Authors: Dem Mikhaylov
Strangely, the sergeant got shivers running up his spine because of that smile. He had already seen such a smile.
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Soldier! Throw this dagger on the ground! Obey the order! – Whisker shouted and grasped his axe. He remembered who had had the similar happy smile.
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Sergeant, but why? Look, it’s so beautiful! – the soldier objected. He made two steps forward, suddenly stabbed the dagger into the neck of the fiery she-mage and burst out laughing happily while looking at the girl falling dead without a mere holler, then added – It is a wonderful weapon! It’s really wonderful, sergeant!
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Kill him! – the sergeant shouted like hell and the stunned soldiers recovered from trance.
Thanks God, that one didn’t die hard like the previous. He was quickly cut into pieces. Moreover, the sergeant personally cut off the hand that was squeezing the handle of the dagger in iron grip.
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Check the she-mage – Whisker said hoarsely leaning on the axe handle – Maybe she is alive.
The soldier who bended over the she-mage, found a vein on her neck, waited for a while and shook his head:
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No, she’s dead, sergeant – suddenly he screamed and leaped away since the dead body of the fiery enchantress crooked its hands and started standing up slowly. Her jaws chewed, the dead girl’s defocused eyes fixed at the people.
The sergeant didn’t have to command – the soldiers swung their axes simultaneously and a new-born zombie didn’t have a chance to stand up. The priests who ran up as they had heard screams found two new dead bodies. And the sergeant suddenly realized that the chain of events – from finding the dagger to turning the she-mage into a zombie – happened in several miserable minutes. No! Not minutes – in several moments!
The dagger… The soldier’s cut-off hand unclenched and Whisker could look at the dagger properly. The bone ragged blade started curving from the sophisticated quillon to form a crescent. There was a precious stone of a golden color glistening dull in the pommel of the handle.
‘That’s a worthy weapon for any warrior’ – the sergeant was thinking keeping his eyes fixed at the dagger – ‘I wonder if its handle is convenient…’ Whisker reached for the weapon but somebody suddenly punched him in the shoulder so hard that the sergeant was thrown aside. The furious warrior let out an incoherent roar and was about to grasp his axe when he saw the priest who froze staring at the dagger, then the sergeant stopped and put his hand away from the weapon.
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Sergeant! Are you insane?
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I’m sorry, Father – Whisker murmured keeping his head lowered – I cannot understand what has come upon me.
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If you had reached the dagger, we would have had one more dead body! – the priest snapped angrily – It’s evil! Give me your axe!
The priest got armed with the axe, dropped it sharply on the dagger so that the bone blade cracked and broke in flinders. The priest kept on swinging the axe again and again until there was nothing left from the dagger but for fine dust that was blown away by wind that came on from nowhere and scattered it in the air…
That was the end. Definitely this time it was over. The last hazard was eliminated.
The devastated village was listening to the priests’ lamenting prayer in breathless silence again …
When it got totally dark, the detachment was far away from burning down Forest Metochion. The exhausted sergeant was swaying in the saddle and looking ahead with the blank eyes. The flask attached to his saddle had become empty long ago but Whisker was absolutely sober.
The blue-eyed priest approached the sergeant and looked examiningly at his face, then patted his shoulder and said:
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We had to do it, sergeant, and we did it. They were not humans. We released their souls and we did it for their benefit.
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I understand it, Father – the sergeant sounded indifferent but then he suddenly smiled – I need to drink a lot.
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That’s a good idea, my son – the priest laughed – That’s a good idea. Have a drink. We’ll stay at the nearest tavern. But after enjoying wine granting oblivion, come to me to confess your sins. It would never be out of place to get off your chest, my son.
The priest touched the horse with a spur, overtook his brethren and joined their conversation. He didn’t notice that a pair of attentive eyes was watching him.
The grey-bearded mage cast down his cold eyes, turned over the page of his book and smiled. The tips of his fingers touched a draft of a dagger curved like a crescent that he had drawn two minutes ago. His tenacious memory didn’t let him down – the drawing was accurate.
A wonderful weapon… a really wonderful weapon… the golden stone that was hidden in a safe secret pocket on the belt would match it perfectly. The stone was kept in a special tiny box made from strange porous stone marked all over by mysterious runes and signs.
Lord Van Fersis shut the book, smiled at his thoughts and touched his horse with spurs to catch up with the detachment.
A wonderful weapon… a really wonderful weapon… The mage didn’t see that the golden stone blinked to show agreement in tune with his thoughts… yes… a wonderful weapon…
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