World Witout Wizards: Guard

"I'll do it myself!" I said to the chief confidently.

I wasn't a greedy man, but I thought I could take care of my own 'property'.

It was difficult for me to call this half-corpse a girl. Lysandra lay on the floor and looked more like a pile of tattered and bloody flesh.

Your new quest: Healer

Cure Defector Lysandra before she dies from her wounds

Options for healing:

— heal the girl yourself

— take Lysandra to the Flower Witch

— take the girl home to Naomi Goldovirel for healing

"It's up to you to decide!" Vagol smiled. "If I were you, I wouldn't skimp, or you'd lose your new slave. You can sleep at the tavern tonight. It's evening. There's a big storm coming. So, it's very dangerous to stay in the forest."

"Thanks for the advice, your Highness," I bowed. "I think I'll go to the tavern. I've never been there."

"Well, buddy, you gonna have fun while your parents are away and you haven't been called up for real service yet. I like the way you think: girls and booze! What else does a normal guy need to be happy?!" Tren'ya exclaimed.

"Money, dude, money!" Vagol smiled. "Okay, Polozoob. Take your companion with his bitch and get out of here. That hussy left blood all over my floor."

"That's right, your Highness," Tren'ya nodded, approaching me. "Come on, buddy. I've been here a few times, so I'll help you carry the girl."

Intelligence Check

Base 0

Bonus + 1

Dice Roll 2

Success 2

Success

"I'll carry her myself. Let's just take the chains off."

"I've forgotten!" Tren'ya smacked his forehead. "You're right, buddy. We must take care of the imperial iron. I could be punished if she messed it up. Help me."

Polozoob took out a small key on a string from his pocket. It was a simple piece of metal with two prongs. I could forge that thing in a couple of minutes.

I was surprised how Tren'ya opened the locks. He brought the key to the heavy bracelet; a small lightning sparked between them; the lock clicked and opened. A minute later, the girl was wearing only the rough clothes and a slave leash, which, to my surprise, was inscribed with my name.

"All right," Polozoob nodded, twisting the chain and hanging it over his back. "Take your broad and let's go. Goodbye, chief."

"Let the HAND bless you, man. I hope you get someone better next time."

"It was the HAND's decision. You must understand that."

"Thank you for everything, your Highness." I bowed as low as I could, holding the girl in my arms.

"Well, listen to me. You're a slave owner now, like me. I'm telling you: be careful. She's given you her soul. Even if you take off her leash and put her in expensive silk clothes, that won't change anything. She'll remain your slave. It's magic, it works that way.

I hope you're not stupid enough to get attached to your slave and treat it like an equal. One more thing. Stop calling me 'Your Highness'. I like that. But if you dare to address me this way in the city in the presence of some baron, you'll hang in spite of your rank."

"How should I address you?" I was confused. I'd never thought it would matter.

"Are you going to the tavern? Ask around. The madam is a cheerful woman. She used to work in the city before she got kicked out. Go on, get going," the chief pointed to the door, where Tren'ya was already standing, and I had to follow Polozoob.

There was a downpour outside. My companion walked down the street quickly, I tried to catch up to him carrying the girl. The road was unfamiliar to me, so Tren'ya was my only guide.

I was amazed by the River Village. There were two-storied houses everywhere. The windows were lit brightly, the people here used real oil lamps rather than kindling-wood. In our village of a hundred and fifty houses, only my parents and Oulsast owned two-storied dwellings. Rich people lived here. They were pure-blooded, rather than half-bloods. They looked at me incredulously and warily, perhaps because I was a Black guard or because I was carrying Lysandra. Apparently, these street dwellers rarely could see bloodied girls in somebody's arms.

"Why are you lagging behind?!" Polozoob yelled from under a canopy at a porch. I saw a faded signboard 'DEAD HORSE.'

A strange name for a tavern, I thought. But no matter how it's called, I hope it's dry and warm inside.

The door opened and I sank into a whirlpool of smells, sounds and colors. The laughter of dozens of swashbuckling guys muffled a strange enchanting melody. The place was lit with real wax candles in colored glass bulbs; the faces of the audience were painted blue, orange or red. I was pleased that the color of my skin wouldn't cause questions in this light.

"Hey, innkeeper!" Polozoob shouted. "I need a room and food!"

"Who are these bastards?" a big guy, who looked like a half-giant, came from behind the counter. He was beardless with short black hair. I concentrated.

Grenald Pourer, 38 years old

Owner of the tavern 'DEAD HORSE'

Charges: fraud, robbery, ****

Penalty: 45 silver coins

"Why is he staring at me like that?" the innkeeper asked pointing his finger at me. Then he frowned...

"I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you, Mr. Guard. I'd be happy to redeem myself with a mug of excellent black ale."

"Stop it," Polozoob slapped him on the shoulder, "this guy could die from your dark ale. He's young."

"All right," Grendal snorted, "but if he decides to punish me…"

"No, he's not an idiot, are you buddy?"

"No," I said, "I need a room."

"Well," the big man scratched behind his ear, "I've got two. But I have a request," he pointed at the girl, "don't put her on the mattresses. You'll get blood all over them. They'll bring you mats."

The innkeeper turned around, searching for somebody.

"Hey! Yanka! Come here before I pull your hair out."

"I am here, sir," a girl of about sixteen replied, squeezing between the overcrowded tables.

She was short, a head shorter than me, but her figure was splendid. She didn't hide it, like our country girls. Her cleavage was like Lysandra's when we went to the river. Only her n.i.p.p.l.es weren't showing through her clothes.

"Escort our guest, the guard, with his baggage upstairs to the outer room. They shouldn't interfere with other dwellers with their groans. And don't even think about robbing him, bitch, or you'll end up like the girl he's carrying. Do you understand?"

The girl looked from the innkeeper to me, and then to my... slave. The bright lights in her eyes instantly faded. But the smile was still bright, it seemed a little creepy. Bowing slightly, Yanka made an inviting gesture and went forward, pushing other guests.