It was about two months after the incident with the undead. Winter was coming to an end, but the last few weeks had brought only increasing cold: blizzards raged and fierce winds drove snow straight into the lands of Greenhaven. The townspeople gathered in taverns and inns, trying to keep warm, while the mercenaries, my group and I, huddled in the cold but safe guild building, sheltering from the brutal winter cold.
In those two months, we managed to successfully close over twenty contracts. The administrator at the counter even hinted: "If you finish ten more, your rank will be promoted." But it was on these particular cold days that orders came in extremely low. Most of the residents preferred to sit by the fireplace in their homes, and almost nothing happened on the streets. Even if there was some news, it was difficult to fulfill orders because of the unpredictable weather and icy winds.
One day, when we were hiding from the freezing cold in the guild building as usual, the doors suddenly flew open. Gusts of cold air rushed in, followed by snow like fine needles. The mercenaries immediately yelled, cursing at the cold: "Close the door, it's as cold as the grave!" But the messenger, ignoring the noise, slipped inside as if on an important mission. His eyes searched for someone, and he quickly found his addressee. The stranger hurriedly ran up to Zenaris, handed him a neatly folded scroll of paper, and, almost in a whisper, said:
- Mr. Bladewind? This is for you from your father.
After these words, the messenger, without wasting a moment, left the building, disappearing into the icy vortex, leaving us bewildered. At the same moment Goliath, always ready to comment on every little thing, spoke with interest:
- Your father sent something! Come on, open it! We're all wondering what's in it!
Goliath's words echoed through the hall, and other mercenaries began to sneak up to the tables. They, forgetting their boring routine, were eagerly trying to get a peek at what could be so important to come in this weather. As the crowd drew closer, Zenaris frowned and retorted loudly:
- Hey! That's my letter, get away all of you! It's not addressed to you!
Despite the sternness of his tone, curiosity took over, and the mercenaries kept coming, until the administrator intervened, escorting us into the next room, which was off-limits to outsiders. Finally, finding ourselves in relative silence, Zenaris carefully tore the tape off the letter and, as if gingerly opening an ancient scroll, began to read. A few minutes later, he spoke, almost nonchalantly:
- My father asks me to return to the house... My mother is at death's door.....
These words, which came out like an icy squall, threw us into silent amazement. Helen, always sensitive and attentive, came over and began to quietly comfort Zenaris, though he didn't look distressed, but rather determined. After a few minutes of general silence, when the words of comfort had already eased the tension a bit, Zenaris raised his voice and spoke with a commanding tone:
- We're going to the Bladewind Mansion!
Michael couldn't contain his surprise:
- We? Are we invited to your house?
- Father will accept us, and if not, I will make you accept," Zenaris replied, and there was a clear anger in his voice, directed not so much at us as at his father.
Goliath shrieked, with a note of mockery and alarm:
- That's fine, but how are we going to get there in this weather? I'm freezing all over the place!
Zenaris frowned and, with firm determination, said:
- Let's find some wagon that goes all the way to Mortheim!
Michael raised an eyebrow mockingly:
- Where will you find a wagon? They're hard to find in this weather. And if you did, the horses are freezing to death!
At that moment the receptionist, who had quietly overheard our discussion, intervened in the conversation:
- There's a wagon headed for Mortheim," she said, as if offering a last chance.
- Yeah? What kind of wagon? - Michael asked, clearly intrigued.
- I heard that a large convoy of ammunition is leaving for Mortheim tomorrow afternoon," the receptionist continued.
Goliath frowned:
- What, why would they need ammunition in this weather? Is it something urgent or something?
- They say that military training camps are being prepared in the capital. Rumor has it that there will be a war with Frousal right after the thaw," she whispered, adding a somber note to our already tense conversation.
Zenaris glanced at the gathered crowd:
- 'Okay, where can we find this convoy?
- 'Near the military warehouse,' the receptionist replied.
After hearing everything we needed, we immediately started preparing to leave. Gathering warm clothes, putting our bags together, checking food supplies and sharpening our blades became our main task. The next morning, when the first rays of the winter sun cut through the clouds, we approached the military warehouse located in the lower part of the city. Here, amidst a dense stream of guards, wagons and horses were visible, dressed in thick blankets and warm robes - everything was ready for the hard winter's journey.
A few movers, loading heavy chests and barrels, were laboring near the wagons. Zenaris, not wasting a moment, approached one of them:
- Sorry to interrupt, but may I ask who's in charge here? - He asked politely.
One of the men, shrugging his shoulders unhappily, pointed into the distance:
- There's a non-commissioned officer standing over there, commanding.
We approached the man - tall, wearing a large warm cloak, he seemed stern and unyielding. Zenaris asked the question again:
- Sorry to bother you, I was wondering if you're in charge here.
- Huh? Well, yes, I am. What do you want? - The non-commissioned officer muttered.
- We heard you were on your way to Mortheim. We wondered if we could join you. We need to get there right away," Zenaris asked politely.
The officer frowned and remarked sneeringly:
- No way! We're running out of space as it is, and you don't look very secure - you'll steal something else.
Zenaris, without blinking an eye, pressed on in pity:
- We need to get to Mortheim right away. My mother is dying, and I must see her.
Hearing this, the officer was silent for a moment, then asked through rudeness:
- 'Your mother is in Mortheim? Then you come from a wealthy family? So you have coins....
- What are you implying, officer? - Zenaris asked suspiciously.
- 'I think for a couple dozen gold pieces I can arrange a place in the wagon,' said the officer bluntly.
Goliath tried to intervene, but Michael, standing nearby, quickly covered his mouth with his hand, preventing him from speaking. Finally, Zenaris, without losing his composure, held out the coins. With a satisfied nod, the officer showed us a place to land. Although twenty gold pieces was not a small amount of money for us, it was undeniably important to Zenaris. We settled on narrow benches, having to sit on chests and barrels to keep warm. After a while the wagon started and our journey began.
At first things went relatively smoothly: the warmth of the wagon was noticeably better than the streets, but the speed of travel was greatly reduced by the deep layer of snow covering the roads. About halfway through the journey, trouble happened. The wagon stopped and soon noise, fighting and shouting reached us. We went out to check what was going on, and a real scene unfolded before us: a non-commissioned officer, red with anger, was yelling at one of his subordinates:
- Do you have eyes growing on your ass or what?! How could you not see that the outermost wagon had fallen behind?! One-fifth of the ammunition has been lost!
The subaltern, out of breath, came up and said with difficulty:
- Sire! I have found the lost wagon. It was blown away by a strong wind and buried in the snow. Everyone... everyone is dead.
The officer shouted again:
- Well, then, hurry up and get the ammunition! Now!
However, the subordinate shuddered and added:
- We can't, it's too risky. Already one of ours was blown away by the wind during the search. We need to keep going!
The officer, clenching his jaw with anger, finally ordered:
- Then don't delay! Everyone to your places!
We, sighing heavily, returned to the wagon. The atmosphere inside was oppressive - everyone realized that any strong gust of wind could carry away our wagon with horses, loaded with armor and weapons. The journey continued, and even though the problems were not so critical, the horses periodically got stuck in the snow, and some, alas, could not withstand the cold and died right on the road. It seemed as if the blizzard would never end and we would forever be prisoners of this winter. The atmosphere was similar to that of the dungeons, only now even magic could not provide me with salvation.
...
Miraculously, after many hardships and ordeals, we finally reached Mortheim. The frost here was somewhat milder than in Greenhaven, but the feeling of cold still penetrated to the bone. Following Zenaris, I admired the tall buildings of the town, watching the locals hurry about their business, as if realizing that winter was fading away, giving way to the hopes of spring.
Zenaris stopped in front of the grand gates of a mansion that I quickly realized belonged to the Bladewind family. He knocked, and a few moments later one of the servants came to the gate. Recognizing Zenaris, he greeted him with all the honors he could muster. Upon noticing us, however, the servant's gaze instantly crinkled in ill-will, and he asked politely but coldly:
- Are these men with you, sir?
Zenaris, with a heavy and determined tone, replied:
- Yes, receive them properly.
And, as if by magic, the gate swung open and we were let into the courtyard of the mansion. I looked around: perfectly cleaned paths, manicured greenery, and neatly laid tiles along the yard created an atmosphere of true wealth. All that was missing was a majestic statue of the owner's face and a fountain to complete the picture. In front of us stood the massive doors of the mansion, similar to those seen in the capital's mercenary guild. A servant bowed respectfully and opened the door to let us inside.