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24

Antrea, Caravan route, Il-Makhina guest house,

last third of the day watch

“Ai-tai, what a glorious day it has been!

Daneke Amira smiled blissfully as she sank into a scattering of pillows on the couch rugs.

Yes, glorious. All legs stopped. Up to the knees. And unlike the ladies present, I can’t afford to sit down. No, not because of upbringing and good manners, which I sometimes think about, although I want to lean my butt against something. Everything is much more boring: I have to be ready for action at any moment, and pillows, viscous like a swamp, do not contribute to combat readiness. On the other hand, there is little need for my security services for the dear guest of Ra Dien. In fact, I don't see it at all. Needs that is. From the very first meeting...

A sly shot of eyes from under a smoothly combed bang, the color reminiscent of a raven's wing. Helpfully, with the slightest degree of mockery, a substituted tray, the dark varnish of which is almost invisible from under the pile of plates.

Thank you, I'm not hungry.

In fact, I want to eat, but what one of the servants of daneke Amira handed me, I will not take into my mouth even under pain of death.

How can southerners eat such sweetness? I won't put my mind to it. From one smell everything sticks together inside, but they are nothing. They eat so much that getting curvaceous is the easiest task. Amira herself loves to push all these sugary delicacies into herself and at first strove to draw me into her fun. I refused. Politely. She began to insist. I refused again. Still polite. After half an hour of bickering, self-control sighed sympathetically and left me. I remember that I jumped close to the fat woman, literally nose to nose, and explained in extremely simple (one might even say, folk expressions) that I was not going to eat sweets. Not from her hands, not from anyone else. And, just letting off steam, he felt the blades of daggers resting against his sides. It was then that the first reason to doubt arose,

I heard a lot about the yisini, a clan of female warriors who dedicated their lives to serving the goddess, who above all appreciates the desire to help in her admirers. Not free of charge, of course: the services of bodyguards are not cheap, but, as they say, they are worth it, because in addition to actually “keeping the body” of the employer, the girls have nothing against pleasing this body. Of course, by mutual agreement and for mutual pleasure. But this does not mean at all that the Yisini are easily accessible for love affairs. Rather, on the contrary: seven sweats will come down before you achieve the favor of a dark-haired charmer who handles weapons more dexterously than many men who have devoted their whole lives to martial arts. So, I heard something, but I saw it with my own eyes only now - thanks to a forced acquaintance with a puffy southern woman.

The only thing that saved me was that Amira ordered her guards to hold back in advance, otherwise... I probably wouldn't have had time to take a step. But my outburst did a good job: the Yisini stopped treating me like a piece of furniture, which they revere for anyone who cannot stand up for themselves. True, rage broke out only because I did not feel threatened by two girls with open bellies and faces hidden behind thin strips of fabric. Yes, and I gave vent to feelings, because there was no threat ... It’s hard to understand, but it’s true: strong feelings are very easy for me to “read”. And it's not just about emotional intensity, by no means. The intention to fulfill a duty in its brightness sometimes surpasses both hatred and rage. For my feelings. In addition, tender notes of love were clearly heard in the relationship between Amira and her guards, which just made my job easier. In a good way, I could clarify the whole situation in a jiffy and completely eliminate the risk, if not for one “but”.

My first meeting with a southerner took place almost seven years ago, at the time of ardor and excitement, and not adult prudence. Perhaps it was the sincerity of my indignation that bribed Amira. And also the fact that, noticing the steel stings scratching the skin, I was not surprised or scared, but calmly suggested that everyone return to their original positions. To avoid. I remember the fat woman chuckled and asked, “Are you hoping to beat my girls?” And she received an answer, extremely honest: "When it comes to life and death, I do not use such a dangerous weapon as hope." Of course, in the mouth of yesterday's boy, such words sounded ridiculous, however ... They were taken into account, and not only: Amira no longer tried to force-feed me with sweets. Although I didn’t miss a chance to complain that I was a “bad boy.”

Of course, I was stupid myself: I should have just confessed what the sweet taste reminds me of, and then… Hmm. But how do you admit it, if it is a family secret and a state secret rolled into one? In mine, which is especially annoying. So I have to behave, to put it mildly, strangely, hoping that my “oddities” will be attributed to my participation in the life of the shelter. Like, you will behave with fools, and you will get from fools ...

- And I'm hungry worse than a hundred gabbars [15] !

Fingers, the length and grace of which even fullness could not completely hide, reached for a piece of melon flowing syrup.

Why does this woman cause me ... rejection? No, it's too strong a word. And I can’t say that Amira is so scary looking. Well, fat. Very thick. Too thick. True, it only horrifies me: so many men love big women. "To have something to hold onto." And in everything else, the southerner is quite charming. I would also pluck the hairs above the upper lip ...

The skin is wonderful, smooth, just the envy of court beauties. You might think that every day she polishes it with a cloth. Braids are a feast for the eyes, thick, elastic, shiny. The eyes are deep, like the sea, only a dark blue, almost purple hue. Facial features with smoothness can also be compared with waves. A woman who attracts attention, in a word. And, importantly, attention-grabbing. For example, I can’t stand it, but for some reason I can’t forget it. Even when there is an opportunity to "forget". However, impressions are changing. If earlier at the mention of the name "Amir" I experienced unspeakable irritation, now I am mostly fooling around to amuse Kallas. And he understands this very well, the bastard, but he pretends to believe in my ardent dislike for this woman.

In fact, I rarely experience really strong feelings. Probably because the outer world is more important to me than the inner world. My world. Why is this happening? Who knows! Maybe because I am just a tiny speck of dust on the floor of a huge hall. The breeze can blow me away from my usual place, chat in the air, throw me far, far away, to where a boot will step on me, on the sole of which I will go on a new journey, without giving consent and realizing all the futility of disputes ... If this is how it really is In fact, what is the use of studying yourself when there is infinity full of mysteries around? There would be enough time to find at least a small part of the treasures hiding in it, and nothing more. I don't claim more. And I have nothing to dig into the depths of my own soul. And there is no depth...

The one of the two yisini accompanying Amira, who was shorter in stature, and with smoother movements, unraveled the cords of the cover and pulled out the lute into the light of day. In the southern manner, of course: a stick with strings, that's the comparison that came to my mind every time I saw this musical instrument. I do not argue, even with its help it was possible to get a melody pleasant to the ear, but in the songs of the desert I always seem to be melancholy, causing an irresistible desire to sleep. Especially in the evening.

I suppressed a yawn and turned to my ward with the message:

“If daneke does not consider this disrespectful, I would like to relieve you of my company for a while.

Amira portrayed capricious regret on her face (namely, on her face, because her eyes remained serious and understanding) and stretched out:

“Ai-tai, there is nothing to please my sweet boy: neither by the amusement of the body, nor by the joys of the spirit ... I am the most unfortunate of the unfortunate women who have ever lived in the sublunar world!”

I raised my left eyebrow (I could never do the same with my right one) and remarked with penetrating mournfulness:

— Do not anger the gods, daneke. How can you be unhappy if you know me?

The plums of dark eyes chuckled, but there was no further conversation. Indeed, what could Amira say? To say - acquaintance with me is the real misfortune? But then I will have a wonderful reason to avoid such a pastime in the future. And to openly and honestly admit that for some reason I suit her as an escort, it means to show my dependence and a certain weakness, which women don’t like! Will you argue with me? Would you say that they always strive to make themselves defenseless and fragile in order to arouse a desire to protect? Oh well. The true state of affairs is quite different: compared to women, we are the weaklings, because we always buy into the game that has been going on for centuries. And, hhag take it, we buy with pleasure, although we know that victory will never be on our side.

I bowed briefly and, under the first play of the strings, left the chambers assigned to the southerner for living.

I must say, when Amira came, the guest house of Il-Mahin was closed to outsiders. In order to ensure the peace and serenity of the night hours of the dear guest. To this end, even the guards - tall silent fellows in leather armor - almost doubled in number: in normal times, five people were enough to guard, and today I counted as many as eleven snouts, indecently similar to each other with a stupid frenzy of warriors on duty. However, all the guards are like that, because their task is to scare away, and not to protect seriously. That is why a southerner carries yisini with her: they are already in the power to save their employer from a possible assassination attempt.

True, I don’t remember that during all her visits to Antreya, more or less life-threatening events happened, because Amira is still engaged in trading affairs, and not spying for ... Hmm. Maybe he's spying. To be honest, I didn't think about this possibility. And why? In the most likely case, my annoying friend only transports information from place to place, she herself does not stoop to digging in dirty linen, and accusing her of performing the duties of a courier ... Stupid. It is very difficult to prove that a person knows the true value of the cargo that is entrusted to him for transportation. It is practically impossible, because most often the “carrier” does not really know what he is carrying. For the safety of both him and everyone else. Doesn't even know the sender personally, so... Spies have to be caught differently. More precisely, it is necessary to fight them from the other side.

Penetration into secrets that are not subject to publicity is possible only in one case: if there is someone among the guards of this secret who is ready to give it away. Well, to achieve this “readiness” can be in different ways. Bribe. Charm. Intimidate. Force. Is there anything else? Therefore, they try to admit only fanatics to really important secrets, who are more likely to die themselves or bury everyone around, but not divulge the entrusted secret. True, fanatics have their weaknesses, but by and large ...

What am I talking about? Oh yes, that daneke Amira can do anything - even trade, even spy, even plot horrific atrocities. I don't care. My duty is elsewhere. Does Kallas want me to relentlessly follow the southerner? Please. We kill two birds with one stone: we monitor all possible meetings and provide additional security. If this woman is dear to Ra-Dien, I have nothing against it. If the dan Counselor wants to know how she spends her time in Antray, but doesn't want to spend money on "snoops", he's right. Inalienable. I don't want to go into details. There are enough things to do. Although I could...

"Read" it, perhaps, to hone skills? No, I will not. It's too late to flutter: you should have done it the very first time. Should have… Ha! But she chose the surprisingly correct way to knock me off my mood - pissed me off. Now, after a few years, I can cope with my own emotions, and then any trouble made me almost explode and ... completely lose control over what was happening outside.

In my business, the most important thing is peace of mind. Why? Everything is very simple: water vapors, carrying the necessary information, mix with each other, and, for example, in a crowded place it is rather problematic to catch the shades of intentions of each of those present. But if your own flows are also mixed with external flows ... Then you, as they say, “hit”, because in full connection with a small distance (and, consequently, the closest and strongest perimeter of influence) and in the opposite direction of following you cease to feel correctly, plunging into a leapfrog of the external and internal. There is only one way out: calm down. But it takes time to calm down. Even to count a dozen lambs. How many moments will pass by? That's it. But each of them can become fatal. Therefore, in the service, I am peace itself. But after ... I can flare up because of any little thing, which is why they don’t like to invite me to receptions. Especially the royal ones. Well, I'm "at fools", I can ... Everything. Almost everything, and without serious consequences.

And the air is good, only a bit dark for the end of the day watch. Well, yes, of course: the clouds have become denser.

I leaned against the railing of the gallery on the second floor, overlooking the patio, lined with clay tiles, covered with motley colored glaze, according to the southern custom.

Yeah, at the aisle - the only one leading to the residential part of the house from the front part - there are two guards. Well stand, motionless. They do not draw attention to themselves. The passage is narrow, the door is double-leaf: in which case you can defend yourself, and very successfully. And in order to get into the chambers assigned to Amira, you just need to go through it, cross the courtyard, climb the stairs and go halfway through the gallery. And there are obstacles along the way.

No, I don't mean myself: I'm off duty today. Today I am fulfilling the request-order of the higher authorities. A pair of daggers, of course, is available, but I have no ardent desire to engage in stabbing. Yes, and walked today ... Back and forth, back and forth. If Amira had said right away which quarters she intended to visit, it would have been possible to lay out a route both short and convenient, and not cut circles countless times in the same place. I can imagine what kind of jokes they will greet me in the “Bloody Reef”, because the boys serving there not only saw my person three times within half an hour (and I walked in the same direction), but then they also invited Savek for viewing, who for For more fun, I began to put notches right on the wooden shield next to the door of the tavern! And then add something like: “On the ninth day of the month of the First Thunderstorms, Raiden Ra-Gro passed by this establishment twelve times. And thank the gods that he passed by! M-yes...

Tired, wet, dry, wet again, angry at the whole world: which of me is now a defender? Yes, none. One joy: my safety (and, consequently, the safety of the guest) depends entirely on other people. Who are also probably tired, but unlike me, they are not angry. Just because being next to me is not enough for any anger.

Weird! You can enjoy doing nothing to the fullest. Listen to music (muffled enough by the closed doors so as not to annoy and lull you to sleep). Admire the evening sky. Breathe the thick and heavy air of the approaching rain. Greet guests…

Hey, what's up? We are not waiting for anyone!

The narrow doors swung open to let a short figure into the courtyard. The guards on either side of the passage moved their halberds, but after a breath they returned the weapons to the prescribed place. One of the servants? Amira did not send for anything. Unless Il-Mahin himself decided to render the guest some kind of service. But the newcomer has neither a tray nor a bag in his hands. More precisely, the newcomer.

Of course, a woman's dress does not always directly and accurately indicate the floor, and yet ... Yes, a woman: the silhouette is characteristically narrow both at the shoulders and at the waist, and even emphasized by a belt that intercepts the floors of the upper cape with openwork metal links. It's strange, in this weather and with all the parade ... Although, if it starts to rain, you need to hide from it, right? Necessary.

The stranger passed the guards and slowly moved across the courtyard, the hem of her dress rustling on the tiles.

Don't rush, don't hold your breath. It means you feel confident. Local? But she is not dressed at all like the servants of the guest house, but rather looks like one of the wealthy townswomen: there, and there is a lace collar, and there are probably lace cuffs on the sleeves ... Stop. And why can't I see these cuffs? Because the hands are hidden in the folds of the cape. Yes and...

The air stirred, lazily brushing my face like a cat's fluffy tail, forcing me to take a deeper breath than before.

The dampness that hung around me had made me think of mold growing on rotten meat before, but now... Now the aroma intensified. And changed, becoming sweeter. But I have never felt such sweetness before. Not nauseatingly sugary, reminiscent of the deceased. Not flowery honey, light and pleasant. No, it most of all looked like burnt jam, which the cook had not kept track of. Jam, in which sweetness and bitterness are approximately equal. Thick, enveloping consciousness is unobtrusive, but steady. And it seems that the air itself has become syrup, in which you get stuck like a fly, and no matter how much you beat your wings, there is no way to break free from the sticky embrace, and ... What is freedom? Does it need body and spirit? Wouldn't it be better to surrender to the mercy of the one who is stronger, the one who will show the way ...

Hhag! What does all of this mean?

It took me about two breaths to understand: a gust of wind brought the sensations of the guards. But the sweetness... The sweetness undoubtedly belonged to a woman. Which all with the same smooth step moved to a ladder.

How is this possible? Where did she come from? I could not miss SUCH in the city! Could not! Let me not know exactly what is happening, but the stranger is dangerous. Incredibly dangerous. But why did the guards give up so easily and why did he feel so strange? In fact, he doesn't feel at all. Something must be done, and immediately.

I slightly moved my left hand aside, spreading pairs of fingers tightly pressed to each other with a horn (the little finger with the ring finger and the middle finger with the index finger, the thumb is hidden), notifying my bodyguards of the impending threat and ... Nothing happened. Usually, at this signal, Ballig took a position as close as possible ... Silence. Complete lack of movement. And the bitter, putrid aroma intensifies. What to do?

Where did the trinity always following me go? They can't help but be here, within the guest house, but why don't they respond to direct orders? This is possible only in one case - the case of death, but ... No, they must be alive, and they are alive, absolutely, because ... Because I "hear" them, although very vaguely and badly.

Yes, what is going on, who would answer?! An unknown danger is approaching me, and every hair on my body feels that this is danger! And valiant defenders volynyat. Or…

I took another deep breath, saturating my blood with air, making it move faster and report faster about the environment. And as I exhaled, I almost wanted to howl.

My bodyguards were in the same "hibernation" as the guards at the gates, only flowing not measuredly, but in jerks, as if they were still trying to shake off the delusion of someone else's influence. Come on, you bastards! Don't give in! Except me, no one can tell you, do you hear?! When I tell you to breathe, you will breathe, and when I tell you to die, you... Only MY orders matter!

Rage spilled out and flew away, leaving instead a cold awareness of an imminent battle with the unknown.

I put my palms on the handles of the daggers, clearly understanding: these toothpicks will not save me. Delay death by a few seconds? And thanks for that. You can, of course, shamefully run away, since there is a means for this, but ... Then Amira remains even without the phantom help that I can provide. I'll let the woman and Callie down. Suppose no one will reproach me for saving my own life, because it is more important than everything else. First of all, it is important for the city and its inhabitants. He won’t reproach, hmm ... And I myself? What will I feel? Fled from the battlefield, from the only enemy intended for me, and only for me? The shame is incredible. Besides... Every inch of the body is seized with an itch that does not allow anything but an attack. The cursed gift of the ancestors: once having sensed the "madman", I can no longer either turn off the road or retreat. Maybe, this was done on purpose - in case the Guardian gets caught who is not too brave and responsible. One that will strive to run away at every encounter with danger ...

Creak. Creak. Creak. She rises. Together with the gathering dusk, up to the gallery. Calm - I can feel it. Serene ... Until the moment she saw me, standing ten steps from the last step of the stairs.

And the moisture hanging in the air explodes with rage. Her rage.

Yes, this is a woman, no doubt about it: male rage is not so all-encompassing, but in this one ... I almost choked.

The right hand of the stranger, hiding her face in the shadow of her pulled-down hood, slipped out of the folds of the cape, sparkling with metal, and then, in a smooth arc from left to right, protruded forward, releasing something thin, long and gray into the flight ...

And the next moment, the heavy and wide body of Ballig blocked my view. Fully. I swore, jumping to the side, because during the fight you need to have a good view of the opponent's movements.

The stranger was no longer on the steps: she flew down, jumping straight from the gallery into the courtyard, followed by a crossbow arrow and a whole brood of throwing knives. Useless: the fabric of the cape, thrown off the shoulders in time, knocked down the direction and extinguished the speed of the weapon. The assassin slipped between the doors into the outer courtyard like a shadow, but the guards remained motionless.

Chase? Time is gone. And who should be pursued? A woman whose face I don't know? True, I can always identify her, but for this you need to be nearby, and she ... Already far away. Quite far.

I turned, intending to blast my negligent bodyguards, but the angry words froze in my throat.

Ballig lay motionless on the floor of the gallery, and Kirian, kneeling beside him, had a suspicious gleam in her eyes. With tears.

I thumped next to him, earning a couple of bruises, and bent over the "shell".

Bodyguards don't wear bulky armor. And in general, they don’t really wear armor, because they must have time to protect not their own body, but someone else’s. The trio assigned to me followed the same rule, and Ballig was wearing only clothes made of thick cloth and leather, of course, not capable of stopping the blow. Especially a lot of hits at once.

With a dagger not used for its intended purpose, I cut through the camisole and shirt, getting to the wounds received by my faithful protector, and when I took the scraps of fabric aside ... Kirian almost stopped breathing.

Ballig's body was cut open: the chest, the stomach, the lower one, everything gaped with wounds. Deep. Very deep. And, it seems, even the bones were broken. With what force was the attack carried out? Impossibly big if the bearded man looks so bad. If a…

If he dies.

I touched her cheek, which had grown noticeably pale even in the twilight. Ballig's eyelids twitched as they lifted, and eyes dull with pain looked at me with the same concern:

- Are you okay?

- Yes, don't worry! Don't waste your energy.

— I won't need them anymore, dan… I'm leaving. Sorry it's so soon. And... will you let me go?

He didn't ask: Ballig never considered himself entitled to ask for anything. He just reminded me of my duties. As always. This is probably why I love my “bear”, my big toy ... Which was taken from me. Damn you, do you hear? I will never forget what you did. Even after I die. Myself. With my own hands. And you will die for as long as possible!

— Dan?

Quietly, with all your might. Yes, I remember that I should. I'll do everything right.

My hand rested on the left side of Ballig's chest, where his heart was still beating, beating heavily and painfully. And it will fight, not letting the suffering go away, until ... The master will let his servant go. No, not a servant. Slave.

Blood always burns, but at that moment I did not feel the heat. And I didn't feel cold. A sticky puddle trembling under the hand - that's all that's left. That's all…

- The order has been fulfilled.

You saved me from death by covering me with your body. Not out of love, not out of friendship, just because it was your duty. A debt that you did not ask for, but from which you did not try to run away. I'll remember, Ballig. Let me remember that neither fear nor courage has the power that duty has. Unless, of course, he begins his performance in the depths of his heart ...

Two words.

As soon as the last sound died down, the wounded chest shuddered. Last time. And then, in the silence that followed, Honka’s alarming question was heard:

- What's wrong with your hand?

— Hand?

I shifted my gaze to the right. Yes, everything is as usual: hand and hand. Only some kind of piece of iron sticks out of the shoulder, but is it scary?

- Don't move!

This is the cry of Kirian.

“What, are you all out of your mind?

I try to get to my feet, but Honk won't let me: he knocks me back and presses me to the floor.

“Hey, what the…

Kyrian gently touches something around my stomach, and I twitch, trying to get out of the grip of the "left claw" because I ... hurt. Very painful. This means that Ballig's wounds were not just deep. They were see-through.