NEW WORLD

11

In the deepening twilight, a patch of sky over the mountains rapidly turned black. A secluded valley, surrounded on three sides by rocks, turned into a seething cauldron. The south winds bent trees and threw stones from the ledges, trying to touch Bangladore. The sorcerer stood at the top of the hill and cast a spell. The hem of his frilly robe curled like a flag. The wide blade was directed with its tip into the boiling firmament.

Air currents gathered around the hill, forming a powerful whirlpool. Cobblestones, small animals, dry branches and clouds of sand flew into the gigantic funnel. Banglador shouted orders, imploring Nirgal to bless the mighty steel, which he pledged to hand over to his chosen servant.

Einhart, Buster and Ansell hid in a cave with painted visors covering their faces. Soon the appeals were heard. Before their eyes, the blade burst into azure flames. There was a low rumble. Silvery lightning flashed through the old man from head to toe. The sorcerer screamed and rolled down, while the blade continued to hover above the hill, spinning on its own. In the next moment, the blade was forged in the air, taking the form of a wide sword with flat spikes on the edges. A black hilt and a patterned guard appeared from somewhere. Lightning struck again, causing the sword to flare brighter. Then it rolled over and went down like an arrow, piercing the rocky ground at the foot of the hill.

The magic cloud dissipated quickly, returning the usual dark plum color to the firmament. The Gamelans left the hideout, surrounding the body of the necromancer. The benefactor did not move. Lord Einhart took off his glove and felt the old man's neck.

“ Ready,” the bearded warrior summed up indifferently. - It was a powerful blow.

- Died? But how is it? Ansell exclaimed.

“ We are not alone here. I think I saw someone on the rocks, - said the Gamelan, carefully examining the cliffs. “Some kind of white silhouette, maybe a ghost.

' I don't believe in ghosts, Lord Einhart,' said Buster, crossing his arms over his chest of steel. Let's think about what we should do now?

- Thank your master.

The dry voice belonged to a sorcerer. The wounds on the forehead and arms of the old man healed by themselves. Allowing himself to be picked up by the renegades, Bangladore brushed off his dusty robe and closed his eyes for a long moment. He really was dead. His spirit left the body and was transferred to Krinfatum - an ancient dungeon, devoid of entrances and exits. Few of the mortals knew the true name of the plane in which his master lived, and even more so did not know how to get there while alive. There, in pitch darkness, among the iron rocks and waterfalls, they had a conversation about the blade and its owner.

After examining himself from head to toe, Bangladore clenched his fists and whispered incantations for a long time until he was convinced that he was able to control the body. He seemed to have aged forty years, but now he cared little. Pulling the blade out of the stony ground, the sorcerer showed it to the Gamelans. Those eyes lit up at the sight of the black blade, but no one dared to touch it.

“ Nirgal spoke to me. He named a nismeron to take my place and take this blade.

The warriors looked at each other.

– Who is he? asked young Ansell eagerly. - Say his name!

- You'll know when we get there.

– Where else can we go?

After a short rest, Bangladore led them back to the middle valley. This time he was on his guard, calling for help from an owl. In addition to curious militias, hunters or bandits could spend the night in the forest.

They got to the fields of the local landowner by the middle of the night and, before reaching the dwelling, they climbed the hills where the ancient cemetery stood. Pushing open the rusty door, Bangladore went inside and lit a magical firefly. Darkness surrounded them on all sides. Along winding paths they reached the family crypt, surrounded by a lattice fence. The rectangular portico at the entrance was supported by two marble columns with faces carved on them. Between them was an arched portal.

All around, obelisks and tombstones with epitaphs rose from the grass. There were also sacrificial gifts that the relatives of the deceased brought to the graves after the death of their loved ones.

The old necromancer climbed the steps, then pointedly beckoned Lord Einhart to him. Buster and Ansell remained outside. It was immediately clear to the two Gamelans. The knight himself beamed with happiness, impatiently clutching the hilt of the Vergal blade. In the crypt, the sorcerer stood in front of the sarcophagus and pressed the hidden plates built into the wall. There was a rattle of hidden gears. The sarcophagus shuddered and crawled away to the wall, releasing a putrid smell from a hole in the floor.

Covering his nose with a steel glove, Einhart followed Bangladore. A narrow corridor with stone niches stretched from the stairs, where the dead lay in decayed clothes. Dried flowers lay on the floor. Scraps of cobwebs swayed from the ceiling. As he followed the sorcerer, the lord felt dangerously dizzy. People who swore an oath to Nismass and wore holy regalia were more susceptible to evil spells than others. So they could recognize evil.

Einhart remembered it well. Soon he became very ill, so when Banglador stopped, the Gamelan almost stepped on the hem of his robe. The sorcerer himself did not notice the stench and looked around, as if looking for something.

- Can we be here? – panting and coughing, groaned the Gamelanese. - It's a family crypt.

- I'll buy it soon. Baron Robert is seriously ill. Now all the affairs are run by his greedy son.

So he will sell it to you!

" She'll sell when she finds out what I've done here."

“ But what are we doing here? Einhart repeated patiently, not hearing the threatening phrase.

They stood under a low, oval vault. On the sides, in niches, sarcophagi and tablets with epitaphs above them darkened. Red ornaments with flowers, skulls and bones stretched along the walls, braiding entrances and exits. The ceiling was decorated with multicolored mosaics, on which strings of skeletons swirled in a wild dance. Usually people descended to such places only to bring a new dead person. Only a complete fool would just walk on them.

“ Is it necessary to initiate in this cesspool?”

Bangladore turned sharply and glared at Einhart from under his brows.

“ The crypt will be an outpost in the coming war that Nirgal will unleash against his brother. When it starts, our allies will rise up everywhere, including this wild island.

- So be it, but where am I?

The crypt needs a custodian. Leader of his army that will take Gotford.

What other army ?

Banglador raised his thin eyebrows and smiled meaningfully, circling the sarcophagi with his hands.

“ That was not the deal! - boomed the bearded Gamelanese, grabbing his sword. “I don’t want to turn into the undead.

– Why? It is an honor. In time, you will be reborn, and your strength will increase a hundredfold.

I don't need power. I am already the chosen Nirgala! Fakhtar Alamer!

The sorcerer laughed restrainedly, and then said in an ingratiating voice:

“ Lord Hartner's son thinks he's grown strong enough. Fine. Then why am I sure that I can kill you with one blow?

Einhart's callous face went completely dry.

" You promised me a special place in Nirgal's army!"

And I will keep my word. You will become the first general of his army.

- A general? roared the deceived brute, drawing his sword from its scabbard. “You said one of us would become your apprentice!”

“ Do you know how hard it is for a necromancer to live on Magor land?” What is it like to hide from the Nismantes and your brothers in such crypts, which you called a cesspool? Thanks to you, I got to the right place and fulfilled the first condition of the deal.

- Deals? What other deal?

“ The one I made with Nirgal. You don't have to worry about the details.

– Must. I am his chosen one!

Chosenness is the first sign of megalomania.

Bangladore looked away and laughed hilariously, turning his sword against him. No more explanation was needed. Einhart attacked swiftly, as befits an experienced warrior. The sword rose from the bottom up, edge against the body of the necromancer, but Banglador seemed to know about everything in advance, and took a step to the side in advance.

Without waiting for the weight of the blade to pull him down to the ground, Einhart turned around, drawing his dagger along the way. He put all his strength into a clever feint. He struck suddenly, with his left hand, executing an injection from below; but the secret reception was forewarned. The needle blade froze an inch from the sorcerer's neck. Bangladore pulled him away with ease, and then squeezed the knight's wrist with such force that the bones cracked.

Cursing, Einhart dropped his dagger and slashed the void with his sword. The third lunge was the most pathetic and crashed against an invisible barrier.

- Demon! yelled the lord, breaking his voice. - A hundred curses on your head! Ingmar warned me...

The broad blade pierced through the gleaming cuirass with ease, and with it the golden firebloom disc. Einhart gripped the hilt of his blade, ready to strike again, but he couldn't even raise his head.

“ Demon…” repeated the lord, squelching and groaning.

The weapon fell from weakened fingers, but the necromancer's triumph was short-lived. Einhart reared up and, grabbing the blade with his whole hand, pulled the assassin towards him. His gaze softened suddenly.

- I'm sorry.

The smile on the old man's lips faded. Banglador squinted at the bearded face.

- To spite me? Not for mercy!

- I renounce...

Einhart tried to say something else, but the words remained on his tongue.

- Fool. You have made kimir. Retracted twice. Nismass will not accept you. You've gone too far,” said Bangladore, looking with disgust at the renegade's corpse.

The patterned visor fell into place. The necromancer waved his hand, giving the command to the armored figure. She swayed and straightened sharply, obeying the will of the new owner. Renunciation did not save the deposed knight. Now it belonged entirely to Nirgal.

“ A start has been made,” Bangladore said with excitement, removing the steel from the body of the dead man and, looking at the vault, added: “It will be so, lord. They are already dancing to your tune. He too will be when the time comes.

Pressing the enchanted blade to his chest, Bangladore examined the fallen warrior, and then removed the scabbard from his belt.

“ Leron executioner,” the sorcerer said thoughtfully, picking up the Vergal blade from the floor. “The Meandrians didn’t know how to name blades.

The mirror blade touched his pauldron. At that moment, there was a soft hiss. The steel on the body of the wicked melted.

- Who would have thought. Your blood brother Ingmar knighted you with this blade,” Banglador said with a grin, placing the blade on the dead man’s other shoulder. “What would he say now, knowing what kind of master you serve?”

Flicking his sword against the Gamelanian's helmet, the sorcerer sheathed his blade and placed it on the lid of the sarcophagus, then waved his hand once more. An iron footstep sounded under the stone vault. Einhart walked away and soon disappeared into the darkness.

Having accomplished his plan, he hurried upstairs. There he was met by worried warriors. Missing a brother in arms, Buster and Ansell looked at him anxiously.

“ Where is Lord Einhart?” – after a long silence inquired a young Gamelanese.

“ I don’t even know where to start,” the sorcerer said in a trembling voice, covering his eyes with his hand. - I wanted to perform the ceremony, when suddenly Nirgal spoke to us! The overlord said that he no longer sees the chosen one in Einhart.

Buster and Ansell looked at each other.

- Having learned the will of the master, the poor fellow lost his mind. In a rage, he attacked me and wanted to kill me, and when he could not, he tried to escape ... Alas. On the way, he stumbled and fell down his throat on his own sword.

The Gamelanians looked at each other again. Now it was Buster who reached for his sword, but the young knight barely perceptibly shook his head. Catching a shadow of doubt on the faces of the apostates, the sorcerer hurried to console them:

The owner has forgiven him . Einhart is not forgotten, and we have no right to forget him.

“ Unthinkable,” Ansell muttered, doing his best to keep his voice at an acceptable level. "But what will happen to us?"

- Who is the owner of the blade? whispered Buster, never ceasing to glare at the sorcerer.

Banglador covered his face with his hands, trying hard not to laugh, took a deep breath and said:

“ Nirgal made no mistake in his choice of servants. You have given him what Lord Einhart lacked - true faith. The chosen one of you.

– Who exactly? Buster asked impatiently.

- The one who deserves it.

- What does he deserve? Ansell didn't understand.

Turning away for a moment, Bangladore suppressed another burst of laughter with difficulty.

“ Let's just say that he deserves nothing for betraying Nismass. Please follow me. One of you will become the chosen one, and the other will get a special place in the ranks of my master's army.

Both Gamelans cheered up, instantly forgetting about the untimely death of a noble companion. Smiles played on wide faces, and sparks of hope flashed in his eyes, the very hope that was on Einhart's face moments before death.

“ Let’s perform the ritual in the north. There Nirgal will name my future student and keeper of the divine sword.

Banglador smiled warmly at the knights and, patting each on the steel shoulder, led the chosen ones on their last campaign.