* * *

A rocking, steady, and recognizable. A creak. Another creak, different, more "ropey". A third. The whole world was embodied in sounds and squeaked mercilessly. It also splashed with small waves. And the smell of water. It was not the usual smell of sea salt, but it was impossible to confuse it with anything else. It was the surface of a freshwater sea, deeply embedded in the body of the continent. So it was a ship.

The only thing left to do was to open her eyes, to make sure her hearing and sense of smell were clean. But she didn't want to look or do anything at all, especially since her tortured body, despite the rest, responded with pain to any movement. It was nice and warm to lie under the felt blanket. It was hard on her cheeks. Though; it seemed they had put a rope bundle with prickly hairs under her head. But that was a minor evil compared to the opportunity to lie down and rest, rest...

Nearby, someone spoke softly in two voices. One sounded vaguely familiar, the other belonged to a child or a squeaky girl. Still, without opening her eyes, Elena wrapped herself more tightly in the bedspread, regretting that sleep was slipping away like jellyfish through her fingers. It seemed silly to just lie there, and hunger suddenly reminded her of itself, pressing her empty stomach. Elena decided it was time to get up. She opened her eyes and looked around.

Yes, a ship, more like a yacht, something like a large dinghy with a pudgy hull and a single mast. A typical coaster, designed for four or five days of autonomy, capable of sailing and some oars. A close inspection revealed three crew members who, from the looks of it, effectively combined fishing with petty piracy and smuggling. Very colorful faces, dressed motley, almost like soldiers, without any possibility of determining origin. The faces of the sailors did not express the slightest enthusiasm for the voyage and the passengers, but the smugglers were peaceful. They were also a little small for such a ship, at least six men were needed. Maybe the rest are below the deck. Or maybe underwater. Yes, from the dead dungeon to the ship - Elena thought that she had missed a lot of things during the sleep-fainting period.

Almost at the bow of the boat, Ranjan and the rescued child were sitting on something like a rowing bench. They were whispering, their heads close together. Brether, with his height, had to bend low. The boy was sad, recent tears had washed paths on his dirty cheeks. The two redeemers squatted in the stern, at the helm. Cadfal was gnawing at a piece of corned beef with gusto. Rapist, judging by his gestures and pious appearance, was preaching to the helmsman, who seemed unhappy and stoically listened to the words, squinting at the redeeming spear. Grimal slept by the side, wrapped in his cloak.

It was nearing dawn, so it had only been a few hours. The wind was wrinkling the water's surface, creating many small waves that promised to grow into a normal storm by noon. Well, winter is a time of bad weather and storms. The moon was slowly setting, coloring the sky in silvery milky tones. The sun was still below the horizon but was already casting its rays in front of him, the harbingers of the coming dawn. This combination gave rise to a surprisingly warm and beautiful shade of sky above the horizon line - caramel ochre, which I wanted to lick, to feel the fabulous sweetness on my tongue.

Still, something strange is going on with the heavenly bodies here... Irregular, chaotic movement of the sun and the moon, as if the planet does not move along the normal and set for millions of years trajectory, but rotates in the system of three bodies without a clear rhythm. But why is the change of day and night, seasons and seasons otherwise strictly observed?

And is there even a planet here? After all, if there's magic, why shouldn't there be an edge of the earth as well...

Elena moved under the heavy blanket, stretching her muscles gingerly. Her broken ribs and bruises ached, but they were tolerable. Seeing that the wanderer was awake, one of the smugglers silently handed her a crumpled pewter mug of water. Only now did Elena realize she was thirsty. She stuck her hand out from under the felt, took the mug, and swallowed the contents in several greedy gulps. The hunger remained, but the woman decided to wait to eat until she had a clearer picture. A certain peace of mind that came from a sense of temporary safety.

In the meantime, the Brether had finished talking to the boy and helped the child to lie down to rest. He put a leather pillow under his head and covered him with a blanket. The boy closed his eyes, sobbed once or twice, curled up under the improvised blanket, and fell asleep almost instantly. Brether stood looking at the young nobleman in silence. Elena threw back the blanket, stretched her arms and legs, and smoothed her greasy hair. Damn it, she doesn't have her cap, it's lost.... But the medical chest was in order, standing by the side, seemingly intact and locked. The woman hurriedly grabbed her belt and fumbled for a leather case with the healer's certificate. Also in place... Thank goodness. With this, it is possible to start a new life in new places.

Thank you, Flessa, she thought with bitter warmth. Thank you, sweet duchess.....

Elena stood up, holding onto the mast. She hopped around, stretching her legs, and checked her knife, or rather both knives, the regular and the spare. She remembered how many different - and good! - weapons she'd lost or simply not picked up in the past couple of days, from a gift saber to the swords of dead mercenaries. She vowed it would never happen again. The sailors wrinkled their faces at the sight of a woman in pants and a scalpel in her codpiece, glanced at the Brether synchronously, and pretended that there were no pants. Apparently, there were only three of them left plus the helmsman.

Elena strode over to the brether. Ranjan sat down, placing his sword in its scabbard between his legs, and silently bowed his head in greeting and good morning. The woman squatted next to him. For several minutes, the brether and the healer sat silently looking in different directions. The pale light lay on the water in rippling paths like a fairy tale. It seemed if you took a step, you could walk to the horizon. The waves splashed quietly against the sides of the ship. A light wind blew the sail without enthusiasm, but it promised to grow into something much more substantial.

"Where's my payment?" Elena finally asked.

Ranjan looked into her eyes and suddenly lowered his gaze.

"Sorry," he said softly.

Brether's voice sounded muffled and cracked, like a bell with a crack that stole the pure ringing of metal. Ranjan seemed dead tired and held on by sheer willpower. However, he still spoke, like a good rhetorician, clearly emphasizing every word, every syllable. She wonders where Plague came from...? He behaved and spoke with the dignity of an aristocrat, but the nobles rarely became brethren, unless, completely impoverished knights, useless "fourth children" and other unlucky. A true nobleman was born for war, and urban killing for money was worthy of only contempt. Being involved in such a trade brought the family's prestige to the bottom of the pile, and the reputation of their children, grandchildren, and so on was diminished.

"You lied to me?" Elena asked tiredly.

"No. It's more like a little, uh... understatement. Actually, I know very little, so you won't hear anything that might help."

"Anyways... talk."

"The order was anonymous, through several intermediaries, and also using magic."

"Magic?"

"Yes. When I agreed, the intermediaries went out of business, and the instructions began to come through a magic box. There were scrolls of parchment that burned when the seal was broken. Well, not immediately, of course. just in time to read them. I sent back messages the same way, in notes, they just disappeared from the box."

"Got it."

Elena had heard of such magic tricks. Despite their seeming convenience, they were rarely used; it was considered difficult to organize such a transmission, and the "secret reading" spell worked unstable. It didn't fit with the strict secrecy Ranjan had mentioned. So, either there were problems with secrecy, or the order came from a really strong mage, who was not afraid of overlaps. More likely the latter.

"They told me the day and the place," continued the brether. "The courier brought the advance payment."

"Gold?"

"The amount was too great to carry so much metal to the Wastelands. The messenger delivered the box of stones and then disappeared."

"A magical transition... Stones?"

"Yes, the emeralds."

"Wow," Elena said. This was an interesting point to remember. As on Earth, emeralds were very rare in Ecumene, valued above all other gems. Perhaps there's an unmistakable trace here. but she doesn't think so. Whoever had been so clever in obfuscating the path must have taken care of that, too.

"Is there anything left?"

Yes, it would be interesting to see the faceting, Elena remembered that it seemed like each craftsman had their tricks, maybe it would still be possible...

"No."

That's to be expected. It's clear where all the money and valuables went. But it still made sense to ask.

"Was there anything conspicuous about the courier?"

Like the woman with the red-colored hell eyes.

"No. Just an ordinary, inconspicuous man in disguise."

"I see. Go on."

"The orders were very strict - to find you, take you under guard, keep safe at all costs. To be treated with the utmost courtesy, like a noblewoman. And..." Ranjan wrinkled his high forehead a little, remembering. "Yes, they called you 'Spark'. They also sent me some magical artifacts to make it easier to find you."

"The artifacts?"

"A test for magic, basically. Protection against sorcery. And some sort of compass to indicate the manifestations of magic. The customer seemed to think he was dealing with a powerful sorcerer. Who knew you weren't a magician? By the way, were you in Santeli's cart?"

"Yes."

"Amazing. Everyone has a little bit of magic in them. That's why the magic lens sees everyone. But you. you don't seem to have any magical power, you didn't exist to the artifact. All I saw was the shadow of a wounded man and no one else around."

"Not a drop of magic..." Elena echoed and finished to herself, You should have seen it, you should have known...

"We just missed each other," she said instead. "I was nearby, hiding, and I heard everything. You interrogated random travelers, and then you killed them. I saw the... the bodies. How could you do that?" she looked into the killer's dark eyes. "Why would you kill them when you were ordered to keep them alive and safe?"

Ranjan wriggled his neck as if the ties of his cloak were slightly strangling the brether.

"Wow," he finally said. "So the goal was so close..." he paused and said. "But you were wrong. We did kill the travelers, but they weren't innocent victims."

"I saw the girl," Elena repeated with pressure. "Who took her head off? You? Your lackey?"

"Don't call Grimal that. He's a servant, not a lackey," Brether asked in an unpleasant, grating voice. "And I killed the girl, with my own hands. The creature had a necklace of human teeth around his neck under his shawl. A charm for gullibility and lust."

"What?" the legends and tales of the Wastelands came to mind at once. There was something about teeth.

"They were "charpoys." They had wandered very far north, wanting to settle far away from the big villages. They used witchcraft, baiting loners and small groups, killing them quietly. The girl put their guard down. The wagons were double-bottomed, and there was, uh. a lot of stuff. And trophies."

"More goods?"

"No, trophies," the Brether said, and Elena realized what he meant. She shuddered, the chill of the morning feeling particularly dank and unpleasant. The woman wrapped herself more tightly in her cloak.

"I don't... I don't believe you," she decided. "It's too smooth."

"Hel, I'm a Brether and a Ruthier, and my trade is to take people's lives," Ranjan grumbled. "But I am a craftsman, not a slaughterer. I don't care for the death of others, but I don't enjoy it. I never kill for fun or no good reason. Why multiply my sins before God? There's enough of them already."

Interesting logic, Elena thought. Usually, people reasoned differently, something like, There's already a lot of them, so what's the big deal, one or two more?

"We met the homicidal marauders where Spark was supposed to be," Ranjan said. "I feared they had gotten to you first. Especially since we found the redhead's scalp in the trophies. We interrogated the "charpoys" and then executed them as we should. I sent the loot with part of my team to the Gate, so we could identify the property, and see who'd gone missing in the past weeks. I continued the search with the rest of the men. That's it."

Elena thought about it and found no reason to lie. Indeed, everything sounded sensible and logical. And it beat well with the reputation of a man who was ready to kill anyone, but strictly within the framework of the ordered work.

"When it became clear that you had slipped away, the order was canceled."

"Through parchment again?"

"Yes. But I still had the magic box and the sealed sealing wax to send messages in case you showed up. Then it became clear that the ship had left, and you were definitely gone from the Wastelands. Another courier took everything. Confirmed that the order had been canceled and your fate was no longer my concern."

"And the messenger was unremarkable again?"

"Of course. Whoever organized the whole thing knew a lot about secrets."

"The advance was demanded back?"

"No."

"Is that all?"

"Yes," Ranjan spread his hands slightly, not releasing the weapon. "I'm sorry I haven't been completely honest with you, but that's all I know."

"Gotcha."

The moon was almost gone, and the sun seemed to be clinging to the horizon with pink hooks, preparing to reveal the triumph of the coming day. Instead of caramel ochre, the sky was all shades of pink and red with drops of orange. The light was reflected and refracted in the torn clouds, and the sky seemed to blaze like a giant fire.

Elena shuddered, snorting. Spasmodic sounds escaped her throat. Ranjan raised an eyebrow, watching the young woman with keen, attentive eyes as impenetrable as the water at the bottom of the Gulf. The dark-haired man's hands rested on the hilt with seeming relaxation, one might say barely touching the sword. It took Ranjan a few moments to realize - Hel was laughing. Hard, with a grim, mirthless mirth, on the very verge of a hysterical fit. The swordsman's eyebrow slid another hair's breadth higher

"So, just ... just a thought," Hel said, wincing at the pain in her ribs, which didn't like the way the laughter had stirred them.

Stolen novel; please report.

"How long has it been... over two years. In that time, I've had several encounters with you, learned how to mix powders and mixtures, cut off gangrenous limbs, and gone on a raid with the tarred ones. I saw a boarding party, helped kill a demon, fell in love with a woman, and then buried her. I became a student of a real fencer, who broke my arm for the sake of science... I healed terribly tortured people. I shared a bed with a Bonom aristocrat using the best pornhub recipes... Killed two people with my own hands."

"I don't know what a pronahab is," Ranjan remarked. "But I'd put impressive castration on that list of accomplishments," his leather-gloved fingers tapped faintly on the wire sheath on the hilt of his sword, to a rhythm known only to Brether. "So?"

"I think... it's called a character growth arc."

Elena bent over in a new attack of half-crazed giggles.

"Cry," the brether said suddenly.

"What?"

"Cry," the black-haired assassin repeated. "You're doing great, but I understand people well. You're in a lot of pain. It hurts. It's hard. Prayer usually helps, but I don't think you're the kind of person who believes God is watching over them. Crying, tears cleanse the soul, wash away the pain."

"Vincent said the same."

"Reaper is a wise man. I'm glad we never crossed swords, though we came very close a couple of times."

"He also said that tears are the lot of the young. The lot of the young and the great good."

Elena looked at the fire in the sky again.

"I remember you in the Wastelands, a lost girl who never took off her shawl. And seemed ready to burst into tears at any moment," Brether said, simply noting the fact, without emotion. "You've grown older."

"Yeah, older. A lifetime, I think. And lost loved ones."

She rubbed her swollen eyes. Not a tear. The pain remained. The sadness and the burning shame of bringing death to Baala's house - yes, it hadn't gone anywhere. But Elena couldn't cry, her tears were dry. She shifted her gaze to the sleeping boy.

"Don't stand next to each other so you can compare the profile," Elena said.

Ranjan remained silent, drawing his sword. He asked without raising his eyes, dryly and with a dangerous indifference in his voice:

"So noticeable?"

"Not really. But if the light falls just right. And the lamp. So much gold was spent on fighters and bribes, on the ship... But the magic lamp is already used, the cheapest one. So the money's already gone, not enough for a good lamp. There's no patron behind you, no customer, you organized everything yourself, and paid out of your pocket."

Ranjan remained silent, neither refuting nor agreeing.

"What was her name?" The healer asked.

"Why do you want it?"

"Just like that," Elena shrugged. "She seemed strong and brave."

"Her name was Malissa. And she was very strong indeed."

"Was?" It seemed to Elena that Ranjan put special emphasis on that word.

"Yes. She understood her duty to her family and her son."

The bottle... silver-braided vial, odor, pleasant but too sharp for ordinary perfume. Poison! The Primatess had kept her son safe, or rather had done all she could for it, and then poisoned herself to cut the trail. Truly, the impression was not deceived - a stern aunt forged from steel. But why the overkill? Primators are the salt of the earth, who would dare to interrogate an upper-class aristocrat so much that she had to choose death?

"Where are you going?"

"Far away and farther," Ranjan said in a single word. Then he continued unexpectedly. "Stay with us."

Elena looked dazedly at the brether.

"What?"

"Join us. A good healer always comes in handy on the road. And I understand you're still being hunted. You'll be safer with us."

"I'll feel better with them," Elena pointed to the Redeemers, who were not involved in the conversation, but Cadfal kept his eyes on the woman, and Rapist was wary. "And you want two more good fighters on the boy's side."

"That too," Ranjan did not deny it. "So what do you think?"

Elena grinned bitterly.

"Fool."

Brether frowned.

"No, you are a fool indeed if you seek my company," the corners of Elena's lips dipped in an ugly and unhappy smirk. "Run, swordsman, run as far away as you can."

"You could have said no," the Brether adjusted his black cloak, and Elena thought she'd never seen Ranjan without that ominous rag. "Draftsman seems to have infected you with a fondness for mystical circumlocutions."

"You don't understand," Elena thought it was important that Brether understood her words in the right way. "You can't be near me!"

"Are you plague?" The question was, in general, obvious and caused the woman to sob painfully.

"Yes," Elena whispered. "I'm like the plague. It's a terrible disease, I'm cursed and everyone around me is dying. Shena... Baala. Kid. Figueredo. Everyone who gives me a piece of life dies a horrible death. Hell is coming for me, taking those I care about or just walked beside. Run, swordsman, before hell comes for you too."

Ranjan was silent for a long time, looking at Elena, and nothing could be read on the pale, drained face.

"You still don't understand anything, do you?" he suddenly asked.

Brether looked at the boy, who had fallen asleep leaning against the mast. Rapist left the sermon, went over, and covered the child with another cloak, tucking the edges with silent and unexpected care.

"Yes," Ranjan was no longer asking, but asserting. "I didn't understand."

A gust of chill wind slammed the sails and made the gear creak.

"Hel, this boy is the recognized son of Artigo Gotdua and Malissa Pievevielle, joined in lawful wedlock fifteen years ago."

Elena looked at Brether in silence, waiting for him to continue, Brether looked at her until he realized that the names listed were nothing to Elena.

"You don't know Twenty-Two Surnames?" Ranjan squinted, as if unable to believe his assumption.

"Are they Primators? No, I don't know. There was no need."

"I see..." said Ranjan rather to himself. "Okay, let's go the other way then."

He looked at the sea and took a deep breath of the fresh air filled with freshness and winter chill. Then he said:

"The Emperor married very early and was widowed early. Everyone expected that the Aleinsae family, which ruled the Island, would force the Emperor to be related to them by a second marriage."

"And after that, the ruler of the world would owe not to some upstart from a distant island, but to his relatives?" Elena recalled Flessa's economic lecture, and the memory made her heart shudder and skip a beat.

Flessa... sweet, cruel, fierce, fiery, beautiful Flessa.....

"Yes. Some were privy to the plan. Many guessed. That's why the real true plan was different, hidden inside a great deception. I found out by accident when the Island started recruiting the best fighters. I found out. and I was forced to act. Unfortunately, alone. Because there was no one I could trust."

"Another plan, quite secret?" The woman asked impatiently, to blot out the painful memory of Flessa Wartensleben with other thoughts.

"Yes. The rulers of Saltoluchard have decided they no longer wish to be subject to the whims of the continental overlords. And they've definitively settled the matter."

"They killed the Emperor?"

Somehow Elena felt sorry for the young man she had never seen. Maybe because the unknown emperor appeared in Flessa's retelling as an intelligent and far-sighted ruler who had the misfortune to be born too early for his ambitions as an absolute monarch in a world of industrial revolution. Or maybe Elena was tired of the deaths that had surrounded the woman in a macabre chorus over the last days and hours.

"That was the plan. Rely on bought allies and the spears of hired infantry. Put a protege on the throne."

"A coup? A change of dynasty?"

"Not exactly," Ranjan corrected. "The Emperor has no... heirs. He is the last of his line, and his bloodline is no more. But the dynasty still rules and another branch that has a connection to the Island's ruling family will ascend to the throne."

"What's he got to do with this?" Elena now looked at the sleeping child. In the light of the rising sun, it was clear the boy was not even ten years old. His aristocratically pale face, even in his sleep, seemed haggard, marked by fear. Poor boy... how would such a whirlwind of events affect a child's psyche? The loss of a mother, the murders, and finally the underground monster. Such stress will not go to waste, and child psychologists will appear here, God willing, in a few centuries.

"Hel, Gotdua is a surname of the imperial house."

"Pilvele and Godoua...?" recalled Elena, who was finally beginning to understand the essence of the question, picking her way through the brain-dead sound combinations. "I mean, the boy is also Godoua, a relative of the late Emperor.... but from a different perspective. Related to another Primators family?"

"Pievevielle and Gotdua," Brether corrected sternly. "That's right. This boy is one of five men who could claim the throne with as much right as a protégé of Saltoluchard. Six months ago, one of the five was poisoned with gilded meat [1] at his wedding. Two months later, the second accidentally died hunting. Shot himself while unsuccessfully cocking his crossbow. Then the deaths were attributed to the Emperor, and the deaths turned several families against the Court who would otherwise have remained neutral. I believe by this hour, the two remaining are also gone."

"Well... - Elena shrugged her shoulders. "The boy was lucky. He survived. The conspirators must have quite a few enemies. They'd probably give shelter to such an important person."

"Yes... Matrisa was right," Brether shook his head. "Figueredo, too. They said you were smart, but not of this world. Hel... The Island killed the ruling Emperor. And put a skinny young man on the throne... thin, diluted blood. It's a trick akin to swallowing a blade at a fair, it can pass, but only if it's done perfectly, without a single mistake. So that the new Emperor's rights are unconditional... or at least appear to be. So that everyone has to accept - here is the ruler of the world, behind him there is an incorruptible army and order, in front of him there is a scaffold for all those who disagree. And those who oppose him have nowhere to go, no one to follow. Then everything would work out."

"But one of the possible successors, uh... is alive?" Elena looked back at the sleeping child again. She remembered the mother's carefully concealed horror at giving the boy to his father.

"Yes. The Aleinsae family wove an elaborate and complex conspiracy, handed out many promises and riches, promised a lot of privileges, and made secret alliances with Primators who were displeased with the ruling house. And today they would realize that Artigo Junior had slipped the trap. And then the whole world will know that there are now two Emperors in the Oikumene."

"Two emperors," Elena repeated. "So... Distemper?"

She immediately recalled an earthly history. Also, for some reason, the Avignon popes with the antipopes.

"Yes, a distemper such as hasn't happened in three centuries. As long as his relative Gotdua-Pievevielle lives, the ruler of the Gotdua-Aleinsae branch remains a dubious usurper. Every minute of young Artigo's life is a direct challenge to Saltoluchard. This a reminder to the entire Ecumene that the new Emperor is not the sole and unconditional ruler, but only one of two successors placed on the throne by the power of sword and gold."

"The Island spent an insane amount of money to change the dynasty," Elena continued. "They wouldn't back down, never."

"Yes, now you understand," Ranjan gripped the hilt of his sword with such force that the leather of his gloves creaked loudly. Brether lowered his head, long black strands hiding Ranjan's pale face, only his voice was muffled, audible only to Elena.

"They'll look for him for years if they have to. And then they'll kill him. And the execution must be a show trial to stop rumors of a miraculous rescue. So that false emperors don't multiply. Malissa understood that. She also knew that no position could protect her at these odds. So she and her husband took action. The dead don't give up secrets, so we have a slight edge. A very small one."

"So, father. This, uh. Artigo knew?"

"Of course. Don't ask, there's a very long story here that this isn't the time or place for. Suffice it to say that Artigo Senior was a strong man. A true Primator. He gave everything to the family and the family name, including his own life. And so did Malissa. They were worth each other."

"Well, then declare the boy illegitimate," Elena almost exclaimed. "And that would be the end of it. It'll turn out that he can't fight for the throne with this, what's his... Alensee. Let the blood of the new Emperor diluted, but in any case nobler than...."

She hesitated, remembering the local equivalent of the word "bastard," but she couldn't think of it offhand.

"That was the plan," Ranjan straightened, his shoulders squared, as if ashamed of a moment's weakness. "It was supposed to happen near the end of the Tournament, but the damned Aleinsae got wind of it and moved the date. It was too late now."

"I don't understand," Elena rubbed her dirty forehead, feeling disgustingly stupid. She didn't understand things as obvious to a local as breathing or a mug of water. "Why is it late? It should just be announced to the world that the boy was the son of a motherless murderer. The mother poisoned herself, unable to bear the shame of publicity. Send out letters of commendation to all the towns and cities."

The woman thought about it, remembering how interstate statements were made in the old days, and suddenly Elena was burned by a realization that came together in a flash. She even pounded her fist against her palm, angry that she hadn't realized it sooner.

"If you'd gotten there before the, uh... the coup d'état it would have seemed natural, just as a family disgrace. Now everyone will think you're trying to get the pure-blood heir out of harm's way. Isn't that right?"

"Yeah, that's right. We're late. I'm late! By... a few... damn... days!"

Ranjan accompanied each word with a tap of the tip of his scabbard against the deck.

"So your little hell is nothing compared to what's about to start around this kid. Who's only nine years old."

Ranjan finally put his sword aside, pulled off his gloves, and stroked his palms as if he were washing them with invisible water. It was probably just massaging his tired fingers.

"Once word spreads, half of the Ecumene will be looking for Artigo Gotdua-Pievevielle to bring to Milvess and sell to the islanders. And the other half... will be looking to use him for their purposes, to turn him into a puppet to fight the hated Island family, or just to fish for more privilege, more money, more power. And then hell will follow us."

He looked at Elena, and the woman saw in the Brether's eyes what she had seen in Malissa's the day before. Something you would never expect to find in a swordsman, a ruthier, an assassin nicknamed the Plague. Carefully concealed pain, fear - not for himself! - but for the unfortunate child whose trail the whole of Ecumene will soon follow. And desperate hope. But it was easier for the late noblewoman, she could rely on the man who had come to save her son. Ranjan has no one to rely on. A small ship, an unreliable crew, one faithful servant, an occasional companion, and two redeemers with a past that better not even guessed at. If the woman got it right, even the Brether has money left - a purse and the primatess's valuables. And for a fugitive everything is expensive, Elena has learned it from her own experience.

"You've lost a lot, I'm sorry," Ranjan said in a muffled voice. "But that's nothing compared to the storm I'm running from."

Elena opened her mouth to object angrily... and remained silent. She looked at the redeemers again and remembered the frantic, tearing voice of Rapist, calling for death, reveling in the nearness of the end. She looked at the sleeping child who could have ruled the continent. At the tormented father who, risking all and losing all, had saved his son from imminent death perhaps only to condemn him to a far worse, more agonizing death.

Ranjan stared at the water silently as if counting the small foamy waves. How long had he been awake? A day, two... The wind was getting stronger.

"Did you love her?" Elena asked suddenly. And she thought this question went hand in hand with her. First Flessa had asked it, now....

"No."

"At all?" wondered the woman.

"It's a long, long story, Hel. There was no love between us, never. But I don't want to bring it up. Believe me, I've got a lot more to think about right now than a story from ten years ago. For starters, how to convert Malissa's valuables into cash without attracting attention. Family jewels are conspicuous, and there aren't many jewelers who can give a true price. That's the first place we'll be tracked. So what have you decided?"

The Brether gave a faint glance in the direction of Cadfal and Rapist. Yes, of course, a healer was a good thing, but right now Ranjan was interested mainly in two excellent fighters who could accompany him for a while. Could...

"You know..." Elena intertwined cold fingers that felt like they'd been pulled out of icy water. "It was like I'd been asleep. asleep for a year. It wasn't the worst dream. Sometimes it seemed unpleasant, at times it turned into a nightmare, but overall..... it was nice and easy to doze off. Just easy. But a prolonged nap always ends in an agonizing awakening. So I woke up."

Ranjan remained silent and listened.

"It's time to wake up, time to be awake. It's time to ask the questions you don't think about in your sleep. Who am I and why am I here? Who knows so much about me that they're willing to spend time and money to save me or kill me? Who killed Shena? Kid? Baala? Who held the sword and who ordered them to draw my weapon."

The Brether's gaze did not reflect a single thought. He just listened, taking note of every word.

"I want to find him," Elena said quietly, staring into the scarlet water. "To look at him... or her... in the eyes. And then hammer them to death like those bastards in the house. And do it to all of them, no matter how many, one, two, or an army. Yes... it's time to wake up."

"Have you made a decision?"

"I want you to tell me again everything about the, uh... the order. Afterward, when I'm thinking more clearly. Everything, without leaving out a single detail. If necessary, we'll go over it again and again until there's not a single detail left out."

"Good."

"And two. Teach me," Elena said.

The Brether's gaze reflected a mute question.

"I no longer have a mentor. And my enemies haven't gone anywhere. Teach me to fight like you, and I'll go with you."

She was expecting Ranjan, like Draftsman, to push a speech about wasted years and unfit conditioning, but the Brether responded in surprise:

"I was a fencemaster once... But I'm not going to teach you now."

Elena shifted her eyebrows, trying to comprehend the answer. He was a fencemaster... so he wouldn't teach... So?

"I'll do better than that," Ranjan continued. "I will find you a mentor."

"Will he be good?" Elena asked suspiciously.

"He's the best," Brether replied succinctly.

"I thought the best was Draftsman."

"Yes."

"I don't understand," Elena grimaced, thinking she'd used that turn of phrase too often. She didn't understand, so much she didn't understand...

"You'll see. Figueredo did a good job on you, I can see that."

"You haven't seen me in action."

"Hel," Ranjan smiled miserably. "I don't need to watch you swing your blade. I can see your worth in your steps, in your turn, in your movements, in your gaze. Draftsman taught you well, but that's just the foundation, the pillars of skill. I'll find you the best mentor I can. Someone who taught me."

"He must be a deep old man," Elena stretched out disappointedly, remembering the sick Draftsman.

"Do you want to be a swordsman? If you do, I promise you will be. But don't expect any big revelations from me just yet. You'll find out in time."

"You promise like you promised to tell me about the, uh. order?" The woman couldn't resist a jab.

Ranjan was silent, stroking his palms again. Only now Elena noticed that the Brether's hands were covered with many tiny scars. Some looked suspiciously like the burns left by Figueredo's fire wand.

"Hel, don't push your luck," Brether's voice was unpleasantly reminiscent of the clanking of tank tracks. And Elena realized dazedly, that the memory from her homeworld seemed... fake. Like an induced dream.

"I promised to tell you everything I knew about your quest, and I kept my word. Now you know everything I knew. I gave you my word that you would be taught by one who has no equal in the Ecumene. Believe it or not, but do not try to insult me."

They sat in silence again, looking at the rising sun. Despite the golden dawn, the sky was still the color of fire and blood.

"Then we have a deal," Brether said, half-assertively.

"It's a deal," Elena agreed.

"What do I call you from now on?"

"What?"

"You have many names. Lunna, Vandera... Which one is the real one, how should I address you?"

Elena hesitated, for a long moment. And answered when Brether was no longer waiting.

"Call me Hel."

"Are you sure? It's a demonic name, many would think it wouldn't bring you happiness."

"I'm sure. I've taken different names, but it hasn't kept me from suffering, loss, and running away. So let me be called the same name I was when I first came here."

"So be it," Ranjan agreed. "Hel. The woman from hell."

Driven by the strengthening wind, riding the leading edge of the gathering storm, the small ship moved in the wake of dawn. The ship sailed toward the border where water and sky converged. Until it disappeared altogether. All that remained was the heavenly fire painted the waves and clouds the scarlet red of freshly spilled blood. And the coming darkness that heralded the coming storm.

* * *