Two days they walked along an abandoned old road. The peasants began to complain that an ancient evil — Koschey — lives in these dry forests. This land scared them. Vtorak was amused by the simplicity of peasants until it began to openly anger. Tension was added by the constant beardless chubby kid named Vastryuk. He decided that the road would not be so tiring. He began to complain about the long journey, fatigue, hunger and thirst, which annoyed even his own.
- Where are you leading us, master warrior? - he said.
- I have already spoken about this, - Vtorak sighed. He had already regretted taking the peasants with him. - You can go back any minute.
- And who are they? Will you sacrifice us to your gods? - asked Vastryuk as if he had not heard what Vtorak had said.
- No! Why would I want to sacrifice you to some kind of gods? Why did you get this at all?
- It seems to me that you want us to be elderly... - Squinting and grimacing at the bridge of the nose, he said and scratched the shabby straw of hair, - I want to eat. When is the halt?..
- Well, shut up, you annoying bastard, - Loban said in a hat and a heavy woolen cloak. It was a relif for the rest of the fellow travelers. He looked at the boy and his lush mustache swayed to the beat of his head.
- But uncle Lob, I want to eat!
- I'll let you "to eat", bastard! Well, you scoundrel, the only one who thought of taking milk on the long road! So, after all, he drank the whole flask by himself! And did not share with anyone!
- Well, I wanted to ...
- Shat up! - shook Loban's storages, - Oh, shut up, shmurak pestilential! I did not know that I ...
- Don't touch my mom! - Vastryuk frowned. - She is not here. Only me here! So talk to me!
- Yes, nothing to say to you! You need to hit with a stick on the head and throw you into a ravine, a foolish kid!
- Why so rudely said?!
- And how should I say if you don't understand in a normal way?
- No, well, did you hear that?!! - the kid stood up in his tracks. The peasants and the mercenary turned around, - One wants to bury in a ravine, the other to sacrifice to evil spirits of the wood... Hell, no! I'll go home!
- Instead of speaking individually stupidly, let's be silent in an intelligent way together. - Yosik suggested.
- You won't get there alone, - said the mercenary to the young one.
- Go to hell, bullshit! You are not my mom to rule me! - Vastryuk shook his fist, turned and clumsily ran away.
- Here you go, damned sissy! - exclaimed old Gordey, looking after the fleeing boy.
- Okay, let him run, - said Loban. - All the same, his mother did not want to let him go.
- He won't reach the village, - said Vtorak indifferently, - he won't survive without supplies.
The peasants turned their eyes to the mercenary, but he turned and continued on his way. Six peasants followed him. Ash valleys surrounded road. In some places undergrowth bushes of ashy vegetation spread along the hollows and ravines. Its roots went deep underground to where there was still water. However, these little islands of life did not inspire hope at all. Rigid and prickly, this vegetation lurked behind the stones. The vegetation were not happy with the travelers, like the wasteland itself.
Once Vtorak noticed several dark figures in front of him. "Be careful," he told his people and, baring his weapons, moved forward. A cart of a nobleman, dressed in multi-colored fabrics, was plundered by a trinity of roving robbers. Before the peasants figured out what was the matter, two dashing sweeps of the blade deprived the robbers of their heads: the second head Vtorak managed to cut off with just one movement. When the bloodied bodies collapsed to the ground, scattering the stolen gold, the peasants rushed to eagerly pick it up. The most zealous was golden toothed Gordey. Vtorak could not stand it and kicked along the ribs a man crawling in front of him on all fours.
- This is not yours, - said the mercenary firmly. - Hands off.
- Ah, kurva! - Gordey grimaced in pain. - But they don't need all this anyway! Fat rich bastards!!
- I said - removed the hooks! - the peasants reluctantly obeyed. The nobleman, looking frightenedly at the mob, got out of the cart and stand before Vtorak. His servant began to pick up the scattered coins.
- Thank you very much, brave knight! You have very skillfully done away with my ill-wishers! - He thanked. - I am Pat!
- Far away you wandered, Pat... - said Vtorak, - There are no estates, no castles, no towns or villages...
- Oh no, I'm from Stargrad myself! Here I was... in negotiations. Well, thank you again! I have to go. Now I can't reward you, but... If you will be in Stargrad, then know: you will always be welcome there!
- Thanks a lot.
- See you! - the nobleman got into the wagon and the servant spurred the horses. Gordey rose from the ground and shook himself. After measuring him with a hard look, Vtorak moved on, and the peasants followed him.
Once on the road, tall wooden crosses began to appear, on which skeletons were crucified. Vtorak asked Loban what it is, to which Loban replied:
- And what do you want to know?
- I want to know everything. Tell me, Loban.
- Well, okay... So... when our grandfathers were still young, the Kingdom of the Sages collapsed, then. Waves of fire spread across the earth and burned forests and crops. People managed to survive in the caves by a miracle, it was they who later went outside. They gathered to return their cities, rebuild them, but then... nobles, priests and other crowned rag-tags got out of the cellars of their fortresses and palaces. They returned to people and thought that people were obeying as before, even though they had no troops left, no gold, no provisions! Then they came to an end. For several years the people cut this infection out of themselves. They burned them, strangled them, crucified them, and cut them. That's all, - he pointed to the crosses, - traces of past massacres and purges. Now, therefore, it has become better because we threw all the garbage away.
- Is your life better now? - doubted Vtorak.
- Do you know with what to compare? - exclaimed Gordey, - You did not live in those days.
- So as you are, - retorted the mercenary.
- You say that correctly, my dear friend, - agreed Loban, - but we know it truly — our fathers told us, and they were grandfathers. And you, master warrior, with all due respect, I can immediately see that fatherlessness.
- In what sense? - surprised Vtorak.
- I always smell the creatures of doom, believe me, - Loban shook his head.
- As you wish, - Vtorak again stared at the crucified remains of the once-tortured people. How much blood was shed in those days? How many innocent souls were tortured to death?
Six peasants, led by a mercenary, found on the road a terrible ash storm. It became darker than ever, as if night, having despised, finally, a long-established order, fell to the ground, rudely, sharply, amending the gloom of a cloudy day.
- Kingdom of the Koschey... - grumbled Loban. - There is no place for a living soul. These are unkind lands ...
- Let's go, - Vtorak answered calmly, - Bad weather happens everywhere. Do not lose sight of the back of person who goes ahead.
And the group moved forward. Following the paths through raging shreds. Ashes clogged in the eyes, noses and mouths, finding loopholes in the folds of cloaks and hoods. The warrior walked ahead of everyone and, desperately straining his eyesight, tried not to lose sight of the road. From time to time, the wind then covered the road by ash, then again scattered ash drifts, revealing gazed old stones. Heavy strata of dust turned into a rippling sea. Only the stone road led forward, also firmly remaining in place. Travelers covered their faces with their hands and cloaks, until, finally, they were on the edge of a storm at the edge of an old, dry forest. The storm subsided, and the ashes, like gray snow, first froze in the air, and then began to gradually descend. The peasants wearily fell to the ground: the transition was incredibly long and difficult. Vtorak looked at the exhausted figures of the tired fellow travelers.
- If you are not ready to fight this world, you'd better stay in the village, - he said.
- Wait, master warrior... - Loban croaked, - Let me take a breath.
- We can't fall apart here, - the mercenary objected. - Flocks of wild dogs often hide in the forests. We need to stay away from the forest as far as possible during the night, so as not to become food for dogs. I was told that there is an oak tree nearby. Dogs shun oaks. It is necessary to spend the night there. At the same time, we will replenish water supplies.
- Okay, okay, - Yosik nodded. - We will only have a meal in the half of stomach and again will be on the road! - The others murmured approvingly.
- And where is Dubovits? - suddenly one of the peasants asked, looking around the others. They looked around - there were only five peasants.
- Looks like he vanished in a storm, - Loban said.
- Peace be upon him... - the others said.
- Okay! - Yosik slapped his stomach, - Let's already begin to have a meal! I get really bad.
The rest agreed and began to get supplies from the bags. Vtorak prudently stood guard. The smell of jerked beef began to fly around area faster than he could have imagined. The peasant champing and noisy talk soon supported by a low, audible growl. Vtorak prepare his sword and stood between the peasants and the forest. Glittering yellow eyes appeared from behind the trees.
- Shit... dogs blood, - Loban swore and, putting food aside, picked up his ax from the ground. The others followed his example, and all crowded behind the back of the Vtorak. Dogs surrounded the group. Elastic paws pushing off the ground and several dogs flew into the air. The open jaws oozed saliva, but right on the fly, the hard hand of Vtorak slashed with a sword wild animals. With convulsions their lumped to the ground, spattering blood everywhere. Other dogs also attacked, but received a worthy rebuff from the peasants. Forks, axes and shovels beat and chopped hungry animals, broke their bones and cut off their heads. Very soon, a pack of dogs disappeared between the trees again. People drove away the animals.
- So them! Let them just try to come back! - shouted a hoarse Gordey with a shovel in his hands and golden teeth in his mouth.
- Hush, - Loban grumbled. - They tearing Yosik hard... - Vtorak turned and saw that one peasant was lying on the ground, desperately clamping an artery on the inside of his leg. His face was distorted with fear, his lips moved silently, repeating prayers. He was weakening.
- Filat, run for the herb, - Loban growled, - He needs to stop the blood, you know what you need. Find the blood-eat herb.
- He can no longer be helped, - said Vtorak calmly, - I have seen such wounds many times. We must move, the dogs come back again.
- No! - exclaimed hoarse Gordey, - Yosik will not give up! We will defend him by our lifes!
- Think for yourself, warrior, - Loban said, not looking at the mercenary. - If you want to run, then run. Only we Yoshu will not leave for eating.
- There was almost no blood left in it, you need to get to the tree before we are all died here! - cried Vtorak, but the peasants only shook their heads. Filat ran out of the forest.
- Dogs!!! The dogs are back! - he shouted.
- To the weapon! - exclaimed Yefim. Loban and Gordey prepared for battle behind the Back of the Vtorak. Then one of the feral dogs caught up with Filat and, rushing, knocked him down and greedily bit his neck. Screaming man tried to push the attacker, but could not open his jaws. Suddenly, Vtorak was heared the battle cry, which was published by the peasants distraught with rage. He looked around, but they were already rushing like the wind. Loban, Gordey and Yefim rushed into battle with unimaginable obduracy. Dogs bit hands and feet of peasants, scratched their backs with claws, but men still continued to fight back as if they no longer felt any pain. Vtorak hastened to join and together they again fought back a pack of animals and pushed them into the dark thicket of the forest. The peasants, exhausted, fell to their knees. They were tired of the battle, but the pain of fresh wounds encouraged them a little. Loban went to Yosik, but he was already dead. Filat's head torn from the body rolled to the side.
- Gordey ... - called Loban, - Dig a hole.
- We must leave, as I said before! - growled Vtorak, wiping his sword, - They will return again and again until they kill everyone!
- A! Let them come back! - said hoarse Gordey, - But we will not let them gobble up our dead! May everyone die of hunger, but they will not touch our dead comrades with their rotten teeth!
- How do you want to protect a friend? - the skeptic asked the mercenary, - Dogs can dig the graves!
The peasants clearly did not think about it. They looked at Vtorak, but then black, furry siluets of animals again jumped out of the forest and a new battle beginned. This time the dogs fought even more fiercely. Apparently, human beings in these places were especially rare for them.
- Okay, mercenary, lead us out of here! - reluctantly agreed Loban, fighting off the dogs.
- If we don't leave now, we will all perish! - confirmed Vtorak. He drove off the dogs attacking him and led the three survivors away from the forest. For some time, the animals pursued men, suffering heavy losses, however, they soon stopped the pursuit and again got lost between the dry trunks of trees and branches of a dead shrub.
After some time, wounded and deadly tired, the peasants and the mercenary reached the old green oak tree, which towered on a hill. Several tablets surrounded him like most oaks. There, they finally felt safe and were able to get drunk with cool water. Vtorak departed from fellow travelers. He did not leave the thought that he was nevertheless guilty of the death of four of the seven peasants. Of course, they themselves volunteered to go his way, but he knew that they were not able to follow such difficalt path and still allowed them to go. Why? Why does he constantly destroy something? What is he doing wrong?
- He does not respect us at all. We are just meat for him! - Vtorak suddenly heard the voice of Yefim.
- Quiet, quiet... he can hear us, - Loban reassured.
- We are dumb pieces of meat for him! - Gordey confirmed, - Shame for us.
- Such a louts! - thought Vtorak, - I must be careful with them. Otherwise, they'll decide to cut me in a dream... - He went closer to his fellow travelers and those wince from surprise and looked away. This night was surprisingly calm. Wild creatures did not fit the tree. The unknown force of his magic drove away all ill-wishers. In the dark of night, their yellow eyes sometimes sparkled, a muffled and annoying growl was heard, but no one dared to approach closer than fifty steps. Vtorak fell asleep that night with the hilt of his sword tightly held in his fingers.
In the morning the group moved forward and in the evening reached the territory shrouded in fogs. The peasants were afraid of these places, calling them the kingdom of the dead, but Vtorak did not pay any attention to this. In front of him, he saw only the peaks of the approaching mountains. With each step they sprouted closer and closer, and the young mercenary again felt a surge of strength and hope from the fact that the purpose of the campaign was really getting closer. When the four reached the edge of the steep cliff, the whole immense valley appeared before them in all its glory. The clumsy paws of the forest rushed toward the darkness of heaven. The old trees were buried in fog, holding only the ends of their upper branches above it, as if they were praying that someone would pull them out of there. A ruined castle cut through the whitewashed canvas of the foggy forest with a black tip. Beaten in battle, subjugated by time, he, however, was still strong and stood proudly, towering above the gloom of a foggy valley. To his right, beyond the forest, the treasured mountains began. Vtorak stood on the edge and looked forward. His goal was closer than ever and seemed to be a worthy goal. In these mountains, he could finally find the meaning of his entire existence. Find his own path.
- Koschey, they say, the monster is creepy... cruel, - Loban told his fellow travelers, - They say, when he was still alive, they brought him statues to the castle... Well, it means... for etseptics.
- Etsetics! - corrected Loban.
- Ah, well, yes... So he beat the heads of these statues and laid the heads of the executed on marble necks... He was a terrible person ... Everything in his castle was littered with corpses.
When the group descended into the forest, Vtorak began to notice here and there human silhouettes hanging in the air. It was impossible to carefully examine the dark spots until one of them appear right above the road. It turned out to be a dried corpse, hung by the neck on a branch. His empty eye sockets were looking at the road, and his broken neck tilted his head unnaturally.
- What, have you never seen dead? - Loban grinned, noticing the confusion of the Vtorak.
- Where are they from? - He asked, - Why are there so many of them?
- This is the forest of the hanged... The kings of the past executed the objectionable here.
- I thought the Pures reigned in the past, and people life was better than ours...
- Whoever rules, life is always one. Both gold and copper coins always have two sides. All kings are evil in the flesh.
Vtorak examined the bodies all the way. There were men and women, children and the elderly. It seemed that a whole army of the dead was hanging in the forest wind in these loops.
The next day, in the evening, travelers came upon a new oak tree. Moving in the fog was incredibly difficult. The silhouette of the castle or the outlines of the mountains were not visible from below; some twisted trees appeared everywhere from the milky fog and obscured the review. It seemed that hoping for a speedy completion of the path was in vain, but then, by some incredible, amazing miracle, a light tree appeared on the path. Fog parted around the oak tree, he gently walked around its trunk, crown and old tablets. The peasants immediately rushed to the water, which they had been so cherishing in their flasks before, and Vtorak looked around relaxed. His gaze fell on the stone plaques, which keep on themselves the memory of the Pure, that here he once completed his journey. The mercenary did not know how to read ancient signs, but examined the illustrations with interest. They depicted a warrior with a fire sword. The floors of his clothes and scabbard were always charred. He led the nations and built cities. He was loved. People were grateful to him. He created a lot and gave a lot to others. Now Vtorak was grateful to him for the fact that even after his death his oak remained a haven for lost souls. An island of light and tranquility. The patterns on the bark of the tree, its crown, the land around it even seemed familiar to the mercenary. It was as if he had already been here before. Everything seemed lovely and comfortable. Vtorak gladly stretched out, hiding in a cloak, at the roots of a mighty tree. The dream prevailed over him. The peasants had already eaten and went to bed, so that he could relax too.
A sharp pain pierced right hand of Vtorak, and then he roaring jumped to his feet. He pulled a blade out of his hand and with his free hand struck. The enemy fell down, but the other two rushed to the attack. With his left hand, grabbing a sword from the scabbard, the mercenary cut in lightning fast to halfs both enemies. Fury boiling in his chest, he was all covered in blood. Stepping along the thick roots curling along the ground, Vtorak came closer and closer to the third killer. Looking at his face, he recognized Loban in him. The man's nose was broken, he looked with hate from the bottom at the mercenary.
- A filthy dog, - he hissed, trying to stopped the blood pouring from his nostrils.
- You wanted to come with me, and now you are attacking me?!
- You should have protected us! You should been lead us to the fame! What are we doing here? We walk in circles!
- In circles?
- You look closely at the oak! - Vtorak looked at the tree, only now he realized that it was the same oak near wich they had camped when they broke away from wild dogs.
- - It must be fog...
- You must have a hole in your head, you fool! - exclaimed the peasant, - You should have known the way!
- Not a damn thing I should have, - objected Vtorak, - I only allowed you to come with me, although you already caused a lot of trouble.
- You are don't care about people! - Loban crawled farther away from Vtorak, but he continued to advance slowly, - You are no better than robbers or some other scum! I'm sick of you.
- Really? Well, so you would have sat in your shack until the end of days! - Loban buried his back in the stone tablet and Vtorak stopped in front of him.
- If you don't kill me now, - said peasant, - be sure I will cut you when you will sleep... It's your fault that so many people have died... Dubovits, Vastryuk, Yosik, Filat... Efim and Gordey your own blade have cut to the death! - He, barely holding back tears, looked at the cut bodies. The frozen faces of the dead were distorted by dying horror, - If you return to the village, you will be hanged for what you did, butcher! Just try to give me a chance, and I'll stick a knife blade in your heart, - A man shook his head, shaking his mustache, and tears flowed down his cheeks, - Just give me a chance, son of the demon...
- Do not even hope, - Vtorak snapped firmly. Loban looked at the mercenary with eyes full of fear and the next second he rushed to run, but Vtorak grabbed him from behind by the throat by a healthy arm. After several seconds of a fierce struggle, an unpleasant crunch was heard, and the lifeless body of the peasant fell to the ground with an unnaturally twisted neck. The mercenary fell limp to the oak trunk.
- Mercenary... - a low voice sounded from the fog, - What did you build? What did you create? You bring only death. You are leading fire. How interesting...
Rage continued to boiled furiously inside. From the loss of blood, weakness took hold. In half-asleep, he saw flaming houses, in the midst of which a huge bear raged. He destroyed the houses and uprooted grand trees. Vtorak was afraid, when the bear drew attention to him. Beast ran closer and hit with his paw. The man did not have time to dodge the claws, or wave his sword. When the claws touched his cheek, it became clear that one blow could tear his head off. Vtorak woke up. He felt his healthy hand clutch the hilt of his sword. Unable to restrain the furious impulse anymore, he threw up his weapon and struck the trunk of the oak tree with all his might. His irritation, the betrayal of the peasants, their stupidity and selfishness, the fact that he still does not understand where and why he is going. The sword bounced off the bark with a bang, as from strong metal. That's right. They say that oak can die only from fire. Interesting... Where is Varaha now? What does he want? Long time ago they decided to kill Vtorak, but now... What are they up to?
- Anger... - a low voice sounded from the fog, - Rage... What did you build? What did you create? You bring only death. You are like fire. Merciless. Relentless. How interesting...
- Who is there?! Show yourself! - shouted Vtorak, leaning on the sword, tried to get up. The bloodied hand slipped, and he fell to the ground again.
- I am the gatekeeper of the Glass Mountains, to wich you are in such a hurry, Vtorak, - the voice emanated immediately from all sides. Suddenly the mercenary realized that the fog itself was a source of a voice. Immediately from the fog the dark figure of a thin man in long-worn armor was separated. I am Koschey. This is my kingdom. Few pass through this lands.
- If you intend to kill me, then know that I will resist! - Vtorak raised his sword in front of him.
- You are not destined to die here, - Koschey answered calmly, - But this path belongs only to you alone. They have no place in my kingdom. It belongs to the dead. - He looked around at the dead bodies and bloody spray on the tree.
- What?
- Do you crave to know what is destined for you? I will open one small part if you want, - said Koschey.
- I want to!
- When the time is right, give me back the one who left me, and I will tell you everything... but I will kill the one you bring.
- How I should do it?
- You will know everything. But later. And now your path is open. Get out of here. Alive one, your place are not among the dead, - having said this, Koschey has scattered out, and the fog parted, opening the road to mountains. Vtorak collected the luggage and, bandaging the wound, moved forward.