NEW WORLD

12

In the early morning, a yellowish radiance rose in a milky haze over the mountains. The wind ruffled the crowns of trees and grass in forest clearings, one of which was surrounded by thickets of hazel. In the very center of it lay a severed limb.

A long time passed before a menacing snort was heard in the thicket. The bushes rustled. The foliage crawled to the sides and a wolf's muzzle poked through the thickets of hazel. The hump on the predator's black back was crossed by three stripes of white fur. Long, pointed ears swiveled to either side. Red eyes flickered mischievously.

The young hunter watched the monster from ambush, with difficulty containing his excitement. Last evening he had learned that a flock had found shelter in the vicinity of Godwin's farm, not hunted by Albert's pastures, and he hoped to take off a couple of skins this morning, but he did not dream of such a trophy. In the inhabited part of the island, giant wolves were not found, but this did not prevent them from wandering into the valleys and feasting on livestock.

A young man dressed in leather armor sat under the crown of a large oak tree and meditated. He didn't have Rickle's arrows. A random shot could cost a life. Climbing a tree or running away was even more dangerous. Grimlaks could pursue prey for a long time, for which the Nikts used them as watchdogs. A group of such predators could tear apart an adult Mirkwiht, let alone a simple hunter who, in the event of an escape, had only legs.

The humpback wolf, meanwhile, pressed the prey to the ground and began to tear off a piece from it. Having reached the bone, the predator broke it in half with one click of the jaws. The young man's heart beat faster. He would have preferred to leave, but Nismass probably wanted to test him. In the market of Gotford, a grimlak hide cost two hundred gold pieces, and that's not counting the reputation the hunter gained.

The young man raised his head. The place under the oak was not chosen by chance. The fragrance from the shadow fern leaves absorbed the smell of sweat. The arrow lay on the string. The composite bow was ready to be fired.

Finally, the predator lowered its ears. The young man straightened his back, held his breath and pulled the bowstring to the limit. As soon as the phalanx of the thumb rested on the chin, there was a deafening click, but the excitement let him down. At the very last moment, he raised his bow, preventing the arrow from leaving the shelf completely. A pine rod whistled over the predator's head, cutting off part of its ear. Grimlak yelped and jumped aside.

The hunter dropped his bow, drawing his machete. The wolf was not long in coming. The bushes crackled. The young man dodged the snapping maw, grabbing the beast's hind leg in the fall. Blood spattered. Jumping to his feet, he turned around and, without looking back, ran to the edge of the forest. The humpbacked man rushed after him, striving to get the fugitive with his teeth. At some point, he managed to get to the elbow. Fresh blood gave the predator strength. The beast rushed at the victim with redoubled fury, but the hunter was saved by dense thickets.

Having got out into the clearing, the young man stumbled over the roots and fell, having bathed in a pile of last year's leaves. Grimlak landed on his paws behind him and, kicking off the ground once more, took to the air. The hunter rolled onto his side, meeting the monster's gaze. A few yards separated him from his angry muzzle. Grimlak took a step, then another, opened his mouth, rushed, but stopped half way.

A thin layer of leaves under the paws began to move. Furiously floundering, the beast whined, and began to disappear underground. The next moment, the forest resounded with a long howl.

The young hunter spread his arms out to the sides and collapsed to the ground. When it became quiet in the pit, he crawled to the earthy edge of the trap. Grimlak lay at the bottom, shaking his bloody head. Two pointed stakes protruded from its furry torso. Another one, broken, stuck in the neck. Watching the convulsions of the animal, the young man coughed in displeasure, simultaneously removing a strand of blond hair from his forehead.

Armed with a bow, he returned and finished off the wounded monster, but the victory did not bring him joy. Had it not been for the wolf pit he dug two weeks ago, the ground would eventually have been adorned with fresh skeletons, of which there were plenty around Gotford. Luck of clean water. No tactics. No attention. Even the skin could not be saved. Even if he skillfully handled the bow, but having lost it, he became helpless, like a pig-rat cub.

Taking a rope from the hiding place, the hunter went down into the pit and tied its end around the carcass. As he stretched out the body of the beast, he noticed that the talisman had popped out from under the leather plates and was dangling from the outside. At that moment, a golden glow covered the thicket. The first ray of the sun pierced the crowns and fell on a wooden bauble. The sword, darkened by time, had long since hardened. A couple of years ago, he even had to varnish it so that it would not rub his chest. The talisman troubled him more and more every year, as did those for whom he swore to wear it.

***

A green sea of ​​wheat swayed softly in the breeze. Among the fields blackened figures of sentry effigies. In late spring, there was not a soul in this part of the valley. Before the harvest season, the tenants obliged the peasants to work in logging, look after livestock and garden.

Each time, passing here, Grimbald recalled his childhood and the cruel overlord, who owned the most extensive fief on the island. This Landlord was different from his father, the late Baron Robert. The places where he hunted belonged to him. To maintain order on his lands, Baron Orvald used detachments of mercenaries, who were forgiven for any liberties. Sometimes his warriors even killed strangers. Knowing the nature of the landowner, Grimbald understood that the baron was afraid of a new uprising, which could be led by "ants" - the followers of the rebellious Tyler. Usually they robbed warehouses, reminded of themselves by arson or attacks on tenants. Some even became bandits, not shying away from shedding the blood of farmers.

Voroshiya unkind thoughts, Grimbald soon reached a crossroads. The makeshift stretcher on which the grimlak's carcass lay was visibly heavier. Looking around, he turned to the right, and wandered towards the cliffs. From here, behind the arable land, two wooden turrets could be seen. The bastion of mercenaries was fenced with a palisade, in the manner of a military fort. The trade route led right through it. The warriors who lived there used to inspect the wagons and collect fees from the merchants. He had no good reason to avoid the landowner's dogs. Orvald allowed hunting on his lands, and mercenaries never inspected free shooters. However, Grimbald decided to move as far away from the bastion as possible.

Strangers have always repulsed him. In noisy companies, he preferred to stick with friends, and if they were not around, he left altogether, referring to business. People like him were not tolerated in big cities, calling them “obsessed”. If you think a lot, laugh a little and avoid feasts, it’s better to immediately collect a camping bale and stomp into the forest. In any case, preachers argued that silent people have more in common with animals than with people.

Closer to noon, the middle valley was left behind. Climbing up a steep slope, Grimbald entered a hollow sandwiched between cliffs. The hunting camp was nearby, at the foot of the hills. The free people lived under the overhanging rock in huts and huts covered with skins. Despite the proximity of the farmlands, the places around were wild. Wolves, vultures and huge field beetles often wandered here, forcing hunters to maintain nightly fires. There were many inconveniences, but no one complained. The beauty of a free life was that you could solve problems on your own without paying taxes.

Sticking to the road, Grimbald dragged his trophy past a high hill, on top of which stood the guest yard "Black Locker". Following north from its foot, he soon came to a fork. Five roads led out of the hollow from here. The first stretched back into the valley. The second rose into the mountains in the west and led to the coast. The third led to the Walther Gorge, where the kenovia of the Nismantes rose among the rocks. The fourth skirted the middle valley, climbing to the foot of the Ore Mountains, from where anyone could get into the mining town of Orklad. The fifth, overgrown with grasses and bushes, was lost in the forests in the north.

The last road was rarely used. In addition to unholy places, mountain passes and impenetrable thickets, the north abounded with dangerous predators, burial caves and stone circles, near which the undead lived. In those mountains there were many ancient tombs with treasures and rare herbs, as well as gold mines that everyone talked about, but for some reason no one could find.

Everyone knew about such places as the Sulfur Waste, the fort at Raver Peak Mountain and the temple with the golden obelisk. The existence of others was heard only in passing. Wanderers often disappeared without a trace, and when someone returned, tales about the ruins of ancient cities, stone monsters, eyeless ghosts and hordes of trolls sounded around the night fires.

Three years ago, becoming a hunter, Grimbald promised himself that he would definitely go north, alone, like the great scientist Montferon, the first of the Magorians to cross the Suran desert. Only instead of papers he will take a tight bow and a hundred arrows. In the north, he will climb Raver's Parapet, spend the night on the terraces of the Free Refuge, explore the Forgotten Lake and see the golden obelisk, and when he returns, he will tell everyone the truth without embellishment.

Chasing away the flies, Grimbald descended the hill and entered the spruce grove. Behind the trees, between the pointed huts, the figures of hunters flickered. There were few of them at this hour. Most went hunting before dark, the rest guarded the camp and put their equipment in order. Sitting on the decks near the huts, the hunters made arrows, repaired bows and sharpened blades. Some have already returned with trophies and gutted their wolf or vulture. The animal carcasses were hung on wooden beams, not far from the camp. That's where Grimbald went.

Seeing a colleague with a valuable trophy, the shooters abandoned their work and hurried to meet them. Some helped drag the carcass to Krasnaya Polyana, the place where the prey was butchered. There, the predator was pulled up by its hind legs, lowering its muzzle into the grass. The wooden beam nearly cracked under the weight. Looking at this, the hunters nodded in unison, noticing that a grimlak was worth three adult wolves.

- Well, you give, Grim! exclaimed an elderly hunter armed with a longbow. - It's just incredible. How did you manage?

He didn't have time to answer. The crowd was pushed aside by a short old man in worn leather armor, so worn out over the years that it began to resemble clothing in thickness. Among others, the hunter was distinguished by snow-white hair, pulled into a ponytail and an ancient wrinkled face. Frozen in front of him, the wizened old man looked menacingly first at him, and then at the grimlak carcass.

- Holy Hilger! Did you go to the bridge? Son, I strictly forbade you to do this!

" I caught him in the valley behind Godwin's farm," said Grimbald, looking down guiltily.

- Really? Such a huge wolf, and even at the farm of that bastard Godwin! Did you happen to meet anyone there?

- I met a dragon. He said hello to the king.

The hunters laughed.

- Don't evade the answer!

“ I didn't go north, father. I swear by Nismass and all Nismants.

Before the grey-haired man could answer, a broad-shouldered hunter was ahead of him. Being a little younger than Kirk, he looked stronger and fresher. The man had a bandage of black silk on his forehead. At the belt is a curved saber. A stony calmness froze on his broad, smooth-shaven face.

" Don't boil over, Kirk," he said, running his hand over the beast's hide, then grabbed the predator's balls. - He was a strong male, albeit an old one. They will pay well for this.

The black-banded hunter walked up to him and nodded approvingly.

- It's a pity that they are so hard to fill up, otherwise we would get rich. I'm going to town soon. If you want, join. I have a familiar master in the tannery. You ruined the hide, but I think we can agree on fifty gold.

“ Post for the honor, Niklas,” Grimbald smiled, remembering that the other day he was going to meet friends, two of whom lived in Gotford.

How did you manage to catch him? one of the crowd asked curiously.

- Yes, even alone? – supported another hunter.

“ Thanks to experience, skill and those invaluable qualities that my father brought up in me,” Grimbald smiled, looking at the old man.

Kirk's frown stopped, but he didn't completely melt.

He had a difficult relationship with his father. Nine years ago, Kirk was the headman on the Godwin farm, but, after the death of his wife, whose mutilated body was found in the forest in the cemetery, he left the fields to his friend Alcuin. An enterprising yeoman, nicknamed "The Wolf", then returned from the mainland and founded a hunting camp. Next to him, the former peasant gradually turned into a hunter.

Alcuin sailed to the mainland a few years ago, after which their father became the main one. He also taught him all the tricks of free life, and Grimbald quickly liked this craft. Sometimes he took a bow, arrows, a supply of bread and went away for several days, hunting alone or reading books. But Kirk didn't like it.

What other experience are you grateful for there ? came a mocking voice. “The fool knows how he caught him. Look how many holes there are in the skin!

A sullen young man stepped out from behind the hut. With a soldier's haircut, a rough face and a bleary eye, Bartók often wandered around the valley or showed off his shot prey, more often a vulture or a large rat. Until now, no one dared to give him a kick just because his father was the captain of the city militia. With his filing, the young man always had strong arrows and the best weapons. The only thing the braggart lacked was attention.

- Well, what are you doing here? - the hunter did not let up. Why did everyone suddenly decide to stare at a dead wolf? Like there's nothing else to do.

- Shut up, Bartok! Niklas shouted at him. - Grimbald managed to do what not every experienced hunter can do. At his age, I could only dream of such a trophy.

- What trophy? Do you think he lured him or drove him? The beast fell into a trap pit and died. I can do that too.

“ Do you think Grimbald lied?”

There was silence. Grimbald looked up, looking anxiously at the men, but the hunters were looking at Bartok.

“ I’m sure that’s the only way you can do it,” the burly elm-bow hunter finally replied.

Other archers supported the yeoman with nods. Bartok did not dare to argue with everyone at once and just as quickly left. The others also began to disperse. Niklas, without saying a word, inspected the booty once more with prejudice and went off to load the cart.

As soon as the clearing was empty, Kirk dispersed again.

“ You will drive me to the grave with such antics!” Have you read books about royal crossbowmen again? shouted the old man, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Go to the grimlak and don't tell me!" I didn't expect this from you, son.

- And what about the crossbowmen? After the earthbiter devoured the second volume, Cassia does not give me any more books. And I didn’t go to the grimlak,” Grimbald justified himself, not understanding why his father simply couldn’t praise him. “There is a descent into the valley in the woods behind Godwin's farm. Many wolves come from the north. I wanted to hunt them, but a grimlak appeared. What was I to do?

“ Many people die like this, son. Eight years ago, just one such wolf tore to pieces five experienced shooters. Do you remember how they were brought to the camp? Do you remember Harald? The one who shot better than Alcuin with a bow? Even he lay with his throat bitten.

“ Sure,” Grimbald said through gritted teeth, forever remembering the five mutilated bodies. - It was a female, very large, and she protected the cubs.

“ You are still a baby yourself.

“ It's not my fault that the grimlak smelled my lure. Or guilty?

The old man did not find what to answer and finally lost heart. Grimbald sighed heavily, patting him on the shoulder.

- Don't worry, dad. You prepared me well. I am whole and unharmed. Thanks to you.

– And what is this? Kirk grimace, grabbing his elbow.

Grimbald winced at the memory of the bite. The wound did not hurt, only slightly bleeding, covered with white foam. Grimlak saliva stopped bleeding and healed wounds better than herbal ointments. The creatures used it for the same purpose, but only to drag the victim to the lair alive.

" Let's get some garlic ointment." So many times said! You should always take elixirs and healing lubricants with you.

- To give me their smell. I'll figure it out myself.

He thrust his hand into the grimlak's mouth and scraped his throat with his fingers, drawing cold saliva into his palm.

“ If you don’t think about yourself, think about other hunters.

- What's wrong with them? – asked Grimbald, generously lubricating the wound with a yellowish mass.