"Right here! They make good pies here!" the twins cried excitedly, pointing to the sign of a nondescript tavern. "We always stop here when we go for a walk. And it's cheap! Shall we go? Ned, come on, shall we? We'll make it home in time!"
"Home? Where's our home?" Ned chuckled, looking thoughtfully at the entrance to the tavern.
"Hmm... an interesting question, of course," Igar raised his eyebrows. "I think where we feel good, where we're wanted, that's where home is. Just don't lead me astray, I know your tricks! You're as wily as a snake. And you fight like a snake. And anyway, you owe us!"
"What do I owe you?" Ned chuckled.
- And today you said that if we stand against you for a minute, you will allow us an hour to do whatever we want.
– Stood still?
"No. But that wasn't fair! You can't stand a full minute in a fight against you! You knew it, which means you cheated. And you owe us. Right, Magar?"
"It's true," my brother nodded calmly, "I must. I absolutely must. And don't even refuse—we won't let you down!"
"You have interesting logic," Ned grinned. "What if I slapped you on the back of the head for your insolence and sent you 'home'? So you don't distort the truth?"
"Truth is a flexible thing, and everyone has their own truth," Igar remarked philosophically. "Right now, the truth is that you should be ashamed of offending two orphans by depriving them of a hot venison pie and a sweet fruit pie. And also a mug of good beer! Or wine—for want of the finest foamy drink."
"Look how they twisted it – and you're orphans, and I can't hurt you, and anyway, I owe you. Aren't you ashamed? Do you have a conscience?"
"Yes. Magar, do you have a conscience? See, you do too. But it wants to eat, too. Come on, Ned, don't tease me, don't be a dummy like our uncle! We'll be heading to the capital soon," Igar changed the subject. "Have you ever been to the capital? No? Wow, great! Fun! It's just dangerous—it's dangerous to walk around the outskirts and the port area at night. We were attacked when we went, and..."
"Shut up! Don't listen to him, Ned," the black mage muttered, "no one attacked, he made it all up."
"What's the big deal? So they attacked, yes," Igar shrugged, "but we burned them down. It's all in the past, and they were just some robbers anyway."
"What do you mean, burned it?" Ned asked curiously. "What, just went and burned it? With what?"
- Well, what, what... The Purple Fire Spell, of course.
"But it only takes about twenty seconds to cast! And you managed to do it in time?" Ned asked, surprised.
"Heh-heh... let's go to the tavern, and we'll tell you," Igar chuckled, "let's go?"
"Okay, let's go," Ned gave in. "Are you going to eat and drink at my expense again? I'll sell you into slavery to pay off your debts, you scoundrels!"
"What? I'd go... to be some beauty's bed slave," Magar dreamed, climbing the tavern steps. "I'd spend days in bed, pleasing some rich young woman whose husband is away somewhere on a long trip!"
"Ugh... you idiot," Igar snorted, "you should have been castrated and sold to some harem in the south. You'd be drooling over the beauties. The eye sees, but... you can't!"
"You always ruin my fantasies," Magar spat discontentedly. "What kind of vile tongue do you have? It only makes me dream..."
"Come on, come on, dreamer." Igar gently nudged his brother in the rear with his knee. "I'm so hungry I'm squealing, and you're talking about some women!"
The tavern was practically empty—it was afternoon, the soldiers were at training, and they'd be packed to capacity in the evening. The smell of roasting game wafted from the kitchen, and the sun streaming through the window pierced a thin veil of gray smoke that had treacherously escaped from the stove—presumably from a spill of gravy.
Ned, as always, chose a seat in the corner, facing the entrance, so he could see everyone who came in and remain invisible for as long as possible. It wasn't difficult, though. The brothers immediately sat down at a table with their backs to Ned, shielding him from prying eyes.
Ned always attracted the attention of passersby—he looked odd, dressed in wizard's garb but with two swords tucked into his belt. Wizards are known to shun swords as unworthy metal. So everyone usually turned their necks when Ned passed.
"What will you order, boys?" The innkeeper, a slightly slutty middle-aged woman with a silk flower tucked behind her ear in her elaborate hairstyle, approached the table and stood, her hands on her ample hips. Both brothers stared at her figure, speechless, their mouths gaping open. They'd be drooling, Ned thought with a grin.
"Let's have something tastier," Ned nodded, breaking the prolonged silence. "You seem to make good pies?"
"Yes…" the innkeeper chuckled, casually lifting her plump breasts and stroking her fabric-covered thigh, "venison pies, sweet ones, good stew… should I bring them?"
– Bring it. For three... no – for four – some of us are very gluttonous.
"It's obvious," the woman smiled, "we'll bring it now."
Then she leaned over and suggested in a low voice:
"I see you're very... hungry? Guys, we have some very, very good girls... and some new ones. Some very young ones, just right for you. And some older ones too—they'll teach these young lads a lot."
"There's nothing to teach us!" Magar declared proudly. "We'll teach anyone! We're experts in bed, mentors!"
– Hmm... weren't you here a couple of months ago... or more? Three months ago? Four? I don't remember... Did you also take Nidra with you? I remember that... I warned you that cheap doesn't mean good, that she had a slight... hmmm... cold. And you – we all know! So how did it go?
"It's okay," Igar blushed, "I should have warned you what you meant by 'caught a cold'!"
- Ah! We've finally got you! What fools! You should listen to me, I don't wish you any harm. Okay, I'll bring you something to eat now... you little sufferers. Now, if you want a room, and a girl to go with it, just say the word.
The innkeeper sailed away like a ship with scarlet sails, and the trio froze at the table—Ned staring at the embarrassed brothers, who averted their eyes, staring somewhere at the tabletop. Then Igar broke the silence, annoyedly declaring:
"Well, yeah, yeah – we got caught! So what?! We're not the first, we won't be the last. Where are we supposed to get the money for an expensive whore?! My uncle's got his hands on all the money – we can't go anywhere, we can't drink, we can't buy a girl! What kind of life is this?!
"You're thinking about the wrong thing," Ned chuckled didactically. "You need to study, build a career, help your mother. And you're hanging around brothels. I'll bet you a hundred gold pieces to a copper that you lured me to this establishment for a reason. It's not about the pies. But I won't give you money for whores. Go to your uncle. And I'm not your cash cow."
"Everything's cheap here," Magar whined. "You can pick up a girl for just two pieces of silver! There are tons of them here, just piles and piles. And sometimes you can even get one without any money..."
"What do you mean?" Ned asked in surprise.
"Well," Igar continued, "there are all sorts of girls here. Some who work in the dirty trade, some who just want to take a partner to bed for the evening. And we're not freaks, after all. So..."
"I see," Ned grinned and became lost in his thoughts, listening to his brothers boast about their successes in love battles.
How long has he been without female company? Several months. Ever since Yuragor, using his body, went to a brothel and took two girls.
Did Ned desire sexual pleasures? That's hardly the word. He was plagued by two kinds of dreams: those in which assassins stalked him, and others in which he made love to women. And these women were completely different – from Sanda's wife to the wife or daughter of one of the mercenaries he'd accidentally spotted on the street.
It would seem – he has the money, so go and see the girls. Why not? Well, yes – he's married. But his wife is far away, and… is he really his wife? They married him off…
Along with Yuragor's personality, Ned absorbed his cynicism, his sober approach to life and the people who surrounded the young man. Yuragor knew the value of both love and passion, treating loving embraces as something absolutely necessary yet mundane, like... the fulfillment of natural needs. You can't do without it—so what can you do? Go and do it.
It would have been possible to do so... but Ned was stopped by a strange, incomprehensible feeling that if he gave in to his desire, to his flesh, he would sink to Yuragor's level. He would become like him—a merciless, cruel beast, for whom those around him were merely a source of benefit for Yuragor himself, and nothing more. Ned didn't want to be like that. And although many things had become less unacceptable to him thanks to the dark mage's memory, he constantly asked himself whether the old Ned would have done THIS or not. And if he felt he wouldn't have, he cast the desire aside.
"You're not listening to us!" Igar drawled, offended. "You wanted to hear how we beat up those robbers! But you sit there like a statue, silent! I won't tell you that. You might as well stand by the statue in the Creator's temple and complain to him about the evil man!"
"And you stood there and complained?" Ned smiled.
"I'm just saying," the guy grinned. "Actually, our uncle is a great guy. He's got our back! Yeah, he might hit you sometimes, but he'll never let anyone else get hurt. By the way, it's surprising he accepted you like family. Maybe Zheresar whispered something to him? They've been friends for a long time, since they were young. By the way, do you know how weird Uncle was in his youth? Even worse than us! And now he won't pass up any skirt! He has two or three mistresses at all times! And they're all young beauties, not some old farts."
"Hmm... your upbringing... how can you talk about women like that?" Ned shook his head. "And what about his family? I didn't ask Gerlat, I just didn't have time... and it was awkward. It's not really my business. And Zheresar didn't say anything."
"Well, you were right not to ask," Magar nodded. "He's in trouble with his family. They set off on a ship for the capital... and disappeared. No ship, no children—he had a daughter and a son... He had them. They'd be like you now. Older than us, basically. No one knows where the ship disappeared to. It happens. Rarely, but it does happen. The sea is the sea. What's in the depths? What monsters lurk in the green mist? Or maybe pirates stumbled upon the ship by chance... or the crew mutinied... who knows what could have happened? In any case, it's all the same. They're gone. Uncle nearly went crazy when it happened. He drank for a long time, didn't sober up for six months. Zheresar got him back on his feet. If it weren't for his powerful constitution, then... well, that's it. Five years have passed since then, but... every year, on the same day, he drinks himself into oblivion and drinks for a week." That day, he put his wife and two children on board the ship, and… by the way, they were twins, just like us. It must be hereditary. There are a lot of twins in our family. Oh! Our pies are coming!
"They're sailing," Igar chuckled, "look, she's like a ship under sail… swear, I'd like to climb on board her…"
"Eat up... bed pirates," Ned chuckled, watching as the woman, smiling seductively, approached their table and set out clay bowls. Within minutes, the table was groaning with food, and the twins were purring like cats, stuffing huge slices of pie into their ravenous mouths.
Ned sipped cold, strong beer and reminisced about the past months. What had changed since he'd entered the agara? Everything had. Sometimes he thought with a smile that if he'd known the lives of army mages were so strikingly different from those of a simple spearman, he would have surrendered to the mages here long ago.
Of course, he wouldn't have done that—Ned's survival was thanks to his luck and... General Heverad. The path Ned had traveled hadn't been easy, but had he not completed it, he wouldn't have earned Heverad's trust and respect. Which meant it would likely have ended tragically. After the interrogation, Ned would have been burned at the stake, as was prescribed for demonologists. However, times had changed, and most likely they would have simply cut off his head. But for some reason, that didn't seem like a more pleasant fate to Ned.
Ned's three-plus months spent under the agara's shadow had not been wasted. He studied diligently with Gerlat, memorizing and perfecting his sorcery techniques. While he already knew some of what they taught him, demonologists' magic was vastly different from ordinary magic. Furthermore, Gerlat, despite Ned's protests, also taught him the basics of healing, arguing that he didn't know whether Ned could heal or not. Perhaps he was essentially a white mage? Incidentally, Ned's character—calm and gentle—also pointed to this. Black mages are generally quite hysterical and malicious.
Ned memorized, memorized, read, and practiced his magic for days and weeks, usually from morning until noon. Afternoon, he was left to his own devices and the help of two bandit brothers, both adept at inventing things.
Ned didn't think long about how to occupy the restless young men, and every day after finishing their magic lessons, they would go to the vacant lot near the city wall, where Ned would train the boys in hand-to-hand combat and combat with weapons—swords and knives. Gerlat looked favorably upon such training, laughingly noting that after such training, the brothers had no energy left for mischief.
However, this wasn't quite true, and over the course of three months, Ned became convinced of this. The brothers' final mischief was a huge curse word, burned into the wall of the town hall, ten times the height of a man. They wouldn't admit how they'd done it, but Ned suspected it involved the infamous Purple Fire Spell—if you shoot small fireballs accurately and long enough, you can write anything you want on a wall. Gerlath was right—if only their powers could be put to good use!
However, they also applied their efforts to a good cause.
Several days passed after returning to the city, and Estkar was besieged by Isfir's Southern Army. However, this proved to be their own misfortune. The army was literally torn to shreds by Zamara's combined forces and ingloriously fled back to its own borders, pursued by heavy cavalry. The mages played an active role in this battle, destroying the attackers with every means available to them. However, such means were few and far between. The mages were primarily occupied with treating wounded soldiers.
Looking at the whole thing, Ned was quite surprised by the ineffective use of mages for direct combat. Yes, there weren't that many black mages, but... much more effective tactics could have been developed for them than they were currently using. Heverad was right – we needed mage officers, not the mages currently serving in the army. And another thing – if Zamara's army had demonologists... the prospect was simply breathtaking. And a thousand gold pieces against a copper, General Heverad understood all this perfectly well. It was no wonder he'd taken Ned in. Despite all the goodwill he felt for his protégé, the general would never have stood by him if he hadn't needed him so much. The most important thing about demonic magic was that it was effective during combat, unlike conventional magic.
"He's not listening again!" Igar interrupted his thoughts. "It's like you're not even here! You're already finishing your third mug—isn't that too much?"
Ned came to and looked at his fellow charge, seemingly without recognition. Yes, he'd been drinking a lot of strong beer today. The city had recently improved its food supply—merchants were transporting it along the road and selling it to innkeepers and shopkeepers at a tidy profit. Unlike women's goods, food in Estkar was quite expensive. War, what else could one say? But the city was coming back to life. The best houses and inns, left without their former owners, killed or enslaved, had been seized by officers, and what they couldn't digest was appropriated by the vultures who accompanied the vast army—the wives and daughters of mercenaries. Ned and his brothers were now sitting in one of these inns. It was cheaper here than in the more expensive establishments, so the bulk of the patrons were privates, corporals, and sergeants.
Heverad also profited from the city's capture—several large mansions with all their furnishings and the surrounding land, two large inns, and several shops—all were quickly transferred to his name. A mayor was appointed—again at Heverad's instigation—the guard was reinstated, and life went on as usual. Some were in trouble, while others...
"So, we just… blasted them with fireballs! And we didn't expect it – the balls were as big as their heads! And when they hit the center of the crowd, they just spread out to the sides and burned all those idiots! We didn't expect such an effect. As soon as we bolted, our legs just started flashing. There!" Igar finished triumphantly.
"Well done," Ned said absentmindedly, and then suddenly asked, "Guys, where are the female mages? Why aren't there any female mages here? Where did they go?"
"Hmm... nowhere," Igar shrugged, confused. "They sit at home, in the mage town. They raise children, heal them, predict the future—though they mostly lie. Should they go to the army? What's the point of female mages? And there aren't many of them. Fewer than men."
"Why do you think that is? I mean, why are there fewer female mages?" Ned corrected himself.
"They probably just don't show off their abilities," Igar smiled. "Why would they? Their business is family, their children. Those who clearly demonstrate aptitude are trained... but not fully. It's just the way it is... will you drink this mug? Yeah—then I'll finish it. This beer is strong, huh? I like it. Magar, how do you like these beauties?"
– Yeah… I'd give everything I have for them! Look, look – they're coming to us!
Ned turned his head and saw that indeed, three young women, or rather, girls, were approaching them. They didn't look like the local sluts—they were normal girls, the kind found in all the cities. The girls were dressed in traveling dresses and hooded cloaks—it had begun to rain in the evening, so the cloaks were a welcome addition. Ned glanced around—all the tables were already occupied. Somehow, soldiers and merchants had quietly trickled into the hall, along with crowds of girls, and every table was occupied. The establishment only seated six, so Ned and his brothers had three seats left. No one had sat with them yet—they were mages, and mages were disliked and feared.
The girls came closer, the one walking in front – a brunette with green eyes – smiled cheerfully, showing flawless white teeth, and asked in a deep, chest voice:
"May I sit with you, young men? Are we disturbing you? All the tables are occupied, and we're forced to interrupt your conversation, I apologize..."
Ned glanced at his brothers, who gaped in delight, their eyes wide, as if afraid to frighten their luck. Ned grinned and, standing up, suggested:
– Have a seat. It'll be more fun. We were just about to leave, so…
"Oh, no!" the girl pleaded, throwing off her cloak and remaining in only a thin, dark-green silk dress, from the bodice of which her firm, rounded breasts protruded seductively. "Don't leave us! Or someone will pester us! There are only soldiers here! And you are magicians, right? They will be afraid to touch you. And us too. We'll have a bite to eat and then go. We're such cowards! Father is over there unloading the wagon. We bought a store and are planning to open a business here. Everything is so expensive here! Food is expensive, and so is wine. We must get rich here!" the girl laughed merrily, and Ned admired her fresh, smooth face.
The beauty was simply delightful. Ned couldn't help but compare her to Sanda and concluded that the stranger was no less beautiful. Beautiful in her own way—Sanda was petite and thinner, while this girl was quite tall and, at first glance, more robust.
"These are my sisters—Aliya, Kana. And I'm Slana. What's your name?"
Ned introduced himself, the twins did the same, stammering, and the fun began. The girls ordered wine and food, eating greedily but very carefully. Once they were full, they began talking about everything under the sun—trading, the weather, anything else that came to mind. Ned hadn't had such a good time in a long time. Or rather, he'd never had such a good time—except for those minutes, hours, days he'd spent with Sanda. There was also the feeling that they'd just finished talking, gotten up, left, and... forgotten. So he could say whatever he wanted without hesitation, without regard for what these girls would think. The twins lied valiantly, telling everyone how rich and famous they were, how rich their uncle was, and what an important figure he was in the magical world. Ned wasn't making anything up about himself—yes, he was a mage. Yes, swords. Yes, he'd fought. He'd killed people. Now he was learning magic. In fact, he didn't reveal anything special. His natural reticence and the Yuragor within him kept him from sharing the details of his life. Why would Slana know he was a demonologist? That he was a Scorched One?
Soon Ned switched to evasive, monosyllabic answers, and the conversation began to fade. However, the situation was saved by the musicians. They appeared at dusk and, quickly tuning their instruments, began playing dance tunes, urging the patrons to forget their troubles in the arms of some beauty. Fortunately, there was a whole flock of them – all in war paint, bright skirts, and low-cut blouses.
Slana looked slyly at Ned and suggested:
- Let's go dance?
Ned blushed slightly – how could he admit that he wasn't a very good dancer, that an old woman had taught him just a few months ago… for only a short time? But the girl was persistent, and Ned gave in.
They walked to the center of the room, Ned placed his hands on the girl's waist and... drowned in Slana's eyes. Only the music and her green eyes remained, deep and transparent, like the sea far from its shores. Ned felt desire awaken in him. The girl pressed her breasts against him, rubbed her hips against him... what man could resist such temptation? Slana smelled of incense... and vice.
"Let's go upstairs?" she whispered, biting her plump lower lip. "Don't get me wrong... I really wanted to be with a man... a real man, like you! Don't say anything! I must have been overwhelmed by the wine... I'm sorry..." The girl made a move as if she were about to pull away, to leave, but what was she going to do?! Ned grabbed her hand as if it were a lifeline in the raging waves of life's sea.
He dragged her through the crowd, the girl laughing gutturally, covering her face with her hand—what if someone she knew saw her? The innkeeper understood immediately, and in exchange for two silver coins, tossed him a key with a wooden plaque bearing the number four. A minute later, the couple was clattering up the wooden stairs leading to the second floor, to the rooms.
A long corridor, lit by two oil lanterns, rows of doors behind which groans, sighs, and the creaking of beds could be heard. Ned used the lantern the innkeeper handed him to illuminate the room, and within seconds, the key was unlocking the large, ornate padlock on number four.
They burst into the room, barely closing the door with a steel bolt, and immediately began to undress, furiously throwing off their clothes, and after a few seconds they were left naked, as at the moment of birth.
Their passion was not like the lovemaking of two lovers, but rather the furious copulation of two predatory animals, roaring and tearing at each other in a fit of passion. Never before had Ned experienced such pleasure, not with anyone—not with prostitutes, not with Sanda, who had been his virgin.
For Slana, there were no taboos, no shame; she did what she wanted. Ned's back was covered in bloody scratches, and the girl's flexibility would have been the envy of street acrobats, coiling like a snake and fitting into a small basket.
Slana didn't have an ounce of fat—her slender, muscular body, not at all reminiscent of a man's, was hard, as if made of steel. While Sanda attracted men with her gentleness, a kind of homely, sensual comfort, this wild female aroused a wild, unbridled passion that swept away all moral shackles.
Ned came as Slana sat astride him, throwing back her neat head with its short, almost boyish hairdo and riding as if on a hot steed.
She, feeling his release, arched even more, touching the bed with the top of her beautiful head, and Ned was overcome by convulsions of lust, causing him to twitch, almost throwing his partner above him.
Ned's vision darkened, fiery spots swirled—he'd never experienced such release, never thought it possible. Slana drank him dry, like a spider sucking her partner dry after copulation.
He hadn't even had time to breathe and slip away from his partner's body, covered in love's sweat, when Slana suddenly straightened up—two thin, double-edged daggers gleamed in her hands. One dagger aimed for Ned's throat, the other went for his chest, where the fighter's mighty heart pumped powerful pulses of blood.
If Ned hadn't been who he was, if Yuragor hadn't remained in his body, if... so many "ifs"! The main thing is that a simple soldier, a mage, or whoever else would have remained on this bed, covered in traces of passion, dead as a pig slaughtered by a skilled slaughterer.
The assassin was mistaken. The one who attacked the Master lost not because he was stronger or more prepared, but simply because he attacked. Yuragor-Ned wasn't just a Master, he was a Master with a capital M, and perhaps there was no one else like him in this world.
A split second, and the dagger, knocked out of the left hand and covered in suspicious stains, plunged into the wardrobe, trembling, as if outraged that it had not drunk the blood of its victim.
The second dagger pierced the feather bed, pierced it, and got stuck in the oak board of the bed.
Slana didn't waste time drawing her daggers. She performed an incredible somersault and, spinning in midair, landed in the path to the door, blocking her victim's escape route.
Ned jumped off the bed and assumed a fighting stance. The wardrobe, where he'd foolishly stored his swords (Slana had asked, claiming she was afraid of weapons), was located between the girl, frozen in a bizarre pose ("Tigress greets the new dawn"), and Ned ("Snake sees rabbit"), so reaching the weapons was impossible—to do so would require losing sight of the enemy, which would be fatal.
Ned gazed at the beautiful features of his partner, who had just given him such incredible pleasure, and cursed himself for not immediately realizing who Slana really was. Slana?!
"Silena!" Ned shouted suddenly, and saw the girl flinch in surprise, her eyes widening like two saucers. The girl froze, then quietly squeezed out:
- Who are you?! However, whoever you are, you must die!
The words of the spell hissed from Slana's plump lips, and a cloud of demons rushed towards Ned... swirled around him and, without getting past his defenses, disappeared.
The girl shouted another spell, and a fireball flew at Ned. It flew past the mage, bouncing off an invisible magical defense, and crashed into the shuttered window with a roar, shattering the glass and the shutter. It hissed and went out somewhere in the backyard, drowning in a puddle of horse urine.
Ned didn't give her a second chance to test her defenses. He leaped at the girl's legs, knocking her to the floor with a complex hold, and tried to pin her down, hoping to pin her down and immobilize her. No such luck. Naked, Slana resisted fiercely and was as strong as two men. Her body, sweaty from her lovemaking, slipped from his hold. She countered every hold Ned attempted—the killer knew how to fight, if nothing else.
There was already a knock on the door—apparently they'd heard the din and noise of the fight. Slana once again freed herself from her former lover and, leaping to her feet in one bound, rushed to the window, disappearing into the darkness of the broken frame like a night bird.
If it weren't for the dress and lingerie scattered across the floor, one might think that Ned had dreamed everything that had happened.
Ned grabbed his pants, pulled them on, then pulled back the latch. The innkeeper and several men—apparently bouncers and workers—were standing in the hallway. They looked in disbelief at the broken window with its charred remains of shutters, then the woman asked incredulously:
"What's going on here? Where's the girl? And who's going to pay for the destruction?"
Ned froze—a sudden thought struck him, and he rushed to the cabinet for his swords. He snatched them—the crowd of men and the innkeeper jumped back in fear, pressing themselves against the wall. The woman even muttered something like, "What?! What's wrong?! Why are you so upset? We'll fix that demon window! Why do this?!" But Ned wasn't listening. He asked sharply:
– Where are the guys? Well, those guys who were with me? Where are they?
"Across the room," the innkeeper shrugged, "they went up here with two girls. They said you'd pay for their room... what, you didn't have to? You won't pay?"
"Quick, show me where they are!" Ned barked. "Hurry!"
The innkeeper ran down the corridor, lifting her skirts, and led him to door number six:
- Here! Here they are! Something is quiet...
"We're breaking it down!" Ned shouted, kicking the door with all his might. It held, but cracked, accompanied by the innkeeper's pitiful wails.
"Men, all at once, break it down... or I'll chop your heads off!" Ned roared, and the terrified guards, along with him, rushed the door. It gave way, flew out of the frame, crashed to the floor with a crash, and revealed a painting worthy of an artist's brush. It should have been called: "Chatriers Stealing Two Idiots."
The window was open, and the first body was being dragged toward it, carefully bundled and wrapped like a precious carpet. There were four shatriyas in battledress in the room, Ned realized. Two of them were the two girls who had lured the boys into the trap, and the other two had climbed in through the window—probably from the roof. However, shatriyas could just as easily climb a wall, like giant spiders. It was a piece of cake for them.
Hissing like a snake, Ned moved with short, striding steps towards the shatriyas, who had abandoned their prey and were concentrating on the main task - killing Ned.
Those who witnessed the fight later recounted how Ned turned into a blur, seemingly sprouting multiple arms. His opponents were as fast as he was… almost as fast. Almost, because within seconds, two of them were already lying on the floor, fountains of hot blood spurting from their severed collarbones and necks.
The two remaining killers decided not to take any risks and flew out of the window like fish, disappearing so quickly and deftly as if they had been pulled out of the room by some invisible giant.
Ned stood for another minute, listening, waiting for more, but nothing else happened. The room was quiet, and only the stunned innkeepers and random onlookers who had joined the crowd snored in the hallway behind him.
Ned nervously approached one brother, then the other—they were unconscious, but breathing easily, their skin pink and healthy. It looked like the boys had been injected with a paralyzing poison, but not a lethal one—they would wake up in a few hours, if left untreated. And if a mage-healer was brought in or an antidote given, then within minutes. There was no antidote, and the mage-healer was currently sitting at home drinking beer. Or maybe sleeping. Or maybe... well, they sent for Gerlat.
The healer appeared about twenty minutes later, out of breath and agitated. He rushed to the boys, examined them, and then began his magic.
Twenty minutes later, both twins were sitting up in bed, rumpled as if after a long bender, clutching their splitting headaches. Half an hour later, they were riding in a closed carriage, guarded by soldiers they'd recruited along the way, on guard, as befits men who had miraculously escaped death.
On the way, Ned briefly told Gerlath that a hunt was underway—for him, Ned. The Archmage remained silent for a long moment, then reluctantly blurted out:
"Now do you understand why they don't like demonologists? But I suspected they weren't all destroyed. I suspected it. It's such a nasty thing... such a... anyway, I heard rumors about hired killers, carrying out the orders of rich people for big money, but for some reason I didn't really believe it. I thought they were exaggerating. Who knows what kind of mercenaries there are? I didn't believe it... And so it happened. But why did they need you? What do you think about it? So much effort, so many deaths—what for? By the way, what demon were they trying to kidnap the brothers? Why would they need that?"
"I thought about it while we were driving," Ned shrugged, "I can only come to one conclusion—ransom." They were planning to take ransom—that was a common practice in Shirduan.
"What ransom?" Gerlat snorted. "Am I a twelfth-ranked nobleman? Such effort—for what?"
"The boys lied to the girls, telling them they were rich, that their uncle was a very rich and powerful man. So, I suppose, while the leader was busy with me, they decided to kidnap them. There's no other explanation."
"What bastards! You're suffering again for your big mouth," Gerlat shook his head sadly. "Did you even get to touch those women?"
"What the hell..." Igar groaned, offended. "We just entered the room, and suddenly something stabbed us... and... we don't remember anything else."
"Poisoned darts," Ned nodded.
"Well, did you make it in time?" the magician chuckled.
"I made it," Ned nodded slowly, suddenly remembering with a hint of regret the chiseled figure of Slana... Silena, standing before him. It was a shame, such a shame, that they had turned out to be enemies.
And for some reason, he didn't feel sorry that the girl had escaped alive. It was stupid, of course...