When the men were a mile away from their companions, George stopped and began examining the nearby trees.
"What are you doing?" Noticing his friend's actions, William turned away. "You could have warned me."
"Sissy," George finished his important task and turned to the manager. "You know how animals mark their territory?"
"Is that your way of claiming this tree?"
"No, you idiot! Marks! How are you going to find your way back to ours?"
"So you decided to find your way by smelling your own urine?"
"You can sneer all you want, but if it helps me survive, I'm willing to go that far."
"Then why not just leave scratches on the trees?"
"And you think you can find them later?" George began to climb what appeared to be one of the tallest trees in the area. "Imagine we have fifteen miles to cover - do you really think you'll be able to find the exact trees you marked? Or would you scratch every ten, fifteen meters?"
William wanted to continue debating the merits of sniffing one's 'marks', but in the end he held his tongue. If he wanted to adapt more quickly to the new situation, he'd have to accept some things as given. Will started to climb up as well. Though the lack of clothing made it difficult, the few minutes of struggle were worth it when he reached the top of the main mass of trees and saw the forest stretching out around them for a considerable distance.
A mountain range was visible off to one side. Will didn't recognize the terrain - it was too unfamiliar, given his limited travels and interest in the surrounding world, to determine what part of the planet they were in. George didn't comment much on the situation either. Although he had served in the army, he wasn't a veteran. The farthest the Deputy Chief of Security had traveled was to specially equipped training areas.
"See that mountain? It'll make an excellent landmark," George pointed to the highest peak. "Imagine the top of that rock is north on a compass. Until we can determine where north is, we'll consider that mountain to be zero. In the Army, we often used azimuth navigation."
"Sounds a little complicated." "It's not. You just need some basic knowledge. Imagine a circle and divide it into 360 degrees. The mountain is zero."
"So if I told you we had to go 60 degrees, would it be like this?" William pointed slightly to the right of the mountain.
"Correct. Without any guidance, it's easiest to imagine two lines intersecting at right angles," George began drawing with his finger directly on the tree bark, "zero is one end of the line, the other is one hundred eighty. The same for the second line: one side is ninety, the other two hundred seventy. If I tell you an azimuth of one hundred and forty, it means that you have to look at zero and count that number of degrees to the right."
"Convenient. What are the drawbacks of this technique?"
"The disadvantage is that it only works when we're standing together. Otherwise, the zero azimuth will be in different places for us. That's enough for now; later I'll teach you more complex things, like angular minutes."
"You know, I don't remember any mountains in this whole state. When Malcolm talked about rescuers, I thought..."
George interrupted his friend, "I know, I thought the same thing, that there would be no rescuers. To send a team, you need to have a rough idea of where to look for us. And how to connect an office building with this dense forest is beyond me."
The men fell silent. They had to accept the fact that they couldn't rely on anyone else. As the saying goes, rescuing the drowning is the work of the drowning themselves. Will took a deep breath.
"So heading for the mountains isn't the best idea. Sure, there might be roads, but serpentine roads aren't as well traveled as highways. And climbing rocks without gear doesn't sound too appealing. At azimuth one hundred and eighty, there seems to be a long strip where there are far fewer trees," William looked at George, who was listening in silence. "Since the forest continues beyond that, it could be a highway."
"I see. Good work. But I still don't understand how we do this. The strip is nearly three miles from us. To see that far without binoculars..."
William didn't comment on his friend's words. He understood that the situation was completely absurd, but the manager tried not to dwell on it. Right now, the most important thing was to determine their location and somehow keep all three hundred people from dying. For the first time in his life, he felt such an enormous burden of responsibility.
"I understand what you're saying. But I can't think of anything. At the meeting, I repeated Amelia's vampire theory simply because I was at a loss and couldn't think of anything else. If we had discussed all the theories as a group, we'd still be sitting in the cabin until nightfall.
"You did well. The first thing I thought was that we had been kidnapped somehow, but... So many people? All at once? I doubt it. And then there's the tsunami of storm clouds and the director with his strange speech."
"Yes, I think Christopher is involved somehow. But how? Well, with such thoughts we'll soon come to the conclusion that reptilian freemasons have kidnapped us to sell us to humanoid insects from Mars. Let's get going."
The scouts nodded to each other and decided it would be best to start by heading straight out of the mountains to the possible highway and then see how things went. After descending, they ran through the trees, trying to head in the right direction as best they could.
As they ran, Will suddenly realized that it was clearly the second half of the day. It was strange that everything around them looked so vividly bright and light. If he really was a vampire, a nocturnal creature, that would explain a lot. Although, come to think of it, some forms of schizophrenia also alter color perception, as do certain narcotics. The manager hadn't noticed any personality disorders in himself, and George was real enough, at least tangible. Except that calling himself a vampire in all seriousness hadn't really worked out so far.
William looked through the branches at the sky. It was thick with clouds.
"What if the sun kills us?" William said aloud.
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, if we're suddenly vampires, the legends say we should be afraid of the sun."
"You're still talking about bloodsuckers. Let's not jump to conclusions. Thinking about it reminds me of how psychiatric hospitals have a separate ward for Napoleons. Maybe there's one for people who think they're Dracula. And besides, I'd rather bake in the sun than look like we're covered in glitter..."
It was disturbing. Not only did they have to deal with their new identities somehow, but maybe the legends weren't lying after all, and vampires couldn't stand the sunlight. The thought of having to hide from the sun made Will cringe.
Deciding to distract himself from these heavy thoughts, he shifted his attention to the surrounding terrain and began to observe and sniff around - the sensation the boar's blood had given him was too pleasant, and William was not averse to experiencing it again.
George was right about the markings; the tree they had started from had a human "scent" to it. Even though they had walked several miles. With such a sense of smell, one could not only scout, but also hunt. William remembered hunting dogs. It was difficult for an ordinary person to track prey, as scent and hearing were the primary tools for finding game. Dogs were invaluable assistants to hunters, aiding their masters with their keen noses and sensitive ears.
Unfortunately, Will's nose was picking up too many scents, and he still couldn't tell which belonged to which animal. He only knew the scent of a boar, but he hadn't seen any of that species in the area.
However, there were scents of several dozen different animals. Unfortunately, the blood memory could only help so much in classifying the scents. Humans perceived scents differently than boars. Besides, the variety of scents Will could now detect would make even the best hunting dogs jealous.
As a child, like many people his age, Will often watched wildlife documentaries. From them he knew that the forests were inhabited by predators: wolves, foxes, members of the cat family, and even some bears that didn't mind fresh meat; herbivores: elk, rabbits, deer, various rodents like field mice and squirrels; a vast number of bird species. Only the two-legged furry creatures from the boar's memories Will couldn't remember. The beast's vision was somewhat strange, and the memories were more like images mixed with emotions. These creatures resembled monkeys to some extent, but Will dared not confirm this definitively.
At that moment, a rabbit jumped out from under the manager's feet and ran away. Will wanted to stop, but he kept running for fear of falling behind George. Catching another animal could always be done later... probably, considering that the rabbit moved quickly and it would not be easy to catch it in the forest. The manager caught the scent emanating from the rabbit and memorized it as the scent of a rodent, and he did so immediately. It was imperative that he test not only his physical but also his cognitive abilities.
After another half mile, George stopped and had his partner mark a tree as well. As soon as the clerk had completed his task, his nostrils caught something new, and he was surprised to find that it was the scent of a human. Anyone who'd ever been in a gym locker room would recognize it instantly. The smell of sweat-soaked clothing is unique.
"George, do you smell that?"
"Yeah, let's go slow."
The scouts approached the scent with quick steps, stopping to sniff and look around. By the time the partners had run, they were at least three miles from the camp. Although they couldn't pinpoint the location of the others, they decided to be cautious about making contact with humans. Two naked men emerging from the forest would be considered abnormal in any civilized country. And starting a dialog with natives in loincloths wasn't wise, remembering the fate of James Cook.
The smells intensified. William could hear human voices. One thing was clear - the humans were very close. There definitely seemed to be a fight going on, probably even a scuffle. Amidst the screams, the manager thought he heard the clanging of metal. There seemed to be some sort of car accident in the road. The language spoken by the locals was unfamiliar to him - it was unlike anything Will had heard before.
Then George sprinted past him. The former soldier ran towards the people at great speed. But after only a few steps, the deputy chief of security crashed into a tree at high speed, as if on purpose. William froze in confusion for a moment, but only a moment.
The scent of blood suddenly hit Will's nostrils sharply! Human blood! He even tasted it in his mouth, though it was surely just a memory of his own bitten lips and tongue, but the metallic taste was extremely pleasant. It was still about a hundred meters to the source.
William seemed to fall into a trance. The scent lured the vampire and he ran towards the intoxicating aroma. But his partner had already recovered from the collision and jumped on him from behind. The two naked men rolled to the ground, hitting several protruding roots.
"Will, calm down!" George sat on the second scout's back and pinned him to the ground, trying to hold him down. "Calm down, you crazy bloodsucker!"
Will had no intention of calming down. The clerk struggled and kicked. He didn't attack George, but he tried with all his might to move toward the scent. In that moment, Will was the embodiment of determination. See the gate? Run to it! Can't run? Then walk. Can't walk? Then crawl. Can't crawl? Then lie down in his direction and don't take your eyes off him!
A few seconds earlier, George had felt the same way. But in an instant, before his consciousness completely faded, he managed to divert his trajectory straight into the trunk of an oak tree. The sharp pain from the collision of his skull and the tree brought his self-control back.
"Sorry, buddy, you don't understand the right way," George grabbed his partner's index finger and a characteristic crunch sounded. The finger on the left hand bent unnaturally in the opposite direction. Will was silent for a moment, then unleashed a tirade of choice expletives.
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"Have you come to your senses?" George asked, waiting for the clerk to finish pouring emotion through his mouth. "We couldn't afford to run out of the bushes and jump people. Can you imagine what the news would say?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks," Will stood up and looked at his crooked finger. It almost didn't hurt anymore, just pulsating uncomfortably and itching a bit. "Interesting, the wound from the tusk healed without any help. But the finger didn't straighten up on its own. I wonder if it needs more time or if I should do it myself?"
"We'll find out later, there's something going on. Let's go before it's too late and stay calm. Keep an eye on me, too."
William picked up the boar tusk that had fallen as the partners rolled to the ground.
The scouts moved even more cautiously now; they had made enough noise already. They could only hope that the people they were approaching had more important things to worry about than the sounds coming from the forest.
Crouching low, the partners approached a huge bush. It seemed that the humans were just beyond this thicket. Carefully parting the branches, Will and George finally saw what was happening - just four yards from the scouts was a clearing in the trees, and there on the road...
Deep in the dense, mysterious forest, where light barely penetrated the tangle of ancient trees, a battle raged between a group of men in shining armor and some ragtag fighters.
Will was immediately reminded of images depicting militias made up of peasants. The militiamen wore simple linen shirts and pants and were armed with whatever was at hand. Spears, homemade hammers and clubs, a few bows. Some peasants had wooden shields, some had slings, and others simply threw stones. And with a clear understanding of the task, these men killed each other.
The wide path that ran through the forest had become the arena for this confrontation, turning from a quiet route into a noisy battlefield. The group of men, armed to the teeth and clad in quality armor, used their advantage in equipment to dominate the battle, or so it seemed to the scouts at first glance.
There were too few warriors. Armed only with simple spears and makeshift weapons, the militia relied on their numbers and courage. Despite the lack of armor, they fought bravely, regardless of the losses.
The battle had apparently been going on for some time, and the road was littered with bodies and wounded. Though it seemed difficult to call those who had received such injuries anything but potential dead. The sight of mutilated bodies on the road somehow did not evoke disgust. The only thought in the scouts' minds was the sweet, tantalizing smell of blood.
The militia had already lost more than half of its fighters, but the warriors were in even worse shape. When Will and George arrived on the scene, only three of the six men in armor were still standing. They were not encased in full plate armor; the protective gear covered the torso, shoulders, forearms, and head, typical of professional infantry. The shins were also protected by metal plates.
The infantrymen were exhausted. The clothes of all the fighting men were soaked with sweat, the smell of which was picked up by the office staff. The three men swung their swords, trying to fend off the remaining peasants, and gradually retreated.
Among the militia, one man stood out. He was the only one dressed in old and worn armor similar to that of the warriors, and he was armed with a sword. The peasant commander was old, his age betrayed by a thick gray beard and similarly colored strands of hair sticking out from under his helmet and clinging to his sweaty forehead. Despite his age, he led the charge and fought hand-to-hand with one of the enemies.
The battle intensified as the infantrymen desperately tried to push back the attackers. At the same time, the three warriors stopped retreating and launched an attack. Within seconds, more peasants fell to the ground from the slashing blows.
After that, the infantrymen's plan became clear. Shielding themselves from the archers with the militia commander, they began to attack the leader. Stones still flew at them, seemingly useless at first glance, but causing considerable discomfort, especially if they hit the helmet and caused a ringing in the ears.
The old warrior blocked blows with his shield and parried with his sword, but it couldn't last. Eventually, the enemy's steel weapons found a gap in his defenses and plunged into his thigh. The sharp pain made the gray-haired man jerk and lower his hands, opening the way to his head. This was his end; a soldier's sword pierced his neck, severing an artery. Bright red blood spurted from the wound in the pulsing rhythm of a heartbeat. The leader took a few steps back and fell onto his back. The ruby-red liquid spread across the ground, mixing with the dust of the road. With such profuse bleeding, the man had only a few minutes to live.
The infantrymen stood shoulder to shoulder, closing ranks with their shields. The peasants wavered as they watched their leader fall. Those who had been throwing stones ran first. The rest, succumbing to the growing panic and fear, fled after them.
The armored warriors did not pursue the fugitives, as they had apparently hoped.The three men in full armor had no intention of running after the lightly clad men.They retreated, shielding themselves as they went, until the last of the militia disappeared around a bend in the track. Once the enemies were gone, the men paused.
A brief dialogue ensued. The weary warriors looked at the scattered bodies. One of the infantrymen pointed to his fallen comrades and shouted something excitedly. At that moment, he received a sharp slap, and the remaining two soldiers began to express their thoughts vehemently.
The trio then turned and walked in the opposite direction of the enemy.
For another ten minutes, the scouts watched in fascination as the wounded slowly died among the dozens of corpses. William could even hear - or rather, feel - their heartbeats. George patted his partner on the shoulder and nodded.
Carefully, the scouts stepped out of the bushes and onto the road. Will walked in a trance towards the people lying on the ground. He paused before the bleeding, near-dead leader. The old man's vacant eyes looked to the sky, bubbling sounds came from his mouth, and bloody foam appeared on his lips. But the leader still clutched the sword tightly. William, unable to quench his thirst, gave in to his instincts and swung his hand at the still-armed man's head.
At that moment, the young manager felt no urge to help the injured or to run away from what was happening. There was so much desirable blood here, and his thoughts were all about it.
The force of the blow was so great that the last second of the old man's life was seen from the side. His head flew off, and the swordsman saw the young man holding a body with a fountain of blood gushing from the neck. Of course, the deceased did not see the same person lean eagerly toward his torn throat and begin to drink the blood.
Somewhere nearby, George pounced on one of the wounded militiamen. After that, both vampires went into convulsions.
It's hard to say exactly how long they lay next to their victims, but about half an hour was spent absorbing whatever the blood gave them.
Killing the militia leader taught William a lot of interesting things. Too much, it turned out - absorbing the memories, emotions, feelings, and knowledge of a sentient being was not the same as doing so with an animal. During this time, almost all of the wounded died. But that did not stop the vampires from digesting the avalanche of knowledge. You could say the scouts were on a high, as drug addicts would say. Whether the sensations were similar, he couldn't say, because he had never used drugs on his homeworld. His home world, because he was no longer on Earth. This world was called Valengard. It existed somewhere in a feudal stage of development. And more than that, it contained magic.
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The gray-haired man's name was Rollo. He was born in the village of Mordo, where the remnants of the militia had fled. It was five miles down the road, where the road finally came out of the forest. It was the last village in the barony on the way to the mountains. There used to be other villages along the way. But the depths of the mountains were inhabited by tribes of hairy, bipedal creatures called goblins. Because King Solarion, the country they were in, could not muster an army to send warriors through the steep cliffs and labyrinthine caves to slaughter the goblins, the settlements gradually died out, and the remnants of the peasants fled to Mordo.
The man was not yet sixteen when he left his parents' home. The young warrior lied about his age to get into the service. This was a common occurrence, as not every family could support all of its offspring, and children would leave in search of a better life.
Rollo entered the service of Baron Mirid and spent most of his life wandering the battlefields. He knew magic, saw its manifestations, knew much about the world because he was an old and experienced soldier. He had fought in great battles, records of which are now kept in the royal library, and compared to which this battle seemed more like a drunken brawl outside a tavern. He had seen elves and dwarves. He had heard of various creatures, including those that inhabited this area. But he had never heard of vampires. This was both frightening and exciting.
The gray-haired old man became the leader of the militia by accident. After his career ended, he was given a great honor. Having spent many years side by side with the former and current Baron Mirid, Rollo was given the right to manage one hundred and forty-five acres of land for farming, livestock, and other industrial activities. Of course, all this wealth was not meant for an old veteran. He was to build up the estate, attract peasants to work there, and later distribute equal shares of this land to other veterans who would also be sent to settle there upon retirement.
So Rollo spent the first year of his seemingly happy retirement. But with each passing day, his thoughts were consumed more and more by memories of days gone by. He never had children. And if there were offspring, they remained somewhere in distant lands with women who spent the nights with weary soldiers. With each passing day, his health deteriorated further, his muscles losing their former strength, his skin losing its elasticity, and the scars and bones of his broken bones aching with every change of weather.
Then, a few days ago, a messenger arrived in Mordo. The exhausted young man nearly fell from his horse and uttered a fateful word. War.
After the messenger was given water and allowed to rest, he told the latest news. Count Ember, the current Baron's cousin, had raised an army against his kinsman. The reasons for the conflict were unknown. The old warrior had not received any letters from his comrades-in-arms in the barony's capital for a long time. What could have led to this conflict was a matter of speculation. But the fact remained that the war had begun and the first battles had been fought.
As Rollo had expected, Baron Mirid defeated his cousin in the first battle. The baron's army consisted mostly of experienced warriors, often hired to fight in international conflicts. But one battle meant little. The county's human resources were much greater, and the winner of this war would not be known for some time.
The reason why the Baron sent messengers to the villages turned out to be more urgent. The count's troops were scattered after their defeat, and many deserters broke off into small groups throughout the barony, sowing chaos and engaging in looting.
One such party of six was spotted by the messenger on the road. He was lucky that his horse was fast enough and the warriors were resting at the time.
Rollo's spirits soared and his hands itched. Here was his chance to relive the old days. Frightening the villagers with tales of cutthroats coming to rape their women and burn their houses, he gathered a small militia and donned his old armor.
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After absorbing the blood memory, the vampire intended to ponder what he had learned, but the movement of one of the wounded brought him back to reality and urged him to hurry. Leaping from the ground, he moved quickly from body to body, performing the same procedure on each one, dead or alive - placing his hand on the wound. The skin absorbed the blood as well as before, just as eagerly and insatiably.
George, who had finally gotten up as well, noticed his partner's actions and began to mimic them. They needed as much information as possible and alternative sources for it.
It turned out that the blood of the dead also provided all the information about its owner and brought strength. Moreover, absorbing the blood memory was no longer so difficult. If it had taken the scouts half an hour to absorb the emotions and memories of a person, they now absorbed them instantly, though they experienced a multitude of different sensations that almost stopped their internal sense of time.
It seemed as if years passed between the moment the vampires placed their hand on a wound and the moment they removed it. In part, it was true, for in those few seconds, they experienced the entire life of a person, from birth to death, with all the emotions, sensations, and knowledge.
Well, William knew how to shoot with a bow, how to fight with a sword, how to make a fire, and he knew that the forha fruit had an absolutely disgusting taste unless it was boiled in water and then roasted over coals. He knew a plethora of things, from the trivial to the great. And most importantly, he now knew the languages spoken in the area.
Surveying the battlefield, Will began a visual search of the warriors' clothing. Rollo's memory suggested that such equipment was hard to come by.
"Will... What the hell is this?"
"I don't quite understand it myself. Too much knowledge. Good thing it feels somewhat detached."
"Yes, like reading a book. You feel the emotions but don't connect them to yourself. Still, there's a residue."
"Residue?"
"Do you feel it? The indifference to what's happening. As if we have seen these slaughters a hundred times before."
"I understand what you're saying. I probably would've gotten sick just looking at it. So let's deal with everything later - we don't have much time.
"Let us take what we can. Looting may not be honorable - but we've got more than four hundred naked people stuck in another world. Honor is the least of our concerns.
"Time to gear up."
The scouts quickly identified bodies of similar build, stripped them of their armor and clothing, and dressed themselves. It was distasteful to wear what another human had sweated in, especially considering how much the humans had sweated during the battle. Finding pants required special attention. Most of the necessary clothing was not only badly stained by its former owners, but very badly stained - it smelled unbearably of feces. Not every gut can handle the stress of imminent death. This stench, along with blood and char, is often most noticeable on battlefields.
Fortunately, the experienced warriors had no such problems. The partners found that the pants were a bit bigger than necessary, but deciding that bigger was better than smaller, the vampires quickly tried to cover their backsides.
They also took the rest of the equipment from the fallen infantrymen. Leather jackets, boots, and armor fit almost perfectly. Shirts were a bit harder to find, but clean ones were nowhere to be found. All were stained with blood, so they chose the cleanest. After that, the vampires' new look was completed with strong straps and swords. Finally, they added traveling coats from the infantrymen's packs.
Once the comrades were dressed, the question of what to do next arose. Rollo had overheard the conversation of the Earl's soldiers. They were arguing about whether to take the bodies of their comrades. The youngest of them was outraged at the decision to leave the corpses, but his companions were adamant.
They were too tired and wouldn't be able to leave the forest with such a burden before nightfall. And at night, there was a high chance of encountering a tribe of goblins. These small, hairy creatures were no match for well-trained warriors, but when there are more than a hundred against three tired soldiers, there's virtually no chance of survival.
"Goblins. These creatures are very similar to the silhouettes from the boar's memories." - George started to gather all decent weapons.
"Agreed. It seems they occasionally venture into the village where we've settled. Apparently that settlement was abandoned because of those little monsters." - William took a flask from one of the infantrymen. He poured out what was left of the water, cut an artery from one of the corpses, and filled the jar. There were only a few hours before sunset and they had to hurry.
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