Zulu Bravo
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- 2011.01.28.
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Így írnak az oroszok (illetve, így fordítanak a magyarok oroszból angolra 
):
BLOODY YANTAR
... and the mountains have already forgotten the bloody
battle, which individuals at a moment
violated their eternal rest.
Echo has sunk into the canyons and lost in them,
the smell of gunpowder cleared...
Louis L’Amour: “Loner”
Maybe this world is another planet’s hell.
Aldous Huxley
PART ONE
Puppets of destiny
Chapter One
A door ajar...
When you’re hunting a maniac for a long time, you become a maniac yourself - gradually losing control over everything. When you observe an animal, you eventually become like it.
Once slipping into the skin of murderer, you will never be like before. You get stuck deeper and deeper in a quagmire of hate.
I realized this when I had to kill Glazier. I followed him, killing everyone in the way, but did not notice the similarities. I felt his habits like a hunter feels the habits of his prey. I became Glazier. I thought like him, acted like him. I began to see the world through the prism of eternal uncertainty.
I got stuck...
...When I closed my eyes, they came out of the darkness. A procession of faces, familiar and unfamiliar. They all surrounded me in a tight ring, each trying to say something.
I stopped and closed my ears, trying to grasp the meaning of this vision. Only now I noticed that the people around me were not worried like before. They all smiled. The bandit I had once shot was happily waving his hands, forcing his way through the crowd.
They called me with him, and at that moment I saw Crow. The stalker stood far away from the procession, shaking his head.
“Don’t come with us”, he said, “it is still early for you. You must live.”
The stalker smiled and disappeared, dissolving in the black tunnel. All the ghosts disappeared with him.
Now I could see the dimly lit tunnel only, with light glimmering at the end, like a door to paradise left ajar and a ray of light falling through the gap.
I stepped forward, feeling unimaginable ease, but soon stopped and looked back.
There was only darkness, and yet I dared – I turned around and walked away from the light. I entered the darkness but felt no fear. Used to a life in darkness, I didn’t fear the gloom.
“Why did you come here?”, rumbled the Monolith’s hysterical voice somewhere close but I kept going. “You cannot change destiny. Are you willing to give up eternal light for the darkness of this world? Could you choose a life full of pain instead of eternal joy? Why?”
“Because my friend asked me to”, I shouted and stepped into almost tangible darkness...
I’m stuck too deep in the slough of evil. My whole nature yearned for revenging Arthur. But when I caught up with the killer, anger vanished. I knew I would catch him, I knew I would challenge and corner him.
And then what? In the last moment I became Glazier and thrust a knife into the chest of Arthurs’ murderer.
No. After all, no one can blame me for this.
There was talking in the stalker bar about a recurring dream of slaying dashing young men. I have for years believed it to be nothing but drunken men’s blabber, a delusion - snotty whining of old men, unable to cope with their destiny. But now, standing in the darkness of ignorance, I’ve seen it all.
And I do not even know the fallen, since I haven’t seen them without their gas masks. Yet here they are - my friends and foes. Those whom I have sent into the afterlife, and those who died because I let them down. Crow, Shiva, Arthur, Fedotov....
They stood in a semicircle, staring at me. Behind them a light beaconed me back to life. But this would mean that I have forgotten where it all began, and what purpose I have.
The aim... Now I'm talking again like Glazier. And if you think about it – I probably took more lives than he did, and when final judgment will take our sins to count, everybody will be horrified by how bloodthirsty I was.
I came here to meet face to face with the Zone’s Adept, to understand who he is. I have something to live for. Crow was right – it is still early for me to follow him.
The corridor turned sharply right and the darkness became impenetrable. I stepped forward and the Wich Granter’s echoing voice fell silent. The ghosts were gone and I found myself at the entrance of a vaulted hallway.
I hesitated for a few minutes, and then stepped inside. The loud echo of footsteps soared to the ceiling, like hands clasping a thousand times.
“Are you scared?” To my right, there was a human figure wearing a hooded coat.
His face was hidden by the hood but I already knew who it was.
“I have already passed this way”, the Dark Stalker said. “Do you choose darkness, Cedar?”
I was surprised. The greatest of the Adepts smiled.
“I was never asked”, the Dark Stalker chuckled, “The Third Way. Tell me, why did they send you back?”
“Who do you mean?”
My question seemed to cast a shock on the demon.
“Those who let you go. One does not come back just like that from there. You have been sent back for a reason.”
“I have heard many calling me the chosen one.”
“Really?” He thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled a small dagger from the folds of his cloak. “Here.”
The Dark Stalker handed it to me with the handle forward. Taking it, I looked at the gleaming blade.
“What is this?”
“A knife”, he told me with in a ghostly voice.
“And what do I need it for?”
“You will see”, he smiled, “If you want to live, you must take this.”
“My life depends on it?”
“Probably not only yours”, the sceptre threw up his hands. “The knife belongs to a stalker called Carnivore. Do you know him?”
“A little”, I replied looked at the weapon, “but why are you telling me this?”
“It is my fate to give you advice.” The apparition smiled again. “You never asked yourself why Shukhov wanders in the Zone, saving everybody?”
“For the goodness of his heart?”
“For the grace of the Zone. He himself is not pleased with such a fate. He is a living corpse, a joke of the Zone like you are.”
“Me?”
“You have not yet understood in whose hands you are now. There are no stalkers, except Semetskoy, who would stand a hundredth of what you had to endure. Yet you – you are a punk, without experience or strength. You have endured all, and did not break down. You were the first who left me, you became the first person, who...”
He stood still, flashing his eyes angrily.
“How could a person enter into a gunfight with a group of Shiva? You’re not a god!”
“Then what’s the meaning of this?”
“The Zone wants it this way. You’re like a puppet dancing according to its will, and when the old Zone will turn away, you’ll get a slap in the face because it did not look after her doll. You’re lucky, but once the Zone will not need you any more it will let you fall, as it did with me and many others, whom it called ‘chosen’. Your friend Crow in fact accomplished what the Zone needed, and it needed him no longer.”
“So, the Zone killed him?”
The apparition shook his head.
“I did not say that. He was killed by men when the Zone no longer defended him. Imagine what will happen to you.”
He smiled and rolled his eyes, probably imagining my body being torn into shreds by the hefty fangs of boars or under the feet of some vile pseudo giant.
“If the Zone does not need me, why a knife?”
“I do not know”, the ghost shrugged. “Maybe it wants to help, maybe it wants to play. The Zone has a weird sense of humor. You remember your first encounter with a mutant, don’t you? At that time a knife saved your life that looters had left behind for some reason. You know why?”
“The Zone wanted it”, I whispered and suddenly realized the full horror of my situation.
I am alive in this prison and cling to life with all my strength, trying to escape from the darkness of the underworld - but I was like a puppet hanging on the last thread.
I do not believe in the Moirae, spinning the thread of destiny.
Forget it. I was wrong.
One Moira still exists. She looked after me for a few years, generously allowed me to learn the wisdom of healing, gave advice, cleaned anomalies from my path. Not even the chimera I had once encountered in a bunker, deep in the Dark Forest was scared by me – it was the almighty Zone.
Again, I looked down at the gleaming, mother-of-pearl handle of the knife.
“Are you its errand boy?”, I asked all of a sudden, turning to the apparition. “Perhaps you beg for a place in paradise...?”
The Dark Stalker stepped back and disappeared into the darkness, not letting me finish the question.
“Puppet without the puppeteer”, rumbled his voice under the arches of the tunnel, “the Zone is bored of you... and when they will be disappointed in you, it will be over...”
“Who are they?”, I yelled into the darkness and waved the knife. “Hosts?”
In response, there was only laughter, echoing throughout this endless road to nowhere...
***
Two days earlier.
Garbage, Diggers’ camp.
“Pak! Hey, Pak”, the stalker in a black jacket said while opening another package of self-heating meals, “do Koreans really eat dogs?”
The stocky man, around fifty years old and dressed in a brand new leather jacket, shook his head. The dim light of the campfire fell on his gray hair and stout body. “No.”
“And why did the dogs die in the Cordon?”, the stalker kept on asking with a laugh.
The faces of the others’ remained rock firm.
“What’s the matter, guys?”, he asked, looking at the men around the fire. He rubbed his eyes, teary from roaming laughter. Pak’s eyes narrowed.
“You’ve been in the Zone for a long time, Goldfish?”
“For a month.”
“That’s obvious. You have no idea of the local ways, of course.”
“Every land has its ways. There’s no human trash here. Freedom reigns.”
“You shouldn’t think like that, brother.” The Korean known as Pak moved closer to him, disturbing the weak fire.
“Stay put, Pak, don’t flip the plates”, a burly man said gently, sitting to Pak’s right.
“Okay, Goblin, I stay put.” Pak moved back and licked his lips.
A stalker in black crawled on the back. Of course, he did not know Pak. He had not even heard of such a trader. Of course not everybody in the Zone knows that there is a native of Korea here, known as Pak.
Pak arrived to the Zone just before the mysterious Marked One appeared. The legendary stalker not only traded with grumpy old Sidorovich. He had visited Pak more than once too, to whom he could open up his heart. It was Pak whom Marked One told about his wish that he wanted to ask from the Wish Granter.
Pak had never been a stalker. Immediately after his arrival to the Zone, he set up to trade and soon surpassed even the ambitions of Sidorovich and others.
There were legends about the incredible ability of Pak to come to an understanding with all inhabitants of the Zone. Few have not heard the stories about Pak trading vodka with the teetotaler Monolith. Of course, it was just gossip, but a fact remains a fact - Pak did trade with the Monolith.
At first, the inhabitants of the Zone were shocked by the news. Nobody could believe that the Korean could so easily deal with the crazy cultists, who sold him artifacts that Sidorovich could only dream about.
Pak easily traded with Duty, Freedom and Clear Sky too. He could even make deals with the sectarians of ‘Last Day’. And all this because, as Pak himself used to say, he had a special approach to each client.
Let’s say, a rookie comes to Sidorovich who said, “with a belly like that, you could carry a suit – if it’s still in your backpack!” So the poor man goes to Pak where a virtuoso trade begins. Pak would praise his suit in every possible way. He would tell the rookie how to lose weight and where to strut, so that the suit is fitting him like tailor-made.
Perhaps this is the reason why Sidorovich hated the Korean. The fighters also hated him, when the huckster explained by three abusive constructions the reason of refusing to pay for a trip around the Zone.
“I knew right away that you are new to the Zone. According to the old rule, one should never insult anyone. Not even bandits and mercenaries are not to be abused.”
“Did I abuse anyone?” The stalker in black straightened his back, letting everybody hear the crackle of his spine.
“Don’t get aggressive”, the fighter from Clear Sky whispered, “Pak doesn’t like such things.”
“Who are you, anyway?” Amazement and anxiety came to the stalker’s face.
Goblin, the stout one, raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Are you with me, boy?” He rose to his feet and strode to the newcomer.
“Stop!” The looming conflict made Pak intervene. “The guy just did not understand the local ways. Don’t worry, he will stay here and get to learn them.”
“You know better, Pak”, Goblin fell back into his place and added, “and you, boy, I do not want you to see here any more...”
The rookie was sitting silently for a few seconds at the fire, trying to comprehend what was said, then turned his teary eyes to the Korean.
“I got it, guys, I got it.” He folded his arms and sighed deeply. “I did it out of ignorance. Forgive me, please.”
“What about spending the night alone in the Zone?”
The stalker in the jacket nodded and looked at Pak, not a Goblin, not at the others chatting about a certain Crow.
“What is your name?”, Pak asked.
“I am... they called me Vitalik... outside of Cordon... And here I have a nickname: Kolovrat, the Korean’s sidekick.”
“Sidekick”, the Korean said with a smile, “you’re talking just like a punk. No doubt you have already made friends with local punks.”
“Nay... if I ever meet a bandit...” The stalker waved his hand, showing how it will break the neck of bandits if he gets to them on his heroic journey.
Pak watched him. Now he looked like a shrewd, old fox.
“You want to earn some money?”, he eventually asked, looking into the rookie’s gleaming eyes.
“How much?”
“The question is rather ‘how many’”, the Korean replied, “and if you ask, ‘what to do’ – it doesn’t matter until you are paid for it.”
“So, what to do?”
“Shoot.” Pak’s eyes narrowed. The two stalkers sat closer on the other side of the fire.
“Did you hear about the bandits who bled Clear Sky dry?”
“I did”, Kolovrat nodded, “pillaging caravans.”
“If you’ve got money, you don’t need to work. We only need to raid enough caravans and this area will fall into our hands.”
“Like the mafia.” Uncertainly, Kolovrat looked first at Pak, then at Goblin. “And what’s the catch?”
“Don’t bother about that. We are like timurovtsi – taking from the rich and giving it to ourselves...”
Kolovrat nodded.
“I’ll see how things go. For now - I agree.”
“That’s great”, Pak smiled, “we’re talk more tomorrow. Ulan, take him.”
A loner wearing a bandana rose from the fire and nodded in the direction of the road.
“Come on.”
***
):BLOODY YANTAR
... and the mountains have already forgotten the bloody
battle, which individuals at a moment
violated their eternal rest.
Echo has sunk into the canyons and lost in them,
the smell of gunpowder cleared...
Louis L’Amour: “Loner”
Maybe this world is another planet’s hell.
Aldous Huxley
PART ONE
Puppets of destiny
Chapter One
A door ajar...
When you’re hunting a maniac for a long time, you become a maniac yourself - gradually losing control over everything. When you observe an animal, you eventually become like it.
Once slipping into the skin of murderer, you will never be like before. You get stuck deeper and deeper in a quagmire of hate.
I realized this when I had to kill Glazier. I followed him, killing everyone in the way, but did not notice the similarities. I felt his habits like a hunter feels the habits of his prey. I became Glazier. I thought like him, acted like him. I began to see the world through the prism of eternal uncertainty.
I got stuck...
...When I closed my eyes, they came out of the darkness. A procession of faces, familiar and unfamiliar. They all surrounded me in a tight ring, each trying to say something.
I stopped and closed my ears, trying to grasp the meaning of this vision. Only now I noticed that the people around me were not worried like before. They all smiled. The bandit I had once shot was happily waving his hands, forcing his way through the crowd.
They called me with him, and at that moment I saw Crow. The stalker stood far away from the procession, shaking his head.
“Don’t come with us”, he said, “it is still early for you. You must live.”
The stalker smiled and disappeared, dissolving in the black tunnel. All the ghosts disappeared with him.
Now I could see the dimly lit tunnel only, with light glimmering at the end, like a door to paradise left ajar and a ray of light falling through the gap.
I stepped forward, feeling unimaginable ease, but soon stopped and looked back.
There was only darkness, and yet I dared – I turned around and walked away from the light. I entered the darkness but felt no fear. Used to a life in darkness, I didn’t fear the gloom.
“Why did you come here?”, rumbled the Monolith’s hysterical voice somewhere close but I kept going. “You cannot change destiny. Are you willing to give up eternal light for the darkness of this world? Could you choose a life full of pain instead of eternal joy? Why?”
“Because my friend asked me to”, I shouted and stepped into almost tangible darkness...
I’m stuck too deep in the slough of evil. My whole nature yearned for revenging Arthur. But when I caught up with the killer, anger vanished. I knew I would catch him, I knew I would challenge and corner him.
And then what? In the last moment I became Glazier and thrust a knife into the chest of Arthurs’ murderer.
No. After all, no one can blame me for this.
There was talking in the stalker bar about a recurring dream of slaying dashing young men. I have for years believed it to be nothing but drunken men’s blabber, a delusion - snotty whining of old men, unable to cope with their destiny. But now, standing in the darkness of ignorance, I’ve seen it all.
And I do not even know the fallen, since I haven’t seen them without their gas masks. Yet here they are - my friends and foes. Those whom I have sent into the afterlife, and those who died because I let them down. Crow, Shiva, Arthur, Fedotov....
They stood in a semicircle, staring at me. Behind them a light beaconed me back to life. But this would mean that I have forgotten where it all began, and what purpose I have.
The aim... Now I'm talking again like Glazier. And if you think about it – I probably took more lives than he did, and when final judgment will take our sins to count, everybody will be horrified by how bloodthirsty I was.
I came here to meet face to face with the Zone’s Adept, to understand who he is. I have something to live for. Crow was right – it is still early for me to follow him.
The corridor turned sharply right and the darkness became impenetrable. I stepped forward and the Wich Granter’s echoing voice fell silent. The ghosts were gone and I found myself at the entrance of a vaulted hallway.
I hesitated for a few minutes, and then stepped inside. The loud echo of footsteps soared to the ceiling, like hands clasping a thousand times.
“Are you scared?” To my right, there was a human figure wearing a hooded coat.
His face was hidden by the hood but I already knew who it was.
“I have already passed this way”, the Dark Stalker said. “Do you choose darkness, Cedar?”
I was surprised. The greatest of the Adepts smiled.
“I was never asked”, the Dark Stalker chuckled, “The Third Way. Tell me, why did they send you back?”
“Who do you mean?”
My question seemed to cast a shock on the demon.
“Those who let you go. One does not come back just like that from there. You have been sent back for a reason.”
“I have heard many calling me the chosen one.”
“Really?” He thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled a small dagger from the folds of his cloak. “Here.”
The Dark Stalker handed it to me with the handle forward. Taking it, I looked at the gleaming blade.
“What is this?”
“A knife”, he told me with in a ghostly voice.
“And what do I need it for?”
“You will see”, he smiled, “If you want to live, you must take this.”
“My life depends on it?”
“Probably not only yours”, the sceptre threw up his hands. “The knife belongs to a stalker called Carnivore. Do you know him?”
“A little”, I replied looked at the weapon, “but why are you telling me this?”
“It is my fate to give you advice.” The apparition smiled again. “You never asked yourself why Shukhov wanders in the Zone, saving everybody?”
“For the goodness of his heart?”
“For the grace of the Zone. He himself is not pleased with such a fate. He is a living corpse, a joke of the Zone like you are.”
“Me?”
“You have not yet understood in whose hands you are now. There are no stalkers, except Semetskoy, who would stand a hundredth of what you had to endure. Yet you – you are a punk, without experience or strength. You have endured all, and did not break down. You were the first who left me, you became the first person, who...”
He stood still, flashing his eyes angrily.
“How could a person enter into a gunfight with a group of Shiva? You’re not a god!”
“Then what’s the meaning of this?”
“The Zone wants it this way. You’re like a puppet dancing according to its will, and when the old Zone will turn away, you’ll get a slap in the face because it did not look after her doll. You’re lucky, but once the Zone will not need you any more it will let you fall, as it did with me and many others, whom it called ‘chosen’. Your friend Crow in fact accomplished what the Zone needed, and it needed him no longer.”
“So, the Zone killed him?”
The apparition shook his head.
“I did not say that. He was killed by men when the Zone no longer defended him. Imagine what will happen to you.”
He smiled and rolled his eyes, probably imagining my body being torn into shreds by the hefty fangs of boars or under the feet of some vile pseudo giant.
“If the Zone does not need me, why a knife?”
“I do not know”, the ghost shrugged. “Maybe it wants to help, maybe it wants to play. The Zone has a weird sense of humor. You remember your first encounter with a mutant, don’t you? At that time a knife saved your life that looters had left behind for some reason. You know why?”
“The Zone wanted it”, I whispered and suddenly realized the full horror of my situation.
I am alive in this prison and cling to life with all my strength, trying to escape from the darkness of the underworld - but I was like a puppet hanging on the last thread.
I do not believe in the Moirae, spinning the thread of destiny.
Forget it. I was wrong.
One Moira still exists. She looked after me for a few years, generously allowed me to learn the wisdom of healing, gave advice, cleaned anomalies from my path. Not even the chimera I had once encountered in a bunker, deep in the Dark Forest was scared by me – it was the almighty Zone.
Again, I looked down at the gleaming, mother-of-pearl handle of the knife.
“Are you its errand boy?”, I asked all of a sudden, turning to the apparition. “Perhaps you beg for a place in paradise...?”
The Dark Stalker stepped back and disappeared into the darkness, not letting me finish the question.
“Puppet without the puppeteer”, rumbled his voice under the arches of the tunnel, “the Zone is bored of you... and when they will be disappointed in you, it will be over...”
“Who are they?”, I yelled into the darkness and waved the knife. “Hosts?”
In response, there was only laughter, echoing throughout this endless road to nowhere...
***
Two days earlier.
Garbage, Diggers’ camp.
“Pak! Hey, Pak”, the stalker in a black jacket said while opening another package of self-heating meals, “do Koreans really eat dogs?”
The stocky man, around fifty years old and dressed in a brand new leather jacket, shook his head. The dim light of the campfire fell on his gray hair and stout body. “No.”
“And why did the dogs die in the Cordon?”, the stalker kept on asking with a laugh.
The faces of the others’ remained rock firm.
“What’s the matter, guys?”, he asked, looking at the men around the fire. He rubbed his eyes, teary from roaming laughter. Pak’s eyes narrowed.
“You’ve been in the Zone for a long time, Goldfish?”
“For a month.”
“That’s obvious. You have no idea of the local ways, of course.”
“Every land has its ways. There’s no human trash here. Freedom reigns.”
“You shouldn’t think like that, brother.” The Korean known as Pak moved closer to him, disturbing the weak fire.
“Stay put, Pak, don’t flip the plates”, a burly man said gently, sitting to Pak’s right.
“Okay, Goblin, I stay put.” Pak moved back and licked his lips.
A stalker in black crawled on the back. Of course, he did not know Pak. He had not even heard of such a trader. Of course not everybody in the Zone knows that there is a native of Korea here, known as Pak.
Pak arrived to the Zone just before the mysterious Marked One appeared. The legendary stalker not only traded with grumpy old Sidorovich. He had visited Pak more than once too, to whom he could open up his heart. It was Pak whom Marked One told about his wish that he wanted to ask from the Wish Granter.
Pak had never been a stalker. Immediately after his arrival to the Zone, he set up to trade and soon surpassed even the ambitions of Sidorovich and others.
There were legends about the incredible ability of Pak to come to an understanding with all inhabitants of the Zone. Few have not heard the stories about Pak trading vodka with the teetotaler Monolith. Of course, it was just gossip, but a fact remains a fact - Pak did trade with the Monolith.
At first, the inhabitants of the Zone were shocked by the news. Nobody could believe that the Korean could so easily deal with the crazy cultists, who sold him artifacts that Sidorovich could only dream about.
Pak easily traded with Duty, Freedom and Clear Sky too. He could even make deals with the sectarians of ‘Last Day’. And all this because, as Pak himself used to say, he had a special approach to each client.
Let’s say, a rookie comes to Sidorovich who said, “with a belly like that, you could carry a suit – if it’s still in your backpack!” So the poor man goes to Pak where a virtuoso trade begins. Pak would praise his suit in every possible way. He would tell the rookie how to lose weight and where to strut, so that the suit is fitting him like tailor-made.
Perhaps this is the reason why Sidorovich hated the Korean. The fighters also hated him, when the huckster explained by three abusive constructions the reason of refusing to pay for a trip around the Zone.
“I knew right away that you are new to the Zone. According to the old rule, one should never insult anyone. Not even bandits and mercenaries are not to be abused.”
“Did I abuse anyone?” The stalker in black straightened his back, letting everybody hear the crackle of his spine.
“Don’t get aggressive”, the fighter from Clear Sky whispered, “Pak doesn’t like such things.”
“Who are you, anyway?” Amazement and anxiety came to the stalker’s face.
Goblin, the stout one, raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Are you with me, boy?” He rose to his feet and strode to the newcomer.
“Stop!” The looming conflict made Pak intervene. “The guy just did not understand the local ways. Don’t worry, he will stay here and get to learn them.”
“You know better, Pak”, Goblin fell back into his place and added, “and you, boy, I do not want you to see here any more...”
The rookie was sitting silently for a few seconds at the fire, trying to comprehend what was said, then turned his teary eyes to the Korean.
“I got it, guys, I got it.” He folded his arms and sighed deeply. “I did it out of ignorance. Forgive me, please.”
“What about spending the night alone in the Zone?”
The stalker in the jacket nodded and looked at Pak, not a Goblin, not at the others chatting about a certain Crow.
“What is your name?”, Pak asked.
“I am... they called me Vitalik... outside of Cordon... And here I have a nickname: Kolovrat, the Korean’s sidekick.”
“Sidekick”, the Korean said with a smile, “you’re talking just like a punk. No doubt you have already made friends with local punks.”
“Nay... if I ever meet a bandit...” The stalker waved his hand, showing how it will break the neck of bandits if he gets to them on his heroic journey.
Pak watched him. Now he looked like a shrewd, old fox.
“You want to earn some money?”, he eventually asked, looking into the rookie’s gleaming eyes.
“How much?”
“The question is rather ‘how many’”, the Korean replied, “and if you ask, ‘what to do’ – it doesn’t matter until you are paid for it.”
“So, what to do?”
“Shoot.” Pak’s eyes narrowed. The two stalkers sat closer on the other side of the fire.
“Did you hear about the bandits who bled Clear Sky dry?”
“I did”, Kolovrat nodded, “pillaging caravans.”
“If you’ve got money, you don’t need to work. We only need to raid enough caravans and this area will fall into our hands.”
“Like the mafia.” Uncertainly, Kolovrat looked first at Pak, then at Goblin. “And what’s the catch?”
“Don’t bother about that. We are like timurovtsi – taking from the rich and giving it to ourselves...”
Kolovrat nodded.
“I’ll see how things go. For now - I agree.”
“That’s great”, Pak smiled, “we’re talk more tomorrow. Ulan, take him.”
A loner wearing a bandana rose from the fire and nodded in the direction of the road.
“Come on.”
***
