* * *

It was strange. In my first pilgrimage, I knew for sure that the world beyond the Arch was not real, illusory, and would cease to be as soon as the pilgrims returned. This time, I had the feeling that it was completely real. It was as if we were really transported to the distant past rather than a divine slice of pseudo-reality. It was only now when the guards of the unfamiliar city spoke in a language we could remember, that I woke up from the obsession. And those bodies we had left on the path, and this city with its walls and guards, all this would cease to exist, would melt into nothingness as soon as the Arch returned our group to the material world...

My thoughts on such philosophical topics were shaken by the poorly oiled door hinges. The city gates remained closed. It was the creaking of a small but very heavy and sturdy door in one of the gatehouse towers, through which a not-very-fat man could barely squeeze sideways through. A young man in a distinctive priestly tunic, barely past his third decade, came out to us.

"Peace be with you, Temple Hunters." Before we were ten paces away, the priest greeted us by raising his hands.

"Peace be with you too, servant of the Threefaced." Anton stepped forward from us.

"The sickness had entered the town as well." As soon as An stepped forward, the priest stepped back, keeping his distance. "We can't take you in. You might get infected."

"Listen..." The Amazon got tired of waiting and jumped to her feet. "You... You're an underling who by some misunderstanding, wears a priest's clothes... Do you take the Order for fools?" Iphito was battering ram on the young man in the tunic, but he was standing still, staring at her like a rabbit hypnotized by a boa constrictor. The boy was staring at the Amazon's chest, and there was genuine terror in his eyes. "We have long been over the pox, and we are in no danger." The Stormbearer came within a step of the priest and put her hand on the hilt of her sword.

"I..." The young priest swallowed and suddenly fell to his knees. "I will humbly accept any punishment for not recognizing the Chosen One daughter of our Supreme Protector and for daring to contradict her."

"You recognized..." The Amazon ran the fingers of her right hand over her necklace and smiled. "I forgive you. Live..."

Yes, it seems even the priests of antiquity had a much better understanding of women's jewelry than modern jewelers. This one recognized Iphito's necklace at once, but what I saw on sale at our time was nothing like it at all. The one that covers Stormbearer's chest is more a piece of armor, and yes, it is beautiful, even stylish, but it is still quite a functional piece of armor that can stop a deadly blow. It's an ancient prototype of the gorget.

"Get up." The Amazon waved her hand. "And tell me, why did you call in a squad of the Order?"

"I..." The boy was about to get up, but when he heard the question, he stayed on his knees with his head down. "I don't know!"

"What?!" A note of barely contained irritation erupted in Stormbearer's voice.

"You see." Stammering, trying to speak as quickly as possible, the young priest mumbled. "Prior Gorgom called you, but it's the fourth day since we buried him. His assistant priest, Thurnor, only outlived his mentor by a day. I was a novice and wore the tunic only because there was no one else in town who could take it. The city Temple is small. It doesn't even have an Arch. Two priests and a couple of novices are enough to look after it. And for a small city like Tweburg, that's all you need... Normally... I don't know anything... I haven't been told anything about calling the Hunters. But I'm glad you're here."

"Gaia, damn..." Phil swore when he heard the news, fully expressing the feelings of all of us with that phrase.

Noticing that the mood of our team was going to Tartarus, Anton stepped forward and took the negotiations into his hands. The biker pressured the young priest a little and got us into the city. But no one opened the city gates, and we had to squeeze through the narrow tower door, which caused obvious displeasure to the Amazons.

The town seemed deserted, with no one else on the streets but the guards on the walls. As the priest explained, everyone stayed home, hoping death wouldn't visit. They were afraid to come near us either, even the guards tried to keep a few paces away. In principle, it was understandable that if someone had had smallpox and wouldn't get it, that didn't mean he couldn't be a carrier of the disease.

The young priest, whose name was Vedott, apologized all the way and led us to the Temple. It was a small building, in late Roman style, with a garden of about a tenth of a hectare. On the way, Anton kept trying to ask him why the city had called the Slayers, but apparently, the guy didn't really know anything. According to him, a lot was going on in and around the city this year, but somehow they'd managed on their own. Before the epidemic, of course... With the arrival of the disease, Tweburgh was on the verge of extinction, and things were more than bad in the town.

Already more than a quarter of the population was dead, even though the epidemic did not seem to be abating. Even more, people had fled not only from the settlement itself but from the area in general. All medicinal herbs and powders had long since run out, food was also coming to an end, and there was nowhere to get new ones, as the peasants had banned themselves from approaching the townsfolk. All trade caravans took a long detour around these places. In addition, the situation was aggravated by the fact that wild beasts, especially wolves, had gone completely mad and often attacked even the farmsteads, not to mention lonely travelers.

We upset the locals, even more, when we told them about the beasts looting the herb wagon. Upon hearing this, a gray-haired warrior in an old chain mail, who acted as head of the guard, immediately started looking for volunteers who could get to that place and pick up the healing ingredients. However, because the only physician of Tweburg disappeared a week ago and no one knows where he went, the usefulness of these herbs was a little doubtful.

Anton asked about local herbalists or healers, but he couldn't expect any help from here either. When smallpox first appeared, someone had started a rumor that the disease was the result of their hands. The rumor was based on the fact that the two witches who lived in the vicinity made no secret of the fact that they worshipped the old gods and did not attend the Temple. In the end, the frightened townspeople burned both witches and their houses...

As far as I understood from further Hotey's stories, before the end of the Monster Age when the manifestations of the power of the local gods were still visible and tangible, there were not so few such people who did not accept the supreme power of the Three Faced on the divine throne. Many believed that the imprisonment of their deities in Tartarus was temporary and that they would break out of prison and take terrible revenge on those who betrayed faith in them by defecting to another god. This led to religious conflicts, especially frequent in places so remote and isolated from civilization, which often ended in massacres, arson, and riots, even though the priests of the ThreeFace were against such intolerance.

In Tweburg, however, the situation was particularly acute for many years. The city's population was clearly divided into two classes, the descendants of former Roman citizens, who held the main power and wealth on the one hand, and the majority of ordinary people from the tribe of the Veters, the original inhabitants of these forests on the other. Many of the Veters were in no hurry to forget their old deities, and even when they visited the Temple, they still made offerings and sacrifices to the ancient idols.

By the way, the herbalists were burned by the descendants of the Romans with the full connivance of the guards. And since, after such an action, the disease did not recede but rather turned into a full-fledged epidemic, the discontent of the veters with the "respectable" citizens reached a point where it would have long ago spilled out into the streets, if not for the disease.

We learned all this from Vedott as a result of the very real interrogation Anton arranged for him. In the beginning, the priest did not want to talk about the political situation in the city, but Anton was persistent, and the fierce glare of the Amazon sitting next to him, all this quickly broke the resistance of the young man.

After about half an hour of this kind of questioning, Vedott found a way to get out of the interrogation by claiming that it was prayer time. We went to the prayer garden as well so as not to provoke unnecessary questions and gossip. I don't know if the Goons or Iphito were praying, but I was busy wondering why we were here. What exactly should we be doing? Just catch the werewolf or whoever was behind the attack on the wagon? Or are we here for something else? But there was vanishingly little information to come to any more or less objective conclusions. I'd like to talk to the locals, the guards, the magistrate, the merchants, and the common folk, but the epidemic made that impossible. Except for Vedott, everyone is afraid to approach us, even the chief of guards. He, while escorting us to the Temple, tried to stay at least five paces and, as soon as the occasion presented itself, immediately ran away.

But not everything in life consists of bad news. There were three inns in the town, one where the owners were dead, the second where the windows were boarded up, and no one was admitted, but the third... Its owner was a very brave woman who was not afraid of the epidemic, even though she had never had smallpox before. She had once made a promise to her husband never to close their family inn, and she kept that promise even in such difficult times. At least that's what Vedott told us when he suggested that our team stay with Mistress Kleshy at her Forgotten Idol. Besides, it was in this inn that the magistrate temporarily lodged the surviving huntsmen. Before, the forest near the city was looked after by nearly a dozen forest rangers with dogs, but the epidemic hit them almost first, and so that their fort, five kilometers to the south, had to be burned with the corpses. As a result, only two jaegers were left in Tweburg, who were temporarily within the city walls. After learning this detail, we concluded that we really should stop at the Forgotten Idol and ask the gamekeepers about the wolf attacks. Whoever it was, they must have known a lot more about it than anyone else.

Once, I was in Europe. When I was twelve, my father and I spent almost a month in the Old World, visiting various cities and sightseeing. But this one was unlike any of them perhaps, the likes of it have not survived to this day because they were not made of stone but wood. Even the town roads were not lined with stone but with logs. But there was something recognizable in Tweburg. Its general layout clearly grew out of the traditions of the Roman camp, with the same clear and straight lines all along the line.

The Forgotten Idol turned out to be a fairly good-looking inn, a two-story square building with an open courtyard in the center. A wooden sign, faded from wind and sun, depicted a totem pole that had grown crooked with time. I wouldn't be wrong in assuming that, at the best of times, there were many guests here, but now there was an unnatural silence.

Mistress Kleshy was not an old woman, between thirty and forty, with sharp features, thin as a dried-out pole. All her employees had scattered, and she was now the only one in charge. There was not much to do, however, since there were no guests because of the epidemic. Except for the couple of huntsmen we already knew, who, with their dogs, had taken over the empty stables at the farthest end of the courtyard, near the city walls.

We dumped our backpacks on one of the tables in the dining room and collapsed wearily on the benches. Vedott took the hostess aside and explained something to her for about five minutes, and she just nodded, occasionally casting curious glances at us. The Amazon woman was particularly worthy of her scrutiny. Apparently, the priest didn't hide his suspicions about her Face from the innkeeper.

Before Vedott left, Anton repeated his request for a closer talk with the chief of guards and to communicate with someone from the city council. The priest promised to do his best, and then he simply fled. It was obvious that this guy was not at all happy about his sudden "promotion" and did not know what he should do. He'd had a lot on his mind in the last few days, and now he'd got a squad of Slayers on his head whose mission he knew nothing about.

Having greeted us with a deep bow, the hostess immediately apologized for the fact that since she was the only one in the whole yard, she would not be able to provide us with the service for which the "Forgotten Idol" is famous. And if there are no problems with the rooms but with the food, everything is much more difficult, and we should not wait for any meat dishes. But this situation, according to her, could be remedied if the servants of the Temple, for the duration of their stay will allow her to use their servant to help in the household. While expressing this assumption, Kleshy unequivocally looked at me!

Ever since my first meeting with the locals at the gate, I'd noticed that everyone looked at me differently from the rest of our group. Even the young priest, who stuttered with excitement at the sight of the Order's brooches and cloaks, looked at me like I was nothing. It wasn't until I heard Klesha's words that I understood why. I had no cloak on, unlike the others, and my mrazeboi was still at the bottom of my backpack, next to my insignia. It would seem that our group is four Slayers and one servant!

Before Anton could open his mouth and rudely refuse such an offer, I hurriedly kicked him under the table and winked at him unambiguously. After which I was sent to the kitchen to help the hostess. Why did I do so? It's simple, the servants see everything from a different angle, often no one pays attention to them at all, and to deprive such an opportunity would be shortsighted. It would be better if everyone around me thought of me as a servant. Besides, if the mistress decides to sit tightly on my neck, I can always refuse to do her bidding, referring to other matters.

The first order was to fetch water from the well into the kitchen barrels. The work was not difficult but immensely tedious. The wooden buckets were not the most convenient, and even the empty ones weighed a lot. And the very process of filling the buckets from the well was a hassle. Tie the bucket, lower it down, then lift it with a primitive gate, untie it, and so on.

But every cloud has a silver lining: on the third trip between the well and the kitchen, I met one of the rangers. He was a tough, wiry, bearded man who reeked of dog from a mile away. To my disappointment, he was not a talkative man, more concerned with his dogs than with other people. Nevertheless, I managed to find out from him that the jaegers had been stuck in town for a couple of days because their dogs refused to go into the woods, they just wouldn't go, and neither orders nor kicks helped.

Because of this behavior of the dogs, I witnessed a loud scolding between the huntsmen and the head of the guard. When I was about to make my tenth trip to the well, Master Forgin, as everyone called the chief of the guard, came into the yard and demanded that the huntsmen pack up immediately and go to the place where we had indicated that the herb wagon had been looted. In response, the huntsmen said they would not go anywhere because the dogs were scared. They argued long enough, and I even listened until I was hastened by a sharp shout from Klesha. Apparently, since the rangers did not obey the guards, Forgin left the yard without getting anything.

Already in the kitchen, helping to wash the vegetables, I tried to talk to the hostess to find out the local news and gossip. But unfortunately for me, Klesha was the kind of person who believed that one who could afford to talk a lot, apparently, had little work. So my inquiries led me not to answers but to more work. However, not much, in general terms and without details, but I was able to find out something.

This year and the beginning of the year in these places was on the day of the autumnal equinox, for Tweburg and its surroundings was a time full of disasters and troubles. It began with a rainy autumn, raining for weeks and flooding all the fields and crops. The rains were followed by unusual for these places frosts, even the rivers were covered with ice, which was not a common natural phenomenon in these parts. In addition, as a pity, the cold winter was snowless, and the winter crops that had survived the fall rains were frozen to death. Tweburg was a free-trade town and had enough food supplies to survive the difficult spring, which could not be said of the many feudal lords who had not bothered to make any provisions for the difficult time. This led the three barons to join together in an attempt to capture and sack the city at the end of the winter. The war was short-lived, fleeting, and bloody, as the nobles had no resources for a proper siege. The city survived, but the surrounding villages and farms were devastated. But even this was not enough for fate, and before the cold weather had abated, torrential rains came pouring down just before the ice drift, causing massive flooding that even the most ancient inhabitants could not remember. The number of troubles and disasters reached the point where locals began whispering that the Last Year had arrived.

According to the old beliefs of the Veters, it will happen one day that the calamities that will fall upon the people will overflow the cup of the patience of Mother Earth and the wolf Grum will howl at the moon, and the Last Battle will come, and the World will be destroyed. This a belief common to many, many tribes before the acceptance of the Three Faces, and found in various variations in many parts of the world.

This whispering turned into frank talk after the black pox came. No amount of persuasion or preaching by the priests could convince the worshippers that there would not and could not be a Last Battle and an End of the World, for their gods no longer existed. They had long since been defeated by the ThreeOne and cast into Tartarus, where they would languish until the True End of Times. The old faith was surprisingly strong in this area. Many, in addition to attending the Temples and praying to the ThreeOne, did not forget to offer small sacrifices to the old, clan, and family idols, even in quiet times.

The longer I was around Kleshy, the less I liked the woman. Not because she was a strict hostess, unashamedly burdening me with all sorts of work, but because I didn't like the fierce gleam in her eyes. Such a look comes from people who have lost everything and walk the earth only in fulfillment of some promise or vow. By the way, she took me to a local native. I did look a little like a Veter, it seems that this tribe had in common with the Slavs roots, and this is likely to have been due to her frankness. She was eager to answer questions about the old faith but immediately shut down and loaded me with new work whenever I brought up any other topic.

By sundown, I was as tired as the dog, fetching water, chopping wood, mopping floors, cleaning rooms, and washing vegetables. But I gained a lot of knowledge about the old beliefs of the Veters, their gods, and legends.

By the way, I did not have dinner with the rest of the group, but at the stables with the rangers. Their dogs, I must admit, made a lasting impression on me. A dozen enormous, almost three feet tall, long-haired Irish wolfhounds. Each such animal could easily handle a pair of the toughest wolves. After looking at the dogs more closely, I wondered aloud how such powerful dogs could be afraid of a pack of wolves. The answer from the huntsmen was not long in coming. They believed that it was not about wolves but about a werewolf that was hanging around the town. And the huntsmen were sure they even knew the name of this werewolf.

According to them, it all started three weeks ago when the merchant Lomner brought his son Vorat back from the Pilgrimage. The merchant had even thrown a feast to celebrate his son's discovery of the Face. Because of that Face, the huntsmen were sure they knew who was terrorizing the neighborhood. Vorat got the Face of Bronn, one of the main heroes of local mythology.

According to the belief of Veter, once upon a time, the thunder god Ord fell in love with Lemu, the daughter of the all-mother Earth, and she bore him two sons. The first, named Grum even before he was born, was born a huge wolf of incredible strength and size. It was predicted that one day he would howl at the moon and devour the whole world. Frightened by this prophecy, the gods imprisoned the wolf-born in stone until the end of time when he was born. Bron was the second son, born as a human but with the gift of turning into a wolf. He did many feats, but the locals had a two-fold attitude toward him. Because when the Romans came to the Roman lands, Bron fell in love with the daughter of a Roman patrician and ended up betraying his own, leading the Roman legions through secret forest paths to the camp where the local tribesmen gathered. It was a tragic tale of love and betrayal, and it was told to me just before dinner.

Both huntsmen were convinced that the boy Vorat, who was barely fifteen years old, could not control Face, and when he turned into a wolf, he lost control of himself, killing everything he encountered on his way. Nonsense to me, but the two men, far from young and have seen much in their lives, were sure of this version. After all, the attacks of the wolves began a week after Vorat obtained the Face, on the first full moon, and this fact, in their opinion, proved them right.

What made the huntsmen especially indignant was that the boy was being defended by everyone. First, his father, and after he died of illness, the abbot of the Temple interceded for Vorat. The priests of the Three Ones assured the locals that the boy's countenance had nothing to do with it. The priest's authority was high enough that they didn't dare touch the boy, but the priest was consigned to the ground the day before yesterday, and the boy vanished from the city; no one has seen him in two days, and the wolf attacks have become even more insolent.

Sometimes there was a conviction in the huntsmen's intonations that all the current troubles were from the Romans, from their seed, and their god, who had banished and imprisoned the native gods in the abyss. Jerome, the youngest of a pair of huntsmen, let it slip that if things go on as this and nothing changes for the better, he would go to the Wolfstone and try to awaken Grum! True, he doesn't know how to do it, but he'll certainly try!

For some reason, I was not at all surprised the stone in which, according to legend, Grum is imprisoned is not far from Tweburg. Many people who live nearby have gone to see it at least once. It's a local landmark, a huge piece of rock, which no one knows how it turned out in these remote from the mountains. I understand that the glacier most likely dragged it during one of the great glaciations, but of course, I was not going to explain it to anyone, and I do not think that I would be able to explain it well.

As soon as we had finished our meal, Master Fogrin and one of the merchants who ran the town, a burly man in his fifties, came in again. And the two of them pressed the huntsmen to come out of the city walls as soon as the sun came up and return to the city all the medicinal herbs that had been left on the looted wagon. Even the innkeeper came to the shouting and scolding and immediately got involved in the argument, and to my surprise, she didn't support the huntsmen but the other side. I never knew how the argument ended because Kleschi sent me to the Slayers.

Late in the evening, after sunset, our team gathered for an impromptu meeting. Like me, the Goons did not waste any time; they managed not only to meet with the magistrate's representatives but also to catch the priest once more and ask him more questions, as well as to talk with the rank-and-file guards.

According to Anton, who had spoken to the magistrate, the situation in the town was indeed on the verge of exploding. Even before the epidemic and the calamities that had struck the town this year, the indigenous people of the area had not treated the Roman diaspora very well, and now that "not well" had become almost an outright hatred. If it weren't for the disease that forced people to hide in their homes and farmsteads, Tweburg would have long ago been ablaze in inter-tribal carnage. The more I listened to the story and compared it to Kleshy's words, the more I realized that the Romans themselves were to blame for this attitude. They were arrogant and proud. They regarded everyone else as second-class citizens. They seized all the power structures and sat tightly on most of the money flows. And if earlier, when the neighborhood was not shaken by disasters, the locals put up with this state of affairs because, despite the hubris of the natives of the famous city on seven hills, they really know about commerce and government. And life in Tweburg and the lands under the city was much better than in the possessions of the local feudal lords. But now the situation has changed dramatically, especially after the burning of two respected witch-herbalists. And it wasn't the burning and killing of the women that outraged them, but the fact that it didn't change the situation. That is, they were outraged not by the sacrifice, but by its meaninglessness.

Phil, on the other hand, did manage to nail the young priest to the wall and get a few scraps of information, too. As it turned out, Vedott was an inexperienced novice, having taken the tunic only three months ago. The lad did not know what was going on in the city at all. He had been mostly occupied with the study of philosophical and theological treatises until the abbot's death and had had no time for anything else. A sudden change of status and the need to do something and personally conduct the affairs of the Temple threw the young man out of whack. But, nevertheless, Phil did catch the main point in his rambling speech. Vedott because he did not consider himself a full-fledged priest, did not even open the correspondence of the dead abbot! The answer to why the Slayer Squad had been summoned could be found in those papers. That meant going to the Temple tomorrow and pressuring Vedot to provide us with the letters from the abbot.

Hotey, as soon as he settled in the tavern and ate lunch, taking his wine bottle with him, went straight back to the gate, where, after drinking more than one mug of heady liquor with the guards on duty, he had a "fruitful" conversation with the servicemen. Most of the rank-and-file guards were Veters, but all in command were descendants of Romans. That was the usual situation in the city. The lower levels, where the real work was to be done, were occupied by natives. But because the Romans were no fools, the guards, almost entirely composed of locals, were only responsible for defending the walls and patrolling the trade routes. In the same Tweburg for the order watched units Merchant Guild hired. More accurately, "watched" is in the past tense. These mercenaries fled at the first sign of smallpox. But they were understandable. They could not protect their employers from the disease, but they perish for a penny. The mood among the guards was not much different from the city. It was even more hectic since they had more work to do and, unlike the rest of the inhabitants, they had no place to stay. The death rate from the epidemic among the guards was one of the highest more than half of the servicemen had already died. The only thing that kept the guards in place was the oath they took upon entering the service, and the Veters were very reverent about their word. And yet, according to Hotey, the men are on the very brink. One little push and the guards will turn their swords against the officers.

It seems that the only reason the rebellion in the city had not started was that there was no single leader among the Veters who could take responsibility. And the epidemic prevented people from gathering in a rally to choose a leader for the rebellion. Despite all adversities, Tweborg continued to live by inertia, but the slightest pebble in the scales of public opinion could be enough to send the city into a downward spiral and set the town ablaze in a massacre between ethnic groups. What made the situation worse was the death of the priests, who had previously served as peacemakers and smoothed the edges with their authority, while Vedott had no such authority at all.

My observation that the old faith is becoming more and more popular in Tweburg coincided with what Hot observed. The opinion of the Veters that all the troubles are because they are not loved by the Three-Faced, and "there was no such thing under the past gods," is very popular and is increasingly heard even aloud, which just a couple of months ago could not even be imagined.

The arrival of the Slayers calmed the town a little and gave people a glimmer of hope that their troubles would soon be over. But the news we brought about the looting of a wagon of medicinal herbs, so awaited in Tweburg, swayed the city's mood in the opposite direction.

Everything was very shaky, and we agreed that we should act very carefully and cautiously; any ill-considered word or action on our part and the city would go up in flames like a bundle of dry chaff.

Or rather, not all "we". Amazon didn't care about anything at all. She was the only one who didn't even try to learn anything. Immediately after settling in a separate room, she demanded a barrel of the best wine, locked herself in, and drank until late in the evening, proudly alone, singing obscene songs from the open window. Even at our meeting, she showed up toward the end of my report, just as I was saying that I didn't like our hostess, Kleshy. No, not because she makes me work, or is too strict, not because of that, but for another reason. And that reason is in her look. This kind of look people has when they have lost everything and live only for some purpose known only to them. Kleshy even seemed a little fanatical. Too fixated on old legends and lore and faith. Especially, in light of the city's moods. I was troubled by that last point. As soon as I said all this, I was immediately bombarded with a torrent of angry speeches from the mouth of the Amazon. It turns out that I am a chauvinist and misogynist who immediately disliked a woman who is braver than all the men in the city. Because of my masculine nature, I am unable to see the true strength of spirit in a person, just because that person is a woman! Yelling at me, using not the most flattering comparisons, Iphito took the uncorked barrel of wine from our table and slammed the door, saying that she would go to this wonderful woman herself and make a personal opinion about her over a mug of another. After glancing with the others, I realized that I was not the only one who had vague doubts that Amazon would be able to find out something and not get completely drunk.

The next morning began with a visit from three members of the municipality and a young priest, who had asked the honored servants of the Order to escort a group of several guards and two huntsmen, though without dogs, to the wrecked wagon. They must have been in big need, because only three of the five munici were left in the city, which meant that, in fact, the entire city leadership had come to ask. Amazon sent them straight to the impassable depths of profanity and went to sleep, saying that if anyone else dares to wake her up so early, his guts will be like garlands decorating the tavern. Apparently, the councilmen had consulted Vedott before the visit, and this was evident from the fact that they not only did not resent the woman's behavior, but even paled slightly, apparently believing her promise, and exhaled in relief only when she left the dining hall of the tavern.

Anton agreed, but on the condition that upon our return, we would be given the opportunity to study the letters of the old abbot. The priest was shaky for a long time, but under the pressure of the city's leadership, he accepted. All the more, as written in the charter of the Order, priests must help and promote the activities of the Slayers in every way. It was good that Hotey was obviously fond of history and knew such details, which helped Anton convince Vedott.

After a brief meeting with our group, it was decided that it was better to go to the wagon without me. The fact that the locals took me for a servant had to be utilized to the maximum. I ended up staying at the inn, first again as an errand boy for Mistress Kleshy, and then, when the Goons returned, I was sent to assist the local doctor in sorting herbs.

The town doctor, a stately, tall man in his early forties, smooth-shaven, with a short haircut and a distinctive Roman profile, could have been sculpted into busts of ancient senators were it not for one detail. His face was badly disfigured by numerous pockmarks. It was evident these marks were not the result of the present epidemic but that the doctor had had the disease long ago. Until two weeks ago, he had two assistants, but one had been sent for herbs and had to return with the looted wagon. After hearing the description of the bodies, Numerius Git, as the doctor was called, said that his assistant was not among the corpses. The second escaped to his family in a remote forest village as soon as the epidemic began. As a result, the doctor was left all alone, clearly unable to cope with the flow of complaints. In addition, some of the patients had been taken over by local herbalists, and after they were burned, the situation worsened even more.

Of course, nothing serious was assigned to me. First, I went through the herbs, sorting out the same plants, then I cleaned the bronze vats and bowls, of which there were many in the doctor's house. Afterward, I chopped wood and cleaned the house. All my attempts to ask Numerius about anything were shattered by the cold walls of his indifference and arrogance. It was not until nearly evening when I was watching the fire while the doctor was brewing one of the fortifying infusions my casual question broke the wall of his aloofness. There was one weakness of Master Git. He was a collector of the legends and myths of the Veters. He even wrote them down, assembling his collection.

I helped as much as I could in the preparation of medicines, and encouraged Numerius, who was unusually talkative as soon as his favorite subject was broached, to talk about topics that interested me. Such as the Last Year, the wolf Grum, and anything else related to the beliefs of the Veters about the End of Times. I had the feeling that these subjects were somehow related to our mission, so I tried to learn as much as I could about them. And it was interesting to compare the doctor's stories with what Kleshy had told me yesterday. To my surprise, the comparison of the doctor's and the tavern mistress's stories was not in favor of the myth collector. And Numerius had been collecting them for more than half a decade. But in spite of some difference in details, on the whole, what Kleshy had told me was confirmed by the doctor's words.

There weren't many visitors to the doctor's office today; apparently, the panic among the townspeople had reached its peak, and they were wary of leaving their homes. And those who did come in mostly asked Numerius for something to help their smallpox-stricken relatives. But all the doctor could offer them was tranquilizing herbs or poisons to relieve their suffering; there was nothing else he could do. I remember one of Master Git's explanations. In the evening, a man of advanced years, pale as chalk, gray-haired, limping on his right leg, a former head of the guard of Tweburg, a highly respected citizen of the city, came in. His granddaughter had fallen ill, and he could not find peace.

"Master Lott." Seating his visitor at the table, Numerius poured him a glass of wine. "There is no cure for this disease, not from me, not even in the Eternal City. I'd advise you to walk through the Arch and make a Plea, but the road patrols won't let you through, as you already know. All our neighbors have cordons around Tweburg and won't let anyone through from us. And they can be understood. You would have done the same when you were head of the guard had there been such an epidemic in the neighboring city. Man's fight against smallpox is like a siege of a city by a foreign army, where the disease attacks and the human body defends itself. Alas, we do not have a cure capable of attacking the disease and defeating it from behind as a surprise reinforcement. Everything depends on the besieged, on the strength of their spirits and their reserves of strength. We can help only with fortifying infusions. It will help to hold out as if a caravan with food broke through to the besieged. We can try soporifics. They'll give you a respite if you don't abuse them. But all this will not help at all if the garrison has no soldiers left for defense, but if the garrison is strong, then the disease itself will retreat in time."

In the end, Master Lott left the doctor with two pots of strengthening potion and a couple of doses of sleeping pills. With the other visitors, Numerius was not so polite and confined himself to common words, preferring to keep his dialogues to a minimum. I could see that the doctor was burdened by his helplessness in the face of illness. Maybe that was the reason why he spoke to me, trying to distract himself from this oppressive feeling.

As the sun was setting, I was able to ask the doctor my most interesting question. I had been troubled since yesterday by the younger huntsman's comment that he would like to awaken Grum's wolf. I asked Numerius if it was possible to awaken the beast of the old gods.

"According to legend, the awakening of Grum is possible in the Last Year." Rubbing his chin, Git said. "The last year is a time of famine, war, and pestilence." Numerius was silent for a moment. "Theoretically, there was famine and war, but now there's a pestilence. True, the legends describe far more terrible calamities, but in terms of the "letter" of prophecy, there is certainly a coincidence. Only in addition to this, the awakening of Grum must be accompanied by a certain ritual... I was particularly interested in this topic, but I could not find an exact description of this process. Scraps... Some fragments of notes from ruined or decayed totem poles. I have only been able to match three precisely necessary details. The first is that the ritual must take place near the Wolf-stone, the second is that a sacrifice must be made, and the third is that everything must take place after sunset. And with the victim is controversial. Many old runes have a double or even a triple interpretation, and not seeing the full text it is impossible to say exactly which of the interpretations is meant. The victim is not needed a simple, but a "worthy" or "great" and its blood should be spilled on the stone, and the victim must observe this process. But there is a detail that I do not understand: whether the victim must die in terrible agony, or whether the spilled blood is enough, and the awakened Grum must devour the victim himself..."

Assuming that the huntsmen know the ritual, or more likely, Kleshy knows it. I wonder if... And then a hunch struck me.

"Master Git, would a man with the Face of Bron, Grum's own brother, be considered a worthy sacrifice?"

"You mean that kid, the son of the recently deceased Lomner? Hmm, come to think of it..." Numeris poured himself a glass of wine and took a sip of his drink, thinking. "On the one hand, yes, I suppose so. And Bron is considered a renegade hero by some of the more radical locals, a traitor. But... The Veters, before the ThreeOnes power came to their land, were always choosy about sacrifice, were too picky in their offerings, and never sacrificed anyone of their kind to the gods. Strangers, slaves, prisoners - yes. Their own - taboo. Another thing is that after Bourne sided with the Eternal City, perhaps the locals no longer considered him one of their own. But by blood... By blood, he was still a Veters, and here the ritual is tied to the blood. Very risky and without the slightest guarantee. I wouldn't risk it. And all those old rituals are nonsense. There won't be any Last Battle, because the Three-Faced reigns in the world, and all the thousands of predictions of the various tribes have lost their power..."

"Thank you." I agree with him that there can be no Final Battle in our world. "There won't be a battle, but will Grum awaken if the ritual is done correctly?"

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"It's a curious nuance." Numeris looked at me with interest. "Apparently, even the servants of the Slayers are well trained in your monasteries... If the legends and myths about the Divine Wolf are not just stories and elements of verbal folklore but really happened... And the Stone Wolf is not just like a petrified wolf, but the true location of Grum's confinement, then... He may awaken, but why wake him? He is not just a beast...? It would only make things worse for the town. And I hear there's a woman in your party who's the Face of Stormbearer Iphito in Tweburg! So you needn't worry while you're here waking the Wolf, even if he can really be woken, is a bad idea." He laughed and drink.

Numeris' story calmed me down a bit because I wondered if Grum was our Quest. But logic tells me that a battle with a divine beast is a bit steep for a New Moon Quest. But on the other hand, it never occurred to me again, what are we here for then? Hopefully, the old abbot's notes will shed some light on this mystery after all...

I returned to the tavern after sunset and caught the Amazon's story about what a great, understanding, and wise woman Mistress Kleshy was. That none of us is worth a fingernail of her little finger. It was clear from Stormbearer's appearance, from her gestures, facial expressions, and the distinctive smell that came from her, that she was completely drunk. The Goons, like me, listened patiently to Iphito's eulogy of the tavern mistress, then waited for her to leave before discussing what they had learned of the day.

The bikers wasted no time today and still managed to find out why a group of Slayers had been summoned to Tweburg. Judging by the letters they found, the summons served two purposes. The first was to appease the people with the presence of the Slayers in the city, and the second was to escort a young man named Vorat, the chosen one of the Borne, to the nearest monastery of the Order to be trained as a Slayer. The letter implied that the young man had lost all his kin, was disliked by the locals, and was accused of things he had not done. He would not live in Tweburg, so he wished to take the path of service, and such a recruit, with such a "promising face" would be very useful to the Order. The task of the squad should have been: to calm people down and to conduct a couple of demonstration raids in the neighborhood, mainly near the WolfStone (map attached). And then escort Vorat past the road patrols, which closed the city's outskirts from refugees and epidemics to the nearest monastery of the Order.

Also among the papers was a letter of recommendation for Vorat. In it, the boy was described only in positive terms: responsible, courageous, able to overcome difficulties, and so on. The only drawback indicated was that he was unsociable. The letter also mentioned the nuance that the young man refused to go alone to the monastery, as he did not know whether he was infected or not. He did not want to accidentally infect anyone if he was sick or a carrier of the disease. The abbot's hint was easy enough to read between the lines. Getting Vorath to the monastery would require taking him through the Arch to rid him of the disease if he had it. The priest was confident that the future servant of the ThreeOne would surely descend with his grace. From my point of view, a very controversial certainty, but it is not for me to judge him.

Since we still couldn't figure out exactly what our mission was, we decided to divide our efforts again for tomorrow. The Goons would search for any information about Vorat, hoping to determine where he might be hiding, and I would dig in the direction of the prophecy of Grum's awakening, questioning the locals. Iphito was of no use to me at this stage of our quest, given her unexpected lapse, and the only hope was that if it came to a fight, the hop would not interfere with her.

In the morning, claiming to be busy on an errand for the Slayers, I shrugged off Kleshy, who tried to impose work on me, and ran into town. I went to the barracks, supposedly in search of wine for my "masters. Then stopped by the doctor's office, where I helped out a little by asking unobtrusively about Vorat's family. I was especially interested in their property and whether the family had any other houses besides the Lomner mansion, known throughout the city. That mansion had been boarded up, and no one had come near it in a long time. Since the lad was also looked for by huntsmen and dogs it means he was not hiding in this house for sure. And the guards had said they had seen Crone run out of town after Abbot's funeral. Alas, Master Git knew nothing of the merchant's property outside the city walls. Upon inquiring about it, he said that the Slayers had asked if the esteemed doctor would have time to gather as much information as he could about the prophecy of the Veters about the Last Year and the Wolf in particular. Numeris promised to come by in the evening, unless, of course, there was some urgent call and tell him all he knew on the subject. Then he returned to the inn and looked into the stables, which were now rather a kennel, where he talked to the huntsmen.

What surprised me was that, without hiding from anyone, the huntsmen were going through the medicinal herbs, of which there were a couple of big bags in the corner of the stable. Apparently, what they had gathered from the wagon they had brought here, was not given to the municipality or the doctor. These stern fellows grinned at me, saying that they had learned as much about herbs as any witch doctor and that they did not trust the Roman physician, as many of the other Veters did. I said it was a mistake, for Numeris seemed to me a man who knew his business. To which Jerome snapped back:

"For him, the Romans always come first, and we are all nothing more than despicable barbarians..."

It didn't seem that way to me when I talked to the doctor, but I couldn't convince the huntsmen. I didn't try very hard, though; I was interested in a different question. I thought for a while, and without beating around the bush, I asked him directly where Vorat could be hiding. Where? As it turned out, many places. His father had an estate about seven miles north of the town and a couple of hunting lodges further north in the woods. But they hastily told him the place was gone because the villagers had burned it down, and they were sure the werewolf boy was behind the attack on their livestock by wolves. And in general, they assured me, this Vorat, better not be seen by anyone. People are now embittered and ready grabs a pitchfork any moment. While Jerome was telling me this, Olaf, the forester, went to the kitchen for the cauldron, filled it with water, and put it on the camp stove to warm. Judging by the herbs he used, they were going to brew a fortifying potion. Admittedly, their recipe was not much different from the one used by Numeris, and the woodsmen did know their herbs. I volunteered to help them and, as a reward, got some more information. According to Olaf, looking for Vorat in the hunting lodge of his father is a foolish idea. They are not so far away from the estate that the locals have not looked there, and most likely they are also burned. On the other hand, if his memory was correct, his maternal grandfather had a small lodge on the shore of a forest lake, about three hours' walk west of town. It made sense to look for the lad there because no one in town knew about this place, and he remembered it only after my question, and he had been a hunter for many years and knew the surroundings very well. It was already like a real clue. Because if the boy and I couldn't call the fifteen-year-old a man, had nothing to do with the attacks of the wolf pack, he was unlikely to risk sleeping alone in the woods at a time like that. He would need some shelter, and the little-known lodge was the best place for it. Good thing the woodsmen were trained in map-reading, so I asked them to draw the way from the town to the gatehouse, and in a little time I got what I wanted by bringing Olaf some parchment and writing charcoal.

Unlike me, the bikers spent a great deal of time digging through the magistrate's papers but found much less helpful information. Even though the paperwork in Tweburg was of the Roman type, which meant that bureaucracy flourished there, the only thing about Lomer's country property that was mentioned in the papers was the burnt-out estate, the one mentioned by the huntsmen. The Goons sat angry and red-eyed in the evening; after all, reading scrolls and barn books under oil lamps was a below-average pleasure. But the news I brought and suggestion the purpose of our task may be the legend of Grum and that the "local activists," or rather desperate winds, perhaps looking for ways to awaken the divine wolf. The key to the ritual is probably the same Vorat we are looking for, lifted the mood a little. No, of course, no one was happy about a possible battle with a monster of such power and strength, but even such a prospect was better than the uncertainty and pointless thrashing in search of the Quest.

After arguing to a great extent about whether or not my assumption could be our Quest, we agreed that something had to be done anyway. But what exactly should we do? Opinions were divided here. I and Hotey believed it was necessary to eliminate the threat of Grum, if possible, by destroying the Wolf Stone. Anton and Phil, on the other hand, insisted that it would be enough to find Vorath and remove him from harm's way by taking him to the Monastery of the Slayers. They argued for almost an hour, to the point of squabbling, but could not come to a consensus. It was agreed that in any case, first we should find the guy with the Face of Borne, and then maybe further actions will become clearer.

Of course, it was possible to spend a few more days on a more detailed search but to be honest, this unexpectedly long trip to the Arch was boring for everyone, and they wanted to finish it quickly. So it was decided that tomorrow morning, after breakfast, we would go in search of Vorat. Near the end of our meeting, an angry, obviously hung-over Amazon burst into the room and demanded a report. I had to kick Anton under the table with my foot so that he didn't snap out of anger because this side of the Arch, Illea which had changed so much, infuriated all of us. But we didn't need a fight or obvious conflict right now. An understood my kick correctly and held back from speaking his mind; instead, he gathered his nerve in a fist and, in a calm tone, retold her the results of our brainstorming session. Iphito only snorted and said that she could not be counted on tomorrow since she had been asked by Kleshy to accompany her to the marshes in the morning to help her gather some herbs. And in general, all our speculation is nonsense from her point of view, and our Quest is to fight the epidemic, not with mythical werewolves or monsters from old legends. And that's exactly what she intends to do to help fight the disease. And we, stupid men, from whom, as she thought, about zero, can do whatever we want, she will not object and will perform the task alone, without our useless help. When she had finished this tirade, the Amazon looked at us all with a heavy, cloudy gaze and slammed the door loudly.

"Gaia..." Phil spoke up for everyone in silence as Iphito's footsteps died down. "Oh, those women..."

* * *

Since I played the role of a servant, I had to get up early in the morning and go to the kitchen to get breakfast for the others and ask the innkeeper to pack us some takeout. After I gave the bikers their breakfasts, Kleshy stopped me and handed me a hot pot.

"Blessed by the Face of the Daughter of the All-Protector with a headache, I have prepared a very spicy porridge with medicinal herbs, especially for her. This thick soup will help her. Take it to her room."

Kleshy clearly did not risk waking the hangover Iphito, clearly aware that in her sleep and not in the mood, she could take the head off the person who woke her up, in the literal sense.

Even I, knowing in my mind that I was in no danger, and no matter what mood and state of mind the Amazon was in, she would not touch me, and approaching the door of her room, I briefly froze in indecision. I did not have the slightest desire to knock. I opened the lid of the pot and smelled the porridge. What was it that Kleshy had made? I could smell the distinctive smell of spices, not pepper, of course, which was not common in this neck of the woods in these years, but many of the scents were familiar to me after my time at Numeris's. There were vitamin-rich herbs and painkillers, and another scent that seemed vaguely familiar to me... It was clearly out of place here, a very specific poppy note, barely noticeable in the snooze of other smells and familiar to me not from helping Master Git but from real life in not the most favorable area of Kitezh. I even thought I was imagining things and sniffed again... No, that's right, I wasn't mistaken...

Dozens of thoughts were racing through my head at once. Wasn't the use of opium too radical for a headache? And why such "generosity" from Kleshy, since it was clearly a very expensive ingredient in Tweburg? Is this trip to the moors today so important to the innkeeper that she needs to get Iphito on his feet without regard for the price? What is behind this? Or maybe it's the other way around and... Oh! So everything is added up now! All the details of the last few days, in a matter of five seconds, came together in my head into a coherent, inconsistent construct.

But no sooner had I enjoyed my guessing. Than I heard a demanding cough from Kleshy on the stairs. Should I turn around and speak out? No, it would lead to an instant aggravation of the situation, and I'm not ready for that... Not yet... And the conflict now, of course, will freeze the situation but not solve it completely. So, closing the lid of the pot, I knocked on the door.

The appearance of the Amazon, who opened the door, did not inspire any optimism. She even seemed to be sleeping in her clothes, but the main thing was her eyes, red as I don't know what, framed by almost black circles.

"What are you doing here so early? I have to go to the swamp around noon." She wasn't angry, but she was clearly unhappy about waking up so early.

"Brought you breakfast from Mistress Kleshy." He emphasized the last words with his intonation and handed her the pot.

"What's in there?" When she took the dishes out of my hands, she grimaced. The thought of food must have made her gag.

Should I warn you or not? I'd rather not, and not because Kleshy hears everything, standing one flight of stairs down, but because I think this is all even better for me!

"Porridge, with herbs to lighten a rough morning, made personally by Kleshy." And I'm not lying, not at all.

The Amazon was about to hand the pot back to me, but Kleshy coughed on the steps. Hearing this cough, the Stormbearer looked at me with a strange look. I did not understand what was in it more: determination, some kind of doom, and... trust? No... I imagined it!

"All right, I'll eat it. Since she worked hard... But then I'm going to bed, and whoever wakes me up in two hours will have their head turned off!" She snatched the spoon from my hands and immediately slammed the door...

That look on her face had been haunting my conscience most of the morning. Maybe I should have told her about the strange, subtle smell.

After breakfast, we quickly packed up and left town. It wasn't that far from the gatehouse we were looking for; judging from the huntsman's drawing, we could get there in three hours without any problems. But we had a hand-drawn map without much detail, and we did not know the area. To tell you the truth, I would have got lost on my own, as the forest was quite dense, we did not even have a compass, and there was no one to ask for the right direction. It was a good thing that the Goons in the woods were oriented like at home. My question as to how they were able to do that was answered by Phil:

"Live with us under the same roof as Lance, and you'll learn a lot more than that."

Yes, the bikers were more than well-prepared. Once we were a couple of kilometers out of town, Anton and Phil disappeared into the woods, and Hot stayed beside me, covering, as he said, "our artillery". I thought maybe I should tell the guys about my hunch, but then Anton would decide not to look for Vorat and immediately return to Tweburg, and that was not part of my plans at all. Instead, I asked a question that had been on my mind for a long time:

"Look... Here we've gone through the Arch and ended up in a reality where there are also Arches... What happens if we go through the Arch here?"

"It's not rocket science." Hot laughed back. "You go back to reality. That's what happens. But you will not complete the Quest. You will run away from the Field of Flight, and I think you can guess how the Face of Ares treats deserters. I mean, you'll come back, but you're practically guaranteed to catch some sort of divine curse. I don't advise you to do such experiments unless you value your life and health."

"Indeed!" Such a nuance was little known. At least I had not heard any information about it, not even rumors, and even though the subject of the Pilgrimage had not interested me much before, it was nevertheless quite telling. "How do you know so much about it?" No, I understand he has a great deal of experience on this side, but I couldn't resist asking him.

"In my experience." Hotey snapped back, his face changing.

At this point, our conversation died down, my companion walking in silence, paying much more attention to the nearby bushes than to me. My question must have hurt the biker's feelings since he was reacting in such a way. I thought I would never know what it was about those words that made his mood change so drastically when suddenly, after about a quarter of an hour of total silence, Hot spoke.

"It was a long time ago when I was in a Breakdown and went through the Veil over and over again. I'd been on edge and lost track of the days... I'd been under the Arch on a full moon, and I hadn't noticed... Alone... Which showed how out of control I was in those days... Yeah, the truth was... The truth was, I didn't give a shit... ...full moon or not the full moon, I wasn't holding on for dear life... And I got caught up in a mission that was impossible for my Face. I had to prevent the destruction of the Temple, with less than a hundred beastmen attacking and all the guards nearly slaughtered... I had heard that I could pass through the Arch in the Pilgrimage and return... It was proposed to me during the briefing, as if you consider the task too difficult, here is the Veil, very close to me, go back and survive ... It was necessary to do so, as I had no chance against such a crowd, even slightest, but I rejected the proposal and rushed into battle ... They tied me in forty seconds at most. .. And then they had fun torturing me... A long time... But you know what's funny about that story?" He didn't even turn his head to look at my reaction, consumed by his memories. "I completed the Quest... Yes, yes... I repeated the Feat... I survived the torture long enough for the Beastmen to be distracted by the destruction of the Temple. And then the Fourth Legion's cohort of reinforcements arrived, and the Temple withstood... I learned the nuances of what would have happened if I had escaped much later." After a moment's silence, he suddenly smiled, clapped me on the shoulder, and said. "Ah... I'm sorry to burden you with my memories. As you can see, I'm fine now."

Kronos! I keep forgetting that the Goons are not a youth gang but really a rehabilitation center, where everyone in it has a lot of skeletons in their wardrobes and tragedies under their belts. And this story by Hotey is the best proof of that. To lose track of the days and go Arch in a full moon alone, how could you get "lost" go deep into yourself, and forget about everything around you? Well...

We did find the gatehouse, but it took us five hours, not three, as Olaf had said. It was more of a miracle than a map because it was a small log cabin nestled in a hollow between two densely scrubbed hills.

There was someone in the house, judging by the distinctive glow of embers in the gaps in the closed shutters. It was probably a long time since it had been cared for, so the shutters had warped quite a bit, and there were thick gaps. I would not risk sleeping in it in winter, it would be frosty, but it was good for summer. The roof looked solid, the walls were not dilapidated, and the door was solid enough not to be afraid of even the biggest pack of wolves.

Three hundred meters away from the gatehouse, we hid behind a hill and had an express meeting. Shall we capture the boy or try to negotiate? After a short discussion, I managed to insist on a peaceful solution. After that, the bikers dispersed around the building, and I took everything out of the duffel bag on the ground, put the sheath with the sword on my belt, threw the cloak over my shoulders, and secured it with the Order's fibula, at an unhurried pace, without hiding at all, went out to the gatehouse.

I guess the escaped Vorat didn't expect someone to walk up to his hiding place and just knock on the door with the words:

"Ow, master, would you be so kind as to open the door for the Servant of the Order?"

Someone was definitely in the gatehouse. I could tell by the rustling and stifled breathing, although there was no hurry to open the door. Was it the lad we were looking for, or someone completely uninterested, wandering in by chance? That depends on whether I've got all the pieces of the puzzle right. If I have, then the Vorat was trivially turned in to me and by those who knew very well where he was. If there is someone else at the door, then my paranoia has played an unfunny trick on me, and I am a rare idiot in this case.

I decided it was childish to ask "who's in the house," and I was sure I wasn't mistaken. So I didn't knock harder or insist on being let in right away. Instead, I shoved a letter of recommendation for Vorat, written by the deceased abbot, under the door.

"Do you recognize the handwriting?"

After half a minute, the deadbolt creaked, and the door swung open invitingly...

Vorat was exactly as I had imagined him to be. He was fair-haired, of medium height, but very dense for his age, a sort of young bull. I liked his straightforward, open eyes, though a little confused, but who in his position and age would not be confused?

I introduced myself as the Slayer, and then after warning the boy, I called out to the others. The boy hesitated at first, but when he saw the distinctive cloaks draped over the uninvited guests' shoulders, he calmed down. He seemed to trust the servants of the ThreeFaced, which, coupled with the fact that the priest of the City Temple had interceded for him, was a strong indication that he wasn't a werewolf terrorizing the neighborhood. I'd doubted it before, and this morning I was pretty sure the boy had nothing to do with the town's troubles. Well, except for the fact that he'd gotten so "lucky" with Face, and he'd been targeted by a certain group of unscrupulous people at such an inopportune moment.

After a short express questioning, it became clear to us that Vorat knew even less about what was going on than we did. He kept trying to convince us that he wasn't a werewolf and that he couldn't turn into a wolf. He says he was able to turn into a beast beyond the Arch, but that he can't do it here, and that he's tried, but he can't. I listened to his story and felt as if I were in some kind of looking-glass, as "beyond the Arch" is the place for us. I could understand everything with my brain, but it still felt strange, like I was in a room with a lot of crooked mirrors.

After listening to Vorath, Anton suggested we return to the town, pick up Illea and take the boy to the nearest monastery of the Order, regardless of what was going on here. Again he was supported by Phil. They both seemed to be sick and tired of the quest. I countered that, from what I understood, our purpose was quite different in this Quest.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be." An snapped at me as he listened. "Go put out the fire in the hearth." He turned to Vorat, and when he stepped back, the biker continued. "We're entered at a new moon, don't make a mess of things. Quest is supposed to be simple! Trust me on that. So I take full responsibility, we go back, grab Illea, who's gone crazy, and get out of here. That's it! No arguments!"

Anton is obviously very, very angry. But I still think he's completely wrong. And I realize that lying to my own is somehow wrong, but I do it anyway.

"The crazy Illea?" I grinned, summoning all my acting skills to my aid. "Even if she's more Iphito than Illea now... Think about it... Iphito is still one of the best commanders of the Amazon kingdom in its centuries-long history... The daughter of Ares, who fought against two of the greatest Heroes. Do you really think she's gonna go on a bender and give up on the mission? Think about it... it doesn't add up."

"Yeah... Gaia..." Anton crunched his neck vertebrae and clenched his fists. "Let's skip the backstory, be straightforward."

I played the role of a servant in the city. She played the role of a drunken maiden who was sick and tired of the men she was forced to go camping with. My approach gave us a lot of information, but I could not get close to Kleshy; she did not take me seriously and only fed me fairy tales. But Illea's game brought her close to the innkeeper.

"Did you hit your head?" After listening to my speech, Anton said. "What's this got to do with Kleshy?!"

"She's behind it all! Not the famine, the war, and the epidemic. She's not behind it... But the alleged wolf attacks and the hatred of the Romans, that's her game."

"Yeah..." Phil grinned. "She's a werewolf woman, turning into a wolf and terrorizing the neighborhood when she's not cooking."

"There were no wolves!" This assertion of mine took the smiles off the Goons' faces. They were clearly beginning to worry about my mental health. "All the attacks, including the one on the herb wagon, were the work of the local huntsmen. They most likely shot the caravanners with their bows and then gave the command to the dogs to finish them off. That's why we didn't find a single blood of beasts at the site of the attack, even though one of the caravaners had time to draw his sword."

"But their dogs are afraid to go into the woods..." Phil stretched out doubtfully.

"Yeah... And we only know this from the word of the huntsmen themselves." It was my time to smile wryly. "Remember, every caravanner's throat was ripped open. That's probably where the arrows went. And the fact that we found no trace of humans is..." Hotey spoke while I was trying to find the right words.

"That's understandable. I've seen these forest rangers. They're tough guys. They've been living in the woods for years. They know how to cover their tracks and camouflage so well, they'd give any special forces guy a head start in this business." He scratched the back of his head. "They ambushed them, shot at them, removed the arrows and covered their tracks, then ordered the dogs to mop up. In theory, that might explain the strangeness of the attack... But... Why?!

"They need panic and hatred so that at the right time, the city will erupt in the carnage, and no one will care what they do."

"Don't tell me someone's going to wake up Grum, you're getting manic." I could see that Anton accepted my arguments, but he was still hesitant. "And you have a flaw in your logic. It requires a sacrifice to awaken Grum, and the only suitable one-" An waved toward Vorat, who had already smothered the hearth and bolted the door of the gatehouse and was now climbing one of the tallest pines. "The huntsmen sold him out themselves. It doesn't add up."

"Mistake," I answer him. "We were turned in to distract us and get us out of town. The boy is not the only suitable victim."

"What the fuck..." He stopped in mid-sentence, and his eyes began to turn into saucers. "Are you telling me that..."

He did not have time to finish his sentence. Vorat, who had already climbed to the top of a pine tree and was looking somewhere, shouted to us.

"It's on fire! Tweburgh is burning. It's burning! There's a lot of smoke!"

"Well... Fucking hell..." Phil slapped his thigh in frustration. - Why is it always the same shit everywhere...

"So you knew everything?" Anton is angry.

"I guessed. Everything came together exactly when it was Vorat who opened the door of the gatehouse for me. That means they knew where he was and were ready to come for him at any time. But the arrival of a squad of Slayers in the town confounded the conspirators' plans. And then they couldn't be bothered with the boy, for he was a dubious sacrifice, and Grum might not accept it, for Born was his brother, and the gift had come to them."

"If anything happens to Illea, I'll pull your ears up over your ass!" Anton growled back.

"What can happen to her? She's asleep... And no one will touch her until the sun goes down."

"Asleep? It's not like she was going to drink."

"She's got a horse's worth of opiates in her breakfast, so she's asleep."

"What?!!" Anton roared like a wounded bull, clenching his fists.

"Ew!" I threw up my hands. "She knew about it! And she had made that decision herself!"

There you go... It's always like that with lies. You start small, but then... one hitch in your weave of lies, then a second, and it's like a tangle that grows and grows like a snowball.

"It pisses me off... You piss me off... Illea is totally freaking me out... Why didn't you say everything beforehand?"

"I didn't know for sure, so I kept quiet until it all came together. And she... The truth is, on this Side, she treats men like shall we say, dumb sheep, so she didn't even want to tell us anything." Her wish to sort it out herself was the truth. Illea didn't say anything to me either, I just got the hint.

"Hey!" exclaimed Phil. "What's that got to do with Illea, anyway?"

"She, as a victim, is far better than Vorat... For she has no kinship with the Veters and is the possessor of the Face of the Daughter of Ares, the one who was the enemy of their gods! A more than worthy sacrifice..." Hotei answers for me.

Anton stepped forward, put his hand on my shoulder, and with a little pressure said:

"Here, on this Side, we are a team... Such speculation is best discussed in advance...! Do you understand me?"

Before I could think of anything to say, Hotey shooed his commander away from me with his shoulder:

"An... Did you just lecture the man with the Face of Odysseus about how he shouldn't play people in the dark?! Don't you think pissing against a hurricane would be a much more fruitful exercise? Give the guy a break, it's his second time under the Arch, and he doesn't even know how to discard the Face."

"Fuck you all to Kronos!" Anton whispered softly, angrily, through tightly pressed lips, and kicked the lump so hard it reached the gatehouse. Then he took a couple of deep breaths and asked: "All right, I get it. Do we have to gallop to Tweburg now? What the hell did we come all the way out here for? Couldn't we have just left town and waited in the woods?"

"I wasn't sure one of the huntsmen wasn't following us," I muttered back.

Oh, man!... And he's right... I don't think there are many people involved in the conspiracy. After all, there weren't that many outright "rowdy" people at all times. Kleshy, Erom, Olaf, and a couple of guards, without whose help would be difficult to carry an emotionless body outside the walls, even during the fire and massacre in the city. I mean, it's unlikely someone was sent to watch over us with such a shortage of manpower. So we might not have rushed through the woods, but I was reluctant to admit Anton was right. Maybe it was because I was offended by Hots' words. I wasn't playing anyone "dark," I just didn't trust that I would be understood and not declared paranoid.

"And no, we don't need to go to Tweburgh; if it's on fire, there's nothing to be done there." Having said that, I gesture for Vorat. "Do you know where Wolfstone is?" I have a map, but after all the time we've wasted looking for the Watchtower, guided by someone else's drawing, we may not make it before sunset by following it.

"Of course!" The lad nods confidently.

"Can you walk us out? Just in time for sundown?"

"If you tell me what's going on, I will!" I liked him, and here's such impudence.

Glancing at Anton, I nod.

"I'll tell you along the way."

"I don't mind listening too." Phil glanced at me unkindly.

The journey through the woods, even with a local guide, was not the easiest, and I had to talk...

About his doubts at the beginning, about the strange murder of the caravan drivers. About the cold and yet somewhere deep down, the fierce look in Kleshy's eyes. About the fact that the city was on the verge of a massacre, much closer than many of the locals thought, and that any straw would be enough to set things off, like a fire blamed on one of the Romans. About the discontent of the guards, half of whom were ready to spit on their oaths and strangle their superiors with their bare hands. About strange jaegers, who, as I noticed, obey the mistress of a common inn in everything and their huge dogs. About such big dogs that five of them can fight a bear. And I also do not believe, that trained dogs can be frightened even by werewolves if the master is near them. That the locals were harassing Vorat, and that someone was deliberately trying to rob the boy of any support in the city by spreading rumors that he was an uncontrollable shape-shifter. And with these rumors, they discredited the priests who harbored Vorath from the locals' wrath, which further swayed the situation. About the legends of the Last Year and the divine wolf Grum, and about the willingness of Jerome the Huntsman, hidden behind a joke, to awaken the Beast. About the fact that Olaf, judging by the certainty with which he drew the way to the lodge, knew exactly where the Vorat was. That he'd given me this information after he'd fetched water, and had evidently gone to consult with Kleshy, who'd given him the go-ahead to leak it out because she'd needed us out of the city. About the strange smell from the broth, I had made this morning, which Kleshy had taken to Illea. About my thoughts, my guesses, my inquiries, about many things...

And that we have time before sundown. I'm not entirely sure if it's even possible for Grum to awaken since the gods of these lands were fed to Cronus long ago. Is there any power left in Wolfstone? But if we don't make it in time, Illea will be dead, and there's no doubt about that.

Asking Vorat to climb a tall tree and see if the city was still on fire, I told the Goons, in my opinion, our task was to identify and destroy the sect that worshipped the old gods. Anton only waved his hand at this.

"That's it! Don't burden me. Just tell me what to do... I just want to get out of here! Preferably quickly!"

The Wolfstone is a very large boulder, weighing about fifteen hundred tonnes. How could such a giant be carried into these remote forests? It really does look like a miracle.

We did not go close but walked around the clearing in a great arc and dispersed into the bushes to the leeward side, about two hundred paces away from the Stone. We had to wait for quite a long time, well over an hour.

As the sun dipped behind the treetops, our wait was over. And I realized how wrong I had been...

Kleshy, strangely dressed in white wolf skin with a carved staff, came out into the clearing, followed by... After her, a crowd of three dozen men, in addition to two stout strangers, who were carrying the unconscious Illea on a stretcher, came out. There were the huntsmen and their retinue and five of the guards I knew at first sight, but the rest I had never seen before.

I shook my head in the negative, catching Anton's gaze, for it was too early to attack. I could see that the men were alert and on guard; I had to wait until they got carried away by the ritual and strike when no one was waiting. I was very worried about the dogs. What if they smell it? But no, they didn't. Kleshy drew a large figure on the ground around the stone with her staff, muttering something while the forest rangers set their dogs in the corners of her drawing. Apparently, the dogs were also part of the awakening ritual. Then, a large man in a leather apron nailed the shackles to the stone, into which the unawakened Amazon was chained. From my place, I could clearly see Illea's head reeling uncontrollably as her wrists and ankles were fastened in the cold iron. There was irony in this. The opponents of the Romans had their victims crucified, just as the same Romans executed their enemies.

After the Amazon was shackled, Kleshy seated everyone who came with her in a wide semi-circle so that everyone could see the victim. Then she spoke. Alas, because of the wind and the distance I could not hear her words well. I could not make out much, but what came to my ears was very much like a sermon. From her speech, I learned that she had long considered herself a priestess of the old gods. Ever since her husband had not returned from the Arch five years ago, she had seen it as a sign. She spoke of how the alien gods had imprisoned their gods in hated Tartarus, but she knows how to summon them back! To do so, Grum must be awakened and then, their gods will rise, and war against the outsiders will begin, for by all predictions the gods of the Veters cannot lose...

Iron logic... But they believed her, judging by the consonant chatter. There was even an enthusiastic clamor when Kleshy declared that with victory, all their troubles and oppression of the Veters would be a thing of the past, that they would finally be free of the hated Romans. And that all the sacrifices of the end times were not in vain, that everything that had been happening lately was a Sign! A sign that announces the Last Year and Grum's readiness to awaken!

And then my hair stood on end. It turned out that a month ago, Kleshy had been on business in a port town on the shores of the Amber sea, and a boat full of dead people had come ashore with traces of black pox on their bodies. In this, she saw a Sign. The boat was burned together with the bodies, but she managed to steal the lining from the jacket of one of the corpses and brought this rag to Tweburg!!! And the fact she did not fall ill for so long the disease bypassed her, and the rest of the True Believers is also a Foreshadowing. And the five that died of smallpox from their group, so she had long suspected them of duplicity and treachery. It was Providence that killed them! And the disease, the sickness she sent down by the True Gods, who were able to give her a Sign from their imprisonment.

О! ThreeFace, how could anyone believe such a thing? But she was believed by every single person she led. The most natural sect, led entirely by a mad priestess of gods that no longer exist.

Anton's gaze, and again I shake my head, too early... It's not just people here. It's crazy people. I'm not sure we can deal with that crowd fast enough to keep Illea alive. Not yet...

Kleshy finished her sermon, walked over to the Amazon, and poured some liquid into her mouth. Illea's eyelids twitched, and then the priestess screamed, shouted, and screamed in religious ecstasy, shouting in a language I did not know, shaking her staff and threatening the heavens. I could not understand the words she was shouting in religious euphoria, but judging by their somewhat coherent nature. It was a song of some kind.

The distance made it difficult for me to see the expression on the Amazon's face and thus understand how much she had recovered. I could only see that her eyes were open. Meanwhile, Kleshy was getting more and more heated, her howling recantation becoming more and more like the howl of a wild beast by the minute. And the crowd, the crowd that sat in a semicircle by the rock, swaying to the beat of her maddening song, picked up the howl. Goosebumps the size of my fist ran down my spine. It was such a terrifying sight.

When the rhythm of the song became frantic and maddening, the priestess threw back her staff, and a black curved obsidian knife gleamed in her hands in the moonlight.

Illea! How are you?! I can't wait any longer. I hope you can already act...

I raised my hand and folded my palm in an "act after me" gesture.

//The attribute!

The familiar curve of the Silver Bow, polished by thousands of touches, fits comfortably in my hand. My back was covered by Ithaca's shield, reliable as a tank's armor, and a different kind of sword had appeared on my belt, where the scabbard had once been sheathed. Two palms longer than the Slayers' weapon, shaped like a sedge leaf, as sharp as a surgical scalpel, and bearing the name Thetis's Tear. The only thing that hadn't changed was my clothing, which was the same as the one I'd been given at the beginning. The last point, however, was not so important.

The arrow steadily took its place...

I think Kleshy was very surprised as she approached her securely shackled victim and raised the cult knife over her throat when an arrow whizzed by her shoulder and struck the shackles restraining the Amazon's right arm. With a sharp, metallic clang, the iron burst from this blow, and the palm of Ares' daughter's hand clutched at the priestess's throat, lifting the madwoman above the ground.

"You all die, bitches!!!" Iphito's cry eclipsed, in its fury and madness, the entire preceding ritual. Tossing Kleshy's unconscious body aside, she shouted: "Blades of Fire!"

A second arrow struck the shackles of her left arm just as two blood-red asses, curved Assyrian swords, an ancient prototypes of sabers, appeared in the palms of Stormbearer's hands. With a flick of the cross and the Amazon is free, her blades cutting through the shackles on her ankles without the slightest effort. A second and the Avenger is on her feet, and the swords in her hands, dancing as if alive.

Ding...

I was so caught up in it that I forgot where I was, and to my shame, even Olaf came to his senses faster. He raised his bow and shot at Iphito, but his arrow struck the red steel helplessly and fell to the ground. That was all he managed, the second arrow did not come off his bowstring, and he collapsed on the grass with a punctured throat. There was no way I could have missed from that distance.

And then everything spun in a frenzied whirl. The cultists grabbed what they were carrying, some with pitchforks, some with stakes, and the guards drew their swords. My fourth arrow was a little too late but not nearly long enough for Yeom to give the dogs the command before he fell headlong. The roar of the beasts joined the human screams. The crowds swept over Iphito like an unstoppable tidal wave over a rocky cliff. And then, immediately, in the back of the maddened cultists with a thunderous thud:

ЭBar-r-r-ra-a-a-a-a!!!Э The bikers hit with their scootums.

I fired two more shots, took out a couple of dogs, and then realized that the situation was changing so quickly that it was dangerous to shoot. I put my bow behind my back, put on my shield, drew Tear, and raced into the thick of the battle.

I only had to run a hundred and fifty meters. That was all. Even with my shield and sword, it didn't take more than thirty seconds. But by the time I got there, it was all over. Two of the huntsmen and a couple of the dogs had been shot by me. Seven more, judging by the neat and fatal wounds, had been killed by the Goons, and the rest were all on Ithito's conscience.

The Amazon stood with her blades down, her blood streaming off her. And all around her, there were... No, not bodies.... You wouldn't call them bodies... Pieces of meat... Just pieces... Finely chopped... where human body parts were very difficult to identify.

"Gaia..." whispered Phil, barely audible, hiding the gladius in its scabbard. "A meat grinder... A fucking blender..."

I looked around. Not a single cultist had left, and they weren't trying to flee either, attacking recklessly and without sparing their lives. There was blood everywhere: on the ground, on the grass, on the branches, on the leaves, on the tree trunks, and only the wolf-stone was, by some miracle, untouched.

Wait... But if all the cultists are dead, why isn't the Quest complete? Where did I go wrong?

Oh no, there's no mistake...

The Amazon, twisting the swords so that the air howled pitifully, threw them into their scabbards, already clean of blood. Then she bent down and scattered the chunks of bodies next to her feet and lifted the perfectly intact but emotionless Kleshy. Slapping her cheeks, she brought the priestess to her senses and asked.

"Do you want to wake up the Wolf?"

Kleshy glanced around the clearing with a blurred look, but when she realized that she could not escape the grip of the daughter of god of war, she straightened up and crossed her gaze with the Amazon's. She knew she'd lost, that her life's work, her cherished revenge against the gods, had all gone to waste. But she stood, proudly straightening her back and there was no fear in her gaze.

"I want to." Proclaimed the priestess. "Kill me, or time will pass, and I will come back here."

"Idiot." Iphito brushed these words aside. "What would it take to wake him up?"

What?! Did I mishear it?! What does she want... Thinking the same thing, Anton stepped forward, but before he could say a word, Stormbearer turned towards us, and her gaze was as sharp as her blades.

"Whoever gets in the way... Dies..." She didn't shout. She didn't rage. It was said quietly and calmly.

Mundane...

I took a step back.

And Anton.

And Phill.

And Hotey.

Yes, I was scared, but I'm not ashamed of it because there are things that only degenerates don't fear: being in the path of a tsunami or tornado, getting caught in the middle of an active volcano, or being atom-bombed... or being enraged by Iphito...

"Pride..." Kleshy laughed softly and triumphantly. "You are a petty louse of alien gods compared to the Great One..."

The priestess didn't finish; the Amazon squeezed her neck harder, and the words turned into a wheeze.

"How do you finish the ritual?" Asking this, Stormbearer loosened her grip a little.

"The awakening is almost over." Interrupted by a frequent cough, Kleshy wheezed. "All it takes is a drop of your blood to fall on the Stone, and..."

The woman did not finish, her neck crunched, and the dead body of the mad priestess silently settled on the grass.

Picking up an obsidian knife from the ground, the Amazon slashed her wrist with it and applied the bleeding wound to the Stone.

*SFX*

With an unpleasant sound, cracks ran through Wolfstone, getting bigger and wider with every second.

Kronos!!!

Gaia damn...

Why?!

Dooooong!!!

The stone burst, releasing the Divine Beast from its confinement.

By the size of the stone cage, I expected to see a wolf the size of a two-story bus and weighing about ten tons. In reality, the Beast was much smaller. No, it was very imposing, taller than a man at the withers and weighing as much as two beef bulls, but I expected more. His fur was gray, almost completely white, and his eyes, blue as the morning sky, reflected unfathomable anger at everything, at EVERYTHING at all.

The wolf howled, and the world fell silent the wind died down, the leaves stopped making noise, and even the grasshoppers fell silent.

And then I got angry. Because of that fucking wolf, we've been here so long?! That fucking thing...

In a natural, somehow familiar and easy movement, the shield changes places with the Bow, and the arrow slides across the stock, taking its place.

"He's mine! Only mine!" Iphito shouts, exposing the Blades of Fire.

But her exclamation was too late.

Ding...

A tight bowstring strikes the wrist guard, and white plumage blooms in Groom's right eye socket.

The second arrow leaves the quiver as I hear a furious roar:

"He's mine!!!"

A red flare flashed before my eyes and the world began to spin frantically.

Sky... Earth... Sky... Earth... Sky...

My body standing headless and clutching the Silver Bow...

Sky... Earth... Sky...

Darkness...

* * *