Time Of Traitors

3

He threw the whip over his shoulder and dragged his beloved on a leash, burrowing deeper and deeper into the Wild Taiga. The road was left far behind, and only serpentine animal paths led away from the past life - to the country of barbarians and legendary monsters, in which people can only believe.

Ada's arms were tied behind her back, a noose was pulled around her hips, as if she were a sacrificial lamb. The girl kept trying to break free and run away. Why and where - she herself did not know, she was driven only by fear and madness. Both were reflected in her eyes like two bright stars, in pairs: first one, then the other.

The horse was left to rot on the road a day ago. A good horse: she retreated under him for three years, not knowing fatigue and fear. Not knowing pity for enemies. Not knowing the pity of the owner. Cres heard the growing terrible rales clearly, but for some reason he did not slow down, but kept urging the animal on with the steel stars of his spurs, glancing around in a haunted manner. My ears were pounding with blood and the fear of hearing barking cries from behind.

The mare collapsed towards the ground, almost burying the riders under her lathered carcass. Regular result.

Cres flew into the grass, and only chance and Senches himself saved his head. Unable to even swear properly, he rose heavily, feeling every vein of his long-suffering thighs a frantic leap and a tragic fall. He took a couple of steps and almost fell - the flesh forgot how to properly use its legs. turned around. The horse lay on the road, screaming. Almost like a human.

It was not immediately possible to find his beloved, and for several painful heartbeats Cres was afraid to see a bloody face and leaden eyes staring mutely at the sky. It worked out - Ada lay motionless in the grass and with dull concern looked at the ladybug crawling on the palm of her hand. A moment and the unfortunate insect is already in her mouth.

Nothing happened, my dear, I'm just tired after your endless tags with death and lay down to rest, refresh myself. Do not scold me, please, we have not eaten for the second day. Better take a look around. Where did you take me?

A dim, grave place where even the sun could hardly break through the weight of the forest crowns. Not a soul for miles. The company they were only clouds of midges - there were plenty of them. The shaggy paws of the thousand-year-old giants swayed slowly over their heads, and the wind flew in a race with the birds.

Where? Where do you want me to go, fool?

Cres not without difficulty lifted the girl to her feet. She groaned, howled, hit him with a tiny fist in the face. Almost unharmed and frightened, Cres barely sat Ada on a fallen tree and hobbled towards the horse.

No hopes, everything was clear already from afar. The front leg is broken, white bone peeking out through torn, bloody flesh. The mare rolled from side to side and howled in a terrible voice, from which the spirit went to the heels. The echo rushed under the sky in a long, long, requiem howl. Cres, avoiding the gaze of desperately huge eyes filled with blood and fear, drew a knife.

Bosca was her name.

…

The forest abyss was silent. Kres rubbed the still-warm blade to a shine with a tuft of grass. In a good way, Bosk should have been dragged away from the road or covered with something from prying eyes. In a good way ... And the situation insisted - hurry up or die.

He had to carry the saddle and bags, but he doubted it would be of any use. When he approached Ada, she, clutching her sharp tongue between her teeth, groaned with rapture and looked at the anthill that was seething under her feet. A dozen redheads have already taken a fancy to her boots and were looking at her pants. Cres grabbed the girl by the hand - just a little more and she would have begun to stuff her cheeks with swarming insects.

“Ada, put your tongue away,” he pleaded.

Just for you, dear.

From the squeal, Kres himself almost sat down on the fat ant kingdom. Ada tumbled over the trunk and fell into the grass, without ceasing to wail for the whole district. Cres did not even try to dry himself with his sleeve - it would only make things worse. The fingers were wet and sticky and still smelled like horses. But neither the bath nor the tub of hot water was worth even stuttering. Lucky if they stumble upon an icy stream.

He caught the girl for quite some time. Very soon, the disgust in her eyes was replaced by childish enthusiasm from the anticipation of a fun game of tag. Ada ran, bouncing on the snags, as if there hadn't been a hard saddle and several days of riding. Her playful laughter was buried in the thickness of the endless forests.

The end of the world. Wild Taiga. The place for savages like them.

Do you remember how you ran after me then, in the park? And how sweet was it when you caught it?

I remember, he thought as he knocked Ada to the ground and began twirling her hands with ropes. What he feared most was that it would come to this. Animal fear and quite human disgust burned in her eyes: to break all her bones, but to escape from the clutches of the monster. Cres bit his lip until it bled, he could not look into those eyes from shame and self-hatred. He begged himself to stop doing it, but continued to tighten the ropes, and he awkwardly begged her not to scream, not to look at him like that ., but she still screamed and writhed under him like a snake. Thin, hot, alive, hair in all directions, she breathes, groans, the smell of sweat and ... No, not now! he bit his lips and unsuccessfully tried to drive away the images and cries that tormented him unbearably. Finally, he tightened the knot and lifted the girl to her feet. She twitched, the knot tightening even tighter.

Her offended howl was scattered among the fluffy pine sky. The gag was not long in coming.

A bloodied bandit drags the young princess north, and no one is around - an interesting sight for onlookers, it must be. Perhaps this is how fairy tales are born.

* * *

The sky was seething with inhuman malice.

This night there will be no stars - in their place lay a heavy haze of clouds, among which black, creaking wings darted. They ground the air to dust, covered the tops of the trees with shade. There will be no peace - the rats were looking for two runaway hares.

Cres knew only too well what one such creature was capable of, seduced by the thirst for human blood and the excitement of the hunt. One has only to drive the spurs into her shaggy sides, and not a single, even the most nimble beast, dodges carefully sharpened claws and teeth, as soon as he catches a glimpse of the monster in the eye. Only a deaf thicket can become an outlet, and then - as lucky.

So far they have been lucky - the day before they stumbled upon some kind of stone building, covered with moss, turf and tormented by time. Despite the cold, dampness and rustling, that night they finally had a roof over their heads. Under the crowns of gigantic trees, which literally cut the tops of the clouds, he and Ada were almost invisible.

The flapping of its membranous wings made Ada tremble in mute horror, cover her face with her hands and hide under her cloak towards Kres. She did not even try to bite her companion again, but only sobbed softly, muttered something under her breath for a long time, until she was forgotten by a restless sleep.

Kres was glad that at least something in the world scared her more than he did. Now you can loosen the ropes at least for a while. "You did it!" the thick red marks on her arms yelled with all their might as he rubbed them. I know I know…

It is unlikely that any of the former acquaintances would have recognized dear Ada from the alley of Green Lamps. No more shiny brown hair that no comb could manage, no hat could hide, in front of which it was foolish to control oneself. In their place is a short hedgehog, which he roughly trimmed with scissors. The lips, strong and sweet, into which he had once dug with such fury, which had been a delight to bite, were cracked and bleeding. The skin became rough and looked much darker in the sun - there was no trace of the previous milk. You can forget about those dresses with which Ada struck young hearts. The dresses he gave her so many times. In travel clothes on a man's shoulder, the girl could easily be mistaken for a ragged boy, at whom no one would turn around in the crowd.

Yes, it was necessary.

Although the autumn turned out to be unusually warm, in the Taiga it did not matter - nature here lived according to its own laws. In the morning he would change Ada's clothes warmer, and if what he took with him was not enough, then so be it, he would have to freeze his ass. Don't get used to it.

Tomorrow. When it comes tomorrow. And if Thirst doesn't kill him before dawn.

That abundant portion of Nectar, which he took already Senches knows when, almost left his body. And no new ones are expected. He hoped never again.

Now there was only one thing left - not to scream in pain, because Thirst was already close. He bit his sleeve, crawled away from Ada so as not to accidentally kick her, curled up in the darkest corner of the black and cold house and began to cross his fingers on the stone, trying hard not to moan too loudly. The prisoner could not predict when they would come for them.

If he survives this night, the next promises to be easier. Perhaps in a couple of days he will even be able to sleep a little - without nightmares. He prayed to Senches and his frantic wives so that his beloved would not wake up in the middle of the night and throw out some stupidity.

While Thirst sharpened her teeth on him, he dreamed of hugging his poor Ada, the girl from Green Lamp Lane, who never became his wife. And then, at least for a while, lower the inflamed eyelids, surrender to a fleeting sleep.

But the chaotic clatter of shod boots gave him no chance - he knew that he would be next, and from this his heart was filled with horror. It hoped to the last that the creaking of the doors behind the walls, the wild cries, the plea for indulgence, the rumbling of the barrel - they would definitely die down after the rumbling locks. But no, the steps were inexorably approaching, the doors were knocking closer and closer, and the fight and swearing became louder.

The prisoners were seated in single stone bags, hidden behind thick, rough walls and iron blank doors. The appearance of jailers has always been like a cruel test of the fortitude of the spirit and the strength of the flesh. Sometimes the Prisoner had no time to wake up from sleep, as he was already being dragged from the cell towards the white flame.

The prisoner was lucky to wake up before the door slammed against the wall, and at least try to prepare for something for which he could not be prepared at all.