25th Day of Summer, 9132, Unic Measure. Near the Bloody Meadows, Laref

  Scar looked around with reluctance. Another forced stop because Gadabout was checking the path. He hated the swamps. He hated the dampness. He hated forced stops.

  Skin approached him quietly. How did she do it? She was almost never heard. On top of that, she didn’t look tired at all. What the hell had she become?

  “Gadabout is checking the path, but it doesn’t look good. The insects are biting like crazy. Quiet says it’s going to rain. If some swamp filth doesn’t finish us off, we can drown.”“We’re waiting for Gadabout to return,” she replied calmly, then pulled out a knife and started cleaning her nails with it.

  Scar hated when she did that. There was something damn terrifying about it. As if her whole life had been spent doing nothing but professionally slitting throats and stabbing those knives into the backs of unlucky people. As if she knew nothing but those knives and...

  “Fuck,” he cursed quietly when it dawned on him that this was probably exactly the case.

  She looked up but didn’t ask anything. He shrugged, pointing at everything around them. She responded with a similar shrug. After a moment, she put the knife away. At least one less problem, he thought gratefully. Shortly after, he saw the Commander approaching. He was the only one riding his massive warhorse. Scar had no idea how the beast managed to always know where to place those huge hooves, but the bastard never stumbled or sank.

  “Head east. You’ll find a clearing. Stop there and wait out the rain.”

  Scar saluted, then hesitantly asked:

  “Sir, how far is it to the medic? Maybe we should send just a few of us after him, and the rest...”

  “We’re heading to Quiet Town,” the Commander replied indifferently. “Skin and I will find the medic and come back for you.”

  He saluted, asking nothing more. A moment later, Skin mounted the Commander’s horse, and they rode off in a direction only they knew. Scar cursed under his breath.

  “Where are they going?” asked Shriek, who was slowly approaching.

  “To get us the medic.”

  “Aren’t we here for him? Wouldn’t it be better to...”

  “We’re going to Quiet Town.”

  “Through here?!”

  “Ask him, not me,” Scar growled.

  Shriek immediately fell silent, then, deep in thought, muttered:

  “Probably some shortcut we don’t know about.”

  Scar didn’t quite believe it, but he loved his life enough not to question the orders he’d been given.

  An hour later, it started to rain lightly. The pace of the march slowed even more. After an hour and a half, they found the clearing. Everyone got a few sips of wine to warm up and the order to survive. Nothing more, as they didn’t know when the Commander would return or what exactly he’d expect from them.

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  Skin looked around. She said nothing. The Commander was also silent. The two of them had known each other long enough not to need many words. The woman got off the horse, looking around again. They were in a part of the swamp that seemed stable and safe. The area was fenced with tied sticks. It was immediately clear that the construction was purely symbolic. Even a child could breach it, let alone a wild animal or an adult. Equally symbolic were the fetishes and pieces of bone hanging from almost every branch. Less symbolic but much more telling was the human skull impaled on a decaying spear, placed right next to the entrance leading to a barely standing hut.

  “Typical,” Skin said almost soundlessly, to which the Commander almost smiled.

  The woman knocked loudly on the door, then stepped back and waited patiently. She knew the medic, priest, shaman, or whatever the man inside called himself had heard her and was now watching her through a hidden hole next to the door. Seconds passed. After about thirty, Skin raised both hands, showing she had no weapons. The door latch slid, and the door finally gave way.

  Contrary to the surroundings he lived in, the medic turned out to be an exceptionally ordinary man. Of average height, around forty, with ash-gray hair and a cynical gaze. Dressed in simple leather pants and a mud-stained shirt that had probably once been white.

  “Why have you come?” he asked, carefully observing Skin.

  “We’re looking for someone who can heal,” she replied.

  “Someone who can heal?” he snorted. “You don’t look injured.”

  “Indeed. Are you the medic?”

  He grimaced unpleasantly, as if someone had just spat in his face.

  “What? Am I too ordinary and don’t fit your expectations? Too bland? Would you prefer someone with bones woven into their hair, reeking of frog brews and other nasties, divining from blood and cursing everyone?”

  As he spoke, his voice dripped with venom, but neither of the visitors paid it any mind. They simply watched him indifferently, waiting for him to finish. He did and fell silent, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. He was used to various eccentricities, but such calmness unnerved him. He’d seen enough to recognize it. It was the calm of professional killers, and these two were wearing uniforms he’d never seen before. Moreover, they remained stubbornly silent. He cleared his throat nervously.

  “Yes, I can heal. And who are you?”

  Skin glanced at the Commander. He returned the look, then answered the man:

  “I’m the Commander.”

  “The commander of fucking what, exactly?”

  “Of the Company.”

  The medic laughed unpleasantly.

  “Every company has a commander. That tells me nothing. Unless your company is nameless...”

  The man choked on his own saliva. He coughed a few times, watching the Commander with teary eyes. When he finished coughing, he whispered hoarsely:Impossible.”

  “Why? Am I too ordinary and don’t fit your expectations? Too bland? Would you prefer someone who burns your house down first and then asks if you want to join?”

  The medic cleared his throat nervously. He hadn’t expected his own words to be thrown back at him like that. He was silent for a moment, then suddenly lifted his head and asked in disbelief:“Join?”

  “Yes. We’ve come to offer you a place in our ranks,” Skin explained.

  The medic’s eyes darted between the two strangers, and finally, for certainty, he asked again:

  “Me? Join the Company?”

  “Yes,” they replied in unison.

  The Nameless Company, the greatest living legend and terror in one. Anyone can join, but no one can leave. Undefeated, yet knowing no bounds. If you sign the contract and pay, they will do whatever they were paid to do. Devils leaving behind nothing but scorched earth. Heartless monsters filling their moral void with pockets full of money...

  “I’ll grab my bag of tools, and I’m ready to go!” he shouted, running inside the house and grabbing his always-ready travel bag. “Ready!”

  “What about clothes? Books?” Skin asked.

  “Everything I need is in my head or in this bag. The rest is my mentor’s junk. I’ll manage without it. Really.”

  The Commander nodded, then turned his horse around.“That’s it? No oaths? No pacts?”

  Skin raised an eyebrow slightly, not hiding her surprise and amusement.“Maybe later,” she replied, following the Commander. “For now, we have a swamp to cross.”

  And so he went without a word. He walked side by side with the woman about whom he’d heard more stories than about his own gods. He felt like he was making a mistake by joining the Company, but he didn’t care one bit. Even if—screw it. Finally, something was happening in his life! Finally, he had a chance to escape this backwater hole and stop hearing at every turn how Old Lenka knew better, had more experience, charged less, and even cast spells. Freedom! He felt like shouting with joy. Even the mud, rain, or the slowly approaching dusk didn’t bother him at all.