- Get out. Come on! Faster!
The servant rushed out of the bedroom as if scalded – the nobleman was known for his stern temper, and any delay could have led to irreparable consequences. For example, beheading and impaling him on a stake at the city wall.
Girso turned his gaze to the bed on which the "sick king" lay and asked coldly:
- Are you an idiot?!
"What's the matter, Mister Amunsky?" the man lying on the bed asked, slightly alarmed. Nervously biting his lip, the "king" sat on the edge of the bed.
- Why did you drag the maid into bed? Who gave you permission?
"Well... no one," the man shrugged, "so what? A king—and he can't take a woman to his bed?"
"You're not the king, you idiot! You're his double! And, according to our theory, you're sick! What if she realizes you're... not quite the king?"
"How so? Does she know how I differ from a real king? Actually, almost nothing. If you don't know, you won't understand. So I don't understand your indignation, Mr. Amunsky."
"Listen, you! Don't you think you've become too independent? Remember, you're alive as long as I let you. And by the way, your family—your father, mother, sisters—are alive as long as I'm happy with you. And if you try to get out of control, if you stop doing what I tell you, they'll die. Is that clear to you?"
"I see, Mr. Amunsky," the man muttered, confused. "Tell me, how long will I be in the guise of the king?"
- As long as it takes. Maybe your whole life.
"Actually, when we agreed, you said it wouldn't be for long! That after a while you'd sort everything out, pay me well, and I'd go back to my family. So why are you saying it's for life?"
"Fool, are you suffering now? The best food, a bed, rest! What more do you want?"
– Life. I don't live, it's as if I'm buried in this palace! I don't want this kind of life. I want to leave!
"I spent a fortune on you, took you to the best doctors and mages, created a disguise for you—for what? So you could whine to me and ruin everything? Remember, the day I no longer need you, the day you ruin my plans, will be your last. Even if you look like a king, you're not a king. Remember that too."
"You won't let me forget," the man smiled wryly and suddenly asked: "And where did you put the real king?"
Gyrsos stared intently into the man's eyes until he looked away and blushed in embarrassment. Then Amunsky rose from his chair and ordered:
"Starting today, you'll begin to slowly recover. But very slowly! No maids in bed—by the way, you killed her. Yes, yes, I'll have to get rid of her so she doesn't blab. You'll stay locked up until I let you out. Remember, your life, the lives of your loved ones, are in my hands!"
Amunsky came out of the "king's" bedroom and briefly ordered the guards standing at the door:
"No one is to see him except his servant. Not his son, not his maids—no one. The king is still too weak, though he has begun to recover. Convey my orders to your commander."
The guards saluted to show that they understood, and Amunsky walked down the corridor to the library, located in the adjacent wing of the building and connected to it by a long passage.
The palace itself was a rather chaotic and complex structure. It was built at least a thousand years ago and was continually rebuilt and rebuilt to suit the tastes and wishes of its owners. Since the kings' desires were sometimes exotic and their taste often lacking, the palace was a mixture of styles and compositions, with ancient structures juxtaposed with modern ones.
The library was located on the second floor of one of the buildings, and through it one could exit into a garden filled with exotic plants from all over the world, now a little neglected, having grown so much that the garden resembled the jungles of the Southern Continent.
The entire palace was riddled with secret passages, and Amunsky had great difficulty finding a place for the king's current bedroom that was completely free of them. The solid stone walls resembled a prison with no exit. It was no accident that the king's double spoke of being buried within the palace—in fact, that was essentially the case: the false king would exist for as long as Amunsky needed him to, and then die. Perhaps he would die in an accident, perhaps murdered by a fanatic who decided the king was a demon and the world needed to be rid of him. There were many acceptable options, and each was valid. Once Amunsky found a successor to the king, one who would obey him unconditionally, one of these options would be chosen.
The real king had died several weeks ago, and Amunsky, prepared for this moment, instantly replaced him with a double created months earlier. The king's body lay at sea, and the double, trained according to all the rules, signed papers and affixed seals—dutifully, just like the real king. The man had been trained to do this, and even an expert couldn't distinguish the false king's signature from the real one—training and magic do their job.
Amunsky grinned, pleased with his operation—everything had gone as planned. The "King" was under his control, doing as Gyrsos commanded, while his rivals were weaving their "brilliant" plots in the hopes of seizing the throne when the King died. When the secret agents reported to Gyrsos what the heads of the noble clans were planning, he laughed until he cried, imagining the idiots waiting for the King's death. And yet, the death never came, never came, never came... sad, gentlemen, isn't it?
That's why the false king was placed in a place where his activities in the bedroom could not be monitored. Furthermore, no one was allowed to see him except Amunsky himself and a limited circle of servants. Unfortunately, incidents like the one that happened last night sometimes occurred: the false king emerged from his bedroom, grabbed a maid, and dragged her into his own room, where the unfortunate girl was unable to resist the "sick man's" advances. Such incidents are now out of the question—Girsos has ordered that no one else pass by the king's bedroom.
Tears of laughter gave way to tears for his daughter, murdered on Heverad's orders. Gyrsos quickly grasped the simple intricacies of the conspiracy and secured himself against attempts to remove himself from power. Now Amunsky regretted appointing Heverad commander-in-chief of all armed forces. However, for now, he took no action against the rebellious general. He was waiting for the right moment. Gyrsos had no doubt that such a moment would come. Heverad must pay for betraying the patron who had promoted him. And, of course, he must answer for his daughter's death.
In recent years, Amunsky hadn't gotten along well with Anita. She'd caused him a lot of trouble, and sometimes he'd even consider destroying the creature himself, but no one dares take the life of an Amunsky with impunity. If he didn't avenge his daughter, it would mean he wasn't as strong as he once was.
The thought of his dead daughter made his heart clench – she hadn't been such a bitch once… A little girl, so rosy, with full lips… He loved her, he still loved her. Not as much as he loved his heir, of course, but… he loved her. And he believed he'd secured a good match with a promising military man, who would be his hammer if he needed to crush his rivals.
Alas, the hammer broke... and with its swing, it killed a piece of Hyrsos's soul. Amunsky gritted his teeth and decided to exact the most brutal revenge on the traitor. Killing Heverad would be foolish; the state would need a talented commander, but causing him pain, great pain, was entirely possible. He just needed to find that sore spot, discover who was dear to him, and destroy that love!
Gyrsos approached the passage leading to the library, thought for a moment, and then… turned back, deciding to go into the chancery. What could he talk about with the prince, who spent days and nights in the library? Incidentally, the prince had lived too long in this world. Perhaps it was time for him, like the queen, to go to heaven? He'd need to talk to someone about that…
Having made his decision, Gyrsos quickened his pace. Today, he had to enact the royal decree granting him special powers and declaring martial law in the country. It was time to properly deal with his political opponents, who had completely forgotten their fear. He had to remind them that Gyrsos was a force to be reckoned with. And not all of the kingdom's security forces were subordinate to Heverad...
* * *
Ned floated in the crystal heights… his thoughts were as viscous as the taffy sold at the city market; he tried to concentrate, but couldn't. Where Ned was now, what was happening to him—it didn't matter. He felt good, calm. And how could he be uneasy when you're soaring high above, like a gossamer strand carried away by the wind? Fly, surrendering to the gusts of wind, and ahead lies a new world, new sensations, new joy! The main thing is not to be eaten by a passing bird.
"What are you hanging around here for?" A man with a sharp, hard face, dressed all in black, suddenly appeared in front of Ned.
"What do you mean, 'what?' I'm enjoying myself," Ned replied, perplexed, not understanding where this "black" had come from. "Get out of here! Don't bother me!"
"You're disgusting. You're pathetic. You're not even worthy of pity!" The "black one's" face twisted in disgust.
"What's this all about?" Ned said, offended. "I don't deserve such insulting words! Get out of here and let me enjoy my peace!"
"What bad luck... I ended up in the body of a slug!" the "black one" shook his head sullenly. "Wake up, idiot! You've been captured, drugged, you're lying on a bed in some tiny room, and they're giving you a potion to loosen your tongue!"
"Don't ruin my vacation! You're saying that on purpose!" Ned was very annoyed. "You're just floating around like this, and then some nasty person comes along, disturbs the peace, ruins my vacation!"
Suddenly, pain shot through Ned's arm and he cried out as a dog bit into his arm, baring its white teeth.
– Narda! What's wrong with you?! Are you mad?! Let's go fly! Grow wings – anything is possible here! Oh, how good it is that you showed up! Nobody loves me, everyone hurts me. Bite that bastard, bite him! Oh! Why me?
"What's that on his arm, like bite marks? Look – they're showing. Like a dog bit him. I didn't see anything like that before..."
- Forget it. Pour it carefully so he doesn't choke.
- When will it take effect?
– In about twenty minutes, once the mixture has been absorbed into his body. Let's wait!
"Wake up, slug!" The "black one's" voice was cold and dull, like autumn rain. "They're going to suck the knowledge out of you now! Put up barriers!"
"What barriers? Why?" Ned wondered. His mind had cleared a little from the pain; the dog hadn't bitten with full force, but her vinegar would definitely leave bruises.
– Set up barriers for the potion! Don't let it into your brain! Now! Quickly! Activate the protection! Remember how to do it! Hurry!
Ned winced, tensed... and suddenly, diggers and masons came running from all directions—they ran in with carts, began hauling boulders, building them into sturdy walls. Everything happened incredibly quickly: one minute the tunnels were empty, and now new walls were rising to the ceiling, blocking the path of a seething stream of white foam. It rose higher and higher, muttering as if thousands of market traders had gathered here, creeping toward the cracks above the wall, but before it could penetrate, it crashed helplessly against the fresh masonry.
Tunnels? Ned wondered. How did he end up in tunnels? One minute he was floating high above, and the next he was underground! It was a miracle, nothing less.
"Hold on, idiot," the black one's scraping, metallic voice rang out again. "We only have one body, whether we like it or not, so I don't want to die because of your stupidity."
"And you... are you alive? Yuragor?" Ned suddenly realized.
– Alive, of course. Who do you think is talking to you? I am in you. And I will always be in you. Even if I don't want to be…
"By the way, whose fault is it that I lost my magic?" Ned suddenly became angry. "Wasn't it you? Who burned me out?"
"You burned it yourself," Yuragor retorted calmly. "If you hadn't resisted my will, hadn't interfered, I could have cast any spell without any harm to myself. But you did. And since you interfered, take it!"
"It's not my fault," Ned frowned, "I resisted your darkness. I don't like your treatment of people, your cruelty. I don't like your plans. I don't want power, I don't want to rule the world. I don't want to kill people for it. I want peace, I want love, I want..."
"Fool! Along with what you don't like, you also threw away what you need—my knowledge, my experience! You practically brought yourself to ruin! Why, oh why, didn't you kill Harald when you dueled him? If you had killed him, you wouldn't have gotten into Imar's house, you wouldn't have been captured. Then again, why didn't you try to kill them all? Silena? Did you let her go back then, at the inn? Were you seduced by her firm backside? Her large breasts? Did you give in to your carnal desires? Are women not enough for you? If you had found yourself a woman, a simple one, without frills, or at least regularly visited whores, you wouldn't have this sexual hunger. Maybe then you would have thought with what you really needed to think about, and not with that very place! Fool... You should have killed them all, without pity, without thinking, without reflecting! Did you pity Imar and his grandchildren? Did you like them? Fool! You are above them! You are the Supreme One!" Who are they to you? Friends who might stab you in the back tomorrow? A ruler has no friends, and cannot have them – only partners and subjects! Having found friends, you've become weaker, you've become vulnerable!
– But you can't be alone… it's unnatural. I don't want to be alone…
"That's why you make mistakes. You remember how alone you once were in the world, and you're afraid of that again. You look for friends. But you don't need them. They're only looking to stab you in the back. Forget about them! You need to get out of here and not feel sorry for anyone who gets in your way."
"That's what I don't like about you, Yuragor," Ned retorted sullenly. "You have no friends, you trust no one. But I have friends. That's it, go away!"
"I'd leave, but I can't," the "black one" chuckled darkly and, listening for something, announced, "Attention! They're going to wake you up now and try to drain you dry. Hold on! Don't give them a chance to kill us. As long as you haven't given them all your secrets, your life is safe. Give them a little something they don't know, but something they won't particularly need. Just a bait. Let them think they're winning. I'm here, watching you!"
"He should be waking up now. Be careful, don't forget that you're facing the Great Atrok—this guy is dangerous."
"Mom, what kind of Atrok is he? Without magical abilities, tied up—he's not a man, but a log with runes carved on it!"
"I'm afraid you'll never become a Great Atroc. You're too stupid for that... Shut up and do as I say!"
Ned's eyelids fluttered, and he slowly, carefully opened them. One moment he'd been talking to Yuragor, fighting off his dog, who for some reason had decided to test the strength of his jaws, and now he was lying on a bed in an unfamiliar room. How he'd gotten here was unknown. Apparently, they'd dragged him here while he was sleeping. He tried to sit up, but something was blocking him. He reached out – a chain! A chain on his leg! His leg was bare. As was his entire body. He was completely naked, and before him sat two beautiful women in chairs – one younger, the other older, as alike as two peas in a pod.
"Are you awake?" the young woman asked mockingly. "Good. Are you able to speak?"
"Yes," Ned replied immediately, feeling the words fly out of him like an arrow. Yuragor's voice then explained: "Some of the potion has penetrated your brain, but if you control yourself, you can resist." "Why did you undress me? Give me back my clothes!"
"Why?" the elder one chuckled. "To unsettle you. To make you feel defenseless. To make you feel uncomfortable and ashamed. Is that a sufficient explanation? You men are so afraid for your private parts that the mere suggestion of a threat to your dignity immediately throws you off balance. Now you feel ashamed, you feel uncomfortable, you're agitated, your blood is pushing the potion throughout your system. Which is exactly what it needs. It's strange that the Great Atroc doesn't know such simple things..."
"I'm not the Great Atroc! I was his vessel temporarily, and then he left! I don't know anything, leave me alone! Let me go!"
"It's okay, it's okay," Silena chuckled. "You look attractive with a chain on your leg, too. Especially when you're naked. See, Mom, why I was tempted by him? He's a fine fellow, isn't he?"
"Good," the woman nodded, shamelessly eyeing Ned, who was trying to cover his dignity with his palms pressed together. "You're too late. We've seen everything clearly. By the way, if you tell us everything we need to know, you'll stay alive. As a bed slave, for example. And that's not the worst option, is it, daughter? Rot on a stake is much more disgusting, don't you think?"
"Well... maybe he thinks otherwise. Would he like to sit on something spicy, greased with pork fat?"
"Your laugh is... like that of some kind of moronic fanatic," Ned replied hoarsely, feeling his brain clear of the drug-induced stupor. "It's not proper for such beautiful women to act like they're horny maniacs. And don't you think you talk about men too much? Maybe that's where your desire to see a naked man lies? It's an obsessive desire, isn't it?"
"He's trying to hurt us, don't you think, Mom?" Silena grinned, a long leather whip flashing in her hand, and a red stripe swelled on Ned's thigh. "Enough! You, slave, will speak of what I ask! Or Great Atroc will! By the way, Mom, do you have to be present at the interrogation? I'll deal with him myself and then report back to you..."
"What, you want to climb into his bed? He'll strangle you like a chicken! Or do you wish to gain secret knowledge and become stronger? Oh, my gods, daughter, your thoughts are literally written on your forehead! When will you learn to hide them? Probably never. So, let's begin. Listen to me, boy, now I'm going to cast a spell, after which you will feel an incredible desire to tell us everything you know—all the secret spells, all the knowledge of the Northern Ispas. And you will tell us everything I ask. And you, Silena, write it down—here is your paper, here is your pen."
"Let's invite someone from outside, a scribe?" the girl asked hesitantly. "I won't be able to write that much..."
"You can do it. There's no point in bringing in someone else. The information will spread, and we won't be able to contain it. Too many people are hunting this guy; we can't take any chances. Killing a scribe every time he writes something down is stupid. A thrifty owner wouldn't do that. Stop whining! Take a pen, take some paper, and let's get started! Hey, naked-ass, you probably think you're protected by a spell? No. Your spell has fallen like leaves from a tree. Even you can't maintain your protection for years, especially with the Great Atroc working against you. You're not exceptional, boy. So, let's begin!"
Great Atrok stood and began chanting a short spell, ending with something like a scream or a sob. Ned immediately identified it: "The Spell of Isuan's Truth." It works best when combined with a potion composed of ten ingredients, the most important of which are the blood and tears of a virgin.
Ned immediately felt a warmth, as if he'd drunk strong wine, then the discomfort vanished and joy took its place. Great joy, happiness, love for everyone around him, a desire to share everything he had—if asked, he could cut off his own finger and give it to whoever asked! And he'd be happy he'd pleased that person! How he loved these women! How he wanted to give them what they asked for!
"Start talking, lay out your first-level spells… everything you know," Atroc said in a calm voice, looking Ned in the eyes, "don't resist, you must, you are obligated to tell us everything!"
"Careful! Don't give in!" Yuragor's voice pounded in Ned's head, as if he were actually alive. "Hold on! I'd kill the bitch! She's a strong creature! Southern Ispas has always had strong mentalists!"
"Look, he's silent," the woman said, surprised. "Come on, hit him with the whip. Harder, harder! Make him lose control of his body! Right, right! He's holding on... No, that's not how it should be. Come on, tell me your deepest desires. What would you like to do with Silena?"
"It's funny... yeah, it's funny... and what – he's quite," the girl giggled, listening to Ned, choking, expounding his bedroom dreams.
"Now tell us a couple of first-level spells—mind-depriving, for example. Ah, it seems so... so, so... you see, daughter, if you scrape a small hole in the dam, the water will gradually carve a much wider path. Following innocent fantasies, it opens the way for the memories we need. Are you writing? Go ahead, go ahead... I hope you're not writing down his sexual fantasies so you can later fulfill them in reality?"
"Are you kidding?" Silena asked, surprised. "I haven't seen you show off your wit... why all of a sudden?"
"Write, don't forget!" the woman interrupted. "By the way, you see, the rendition of 'The Gauda Spell' is different from ours. Interesting. They have a clearer pronunciation of the final sounds, without dropping them two tones. I wonder why? I'll have to try it later."
For two hours, Ned laid out to the women what he knew, what Yuragor had studied throughout his long life, leaving behind a huge, dangerous burden of knowledge for the bearer of his memory.
Ned had no intention of revealing what had been developed directly in Northern Ispas, what Ispas's research mages had risked their lives to create for hundreds of years. Artfully sidestepping the tough questions posed to him, Ned gave the women what they already knew. Some spells had been modified over time, but essentially, it was the same as what all mages of the Shirduan sect had known since time immemorial. Ned managed to circumvent the mentalist's hurdles and ultimately deliver what he wanted.
After the slightly tired but satisfied women left, Ned lay on his back, his hand behind his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. It was amusing to watch the Great Atroc's face as he unfolded a sexual fantasy about "How I'd do it with Silena." At several points in the story, the woman's eyebrows rose in surprise, clearly genuinely interested. Ned-Yuragor's sensitive ears even detected a slight change in breathing and a slight flushing of the skin on both women. Ned desperately wanted to giggle, but he couldn't bear to expose himself.
The smile faded from his lips as he felt the steel chain around his leg again. He'd lived long enough! Like a dog, like a wild beast—chained up. For the amusement of the spectators. It wasn't enough for them to just captivate him; they had to strip him naked and humiliate him!
"Standard practice," Yuragor remarked. "To strip a person of their clothes, to deprive them of their natural habitat. Men are most easily swayed by a threat to their genitals, women by the threat of losing their beauty, of being left ugly. So it's no surprise; they're doing everything right. And you—did you do everything right? Did you examine the chain? The room? Have you considered your escape options? And before you run, you need to eliminate the threat to life, to future life. How? Kill that bitch—Great Atrok, of course. And her amorous daughter. By the way, did you see how Silena looked at your junk today? That daughter is something else… she loves men. I think she'll come to you tonight. And then…"
- Kill?
"Idiot! There's always time to kill! Charm her, interest her, satisfy her properly, let her relax and believe you're head over heels in love with her! You have to be cunning, devious, cruel, like... like..."
- Yuragor?
"Yes! Like Yuragor! Although you still have a long way to go to reach my level. You're a puppy just starting to cut its teeth, and I'm a wolf, and if you'd listened to me earlier, if you hadn't drowned out my voice, you wouldn't be chained up now. Go ahead, explore the room, look for a way out, and think, think, think..."