"You didn't say that! You said I should ascend the throne and carry out your orders! There was no talk of marriage!" Sanda nearly cried, looking at the older man, whose lips curled unpleasantly. "And anyway, aren't you supposed to be my... uncle, or something? How can you marry your niece?"
"Fool!" Brogan snorted contemptuously. "For the throne, I'd marry a goat, let alone some idiot from the provinces! At least you have a human butt, so… the matter is settled, stop whining! Either you go to the grave, or you walk down the aisle with me! Do you want to feed worms? Do you want tree roots growing through your stupid head? Oh… no! We'll tie a stone to your feet, and crabs will feast on your body when you're comfortably settled on the bottom of the sea. They'll tear off bits of your skin, then move on to your meat, your entrails, get into your nose, your eye sockets… What? What's going on? Hey, someone! Ugh, that's disgusting! Take it away!"
Servants pulled out the unconscious Sanda, who lay next to a puddle—she'd vomited from the graphic descriptions of her death. They laid her down in the guest bedroom and summoned the family physician, who immediately began fussing over his patient. Brogan sat in a chair, irritably watching the flames dancing over the crackling logs. It wasn't cold outside, but Brogan liked the warmth, and he loved watching the flames leap and devour the wood. For some reason, this calmed him and put him in a good mood.
"Sir! General Heverad and his companions are here to see you!" The servant bowed obsequiously, almost from the waist, fearing an outburst from Brogan, who didn't like being distracted from his thoughts.
- General? - the nobleman asked in surprise, - why is this one here? Who's with him?
- With him is Mr. Brogan, your brother, two men in colonels' uniforms, the chairman of the city court and one huge one, I don't know him, near the carriage.
- Hmm... what do they look like? Do they have weapons?
- You can't see him. In full dress, with medals.
– In the front door? They're unlikely to attack if they're in the front door. Call. Stop! Are there no soldiers with them?
- Yes. Security, escort. I haven't seen him since. There are no soldiers in the house.
– Good. Call them. Take them… here. Yes, here. Order some wine, fruit, cookies – something else. And… tell the guards to be ready, just in case.
"They're always ready, sir. Otherwise, what's the point of them?"
- Are you going to talk, idiot?
- Yes sir, I will do everything, sir.
The servant disappeared through the door, and Brogan sank back into the chair by the fireplace, awaiting his guests and watching the servants set the table. A few minutes later, voices were heard outside the door, which swung open to admit a group of people, indeed dressed for a gala.
General Heverad walked in front, polished like an officer's boot. Behind him came Colonel Brogan, rumpled and stale, as if he'd been drinking heavily—which was probably true. The two colonels and the judge held themselves solemnly, as if attending a funeral.
Issark scolded himself for such a comparison: no one would bury him, he would bury everyone himself and drink a glass of wine at their funeral!
Putting on a welcoming expression befitting the occasion, Brogan rose and took a few steps toward the guests. No more. So they knew their place.
Heverad hardly understood this sign from his master – he crossed the room with long strides and immediately hugged Brogan tightly, patting his back, which was clad in a doublet:
"Hello, buddy! It's been a while since we've seen each other, Issarc! How many years have passed? Oh, I can't even remember! Remember that time after graduation we went to the tavern and got drunk as pigs, and then threw two idiots out the window?"
"Have you come to me for memories, Nulan?" Brogan grinned wryly. "If so, you've picked a bad time. I'm very, very busy!"
"Still plotting, old schemer?" Heverad laughed. "That's exactly what we were talking about. Allow me to introduce you—Colonel Zaid, Colonel Evor. You know the judge. You've probably swindled him quite a bit of money, eh, Issarc? Okay, okay—we're all guilty of sin."
"Very nice to meet you, gentlemen," Brogan nodded sourly. "But what the hell are you talking about, Nulan? What the hell kind of conspiracies are you talking about? Are you drunk? It seems a bit early. Or are you just starting to get high this morning? New times, new customs..."
"The door's closed. No one can hear us, Issarc? No? Excellent. We know about your plan with the bastard. We know you're planning to ascend the throne. We know everything. Or almost everything. And we... I want to talk to you about it."
"You?!" Brogan's eyes flashed furiously at his brother. "Did you spill it all? Well, you..."
"Stop it!" Heverad said dismissively. "No need for emotions, you're not a woman. Let's sit down and talk."
"What are we talking about?" the nobleman frowned. "You're not involved in this matter, and you won't be. What do you need? Or do you want to pledge your loyalty to me?"
"Loyalty?" Heverad chuckled. "Or perhaps you'd like to pledge your loyalty to me?"
"Don't be so impudent, Nulan!" the nobleman puffed out his chest. "All I have to do is whistle, and you'll have an arrow stuck in your throat!"
"An arrow?" the general chuckled. "I know, I know about your charming habits. Just don't be fooled by our ceremonial appearance. The house is surrounded, surrounded by five thousand men-at-arms, ready to storm at the signal. They will destroy everyone in this house if I don't emerge alive within an hour. Moreover, if we don't come to an agreement, I will still give the order to storm your palace and destroy you and everyone here!"
"You wouldn't dare!" Brogan croaked. "King... the nobles will never forgive you for this step! You'll be killed, sooner or later!"
"I'll kill whoever I need to. I have all of Zamara's armed forces under my command! I can start a civil war in five minutes if I want. But I don't want to. I want to negotiate with you. Sit down and stop acting like a hysterical woman. It doesn't suit you; you are a former officer, after all."
"What do you want?" Brogan asked wearily, frantically searching for a way out and finding none. What could he do against brute force? He was losing for now, he had to admit it.
"I want you to give me the bastard. I will marry her and ascend the throne," General Heverad said sharply.
"Cough, cough," Brogan coughed, his eyes wide and trying to catch his breath. Then he burst into a shout. "You?! For the throne?! I've been preparing this for twenty years! Twenty! I set up this whore for the king! Waited for her to give birth! Hid the girl! Cooked everything up just right! And you came here, expecting me to take the throne?! What are you, an idiot?! I'd rather kill her than give her to you!"
"Kill me and you'll get nothing," Heverad shrugged and yelled as if every demon in the underworld was chasing him. "And you, idiot, do you realize that I have the entire armed forces of Zamara behind me?! That I can hang your head on the city wall, and not a single creature will dare stop me?! Do you think I spent twenty years working toward this position, drowning in swamps, risking my head—for nothing?! I just ended up with a hundred thousand troops surrounding the capital?! Have you lost your sense of smell?! Don't you know when to admit defeat?! Can't you feel when the sword is hovering over your head?! Think with your head, Issarq, think!"
There was a silence, broken by the crackling of logs and the breathing of the assembled men. Then Colonel Brogan smiled broadly and said peacefully:
"What's wrong, Issa? They want to make a deal with you. You're in the know, you're on the team. You'll be given privileges, certain tax breaks, and generally, priority access to the king. You'll be first in line, that's for sure. Well, not on the throne, yes. So what? But first among all. And alive. Isn't that enough?"
"Guarantees?" Issar asked, not looking at his brother. "What guarantees that, having received the bastard, you won't cast me aside?"
"An officer's word," Heverad shrugged. "You know I never break my word. You'll be first among all. Or... you can demand reasonable compensation for your girl. Reasonable—I emphasize!"
"A million," Brogan pursed his lips. "I want a million right after you ascend to the throne. I spent money on her, prepared the operation—I need a million gold. I think that's fair."
"Five hundred thousand and a tax exemption for five years," Heverad snapped. "That's fair, don't argue. What did you spend on that girl? Bought her a million worth of panties, or something? Don't be a market trader; act like an officer!"
"Me, a market trader?" Brogan snorted, finally calming down. He'd already settled into his usual routine and begun to take a philosophical approach to the situation—well, if it didn't work out, should I hang myself now? This isn't our last day, we'll see... everyone's mortal. "You haggle like a trader, and you're telling me I'm not an officer? Well, Heverad, what a trader you are! You've changed since we last met, haven't you..."
"We all change," the general chuckled. "So, is it a deal?"
"Shake on it," the nobleman nodded.
"Witnesses, seal the deal," the general turned to his escorts. "Give me your hand, Brogan! That's it! The deal is done."
"By the way, where is my bride?" Heverad sat down in the chair in front of the table and poured himself a glass of wine. "Show her to me. Isn't she at least ugly?"
"By the way, where's your wife?" Brogan squinted. "Bigamy is illegal here. Where's Anita?"
"Do you know her name?" the general chuckled. "But why am I asking... I think even the dog handlers know her. And maybe their dogs too... She fell from her horse last night and broke her neck. This morning she was buried in our tomb."
"Quick!" Brogan marveled. "And you're not afraid of your dad? Well, well... Now you'll see the bride, if she's awake. She's with a doctor."
"What's wrong with her? Is she sick or something?" the general winced. "Will she at least live to see the throne?"
"He'll live..." Brogan grinned wryly and pulled the bell cord. "Bring Mrs. Sanda here!"
"Sanda?" Heverad frowned. "A familiar name. Hmm... well, the name isn't all that uncommon..."
The door creaked, and a pale, tear-stained girl entered the room. Without looking at those around her, she stood before Brogan.
- Did you call, sir?
"He did. This is your future husband," Brogan nodded at the dumbfounded general. "I decided not to marry you. He will."
Sanda looked up at the man in the general's uniform, her eyes widened, and the girl raised her hand to her mouth:
- You?! How?! And where is Ned? Is he here, in the city?
"Oh, my gods! What jokes you're playing!" Heverad groaned. "Wow! Brogan, have her taken back – I need to talk to you."
"Get out, Sanda!" the nobleman commanded imperiously, rang the bell, and shouted to the servant who had just entered: "Take Mrs. Sanda back to her room and don't take your eyes off her! Don't let her out anywhere! You're responsible for that!"
The servant went out, the door closed, and Heverad, jumping up furiously from his place, shouted:
- Are you crazy?! She's supposed to be a virgin! And my sergeant screwed her for over a month! Are you crazy at this age?! She's married!
"Not anymore," Brogan shrugged. "Listen…"
For about fifteen minutes, Issark told the general about Sanda and her affairs. Then everyone fell silent again, and then the general shook his head in annoyance:
"It was so beautiful! So wonderful! And suddenly... she's Ned's wife, my protégé, my hope for reform in the army! What am I supposed to do?"
"Hmmm," Zayd drawled. "But what do we do? We can always reform the army, but the throne... the throne, there's only one."
"Oh, gods! It's a good thing we left Zheresar in the carriage! Just in case! Ned is his friend, and who knows how the healer will react if he finds out about this!" Heverad groaned.
"Of course," the judge chuckled. "I told you: we shouldn't have involved Zheresar. This isn't a case for such softies. We'll think of something for him. We need to send him home—say, news has arrived that something has happened to his wife. Let him go. And take his sons."
"Yes, yes, that's exactly what we'll do. And then we'll think of something," the general jumped at the suggestion, "but what about Ned? Where should we send him?"
"To heaven, where else?" Issarc Brogan grinned. "I've been trying to get to him for a long time. I even paid good people to make sure he doesn't exist. I just need to wait for the results, and that's it..."
"What a shame! He would have made a fine officer." Heverad shook his head sadly, and Ned's fate was sealed.
Heverad felt genuinely sorry for the boy, but what could he do if the interests of the state demanded Ned's death? It's like war—they have to send people to their deaths so that others can live.
That's life, and there's nothing you can do about it.