Chilled exorcist

Wimmal Janeso extended his hand to the green knight, and the latter shook it firmly with his gauntlet.

Count Theanotus rose and, raising his hands, called for silence.

"I admire the skill and nobility of the brave knights of the first contest of the tournament! At this solemn conclusion of the duel, I consider the Tournament of Order Trials open!"

Chapter 5: "Laughing Sister"

My breath hitched as I stumbled over the roots. My side stung mercilessly. Through the forest, deeper and deeper into the thicket. I ran for my life. An owl bear was on my trail. Goosebumps of foreboding ran down my back, and I jumped back sharply. Just in time! The mythical beast tried to make a dash, to knock me off my feet, but blue-green lightning flew forward, breaking the shrubbery and low branches. Changing direction, I found myself on a natural stone bridge over the dried-up bed of a deep stream. I turned and plunged into a small ravine, nearly breaking both my legs on the small rocks. I couldn't confuse him; he was already here. His pecking sounded from above, "Click, click, click, click." He lagged behind only a little and ran after me along the steep bank, still hesitant to jump down.

I screamed because I had stepped on a sharp rock with my heel, but I didn't even think of slowing down. For some reason I remembered the Order's conspiracy. The belief was that it was supposed to help before a hard fight. I didn't want to fight an owl bear, but I had to cheer myself up somehow.

"Where darkness does not enter the heart,

Where the dwelling of the brave stands.

I am the blade that fights darkness,

The protector of men who adds to the days,

A new dawn will come – yes."

The creek bed ended in a full-flowing river. I stood on the bank, gathering my courage to step into the rapid. To the right and to the left there was a thicket of brush like nothing I had ever seen, except in this forgotten wilderness. A pecking sounded right behind me, and I turned around. The owl bear was slowly approaching. He saw that there was nowhere else to run-the river blocked my path. His beak snapped, his eyes burning with the fire of rage. I turned away, not wanting to look at him.

Securing my crossbow behind my back and stowing my lantern in my bag, I jumped into the river. The swift current swept over me. I was immediately swollen. My feet hit something. Miraculously avoiding the rocky rapids that made the water gush over them, I heard a growing noise.

"Shh, shh, shh, shh," the water murmured. Fish were jumping out of the water, spreading their wings.

"Oooooh, asshole righteous follower of Yodckeim," I bellowed, almost in tune with the raging water, getting hit in the face with a fish tail.

A few moments later I felt weightless over the abyss. My hands tried desperately to grab onto something. The waterfall was soaring, and I couldn't see where I was falling. I barely thought to brace myself-the impact of the water knocked the breath out of me. A splash of blood tasted.

Consciousness faded like a candle that had previously illuminated the world around me and was extinguished by a sudden gust of wind.

…

The huge blue-haired cat dragged its prey out of the river like a kitten and threw it on the steep bank, unable to retrieve it entirely from the water. The cat growled, sniffed its face. The predator's vibrissae twitched. She looked at the man again and abruptly, with two paws, stood on his chest.

Consciousness returned to me, but I couldn't breathe. I was twisted and bent and started coughing. Every time I tried to frantically inhale, I collapsed again, expelling the remnants of water from my lungs. It seemed like this hoarse coughing would never end.

Finally, I was able to catch my breath and looked around. There was a beautiful girl next to me with no clothes on. I froze in surprise. She was sitting right in front of me with her hands on my chest. When she saw that I came to my senses, she smiled. I even stopped coughing, "Am I dead or still alive? Who is it then?" An unusual feeling of euphoria spread throughout my body.

"Shade, stop it, there's no need to try to eat him. He's our guest," a woman's voice came from behind me. I couldn't turn around and look back, staring ahead mesmerized. The next moment, when I blinked, the obsession stopped. In front of me was a huge predator – a cat. It was blue-boned. Her soft paw pads rested on my chest, and her released claws left marks on my cloak. With a growl, the beast gracefully retracted its daggers into its pads, stood up, and walked to where the order had come from.

A demanding female voice sounded, "Are you going to sit like that, hunter?"

I cautiously got up – all my legs and arms seemed to be intact. Only my whole body ached from the recent impact with the water. The cloak seemed to have saved my life by blocking the blow, and it had completely discharged, losing two charges at once. Its green, rune stones were slowly being infused with new life energy.

Then I turned around and saw one of the forest sisters. She was wearing savage clothes, a crude garment sewn from leather. I wrinkled my nose, but the girl smiled as she noticed my reaction. Oh, I knew the witches of this forest well!

Back on the wall, where I'd served my five years, we'd had a witch from the Dark Forest come to visit us. She helped us against some kind of contagion that was spreading rapidly through the camp. Her potions and herbs were the only thing that saved us. But I remember the sensation for a long time. The hallucinations were such that it was the first time I was out of the control of the fortress keeper. I remembered it very well. Too well, in fact.

"Catch up or stay! And then you'll be eaten by an owl bear for sure," she giggled, reminding me of my pursuer, and strode forward, pushing the leaves of a tall fern. What was left for me to do? Only to follow her.

The fallen and browned leaves with their carpet of moss sprung softly under my feet. Around me, in the crowns of the giant trees, there was a white haze. I gradually came to my senses, taking note of my surroundings. It was eerily cold. "A little longer and I won't be able to get a tooth on a tooth," I thought. But still I found strength in myself and caught up with the girl. She turned to me and asked, "Man, what brings you here?" The witch asked it so sharply and strictly, as if she had just seen me for the first time.

"Hunting," I answered briefly.

"Hunting," the girl emphasized the word, and then bent like her cat to pass under a large branch, "and what do you hunt?

"Anything larger and more dangerous than a perootle," I grinned. "Count Feanor wants to take the boundary road to Kostegrad, and he doesn't want dangerous neighbors on the road."

"And how much did he pay for it?"

"Nothing. I have one contract with the Order, and I'm serving it," I answered, and the girl stopped.

"An Order hunter, then? Why did you come to the villagers and not to us?" She met my gaze.

"I don't know how to find you," I fought the urge to throw up my hands.

"It's good that you don't know," the girl smiled again and turned away, "and, yes, we need help."

"What kind of help?"

"Later. Let's go to our village first," the girl answered mysteriously and once again pushed the branches apart and walked through the shrubbery. As we moved through the forest, the memories and knowledge of the guardian of the fortress came over me.

The sisters of the forest have long supported the humans in their battle against the creatures of Polog. When the ship Dawn reached the island, supporters of the Cult of the whisperers-in-the-night were found aboard. Due to strange circumstances, the Senior Inquisitor of Sonma ignored their presence. And what's more, the Grave Mohawk Dynasty openly recognized their rights and granted them the Cape of Ghosts on the island of Amberlight for eternal use. It was an impregnable arm, framed on all sides by rocks. Here the sectarians of the whisperers-in-the-night had made their home. To keep the peace, they supplied the palace with a mute-born girl, who was in the king's retinue along with the bishop, counselor, and inquisitor.

I distinctly recalled the feelings of the guardian who ruled the fortress. Perhaps he had been there. I thought I could feel the waves crashing against the rock, and the wind howling as it carried me away with the memory.

Later, at the very end of the First Age, at the behest of the mute-birth, after the first ships had landed from Amber Isle and the founding of Fortress Ruch, Kostegrad, and Innesent, she ordered the establishment of a settlement in the Dark Forest. Thus came the "laughing sisters" – the witches of this already inhospitable forest. And there's one of them up ahead, leading me through the forest.

Chapter 6: "Ancient Guardian"

The young man sank his fingers into the spear. He was terribly afraid, despite all his training in the Order. He knew that these moments of life could be his last. His thoughts raced, frantically searching for ways to escape, to save and deliver. He succumbed to them for a moment and looked up at the fortress wall of the mountain outpost, the only barrier to the infected creatures of Polog. Huge and massive, made of immovable blocks of stone, it was taking roll call right now, taking guard and passing guard.

The young man glanced back without anyone noticing, not even the boys standing next to him. There was a sloping path down to the lower gate. Not so long ago an Order novice had used it to bring them to this inhospitable place, and now stood to the right, smiling. He himself would be leaving soon enough, when the initiation into the guardians of the foothills was complete.

Mute cliffs towered around them, and the ground drew heat rather than warmth. Snow swirled near his feet, blown in from all directions. It was so cold around that I could even feel the wind blowing the warmed air from the other men in the formation toward me.

I stood straight. And in front of me was the passage to the inner rooms, here ahead of me lit a torch. Too late to think of escape. The torch illuminated the darkening vault of the passage in front of me. One of the boys on the right exhaled, as if he thought it would be over now. Maybe it would be, because not everyone comes to their senses after merging with a fortress keeper. The thoughts began their dance around the circle again, they were in a round dance, constantly reminding him of this. Now the old man would come. Or, right now, his gaunt figure would appear behind this or that novice of the Order.

The bitter cold seemed to intensify. I couldn't feel my feet and I couldn't look at them. They must be all blue by now. I have to stay focused. I must stand straight. Those are the orders of the order's novice.

There was a procession coming out ahead. It went on and on. Ministers in long robes with candles. The novices with vessels and scented oils. Men with blessed weapons. Order adherents with clean new robes.... They were all coming out, and there was absolutely no expression on their faces.

Suddenly, a gaunt old man suddenly appeared from behind.

"Well, weren't you expecting it?" he asked. One of the novices wet himself on the spot, right under himself, like a horse in a stall. The other ran. Silently. Because Order novices don't yell. But I heard his body fall, pierced by bolts. I glanced up, the guards on the wall were reloading their weapons. I thought to myself, "He was the third one who couldn't get away. Couldn't escape."

The old man laughed. He walked between us and spoke, "Should I choose you? Or you?"

The Ancient Guardian did not point his finger, as he should have, but amused himself with us. He bent down and hovered in front of each one's face. Suddenly the fear was gone, replaced by anger. My knuckles crunched from that unpleasant memory, so hard I clenched my spear.

"Don't move," I told myself.

There had been two yesterday, but the order's novice had let it slip that they hadn't run far.

The old man's long beard flashed in front of my face. The old man froze in front of me and, leaning toward me, asked almost in a whisper:

"Should I choose you?"

I did not express any emotion. He stopped smiling and hesitated, "Aren't you afraid of me?"

He looked puzzled. He straightened up and looked behind me.

"Really, you're not afraid of me?"

I didn't move, "You can't."

"Then I'll show myself to you." His figure melted away. It was an obsession. And, oh, the horror of what I saw! At that very moment four novices carried out the withered mummy of an old man with his unnatural body parts bandaged around the poles. Huge wooden poles, smaller and smaller sticks. Like a rack, an endless torture. "Relentless guard," a mysterious whisper suggested, its voice seeming to echo from everywhere. Bandaged in the most ghastly of forms were hands to a tree. One finger to one side, the other to the other. One of his hands was free, but he didn't need to lift it – I met his gaze. His clouded faded eyes opened. "Is he really still alive!" An unexpected conjecture struck me. "Withered, but still alive," the space around me said benevolently.....

I woke up. Birds were singing outside the window, quiet music was playing somewhere. There was a woman's quiet laughter. I lay on the bed and looked at the ceiling. This dream torments me every time I fall asleep. Ever since I got my freedom. The memories are as fresh as the first day. It's as if it's the first time. That's why I try to exhaust myself before I fall asleep, so I don't dream about it. "Well, how are you? Still alive? I'm so handsome, aren't I?" came a voice in my thoughts. I jumped up. He was about to say something else funny, but the connection to the Fortress Keeper had dissipated, as had the remnants of the dream.

And I was left sitting. Alone in bed behind a wooden screen. The wind blew fallen leaves right into my bed. It was better to get up right away than to listen to it, especially in slumber. I put my hand to my forehead and yawned sweetly. "Where am I? How beautiful! Embroidered with colorful threads… a fabric blanket? Looks like I slept like a king tonight!" flashed through my mind, and the memories of the previous day came over me in a rushing wave that swept away all obstacles.

I was surrounded by an unfamiliar interior, but it gradually rose in my memory. There was that window with the thinnest white cloth, from which the whitish light streamed. The ancient stone walls. Opposite me hung a painting, or even an ancient, ornate tapestry depicting an ancient event – the landing of the Dawn expedition on the shores of Amber Island. A small but richly decorated room. There's my bedside chest, where my belongings lurk. Here was the plaster that had crumbled to the floor when K'Yoevghahn had slammed the door in his usual rude fashion yesterday.

I got up. It was unusual to feel unclothed as an undead assassin. After wrapping and securing the straps, I checked and set my crossbow forward. The locking mechanism was multi-shot. I lifted the crossbow's affix with my thumb, and beneath it was a branding with the Dwarven numeral three. A circle, symbolically representing the Titan, and three points in different directions. I see, so it's a three-shooter. It's the kind of fake that the dwarves of the Blue Mountains supply to the special guards of Kostegrad.

I shook it, "It's strong!" ran my eyes over the smooth wood once more and fastened it behind my back – it fit perfectly. I bent down. Sat down. It doesn't constrict movement – "just what you need". I took my hunter's bag from the back of the chair and left the room.

A servant of Count Feanoth's house approached me. If one paid attention to his demeanor, he must have never had to leave the castle in his life. He walked down the corridor with his fist clenched in front of him. I didn't understand these mannerisms. It's one thing to hold your hand up, defending yourself from the creatures of the cover, and another… "this."

"Hunter, are you awake yet?" He was thinking about something of his own, so he faced me nose to nose in the doorway, "What carelessness! On the other hand, maybe that's why we exist, to protect people like him. Those who can't stand up for themselves." I looked at him from head to toe, "Put him in that caftan against Ulrich, the fight would be over immediately. And the knight won't even spare such an inexperienced opponent. I wonder if he can overpower a hound? Yes, no! Where can he go!"

His eyes widened as they met mine. What he read in them was a mystery to me. The servant's voice trembled, "Count Feanot is waiting for you. Come along." He waved a graceful, slender hand in a white glove, inviting me to follow him politely. Turning on his heels so that he even made the hem of his clothes rise up, the servant, beating a rhythm with his heels, headed down the corridor in the right direction.

"I don't think you could kill even a perootle!" I shouted after him. "Oh! That would be a terrible insult. If I said it to Ser Wimal Yaniso, he would challenge me to a duel. Even the boys of the Order can slay the lowliest wretch from the lowest creature of the cover. What to speak of seasoned warriors like the white knight. Turtlenecks, gown and white collar… Ugh! How can you fight in that?"

"We all have a job to do, hunter." But this guy didn't even bat an eye. The man turned around politely, raised his hands and folded them in some special gesture, grasping the edges of his cuffs.

"What is this? Magic?" I squinted at the unusual gesture. "Maybe he's a court magician, just with a quirk," I thought to myself.

"Oh, you mean that," the servant smiled and waved his hand lightly, then folded his arms across his chest, "it's just gallantry and fashion. I apologize for embarrassing you. Please come along, Count Feanot doesn't like to wait."

"So 'this' is called 'gallantry,'" I finally explained to myself this phenomenon, so sharply at variance with my picture of the world.

"He's probably right," I thought, and for some reason I got cold feet. Someone has to defend the wall, and someone else will walk around in a caftan and fold their fingers in an exquisite manner in front of their guests. I sighed and followed. When the servant saw that I had followed him, he continued on his way, turning around just as gallantly. The hem of his robe swept into the air again.

…

The feasting hall was being used for a meeting today. Fourteen hunters, who had been sent out by the Order to fulfill the Count's assignment, were seated here. Two hunting dogs were warming themselves by the fireplace. The exorcists settled down, removed their bags and other articles of clothing, and hung them on the backs of massive oak chairs. Spears and swords were laid out. I was the only one with a crossbow. I laid it down in front of me.

The huntress girl across from me had her feet on the table, swinging on the oak chair. I'd never seen a girl hunter before, so I looked in her direction. She pulled her hat over her eyes, showing with her whole look that she was ignoring me. We're loners.

To my right sat a hunter so ancient that he literally had glowing mushrooms growing on him like a chill. His hand twitched involuntarily from time to time, and saliva flowed from his mouth now and then. His shoulder was adorned with a servant's patch that read, "Meritorious Service to the Order of Hotta".

Opposite him, a thieving-looking assassin of the cold ones ran his eyes. With one arm over the back of his chair, he was picking at his teeth with a dagger. When he met my gaze, he nodded. "What do you want?" he said.

To his right sat the Best of Us. His hands were folded, his chin resting on them, and he was thinking about something. His ancient milchemist mask looked like a raven's beak. Once upon a time, one of the Archmages of Theanoth had cursed a fellow hunter of the Chill to never die. What drove him to such a strange curse, no one knows. But that hunter had somehow found a way to twist the spell, and now it worked differently, becoming a title among the exorcists. The Best-of-us really can't just die from the paws and claws of monsters. However, if he is in a group with other hunters, he may well die. And then will be chosen by lot again, among the survivors. Or as in the case of the current hunter – the last surviving member of the group will be recognized as The Best-of-us.

"Gorevetr! Is that you?" asked one of the hunters with a sword.

"I am," nodded one of the hunters with an axe.

"Don't die," grinned the killer of the creatures of the canopy.

"Don't fall off your hooves like your horse. By the way, where is she now?" Gorevetr answered him with a reciprocal grin.

"Feeding fish," the swordsman said, grinning.

"Fish? You can tell me later where you found fish in the depths of the continent," the axe-wielder shook his head approvingly.

I knew very well where one could lose a horse that way. Here, near the Castle, there's an old quarry filled with land fish. The locals often ask to rescue some livestock or get something out of it. Or who. There's piles of gold down there. Fools' gold. People go down to get rich, but all they find is a pack of land fish and hungry fish. They can be very hard to kill, especially in winter. These strange creatures survive even after a few blows to the head. Rumor has it that even the brain-deprived body of one of these amphibians continued to hunt for several more months.

Finally, Count Feanoth appeared. The honor guards froze to the right and left of the entrance, the hound dogs ran past and sprinted out of the hall. The Keeper of the Castle stood across from us, directly beneath a large hunting trophy in the form of a stag's head. It was the Horned Stag that was the symbol of Castle Feanoth. For this reason, two white and blue banners with the image of this noble animal were hanging to the right and left of the effigy. The castle Feanoth, the namesake of the clan, was an ancient barrier separating the lands of Fortress Ruch, which left behind its traditionally white color, as well as the lake fjords of the Northmen and the dwarves who lived in the Blue Mountains.

Myrtel Feanoth, to be precise, a hereditary nobleman and owner of these lands, looked around at everyone gathered. Apparently this meeting was unofficial or private, because the herald did not announce his appearance to all assembled. Stopping at "The Best-of-us" with a heavy gaze, of all those present at the massive table, the Count nevertheless addressed everyone, "Hunters, murderers of the fell! Of the plague that is spreading through our lands. I need your help in clearing the Rube Tract." He once again looked at everyone sitting in the hall with his penetrating eyes, but no one uttered a word.

And so the Count continued, "I wish to send my youngest daughter to Kostegrad and marry the son of the Keeper of those lands. To make the journey safe, I have asked the Order to provide fourteen brave men to clear the way of the most dangerous cold and infected creatures of the canopy."

"How much are you paying?" addressed the hunter who sat to the right of The Best-of-us. Everyone in the hall looked in his direction.

"I've already paid the Order. Didn't you receive your salary?" The Count studied the man who dared to ask the question with genuine interest. There was a royal condescension in his tone. The question itself was provocative. According to the laws of the Empire and the Order's statutes, hunters are forbidden to take more than one coin per task on pain of death.

"According to the king's decree," the mercenary tossed the gold coin carelessly onto the table, "we are entitled to this as payment for our work. Yes, it is! But it's not enough to even take a piss in your town. If that's all, you can slaughter me in the square for refusing to serve the Order and canceling my contract."