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horse’s sides to dash towards the head of the detachment. He didn’t care about those white-cloaked at all.
    The detachment headed by the sergeant passed half a league without any incidents. Whisker was visualizing himself sitting at the rich table and hugging a peasant belle easy to get seduced by mannish cuddles. That was the best possible way to forget about the snoopy priests and arrogant mages. A big smile spread on Whisker’s face when he saw a small cloud of dust growing step by step. It was the scout coming back. Whisker was sure that knacky Fesces – despite the stupid order of the blue-eyed dodger in a white cloak – managed to drop in the village and explained to the elder of Forest Metochion what to do to please the welcome guests. As sure as death all the peasants shook off their drowsiness and were drawing all the tables to the village square as fast as possible, all the women were taking out pickled cabbage, cucumbers, smoked ham, cheese and other delicacies from their cellars. As well as fresh beer poured into clay jugs from casks… heh!
    The cloud of dust came so closely that Whisker could see a dark spot – a rider galloping like hell. Only one rider. The sergeant winced in puzzlement and hardly resisted scratching the back of his head.
    Where’s the second emissary?
    Maybe Fesces, the old fox, decided to stay in the village. He could do it…
    If it was really so – he would skin him alive! Imagining Fesces drinking beer, squeezing chicks and laughing at the soldiers swallowing road dust, the sergeant doubled his fists with a crack and swore to force Fesces to scrub barrack shithouses all his life.
    Meanwhile, the lonely rider shortened the distance of the last feet and suddenly stopped his horse in front of the sergeant.
    Peering at Fesces – it was he who came back alone – the sergeant got struck dumb. His eyes were sparkling frantically on the face covered with the rind of clotted blood mixed with mud, there were deep furrows and holes on his armor, the left pauldron and the shield were lost forever, the blooded fingers were squeezing the naked sword covered with black ooze up to the handle. The horse that was starting nervously didn’t look much better. The broken-winded horse was neighing weakly, its sides were rising, it was suffering from the agony caused by numerous lacerate wounds and shaking its head from one side to another. Plenty of flocks of red-blooded foam were dropping from its mouth. Father the Merciful! They must have just galloped through a hostile range of pikemen!
    -          Sergeant. It’s a catastrophe – the blooded soldier exhaled and limply slid from the horse, the careful fellow-soldiers caught him at once.
    -          Where is Luther? What happened? – the sergeant was spitting out the words, he got concentrated at once, dismounted and leaped toward Fesces. So then he was standing next to him. The sergeant’s apathy disappeared as if a gale-force wind blew it off.
    Somebody attacked a cuirassier! And where?! Whoever it was they must be punished!
    -          One league away from here, sergeant – Fesces who had been laid down on the grass muttered indistinctly keeping his eyes closed – On the wheat field.
    -          How many people are there? Who are they? – Whisker demanded furiously shaking the soldier’s shoulders but he didn’t get the reply. Fesces spent the rest of his energy on riding back and he was falling into drowsiness slowly so far. There was no chance to receive any answer from him soon except for low groans escaping his lips.
    -          You, both! – without looking at anybody, Whisker pointed out at the cuirassiers standing closer to him – Take off Fesces’s armor, examine his wounds. Jenkees, bring bandages as fast as you can, then take care of Fesces’s horse. If it’s too bad, release its suffering. Hey, what are you staring at? – the sergeant shouted at other soldiers madly. –