Chapter 2

Chapter two.

Path into the unknown.

A bright ray of sunlight broke through closed eyelids. Opened my eyes. A familiar picture - a blue sky overhead, tree branches, a light lulling swaying of a stretcher. They're taking me somewhere again. Listened to feelings. The head began to hurt much less, the leg only slightly twitches. Raising his head, he saw the backs of two hefty warriors dragging a stretcher. 

- Good morning! I greeted loudly, trying to smile happily. 

In surprise, one of the porters in front twitched and unclenched his arms, the stretcher tilted, and I fell out of them safely. He only managed to notice the ground rapidly flying towards him and lost consciousness from a crushing collision ... darkness ... 

Oh. My poor head. I won't open my eyes yet. Something is bothering me. 

A familiar voice of a big man was heard nearby:

“Why did you leave the stretcher, you sclerous brat?” BUT?! 

It looks like Ricard is having an educational conversation with a negligent porter. I opened my eyes and turned my head towards the voice. A few steps away, I found a peasant holding his eye and an angry Ricard, who turned his attention to the rest of the porters:

- Where are you looking? It concerns you too! Four healthy men could not hold the stretcher! The master was dropped! I am like this to all of you now ...

- Ricard! I called.

- Yes, sir, - the big man ran up, - We apologize, sir. I'll break the arms and legs of these stinky clubs so that they know. 

“Wait,” I interrupted Ricard, who had gone wild, “it's my own fault. They have nothing to do with it. Don't touch them.

Judging by Ricard's strongly bulging eyes, he did not expect such an answer. Didn't expect much. Turning to the guilty, Ricard loudly shouted:

- The Lord forgives you. Know his kindness! - and added, turning to me - Lord, can you continue the journey? 

- Yes, let's continue. And where are we moving Ricard? And where are we now?

Ricard hesitated, but decided to answer anyway:

- Sir, we are in the Wild Lands ...

- Ricard! I think you better mind your own business! We continue the path - the druid interrupted the big man from nowhere. It looks like grandpa is actually in charge here, look how Ricard scratched in the direction of the lead detachment. Note. Meanwhile, the men grabbed the handles and lifted the stretcher into the air. The old peasant, who had missed the handle of the stretcher, flaunted before his eyes a purple black eye. 

The druid came up to me and, putting his hand on my forehead, muttered:

- Good. A few more days and you will be back on your feet. The wound on his leg had almost healed. And now you need to sleep to recuperate.

"I don't want to sleep, thank you," I politely declined. Enough with me to spend time in oblivion.

- Don't argue, - the grandfather muttered, - Fall asleep. Zasy…

- I! Not! Want! Sleep! - I barked, unable to stand it, and shook the druid's hand off my forehead, - Thank you, I have already rested.

Something very similar to irritation flickered in the druid's eyes for a moment. Only for a moment, but I managed to notice flashed emotions. Oh, and a difficult grandfather. Very difficult. I feel like I need to keep my eyes peeled for him. 

- The wound is very serious - the druid again pulled his hand to my head. That's a stubborn grandfather. 

No. Will not work. It's time to take control of your daily routine. Grabbing the druid's hand, I looked into his eyes and slowly and distinctly said:

- I am very grateful to you for taking care of my health. But I will decide when I sleep and when not. 

For several long moments the old druid studied me in the eyes, after which he released the hand I was holding and, straightening up, muttered, addressing the frozen porters:

- What are you standing for? Forward. Don't shake it, - the old man wrapped around the floor of his shabby white cloak and, turning to the vanguard, shouted - Let's move!

A group of people started to move. The stretcher was in the center of the column. There were also women and children. Armed men covered the flanks. The tightly stuffed bags over the shoulders of everyone, without exception, caught my eye. Even children and women carried their share of the load, slightly less than that of men. Some women carried small children in their arms. With difficulty, the decrepit old women hobbled along under the arms. A couple of people are so old that it’s unthinkable to imagine them on the road… they are so old and infirm that it’s hard to imagine how they get to the kitchen table on their own… and now the old people are walking through the forest impassability… hmm… 

All men wear leather armor, short swords or axes on their belts, bows with an arrow superimposed on a bowstring in their hands. Women and teenagers have long knives on their belts. The weapon was familiar, but somehow somewhat "not native." Something caught my eye and caused slight bewilderment.

Turning my head around, I looked around. We followed a narrow forest path winding between the trunks. The forest was impressive. Not just trees, but Trees. Exorbitantly tall and several girths thick tree giants. The crowns are so lush and dense that they completely blocked the daylight, twilight reigned below. Only occasionally did a ray of sunlight fall on my face when the path passed through clearings overgrown with tall grass. At first I was still interested, but after a few hours I got bored. 

After some thought, I decided to refuse to communicate with the porters - if they drop me again, then I definitely won’t pick up the bones. But for the first time, there was time to calmly think about everything and sort it out on the shelves. The only problem was that I had enough empty shelves in my head, but I had no idea how to fill them.

My earliest memory was of the first time I woke up and was lying on the blood-stained grass. I don't remember at all what happened before. No name, no age, nothing... The reason is unknown. The only thing I can assume is that while hunting for a wild boar, I received a serious head wound, which affected my memory. Hm. 

All my attempts to question Ricard were thwarted by the grumpy old druid. By the way, the druid is the only one who does not call me master and treats me without any respect. 

What is even more strange - from Ricard's phrase, I understood that we were in the Wild Lands. What kind of lands are these? Why are they called wild? Not a normal name for an ordinary area. 

For all questions, I really want to get answers. There are too many strange things around me. 

The composition of the detachment is more than unusual - women, children, very old people. On the faces of many is a mask of hopelessness. And most of them avoid looking in my direction. Altogether I counted thirty-four men, forty-five women, and twenty-seven children of various ages. I could be wrong, but not by much. Observation was the only source of information. Therefore, I looked a lot and intently. 

When it began to get dark, the detachment came to a large clearing overgrown with dense bushes, where they decided to stop for the night. My stretcher was lowered next to a quickly lit fire. 

The utterly sooty cauldron, already familiar to me, was hoisted on the flame, and the women took up supper. Four smaller fires flared up one after another along the edges of the clearing, and, judging by the solid stock of brushwood thrown nearby, they were going to keep the fire going until morning. It looks like they are afraid of an attack. Fire will not stop people, it will only draw their attention. So, they are afraid of the attack of predatory animals. But what beast would dare to attack a large armed band? Maybe a pack of wolves? Although it is summer now, and forest predators have much less dangerous prey. No, nonsense. 

- Herbal decoction, sir, - a timid voice rang out, distracting me from my thoughts.

A girl about ten years old handed me a clay mug filled with a decoction. 

It's clear. The great druid, offended by the disobedience of the patient, did not deign to come himself and sent the child. Taking the mug, I thanked and asked to call Ricard. The girl ran away, and I took a sip of the broth. Oh. Well, crap. The bitterness is such that it reduces the teeth. Having finished the broth, he put the mug aside with an endowment. Despite the nasty taste of the broth, the pain in my head subsided. 

Having waited for Ricard - the fact that he ran up to me with a cheerful jog convinced me even more that I was not a simple soldier from the detachment - I asked the most important question for me:

- Ricard, who am I? 

- You are our master, - answered Ricard, looking into my eyes.

- Mister? I certainly didn't expect such an answer. The most that could suggest - the leader of the detachment. Responsible person who should be treated with respect. Mr. such-and-such, Mr. such-and-such... But the master in the literal sense of the word...

- Yes, sir - absolutely calmly confirmed Ricard - We are all connected with you by a blood oath. Until your race is interrupted, we and our children will serve you. Only the druid did not take an oath. But this is understandable - he is a stranger among us. 

Blood Oath? 

Damn. I don't remember anything, it's as if my memory has been erased, like dust off a table - with one careless movement of a damp cloth. Quickly and irrevocably. And even if the dust settles again, ... it will be a completely different dust. Totally different memories. 

- Ricard, I think you already guessed that I lost my memory. I don't remember anything from the moment I woke up for the first time. In that field. Now I want to know everything that happened before. And I want to know now!

“Sir, the druid said…

- Ricard! You said I was your master! I want to know everything! Immediately. Start with my name.

“Yes, sir,” Ricard bowed shortly, “your name is Koris Van Yser. 

"Coris Van Yser," I repeated. 

Ricard glared at me, apparently expecting that now I would remember everything. But the name did not evoke any echoes of memory in me. Nothing. With the same success, he could have called any other name. The only thing that scratched the ear was some wrong name. However, like the names of my companions. It seems that I hear the ethnic names of another state, not accepted in my own country. 

However, I did not show surprise and said as calmly as possible: 

Thanks, Ricard. It's nice to know your name.

You don't have to thank me, sir. My duty is to serve you.

These constant bows and assurances of fidelity began to annoy me. Half the time is wasted - on bows and empty words. Soon the vigilant druid will return, and I have learned almost nothing useful.

"Ricard, from now on, address me by my first name." Just Koris.

- What are you, sir, how can you - backed Ricard. 

- That's what I want, Ricard. It's so simple. Address me by name. 

- I can't, sir.

So. I can't achieve anything this way. We'll have to act differently. 

"Ricard, you must obey my orders, right?" I inquired ingratiatingly.

- Yes, sir.

- Good. Then I order you to call me by my first name. You understood me?

- Yes, Mr. Koris.

Ugh you. I cursed in my heart. Okay, we'll have to leave it as is. Besides, the druid is in a hurry. Saw. Will start now. 

- You can go, Ricard, - I let go of the big man.

Bowing silently, Ricard left. And I have to talk with the druid. After waiting for the druid to approach within a few steps, I was the first to start a conversation:

- Thanks for the decoction. My head no longer hurts - I smiled - You spend a lot of energy on me. 

- It's my duty - muttered the druid - I won't even pass a mangy dog. You should take a look.

The druid put his hand to my forehead for the umpteenth time. Held it for a short time. Then he examined the ripped thigh and snorted with satisfaction. So it's alive. A very pretty face. The old man covered me with a woolen blanket and, turning, said:

- Lives. The wound on my head bothered me the most, but it had already closed. Don't try to get up - you're still too weak for that. 

- You are a very good doctor, - I fawned.

- I'm not a doctor! the old man snapped, his eyes flashing.

- I wanted to say druid - I hurried to correct the mistake.

- I'm not a druid! the old man said in an even more stern voice.

Seeing that he had completely puzzled me, grandfather involuntarily grinned and explained:

- I'm a priest. Father Flatis. And your people call me a druid. Some of them who hail from the eastern forests. That's what they call their clergy. Pagans, what to take from them. They have long been converted to the true faith, but all the same for ancient beliefs and words cling. Rough people... 

- Nice to meet you, Father Flatis, and my name is Koris - I smiled happily. 

- I asked, - Father Flatis shook his head, - You can't wait. 

The unknown scares me the most.

You are still weak. Just started to recover. That's why I didn't want to say anything. But if you want it so much, then there is nothing to do. 

- Thank you, Father Flatis! I have a couple of questions about...

- Not now - the priest raised his hand, - First, eat, and then we'll talk.

After waiting for my consent, Father Flatis went to the cooks who were preparing dinner and, nodding in my direction, gave the order. No one even thought of objecting or arguing with the wizened old man. Immediately took the short order for granted. So much authority? Or is it the gratitude of my people for saving their master, that is, me. 

Soon before me stood a huge bowl of hot porridge seasoned with boiled meat fibers and pieces of vegetables. It smelled intoxicating. Armed with a spoon, I set to work. Do not forget to thank the cooks for such a yummy. 

After emptying the bowl, I lay back completely exhausted. The stomach was swollen and rather rumbled. The beauty. 

The old girl took the empty bowl, and in return handed me a mug of herbal tea. I'll have to drink. Before an important conversation, the priest did not want to anger. Grimacing, I drank the broth and, smiling gratefully, returned the mug to the girl. All. Now we can talk. 

First of all, we need to find out the purpose of our journey in the wilds of the forest and find out as many details about ourselves as possible. Everything down to the last detail. Every little thing... 

I want to sleep. Sudden drowsiness and lethargy... 

Where did the priest go? There he is - standing nearby and looking at me with incomprehensible expectation. The eyes closed slowly and steadily. 

That's not how things will work. I'll fall asleep now. A mighty yawn confirmed his worst fears. The holy father deceived me, deceived me. Not good. A difficult broth was in that mug ... 

A soft wave rolled sleep, and I plunged into the world of dreams.