healer were also there.

"Come on in, Kar," the centurion, who was sorting through papers spread out all over the table, raised his head.

"How are you feeling?" asked Tier Eldar when I closed the door behind me.

"Okay," I replied, referring to my physical condition. It's unlikely that the healer is interested in my mood.

"Anyway, Kar, we've been thinking this situation over, and this is what we've come up with!" The centurion found some paper and shook it. "The easiest way for you to meet the commandant is to go and calm him down today. Yes, I know," he didn't let me object, "Sir Roderick will be drunk, and it's not clear what will come of it. But it's the easiest way to get to him."

"Don't worry, he won't immediately put you out with some nasty spell," said Tier Olm, and a little later, he decided to cheer me up: "And you can't think of anything worse than 'Breath of Harm'…"

"It's true, there's nothing to worry about," Timir supported him. "Although his jokes are quite mean, he doesn't cross the line."

"And when you think of Sheridan, the foreman, you begin to doubt Sir Roderick's kindness," I grumbled, reminding everyone of last year's incident. The military commander, being very drunk, played a cruel joke on the corporal sent to calm him down. He put a nasty spell on Sheridan, and he would start to have an attack of bear disease whenever swords clanged. That was the end of his service in the guard.

"Kar, you just don't know what's what," the centurion said. "In fact, I'm even grateful to Sir Roderick for Sheridan. He was involved in some shady dealings. And I couldn't fire the foreman - he was covered by his cousin, the magistrate's adviser."

"So that's how it is," I drawled. It turns out that all these horrors with the military commandant's jokes are happening for a reason... It looks like someone is cleaning out the ranks of the guards in this way.

"Just keep quiet about it, Kar," the centurion asked, seeing that I had compared this interesting puzzle with the annual punishment for guilty foremen.

"Get to the point, Timir," Roald urged him. He glanced at me furtively with sympathy.

"Oh yes," he remembered and handed me the paper: "From this moment on, you, Karridan, are the foreman of the city guard."

"And what about the Magistrate's approval?" I asked, taking the news of my promotion quite calmly, although at another time I probably would have been overwhelmed with joy.

"I have the right to make a temporary appointment," the centurion explained. "Then, within a decade, the Magistrate will have to approve you for this position. Which is unlikely to happen. But in your situation, it is unimportant." And he added: "At the same time, I will appoint you a monetary bonus, based on the salary of the foreman... While they still sort out the smuggling and write off the bonus... After all, if Sir Roderick does not help you, then it turns out that you will not receive a copper for your heroism."

"Thank you," I thanked our centurion. He is a kind-hearted man after all. He is always for us.

Yes, Kar, we won't have time to fit you with new armor, so you'll get a dress uniform from Olaf now and show it off," the centurion continued. "You won't be on duty anyway."

"First, you will come to me," noted Tier Eldar. "Since you have no time for bed rest now, it is necessary to do everything so that you can stand on your feet. Put a tight bandage on your ribs, and other little things..."

"What else is there?" I asked the hesitant healer.

After looking at me carefully and being silent for a while, the healer came to some conclusions and nodded:

"Okay, let me explain. You see, Kar, the death spell used by the dark mage leads to a rather painful death… And I'm afraid these three days will be a worse punishment than death itself, unless your body's sensitivity is reduced with certain potions."

"Is it really that bad?" I asked after some time, when I had come to terms with the sad news of the coming torment.

"I can't say for sure," Tier Eldar answered cautiously. "But some people who suffered from this spell began to gnaw and tear their bodies from the pain by the end of the third day. It's somewhat reminiscent of the torment of the unfortunate who were left without their next dose of 'Elven Dust' or 'Solar Dew'... The only difference is that in your case, a similar effect occurs despite the use of painkillers. And what would have happened without them, I don't even want to imagine."

"Damn," I said sadly.

"Don't worry, Kar," the centurion decided to cheer me up. "Sir Roderick, even if he doesn't save you, will certainly relieve you of pain."

I stretched my lips into a sad smile. I wonder what Timir is hinting at? Maybe the commandant will kill me so that I won't suffer if he sees that he can't help?

I shook my head and sighed. It was a shame, but what could I do? Apparently, my parents weren't so wrong to throw me out on the street right after I was born. I thought it was all just my flawed talent, but it turns out I'm also unlucky. And all my plans to achieve something in life, to prove my importance to unknown relatives, weren't worth a green penny.

"Pull yourself together, Kar," Roald said, patting me lightly on the shoulder. "You might just get it all sorted out..."

"You, Roald, keep an eye on him, so that everything goes well," the centurion gave him the task. "And take someone else with you."

"No, I'm not going to go on a rampage or do anything obscene," I said with annoyance, guessing the true reason for the centurion's excessive concern. But then I waved my hand. Let them keep an eye on me. Better that way than to end up locked in some closet until the appointed time. Not everyone in the centurion's place would have decided to let the condemned man out on the street. It was unknown what he might do, tormented by the agonizing expectation of imminent death.

"I'll take Veld," Roald decided, glancing sideways at me.

"Okay," the centurion nodded.

"Since everything has been decided, we will not delay with the bandaging," said Tier Eldar, seeing that everyone had fallen silent.

"Oh, and one more thing," I remembered, already at the door. "May I ask you not to spread the word about the misfortune that has befallen me? Otherwise, these three days will turn into a long funeral feast for me…"

"A fair remark," said Tier Olm, exchanging glances with the centurion. "And I would not wish to watch the mournful faces of friends and acquaintances around me, instead of living a little for my pleasure."

"Okay, Kar, no one will find out anything from us," the centurion promised for everyone.

"Then the last thing," I said. "I'll be treating everyone at the Herring this evening. To celebrate the promotion.... If anyone wants to come by, you're welcome."

To get to the medic's room, we had to go downstairs. It was there, on the underground floor, that our tier Eldar was hanging out. And all because he was a very passionate person. He was constantly toiling away at developing new potions. So they sent him far away, to the basement, so that the persistent smell of unknown potions wouldn't hang around the administration.

Roald helped me take off my chainmail armor and bracers, and I pulled off my thin underarmor and shirt. Tier Eldar quickly wrapped me, like a spider wraps a fly, in a long strip of bleached linen. My chest was completely hidden under this peculiar cocoon, but overall it turned out well. Of course, you can't breathe in full chest, but the bandage doesn't cause any particular inconvenience. And it's not even noticeable under the shirt.

"Drink this," the healer handed me a glass, into which he dripped some strange rusty-brown potion and splashed some water.

Without thinking twice, I tipped back the glass, trying to get the contents into my stomach in one gulp. Otherwise, it might turn out that the potion tasted disgusting. Better to get it over with right away.

"Ah..." I croaked, my eyes wide open, when my throat burned and something hit me in the head. I was very wrong about the water...

"Yep," the healer teased me, grinning. "Pure spiritus!" And he lightly patted me on the back when I started coughing.

"And will this last him long?" Roald asked.

"For a day, for sure," answered Tier Eldar confidently. "And tomorrow you'll have to come to me again. I'll see how things are going and pick out a suitable potion."

"Then thank you, Sorf, we'll go," said Roald, picking up my armor from the bench.

"Yes, go ahead," the healer nodded. "And good luck to you, Kar, in your search for a cure for the dark curse," he whispered at last.

On the first floor, not far from the domain of Olaf, our quartermaster, we were caught by a breathless Veld.

"Phew, there you are," he exhaled heavily and handed over the helmet and bolt thrower I had left behind at the site of the fight with the mage. "Here, Kar, I'm tired of carrying them." And then he complained: "This Covan has worn me out completely. Such a fox, he'll come at me from one side, then from the other. I'm already confused myself, how it all happened..."

"Forget it," Roald advised him. "Everything is fine here; there won't be any problems with the Third Department."

"That's great!" Veld rejoiced and shrugged his shoulders: "And here I thought these ghouls would never leave us alone." After falling silent for a moment, he took off his helmet and, smoothing his hair with his left hand, asked: "Where are you going?"

"To Olaf," Roald answered briefly and walked on.

I followed him. Well, and Veld, of course, tagged along. But, before I had taken a couple of steps, he grabbed my shoulder and quietly asked:

"What's going on? The centurion kept fiddling, but didn't explain anything... He said. Consider it as if you've got three extra days off."

Looking at my friend, I thought. Not for long, really. There was no point in telling him anything. There was no point in dumping my worries on others. Especially since Veld couldn't help me in any way. And I wouldn't tell Roald about my troubles, but he already knew about it himself.

"There will be a weekend," I nodded. "But a little later. After we deal with the reveling veteran of the Battle of Meran."

"Screw you!" Veld froze in place, as if he had run into a wall. "Why did they do it to Roald?! And us?! We did everything right!"

"Everything is fine," I chuckled, looking at my friend, who was shocked by the treacherous trick of the authorities. "Don't think that this is a punishment that they came up with for us. It's just necessary."

"What is necessary?" Veld was indignant and grabbed his head with his hands. "I didn't bet on Roald... My gold has floated away..."

"You won't lose anything," I assured him. "The bookmakers didn't take me into account."

"What does this have to do with you?" Veld asked, puzzled.

"Well, I was promoted to foreman, and I was tasked with calming Sir Roderick down," I replied, and immediately explained, to add to Veld's enthusiasm: "We'll be celebrating this matter today at the Herring."

"So why did you keep quiet?!" he blurted out indignantly, immediately forgetting about his bets.

"It's impossible to put in a word against your speech?" I remarked reasonably, causing Veld to choke with indignation.

"Kar, come here, you can chat later," Roald urged me, already opening the door to Olaf's treasury.

Even if the four rooms occupied by the quartermaster were not actually filled with gold and diamonds, he had a lot of all sorts of goods. Olaf is not only in charge of the guards' uniform and weapons warehouse, but he is also in charge of the confiscated goods. And what hasn't accumulated there... Things confiscated over many years from not very honest citizens and not put to use according to the law "On property of uncertain ownership". Mostly, of course, there are all sorts of sharp and cutting objects that God knows who throws at the sites of fights right before the guards arrive at the scene, but there are also more amusing things. For example, a hookah carved from rock crystal and decorated with silver was recently found by the night shift at the fountain in the city square. And, surprisingly, it is completely ready for use as intended. As if someone was just about to relax heartily, and suddenly disappeared.

"Throw away all the armor," Olaf ordered with a wry smile, apparently having already been informed by the centurion about the need to issue me new equipment. "Foreman…"

"What's wrong? He's quite a foreman, better than many others," Veld intervened, taking Olaf's exclamation for disdain.

"Take off your belt with your weapon too," the quartermaster added, ignoring Veld's words as I pulled off my greaves and threw them on the table.

I had to take off my boots too. And all the heavy guard armor that had been given to me less than three years ago went back to the vault. And instead, Olaf picked out a dress uniform for me that fit. As expected, it was made of durable cloth, but seemed almost weightless after the chainmail armor.

"The folds are visible here and there," Olaf noted, glancing at me from the side. "Oh well, they'll smooth out."

"Well, Kar, now you're just like a foreman," Veld heartily slapped me on the shoulder, admiringly examining my new uniform.

I winced as a sharp pain shot through my chest, and it didn't escape Roald's notice.

"Veld, stop with your pats," he frowned. "Kar was already hit pretty hard, and now you. Besides, there's no reason to be delighted. The only differences are in the uniform - the city coat of arms embroidered in silver thread on the left side of the waistcoat, and the gate and cuffs are not blue, like a simple guard's, but red."

"There are a few differences, but it is immediately obvious that the foreman is walking," Veld noted.

"Sign the papers," Olaf told me.

When I had signed the account book, he went to the massive safe standing in the corner. Opening it with a fancy key, he pulled out a tin box. He took out a brand new guard's badge and handed it to me.

"Twenty-seven?" Veld peered over his shoulder. "That's a good number. Better than seven hundred and forty-two."

"Two-digit numbers are always better than three-digit numbers," Olaf teased as he locked the safe.

I chuckled. Olaf had noticed correctly. The difference in the number of digits signifies the difference in the status of the token holders. Three-digit numbers in Kelm are only for simple guards. The same employees of the Security Department show off with two-digit numbers. True, their badges are different. We have a shield with crossed swords, a crown on top, and a number below engraved on a steel plate, while theirs has a wolfhound on a trail in the center. Well, the main difference is that the foreman's badge is silver-plated and therefore stands out against the background of the guards' badges. This, as Roald grimly jokes, is so that law-abiding citizens immediately notice the elder and know who to complain to the magistrate about. Moreover, two digits are easier to remember. Although all this is nonsense now...

"Kar, are you asleep or something?" Veld nudged me lightly.

"Never mind, I was just thinking," I answered and hung the chain with the badge around my neck. And on my head I put on a round cap.

"And weapons," Olaf dumped the last items of my new equipment on the table.

All I had to do was put on a brand new leather belt with a rectangular silver buckle and attach the "sharp iron" to it. On the left a falchion, on the right a narrow dagger. And that's it. Just a little over three pounds of equipment versus the usual thirty when you have to lug around in chainmail armor and with a bolt thrower on your shoulder.

"Now let's go to the treasurer," said Roald. "For money."

"And will we, by any chance, get anything there?" Veld immediately asked.

"You'll have time to get yours," the foreman waved him off.

"They'll evaluate the contraband and then they'll issue a reward," I said to my friend, who sighed in disappointment. "About five gold coins..."

"Wow!" Veld didn't believe it.

"Or maybe even more," I said as convincingly as possible. "Tier Olm says that the cargo we intercepted will be worth over a thousand gold roldos."

"Oh, that's it!" Veld was overjoyed. "Oh, how we'll live now!" He was about to slap me hard on the back to express his delight, but he came to his senses in time when I stuck my fist under his nose.

"Veld, you go change for now," Roald ordered him, stopping. "We won't need armor today." And he hurried the thoughtful guard: "Go faster. I'll need to take off my armor too, and we can't leave Kar alone."

"Why not?" asked Veld, casting a puzzled glance at me. "What will happen to him?"

"It hit him hard," Roald explained. "That's why the healer told me to keep an eye on him, otherwise it might get worse."

"Gotcha," Veld nodded and rushed off to change into the small room that belonged to our ten. He galloped so fast. He was obviously going to share news with the others about the cash reward and the upcoming drinking party.

Meanwhile, we reached the treasurer's office and burst into it. Looking at me with surprise, Tier Laurent did not immediately notice the papers handed to him by Roald. It seemed that my jump up the career ladder had had a strong effect on him. All appointments were scheduled for a couple of years in advance, and then, such a marvel of wonder - a guard who had not served even three years became a foreman. And it would be fine if he had high-ranking patrons or a bottomless piggy bank, but everyone knows that I am short of money, and I have no relatives at all.

However, the treasurer's surprise did not allow him to completely lose himself. Having familiarized himself with the papers, he again returned to his usual appearance. He frowned, pressed his lips together, and, rubbing his chin with his hand, on the little finger of which a gold ring with a ruby the size of a hazelnut was flaunting, he glanced at me from under his brows. He looked at us with suspicion, as if we were costumed robbers who had decided to take possession of his money by deception, and then muttered:

"There is no money. We have overspending of the treasury." He pushed away the order to issue a monetary reward.

"Loran, to hell with your tricks and gimmicks," Roald said irritably. "Come on, give us the coins and stop messing with our heads. He's overspending... You've been given an assignment, so carry it out."

"I don't know anything," the treasurer refused. "Maybe Timir made a mistake and entered the wrong amount. Or he just forgot how things are with our payroll."

"You're such a bug, Loran," Roald shook his head disapprovingly and suggested, "Go see the centurion yourself and make sure there's no mistake."

"Okay, I'll do that," Loran nodded, seeing that we weren't going to leave empty-handed.

Having thrown us out of the office, the treasurer went to the centurion, and we remained propping up the walls.

"Such a miser!" Roald said angrily. "He'd strangle himself for a copper coin. As if he was taking money out of his purse."

I kept silent. Some kind of indifference rolled over me... Why do I need this money, actually? Perhaps to drink myself to death. You can't take it to the grave with you...

Veld stomped in, and Roald went to take off his armor. The treasurer had disappeared. And the moments of the short time allotted to me flowed away like water.

"Look, Veld, what would you do if you found out that you had, say, very little time left to live?" I asked out of curiosity, continuing to think about my own.

What do you mean very little time left to live?" Veld blinked his eyes in bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, just like that, a thought came into my head," I answered, and, in order not to let him suspect anything, I added: "For example, if you bet not one gold piece today, but ten. And you lose. What would you do, waiting for that close day when the moneylenders' people start sending you to the cemetery?"

"Oh, come on!" Veld waved me off, annoyed, apparently considering my words a prick at his unhappened bet.

What a tightwad. And he's still sulking. And he hasn't lost anything. The bookmakers will give him everything back, but he still looks at me like I'm a bitter enemy who has deprived him of his last hope for happiness. And he seems to have forgotten that, thanks to my mercy, a ргпу reward awaits him.

"I probably won't invite you to the Herring today to celebrate my promotion," I said quietly, turning away.

"Oh, come on, Kar, what are you saying?" Veld immediately forgot all his grievances and sighed regretfully: "It's a pity that I won't be able to while away the evening with Elmira now." And, after a pause, he said: "And if I knew that I would die, say, by tomorrow morning, I would have acted simply. I would have gone on such a spree that in the next world I would have something to remember… I would have bought a hat with a strange feather right away… New clothes… And to the pub… To have a spree… And I would drink nothing but the best wine… And then I would have picked up a couple or even three girls…" Dreaming, Veld clicked his tongue. He liked the picture painted by his imagination so much.

"Where would you get the money?" I chuckled, bringing him back down to earth.

"Yes, I would have borrowed it," he grinned. "I won't give it back anyway."

"Then, if you decide to die, just know that I won't lend you any money," I warned, laughing, thus turning the conversation into a joke. Although what kind of laugh is this, when in fact I will soon be laid to rest in the cemetery.

The treasurer returned from the centurion. Without saying a word to us, he unlocked the door and, shaking his head, invited me into the office. He quickly found the money owed to me and silently counted out a quarter of a hundred full-weight silver roldo and a couple of silver coins on top. And he made such a gloomy face, as if he were giving his children to an orphanage.

Leaving the treasurer, I tossed the purse, now quite weighty, and thought about it. If I added to this five silver roldos from the stash left for a rainy day, it would be a good sum. Three whole gold ones… More than enough to have a hearty party with friends and buddies. And somehow not enough for a spree on the occasion of an imminent departure from life…

"What, Kar, are you crazy with joy?" Veld, who had come unstuck from the wall, interrupted my thoughts.

"Yeah," I smiled wryly and suggested, "Let's have a glass to come to our senses."

"Are you nuts?!" Veld gaped. "Do you even have any idea what the commandant will do to us if, God forbid, he sees us drunk on duty? We won't get off with a decade of arrest... We might even get the whip..."

"Yes, to hell with them and their punishments," I carelessly waved away my friend's warnings. It seemed that the medicine of Tier Eldar had finally worked. Such recklessness had come over me...

"Did you get the money?" Roald asked, coming up and staring at Veld, who was open-mouthed and completely surprised by my words. Usually, on the contrary, I dissuade him from all sorts of stupid things. "And what's wrong with you?" he asked.

"So Kar is suggesting we go for a drink!" Veld blurted out indignantly. "He's making fun of us, the bastard!"

Roald looked at me and shrugged.

"Why not?"

"But..." Veld almost fainted and, realizing something, laughed with relief: "You're kidding, right?"

"Have you forgotten what Timir said?" Roald objected. "What problems can there be with drinking when we are free from duty for three days?"

"Oh, right," Veld's face brightened, and he immediately asked me: "Should we go to the Herring?"

"It doesn't matter," I replied. "We're not getting drunk. Just having something for the mood."

We left the office, and almost in unison, we said:

"Uf-f..."

The heat is unbearable. How come the rocks aren't melting? However, 'The Herring' is not far away; we should get there alive.

"Let's go, boys," Roald commanded, and we hurried after him.

The clock on the tower struck noon loudly as the sign with the herring in a fur coat became clearly visible through the haze above the pavement. I have two days and twenty hours left… Or just a little more… Or less…

Entering the tavern, I caught my breath. It's chilly here at Garth's...

"Oh, guards!" the owner of The Herring greeted us, raising a palm as wide as a bear's paw. And he urged us on, grinning: "How about a glass of cold beer? It'll go down really well right now..." And, rolling his eyes in delight, he smacked his lips.

Veld swallowed involuntarily and glanced at me. This Garth is a real villain. He's worn out more than one pair of boots on the cobbled streets of Kelm while on guard duty, and now he's making fun of us... He's deliberately teasing us, seeing our badges and thinking that we're on duty.

"Think for yourself," I said to Veld, shrugging my shoulders. "I'll still order some wine."

Roald and Veld, tempted by the cold drink, ordered a couple of beers, which were immediately poured for them by Garth, who scratched his head in surprise. The wine arrived a little later, when Lima, either the tavern owner's cousin or niece, filled a jug of 'Dark Vine' from the pantry.

Having taken a sip of wine, I listened to the conversation of my companions. Veld pestered Roald, demanding that he confirm my words about the huge bonus awaiting our ten. How distrustful. He will get the money. And I, unfortunately, will not see it. Yes, it is a shame that I will not be able to squander it in the time remaining to me. I will have to somehow get by... You can't go wild on a couple of gold coins... But if I use Veld's idea, I can fix things. After all, there is someone to approach with this question.

"Well, have you finished your drink?" I asked.

"Almost," Roald replied. "Don't you want to sit in one place and wait for the evening?"

"I'm thinking of dropping in to see an old friend," I said with a wry smile. "Are you coming with me?"

"Where are we going to get away from you?" Roald was surprised and lifted Veld from his chair by the collar.

He started whining: Why go somewhere in such heat when it's cool and nice here? And the beer here is wonderful, but it might be worse elsewhere…

"Wait, you forgot the most important thing." I turned away from the very doors and headed towards Garth, who was bored at the counter.

After a bit of haggling, I bought some booze for the upcoming treat for my fellow comrades. Several medium-sized barrels. A two of light Kelm beer and one of strong red wine. In theory, that should be enough.

Having ordered Garth to treat all the guards who came by, I left the tavern. Veld squinted at the sun and tried to calculate how long it would take to fry a fish by throwing it on the pavement. Having consoled him by saying that we were not fish, I left the porch.

It's not very pleasant, of course, to wander around Kelm in the hottest part of the day, when all the townspeople are hiding in the shade, making the streets practically deserted. Oh well, there will be something to remember in the other world. What ordinary summer days are like...

But after three blocks, the heat stopped seeming so exhausting. I guess I got used to it. And the uniform is not a suit of armor heated by the sun's rays; you can live with it.

"Wait for me here," I said to my companions a few hundred yards from the target, and went on alone.
* * *