Bor squeezed through the barely open door and stopped. The emerald camisole, embroidered with gold threads, pulled up to the middle of his chest, exposing his hairy belly to the admiration of the whole world. He made an effort to pull it on, but succeeded in causing some of the buttons to fly around the room and disappear into dusty corners.
Taking a deep breath, he began to go deeper into the room, trying to get through the piles of books and strange instruments. Somewhere in these ruins was a man who was extremely difficult to find. And what the heck, he took refuge with a large community of mages who lived under the auspices of one of the strongest demi-human clans. Dorns, or one-horned, were an extremely warlike race, with a bunch of internal rules and rituals. They could be called savages, but the thirst for battle instilled them in science. A sharp stick is better than a blunt one. How to make a stick sharp? Find someone who can and force!
For centuries, they were slave owners. But as it turned out, the effectiveness of this method was depressing, and sharp sticks ended at the most inopportune moment. And they found a compromise - here any scientist could get resources, protection, and freedom from moral principles. Later, the Dorns realized that they could not plunder the backwater villages for the sake of crumbs of food, but sell sharp sticks and other types of sticks, even offer the services of their own scientists! Their city has grown, they themselves have become smarter, but have not lost their spirit. And now they owned the second largest city of Gifors.
That's where the damn kid came in. To get into the institute, Bor had to dress up as a nobleman. The original plan involved trying to portray him as a wealthy man seeking favors of a highly sensitive nature. But after half an hour of laughter, the hero team decided to change the plan. Bor could not boast of beauty, but the nobles did not need it. However, some limits must exist, and the scarecrow, made from the corpse of a homeless person and expensive clothes, did not inspire confidence and deprived the only option of disguise. Bor's status plummeted to that of a page, a majestic duchess, portrayed by Zwei.
And while the rector was sweating profusely, staring at the deep neckline and chaotically recalling spells that could bring his flabby device to combat readiness, Bor managed to slip out of the office and tag along with the clerk, who was sent in search of the right scientist. It was worth knocking him out, but the clerk turned out to be a talkative fellow and even was glad for the company of a stranger. Reaching the door, the clerk expressed a negative desire to visit this laboratory. This position he received recently, as his predecessor was a victim of magic, which turned his limb into a kind of sentient jelly. What became of the predecessor, the predecessor, the clerk did not say, instead suppressing the urge to vomit.
Bor shrugged his shoulders, left alone and started searching.
A young man was sleeping on a dirty bed, with a couple of books under his head. In the dim green light emanating from the flask with the stone ball inside, one could see his clothes. The protective coat was littered with many holes and leftover food. There was only one shoe on his feet, the fate of the second will remain unknown until the end of time. The rest of the clothes were no less dirty than the cloak, but a little more intact. The baggy pants and shirt practically fell off the man. His face was familiar. That's what Bor saw in the mirror when he was younger. Ragged stubble that hasn't been looked after for a long time. Greasy hair that fell from her shoulders. And dark circles under the eyes. All that was missing was a pile of empty bottles of booze, for a complete entourage.
Bor lifted his leg and kicked the sleeping man. The effect was not what he expected. The figure only muttered something in its sleep, and rolled over on its other side. But Bor's tight corduroy trousers burst. Pages did not need to lift their legs high. The tailor who created this beautiful suit could have died of a heart attack, find out what his offspring went to.
The coachman plopped down on the floor and took a deep breath. Leaning back against the table, he began to pick up books and throw them at the sleeping man.
- “Wake up, I don't have time to hang around here all day!” - He shouted, looking for a new projectile. His arm twitched and his elbow slammed into the table.
He raised his head and saw a vial of dark liquid slowly approaching his head. The glass cracked, releasing liquid. Unfortunately for the hero, the liquid turned out to be highly flammable. Contact with air was enough to produce an explosion.
The guy got up and saw something. The creature's head burned, filling the room with the smell of burnt hair, and its ears filled with heart-rending screams.
Reacting instantly, he cast a spell and a metal cylinder formed near his palm. Shot.
The piece of iron slammed into the creature's stomach and sent it flying across half the room. The flames spread, fueled by rich deposits of literature.
While the man was casting a water spell to put out the fire, a creature jumped out of the rubbish heap and hit him in the stomach with such force that he was speechless. The second blow landed on the jaw, knocking him to the floor.
- “Friends are not met like that, you sucker !!!” - An ugly man shouted, having managed to put out his head, which was only slightly smoldering.
The regeneration was working properly and after recovering from the shock, the man launched a wave of energy, once again throwing the creature into the air. The Burnt One screamed and crashed into the ceiling. His heavy body fell onto a row of retorts processing liquid and caused a new wave of flame. Unfortunately for the institute, which lost a good third of its premises after this fire, almost everything in this laboratory was extremely flammable.
The man ran up to a large flask and with the help of a short spell, he took out a round stone, put it in a bag and went to the exit at a quick pace. A dirty hand wrapped around his ankle and pulled sharply. The guy fell and found a man sitting on his back.
- “RELAX, FOR ALL THE GODS! It's me! Bor!”
- “Bor? What the hell is Bor?!” - The guy's brain tried to sort out the situation, but not in too much detail. The desire to throw off the intruder and escape was much stronger.
- “I came for you Zee, I want to help you” - Already more friendly, but no less intimidating, he continued – “Remember, we saw each other several years ago. Come on, strain your head.”
Zee did not want to strain his head, trying to slip out of the tenacious paws, so Bor strained the head of the archmage. He grabbed the heavy tome and dropped it on the back of the target's head.
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There was noise in the hallway. The guard opened the door and abruptly shouted that there was a fire in the forty-seventh block, it looked like an attack.
The rector's face turned to stone. He stood like that for a few seconds, and turning to the duchess, he raised an inquiring eyebrow.
Zwei sighed and ran her hand through the slit of her dress. The elderly man swallowed his saliva and opened his mouth, about to say something, when a long dagger appeared in her hand. She deftly cut the hem of her dress and kicked the rector in the groin with all her strength. The old man fell to the ground, speechless. Although the gift of squeaking, he quite left himself.
Stepping out into the corridor, she kicked off her shoes and ran to the appointed meeting place. The people around her completely ignored her, carrying buckets of water to the source of the flames. Thick smoke filled the corridor.
Something flickered next to Zwei ... A butterfly flew swiftly out of a cloud of smoke, with a rider wearing only tiny leather boots with spurs. He turned around and winked at her with a confident smile before disappearing into the nearest window.
Shaking her head, she decided not to bother herself and move on. After a couple of minutes, she was already at the entrance for employees. The stairs leading to the second floor were filled with screaming guards. A charred Bor flew out of the passage, carrying some kind of bag in his arms and jumped into the crowd. A terrible mess ensued as squads of armed guards rolled down. Bor was so elegant in this flight, like a farmer planted in a burning barrel of hedgehogs, as a projectile for a catapult.
The last second of the fall lit up his eyes with undisguised horror, when his large nose sank between the buttocks of the guard sprawled on the floor. The blow knocked the air out of his lungs, and he reflexively took a deep breath.
Bor's raised head made a sound that no man in this world could repeat.
Zwei's hand grabbed his hair and pulled him to his feet.
- “Your motherfucker! Your assignment was simple, just bring the guy in, not burn down half the institute and potentially start a fucking war!” - She yelled at him as she continued to act. She grabbed the bow of one of the groaning guards and deftly picked up the quiver with her foot – “We must dump, move, fatty!”
Zwei pushed open the door and saw a Dorn soldier squatting down and staring indifferently at the entrance.
- “Ha, Rdyr lost twenty coins to me. I told you they'd try to get out here” - He whistled, signaling the rest of the warriors.
- “Wait, you made a mistake” - She did not have time to finish, as the tip of an arrow fired from the roof scratched her cheek.
The Dorns did not stand on ceremony. The policy - first kill, then listen, was extremely popular in their society. And when you were ordered to detain the criminals, you had to specify that they were alive. And today there was no such clarification. Probably ...
Zwei sprang forward and opened fire, firing arrow after arrow that slew the proud warriors who had not yet learned to wear mail. Thin strips of skin were extremely worthless protection, but being a coward, virgins, sucker, is much more unpleasant than being dead. At least for them.
The squatting soldier had already taken out a short hatchet and rushed at Bor, who was standing on the steps with a dull look. Bor glanced over to find that the institute guards had regained consciousness and were closing in on his back, one in particular hurrying, covering his butt with one hand and holding a blade with the other. The tears in his eyes did not portend a touching reunion, after a short but passionate meeting minutes earlier.
Not having time to come up with a cunning strategy, Bor threw the body of the archmage at the attacker, and then crashed into him himself. A scuffle ensued on the ground, where Zee , who had almost woken up, was again sent into sweet oblivion, with one blow of the butt to the temple.
A bite on the ear, an eversion of the horn, a penetrating Sanderow left-sided testicle twist, and the fat man rose from the ground in triumph. But then a mace landed on his head. Judging by the weight, it was held by a tall and strong man. It's not every day that you get hit by such a trained guard. Usually you get stabbed in the stomach or shot. The level of combat training is immediately visible.
But Bor had no time for reflection, he decided to leave this monologue for the morning. He stumbled forward, and almost falling collected a black, thick liquid in his mouth. Turning around, he spat forward. A lump of something incomprehensible formed into the image of a fist that flew into the lower jaw of a big man and knocked him out. The form immediately disintegrated, spreading black, smelly goo, flowing into the open mouth.
Life didn't prepare them for this...
Taking advantage of the shock, Bor picked up the sack and ran into the nearest alley.
- “Damn, they're not far behind. Why did they give up a bag? Okay, if I stole some money, booze. Well, or like that time, the baron's daughter” - He stopped, looking at the approaching shadows – “I do not like it, but it seems there is no choice”
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The guards tumbled into a narrow alley and stopped. A child in a torn robe was sitting next to a barrel that collected rainwater. Weeping and sobs were heard.
- “Hey, have you seen the man with the bag? Where did he run?” - Pushing forward, asked her captain.
- “Why did everyone leave me?” - Through the tears the girl sobbed –“Where is dad? Take me to dad!”
- “Okay, we'll take care of you, just tell me, where did the man with the sack go?” - Approaching the child, said the guard.
- “I'm so hungry... Dad always has food... Plenty of food... I didn't go hungry with him... Dad, where is dad?”
It was more intuition than reason. Before he could smell the cadaverous smell, before he heard strange breathing, the captain decided to stop. If only my intuition had worked a little earlier.
The girl turned around. Her entire body was black, except for two white eyes, no pupils, no irises. Like two swollen abscesses crowning a disfigured face, reminiscent of a gnawed wolf's skull.
Fangs closed on the guard's plate boot, and he squealed. A neighbor on an unfortunate day of service, kicked the child in the head, dragging the body of the screaming captain away.
The child sat down on the ground, crunching the steel of his boot.
- “Yummy! I want more!” - She said cheerfully and, dropping on all fours, ran to the guard.
The wounded captain was aged, still strong and vigorous, but already losing his former speed, he suddenly felt an influx of life in himself. Is your leg bleeding? Ten extra pounds? All this did not prevent him from getting up briskly, jumping onto the box and flying headlong out of the lane, jumping over several people. He fell to the ground, but did not stop, trying to get away.
Not disdaining the captain's important lesson, the rest of the institute's guards went on the run, competing with each other in speed.
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Zwei sat on the bank of the stream and washed off the sweat after the battle. Apart from a scratch on her cheek, she made it out unscathed. This fight was an extravaganza, grace, dexterity, beauty. It was incomparable to anything else. An absolutely unique work of art that can wake up even the coldest heart, excite even the most sophisticated mind. If only you could see it! But no luck.
You got Bor.
At that moment, the wind brought the smell of a gutter. Out of breath, a fat man came out from behind a tree and with a crash threw the bag with the body of the archmage to the ground.
- “Bohr… Why the hell do you stink like that?! Even worse than usual, and this is the result!” - She asked without turning around. There was no question of persecution. Even though this man was one of the most disgusting creatures she had ever met in her life. Or could imagine. But he knew his business.
- “Well, there was no other way. Just one old man told me about the sewerage system of this city, so I decided to take a chance. I must say, he almost did not lie! You won't believe how many interesting twists and turns there are. And all the waste, they...“- A wet rag flew into his face.
- “Go and wash up! I refuse to be around that stink for even a second!”
While Bor grumbling plunged into the waters of the stream, Zwei cut the fetters from the bag and looked at the archmage 's pale face.
- “I imagined you older” - Then she got up and screamed – “Wash him too! I didn't put this guy in a pile of shit!”
