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The damned prince was forced to stop and looked inquiringly at the soldiers blocking his way. Cybor, with slight concern, did not see even a hint of fear on his face. Now he was able to examine him more closely - a handsome face, with a little sharp, but subtle features, if you think about it, you can immediately understand that the guy is not an easy tramp. But who cares here? Certainly not the Daitras.

Two massive, broad-shouldered warriors stepped forward a little and started talking about the fact that it is not customary for them to let travelers go without food and rest. Moreover, their company is ready to share food and drink with a tired traveler, and then the traveler will have to share his supplies with them. No other way. Good soldiers will teach this sucker to drink properly.

The guy barely perceptibly shook his head, a strange smile slipped across his lips - mocking and angry. He let go of the horse's reins, stepped back and slapped him on the rump, forcing him to step aside.

- I'm afraid that my money is not enough to feed your company, but there is something else - his voice sounded very calm, indifferent. A gloved hand pulled a sword from its scabbard. The Daitras laughed. Against their background, a tall, thin boy looked like a puppy among wolves. The sword left its scabbard and gleamed silver in the sunlight, a string of intricate runes ran across the blade in flashes. The outlandish weapon looked completely alien, they don’t do this in their world - neither the shape nor the sharpening corresponded to the accepted standards of forging, and at the same time it was incredibly beautiful.

The Daitras froze.

- Ha, the Vistol sword? The red-haired big man stepped forward, his eyes greedily ran over the blade. Where did you get it, puppy? But you can not tell, we will accept your gift and so - without any stories. Yes guys?

The Dietrovites laughed in unison. The big man stepped even closer, stopping three paces from the prince.

- Well, boy, are you ready to give it to us, or are you resisting to begin with? He raised an eyebrow questioningly. We love this kind of entertainment.

- Me too, - the Wistol blade darted towards the Daitra soldier with an incredibly fast stroke. The fact that the enemy's sword was in a sheath did not bother the guy at all, but he also struck a blow on his legs. In a moment, the red-haired man with eyes bulging from pain began to fall, his legs were almost completely cut. The guy stepped back even further, moved away from the big man who began to howl to the free space of the yard.

Cybor breathed out - the boy attacked first? And in fact, why is he called the damned prince, is it really only because his father deprived him of his inheritance and title?

The Ditra soldiers abruptly stopped laughing, and the sound of blades being drawn from their scabbards was heard from all sides. Nine against one?

- In vain you did it, puppy! Now we won't release it whole.

A drunken frenzy fell from the angry faces, the warriors with a dull cry rushed to the lonely prey. They acted prudently, surrounded by four, at the same time it was impossible for everyone to approach, it would have turned out that they only interfered with each other. A silver blade flickered between the figures blocking the guy, the audience heard the sound of crossed steel. With a muffled growl, the warriors simultaneously brought their two-handed swords down on the victim and strangely froze, staggered, stepped back. Their weapons clanged against the stone-paved yard. People were amazed to see that the hilt of each fallen sword was still gripped by the owner's fingers. To each of the four warriors, the guy chopped off the right hand.

"Aaah," the remaining Daitra soldiers rushed at him. While they ran, while the wounded groaned back, the guy was waiting for them with his blade down. People watched in a kind of stupefaction as crimson drops rolled down from the silver surface of the sword.

This time the prince did not stay where he was, he stepped forward to meet them. His movements were like an outlandish dance, as outlandish as his weapons. People don't move like that - doomed, indifferent, deadly true. Step forward, the touch of a blade on someone else's blade. The Vistol sword glides, incredibly quickly repels the blow of a heavy two-handed weapon and does not stop, it flies towards the enemy’s body. It seemed that the guy just stepped past the Dietrovian, but he wheezed, pressed his hand to his stomach and fell to the ground. The silver sword drew a circle, took two blades away from the owner at once, and two more opponents were on the ground. Defense and attack merged into a single movement ...

The rest of the Daitras did not hesitate, they decided that they had time to hack the guy from behind. A blow - one exactly between the shoulder blades, the second so as to blow off the head. But their victims were not in place. The cursed prince slid forward, turned around, and then his blade strangely scattered heavy two-handed weapons around, opening a path for itself to the bodies of their owners. One Dytro man received a deep stab wound in the right shoulder, the second almost lost his arm - the Vistol blade cut the meat from his wrist to the bone.

The fight turned out to be very short and not spectacular. Rather scary. Ten Daitra soldiers were writhing on the ground in pain, but they were all alive. The guy gave them an indifferent look, calmly crossed the yard, caught his horse by the reins and again led him to the gate.

People quickly parted in front of him, something frightened whispered. Most often, the same words flew into the back of the guy: - Madman ... Sorcerer.

- Sorcerer? - he galloped along the main street of the village and only on the outskirts allowed himself to look around with annoyance and swear softly. But there was a hope to buy not only a horse, but also go to the market to replenish supplies. Bad luck.

He cursed again. Still galloping along the road from the village at a sufficient distance so that the roofs of the houses could no longer be seen, and pulled the reins. The horse stopped with a snort. The guy took out a flask of water from the saddle bag, fortunately, that even in the stable he put all his supplies into the bag, took a couple of sips and shook it. The water remained at the bottom, he did not have time to use the well, now he will have to spend time to find the spring. Ha, he also didn’t buy a bow, although he intended to, so hunting and dinner are cancelled. As well as canceled lunch in Vestovoe. Until the next village. But is it worth it to call in, that's another question.

He slapped the horse on the sides and set it at a slow trot. An announcement read at the inn stuck in my memory - King Bortan announced a reward for any information about ... the damned prince. Is that what it's called now? He deprived him of his title and inheritance, but, besides this, it turns out, he also cursed him? Five years ago, he didn't know about it.

It was strange for him to return to his native kingdom. On the forest road, two people attacked without warning, apparently robbers. He did not begin to understand who they were, and they did not introduce themselves, but their intentions were very unambiguous - they attacked immediately, without warning. So he had to act accordingly - he just killed them. Then the guards at the gates to the village were surprised - they looked incomprehensible, not like ordinary warriors, they looked more like strangers. And if the Daitras had become attached to him only because they considered him a suitable victim for bullying, then these two alerted him much more. Yes, even the announcement at the gate. Hmm, the description in it is very general, but... just that he is a loner and attracts attention. It's only a matter of time before someone compares this description to a young guy traveling without companions.

- Infection, - he clenched his fists. Also, the Vistol sword lit up.

It was not at all surprising that the groom immediately fell into a panic as soon as he saw a stranger who wanted to buy a horse. Daitra's soldiers have been walking in Vestovoye for a week now. According to him, they became attached to everyone who did not have serious protection, well, they got the locals. And then the boy, and even with money, made an expensive purchase. Of course, he had fears that the guy would try to hide in his stable, so he tried to get him out as soon as possible. Did not work out.

He sighed.

- The sorcerer, hmm ... - in Vistolz he was also called that, although he chose the path of a warrior, not a magician and had nothing to do with magic. Almost. Do not consider as magic the innate abilities that he deliberately refused to use.

He hated magic. Five years ago, magic killed my mother...

He suddenly heard the sound of hooves, he looked around sharply. Horsemen galloped from the side of the village. Twenty people, if not more. It didn't bode well. There was no desire to meet with an armed detachment. Moreover, this detachment left the village, where he had just seriously crippled several people.

The guy looked around. A small grove was left behind, fields stretched ahead, behind them a forest could be seen. So the only chance to break away is to reach the forest and turn off the road into the thicket. He saw no other options.

They were waiting for him at the fork in the road, well-armed, many had two swords, dagger handles peeking out of the tops of their boots, bows in their hands. There are no insignia on the clothes, but the chest is covered with light armor, usually used by soldiers. Mercenaries. He counted fifteen men before they raised their bows. The hand itself pulled the reins, the horse reared up, turned around on the spot. The prince did not understand why they did not shoot, and then there was a dash into the thicket of the forest and a crazy jump between the trees.

Live. The arrow clattered into the tree trunk near the head. He jerked at the reins, instinctively turned a little to the side.

Live. Now the arrow streaked near his shoulder and hit the tree ahead. Very skillful shooters, they shoot on the go from saddles, and even in the forest. I wonder what their goal is to stop or kill? I didn't want to find out at all. These pursuers were professionals, not like the detachment that followed him out of the village. He managed to notice that as soon as they saw the king's mercenaries, they sharply pulled the reins, stopped, and looked at the prey hiding in the thicket and new hunters with annoyed glances. So they don't work together. But that doesn't make it any easier.

His back stung with cold, he ducked sharply. Another arrow hit his forearm, burned with pain, but only scratched. The conclusion was not at all comforting - their goal is murder. What surprised me was my own perception of danger. Previously, he faced similar only in close combat - he felt in advance any action of the enemy and reacted faster than this action was committed. The Vistolians claimed that innate magic was involved here, which is why they called him a sorcerer. But… magic and martial arts are incompatible. Or you hold a staff in your hands and develop a magical gift in yourself from childhood, of course, if you have it. Or you take up the sword and then the magic remains uninitiated. He chose the second.

Knock-Knock. He barely had time to pull the reins, turned behind a huge tree trunk. The horse wheezed, neighed dully. The poor animal now and then, at the behest of the rider, changed the direction of the race. There were a few scratches on the croup, but there were no serious injuries so far.

The pursuers did not lag behind, but the distance between them and the victim did not decrease yet. It seemed that even on the contrary, the hunters restrain themselves and drive the prey in a certain direction. For what?

Cold suddenly breathed into his face, he almost screamed. Red leaves and coal-black tree trunks flashed before my eyes. No!