Blood of the Wanderer - Chapter 7
The sack lying on the side moved and snarled. The man with the gun broke off and looked at it with displeasure.
"Try to move again and I'll put you in the fire," he said.
The movement in the bag subsided and the tale continued.
Looking at her face, open to him at night and in the afternoon visioned in dreams, the storyteller asked the kiss of the Mistress of Winter. For a long time he couldn’t think of anything else.
Her glance was filled with sadness.
"I'm warning you, storyteller. If I kiss you, I will take hold of your heart forever. As a fragment of ice it will lie in my piedmont treasure hall and you will never be attracted by another person. Your own human love cannot melt the ice in my chest. Ask for another reward. Ask me to let you go and return during the spring to your land. Ask for eternal youth and the crown of the Lakes’ Castle. Ask what you want, but don’t ask to be kissed."
"Once I close my eyes, I see your lips, Mistress. I lift my eyelids and see your eyes, cold and clean, like the dawn. You attract me, and I don’t know rest until I know the true taste of the Winter."
"You knew peace, fool," she said, and kissed the storyteller in the lips.
The cold of eternal ice on the edge of the world entered his chest. To settle there forever.
"Curiosity doesn’t lead to positive outcomes," said the man with the gun. "Ask at least our new guest."
The four turned and looked at the wanderer emerging from the forest shade.
"Come closer, stranger, warm yourself by the fire," invited the fifth mercenary. He was obviously in charge. "The reeds whispered to me that you did rout in the Fox's Lair. Let Voga and his band rest in peace. It was a really nice company."
"News travel fast in your lands," a moment ago the wanderer was between the trees, and now he was standing near the fire: his face was hidden by a straw hat, his hands under his cloak. No one saw how he approached, as if he at once jumped from shadow to shadow. The mercenaries whispered and moved away from the wanderer. Only their chief remained unperturbed. "So you know why I came."
"I know," mercenary said. "And you, if you heard my tale, you know that your man passed here. Only he did not go far."
The mercenary nodded at the bag, which began to wriggle, as if trying to crawl away.
"Here it is, yours with all the guts. I heard that the storyteller made enemies among the rangers, so I rushed after him. I have no need to attack anyone, I've heard about your brother."
"The book," said the wanderer. "The book in the wooden binding was with him?"
"I am not sure about this," the bandit said. "Look, you are not kid anymore. You can check it by yourself."
The stranger went to the sack, bent down, untying the ropes. The chief behind him made a movement with his eyes. The four mercenaries tensed and squeezed the hilt of their daggers.
The wanderer opened the sack. In his face he was staring a rifle barrel. It was a bearded mercenary in an embroidered shirt.
"Ku-ku," he said.
The chief lifted his shotgun with a gentle movement and blurted out the ranger in the back. At the same time, the rifle fired, throwing out a cloud of lead shot.
"You got him?" Asked one of the mercenaries, squinting through the blue smoke.
The smoke magically crawled against the wind to the trees. Where it transformed into a figure in a cloak and hat. Only now it was holding a pistol in the hand.
"The devil's tricks, bitch," the chief blinked and fired four more times without a respite. For the fifth time the shutter clapped, there was no more ammunition in the shotgun. The dark silhouette of the wanderer hesitated, torn in four places and dissolved in the air. A breeze from the Mirva river blew away the powder smoke, from which was woven the phantom.
And then five times from different sides of the glade thundered shots. Five mercenaries fell face to face, more dead than a hare carcass on a fire. Chief threw aside his useless shotgun and stretched out his arms in front of him.
"Hey, ranger," he shouted, peering out of the darkness between the trees. "Don’t kill me. Who will tell you where your storyteller went?"
The trunk of the pistol rested against his left ear. The bandit swallowed.
"Cold," he whispered. "It must be hot. How so?"
The platoon wheel clicked. Sweat came out on the forehead of the mercenary.
"We gave him a boat," he said quickly, confusedly, so unlike his previous manner. "He paid with his story. And he added sables and gold so that we could wait for you. I thought up a bag, I thought it would work. Who knew what things you are able to do, wanderer."
The barrel pressed, crushing the skin. The boss started to shake.
"He will travel around the South Outpost, to the Keys. There he wants to take the morning train and go north. You cannot keep up with him, wanderer. The train runs from the Keys every three days. You are late."
The echo of the shot rolled over the forest, frightening the nearby birds. Crows crouched in anticipation, coming to the glade with the dying fire and six human corpses.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6