- What are you going to do with him?
– I haven't decided yet. Of course, he must die!
"Yes, I understand, the law says: 'The order must be fulfilled.' You promised it would disappear. But aren't we above conventions? Above the dumb gray masses of people?"
"Higher. But I gave my word! Atrok, having accepted the order, carries it out."
– Do you think he told everything? He's not lying?
"He might be lying. Or, more likely, he's keeping something quiet. I didn't sense any lies. He's a smart boy, though; he might say what he thinks is true, but it's actually a lie. By the way, why are you so interested in the guy? And I want to ask you—why did you sleep with him? Don't lie to me."
"Why? I just wanted to. Is that reason enough? We do what we want, as long as it doesn't harm the Brotherhood."
- Hmm... basically, yes. I've never limited your actions or desires.
- Just like yourself, right?
- Just like myself. Why did you say that?
"Because you were trying to blame me for something? So what if we've been in bed together? You've had a lot of men in your bed! You've killed some of them. Does that change anything?"
"Don't get upset. You're my successor, my pride. Not like your brothers and niece. He turned them into emasculated pets."
"You never told me why your paths diverged. He's your father..."
"He became too soft. He didn't want to make the right decisions. I had to decide for him. I tried to kill him."
- You?! And you stayed alive?!
"I stayed. He said he was leaving the Brotherhood, going away and raising my children himself, so they wouldn't grow up to be like me."
- And you talk about this so calmly? He hates you!
"Yes. Probably yes. I betrayed him. Deliberately betrayed him. He loved me very much. Probably as much as he hates me now. And he gave the Brotherhood to me, choosing to leave. Otherwise, he would have been forced to kill me.
"Him? He's a weak old man! You easily defeated him today, along with his men! What kind of fighter is he? Ugh! A pathetic, gray-haired stump!" Then, to Silena's surprise, she received a slap from her mother.
"Never speak of your grandfather that way! He is the Great Atroc, even if he was a former one! If Imar Shorokan had wanted it, we would have been washed in blood! He didn't even cast a spell. He knew it was me. The Great Atroc allowed himself to be defeated. As sad as it is to admit, this man is one of the greatest fighters of our time, and he will remain so until his death. And even if you think he's dead, it's best not to approach him—he's dangerous even after death."
"Hmm... as you say. Honestly, I don't feel any familial affection for him. Okay. Let's get down to business. What do you think about the situation with the fake brides and the pretenders to the throne? Maybe I should tell Ned everything?"
"And release him? Are you sure he'll do everything right? These idiots could ruin the whole scheme we've been building for so many years. I've been preparing to emerge from hiding my whole life, my entire conscious life. Even as a girl, I thought about how the Shirduan fighters were unfairly punished, wiped out across the country. And later, I pondered how to restore their former power. I plotted, I prepared... I killed. And now what? Will some foolish girl and a soldier take the throne?"
"There's one small thing: this soldier is the most influential person in the kingdom, and he wants to restore the demonologists. If we destroy him, what then?"
"Then what? Then Bordonar will be on the throne. And he'll do everything we need. And no need to invent any more esoteric ideas—destroy this girl, and that's it. It'll all end there."
– The king turned out to be surprisingly resilient...
"It's okay, a week or two isn't long. Let him die peacefully. It's a shame, he was a strong man. To have held out for so long with a demon inside him—that's amazing. So strong, so strong... Are you keeping an eye on Bordonar?"
"What's there to keep an eye on? The idiot sits in the library and stares at my chest whenever I come in. He's in my clutches, head over heels in love. Incidentally, he's not as stupid as you think. Yes, he's in love, he's weak and insignificant, from the Brotherhood's point of view. But Bordonar isn't stupid at all. I've often spoken with him, and it turns out he's well-versed in state affairs, he knows a lot."
"I don't care what he knows. His only role is to put you on the throne, and then die, as befits a sacrifice."
"Maybe we should keep Sanda after all? As a counterweight to Bordonar. If something happens to him, we'll have another contender for the throne. We'll quickly bring her into play."
– Hmm... kidnap? And keep him locked up? Until Bordonar ascends the throne? And then... then we'll see.
"Or maybe we should leave things as they are? We'll restrict access to the throne..."
"How can you limit him? Heverad has the entire armed forces of the country! Who would stand against him? The guards? The Royal Guards? He has the Marine Corps! No one can match him, no one! He storms the palace, seizes control of the entire city, gathers the priests, and makes his wife queen. Then she has an accident..."
- Hmm... kidnapping is still the best option. Where should we keep him?
– What difference does it make? There are so many dungeons…
"Let's try recruiting Ned into the Brotherhood? He's an Atrok, and we only have a few Atroks."
"So you like his body so much? Keep him on a chain and use him like a toy! Like a slave! But if we take him into the Brotherhood, he'll eventually destroy it from the inside! He's like your grandfather—a prude. The one who was in his head and disappeared somewhere—that's the one we could have used if... he hadn't wanted to subjugate us. I'm not going to share power with anyone. The Brotherhood will remain yours, daughter. Do you want it to exist at all? Listen, there are two outcomes. Either he's telling us the truth about the alien essence leaving him, leaving behind a minimum of knowledge and skills—in which case we don't need him. He's not prepared for life in the Brotherhood; he's harmful, corrupting the Brotherhood like a plague. Or this Yuragor essence remains within him, waiting for the right moment to seize power. In which case, we have even less need of him. Either way, he must disappear. He's dangerous, very dangerous. Do you remember the history of the Ispas? Do you remember?
"So, there were four of them, and our Ispas survived because he betrayed everyone else? A story of betrayal?"
"This isn't betrayal. This is a struggle for existence. The Northern Ispas has become too powerful and would have overwhelmed all Ispas. The last Great Atrok of the Northern Ispas, Yuragor, was too strong. And if we hadn't stopped him, everyone entering Shirduan would have perished. Our ancestors played a brilliant trick—with the king's hands, they destroyed their competitors and survived themselves, going into deep hiding and remaining undetected for decades. Can we jeopardize their achievements? The Northern Ispas... Do you know how it differed from our Southern Ispas?"
"What? To be honest, I wasn't particularly interested in such old stuff," Silena admitted. "Pressing issues are more important."
"That's just how you see it. Without a past, there's no future. To evolve, you must know the mistakes of the past. So, the Northern Ispas was incredibly cruel. We're mere children compared to them. They transformed their students with special drugs, often poisonous, developing their magical abilities and increasing their speed and strength. We abandoned this practice—the weeding out of potential Atrocs was too great. Over eighty percent of the chosen ones died before reaching the age of ten. Of the remainder, maybe half survived, and the other half went mad. I could go on and on about their methods, but... basically, they turned their people into inhuman beings. And this master inhuman being, the most skilled, the strongest, took up residence in Ned's head. Essentially, there were two paths to development: the path of strength, cruelty, and ascent to the heights of power through inhuman suffering, and the other path—one of intelligence, cunning, masterful moves, and intrigue. Our ancestors were smarter, and that's why they survived." The only bad thing is that after the three Ispas were destroyed, we had to go into hiding, because demonologists were outlawed. So much knowledge was lost. Yes, it's tempting to make a deal with this guy, get the knowledge, and... kill him. But most likely, I should kill him right away...
"Then why did you drag him to us?" Silena shrugged. "Mom, you're contradicting yourself! I don't understand your actions. They're illogical!"
"I don't understand myself. I can't kill him, and I can't not kill him. They've just slipped a sleeping potion into his food and drink, he's asleep. We need to chain him up, let him live for a while. Talk to him, communicate with him, sleep with him if you have to, especially since I can see you want to. Extract knowledge from him. When you feel you've taken all you can from him, kill him. If you don't kill him, I'll begin to doubt you're ever capable of taking my place."
"And I doubt that you will ever be able to vacate your place," Silena chuckled.
"I don't advise you to try to help me free the place of the Great Atrok," the woman smiled thinly, "I'm not Imar Shorokan, I'll simply kill you without a second thought."
"If you can, right, Mom?" Silena smiled predatorily.
"As long as I can," the woman narrowed her eyes. "When I feel I can't, I'll step aside. I promise."
The women, so similar they could have been mistaken for sisters, fell silent and looked intently into each other's eyes. Silena thought her mother was the most dangerous and unpredictable creature in the world, and Great Atrok thought that one day his daughter would truly attempt to unseat her as head of the Brotherhood. And then... then she, Great Atrok, would have to make a choice. Like her father, Imar Shorokan.
* * *
A wide bed under a transparent canopy. The windows are curtained so that the light does not interfere with the sacrament of love. The wedding night, or rather, the wedding day, should be spent in peace and quiet.
Sandu was dressed in a lacy, almost transparent shirt, her body was anointed with incense, and before that she was washed for a long time in hot water, immersed in a large bath.
After washing her, they laid her on a massage table and, ignoring her tears and groans of pain, plucked all the hair from her body. When she tried to protest, a large woman in a leather apron, deftly wielding steel tweezers, sternly declared that only ill-bred, provincial women walked around with hair as overgrown as wild animals. Surely the mistress didn't want to emulate those wild provincial women?
The lady didn't care, as long as they left her alone, and Sanda allowed them to do with her whatever was considered necessary, moving far, far away from her body, as if flying above it to the ceiling...
Finally the procedures were over and she was taken to the bedroom to await her husband's arrival.
When Sanda heard the word husband, only one image came to mind: Ned's strong, handsome, desirable body, capable of making her soar with pleasure and faint with happiness. But this graying man, heavy and bulky, couldn't possibly be her husband, not at all! But he was. And now he had to enter, strip naked before her, press her down onto the bed, and…
Sanda's heart began to tremble at the sight of this image. She knew in her mind that Heverad was, in fact, a handsome man, albeit much older than her and old enough to be her father. That he was, in fact, an enviable match, that any girl in the provinces or the capital would gladly jump into his bed, but... she couldn't help herself. Apparently, she loved Ned after all. Or perhaps it was her freedom-loving nature rebelling—Ned was her choice, and Heverad was forced upon her, and with such cruel methods that she'd lost all desire to look at him for a long, long time, if not forever.
The door creaked softly, almost inaudibly, and the parquet floor rustled under someone's feet. Sanda closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. The man sat heavily next to her, sat for a minute, as if deciding, then the thin silk blanket slid aside. He sat for a moment longer, and then the hem of his lace shirt began to rise, revealing Sanda to the waist. She froze, clenching her fists and standing at attention as if she were numb. The man's hand crept to her thigh and gently touched the smooth skin, which immediately broke out in goosebumps, as if from a night draft.
Tears began to flow from Sanda's eyes, she groaned and, trembling and gasping for breath, squeezed out:
- No! I don't want to! No!
"Am I that repulsive to you?" Heverad said sadly, running the back of his fingers down the girl's tense thigh. "I'm not ugly, it seems to me. Women actually love me..."
"You're not ugly... but I don't love you. And I don't want to... please, leave me alone! If you do this now... I'll die! I'll do something to myself! Don't touch me!"
"As you say," the general said hoarsely, his hand wandering over the girl's body. "I can wait until you calm down. I don't rape women. I'll wait until you ask me to."
"Agreed!" Sanda jerked away, and Heverad wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Who would have known how much effort it took him not to pounce on this tender, untouchable thing and not to press into her, pushing apart, flattening the tender, beautiful flesh!
Once, twenty years ago, he would have done just that, regardless of the consequences, driven by animal desire. Now, gray-haired and wiser than ever, he knew that the unattainable fruit was the sweetest of all. And he also knew that no fortress could withstand a proper siege. And Heverad knew how to take fortresses. Everywhere. In war, in politics, in trade, and... in bed.
The general got out of bed, looked at the girl huddled in the corner of the bed and, smiling, shook his finger at her:
"You'll be mine anyway! You'll love me! I'm better than your Ned! And I'll prove it. You'll have to love me—you have no other choice. And neither do I. I'm prepared to wait as long as it takes. You're a smart girl and you must understand, you must accept this. We'll do great things together! Fate has brought us together, and it would be a sin not to take advantage of this. Consider it a deal: you offer your body and in return receive power, the respect of your subjects, immense wealth, my love and devotion. And love will come when you realize that I'm the best you could have.
The general turned abruptly and left the room, deciding to call two slave masseuses—the tension demanded an outlet. Sanda aroused him in a way no woman had ever done. He tried to analyze this fact and came to a strange conclusion: it wasn't even that she was beautiful, that she had a magnificent young body that any woman would envy—no! The main thing was that she was a symbol—a symbol of the power he desired. In Sanda, Heverad would conquer the entire state, the entire world—after all, his ambitious plans extended further south! North! West and East! Empire—that was his goal. The restoration of a vast continental empire, and then... perhaps the entire world would submit to his empire! Young beauties are many, but Queen Zamara is only one. And he will have her.
Closing the bedroom door, Heverad shook his head in frustration—he couldn't persuade or charm her. There were magicians who could cast a spell, or give her a love potion that would make Sanda throw herself at any man, begging him to take her.
Heverad knew such remedies existed, and had even encountered such a stimulant—he had a mistress, the young wife of a high-ranking nobleman, who adored using such preparations. Heverad dated her for a month, then ran away, unable to bear the woman's amorousness and the debauchery she indulged in. She wasn't satisfied with just him; she demanded several men at once, and she also adored it when her husband watched this debauchery from the next room, peering through a special hole in the wall.
She once confessed this to Major Heverad - after the confession, he could no longer tumble around with the lustful beauty; it seemed to him that his mistress's elderly husband was looking at his naked backside from everywhere.
Heverad sighed, casting aside the vision of a naked Sanda, lying with her eyes closed and stretched out at attention, and walked heavily down the corridor, at the end of which an armed guard in full gear was visible, with a naked sword over his shoulder.
Security at the house had been beefed up considerably—during the current political crisis, anything could be expected—an assault, an attempted takeover, or simply the dispatch of hired assassins. The house was absolutely packed with guards, who had strict instructions to assassinate any strangers within sight, without asking their names. Strangers don't come here!
Suddenly, the general thought he heard a scream in Sanda's bedroom. He stopped. He listened – no, it was quiet. But there was definitely a scream!
"Guards, to me!" Heverad roared, and immediately, with a roar, fighters rushed toward him from all sides, hiding behind curtains in niches, around corners, behind statues of gods and beautiful ladies lifting their light robes.
"Follow me!" the general shouted and rushed toward the bedroom, from which he had moved about fifty steps.
The bedroom door was locked. The general slammed his shoulder into it, but the oak panel didn't even flinch, absorbing the impact of the hundred-kilogram battering ram.
"Knock down the door!" the general shouted, grimacing and rubbing his bruised shoulder.
The armored guards, clinging in threes, began to break it down, running and crashing into the obstacle with their steel battering rams, but the well-made door held.
Finally, two men came running with battle axes and began to chop down the unyielding tree, their heavy axe blades slamming down on the polished oak.
A minute later the door began to give way and a steel bolt appeared, locking the entrance.
The soldiers pulled back the heavy wrought-iron bar, and the door swung open. Pushing the soldiers aside, the general ran into the bedroom and rushed to the bed… Sanda was gone. The window was open, and a cool breeze from the mountains, carrying the scent of grass and glacier snow, fluttered the heavy, gold-embroidered curtains…
Heverad cursed furiously—the foulest words he knew, the kind he'd heard in his youth and never uttered. Then he growled like a beast, and when someone touched his shoulder, he nearly lunged at the man with his fists. Only at the last second did he come to his senses, looking at the head of the estate guard with bloodshot, bulging eyes.
- My General! Note!
"What note?" Heverad croaked, trying to pick up the piece of paper. His hands were shaking, trembling with excitement, and he couldn't quite catch the small sheet. "Read it!" he ordered, biting his lip, unaware of the drops of blood that trickled from beneath his sharp, beast-like teeth.
"She's alive. Mind your own business, don't do anything rash. Make a mistake, and she'll die. And you'll die."
"Is there a signature?" the general croaked, struggling to clear the lump in his throat.
- No, sir general. All that is. Nothing more.
– Bring me detectives! The best detectives in the city! A magician from the detective office. The best magician! Quickly!
Everyone was running around, stamping their feet, the captain of the guard was giving orders, and the general sat on the edge of the bed, where he had recently been caressing his young wife's thighs, thinking that this is how it usually happens—just when you think you're on the top rung, you think you've won, an enemy reserve regiment appears from somewhere and strikes you in the back. And all you can do is pray to the gods and hope the line doesn't break and withstand the blow.
The detectives arrived thirty or forty minutes later. They walked around the house, putting on smart faces, questioning the servants, slaves, and guards. After an hour, the lead detective reported that no one had seen anything and no one knew where the general's wife had gone.
The detectives' magician also yielded no results, except for the conclusion that a powerful magician had been at work, creating a massive illusionary cover, under whose protection the criminals had infiltrated the general's house in broad daylight. That's all. No further information was forthcoming.
All he could do was wait or try something. What? The general didn't know yet. But he hoped that his cunning, resourceful mind, which had rescued him in many a predicament, wouldn't fail him and would come up with a solution soon. For now, he could console himself with the thought that Sanda was alive. And if she was alive, all was not yet lost.